Gaugan's counsel.' Khasoreth frowned-Arantar stood upon the height of the wooden tower, the Great Ice Sea extending to the far horizon below. The other towers of Winterkeep stood beneath him. He and Isenith stood upon the tallest, the Tower of Summer Sun. The wind off the sea blew back her cloak, and her hands went instinctively to her belly, which was just beginning to swell. Arantar smiled-'I beg of you,' said Arantar, 'do not do this!
You are not ready.' 'I am ready!' said Khasoreth, more than a little anger entering his voice. 'More than ready. Besides, my apprentices will be there to assist me.' 'Apprentices, Khasoreth. Apprentices!
They are less ready than you. You are endangering those four as much as you. This is madness!' Khasoreth's eyes narrowed. 'Gaugan believes me ready. He said your jealousy would not allow you to see it.'
'Gaugan?' Arantar looked as if he had been struck. 'His whispers have poisoned your senses. Listen to me, Kha-' 'I am through listening to you, Master.' He spoke the last word in a sneer. 'I thank you for all your years of teaching and counsel. But I am the master now.' Again the world fell away-
Khasoreth stood upon the promontory, the Hill of the Witness Tree at his back, the Great Ice Sea at his feet. The wind from the north, bringing the season's first snow, made his cloak seem like wings behind him. The hem of the rich garment, a great cloak the color of ash-the royal winter colors of Raumathar-given to him by the emperor himself, slapped at the torso of his nearest apprentice. They too had cloaks like their master, though the clothes beneath them were not nearly so fine. Three more apprentices stood not far behind their master, the last standing upon the lowest step of the hill itself.
Gaugan stood off to the side, two arms' lengths away from Khasoreth's outstretched hand. Khasoreth looked to Gaugan, his face exultant. 'I am ready!' he said. Gaugan nodded and smiled. 'Let it be done.' 'Let it begin!' said Khasoreth, then began his incantation. His four apprentices joined in, their tomes held open before them. Khasoreth had no such need. He had long since committed the rite to memory. As the sun set behind the clouds in the west, he would leave these mortal coils behind and achieve the union he had long desired-to become one with the element of cold and ice rather than simply wielding their power. Arantar was wrong. Gaugan had once served dark powers, but upon swearing loyalty to Raumathar he left such pursuits behind. Without him, Khasoreth would never have achieved such power and knowledge so quickly. The wind increased, driving the snow into his face and eyes and bringing a harsh, stinging spray off the sea that froze before it hit him. Still he chanted, and the wind blew even stronger. Cold and ice came at his command, and the beings who knew them as their very nature came at his summoning, answering his call and joining their voices to his. He spoke in rhythm with the crash of the waves, and his apprentices wove their own spells around his, four melodies creating a harmony around his driving beat. Khasoreth felt ice forming on his skin, in his hair, freezing the water in his eyes, and he smiled. It was working. Then came the pain. Slight at first, building not in his body but deep within his mind. The spark of life, the fire of his humanity, flickered and for a moment faltered. Khasoreth's smile fell, and he added force to the incantation. The pain increased. He heard one of his apprentices cry out, heard the pages of his tome being ripped away by the wind. Within the howl of the wind, behind the song of the elements, he heard cold laughter. The pain hit him again, even harder this time. Khasoreth looked to Gaugan. 'Help me!' Gaugan rushed forward and fell to his knees. 'Release me!' He pointed to the collar round his neck. The runes engraved there, the incantations binding his power, seemed to glow as the frost thickened in their crevices. 'I cannot help you while bound!' Khasoreth hesitated, and Arantar's words from years ago ran through his mind-'His heart is dark as winter's heart.' The pain in Khasoreth's mind flared to true agony. His heart hammered in his chest, but every other beat was weaker. His four apprentices were screaming. Khasoreth brought his staff around, spoke the word of power, and struck the collar round Gaugan's neck. A flash of light, and the collar fell away in six shards to clatter on the ground. Gaugan stood and laughed. His hands wove an intricate pattern through his own incantation, his back arched, his eyes rolled back in his head, and the muscles beneath his skin tightened to the point of tearing. The winter sky behind him split, and the wind that came through it held the stench of death and decay. Five sets of eyes peered out with cold fire, claws rent the air, and they came into the world, screaming. Gaugan laughed, his voice breaking in his own exultation. It lasted only a moment. The creatures fell upon him, rending and tearing. 'No!' he cried. 'No, I-' then he had no more throat with which to scream, and the gale blew his blood upon the stairs leading up to the Witness Tree. The gash in reality slammed shut, and the five devils fell upon Khasoreth and his apprentices.
Winter howled off the Great Ice Sea. The Road of the Sun, leading from the Royal Colonnade in Winterkeep to the Isle of Witness, could not withstand the onslaught of wind and wave. The wooden bridges fell, their stone supports crumbling. But in their ruin, five shapes, each swathed in a cloak the color of cold ash, emerged from the storm.
Death came to Winterkeep.
Screams still filled the night when Arantar returned to Winterkeep. Too late to save the royal city, he knew, but not too late to save those lives that remained. He found Isenith just inside the South Wall. She was leading survivors out of the city-servants mostly, but also a few guards, their eyes no less fearful than the others'.
Isenith held the baby in one arm while she used the other to issue orders. 'Where is he?' said Arantar. 'Where is Khasoreth?' 'I don't know!' said Isenith. Tears streaked her face and froze upon her cheeks. 'My brother said-' 'Where is the emperor?' 'Dead!' she shrieked, the first hint of hysteria entering her voice. 'Oh, Arantar, they're all dead.' 'I must find Khasoreth. Together, perhaps he and I can put an end to this.' 'Don't leave me! Arantar, the baby-!' 'Lead the people west. Get them to safety. Trathenik should be headed this way with his cavalry. Tell him what has happened. Tell him to shun Winterkeep until I send word. Allow no one to come near.' 'But, Aran-'
A great crash cut her off as the Tower of the Sun toppled into the city, crushing buildings and people beneath it. So great was the storm that even Arantar could no longer distinguish the howling of the wind from the cries of the damned. 'Go, Isenith! Go! Take our child to safety.' He gave her a last embrace, placed a tender hand on the bundle of his son, and pushed them out the gate. The others followed, the guards last. Arantar grabbed the final soldier, stopping him. He turned him and looked down into his eyes. 'See them away. Should any harm befall my wife and son…' 'My life for theirs, Honored One,' said the soldier, and he bowed. Arantar pushed him after the others and turned into the city. She watched as if from a great height, seeing and hearing everything, even feeling the cold, though it did her no harm. People fled in every direction, dragging children and carrying what few possessions they could. The Royal Guard and City Watch offered some resistance, but the five creatures in the ash-gray cloaks froze them where they stood, destroyed buildings, and summoned the winds of winter to topple the last of the towers of Winterkeep.
Following the sounds of slaughter, Arantar at last came to face the destroyers of the capital of Raumathar. They stood before him, the wind whipping their cloaks like banners. One stood foremost. Upon seeing Arantar, he stopped and lowered his cowl. Arantar stopped and stared, his mouth hanging open. 'Khasoreth? What… I-' The thing that had been Khasoreth laughed and struck, sending shards of ice at his former master. Arantar rebuffed the attack, then another and another.
After repelling the fourth, he struck back, but the five sorcerers absorbed the force he sent against them and used it to fuel their own strength. Spells flew faster than the snows driven by the gale, and shields of magic shattered and reformed themselves. Again and again the five struck at Arantar and he struck back. Their battle raged throughout the city, neither side gaining the upper hand, but Arantar's stand allowed the last of the survivors to escape onto the steppe. The five sorcerers called forth beings from the darkest planes to fight for them, but Arantar bound them and sent them back. He in turn sent fire and lightning upon his foes, but they blocked every strike. Their battle took them into the skies themselves as the combatants rode the winds of winter and magic. She watched as Arantar alighted upon the Isle of Witness, now an island in truth since the bridges joining it to the city lay beneath the waves. There, under the winter-bare boughs of the Witness Tree, Arantar made his last stand.
His eyes shone forth bright, but with each strike their light was growing dimmer. His foes surrounded him, and she watched as he leaned in weariness against the trunk of the great tree. His hand shook, and his staff fell from his hands to clatter down the stone steps. Seeing his foes approaching, Arantar smiled, closed his eyes, raised his face to the heavens, and called out, 'Father!' The fabric of creation seemed to vibrate, as if a great bell had been struck or clarion sounded. The gait of the five sorcerers faltered, and when Arantar opened his eyes, they shone a white purer than the noonday sun. Again she looked, and it was as if two beings stood in Arantar's frame, one a man of Raumathar, wanderer of the steppes, and councilor of kings, and the other… beyond all that, one who looked down on the petty bickerings of kings and laughed. The five sorcerers howled in fury and struck, calling upon
