The next day began before the sun rose.
Through the mists that had returned to their customary positions, the
lights of campfires could be seen around Tor Yvresse's scarred walls. The
campfires of the druchii, their illumination like the light of the sun, or
like as much of the sun as was ever seen in Yvresse.
The dark elves were still slumbering, at the time. Only a few token guards
to alert the host if the high elves sallied forth. And the grim form of a
new arrival on the scene, the black-stained plate mail of Mortharor.
The Witch-King's greatest general was swinging his double-headed halberd
above his head, while his sparring partners, a small group of assassins,
hung back, swords held tightly. And off the side sat two more men, one also
clad in black and grays, the other in the huge armor and massive horned
helmet of a Chaos worshipper.
Mortharor lunged forward, bringing the staff in a sweeping arc that forced
the leftmost of the assassins to jump back. "What news from your agents?"
he asked, sounding distinctly bored.
The assassin not involved in the duel replied, "My agent in the city
reports mixed success with the attack yesterday."
Mortharor charged the two assassins on the right, his halberd flying. "How
so?"
"They succeeded in killing the general in charge of the city, but
apparently were spotted when entering the city. Shortly after they entered,
the old leader, Tarthalion, led a band of men inside to fight the
assassins. They killed them all."
Mortharor's halberd twisted until it struck an assassin's hand. A longsword
dropped to the ground. "But our agent has not been exposed?"
"No sir."
"Good," concluded Mortharor. His halberd was wrenched free from the chest
of the assassin, and he pivoted lightly on the spot to face the two
remaining ones. They charged him, but he parried both attacks
simultaneously with each end of the halberd, and with a step stood between
them. "What do you have to say, Ferik Kasterman?"
Kasterman, leader of the Tzeenchian sorcerers known only as the Coven of
Ten, said, "We have been sent here by the Dreaded One. He desires that we
destroy the elven mage in Tor Yvresse."
Mortharor stood on the spot, idly parrying attacks from all three
assassins, as he asked, "Really? Why the mage?"
"The Dreaded One did not choose to elaborate."
"I tire of this," Malekith's general said. He increased the speed of the
blurred polearm beyond the ability of Kasterman or the other assassin to
tell individual attacks.
Within seconds, three mutilated corpses were staining the expensive carpets
on the bottom of the tent.
"Kasterman, I am sure you can lure out their mage - Teclis, that is his
name, or so my agent reports - without my help. Which is just as well,
since I will not be commanding the assault at the moment. It is time to put
my plan into action."
The young raven-haired elf leant his staff against the parapets of blackened Tor Yvresse, and gratefully took the offered skin of cold water. He splashed some over his face, and then drank down with long gulps the rest of it, before handing the empty leather to the runner, and retrieving his stave. Teclis waited impatiently for the return of the dark elven forces, as he mused on the tangled path he'd followed since leaving the White Tower. Joining this army to break the power of the Dark Elves, so he could slip behind their lines to find Tyrion and Alarielle. Teclis? The mage dropped his staff in shock. "Who spoke?" he whispered. Teclis. Come to me, Teclis. The voice was in his mind. Teclis thought, Tyrion? Yes. Help me, Teclis. The mage stooped to retrieve his staff. Where are you? The Dark Elves have me. I am in their camp. But you can rescue me. Come rescue me. Teclis rose and started off as fast as he could go. Not once did he stop and think about the probabilities involved.
Teclis was glad for the shroud of mist that the sun had not yet burned off the face of Yvresse. The dark elven scouts did not seem to have spotted him yet. And the voice of his brother through their mental link beckoned him, and inspired greater stealth then he had ever used before. I am in the largest tent in the centre, Tyrion said, his mental voice harsh with strain. And so his brother crouched at the base of the tent, a dark cloak camouflaging him against the canvas. Two guards stood outside the tent, elite warriors clasping great axes. If they hit him with those, he would die. And there was no other way into the tent. Unless he made one, that was. He sidled around the back, and with swift motions of Belannaer's longsword cut a way in to the tent. It was just as he had imagined it, if all too easy. He sheathed the blade and crawled into the tent. All too easy, indeed, Tyrion said. And a great web of black magic dropped over his mind. Cutting him off from magic. Blinding him. From the edges of the tent, ten men appeared, hands crackling with arcane power. Wearing robes of deep black and muted blue. Except the leader, who wore the fell armor, in similar hues, of a Chaos sorcerer. The leader spoke again, with the voice Teclis had thought of as Tyrion. "You are a great disappointment. I had hoped for more challenge this day." Teclis' mind strained against the mental shield, with too much effort to let him speak. Sweat ran down his brow. But the shield held. He strained, throwing the full might of his mind against it. Two of the spellcasters fell back as if punched in the stomach. "He's stronger than we thought!" wheezed the leader. "Kill him immediately!" The sorcerers began to chant, and with dread Teclis recognized the spell. Should it be cast, his body would be unaffected, but his mind. He renewed his efforts at the shield. Several of the enemy collapsed from the strain on their shield. Others stopped casting. But the leader kept the spell with a relentless pace. One last try. His fist of mental power stuck the shield again. The shield flexed. It bulged. It held. It broke. Teclis blasted through the blackness and immediately began to draw upon the winds of magic himself, manipulating their energy into a shield of his own, though of a different sort. Kasterman's spell went off. It flashed through the air in a wave of palpable darkness, and struck Teclis' weak defenses. The brilliant shield engulfed the darkness, and both were engulfed. Teclis swiftly surveyed the trap, while Kasterman recovered from the destruction of his spell. Fully half of the Coven of Ten were down, their minds destroyed when he had blasted out of the shield. The other half were surrounding him, casting their spells. He began his own enchantment, and stumbled through the words. This was a contest of nerves, for speed and accuracy would win the day. Teclis' spell manifested first, a blinding flash of light that lit the tent instantly. The Coven cried out, clutching their sightless eyes. Even Kasterman. Teclis followed with another spell, capitalizing on his advantage. A small stream of fire that engulfed two of the Coven. One collapsed, while the other began screaming hysterically and trying to beat out the fire on his robe. Teclis grinned viciously, and began another spell. Bands of darkness appeared around his chest, and tightened, squeezing the life and warmth out of him. It faded soon, but Teclis felt weak, and knew that Kasterman's spell had left him near death. Teclis countered with a lightning bolt that blasted into the chest of a member of the Coven, incinerating flesh and leaving blackened bones easily visible through the remaining chunks of flesh. Not a pretty sight, but necessary. Kasterman retaliated by summoning a great wind, blowing Teclis back and threatening to blow him and the tent away, until Teclis finally smashed the spell with a word of power. Teclis made the stones under their feet fly up in an eruption of earth and flames, throwing Kasterman to his feet and crushing most of the others. Kasterman emerged from the rubble, groaning in pain. None of the other members of the Coven moved. The tent hung about them in tatters, more not there than there. Dark elves outside cried at the chaos that had sprung up in their midst, but an old spell of Kasterman's thankfully kept them from entering the tent. And him from leaving, but that was a small point. Teclis prepared to finish the duel. A last spell, and Kasterman would join his gods in the Beyond. A torrent of flame engulfed Kasterman, and it was over. But when the flames ended, somehow Kasterman was still standing there, clutching a chunk of rock that looked like nothing quite so much as it resembled coal. And the coal shone with a red light. Kasterman grinned, changing the flow of blood and grime on his face, and said raggedly, "I win." "How do arrive at that one, fool?!" "This. stone contains. the spell. in it. I.break it.and you.die in flames." Teclis laughed. "But you will be dead, too." "And.so will.you be." And he rose the stone above his head, preparing to release the flames. Teclis immediately began another spell, before a horrible realization hit him. He was too exhausted to cast any more spells. He reached for the power, missed, and reached again. But he was too exhausted and would not cast another spell. As if time had slowed, the high elf saw Kasterman lob the stone. It slowly flew towards him, and towards his death. A voice came into his mind. Not Tyrion's. Not Kasterman's. The words were Belannaer's, and they spoke from his memory. It is more powerful than it looks. There are runes of piercing, and also of lightning, engraved upon the blade Teclis pulled the blade free, and cried out, "Xathlos!" Lightning, in the Old Tongue. A blast of lightning sped from the end of the sword. They burst through the stone before it had gone far from Kasterman, engulfing him again. Then Kasterman was struck by the lightning, and flung into the magical barrier. His charred and mutilated body did not move. The spell that held the walls up ended, and the ragged tent collapsed. Kasterman's corpse, or what remained of it, fell to the ground. So did Teclis, exhausted by the powers he had used. The last thing he felt before unconsciousness swept in like the tide was rough hands pulling him from the ground.
The young raven-haired elf leant his staff against the parapets of blackened Tor Yvresse, and gratefully took the offered skin of cold water. He splashed some over his face, and then drank down with long gulps the rest of it, before handing the empty leather to the runner, and retrieving his stave. Teclis waited impatiently for the return of the dark elven forces, as he mused on the tangled path he'd followed since leaving the White Tower. Joining this army to break the power of the Dark Elves, so he could slip behind their lines to find Tyrion and Alarielle. Teclis? The mage dropped his staff in shock. "Who spoke?" he whispered. Teclis. Come to me, Teclis. The voice was in his mind. Teclis thought, Tyrion? Yes. Help me, Teclis. The mage stooped to retrieve his staff. Where are you? The Dark Elves have me. I am in their camp. But you can rescue me. Come rescue me. Teclis rose and started off as fast as he could go. Not once did he stop and think about the probabilities involved.
Teclis was glad for the shroud of mist that the sun had not yet burned off the face of Yvresse. The dark elven scouts did not seem to have spotted him yet. And the voice of his brother through their mental link beckoned him, and inspired greater stealth then he had ever used before. I am in the largest tent in the centre, Tyrion said, his mental voice harsh with strain. And so his brother crouched at the base of the tent, a dark cloak camouflaging him against the canvas. Two guards stood outside the tent, elite warriors clasping great axes. If they hit him with those, he would die. And there was no other way into the tent. Unless he made one, that was. He sidled around the back, and with swift motions of Belannaer's longsword cut a way in to the tent. It was just as he had imagined it, if all too easy. He sheathed the blade and crawled into the tent. All too easy, indeed, Tyrion said. And a great web of black magic dropped over his mind. Cutting him off from magic. Blinding him. From the edges of the tent, ten men appeared, hands crackling with arcane power. Wearing robes of deep black and muted blue. Except the leader, who wore the fell armor, in similar hues, of a Chaos sorcerer. The leader spoke again, with the voice Teclis had thought of as Tyrion. "You are a great disappointment. I had hoped for more challenge this day." Teclis' mind strained against the mental shield, with too much effort to let him speak. Sweat ran down his brow. But the shield held. He strained, throwing the full might of his mind against it. Two of the spellcasters fell back as if punched in the stomach. "He's stronger than we thought!" wheezed the leader. "Kill him immediately!" The sorcerers began to chant, and with dread Teclis recognized the spell. Should it be cast, his body would be unaffected, but his mind. He renewed his efforts at the shield. Several of the enemy collapsed from the strain on their shield. Others stopped casting. But the leader kept the spell with a relentless pace. One last try. His fist of mental power stuck the shield again. The shield flexed. It bulged. It held. It broke. Teclis blasted through the blackness and immediately began to draw upon the winds of magic himself, manipulating their energy into a shield of his own, though of a different sort. Kasterman's spell went off. It flashed through the air in a wave of palpable darkness, and struck Teclis' weak defenses. The brilliant shield engulfed the darkness, and both were engulfed. Teclis swiftly surveyed the trap, while Kasterman recovered from the destruction of his spell. Fully half of the Coven of Ten were down, their minds destroyed when he had blasted out of the shield. The other half were surrounding him, casting their spells. He began his own enchantment, and stumbled through the words. This was a contest of nerves, for speed and accuracy would win the day. Teclis' spell manifested first, a blinding flash of light that lit the tent instantly. The Coven cried out, clutching their sightless eyes. Even Kasterman. Teclis followed with another spell, capitalizing on his advantage. A small stream of fire that engulfed two of the Coven. One collapsed, while the other began screaming hysterically and trying to beat out the fire on his robe. Teclis grinned viciously, and began another spell. Bands of darkness appeared around his chest, and tightened, squeezing the life and warmth out of him. It faded soon, but Teclis felt weak, and knew that Kasterman's spell had left him near death. Teclis countered with a lightning bolt that blasted into the chest of a member of the Coven, incinerating flesh and leaving blackened bones easily visible through the remaining chunks of flesh. Not a pretty sight, but necessary. Kasterman retaliated by summoning a great wind, blowing Teclis back and threatening to blow him and the tent away, until Teclis finally smashed the spell with a word of power. Teclis made the stones under their feet fly up in an eruption of earth and flames, throwing Kasterman to his feet and crushing most of the others. Kasterman emerged from the rubble, groaning in pain. None of the other members of the Coven moved. The tent hung about them in tatters, more not there than there. Dark elves outside cried at the chaos that had sprung up in their midst, but an old spell of Kasterman's thankfully kept them from entering the tent. And him from leaving, but that was a small point. Teclis prepared to finish the duel. A last spell, and Kasterman would join his gods in the Beyond. A torrent of flame engulfed Kasterman, and it was over. But when the flames ended, somehow Kasterman was still standing there, clutching a chunk of rock that looked like nothing quite so much as it resembled coal. And the coal shone with a red light. Kasterman grinned, changing the flow of blood and grime on his face, and said raggedly, "I win." "How do arrive at that one, fool?!" "This. stone contains. the spell. in it. I.break it.and you.die in flames." Teclis laughed. "But you will be dead, too." "And.so will.you be." And he rose the stone above his head, preparing to release the flames. Teclis immediately began another spell, before a horrible realization hit him. He was too exhausted to cast any more spells. He reached for the power, missed, and reached again. But he was too exhausted and would not cast another spell. As if time had slowed, the high elf saw Kasterman lob the stone. It slowly flew towards him, and towards his death. A voice came into his mind. Not Tyrion's. Not Kasterman's. The words were Belannaer's, and they spoke from his memory. It is more powerful than it looks. There are runes of piercing, and also of lightning, engraved upon the blade Teclis pulled the blade free, and cried out, "Xathlos!" Lightning, in the Old Tongue. A blast of lightning sped from the end of the sword. They burst through the stone before it had gone far from Kasterman, engulfing him again. Then Kasterman was struck by the lightning, and flung into the magical barrier. His charred and mutilated body did not move. The spell that held the walls up ended, and the ragged tent collapsed. Kasterman's corpse, or what remained of it, fell to the ground. So did Teclis, exhausted by the powers he had used. The last thing he felt before unconsciousness swept in like the tide was rough hands pulling him from the ground.