21st Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
Underneath Drachen Keep, The Aerie, The Pomarj
There was no conscious thought involved at all in Elrohir's backwards leap as orange flames filled his world.
But only for a moment.
Then it was over- the fire had vanished. The pain had been intense but brief, and the lingering discomfort caused by his still hot plate mail was the ranger's only reminder that it had happened at all.
That and the two screams he had heard.
One sounded like Unru, and Elrohir had to remind himself once again that this was his friend Aslan.
The paladin hadn't been able to leap free in time. Aslan-as-Unru's clothes were still smoking, and burns ranging from mild to serious were covering almost every inch of his paladin's exposed tanned skin.
Elrohir didn't know what to do. He could see the agony Aslan was enduring just trying to take a breath from lungs seared from heat.
Then he remembered the other scream and looked behind him.
Talass was just straightening up again from being doubled over in pain. Even from this angle, Elrohir could see the burns that dotted the cleric's skin, and the wisps of smoke that rose from her hair.
But that's impossible, the ranger thought. Talass wasn't even at the edge of that flame! How could she have-
And then he realized.
THE RINGS, the ranger's mind screamed. Her prayer- It transferred my wounds to her!
Equal parts love and anger suffused Elrohir's voice as he yelled out.
"Talass!"
And that same mixture came hurtling back at him as his wife's light blue eyes locked on his own.
Elrohir knew. This was about Talass' vision
"It's not going to be you!" she screamed back.
The party leader raged in impotent fury. He wanted to rip the accursed ring off and hurl it away, but right now it was on his finger, underneath his gauntlet. That wasn't an option.
Elrohir was about to shout to Talass to fall back when out of the corner of his eye he saw Nerelas rise to his feet, tip back to his lips a small glass vial that hadn't been in his hands a moment before-
-and disappear.
"Dammit! Look out, people! He's gone invisible!"
There was no time for anything else. He couldn't aid either of the wounded right now, and Nerelas was too far away for him to concentrate on. Drawing Gokasillion, Elrohir leapt again; a running leap forward this time and landed right in front of the High Priest of The Earth Dragon, his longsword already in motion to taste flesh.
But Mordrammo, who had been bending down to retrieve his war pick, straightened up suddenly with superhuman speed. The glowing white blade was neatly intercepted by the priest's parry.
"All too easy," came the voice from within the dragon's skull.
I hope you three are okay, Argo Bigfellow Junior thought to himself. I've got a job to do here.
The big ranger gave his arch-enemy his biggest and widest smile.
"Time to play, Johnny-boy!"
The words were still on Argo's lips as he charged forward, Harve's reddish glow lighting the air around him.
A maniacal grin lit up Scurvy John's face.
"Come and get me, you swine!" the pirate shouted in glee, his feet planted firmly and his shield swinging into position to meet the ranger's charge.
But right before Argo swung with his right arm fully extended, his right wrist spun around, tossing his longsword perhaps an inch into the air. Bigfellow's hand quickly closed back on the hilt, now in a reversed grip just as he reached the Slave Lord, so that instead of swinging the sword from John's front, it stabbed at the pirate from his left side- an inch past the edge of his shield.
Scurvy John yelled in pain as Harve's tip punched through his armor.
"Just don't make those defensive spells like they used to, do they, John?" Argo queried.
"Find assassin- I stop budoka!"
Unaccustomed to hearing commands from the samurai, Cygnus and Zantac-as-Aslan hesitated just a moment as Tojo raced past them and onto the half-moon platform, stopping about ten feet to Brother Milerjoi's left.
The monk slowly rose to his feet. His eyes focused on the small circles the tip of Tojo's katana was describing through the air.
"One of you blasted mages find Nerelas! I'm going to help Argo!"
Without waiting for a response, Sir Menn slammed the visor of his great helm shut with a clank, and then the knight was lumbering in his full plate to stand next to Bigfellow. Sir Menn feinted right and then swung left. It was only by the slimmest of margins that Scurvy was able to take the blow on his shield in time.
"Mind if I join the party?" the knight quipped. "I know John's a long-time friend of yours, Argo, but-"
"Some friendships just don't last," replied Argo while readjusting his grip and parrying Scurvy's cutlass strike.
"That's not good."
Zantac-as-Aslan didn't glance over at Unru-as-Zantac's comment. He knew what his fellow wizard was looking at.
Ajakstu had stood up and was inclining his yew staff forward.
The staff began to glow a brilliant yellow
"Hey, Ajakstu!" yelled Unru-as-Zantac. "There's a basic lesson every wizard needs to learn! I've taught it to my friends- how about I teach it to you?"
The illusionist began to cast. Zantac-as-Aslan recognized the somatic gestures in an instant, and gasped.
"Unru!" shouted Zantac, forgetting to call the illusionist by his current assumed name. "Magic missiles- are you crazy? You know he's got to be all shined up; I thought you were experienced in battle! They won't work- you'll waste the spell!"
Unru-as-Zantac continued as if he hadn't heard him. Three white streaks of energy shot out from his fingertips.
They headed straight towards Ajakstu, and then abruptly swerved around the wizard and continued on towards the far corner of the room.
"YOU DON'T TAKE A PET INTO A DUNGEON!" Unru-as-Zantac screamed.
The rat squealed in agony as the magic missiles tore into it. The familiar's body was actually hurled upwards a foot or so by the force of the spell. It then fell back to the floor, twitched spasmodically for several moments, and then rose unsteadily back to its feet.
Ajakstu shrieked in pain. The staff dropped from the mage's hand and clattered to the floor beside him.
"Damn it," Unru muttered. "It wasn't enough! It's still alive!"
"I'll finish him!" Cygnus shouted.
But Ajakstu was faster.
Recovering quickly from the damage done to his familiar, the Slave Lord mage dipped one finger into his spell component pouch. It came out with a drop of something dark on it. He then incanted; not towards the three mages, but towards the six adventurers straight in front of him.
Cygnus was the first to recognize it. It was one of those spells that just happened to be in his head at that very moment.
And Nesco Cynewine finally realized what it was really like to be under the effect of the spell that the arcanists called slow.
It wasn't what the ranger had expected. She'd anticipated a purely physical sensation, such as that of being underwater, but the spell seemed to be as much mental as anything.
Deciding on action became more difficult; options cloudier and harder to see. Even Nesco's own muscles were responding slowly and jerkily to her brain's commands. She had no idea which of her companions, or how many, might also have been affected.
She also had no idea of what to do.
Somehow, the pirate turned into lightning.
Faster than he'd ever been, and harder than he'd ever hit, John's cutlass bypassed Bigfellow's defenses once, and then twice. Scurvy seemed to have no interest in Sir Menn other than to avoid being hit by him. His venom was reserved for Argo alone.
This could be a problem, Argo's mind told him as it struggled to shut out his own voice crying out in pain from the slashing wounds. This could be a big problem.
It was only because he knew it annoyed the pirate so much that Bigfellow made the effort to keep the smile on his face as he looked back up at Scurvy.
Tojo watched intently as Brother Milerjoi's body settled into a fighting stance. This he expected.
What he did not expect was for the monk to speak.
"You will not prevail, samurai," Milerjoi stated simply. "Honor is your strength, but it is also your greatest weakness. Bound by bushido as you are, you are too easily manipulated- have not even your own friends told you this? Even now, as I announce this to you beforehand, nothing changes. Before the first blow is struck, the battle is mine."
The monk said nothing else. His body suddenly became a grey blur.
Most of Tojo's friends reckoned the samurai fast, but Milerjoi was nothing but wind. As he came up to the samurai, Tojo's katana sliced through the air, but Milerjoi backpedaled several inches with the speed of a hummingbird, and then just as quickly darted forward again.
Yanigasawa Tojo grunted as a flurry of blows descended upon him. The monk seemed as if he surely must have more than two hands, for fists were suddenly filling every cubic foot the samurai could see, pounding down on his skin like a rain of lead.
Tojo adjusted, stepped back and filled that same space with his katana. Milerjoi backed off, but the thought that ran through the samurai's mind as he focused on what the monk was doing had nothing to do with his opponent's supposed superiority- only his tactics.
"Your strikes are not rethar," Tojo announced. "I know you can as easiry kirr as not- yet you choose not to- why?"
Brother Milerjoi did not reply, even in his expression.
The samurai's eyes narrowed.
Does he seek to dishonor me, or is there a hidden purpose here?
The agony from Aslan-as-Unru's burns finally served one useful purpose.
By letting his mind focus on the pain, the paladin was able to overcome the spell he felt tugging at his mind, whatever it might have been.
Now pushing the pain and all other thoughts other than tactical ones aside, Aslan-as-Unru grasped what looked like Unru's tonfa- but was actually Aslan's own longsword as he charged towards Ajakstu- his closest target.
He was at least a little relieved to note the look of consternation on the enemy mage's face as he approached.
Unfortunately, the paladin's first strike slammed into something invisible just in front of the wizard's face.
"No true mage would rush forward to engage like that," Ajakstu snarled at him. "Which one are you really?"
"You keep guessing; I'll keep swinging," Aslan-as-Unru responded as he brought his weapon around for another blow.
I should have loaded up on dispels, Cygnus thought ruefully. Why is it my spell selection never turns out to be the right one?
He had more than enough targets to dispel magic on. It looked like Nesco and several others had been hit by Ajakstu's slow. Using his dispel to cover an area might disperse that magic- but if it didn't, there was always a chance that it might accidently remove some of his allies' protective spells instead.
He could use the same function on the Slave Lords, hoping to take off some of their shine, but many of Elrohir's party would be caught in the radius as well, with the same attendant risks.
A targeted dispel- stripping some or all spells off one individual- made more sense. Any of the Slave Lords with the exception of Brother Milerjoi would make a logical target, and it would benefit greatly whoever they were fighting.
And then he remembered about Nerelas.
An invisible assassin running around the battlefield was not acceptable.
Dispel might work, but it was chancy. Cygnus shook his head.
On the other hand, maybe I chose right after all. I just hope he's close to where I think he is.
Cygnus' fingers came out of his spell component pouch covered in finely ground mica.
A blindingly bright shower of golden confetti-like particles, twenty feet in diameter and centered over Nerelas' chair, abruptly appeared.
Outlined now in a golden glow, the assassin cried out and clawed at his eyes.
Cygnus pumped his fist in the air just as Scurvy John had done earlier.
"Yes!"
Zantac-as-Aslan was glad the plate mail he appeared to be wearing was completely illusionary.
Real armor would have made casting spells impossible.
The Willip wizard sidled to his left to stand next to Cygnus.
"Nice move, Stick! Bolt?" Zantac finished by tilting his head towards Nerelas.
Cygnus understood. Zantac-as-Aslan was asking him if he'd scanned any possible protections the assassin might have on him against what his fellow mage was planning.
"Not that I know of, but what's ever been a sure thing for us, anyway?"
"Good enough for me!"
Nerelas cleared the glitterdust from his eyes just in time to catch another blinding light.
This one from Zantac-as-Aslan's lightning bolt coming straight at him.
With unearthly reflexes, the assassin twisted his body and leapt straight up. His body curved around in an arc, and the lightning bolt traveled through that arc, bypassing him completely.
Zantac's mouth fell open. He'd never seen anyone do that before.
He also couldn't help but notice that as Nerelas landed nimbly on his feet and whipped his head around to look at the two wizards, that his face no longer held a neutral expression.
The assassin now looked very angry indeed.
Zantac could only smile weakly at his foe.
"Best two out of three?"
Talass shrugged off the slow without a second thought.
The cleric considered. Cygnus' glitterdust made her invisibility purge unnecessary- at least for the moment- leaving her free to concentrate on other options. One glance to her right and behind her showed her four people struggling under Ajakstu's spell.
I can't even try an area dispel, Talass thought. I'd be caught in it as well.
The priestess could feel the coolness of the ring on her heat-blistered hands.
And that's one spell I can't risk dispelling. Sorry, folks- you're on your own.
A shimmering field of energy surrounded the cleric as Talass cast her shield of faith, and then headed towards her husband and Mordrammo, her warhammer clutched tightly in her right hand.
Guess I'm on my own. Thanks a lot.
Nesco had thought Talass was going to remove the slow spell when the priestess had glanced over at her, but that didn't seem to be the case- for whatever reason.
Tired of trying to sort through her limited options, Lady Cynewine drew Sundancer and began to head towards Ajakstu, intending to aid Aslan-as-Unru against the Slave Lord mage.
Now that she thought about it, it was kind of like trying to run underwater.
Until everything abruptly went black.
He's not attacking!
Incredible as it seemed, the party leader knew his conclusion was correct. Mordrammo was simply watching and waiting, parrying every stroke of Elrohir's sword that came his way.
"We are your death!" the ranger shouted as he weaved Gokasillion through the air and abruptly lunged forward; the blade aimed right at the High Priest's heart.
But Mordrammo caught the weapon against the shaft of his pick and swung it up and backwards.
"No, Elrohir," the Voice of the Sacred Scaly One replied in a remarkably conversational tone. "You're all just actors in my little play."
The cleric abruptly changed the pitch of his weapon's movement. Elrohir had to hang on with all his strength to avoid having his own weapon torn from his hand. He managed to do so, but the momentum brought the two combatants face-to-face.
"And you're playing your parts beautifully!" Mordrammo hissed.
The master assassin drew his sword.
Nerelas' gaze shifted from Cygnus to Zantac-to-Aslan to Unru-as-Zantac. All three wizards readied for a charge.
And that was when Nerelas glanced away from them-
-and cast.
Two moans preceded the twin thumps of Nesco Cynewine and Arwald abruptly crumpling to the floor.
"A sleep spell? By Boccob, the man's an arcanist, too!" Zantac-as-Aslan was the first to shout out what all three mages realized to their horror.
"If we don't kill him, he'll take us all out!"
"Stop smiling, Pigfellow! Don't you know when you've lost?"
Continuing to move at magically-enhanced speed, Scurvy John's cutlass undercut Argo's parry and dug into Bigfellow's right haute- the neck guard portion of his badly-damaged plate mail.
A flick of John's wrist, and the haute flew off, taking all of the covering over Argo's right arm down to the elbow with it.
The big ranger, breathing hard, continued to smile at the pirate.
"Undressing me, John? I should have guessed that about you."
With another wordless bellow of rage, Scurvy John ducked under Sir Menn's swing and thrust forward again just as Harve came around.
Blood sprayed from both combatants.
Yanigasawa Tojo's battle cry rang across the chamber as his katana found its target.
Clasping one hand over his gaping neck wound, Brother Milerjoi staggered back several steps, but then the monk caught Tojo on the chin with two spinning back-kicks in rapid succession.
"With all these illusions, you can't tell who of us is really who, Nerelas!" shouted Unru-as-Zantac. "Best to wait until Ajakstu unmasks us before you risk another attack!"
Cygnus nearly gasped at what his fellow mage was shouting until he realized that Unru's suggestion was just that- a suggestion.
The assassin made no response.
Aslan-as-Unru bent down to grab Ajakstu's staff, but his adversary was faster.
Snatching the staff back, Ajakstu raised it above his head.
White tendrils of light erupted from both ends, spreading out and forming a flickering cube of energy surrounding the wizard, his table and chair. Within seconds, what the paladin recognized as a wall of force had encased the Slave Lord magic-user, leaving Aslan on the outside. A quick glance upward showed that the spell's effect extended all the way up to the ceiling.
"Going on the defensive? You're not doing as well as you thought you would be." Aslan tried out a vicious sneer on Unru's face and found it an easy fit. "Can't reach me from behind that, you know."
"As a matter of fact, I can," was the reply.
Nerelas was the only Slave Lord not currently engaged with a target. That made Cygnus' decision all the easier.
The tall mage dipped into his component pouch again, and this time came out with a small white feather.
As soon as Cygnus had finished casting, the Slave Lord's master assassin suddenly screamed in terror and bolted away from the battle.
Lord, but I do so love my fear spells, thought Cygnus as he and Zantac-as-Aslan exchanged smiles.
Cygnus' friend prepared his own dispel magic, but not to cast.
The Willip wizard scanned the battlefield, searching for any enemy about to start casting a spell.
Suddenly, Sitdale sprinted past him, heading for Nerelas. The half-elf now sported an assortment of glowing auras on him. Apparently, he'd been shining himself up for a while.
Enough shine, Zantac thought hopefully, for him to go toe-to-toe with the assassin when he caught up with him.
"String Bean," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "I think we're going to win this thing."
Talass moved behind Mordrammo and touched her hammer to her holy symbol, uttering a soft prayer as she did so.
Out of the corner of Elrohir's eye, the ranger saw Hengist, slowed but still functioning, walk over to where Arwald and Nesco lay sprawled out on the floor and begin trying to shake them awake.
Two magic missiles, launched by Thorimund in the rear, suddenly shot by Elrohir to strike Mordrammo, but the white streaks had no effect.
The High Priest didn't even spare a glance towards their source. His eyes flickered over the battlefield before coming back to meet Elrohir's, who had just done the same thing.
"You can't help but see it, Mordrammo," the ranger said while looking for his next opening. "The tide has turned. You're going to lose."
The Voice of the Sacred Scaly One looked almost contemplative for a moment before the sinister grin returned under his dragon helm.
"Have we?"
The cleric tilted his head up and to the left. Looking as much as he dared, Elrohir saw the Slave Lord lieutenant's face peering out of the open panel in the ceiling.
"The Little Death!" roared Mordrammo.
The guard nodded and vanished, sliding the panel shut again.
And for only the second time since the battle began, the High Priest of The Earth Dragon began to cast.
Elrohir and his wife attacked instantly, but the priest moved sinuously to avoid their blows, his prayer somehow unaffected.
"Damn it!" screamed Zantac-as-Aslan from the other side of the room as his counterspell attempt failed.
For a moment, the mage saw no visible effect from the cleric's prayer.
And then Sir Menn whirled around and came charging at him- sword upraised and murder in his eyes.
"Kill!" the knight roared as he raised his blade high.
The stroke never fell.
Aslan-as-Unru crashed into Sir Menn with a flying tackle, and both combatants tumbled to the floor.
Argo's scream was short, but he couldn't stop it.
Relieved of the obligation to watch two opponents at once, the pirate had attacked with even more vigor. His cutlass dug a deep gash along Argo's unprotected right arm.
With a move born of years of experience, Scurvy slid his word up and into Harve's hilt.
Argo had no time for regrets as he saw his longsword go flying out of his hand.
Still moving with enhanced speed, the ambidextrous John dropped his shield and with his left hand grasped Bigfellow around the throat with the strength of an ogre.
The Slave Lord pressed forward, bending Argo backwards until the ranger's back was pressed against John's table. The pirate leaned over his enemy even his cutlass slowly moved into position to slit Bigfellow's throat.
"YOU CAN'T WIN!" John screamed, all his years of frustration and fury releasing in one primal yell as his victory was finally at hand.
To the very end, Argo still smiled.
"Yeah, but I'm so handsome I even look good when I lose."
The ranger's fingers closed around the handle of John's mug.
Scurvy John cried out as his ale was flung into his eyes. The pirate staggered back, trying to clear his eyes- and then something hard slammed right into his teeth.
Like a prisoner trying to attract attention in his cell, Argo Bigfellow slammed the mug again and again against John's mouth; left-to-right and then right-to-left. Scurvy tried to back away so as to use his cutlass again but Bigfellow followed, staying inside sword's reach.
One of John's diseased-weakened teeth flew out of his mouth; and then another.
Tojo danced. He whirled, his katana flashing.
And Brother Milerjoi backed off again, blood seeping from his stomach. The samurai could see it was a serious, if not mortal, wound.
The Yanigasawa samurai permitted himself a wry moment.
"If batter is to be yours, you may wish to craim it soon."
In response, the monk straightened up. He kept one hand was outstretched to intercept any further attacks while he placed the other on his abdomen with a gesture that reminded Tojo of Aslan's healing.
It seemed appropriate as the samurai watched Milerjoi's most recent wound close up.
"I spoke the truth, samurai," the monk told Tojo. "This is not the battle. It is only a fight."
Elrohir smiled.
"Dearest?" he asked while shooting her a meaningful glance over Mordrammo's shoulder.
Talass smiled right back.
She knew her husband so well.
"Of course."
Talass understood the situation. Even with her weapon magically enhanced, she knew there was little chance of being able to hurt Mordrammo- whom she suspected of being the most powerful of the Slave Lords. But then, she didn't need to hurt him.
Only distract him.
Talass attacked in a calculated manner; a serious of strikes designed for only one purpose; to distract the High Priest from her husband.
Mordrammo was not easily deceived, however. He spared the priestess of Forseti only the minimum attention, keeping his pick deployed where it was most useful- parrying Elrohir's attacks.
Talass growled deep in her throat.
Well, fine.
Her light blue eyes opening wide in horror, Talass suddenly pointed off to the right and screamed.
"ELROHIR! MY GOD, IT'S THE EARTH DRAGON!"
And it was not tactics but pride that made the High Priest of that very same god, despite all his battle prowess, flick his eyes over for just an instant.
"AAARRRGHH!"
Gokasillion came in at Elrohir's best swing, cutting through magical protection, armor, robes and skin alike. The Voice of The Sacred Scaly One screamed and then spun around to slide the sword's blade out of his skin and gazed with both astonishment and fury at the blood that was dripping from the wound.
Elrohir was already attacking again, but this time Mordrammo was able to parry.
"Think you're pretty clever, don't you?" the cleric snarled.
The party leader smiled. "We have our moments."
The contemplative, serene expression returned to Mordrammo's face.
"That was your last; enjoy it. You knew nothing from the very start, Furyondans. Act One is now over, and I shall enjoy Act Two from the playwright's suite."
A growl of some kind came from the High Priest's throat, sounding almost like rocks grinding against each other.
A tiny, star-like light appeared next to the ring on Mordrammo's right hand. It was swiftly followed by another, and then another. A second later, hundreds of white motes were swirling around the priest. His entire body abruptly flashed white-
And he was gone.
Grinding noises from above made everyone look up.
Four panels, identical to the one at the top of the stairs, were sliding open.
A large flask dropped down out of each.
There was an explosion as each one struck the stone floor. Not of fire, but of gas- a dark greenish cloud that seemed to somehow resist dispersing even as each one expanded outwards.
Elrohir stared at the unfolding scene in horror.
One flask had fallen at the back of the chamber enveloping Sitdale and Nerelas just as the half-elf had been about to attack his cowering quarry. Neither could be seen or heard anymore.
A second had fallen right between Tojo, Brother Milerjoi, Zantac-as-Aslan and Unru-as-Zantac. All four were quickly lost to sight.
The third had enveloped Hengist, Nesco and Arwald, whom Hengist had just succeeded in wakening. Elrohir had a brief glimpse of Arwald going limp again before his fellow fighter slumped over him, and the scene was closed up.
And the fourth had taken out both Argo Bigfellow Junior and Scurvy John.
"Elrohir."
His wife's voice was soft from disbelief and grief. When he looked over to Talass, he could see her eyes widen.
"The Little Death. Mordrammo's killing his own fellow Slave Lords just to slay us."
Unable to formulate a coherent reply, the ranger looked over the parts of the chamber that he could still see.
Sir Menn seemed to have come to his senses, and Aslan-as-Unru and Cygnus were helping him to his feet. Thorimund was coming towards Elrohir and Talass, skirting around the edge of one of the gas clouds.
"Thorimund, look out!" Talass yelled.
It was too late. Still slowed, Wainold's mage was unable to pull back in time as the gas by him suddenly expanded as if blown from inside by the breath of a giant. His collapsing form vanished in a puff of green.
"We've got to get out of here!" shouted Aslan, reverting back to his true form as the five survivors congregated.
"Up there?" asked Cygnus, indicating the staircase.
"No." Sir Menn shook his head. "Their entire army is probably waiting up there. We've got to break through that stone wall and get back into the catacombs- the gas won't be able to get us in there."
"Let's go!" shouted Cygnus.
A hundred feet down the corridor, the stone wall blocking the passageway remained as immutable as ever.
"Cygnus," Talass asked, trying to keep her voice level, "do you have anything?"
His face white with grief and worry, Cygnus bit his lip and thought. "I could try a fireball, but there's no guarantee it would work."
"Do it," said Aslan.
"Wait!" Elrohir suddenly exclaimed.
The others stared at their leader.
Talass glanced over her shoulder. The Little Death was just starting to spill over into the corridor.
"Aslan," the ranger said quietly. "Do you have enough Talent left to teleport?"
Aslan gazed at his friend. The paladin's mouth tightened.
"Just barely, Elrohir, but if you think I'm going to leave you be-"
"Shut up and listen to me, Aslan." Elrohir's voice went hard and his eyes flashed steel at the paladin. "You're going to take Talass, and the two of you are going to teleport back to Chendl, where you will drag Karzalin back here by his beard if necessary, find and recover our bodies, and retrieve them for later raising. No arguments- it's brutal logic, but you know it's the only way. I order you as your team leader- go!"
"Elrohir," Talass gritted her teeth while folding her arms across his chest. "If you think I'm going to leave you, then you've got a-"
Without warning, a light green ray shot forth out of the approaching gas cloud and struck Aslan. The paladin's body was instantly outlined in a greenish radius.
"Dimensional lock!" yelled Cygnus.
Elrohir whirled at the image he saw above him- and stared at the flickering in the air from a magical sensor.
Still augmented by ventriloquism, Ajakstu's cheery voice abruptly boomed out in their midst.
"You never learn, do you, Furyondans?"
Aslan closed his eyes in sorrow. He'd forgotten about the Slave Lord wizard, safe behind his walls of force until he could protect himself from the gas, emerge and come after them.
Cygnus, who had already withdrawn what he needed from his spell component pouch, roared with rage and hurled the fireball down the corridor.
"Cygnus!" Sir Menn shouted. "Are you mad? We needed that!"
An explosion sounded from somewhere in the chamber, followed by a scream.
Cygnus didn't have time to enjoy it. "I'll dispel the lock keeping Aslan here!" He began to cast as fast as his shaking fingers would allow.
"Look out!" Elrohir suddenly yelled as he grabbed Cygnus and whirled him around.
The Little Death had arrived, and while the party leader had reacted with the best of intentions in giving Cygnus the extra few seconds he needed to cast his spell, the tortured look in the tall mage's eyes told him everything he needed to know.
Elrohir had broken Cygnus' concentration and ruined the spell.
And as the green fumes filled his vision, Elrohir turned at the last to his wife, who was already calmly looking back at him.
Even at the last, he couldn't read her face, but Elrohir knew. He had failed. He had failed her. He had failed everyone. And now, after a thousand lucky escapes, it was finally, really over.
"I'm sorry," the ranger whispered as an inescapable fatigue took him and brought him into darkness.