Crown of Crystal Flame

by C. L. Wilson

  Her teeth worried her lower lip in a moment of indecision. “I never really knew what true Darkness was until I stabbed that Mharog. As vile and depraved and malevolent as the Mage is, comparing him to the Mharog is like comparing a deep Shadow to a world utterly without the smallest glimmer of light. I’ve never felt anything so unrelentingly, consumingly evil.”

  She pulled back to look up at him, and her eyes were bleak with remembered horror. “I felt his soul, Rain—or rather the void that exists where his soul once did. It’s a bottomless, Light-eating abyss. His only pleasure comes extinguishing the Light of others in the most brutal ways possible, because Light, in all its forms, has become anathema to him.”

  Skin to skin, he could feel her distress as if it were his own. She was genuinely terrified. “Put it from your mind, shei’tani.”

  “I can’t, Rain. That’s the problem.” Her brows drew together. “For the first time, I truly understand what will happen if I fall to Darkness. I won’t become the Mage. I’ll become Mharog… and I’ll consume every last spark of Light in this world. That’s what Lord Galad was trying to tell us.”

  “Nei, shei’tani, you won’t. I won’t let that happen.” He took her shoulders in a firm grip and stared into her eyes as if his own, fervent insistence had the power to convince her. “I promise you, so long as I live, I will not let you fall.”

  Her arms twined about his neck, and her slender body surged against his, seeking shelter. He knew she didn’t believe him—if the gods willed she should fall, she would—but for both their sakes, she was as willing to pretend that hope was enough. That together, they could hold the Darkness at bay, no matter how powerful its call.

  When the bright sweetness of her essence began flowing into him, he caught her hand in his. “Nei,” he said, though he savored the stirring pleasure of her selfless gift. “Keep your strength for yourself, shei’tani.”

  “But you are weary.” She pressed kisses against his throat, and where her lips touched, more bright golden warmth flooded his skin.

  “I will be fine.”

  “Aiyah, you will.” She agreed in a throaty voice. Her lips curved against his neck. “I will see to it.” Another heady rush of sweetness shot through his veins.

  He should have refused her. She’d already given him more strength than she had to spare. But if tomorrow’s dawn was to be their last together, he wanted sweet memories to take with him beyond the Veil.

  His hands stroked the soft coils of her fiery hair then down her satiny skin to cup one small, perfect breast. “Fellana, I am yours. Do with me what you will.” And he surrendered to her lips, her hands, her love, letting her pour herself into him as he poured himself into her. The richness of his tairen song rose in his throat and he sang the shining, wordless notes on weaves of Spirit, wrapping them in wild beauty as she wrapped them both in the vast, deep power of her love.

  Later, much later, when she slept in boneless exhaustion by his side, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling of their tent as it rippled in the breeze off the mountains.

  He’d never been a Fey who spent much time in prayer. Before the Wars, he’d never truly appreciated the many blessings of his life, and afterwards, he’d held a bitter grudge against the gods and their whims. But now, on the eve of a battle that, despite his encouraging words, promised almost certain death for them all, Rain closed his eyes and, before he let sleep claim him, sent up a simple, but fervent prayer.

  Please, gods, grant me time enough to finish this. Time enough to make her safe.

  Eld ~ Boura Dor

  “Master Maur!” Primage Kron, commander of Boura Dor, rushed to greet the purple-robed High Mage of Eld. “Welcome to Boura Dor, Most High. It is an honor beyond measure to have you join us.”

  Vadim threw back his hood and cast a cold silver gaze around the central command room deep in the heart of the subterranean fortress.

  “Yes, well, some tasks are too important to leave to underlings. Vargus,” he turned to the elderly Primage who had accompanied him from Boura Fell. “Set up the tracker.”

  “Most High.” Primage Vargus bowed and moved towards the central table to weave the spell that would allow the Mages to track and activate the chemar.

  “Kron, has your team reached Crystal Lake?”

  “A few bells ago, Most High. There were scouts in Dunelan, but the dahl’reisen helped us eliminate them. Quietly, of course, though I doubt it will be long before their brothers raise the alarm.”

  “Good. Order them to begin. And send reinforcements with bowcannon. Once the Fey realize what we’ve done, they’ll send Earth and Water masters to repair the damage, possibly escorted by tairen. Then I’d appreciate the use of your spell room.”

  The Primage hesitated only a brief instant before he bent at the waist in a low bow. “Of course, Most High.” He turned to one of his own Primages. “Ogran, send the command to our Mages at Crystal Lake. Tell them to begin, and to report back when it’s done.” Turning back to Vadim, Kron gestured towards the door. “If you will follow me, Most High, I will escort you personally to my spell room and release the wards so you may make use of it.”

  The Rhakis Mountains ~ Crystal Lake

  Standing alone in the center of a clearing on the side of the mountain peak, a blue-robed Primage opened his Azrahn-blackened eyes. He turned and picked his way down a narrow, rocky mountain path, to the group of two hundred Sulimages waiting below.

  “We have our orders. It’s time to begin.”

  The red-robed journeyman Mages turned to face the soaring mountain that formed the western shore of Crystal Lake. Blue-white Mage Fire gathered in their palms. One after another, in a deliberate, rhythmic pattern, they began bombarding the mountainside. Rock and stone disappeared, eradicated from time and space by the fiery globes of Elden magic.

  Beginning on the western slope of the mountain and working quickly towards the east, they carved a deep channel into the rock, creating a chasm where none had existed before.

  As the Mage-made gorge neared the shores of Crystal Lake, and the remaining earth and stone holding back the lake grew thin, water began to seep out. The moisture increased to flowing rivulets, then spurting leaks as rock and stone shifted, then cracked beneath the strain.

  A final blast of Mage Fire finished it off. Chill and crisp, the water of the high mountain lake burst through the compromised rock and gushed into the newly-formed gorge. White and foaming and moving rapidly, a new river rushed away towards the west, emptying Crystal Lake with impressive speed.

  As the surface of the lake dropped, the flow of Source-fed waterfalls that fed the Heras River slowed to a trickle. Within a bell, they had dried up altogether.

  Eld ~ Boura Fell

  When Melliandra learned that Vadim Maur had left Boura Fell to prosecute his war, she knew her time had come. She hurried down to the umagi dens to retrieve the length of knotted rope and the black canvas bag she’d stolen from the guard halls and hidden in a rock-covered cubby hole in the rat tunnels. She stripped off her ragged tunic and tied the canvas bag to her torso, securing it by winding the length of rope repeatedly around her body. Once that was done, she slipped the tunic back over her head and pocketed a small, sharpened knife and the ring of keys she’d painstakingly carved from discarded bits of metal.

  Her heart was pounding in her chest as she slipped back into the umagi den and made her way up a series of stairways until she reached the corridor directly above the High Mage’s private apartments. There, she made her way to the door to the refuse shaft and ducked into the closest abandoned room to unwind her rope and canvas bag. She tied a looped knot on one end of the rope, tightened it as best she could, slung the canvas bag over her back, the coiled rope over her arm, and cracked open the door to peer out into the hallway.

  When the coast was clear, she darted out of the room, opened the refuse shaft door, and clambered inside. She hooked the looped end of her rope on the sel’dor stake she’d driven into the rock last week, then took a
breath, grabbed the rope, and began lowering herself down the slimy, muckcoated walls of the refuse shaft. Her bare toes slipped on the ooze-covered rock. Only her tight grip on the knotted rope kept her from tumbling helplessly down the deep, dark shaft to the darrokken pit below.

  Overhead, light streamed in as someone two floors above opened the doors covering the refuse shaft. Melliandra flattened herself against the wall just as a stream of garbage and the Dark Lord knew what else came raining down. A rotting lump of something landed on her shoulder, gagging her with its foul stench.

  Her skin broke out in a clammy sweat. She turned her head abruptly as her stomach threatened to erupt and breathed rapidly through her mouth. Shadow take her! Whatever the putrid lump was, it reeked! Worse, she could feel the wriggle of maggots and rotworms moving inside the gelatinous blob.

  She gave her shoulder a violent twitch and felt the lump dislodge and roll down her back. The refuse doors overhead closed again, and the shaft fell into darkness once more.

  A soft, blindly seeking mouth nudged the skin near her ear.

  With a choked cry, Melliandra lost her battle with her stomach and nearly lost her hold on the rope. Only quick thinking and desperation saved her. She twisted one arm and one leg around the rope and dangled there, retching helplessly while her free hand slapped at the tiny maggots and rotworms writhing in her hair.

  So much for bravado. It seemed this umagi was little braver than any other squeamish squeal of a girl when it came to some things.

  When her stomach had emptied and she was as sure as she could be that no other crawlies remained in her hair, she put both hands back on the rope and continued inching her way down the refuse shaft to the door that led to Vadim Maur’s private incinerator and spell room.

  Upon reaching the door, she muttered a brief curse. She’d been hoping the Mage would forget to ward the refuse-shaft door before he left, but no such luck. He might be inhabiting a less powerful body now, but Vadim Maur was too careful a Mage to leave even something as insignificant as a refuse chute unprotected against intrusion.

  Ah, well. She’d hoped to be in a less precarious position for her first attempt to weave magic, but since when had the gods ever done her a kindness? If this was where she had to prove herself, so be it.

  Carefully, using a combination of the detailed instructions Lord Death had so painstakingly planted in her mind and the sensations she’d gleaned from the High Mage’s mind, she summoned her magic. She’d intended to call only the smallest tendril, but instead her power came in a rush, flooding her body with sudden, electric sensation. Cool and sweet, intensely pleasurable. She closed her eyes on a wave of euphoria so great she nearly lost her balance and toppled from the slippery ledge.

  The wards around the refuse-shaft door lit up, bright as flame in the darkness. Startled both by the brightness and her own intense power, she released her magic and crouched there, trembling, waiting for any hint that Vadim Maur had detected her activity.

  One long moment passed, then another and another. A full chime she waited, but nothing happened. She wasn’t sure if Vadim Maur was still in the Well of Souls, if his distance from Boura Fell blinded him, or if her ability to hide her thoughts had become so strong she could now hide her magic as well, but whatever the reason, she couldn’t sense him. The usual weight of his dark omniscience was absent. There was no prying invasion of her mind, no evil snap of his hated voice jabbing into her brain demanding to know what she was about. There was only silence and solitude, the comforting aloneness of her mind.

  She drew a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. If the High Mage had not sensed that unchecked flare of power, she might just be able to pull this off, after all.

  “You can do this, Melliandra. You must do this.”

  She fixed a picture of Shia in her mind, focused on the ice blue eyes, rimmed in dark cobalt. Shia’s eyes stayed bright and steady as Shia’s face faded, replaced by a younger, more masculine version of Shia. A child’s face. A boy. Shia’s son. Watching Melliandra with unblinking intensity. He was depending on her.

  She summoned her magic once more.

  This time, she braced herself for the rush of pleasure, clinging to her rope and panting as sensation crashed over her in waves. Was this what the Mages felt when they worked their spells? No wonder magic was everything to them!

  The wards on the refuse door went bright again. She stared hard at the pattern, matching it thread by thread to the same one she’d seen through Vadim Maur’s eyes the last time he’d released the ward on the refuse shaft door. Nothing had changed, thank the Dark Lord.

  Whispering, “You’d better not have betrayed me, Fey,” she closed her eyes and released the first of the weaves Lord Death had planted inside her mind. Magic swelled. Swallowing her fear and distrust, she surrendered control of her body—and her magic—to the Fey’s implanted instruction.

  Her eyes flew open. She watched with intense concentration as the magic inside her rose, shaped itself, merged with the glowing threads of the ward and began to unravel it. She examined every sensation in minutest detail, every muscle that tensed, every nerve that tingled, every thought and breath and tiniest movement. And she painstakingly filed those observations away in the secret compartment in her mind so that she could take them out later for study.

  Once she escaped Boura Fell, there would be no Lord Death to teach her magic; so until that day of freedom dawned, she was determined to learn all she could from every possible source, Mage or Fey. Shia’s son possessed powerful magic, and she would not let him face the world as defenseless as she had been all her life.

  At last, the threads of the ward fell apart and disintegrated. She reached into her pocket for the dull knife she’d stolen from the kitchen. With a little maneuvering, she slipped it through the tiny crack between door and stone wall and released the latch.

  The hallway leading to Vadim Maur’s spell room was pitch-black, but as Melliandra set her feet (carefully wiped clean of the muck from the refuse-pit walls) upon the stone floor and took her first step, the hall sconces sparked to life. She gasped and leapt back into the opening to the refuse shaft, fearing discovery, only to frown as the sconces dimmed almost instantly.

  She waited a few moments, then cautiously lowered herself back into the hall. The sconces relit. She jumped again, instinctively, but soon realized the lights must be spelled to activate based on motion in the tiny space. She took a few cautious steps, ears straining for possible signs of discovery. When none came, relief loosened the tension in her shoulders, and she began to move with more confidence, examining her surroundings with swift, searching eyes.

  A curling stair led up into the darkness of Vadim Maur’s personal chambers. Using the directions she’d gathered from eavesdropping in Vadim Maur’s mind, she made her way to the warded treasure rooms where he kept his most valuable magical implements. The next of Lord Death’s unwarding weaves opened the treasure-room door, and chamber’s ceiling sconces lit up as Melliandra slipped inside.

  The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with shelves and drawers, all filled to the brim. Chests and cases were piled high against the far wall and stacked around and beneath a table in the center of the room. Her mind boggled at the sight of so many weapons, jewels, books and scrolls, cauldrons, chalices, and crystal flagons filled with who knew what.

  Melliandra took another breath and stepped forward. Time to get to work.

  Eld ~ Boura Dor

  Vadim Maur stood in the doorway of Primage Kron’s personal spell room and looked around in approval at the small, tidy space. The spotless mosaic tiles lining the floor, ceiling, and walls gleamed in the candlelight. A beaten copper basin rested on the central spell altar, and fresh water poured into a small stone basin against one wall. The distinctive, cleansing scents of lemonroot and shadowsage perfumed the air of the closed space. Like all serious students of magic, Kron took extraordinary care in tending to his spell room.

  “This will do,” V
adim said. He glanced at the Primage. “Leave me.”

  Kron bowed and backed out of the room. “If you require anything at all, the bell outside the spell room will summon my most trusted umagi.”

  Vadim waited for the spell-room door to close before he allowed the sneer to lift the corner of his lip. As if the High Mage of Eld would ever be foolish enough to use an umagi loyal to another Mage to assist him with a spell. Kron knew that of course, which meant the offer had been more courtesy than genuine.

  Vadim picked up the copper basin, filled it with fresh water from the wall fountain, then reached into his robe pocket to retrieve a small, chilled vial of blood. He shook the vial vigorously before uncapping it and pouring half the contents into the basin.

  As the blood mingled with the water, Vadim thrust his hands, each finger covered with rings of power, into the mixture. His eyes closed and he invoked his seeking spell to amplify the power of his call. In his old body, he could have reached his target without aid, but he hadn’t been in this body long enough to know the full extent of its capabilities and its limitations. He had no intention of spending a critical bell or two trying to locate his distant contact only to discover he couldn’t manage it without an amplifying spell.

  The power of the spell enveloped him, and he focused his mind into a single, sharp arrow of concentration. The rest of the world fell away. His consciousness shot up on waves of Azrahn, spiraling up through the spell room’s exhaust pipe into the world above, then racing west towards the Lysande Ocean.

  Eld ~ Boura Fell

  Locating Lord Death’s things was simpler than Melliandra had expected. Between the blood call she’d gleaned from the High Mage and the weave Lord Shan provided, she could feel the presence of his belongings tugging at her, as if they were lodestones and she were steel. Accessing them, however, proved more difficult than she’d hoped.

  She’d known the High Mage warded his greatest treasures with multiple wards. What she hadn’t anticipated was that no two objects in his treasure room could be accessed exactly the same way. Each chest, each case, had its own special combination of warding spells, several layers deep.