Margaret Weis - Dragons of the Hourglass Mage

Raistlin raised his hand. The words to the spell he had memorized the night before blazed in his mind like the words he'd written in blood on the lambskin.

Tanis climbed the stairs, his hand clutching his sword's hilt. Raistlin recognized the sword. Alhana Starbreeze had given it to Tanis in Silvanesti. The sword was Wyrmsbane, the mate to the sword Tanis had received from the dead elf king Kith-Kanan in Pax Tharkas. Raistlin remembered that the weapon was magical, though he could not remember at that moment what magic the sword possessed.

It didn't matter. The sword's magic would not be powerful enough to pierce the magical field generated by the Crown of Power. When his sword struck that field, the blast would blow him apart. Ariakas would remain safe behind the shield; not so much as a splatter of blood smearing his gleaming armor.

Tanis reached the top of the stairs, and he started to draw his sword. He was nervous; his hands shook.

Ariakas stood up from the throne, planting his powerful legs and crossing his bulging arms over his chest. He was not looking at Tanis. He was staring across the hall at Kitiara, who had her own arms crossed and was staring defiantly back. Multicolored light flared from the crown and shimmered around Ariakas, making it seem as though he were being guarded by a shield of rainbows.

Tanis slid his sword from the sheath and, at the sound, Ariakas's attention snapped back to the half-elf. He looked down his nose at him, sneered at him, trying to intimidate him. Tanis didn't notice. He was staring at the crown, his eyes wide with dismay. He had just realized his plan to kill Ariakas must fail.

Raistlin's spell burned on his lips; the magic burned in his blood. He had no time for Tanis's eternal wavering.

"Strike, Tanis!" Raistlin urged. "Do not fear the magic! I will aid you!"

Tanis looked startled and he glanced toward the direction of the sound that he must have heard more with his heart than with his ears, for Raistlin had spoken softly.

Ariakas was starting to grow impatient. A man of action, he was bored with the ceremony. He considered the council meeting a waste of time that could be spent more profitably pursuing the war. He gave a snarl and made a peremptory gesture, indicating Tanis was to swear his fealty and get on with it.

Still, Tanis hesitated.

"Strike, Tanis! Swiftly!" Raistlin urged.

Tanis stared straight at Raistlin, but whether he could see him or not, whether he would act or not, Raistlin could not tell. Tanis started to lay the sword down on the floor; then, resolve hardening his expression, he shifted his stance and aimed a blow at Ariakas.

Raistlin and Caramon had often fought together, combining sorcery and steel. As Tanis's sword arm started to rise, Raistlin cast his spell.

"Bentuk-nir daya sihir, colang semua pesona dalam. Perubahan ke sihir-nir!" Raistlin cried and, drawing a rune in the air, he hurled the spell at Ariakas.

The magic flowed through Raistlin and burst from him, crackling out of his fingertips, blazing through the air. The magic struck the rainbow shield, dispelling it. Tanis's sword met no obstacle. Wyrmsbane pierced Ariakas's black, dragon-scale breastplate, sliced through flesh and muscle and bone, and sank deep into his chest.

Ariakas roared, more in astonishment than in pain. The agony of dying and the terrible knowledge that he was dying would come to him with his next and final breath. Raistlin did not linger to see the end. He did not care who would win the Crown of Power. For the moment, the Dark Queen was intent upon the struggle. He had to make good his escape.

But the powerful spell he had cast had weakened him. He stifled a cough in the sleeve of his robes and, grabbing the staff, ran along the bridge, heading back toward the antechamber. He had almost reached the entrance when a mass of draconian guards blocked his way.

"The foul assassin!" Raistlin gasped, gesturing. "A wizard. I tried to stop him-"

The draconian didn't wait, but shoved Raistlin aside, slamming him back into the walls. Soldiers flowed around him, dashing down the bridge.

They would soon realize they had been duped, and they would be back. Raistlin, coughing, fumbled in his pouch and took out the dragon orb. He barely had breath enough left to chant the words.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of Caramon's cell. The door was open. The cell was empty. A charred patch on the floor was all that remained of a bozak draconian. A pile of greasy ash denoted the demise of a baaz draconian. Caramon and Berem, Tika and Tas were gone. Raistlin heard guttural voices shouting that the prisoners had escaped.

But where had they gone?

Raistlin swore under his breath and looked around for some clue. At the end of the corridor, an iron door had been torn off its hinges.

Jasla was calling, and Berem had answered.

Raistlin leaned on the staff and drew in a ragged breath. He could breathe easier; his strength was returning. He was about to go in pursuit of Berem when a hand snaked out of the shadows. Cold fingers closed painfully over his wrist. Long nails scraped his skin and dug into his flesh.

"Not so fast, young magus," said Fistandantilus. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

The voice was real and close, no longer in his head. Raistlin could feel the old man's breath warm on his cheek. The breath came from a living body, not a live corpse.

The hand held him fast. The bony fingers with their long, yellowed nails tightened their grip. Raistlin could not see the face, for it was hidden in the shadows. He had no need to see it. He knew the face as well or better than he knew his own. In some ways, the face was his own.

"Only one of us can be the master," said Fistandantilus.

The green bloodstone mottled with red striations glistened in the light of the Staff of Magius.

Raistlin was caught completely off-guard. A second before, he had been triumphing in his victory over Ariakas, and between the space of one shuddering breath and another, he was held fast in the grip of his most implacable foe, a wizard Raistlin had duped and cheated and sought to destroy.

Raistlin stared, mesmerized, at the bloodstone pendant dangling from the bony hand. When Fistandantilus had been a living man, he had murdered countless young mages, sucking out their lives with the bloodstone and giving the life-force to himself.

In desperation, Raistlin cast the only spell that came to his terrified mind-an elementary spell, one of the first he had ever learned. "Kair tangus miopiar!"

His hand flared with fire. Raistlin realized the moment he spoke that the spell would be useless against Fistandantilus. The magical flames could only harm the living. He was despairing, cursing himself, when, to his amazement, Fistandantilus snarled and snatched his hand away.

"You are flesh and blood!" Raistlin gasped, and he was heartened. He was fighting a live enemy, one that might be strong, but also one who could be killed.

Falling back, Raistlin clasped the Staff of Magius in both hands and raised it in front of him, using it as both shield and weapon. He remembered the times Caramon had insisted his twin learn to defend himself with the staff and how he had always tried to get out of it.

"I will soon be your flesh and your blood," said Fistandantilus, his fleshless lips parting in a ghastly smile. "A reward from my Queen."

"Your Queen!" Raistlin almost laughed. "A Queen you plotted to overthrow.'

"All is forgiven between us," said Fistandantilus. "On one condition-that I destroy you. Did you honestly think your actions, your plans, would escape my notice? In return for your demise, I will become you-or rather, your young body will house me."