and whistled.
A glowing sword was floating horizontally above a huge, magnificently carved table. Plinths ranged around the walls were topped with carved heads that sported superbly made war helms, and as Rod stared at them, Ult Tower rocked under the fury of another unleashed spell, and the helms either acquired momentary glows, or lightnings crawled across their curves. One plinth was fashioned into the shape of two upthrust hands, and the rings on those carved fingers were winking and shining.
Rod shouldered through the curtain, and became aware of movement to his right. A half-suit of armor was floating silently off its plinth and drifting menacingly toward him, reaching out an arm to pluck a sword from the wall.
He ran forward and snatched the big sword out of the air over the table; the power in it ran numbingly down his arm and left all his hair standing on end. Without pause, the advancing guardian rose a little to clear the table, and drew back its blade to hack at him two-handed.
Rod rolled off the table and fell into a crouch underneath its lip. When the guardian drifted over the edge, a moment later, and started to turn, to descend and slice at him, he waited for his chance to strike at its open bottom. The moment he saw the emptiness inside the armor, he thrust his newfound sword up through it, hard.
Blinding lightnings blazed, and the armor flew apart violently, toppling plinths and splintering legs off the table which thankfully seemed to have about a dozen legs left and therefore refrained from collapsing.
Rod's glowing blade was flung back past him into the far corners of the room, and in its wake he discovered his sword-arm was as limp as a rag because it was shattered.
Really shattered; almost boneless.
Recalling the procession of enchanted items sent by Lorontar that had so mysteriously appeared and had sunk into him, Rod dragged himself out from under the table, plucked rings off the plinth's fingers, and worked them onto his own fingers; both the good hand and the shattered one. Some of them started to fade away almost immediately.
Smiling wryly, Rod crossed the room to select a suitable helm.
The bolts of writhing lightning were emerald green, and tore through stone as readily as wood and flesh. 'Die, Lorontar!' Arlaghaun roared triumphantly, brown eyes blazing like an eager fire.
'I did,' the deep, dry, unfamiliar voice coming from the lips of his apprentice drawled, sidestepping the ravening destruction. 'You should try it sometime. Now, for instance.'
The lances of silver-blue magic that raced from his fingertips then were so many and so swift that the Doom of Galath barely had time to curse.
Behold Rod Everlar, writer of fantasies. Strolling around this vast citadel fashionably dressed in… a helmet.
Rod grinned wryly at the mirror he'd found, was probably magical, but it was much too small to step through as some sort of gate, and he didn't know what it was for or how to call on its powers, whatever they were, so he continued on with looking for swords and daggers. And if he couldn't find pants of some sort, at least a goddamn belt would do to carry them all with!
He probably needed every combat-useful shard of magic he could find. After all, if he might have to fight all of Arlaghaun's beasts and magical suits of armor or other toys, lorn, Dark Helms and apprentices-to say nothing of the Doom of Galath himself-he needed all the help he could get.
That he could carry, at least. There were a dozen helms back in that first room with the curtain, and a chair that glowed interestingly, too, but he couldn't carry everything.
Shaking his head at the appearance he'd presented in the mirror, Rod went to the next room, and peered in.
A whimpering woman stared fearfully back at him. She wore only chains, and manacles at her wrists and ankles secured her upright in a huge 'X' in midair.
It was Taeauna.
The second stone from the left-hand end of the row of tell-stones flared into sudden, starry light.
The slender, darkly handsome wizard turned to regard it, and calmly watched it shatter, hiss, and melt away.
'Well, now,' Malraun murmured. 'Something is very amiss at Ult Tower.'
He spun gracefully around to ready his most powerful scrying-crystal, and added mockingly, 'That's so sad.'
The crystal started to glow and then burst with a shriek, hurling shards in all directions. If his personal wardings hadn't been up and active, one of them would almost certainly have beheaded him.
As it was, still in possession of his head, Malraun smiled, shook his head, and strolled into another room with a calmer demeanor than he truly felt, to awaken three lesser scrying-crystals.
It seemed like the Falcon itself was breaking loose at Ult Tower, and he intended to watch every moment of it.
'L-lord Rod?' Tears were already streaming down Taeauna's face, but they seemed to flood forth even faster, dripping off her chin, thence to her breasts, and on to the floor.
'Tay!' Rod said eagerly, going to her. He raised a hand to her cheek, and tried to kiss her, but she shook her head and wept.
'Lord, I'm so s-sorry! I-'
'Taeauna, it wasn't you who threw me in a cell and tortured me. Now, let's get you free of these; do you know if any of these magical gewgaws I'm carrying can cut through chain? Without frying you, too?'
Taeauna shook her head again, as Ult Tower shook again, around them, in a thunderous rolling booming that numbed Rod's bare feet.
Rod tried to put a comforting arm around her, but his shoulder came to just under her armpit, so he went on tiptoe to kiss her, and say urgently, 'Taeauna of the Aumrarr, I blame you for nothing. Nothing. But help me now. Tell me how to free you.'
Her tears stopped suddenly and her head jerked up, eyes glowing like two lamps. She turned her head, as if startled and seeing him for the first time, and said softly, 'Shaper of Falconfar, only the tears of Arlaghaun can part these chains. His tears, freely given. I need you to-'
'Swallow your lies, creature of Arlaghaun,' said a mocking voice from behind Rod. 'Listen to her not, Dark Lord. The real Taeauna is imprisoned inside her, somewhere; see those glowing eyes? That's Arlaghaun trying to lure you within reach.'
Rod turned, selected the most powerful-looking sword from the bundle in his hands, hefted it, and said to the short, sleek, darkly handsome man he found himself facing, 'And who are you?'
'I am Malraun. Also a wizard of Falconfar, but nothing at all to do with the Doom of Galath or his cruelties. I mean you no harm, nor this Aumrarr. Put your sword down; I have no quarrel with you.'
'And if I do step aside, what do you plan to do?'
'Cut those chains and free her. You don't need anyone's tears-'
'Listen to him not, lord! This man is evil; he will carry me off and turn me into a monster!'
Malraun rolled his eyes, and said to Rod, 'That's not your Taeauna talking. That's Arlaghaun, and he's desperate.'
'He hasn't seemed all that desperate to me, thus far,' Rod replied, keeping his sword up and in Malraun's way.
'He wasn't fighting just to keep hold of his life, then,' Malraun replied. 'He is now. He's awakened Lorontar from beyond the grave, as minstrels like to say, and much of yonder end of Ult Tower is vanishing as we speak, as they hurl spells at each other and Arlaghaun rapidly comes to the grim realization that he's far more of an overconfident idiot than he thought he was.'
'I don't trust you,' Rod muttered.
'Very wise of you, Dark Lord. I don't trust any wizard, and neither should any sane person. Yet consider: I translocated myself here, right behind you, and could very easily have blasted you to dust, and yet I attacked you not. I could have just melted the chains of your Taeauna with a spell, without any warning, but have not. I'm perfectly willing to melt her chains right now, with you holding that impressive sword to my throat. What say you?'
