by Tony Donadio
The theme rang out over the city, its tension growing and building toward a crescendo.
She hissed as the cursed light stung her eyes and skin. She was shocked to realize that it was actually sapping her strength. She felt her dread return despite herself.
She turned to Incanus Thad. The giant demon stood nearby, also staring up at the Blood Moon.
“The Archmage has the ring, Incanus,” she said. “And the princess.”
“It is of no consequence,” it replied, hefting its axe. “We will crush this last stand, and put an end to this battle once and for all.”
A shadow passed over them as a flight of dragons arrived. Fire brimmed from their jaws as they roared their defiance at the face of the old wizard.
“We need to find them first,” she said. “That image in the moon is just an illusion.”
Incanus Thad shrugged its massive shoulders. “Lord Borr will show us where to strike.”
The succubus opened her mouth to reply, but never got out the words. The Archmage’s voice once again boomed over the city.
“Let the battle begin,” it thundered.
The song’s movement reached its peak, and its new theme rang out with a sudden, clear call. It spoke of hope, and of redemption — of bitter sadness and soaring triumph, bought at a terrible price …
Lenard’s eyes blazed with white magic. Starfire erupted from them, lighting the valley as though twin suns had suddenly appeared in the darkening sky. Hundreds of bolts of the deadly magic sprayed toward the city in a wide arc.
The first salvo struck the dragon wing that flew overhead. Each burst hit its target with uncanny precision, and white fire blossomed as the monsters were consumed. Their bodies turned into clouds of ash that fell on the city like snow, or slammed like bursting sacks of flour into the face of the bluffs.
Another rain of blasts dropped on the demons in the glade. Several of them exploded in columns of white flame.
Liana looked around as the flash subsided. Incanus Thad still stood at her left, staring past her, its enormous red eyes blinking in shock. The battle demon to her right was gone. All that was left in its place was a smoldering grey pile.
She gasped as she whirled to look out over the city. The blinding storm of magic was falling on it in a rain of ivory fire. She saw individual streaks of the fusillade suddenly burst in mid-air as they struck flying demons or dragons. The sky over Lannamon exploded in a display that lit the night as though it were day.
She turned to Incanus Thad. “We must find that wizard!” she hissed.
“Lord Borr will trace him,” it growled.
She nodded. “We must be ready to strike when it does. You know what to do?”
“I will find the others,” it said. “To bring against him.”
The demon unfurled its great wings and launched itself into the air. Liana watched it go, and then turned to the creatures around her.
“Follow me,” she ordered. “They cannot have gone far, and their tracks lead east. Be ready when our master gives the sign.”
She strode quickly toward the arched tunnel, the rest of the demons falling into her wake.
As they left, they failed to hear a groan from among the fallen soldiers in the glade behind them, or see the slight movement of a guard with short, flame-red hair.
Wrath of the Archmage
Borr touched the amulet that hung around its long, sinuous neck. Its lips stretched into the serpentine equivalent of a smile.
This Archmage had surprised it with his power and resourcefulness, evading its sight far longer than it had expected possible. But he’d finally made a fatal mistake. Even now the Horde Master’s magic was tracing his spells back to their source. Impressive as the attacks were, they were simply not strong enough to have a significant impact on the invasion. And they were no match for the demon lord’s own power.
It considered the spells as it probed them. The Light and the song were too diffuse to do his army any serious or lasting harm. They appeared to have been cast more for drama and effect than for tactical effectiveness. At most they would boost the morale of the wizard’s people, and dampen that of its own forces. And the hail of starfire might kill a small part of its force, which it could easily spare.
All that would accomplish would be to give the Carlissans a few minutes of false hope — a hope that the demon lord would dash in one brutal stroke. If this was the best the old Archmage had, then the rest of the battle would be easy.
Its sight settled on a ridge of bluffs high in the Upper City South. A battle had taken place there, one that had somehow gone unnoticed until now. Ashrach’s entire pack had been slaughtered, along with a company of guards and the wizard prince himself. The work of the Archmage, no doubt, using his clearly formidable cloaking skills to hide it.
Its lizardlike smile faded. Something was blocking its scrying, something unexpectedly powerful. It could sense it now, like the ward over the palace tower, only much stronger. The trail of spells led to it and vanished, right into the rock of the bluff itself …
Its smile returned. “I have you now,” it hissed.
It raised a reptilian claw. A red spotlight stabbed from the sky and illuminated the face of the cliff. The light was brilliant, almost blinding. Everyone in the city could see it — and could hear the words that followed.
“I have spotted you, Archmage,” its sibilant voice boomed. “And your granddaughter. In your hidden sanctum, on the southern cliffs. I, Borr, Master of the Horde, will now strip you of its protection and destroy you. I will put an end to your line, once and for all.”
A strongbox bound in black metal rested on the ground behind the demon lord. Its snakelike prehensile tail slithered toward it and flipped the latch. The box opened, and the tail withdrew a wand that glowed with a blinding yellow light. It rose and deposited the item into the creature’s hands.
Harsh roars and whoops of glee rose through the city as the demons, emboldened by their master’s words, took up a chant. It quickly drowned out the cheers of the Carlissans that had risen at the sight of the Archmage’s face.
“Borr! Borr! Borr!” they chanted.
The demon lord held the incandescent wand above its snakelike head and began an incantation. It was in a forgotten tongue, ancient beyond the knowledge of even its most powerful servants. No one but demigods and the lords of the demon realms still understood it, or the kind of magic it could command.
~
Liana’s eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen. She unfurled her wings and took to the air as the flying demons and dragons around her began to move desperately away from the southern cliffs. She called out as she, too, sped from the area.
“Flee!” she cried. “Our master is about to unleash its wrath!”
~
Borr’s reptilian smile widened as it spoke the words that would unleash the artifact’s power. It felt its own immense magic flowing into the wand, unlocking and augmenting its destructive energies. It pointed the rod toward the cliff, and at the sanctum buried within it, as it completed its incantation.
It will all be over in moments, it thought with satisfaction. This Archmage will be obliterated by forces he cannot begin to comprehend.
“Karach!” it cried.
A beam of yellow fire shot from the artifact and struck the cliff with a blinding flash. An immense explosion lit the sky. The blast’s shockwave traveled across the city in moments, shaking the very bones of the valley. Men and demons alike rocked as the ground lurched beneath their feet.
For a few brief seconds, wails of shock and despair from the horrified Carlissans mixed with jeers of triumph from the demons. Then they were gone, overwhelmed by a deafening concussion that drowned out every other sound in the city.
Thousands of tons of rubble flew into the air above the cliffs, and then crashed back down to the earth. The upper terraces were pummeled mercilessly by the falling rock. Streets, homes, people, and demons disappeared beneath the sudden avalanche.<
br />
A long minute passed. A column of fire and smoke rose over the blast in a mushroom shaped cloud that loomed ominously over the city.
When the air finally cleared the Carlissans saw in horror that the entire cliff-face below it was gone. It had been sheared off as though from the blow of a titanic pick-axe.
Borr’s gaze swept the blast site with satisfaction. The show of power had sorely taxed its reserves, but it had been well worth it. It would utterly break the spirit of the people of Lannamon, and finally rid it of the vexing royal house of Carlissa …
Its first hint that something had gone wrong was the song. The theme had crashed through a discordant measure as the magic struck, and then become lost in the deafening concussion that rolled over the city. It should have faded with the princess’ death — but it hadn’t.
It was back, now, building again toward a new climax. And the strange light had not faded either. It still shone in the air over the city, a relentless touch of pain and fear that weakened the Horde and sapped its will.
When Borr finally saw the reason, its great eye widened in disbelief. And for one of the few times in its ancient life, it knew fear.
Amid the rubble of the cliffs stood the Archmage and his granddaughter. They were surrounded by a ring of blazing artifacts — and a shield of white magic.
The old wizard’s visage shone in the face of the Blood Moon. He opened his mouth and laughed as the song once again reached its heroic crescendo. The sounds echoed across the valley, striking terror into the demon horde.
~
Lenard raised his staff. The sanctum around him was gone, obliterated by Borr’s strike. But his desperate gamble had paid off. He’d feigned just enough vulnerability to goad the Horde Master into underestimating him.
He looked around and breathed a sigh of relief. Several of the sanctum’s artifacts had been burned out or destroyed, but the rest still blazed with power, ready at his command. His counterspell, hastily cast and framed in the same ancient language used by his enemy, had protected them from the attack.
Parry and riposte. As he had hoped, the demon lord had overextended itself with its show of force. He had to strike now, before it could recover its strength, or bring more of its arsenal of servants or artifacts to bear.
The moment of truth had arrived. If he had miscalculated the nature of the gate, or the distinctive resonances of its magic, then the world was lost. But if the spell he had prepared were true …
“A fine display of fireworks, Lord Borr,” the Archmage’s voice boomed. “One that has, indeed, opened the door to my home. Now it is my turn — to close the door to yours!”
The ring blazed as he drew upon it with all of the strength and skill developed from a lifetime of magical study. He focused them, and the remaining power of the Sanctum of the Archmage, into a single, terrible attack.
~
“He’s alive!” Diana sobbed. “And he’s attacking the gate!”
She watched with Orion as a beam of coruscating prismatic energy stabbed down from the ruined cliff. It hummed with a deafening sound, like the ring of a gigantic tuning fork. The very air shook around it as it passed, lancing through the sky over the broken city, to slam into the shimmering violet dome of the hellgate from above.
The impact hit the valley like a hammer blow. The ground rocked as though in the throes of an earthquake. The beam held to its target — and did not relent.
~
Borr stared in disbelief. It knew in bitter rage that it had been tricked.
But it was impossible. Only the most elite of the elder lords — gods and demons alike — understood the jealously guarded secrets of the ancient magic. This wizard, this human conjurer from a backwater world, could not possibly have the knowledge, and the skill, to counter a sunflare rod, much less destabilize a worldgate …
And yet clearly, he did.
A cold chill ran down the Horde Master’s reptilian spine. It had seen the artifacts surrounding the Archmage. It had sensed the potency of their magic. And it understood the kind of spell that now bore down upon the hellgate.
It quickly began a counter-spell, but the attack had been too well prepared. It’s response would take too long, especially after it had depleted its strength with the rod. By the time it was ready, it could be too late …
~
Lenard strained against the magic of the hellgate. He could sense the complex pattern of its energies, the resonances of its enchantment. He tuned his beam to match them, to drive them past their limits. To tear the gate apart with its own immense power.
It fought back. Active dampeners had been built into its dweomer, designed to prevent the kind of runaway surge he was trying to create. He drove at it relentlessly with ringing pulses of magic. He wove complex harmonics to destabilize the gateway’s enchantment, and then layered them with even more complex pulses to counter its defenses.
For a long minute, they held firm.
Then, slowly, the surface of the dome began to change. A spray of colors — red, yellow, green, and white — spread in a sudden webwork of luminous cracks from the beam’s point of impact. Lenard’s heart leapt as he pressed on, trying to widen them …
~
Borr knew that it had only seconds to choose. Its counter-spell would not be ready in time. If it hesitated — and the gate fractured under the attack — then it would lose its only chance to return to its homeworld, and the seat of its own power. If that happened, its realm would fall into the hands of a usurper long before it could find another way back to reclaim it.
That was a risk it dared not take. Its voice thundered above the city, sounding a last, desperate call to arms.
“Demons!” it cried. “Dragons! Servants of the Dark! Slay the Archmage! At all costs!”
And then, Borr the Magnificent, Demon Lord of the Horde, turned — and ran.
It had never strayed far from the gate during the course of the invasion. At full sprint, its speed was astonishing. In seconds it had fled through the shimmering dome and was gone from the world of Kalara.
~
Lenard watched the demon lord’s flight with grim satisfaction. He redoubled his assault on the gate. He almost had it …
An explosion of magical fire detonated over his head. His shield rebounded, absorbing the attack, but the shock nearly caused him to lose control of the beam. The cracks stopped growing, and it took all of his strength and concentration to keep them from starting to shrink and heal instead.
The demons had begun to arrive. His shield was holding, but with nearly all of his strength directed at the gate, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He was running out of time.
~
Diana wept, resting her head against Orion’s shoulder. She could see the demons swarming the Archmage’s position. Thousands of them descended from the air or climbed like ants across the broken face of the cliffs. A flight of dragons was approaching from the east and would be on him in moments.
“I think I understand what he’s trying to do to the gate,” Orion whispered. “It’s brilliant, but I don’t think he’s going to make it. He needs more time!”
~
Lenard screamed in pain. He had drawn again on his magic, straining his psyche, and his simulacrum’s body, to the very edge of breaking.
One of the artifacts exploded in a storm of emerald lightning. He knew the others would not be far behind. The power he channeled against the gate — power that would long ago have burned any other wizard to ashes — was tearing them apart.
But he was not any other wizard. He was the Archmage. The weight of the world lay on his shoulders, and he would not — could not — relent.
The shield around him was almost gone, but he dared not spare the strength to reinforce it. He had to concentrate on prying open the cracks he had made in the hellgate. He almost had them now. He just needed a little more time …
He felt the fingers of Randia’s double entwine with his. They touched the ring.
“The song
is not enough,” she said quietly. “You must use all of our power. You will need it to destroy the gate.”
Lenard shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. It could kill her!”
“The world hangs in the balance. And you heard her words before. She offered her life willingly.”
“I can’t!” he cried. His voice broke in desperate denial. “I cannot lose her too!”
He looked down to meet her eyes, to plead with her to understand. He saw her smile at him.
“You know what she would say, Grandfather. That you must find the courage to let us die for you.”
Finally, reluctantly, he nodded. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he gripped her hand — and through his granddaughter’s bond to the simulacrum, drew deeply upon her magic. It was raw, unfocused, untrained, but it could be enough to tip the scales …
~
The theme had progressed into a movement of pure tension. It had become difficult to hear over the whine of the beam, but it was still there. It spoke of equal forces, opposing each other, balanced, each waiting for the other to break …
The Blood Moon shimmered. The face of the Archmage shifted, and another appeared at its side. They hung there, suspended like an enormous locket in the violently lit sky.
“It’s the princess!” Diana cried. “She’s fighting with him!”
~
Lenard’s eyes widened in amazement. His granddaughter was almost completely untrained, but her potential … it surpassed anything he had ever sensed before. Even his own.
His magic surged. His shields firmed, holding the demon attacks at bay. The prismatic beam pulsed with renewed energy. The dome of the hellgate fractured, blinding white cracks spreading across its surface …
~
The explosion tore through the center of the city. The amphitheater and everything around it vanished in a suddenly expanding storm of white fire.
And then — just as suddenly — the firestorm imploded. The shattering surface of the hellgate shrank, drawing the spreading bloom of devastation with it. Within seconds it had been reduced to a pinpoint of impossibly bright light — and was gone.