Dark Lord

Run to the tomb, and in, the mind-voice commanded. Look toward the gate as you go.

As if those words had been a stage cue, Arlaghaun appeared out of nowhere, standing just in front of his gate, his hands weaving the empty air in the intricate gestures of a powerful spell.

I THOUGHT so. The mind-voice sounded very satisfied. Fire the scepter at the gate. NOT at the wizard. At the gate.

Clenching his teeth, Rod did as he was told, knowing he had no choice anyway.

Close your eyes!

Rod wasn't quite fast enough. The gate's explosion not only shook the hill and flung him to his knees atop some very hard armor, to say nothing of the dead man inside it, but it also seared his eyes with a white flash that snatched all Falconfar away. A flash that showed Rod a glimpse of Arlaghaun, arms windmilling wildly, being hurled forward onto his face.

Get into the tomb!

Eyes running, barely able to get up and keep from falling, Rod stumbled and swayed his way around heaps of cooked warriors, seeking the front slope of the hill he'd fled along just moments earlier.

Hurry!

He couldn't see properly through the streaming tears, couldn't-

He stumbled over a dead Dark Helm, his arm slamming down onto rising grass. He had reached the front slope of the tomb. Rod clawed his way along it, trying to hurry, until he found the doorway and fell through it.

Get well in, then turn around. Don't stop hurrying.

Had the voice in his mind sounded sarcastic?

Rod obeyed, swiping at his eyes with his sleeve, the horned scepter warm in his hand.

When he got his vision clear enough to be able to see more than watery light and dark, he found himself staring at a rectangle of sunlight. In the distance, that sunlight was falling on a great heap of dead Dark Helms. A gray-robed man was climbing the far side of that heap, rising higher and higher as he gained its top.

It was Arlaghaun. He was looking right at Rod, and smiling.

Rod aimed the scepter, but the voice in his mind said sharply, No. Waste it not. Put it bach in your belt, and draw forth the draeuth.

'The what?'

An image was thrust impatiently open in Rod's mind.

Oh. That strange metal thing he'd been guided to, back in the castle, that looked like a knuckleduster welded to a set of panpipes. Rod slid his fingers through its loop, and drew it out of his belt.

Now the arlaunkh.

'The-?'

A metal rod about the length of his forearm, this one, that curved gently to form a pleasant-to-the-hand grip. He'd been thinking of it as 'the big scepter,' but-

Right. Point the big scepter straight overhead, and the draeuth down the passage at the doorway outside. You fire them both like THIS. Do so.

Rod obeyed, feeling something that sounded and looked like the beige, many-popping-bubbled foam of a fire extinguisher spraying forth from one, and a cone of similar but white foam from the other.

An instant later, Arlaghaun shouted something triumphant, roiling flame came roaring into the tomb, and its stone-lined ceiling shuddered, cracked, and fell in on top of Rod Everlar.

The flames met the brown ray and wrestled with it, snarling; only a few tongues streamed past to lick at his arms and shoulders. The white ray melted away stones as they fell, burning a circle to the sunlight. So nothing crushed Rod's skull or broke his neck. Stones slammed down around him, though, bruising and wedging him, shattering bones with sudden, sharp pains that made him gasp and then shout.

Keep hold of them both, and keep firing, or you are doomed.

Arlaghaun's flame died away, but Rod could hear him chanting something that sounded like a spell.

Melt away any stone that could fall or slide sideways onto your head, then start blasting them down all around you, to free yourself. Hurry. You MUST free enough space for your arms to reach everything on your belts.

Rod obeyed, watching tons of stone melt away. Whatever Arlaghaun had cast came streaming down the passage again, and again fought the brown ray, beating it back this time almost to Rod's hand.

Aim the arlaunkh-the big scepter-at the ceiling of the passage into the tomb. Bring it down, just as the wizard collapsed the tomb atop you.

Rod obeyed again, and with a slow, thunderous roar, the passage disappeared.

Keep on freeing yourself. Down to your legs, now. Haste matters more than care. If you burn yourself, you'll heal. HURRY.

Arlaghaun was clambering over stones at the front of the tomb now, trying to get closer; Rod could hear them shifting and clattering as the wizard sought to climb up on top of the ruined hill.

To get at Rod Everlar.

Stones were slumping like butter around his ankles now, then just melting away. He could move, though lifting his left leg brought stabbing agony that left him panting and leaning against the stones that were still there.

Fuse those stones together, so they can't shift and trap you. Arlaghaun comes.

The arlaunkh failed quite suddenly, crumbling to dust in his hand.

The black scepter, now, the one with the eye. The eye is its tip, not its handle; the eye should face away from you. The mind-voice was noticeably fainter.

Rod grabbed at the black scepter, almost dropped it, then straightened up, and found himself staring into Arlaghaun's burning brown eyes and soft, thin-lipped smile.

'So, Shaper, we meet at last.'

Rod winced. Couldn't someone write better dialogue than that?

He aimed both the draeuth and the eye scepter at the wizard and intoned, 'With the fate of all Falconfar hanging in the balance!'

It was Arlaghaun's turn to wince. 'Did Lorontar actually say that?'

'Does it bother you, not knowing?' Rod asked, as sweetly and carefully politely as any unhelpful civil servant, and triggered both enchanted items.

Their raging onslaught battered something unseen in front of Arlaghaun's nose so fiercely that the wizard was forced to arch over backwards, away from the magic trying to slam into him.

Arlaghaun took a step back and lost his footing, to be hurled away over the rocks like a rag doll, out of sight down off the hill.

Rod laughed aloud. He hadn't really hurt the wizard, he knew, but it was nice to land a blow on that sneering face. For once.

Move not. Give your leg time to heal; shift your weight onto the other one.

The voice in his mind was back to being a whisper, now.

'Who are you?' Rod dared to ask it. Was it Lorontar, the long-dead Archwizard? Or-

'Lord!' The soft, urgent call was coming from behind him, accompanied by a high, chiming rattle of chain.

Rod whirled, so quickly his leg burned like fire.

'Tay?' he managed to cry, through the pain.

'Lord Rod!' Taeauna was crawling forward over rocks, bare except for metal collars about her throat, ankles, and high on her thighs; collars that were joined with dangling lines of fine chain. 'Come quickly! You've wounded Arlaghaun sorely, and so given us time to escape! Come with me!'

No! The whisper in Rod's head was frantic and fierce. It's a lie! A trick! She's Arlaghaun's creature; believe not a word she says!

Rod shook his head as he clawed his way up over the rocks, bruising his knuckles in his haste, still clutching the draeuth and the scepter.

'Taeauna!' he hissed. 'Are you… all right?'