Alustriel hung her head. She could think of no spells to cast, could not even remember what the staff in her hand or the rings on her fingers were supposed to do. She felt only a deep, languid sadness, that her old beloved teacher could do such things.
"You no doubt recognize this stone in my hand," he continued. "It is the Keystone to control this most impressive mythal. Its guardian was reluctant to give it up, but he shall no longer miss it, I can assure you." Marogance chuckled without humor. "The stone permits me absolute control over the power of the mythal, of course. It is a very great power, Alustriel of Silverymoon. Do you know, I live again! Such is the power I have been able to draw from it. It seems almost a shame to destroy it now."
Catlindra's mind raced. She looked at Kaldura, who had the look in her eyes of someone who has accepted death. She looked at Chaldara, lying in two bloody, gory pieces on the floor, an ocean of blood surrounding her. She looked at Jandeth, sobbing and struck numb with grief and terror. Alustriel, paralyzed and defeated. Marogance, coldly triumphant. Catlindra's eyes scanned the room for anything that could be of use to her; she tried not to look directly at the demons who stood impassively about, and so her eyes were drawn to the floor.
The floor was still littered with the blades that had come flying out to murder them all just a few moments before. There were all sorts of blades, from daggers to great broadswords, and everything in between. They varied in age from the obviously antique to the relatively new, and in quality from solid and bright to the final stages of decay. Her eyes were drawn to one ornate longsword that had the look of true quality to it. Its blade was carved with runes, and its pommel had an empty socket where a great gem had obviously once sat. She moved over to pick it up, fully expecting her skull to be split by some demon's blade at any second. But none of the demons moved, and she hefted the sword in her hand.
"Have you found a toy to play with, child?" Catlindra knew Marogance's mocking words were directed at her, but she did not look up, did not hesitate. "You waste time. No blade can pierce me within the mythal while I control the Keystone. No weapon can harm me." Catlindra gripped the blade tightly, and determined to sell her life as dearly as possible.
Catlindra stood silently, her own blade in her right hand and the sword she had just picked up in her left. She moved the new blade slowly about, testing it for balance and solidity. It was a remarkably good blade, the balance perhaps just slightly off due to the absence of the decorative gem in the pommel.
She tried to calm her mind, to keep her eyes from straying to the dismembered Chaldara, and trying to ignore Jandeth's distraught sobs. She could see Kaldura out of the corner of her eye, grimly hefting her mace. She knew that the dwarf was waiting for Marogance to let his guard down for just one moment, allowing her to get one good strike in before meeting a certain death.
The band of ghouls behind Marogance barked and yipped like a pack of hell-spawned dogs, and advanced menacingly forward.
"Back!" cried the lich-lord angrily, and raised his hand. The pack howled in terror and complied with his command. But the anger on Marogance's face vanished as quickly as it had come, and was replaced by a grin of cruel humor.
"When I have done with the Lady Alustriel," he said to them evenly, "you may rend her little playmates as much as you desire. They are all women, I see. How nice. Women scream better."
The sound of Jandeth's weeping cut off suddenly as the lich spoke those arrogant words. Catlindra watched with satisfaction as the young priestess slowly rose to her feet. She wiped the tears from her face with the sleeves of her tunic, and fixed Marogance with a gaze of such cold hatred that Catlindra almost gasped: she had never seen such a look in her companion's eyes before.
Kaldura did not instantly attack (to Catlindra's surprise and relief), but merely intensified her unreadable stare at the swaggering man.
Catlindra felt pride in her two remaining companions' obvious courage and resolve, but Alustriel was a mystery: she was undoubtedly one of the most powerful mages in the Realms, a Chosen of Mystra, yet she stood helpless and inactive, as if she were in some sort of trance. Certainly, she could summon bolts of lightning from a clear night sky to slay this arrogant fool, and all his ghouls and demons as well! What sort of power did Marogance hold over her to keep her at bay in this manner?
The grinning wizard raised the Great Keystone before him. "When I crush this stone," he said, "the great mythal of Myth Drannor shall come crashing down about our very ears. I shall, of course, miss the power I command by controlling it, but that does not matter. It will enable me to achieve my ultimate goal, which is your own death, Alustriel."
The horrible sense of paralysis deepened within Alustriel's soul. "Why?" was all she could whisper. "Tell me why."
Marogance swept his arms grandly open and gave a jolly laugh. "Shall I answer you?" he crowed. "Am I to obey your commands here? You have no need to know why you are to die. You just need to die."
Perhaps a tear escaped from Alustriel's eye then, for the wizard gazed into her eyes with even greater relish. "You feel betrayed by an old friend?" he said softly. "Good."
"Now, dear," he said in a matter-of-fact tone, "when the mythal comes down, its tremendous magical energies are not going to simply go away. It will seek the most opportune route back to the source of magic, the mystical weave that pervades this world. Unfortunately for you, you hold a great portion of that magic within yourself. So, when the magic of the mythal seeks a place to go, it will be you that it chooses. You shall become a bonfire of magic, Lady."