Элейн Каннингем - The Wizardwar

The king looked at him quizzically. Matteo leaned in close and softly said, "Andris is descended from Akhlaur."

Zalathorm's eyes widened. His gaze slid from his counselor to his daughter, then to the ghostly shadow of Andris. "I’ll take you to it," he said simply.

Early the next morning, the four of them stood in a circular chamber far below the king's palace. The crimson star bobbed gently in the center of the room, casting soft light over them all. Andris's translucent body seemed carved from rosy crystal, and his eyes burned with fire that came from some hidden place within.

"I have tried to destroy this many times," Zalathorm said, "but one of its creators is not sufficient. Mystra grant the three of you success."

Andris pulled out a sword, lofted it with both hands, and threw himself into a spin. With all his strength, he brought the heavy weapon around and smashed it into the shining crystal. The next instant, his sword went flying in one direction and Andris in another. The sword, once released from his grasp, lost its glassy appearance and clattered heavily to the stone floor.

The jordain picked himself up. "Perhaps if we all strike at once," he ventured.

Matteo and Tzigone joined him and took up positions around the gem.

"From above," Andris cautioned, "so no one is struck on the backswing."

On Matteo's count, they all brought weapons down hard. Before they neared the artifact, the swords flew from their hands and clanged together, forming a tripod that hung in the air over the globe.

"So much for togetherness," Tzigone muttered, eyeing the enjoined weapons.

Andris paced around the artifact, his face furrowed in thought. "Let the princess try alone."

She made a rude noise, but she approached the gem slowly and touched tentative fingers to one of the starlike spires. For many long moments she stood silent, her deeply abstracted look changing to pain.

"So many," she said in a subdued voice. "I was a prisoner in the Unseelie court for a few days. These elves have been in captivity for more than two hundred years."

She eased her hand away and turned to the king, her eyes wide with understanding. "Keturah knows how it could be done! That's why Kiva wanted her all along-why she brought her here to the palace!"

She looked to Zalathorm for confirmation. "It is possible," he admitted.

Tzigone was already sprinting through the halls toward the queen.

The throng that gathered on the dueling field was far from the unified, disciplined host of Zalathorm's vision. Wizardlords and their retainers stood in separate ranks, eyeing their rivals. Each faction boasted wizards, clerics, and mercenaries. The spell battle against Zalathorm would be only the start. Anyone who successfully challenged the king would need all these supporters in order to defend his newly won crown against other contenders.

Procopio Septus, as lord mayor of the city, had at his beck the entire militia of the king's city. He strode along confidently, reviewing the ranks. Seriously depleted by war and confused by the turmoil among the wizards, the fighters looked uncertain of their purpose. The wizard at his side looked even less certain. Malchior Belajoon, would-be challenger to the king, measured the opposing ranks with worried eyes.

"Perhaps this is not the time to make my bid for the throne," Malchior ventured.

"The king welcomed all challengers. Your lineage is as good as his, and recent events have made painfully obvious that the king's powers are failing. What better time to press your claim?"

"I did not cast the necromancy spell!"

"It hardly matters. Zalathorm has issued a challenge, and he will be honor-bound to answer any who respond."

Again Malchior's gaze swept the gathering throng. "What of the king's plea for unity until the hidden wizard is unmasked?"

Procopio shook off this concern. Before he could speak, an enormous oval of shimmering black opened against the backdrop of forest, like a rift into a dark plain.

Warriors poured through, hideous undead creatures that reeked of decay and stagnant waters. The militia-as well-trained as any fighting force in the southern lands, veterans and survivors of the recent invasion-shrank back in horror.

The undead army swiftly formed into disciplined ranks. Their leader, a tall, gaunt wizard with livid bluish skin and a still-glossy mane of chestnut, strode from the gate and took up position.

As strange as this sight was, it did not prepare the stunned observers for what was to come. A small elf woman with long braids of jade-green hair emerged. Her cool, amber stare swept the wizards and seemed to linger briefly on Procopio's face. Then she stepped aside to yield way for an even more daunting apparition. A tall, thin man, robed in the necromancer's scarlet and black, stepped into the silence. In the bright morning sun, his pale greenish skin and faintly iridescent scales shone with a sickly glow-like some luminescent creature emerged from the sea depths.

Not a wizard there had ever set eyes upon the strange figure, yet all knew him for who he was. One of the most infamous wizards of Halruaa, whose name had been lent to a deadly swamp and scores of terrible necromantic spells, was not forgotten in a mere two centuries.

"Akhlaur."

The whispers seemed to coalesce into a single tremulous breeze. The necromancer inclined his head, an archaic courtly bow once performed by great wizards to acknowledge their lessers.

The gathered wizards exchanged panicked glances, no longer so certain that ridding the realm of Zalathorm was such a good and desirable goal.

Akhlaur had no doubts on that matter. "Zalathorm has issued challenge," he said in a deep voice that rolled across the field like summer thunder. "I have answered. Fetch him, and let it begin."

Kiva and Akhlaur retired to the rear of their ranks to await the king's response. The elf woman paced furiously.

"Troubled, little Kiva?" the necromancer asked.

She whirled toward him, flung a hand toward the dueling grounds. "Did you see all those wizards gathered to challenge the king? We should have let them! You know Halruaa's history as well as I. Her wizards might squabble, but they will unite against a single threat. Had you allowed Zalathorm to destroy these challengers one by one, your task would have been easier and its outcome assured! Now we will face them all."

Her vehemence and fury raised the necromancer's brows. "You fear for your safety," he said condescendingly, "and with reason. The death-bond ensures that if I die, so do you. I assure you, between the crimson star and my not-inconsiderable magic, we are quite safe.

"Yes," the necromancer continued, "all will go as planned. Nothing-least of all you-will interfere with this long-desired confrontation."

The elf stood silent for a long moment. "With your permission, I will watch your victory from the forest."

"As you will," Akhlaur said. Suddenly his black eyes bored into her. "Remember, you cannot betray me and live."

"I assure you, my lord," Kiva said with as much sincerity as she had ever brought to anything, "that this is never far from my thoughts."

Matteo and Tzigone paused at the door to the queen's chamber.

"What do you propose to do?"

"I'm making this up as I go along," Tzigone admitted. She walked softly into the chamber and dipped a bow before the too-still queen.

On impulse, she began to sing. The queen's gaze remained fixed and blank, but her head tipped a bit to one side as if she were listening. When Tzigone fell silent, Beatrix softly began to repeat the last song in a flat, almost toneless voice. Her voice strengthened as she sang. It was ragged from disuse and long-ago hurts, but in it was the echo of beauty.