149. Denerim: Palace District
Fort Drakon loomed overhead, and the palace square had been cleared by a relentless line of walking suits of lyrium-coated armor. They were as close to the archdemon as they were likely to get.
"Everyone present and accounted for?" Knight-Commander Greagoir's voice called out, and the Templars sounded off all around them.
Literally around them. When Kazar had stopped the mages and gathered them here, on the balcony in front of the royal palace, the Templars had formed a protective perimeter of steel.
Not that Kazar was complaining at this point. It would be really stupid if, while trying to kill the archdemon, they all ended up spit by a stray genlock.
"So, my boy," Irving's voice said. "What's the plan?"
Kazar didn't take his eyes off the silhouette of the dragon circling above them. It was staying high. Occasionally, it swooped out over the city, letting loose a roar or a blast of spirit fire, but it then returned to hugging the tower. Probably had a good view of its horde from up there.
"Easy," Kazar said, watching it take another loop. "We shoot it."
"Our spells can't possibly reach that high," one of the mages complained. Paigal.
"You ever tried?" Kazar watched the dragon perch to land on the tower, and turned to look at the other mages. All older than him. All of them way more scared.
"It's not possible," Paigal insisted stiffly. "It's too far."
"Don't tell me what's impossible," Kazar snapped. "We are all open conduits to the Fade. We bend forces of nature to our will. Possibility ceases to have any relevance when it comes to mages." He glanced back up... yep, it was still on the tower, a looming silhouette.
"We can't all be primal prodigies," Petra said doubtfully.
"Fine. Then I'll bring it down closer." Irked, Kazar did what he could to gather his magical power. Words aside, he was aware that this dragon was a great deal farther than most spells could reasonably travel.
He closed his eyes and summoned a burst of power from the depths of the earth itself. Rock and stone came alive around him, crawling with the darkspawn Taint, and he felt the earth shaking slightly under his feet.
Then, he opened his eyes and sent the burst of magic, still coiled and unreleased, rocketing up the side of Fort Drakon, straight up the tower and to the top. It slipped out of his control about halfway up... too far for him to grip properly, but the magic was set in motion. It burst as it ran out of stone at the top of the tower, and the portion of the tower the archdemon was perched on exploded in a hail of dust and stone. It slipped off with a shriek.
"Now!" Kazar snapped, watching the archdemon spin and tumble down toward them. It unfurled its wings and managed to stop its descent about halfway down, and then a volley of thunder and ice spells ricocheted off its scaled hide.
The archdemon roared and wheeled around in midair, then dove into a low swoop over the mages' positions. Wynne and Irving erected a shield around the mages and Templars, just as the dragon blasted them with a spirit burst. Even shielded, it knocked most of them off their feet.
Kazar was among those who had to pick himself up.
"Well, we angered it," someone said. "Now what?"
"What do you mean, 'now what'?" Kazar snapped. "Hit it again!"
As if on cue, the archdemon's roar rocked the square, and it swooped in for another pass. This time, Kazar was ready with a blast of lightning, catching its wing but barely making it twitch. The archdemon passed over them and flew away, with little but a few patches of ice on its scales to speak of their efforts.
"It's not doing anything!" Paigal called.
"We must be persistent," Wynne said.
The archdemon came by for another pass, and as it opened its mouth to release its breath weapon, Kazar burst a fireball in its face. It shrieked angrily, but arrested its swoop and started climbing.
"Great, now you made it go up again," Paigal groaned. Sure enough, the archdemon was back to circle high, near the top of the tower.
Kazar clenched his fists, because this wasn't working. At this rate, the dragon would flatten all of them before it took any significant amount of damage. "The little attacks aren't working. We need something bigger."
"Bigger how?"
"Something strong. Inescapable." He recalled the fight with Flemeth... what had it taken to take her down and keep her there? "Storm of the Century."
There were some gasps and murmurs to that. It was a technique not often used, because spell combinations like that had a way of getting out of control.
"Even if we could conjure a storm like that," Paigal said. "there is no way to do it from this far away. Not even you could do a spell that strong from this distance."
Kazar watched the dragon resume its lazy circling. "We have to try."
"We're going to fail."
"We don't have a choice!" Kazar spun on the mages, just daring them to contradict him. "Look, you guys want to be hated and feared forever? This is our chance to prove that mages can be an asset. And more importantly, we can't afford not to succeed. We have to bring that dragon down, no matter the cost. Failure is not an option."
The mages around him exchanged uncertain looks... except Wynne, who smiled encouragement, and Irving, who calmly asked. "What, then, is your proposed course of action?"
Kazar took a breath. They could do this. He could do this. He had to. "We conjure the storm... but not up there. Down here." He paused, eying Greagoir. "You Templars may want to give us a little more space."
The Knight-Commander raised a brow, but nonetheless expanded the perimeter to about twice the size it had been.
"Are you trying to get us all killed?" Petra asked in shock. "We can't withstand a storm like that! There's no way to control it."
"Yes, there is. You just need enough power." Kazar glanced up one last time, then around. "Center it on me. Start conjuring, and then get out of the way. Wynne... I think an elemental balm or two may be in order." He turned to find that she was already digging through her bag.
"Look," one of the mages, Ioria, said, "I want to blast you in the face as much as the next mage, Kazar... but if you lose control, this will kill you."
"Then I won't lose control." He took the balms Wynne offered him and hurried to apply them. Above them, the archdemon roared, swooping down to snap at something near the harbor. "Hurry up, get in position."
Kazar found himself standing alone in the center of the square, with mages and Templars alike forming a wide-eyed circle around him. He understood their concern; what he was trying was dangerous and stupid on at least four levels. But it was a risk he was willing to take. No, it was a risk he had to take. Otherwise it was all for nothing.
Otherwise, Jowan had died for nothing.
They gave him a moment to steady himself. He summoned his magic, letting it crackle over him and extend around him, tendrils of power and magic infusing the air.
Irving cast first, and the air around Kazar heated up into fire swirled into existence around him. He reached out and gripped the forming vortex, taking control of it before it turned him into a charred husk. He spun it around himself, feeding it with his own magic until it followed his bounds instead of Irving's.
Then, the air in the vortex crackled with ozone, and lightning cracked through it. Kazar hissed as a bolt caught his staff and zapped through him, but he did not release his control of the fiery vortex. The thunderstorm, too, he reached out and grabbed, threading it around the fire magic until the ground itself around him was scorched with the destructive power.
Finally, the third component, from multiple sources by the feel of it. Shards of ice blasted around and through the storm, defying the heat and making the stone under his feet bitterly cold. This, too, Kazar grasped and fed and wove into the storm, creating layers of magic upon magic that fed one another with sheer destructive power.
This would do it. This would make the difference, if he could only get it up there.
And so, Kazar fed even more of himself into the storm, and taking control of the whole thing was like wrestling a bear. He felt when he hit the limits of his strength, and it wasn't enough.
He could not fail. He would not fail. This was what he was here for. For this, he'd sold his soul. He would. Not. Fail.
He shoved past a mental dam and a surge of demonic magic burst into him from the Fade. Suddenly empowered, he knew that he could do this. He would bring the archdemon to the ground, because he was the most talented mage of his generation, and that was that.
With everything he had, he surged the storm upward, and it went in screaming, frothing fury. Somewhere nearby, he heard gasps, but could not afford to pay any more attention to the mortals on the ground. The archdemon wheeled overhead, and he slammed the storm into it. A roar echoed over the city as he trapped the dragon within it, compressing it into a cage around the great beast. Even from here, Kazar could feel the storm tearing holes in its wings, and he smiled.
The storm burned out quickly once it was away from Kazar, but it had done its job. As the gigantic ball of magic dissipated, the archdemon could be seen careening through the air, flapping in a desperate attempt to keep its elevation. It slammed into the side of the tower near the top, and scrabbled to get a foothold on the roof. Kazar smiled as a wash of Pride went through him at the sight.
Sure, it was still far away, up on the top of Fort Drakon... but it was safe to say it wouldn't be taking to the air again.
Kazar sighed and finally let go of his magic. He looked down, just in time to catch the cracks of red light fading from his own skin.
He felt the rock of a holy smite slamming into him. A moment later, a steel blade pressed up against the back of his neck, and Knight-Commander Greagoir's voice growled, "Abomination."