Delver Magic Book I: Sanctum's Breach

by Jeff Inlo

  Chapter 30

  Lief broke through to the open air alone. He extracted himself from the fissure in Sanctum's side to walk upon the inclined slope with labored, fatigued steps. Free of the cavern, with no stone overhead, he turned his head first to the night sky. The storm had ceased and any trace of clouds had all but vanished. The stars hung proudly overhead, but they faded to the east as the sky in that direction began to glow with an orange hue. The sun would rise soon, another day would dawn. If the poison were not cleansed from his body, he knew it would be his last day.

  He waited at the side of the breach, waited for Ryson and Dzeb. They had sent him through the tunnel first, to keep him as far from the sphere as possible. They wished not to confine him in the long cramped enclosure with Ingar's sphere. Not that it did much good. What would it save him? A few extra moments of pain? The poison already coursed fully through his body. Keeping him away from the sphere now was like keeping the cat from the canary cage after the bird had already been eaten. He was, however, too weak and too tired to argue.

  He found the mountain air mildly invigorating. He inhaled deeply. The fresh crisp night filled his body with a refreshing chill. He was free of the stale air of Sanctum, and free of the shadow trees. If he could not cleanse himself of the poison, at least he could forget the terrors within the mountain. Though darkness still clung to the land, the twinkling stars and the eastern glow chased away his fear of the dark.

  He sat heavily upon a large rock and crouched down to rub his ankle. It swelled slightly, pulsed with slight pain, but thankfully, it was not a severe sprain. The fatigue within him, the poison adhering to his every organ, this was the true threat to his health. He would collapse out of weakness long before this minor injury would force him to submit.

  Within the fissure, Dzeb and Ryson began their ascent only after allowing Lief sufficient time to exit. They stepped quickly, each with his own certainty. The delver moved with his own inherent grace, while Dzeb stepped with the experience of living among the cliffs of the highest mountains. Dzeb held tightly to the sphere as Ryson lifted his sword to light their final passage.

  As the trail curved, the last leg of the tunnel came into their sights. With the breach's opening to the outside clearly in view, Ryson recalled his very first experience in this cavern. With powerful recollection, he gauged the exact space where the invisible barrier blocked his passage. As they closed upon it, he considered calling for a halt, but he did not. With his delver ear, he could hear Lief's labored breathing outside the tunnel. He had made it through. He also noted the scratch marks upon the ground of the algors’ claws, as well as the lesser tracks of Jon, Stephen, Lauren and Holli. They led unimpeded through the tunnel as well. The invisible barrier that had prevented his earlier entry had not prohibited their exit. It stood that he and Dzeb should be equally successful.

  Still, he took a small lead upon the cliff behemoth to be the first through the barrier. He stiffened as he took the step which would carry him through the point where he knew it existed. As he surmised, he passed without restriction. The only true question remaining involved the effect of the sphere's passing of the force field. With that question feeding his curiosity, Ryson turned to witness Dzeb's crossing.

  The cliff behemoth was also not stopped, but his passing of the barrier was not without incident. Ryson's assessment of the barrier's location had been precise. It reaffirmed its existence for but a slight moment as Dzeb carried the sphere through. No longer needed to protect the path to the orb, the field crackled with a bluish purple charge. It then fizzled away, leaving only a reminiscent scent which Ryson found similar to that of striking lightning.

  Ryson threw out his hand to test the space. It passed through without hindrance, the barrier had dissolved. The tunnel now formed an unimpeded path both to and from the mountain's core. The way to the sphere's long guarded resting place was now clear, but no longer important. With but a few more steps of the cliff behemoth, Ingar's sphere would be free of Sanctum all together.

  Ryson turned and stepped lively over the last few paces. He sensed the magnitude of their deed as he moved out of the tunnel. His thoughts turned on the legends, on the mystique of Sanctum and all it represented. Now, with a cliff behemoth at his side, he would see the culmination of a quest which matched the most extravagant of these myths. Sanctum had been entered, the obstacles overcome, and the sphere removed from the most guarded of places.

  Yet, there was more, more than simply overcoming the five tiers. They had passed through deeper, stronger barriers, barriers borne of fear, doubt, even intolerance. They had not simply defeated Sanctum; they had overcome the mistrust of ages. The sphere's existence outside of this monument was testament to that. Such a feat would never have been completed without the assistance of all the races; the elves, algors, humans, and even the dwarves. They would not have succeeded without the Sword of Decree or without Mappel's knowledge of the shadow trees. They would not have survived the human tier without Lauren's protection. And this moment certainly would not have been possible without the contribution of the dwarves. Tun might have held to his doubts, but he led them safely through the first tier, paved the way to ultimate success. Now, a cliff behemoth and a delver saw to the last act of removal.

  In that moment of acknowledging the importance of their accomplishment, full comprehension followed. The thought of Tun dampened Ryson's exhilaration. There was a cost to be born for their success and even as Dzeb brought the talisman fully free from Sanctum, the delver began to feel as much sadness as joy.

  The remainder of his delight was shattered by the cough of his elf friend. The deep hack spurred the delver's attention away from the sphere, and as he looked upon Lief again, he wondered if they had finished paying the toll.

  Lief was becoming a hollow shell of the elf he met not so long ago. The dark circles around his eyes were forming heavy bags, while the rest of his face seemed to thin with every blink of the eye. Even as he sat upon a large stone, his legs trembled and Ryson knew it was not from the pain of the ankle sprain. The elf was gaunt now to the point much beyond the lean Mappel, so much more than when he had first entered Sanctum. The long bow across his shoulder seemed more of a heavy burden than that of a weapon which Lief might use with any conviction. Ryson wondered if Lief could even pull back upon the taught string, a conjecture which was augmented as the elf struggled weakly to his feet.

  Ryson, filled with compassion for Lief's haggard state, called for the elf to cease his struggle. "Don't get up. You need the rest."

  Lief ignored the request with his last ounce of stubbornness. "I will not rest until the sphere is destroyed. To see to that, we must reach the peak."

  "Maybe you should stay here. Let Dzeb and I go up ahead. There's no need for you to remain close to the sphere."

  "The sphere has already done its damage to me," Lief admitted with a heavy breath. "Remaining with you during this short climb will not make a difference."

  "Are you sure?" Ryson was more than slightly reluctant to let the elf accompany them. He honestly thought the climb might take the rest of Lief's strength.

  "I am sure," Lief grunted with one final burst of resolve. "I am weakened, but not over. I will see this to its end. Besides, if the poison can be washed from me, I will need the healing power of the algors."

  Ryson started to offer the alternative of letting the algors come to the elf. Lief, however, ignored the proposal.

  "Let us just hurry to the top," Lief requested with a weary voice. "The sooner it is destroyed, the better my chances of survival. Let me get on ahead of you. I need but a small distance from the sphere. After that, it makes no difference whether I stand a league or a hair from it. The poison remains in the air regardless."

  With a surprising burst of strength, Lief darted forward and up Sanctum's slope. Ryson watched with dismay as he knew this was the last ounce of power the elf would muster. He gave Lief ample time before nodding to Dzeb for them to follow.
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  Ryson kept a pace which allowed Lief to maintain his distance. Only when the elf disappeared over the final ledge did Ryson increase his speed to utilize his own climbing abilities, as well as those of Dzeb. The last few paces were covered with the speed of a near sprint and the accompanying light which surrounded them announced their arrival. The radiance from his sword, increasing with the extending glow to the east, matched clear daylight upon the top of the mountain. It chased away the darkness as the weapon in his hand appeared more like a flaming torch than a finely polished sword. It brought light to all those who now stood upon Sanctum's peak and it revealed for all to see that the sphere was in Dzeb's hands.

  Most stared at the sphere in wonder, save Holli who was tending to Lief. He had crumpled to the ground in final exhaustion.

  Matthew broke the silence with a near shout of exhilaration. "Bless you, bless you both delver and cliff behemoth! And bless the powers that guided us!"

  His outburst was cut short by the angry ranting of Jon who stood over the still form of his brother. "Let us waste no more time! Give the sphere to the spirit, let her open the sphere and use the power to save my brother!"

  "Then there is hope?" Ryson turned a heartened glance toward Mappel.

  "Shayed has stated she might be able to revive the dwarf once the magic is free," Mappel replied. To this point, he remained guarded, but he could not completely restrain his growing enthusiasm. "With the sphere free of Sanctum, I now believe anything is possible."

  "Life and death is the province of Godson," Dzeb remarked unshakably. His expression revealed his doubts over the matter and he made no move forward as he maintained possession of the sphere.

  While Dzeb's statement stirred reflection within the elder elf, it infuriated the younger dwarf. Jon, agitated and disturbed by Dzeb's lack of movement, darted ferociously to the cliff behemoth. He leapt in the air as he plucked it from Dzeb's hands. The dwarf struggled awkwardly with the sphere's size, but not with his intentions. He bore a direct path to the ghostly form of Shayed.

  As the apparition threw open its hands in gleeful anticipation, Ryson was nearly knocked from his feet by the staggering revelation which presented itself. The power of the sword surged through him. The very air seemed to unravel. He could not focus upon another, not even Mappel who stood by him. His attention was thrust toward the spirit that took Shayed's shape. The ghostly form turned blood red, at first with no characteristics, but soon its shape came true to him. The shaven head, wicked eyes, gnarled hands, all contrasted sharply with the soft benevolent image of Shayed. He saw clearly through the disguise and beheld the hungry visage of a maddened wizard.

  "No!" Ryson screamed. The single word echoed over and over in his mind. Despair and fear ran through him like a cold river. He watched helplessly, painfully, as Jon's movements seemed to slow to a snail's pace, but did not falter. The dwarf never hesitated, never heeded the delver's anguished cry.

  Ryson erupted in fury as he witnessed the dwarf holding out the sphere to Ingar's greedily curling hands. The delver bolted forward, but even his tremendous speed could not erase the distance in time. He dove the last few paces, stretched out to grab the dwarf's waist, but before impact, the sphere had been passed.

  Jon was solid, sturdy with a low center of gravity, but Ryson's momentum sent him flying. The two rolled over on the wet ground of Sanctum's peak, Jon with angry confusion, Ryson with growing alarm. The delver gracefully completed the roll and let the spinning motion carry him back to his feet. Jon remained in a bewildered heap, but bore a furious stare upon Ryson.

  "Are you mad?!" the dwarf roared. "Do you not want to see my brother restored to me?"

  Ryson could not answer, did not have to. The maniacal laugh of another offered a much clearer answer. Jon saw the shocked, near incoherent stare of the delver as the first clue to the scene behind his back. He turned only to witness the others staring in much the same fashion. All watched blankly at the terrifying spectacle. With a final twist of his neck, Jon finally placed his sights upon the source of the depraved exuberance and knew there was no hope for his brother, perhaps no hope for any of them.

  Ingar's disguise had vanished, no longer needed as he possessed the talisman of his own creation, the sphere of ultimate power. He stood revealed; the feigned whiteness of his spirit dissolved and was now stained by his true blood red appearance. The soft kind features of his previous mask eroded away into the deranged face of a madman. His bald head glowed hot. He laughed deeper with delight in his own malice as he now soaked in the power to carry out his twisted nightmares.

  The sphere remained beside him, a willing accomplice or perhaps dictator of these same horrific desires. He did not hold the weight of the orb. Instead, he let it levitate within his reach. While his hands remained free, a bond much like a crimson rope tied the two together. A magical union between the sphere and the baneful spirit opened the vast power to Ingar, allowed him to carry out his desires, desires which were indeed spurred by the sphere.

  If there was ever a question as to which was truly in control, whether wizard or talisman, it no longer mattered. The two were now one, linked by the bond. The sphere proved as the source of unimaginable power, the wizard was the tool.

  As if to punctuate this undeniable fact, Ingar raised his hands and unleashed the power which was now his to control. With focus on his perceived greatest threat, chains of energy five times the length and width of those he used to capture Shayed materialized. They knifed through the air with frightening speed and accuracy. They crashed upon Dzeb with an eruption of power. An explosion shook the ground, knocked many to their knees, including the cliff behemoth. The chains entwined themselves around the giant, holding him to his knees as they bound his arms and legs and anchored him to the ground.

  Ingar found such delight in his achievement, at watching Dzeb kneel before him, he grinned with boastful taunts. "I might not have been able to hold you before, cliff behemoth, but now I possess nearly all the magic in the land. Your strength is now meaningless to me. You speak of Godson's great power. There is no power greater than mine. That is why you kneel before me."

  Dzeb's gentle nature washed from him with these words. His expression turned hateful, and the calm blue of his eyes dissolved into cold hostility. He roared, and his scream filled the air like a clap of thunder, and again, the ground shook. He pulled with all his might, but he could not break the chains.

  His display merely brought more laughter from the wizard, and another wave of a crimson hand. The chains obeyed the command and lengthened as they wrapped about Dzeb's mouth.

  "We'll have no more shouts from you," Ingar said through a malicious giggle.

  "What is the meaning of this?!" Mappel was the first to respond to the confusion. He broke his sight from the captured cliff behemoth and turned it upon the depraved spirit.

  Ingar turned a spiteful glance to the elder elf. "Do you not recognize me? You, oh great and wise elf. You who are so arrogant that you believe you can explain things beyond your knowledge. If you are so wise in the way of the legends, how is it you were unable to tell the difference between a weak sorceress and the mighty Ingar?"

  Mappel blinked as he repeated the name in a whisper. He could not be certain of this, he had never witnessed Ingar and there were only meager descriptions. He could only speculate. What was before him appeared as a spirit mad with power. There was little else in the way of an explanation, yet it was not possible.

  Ingar found only more joy in Mappel's reaction. He sought to add to the elf's despair. "You have doubts, but you had no doubts as to Shayed's return. You believed her capable of returning, why not Ingar? Do you truly think her superior to me? You have spoke so highly of Shayed, climbed all the way up to meet her as if she was some goddess. She is nothing."

  Another wave of a hand and Shayed now stood revealed. Ingar removed the power that blocked her from the sight of the others but did not remove the bonds that held her. She floated helples
sly, unable to lift her arms, unable to escape from the scarlet prison which surrounded her.

  "Look upon the sorceress you believed so powerful. She was nothing to me before. She is even less than that now. Let your doubts fade, pathetic creature. I am Ingar, and I have returned to claim what is rightfully mine."

  Nearly every set of eyes fell upon the captured spirit of Shayed. Only Holli ignored the spectacle. The elf guard's mind raced with devising alternatives of attack. She found little hope to cling to. She had no experience in dealing with magical foes, and no idea of how to attack the ghost of an insane wizard. She immediately discounted all standard forms of defense. He was not of material form and her arrows would pass through him. Only one plausible course of action came to mind. If she could not attack the wizard directly, perhaps she could distract him.

  She crouched low and moved with stealth and silence to the ledge of the platform behind her. Sinking low to the ground, she kicked at a pile of loose rocks. The debris scattered and tumbled over the ledge. As the tumbling rocks fell upon other loose dirt, the small commotion soon turned into a minor avalanche. With the resounding crash of rocks calling for attention, she leapt behind another set of boulders behind Ingar and away from everyone else.

  The avalanche failed to achieve its desired effect. While it called for attention, added to the disorientation of the passing events, it did not faze the wizard. Ingar scoffed as he addressed the rocks where Holli hid.

  "Do you truly believe I do not sense your useless attempts, elf?" Ingar bore a harsh glance towards Holli as he ignored the rumbling of falling rocks. "If you believe such mundane tricks are of any value, then you must be taught a lesson."

  Again, Holli considered the situation. Her foe was aware of her tactics and sounded ready to strike. She stepped confidently out from behind the rock and faced Ingar defiantly. If she must die to give the rest a chance, so be it. It was simply what she was trained for. Her bravery, however, was lost upon the magic caster.

  "You insult me," Ingar snarled. "You are an insignificant ant. Destroying you is a waste of even the most miniscule portion of my power, but I do wish to hurt you." He paused, and a devious grin curled upon his transparent lips. "I know you, elf, I know what it is that drives you. Your own death would mean nothing to you, but what of the death of another, the death of one you are supposed to protect."

  He kept his blood red eyes fixed upon the elf guard, but his hand waved toward Mappel. This time there was no bolt of power, no explosion or clap of thunder, no fanfare at all for the deed which would eradicate Mappel. The elder elf simply disintegrated into gray dust.

  For Holli, for Ryson, for them all; the very air seemed to quiver. Reality unraveled, scattered through the air like pollen on a windy day. No one could speak, no one could cry. Denial ruled. What they saw was not possible. Mappel was gone, destroyed with the mere wave of one hand. As the elder elf formed the anchor which held them together, those that remained upon Sanctum, aghast and dispirited, were now all cut loose to the wild insanity they faced. Vacant stares filled their faces. Their trials, their successes, their promises to each other; everything fell into the dust of Mappel's remains.

  Ingar spoke slowly, viciously adding to their disorientation. His words hummed with mesmerizing effect, eating at their very wills. He spoke directly at Holli, but his voice tore at them all. "He is dead. I have taken everything he was from you. And you, you that were supposed to protect him could do nothing to stop me. I could do the same to your brother elf that lies upon the ground, but I will let the poison in his veins kill him slowly. I will let you watch. Besides, there are others here you have vowed to protect."

  A shout filled with vengeance finally erupted in the air. It broke the stunned stupor bought upon by Mappel's end. The words held strength as well as anger, but they came not from the elf guard.

  "Coward! Pathetic coward! Craven, misguided bully. What have you proved, that you can catch goldfish trapped in a small bowl?"

  "Eh?" Ingar turned to the source of the insults. His eyes filled with interest as he beheld the staunch expression of Lauren. "Might this be a true challenge?"

  "I challenge nothing but your arrogance. Any cat can catch a mouse, that is all you prove on this day."

  "And what of you? Are you also a cat, sorceress?"

  "I claim nothing other than your cowardice."

  "Then I shall prove my power against you." With more of a dramatic flair, Ingar threw his arms out and up over his head. A ring of red power encircled his hands. It swirled swiftly, tumultuously, in the shape of a perfect circle. His eyes widened with insane exultation. He opened his mouth wide to laugh with the intoxication of power. In a fit of glee, he clamped his hands together and pressed his arms outwards toward the human sorceress.

  The fiery ring flew through the air. It continued to spin as it jettisoned itself free of Ingar. It sped with deadly intentions towards its predefined victim.

  In a surge of defiance, Lauren welcomed the controlled surge of magical energy. She raised her own hands, her palms pressed outward and like magnets they drew in the glowing red fire. She absorbed every ounce. Her fingers crackled with the power which changed from red to orange, then to blue and finally to deep purple. She refocused the force. It soon encompassed her own hands. For her, though, it formed the four points of a diamond. As Ingar had cast it at her, she hurled it back at him.

  The diamond maintained its shape. It sliced forward with one point fixed upon Ingar's chest. It impacted before he could block and opened a rent within the apparition's center. A clear undiluted hole shone free within Ingar's midst. He winced with pain and then roared with anger.

  "So be it!" he snarled, seemingly accepting Lauren's newfound abilities. With his palm atop the sphere, he pointed two fingers at Lauren. Lost was his desire to destroy her with flare. He only wished to remove her presence, to eradicate her as he dismissed the elder elf. He became a simple conduit, nothing more than directional device to siphon the power from the talisman and focus it upon a single target.

  A narrow beam of bright force split the night, gleamed nearly as bright as Ryson's sword. Lauren attempted again to collect and refocus the power, but the beam defied capture. It passed through her palms as if they were not there. It found its mark at the middle of her forehead, and she collapsed with a groan.

  Even as she hit the hard rock ground, Ingar maintained the presence of the beam. It slowly drove her beyond unconsciousness and closer to coma.

  The sight was more than painful to watch. Each and every individual that remained upon Sanctum broke from their own hypnotic trance, shunned the shock which held them in place for so long. Holli fired an arrow, not at Ingar but at the sphere, an object which was solid and perhaps vulnerable to such an attack. The two algors followed suit, piercing the air with hard stones from their slings. Jon freed the mace from his belt and attempted a direct assault.

  These attempts failed, however, as Ingar's free hand threw a wave of force that dropped them and their projectiles to the ground. Not an arrow, not a stone, and not Jon's mace ever got close to the orb.

  Only one tactic met with success. Ryson had not attempted an assault, but had moved between Ingar and Lauren. With delver precision, he held the blade of his sword forward to block the deadly beam.

  To Ingar's dismay and anger, the Sword of Decree absorbed the beam, halted its path as easily as a man's hand would hold a feather. The wizard moved his arm hoping to reestablish the attack upon the sorceress, but Ryson's speed proved too much for him. Each time Ingar would redirect his finger, Ryson's sword would counter easily.

  Ingar's expression turned more and more violent. He bared his red teeth like a mad wolf. He flung his arm wildly in frustration. His own anger began to consume him, and he turned his aggression toward the delver. He no longer focused upon Lauren, but attempted to fix the beam at Ryson's heart.

  It would not matter. Ryson's hand remained too quick, matching Ingar move for move. The swo
rd stalemated the beam, and it fed Ingar's frustration.

  The wizard's own grip on his distorted plans began to unravel. The desire to kill the delver seized his every thought. The pulsating hunger to watch his ray of power burn Ryson's heart became an obsession. Such was the intensity of his wish, he would have ignored almost anything at that moment, but even this burning craving could not blind him to the awe-inspiring sight to come.

  They came without sound. Only the blazing glow of their very existence announced their presence. Dzeb saw them first, then Stephen, and Matthew soon after. High overhead, lights sailed flawlessly through the remnants of the night. Like stars dropping from the sky, they plunged downward to Sanctum's peak. Ten in number, matching the number that entered the citadel to retrieve the sphere, they set upon the level platform of the summit. They spread themselves in a large circle with Ingar at the center. They lacked any true definition, any true form or characteristic. Unlike Shayed, and even Ingar, whose spirit forms simulated their previous mortal appearance, these apparitions remained anonymous. They appeared only as glowing oblong shapes, but to Dzeb their identity was no mystery, and their appearance gave him the strength to bite through the mystic chain which held his mouth closed.

  "Angels!" he murmured with emotion cracking his soft voice.

  "Angels of Godson!" Stephen and Matthew repeated.

  The spirits made no move, but their appearance broke Ingar's single-minded attack upon Ryson. The wizard removed his hand from the sphere, and the beam ceased.

  Only at that moment did Ryson allow himself the opportunity to gaze at the surrounding spirits. He kept his sword at the ready, in case Ingar renewed his attack, but Ingar now became preoccupied with what he viewed as an invading force.

  The wizard turned his seething frustration upon the spirits. "What are you doing here? You have no business here!"

  As Ingar raved and threatened, Stephen quietly moved to Ryson's side. He moved with calm steps as if guided by the will of some great power. His eyes glistened with joyful tears. He could not hold back a wide smile. An expression of pure enlightenment filled not only his face, but his entire being. His words were strong and true, but they held the captivation of an emotional plea.

  "This was never beyond Godson's will," he said to Ryson with such conviction the delver nearly dropped his guard. "What was to happen here was never meant to be prophesied, was never meant to be understood by elf or human, or anyone else. That is why it was not in the Book of Godson, why it was not a part of elflore. And that is why I saw two visions. This moment was for you and you alone."

  "What are you trying to tell me?" Ryson questioned, trying to look beyond Stephen's enlightened expression and attempting to understand his words.

  Stephen spoke quicker as if time had become a crucial factor. "The will of Godson is paved first by the actions of great individuals. That is what waits for you now. The choice is yours to make. The power rests within you to stop Ingar, but the responsibility does not rest solely upon your shoulders. The angels are here to save the land regardless of your decision. You have been the centerpiece through this all, the channel through which Godson has painted his will, but what you do now is within your own hands."

  Suddenly, violently, Ingar turned back upon Ryson as if he had heard the words of the interpreter. He disregarded the shapeless spirits and turned his anger into a crimson ball of fire. He hurled it, not at Ryson, but at Stephen Clarin.

  The delver leapt forward, his sword ready to absorb the screaming attack. It cleaved the clump of power in half, but did not stop it. The two halves of red flame sailed harmlessly past Ryson. It reformed to single ball and found its mark at Stephen's chest.

  The interpreter collapsed to the ground upon impact. He neither screamed nor cried. His shirt seared away, his chest boiled with severe burns as scarlet smoke drifted up from the smoldering wound.

  Ryson twisted as he regrouped. He had seen the impact, and now smelled the nauseating scent of burning flesh. He did not know how much life could remain within the interpreter, if any. He could only guess as to the staggering pain if Stephen remained at all conscious. He dove to his side only to find him still smiling.

  Stephen's eyes reflected an absence of pain. His entire face retained the bliss of the moment before the attack.

  "Do not blame yourself," Stephen coughed a reply, his face still strangely glowing with peace and fulfillment. "This was meant to be. My responsibilities here, in every way, are finished. I shall leave with them." He gave a fading glance toward the closest angel before he died.

  Ryson grimaced with sorrow. First Mappel, and now Stephen, both gone. The pain tore at him, pulled from him the awareness of where he was, what he was doing. He ground his teeth together. He could not scream, though he wanted to.

  "Remember his words. Honor your memory of him and remember his words." Though Dzeb remained chained and the sphere still within Ingar's possession, he spoke as if the land had already been saved, the threat removed. His soft, serene voice cut through Ryson's pain, brought him back to the here and now.

  Ryson rose slowly. He stood looking down at the interpreter, not caring for whom or what surrounded him. He broke his stare upon Stephen to glance over at the remains of Mappel. He cast sights upon Tun's corpse and Lief's fallen form. His eyes then glanced down the still glowing blade of his sword, and finally at Ingar.

  The wizard matched his stare with a sneer. Ingar would not completely forget the angels, he stole a glance at them at quick intervals, but Ryson remained the true point of his attention. He did not raise an immediate hand to smite the delver. Instead, he waited, watching Ryson's every move, and edging ever closer to the sphere as if grasping for the security of its power.

  Ryson's grip on the sword tightened. He opened himself, not to the weapon, but to the power which used it as a conduit for knowledge. He waited silently, patiently, but most of all unwaveringly. He opened himself up to true faith.

  The necessary course of action implanted itself in his thoughts with razor sharp clarity. He now had the power, the knowledge and the will to defeat Ingar and his talisman. He stepped toward the glaring wizard as if he represented no more threat than a yearling rabbit.

  Insanity gave way to fear in Ingar's eyes, fear that drove him to strike. Both hands formed tight fists and he struck them together. A burst of red flame speared out toward Ryson. Crimson flames licked the air, so hot they singed patches of sparse wild grass growing within the rock, but they would not so much as warm a single hair on the delver's head.

  Ryson saw the absolute truth of what he faced. He was not fighting magic, he was fighting Ingar. A spirit, yes, but still the culmination of consciousness, experiences, and emotions of a once mortal human wizard. Even as a ghost, Ingar was limited by his own unique character, by his judgments and the encounters which shaped that character. His own insanity born by his thirst for power blinded him as a mortal and it bound him as a spirit. Even with a near limitless source of power at his command, Ingar could not break the bonds which shaped his own sense of reality. That reality dictated he would attack not as a spirit, but as the mortal human wizard he once was, and no match for the speed and agility of a purebred delver.

  Ryson had leapt clear of the flames, expending little effort or energy. He jumped forward, closer to Ingar, and he watched the wizard's fear grow. He planted his feet firmly upon solid ground and bent his knees for balance. He stood prepared for the next attack which came quickly.

  Ingar threw his arms apart, fingers extended. A surge of force exploded from his outstretched hands. Unlike his previous assaults which were limited in scope, this burst of power covered a wide breadth of space. The wizard flung it all around him, in every direction, leaving nowhere to run or hide.

  The crackling wave of energy formed a ring which stretched outward. It expanded as it rolled away. As Holli, Jon, and the algors were still struggling to their feet from a previous attack, it bowled them over, sent them rolling to the e
dges of Sanctum's flat peak.

  As the energy wave bore down upon the surrounding angels, they floated motionlessly in their circle about the wizard. Their faceless forms could give no indication of emotion, but their lack of movement served to reveal their disregard for the assault. It passed harmlessly through them, but they were not its target. The main thrust of its force was directed at the delver, but he defied it as well.

  He held the flat of his blade before him, held it vertically in front of his chest and face. He stood perfectly balanced upon the balls of his feet, stood with absolute certainty in his actions.

  The ripple of energy hit his sword first. The blade sucked power like a hungry calf. The wave weakened dramatically, diminishing instantly to the strength of a strong wind. Ryson leaned into it as it struck his person. The gust threw dust and debris into the air, it held nearly all his weight as he leaned forward. It ruffled his hair and his clothes, but did little else.

  Ryson said nothing. He showed little delight or enthusiasm in overcoming Ingar's assault. He eyed the wizard carefully, attempting to predict the next attack.

  Uncertainty fed Ingar's fears. He brought incorporeal hands to his ghostly forehead as if to massage temples which truly did not exist. In a fit of fear born despair, he thrust both arms about the sphere. While his immaterial hands could have passed through pure granite, they seemed to take hold of the talisman which radiated with energy. His red form pulsated with power, beating fitfully like the heart of a running horse. The red hue of his spirit deepened to a point he appeared almost solid. A cry of rage spurred by the hope of victory erupted from his core.

  His arms remained about the sphere as he called his own final order. "Drop your weapon, delver! Drop it or I shall destroy this mountain top. I will send everyone about us tumbling down its broken slopes in an avalanche of rock and dirt. Drop it now!"

  The delver released his hold on the sword with a blur of motion. His arm had cocked back and flew forward before Ingar finished his last word. The sword point sliced through the air, the weapon becoming a flying spear. Such was the speed with which Ryson made his throw, the glowing blade formed a streak like lightning from his hand to the center of the sphere. It skewered the talisman, the sharp point slicing through one side and crashing through the other.

  The sphere split open like a cracked egg, falling apart in Ingar's very arms. A surge of power, composed of every color, exploded into the air, an eruption which matched a hundred volcanoes. The once captured magic rose high in the sky, only to spread out, scattered in every direction as if blown by winds from all points of the compass.

  If the wizard made one final cry, it was not heard. He was caught in the surge and could not pull free from the current. The waves of released energy pulled him apart, washed his remnants away. It erased every spiritual fiber of the wizard Ingar.

  With Ingar destroyed, the chains that held both Shayed and Dzeb disappeared. The cliff behemoth struggled to his feet as the elf spirit looked to the quickly dispersing cloud of colorful energy.

  The land was being reborn before their very eyes. Changes erupted in a heartbeat as magic buried for countless seasons spread with fury. Changes, both good and evil, both dark and light, encompassed the sky and the ground. Subtle alterations which would not be noticed in the life of an elf took root in the hills and in the flatlands. Obvious transformations, more striking than the sight of a cliff behemoth, took hold in the far corners of the deserts and the seas. What could not have been possible was now likely. The normal lives of every creature in Uton were now irrevocably altered.

  "The magic is free," Shayed stated just above a whisper. "Free and pure. The taint of poison has been removed." There was no emptiness for the sorceress in this moment, and there would be none to follow. Only now, at the sphere's final destruction, did she realize that Ingar's talisman was not a source of purpose for her consciousness, but a shackle. It was not the sphere that etched her place in the legends, but her own deeds. In this revelation, she found everlasting fulfillment. With these words, she faded from sight.

  As if her departure signaled the end of their own mysterious mission, the ten shapeless spirits which had encircled Ingar took flight. Each circled the mountain top once before taking leave to the heavens.

  Dzeb watched their exit serenely.

  Ryson followed suit. He sheathed his sword to let their light glisten more proudly in the fading dark. He silently counted the gleaming lights as they disappeared. Though, only ten had taken flight from Sanctum's peak, eleven had circled overhead. He bowed his head to the last as it followed the others to the heavens.

  In but scant moments, the glow from the east soon expanded. The light of day encompassed everything. The rainbow of magical energy dispersed completely as the stars were blocked from sight and the sky turned a deep blue. Ryson turned to the east, turned to welcome the sun as it rose above the horizon.