The Scar

Luthar! Come here! I forgive you! Come and see the great red-robed enchantress! She is on her knees, begging for her life!"

But Jenna was not yet ready to beg-she had more important things to do. She tried to get up hut fell roughly to the side as the ground shifted under her feet, and strong waves rippled the solid stone of the Tower's floor.

The wild magic made the floor twist and writhe beneath her, jolting her from one side to the next, preventing her from gaining any equilibrium. Somehow the sorcerer kept his balance, like the captain of a pitching ship during a violent storm, though the floor continually rose and sank. He laughed crazily.

When she tried to push herself up again, the floor heaved wildly, and she fell roughly onto her face. She rolled over, feeling tremendous pain, wondering if her nose was broken. Once again the floor buckled, and she was slammed against a slab of rock.

"She dances; she prances!" Kalrakin crowed. "See her cavorting about the floor-Luthar, you must witness!"

Though there was no sign of Luthar, Kalrakin seemed to take no notice of his lackey's absence. He was too busy enjoying his victim, toying with his wild magic just enough to keep the floor lurching unsteadily. The white Irda Stone flashed as he tossed it back and forth from one hand to the other. Jenna was tossed like a rag doll from one place to another.

At last she managed to grab hold of something and sit up, her hands spread to the sides in anticipation of another lurch. Her staff lay nearby, and so, too, Dalamar, who lay on his back, motionless and probably dead. The right side of his face was a gruesome sight, flesh torn away and awash with blood.

Kalrakin's attention drifted for a moment as he raised his head, looking as if he heard something. He shrugged then waved one hand. Instantly another wave of violence wracked the Tower. Crashes and bangs echoed everywhere. Streams of rubble and dust fell from the ceilings. The foundation groaned. The floor lurched sickeningly, and Jenna's heart faltered. The whole place was about to come down around her.

But Kalrakin, head thrown back as he cackled with crazy laughter, was momentarily preoccupied with his spellcasting.

The Red Robe drew a breath. Her hands were raw, scraped, and bruised. Her stomach lurched unevenly. Magic spells roiled in her mind-spells that might conceal her, possibly even let her escape-as a last resort.

Kalrakin seemed to remember her then, glancing down at the Red Robe. "All of your great wizards have fallen into my trap, now. Ironic that they will all perish in the Hall of Mages, don't you think? Like pathetic rats, drowned in a little cage? But still, I can't decide-is that how I should kill them?

"Drown them, perhaps, with a storm inside a closed room? Or should I simply bring it all down on their pathetic little heads-an avalanche of black stone, so that the Tower dies along with them? Symbolic and appropriate, of course, but perhaps a little too sudden for my tastes. What do you say?" he asked, looking at her with his eyebrows raised mockingly.

Jenna watched him warily, her attention focused on that stone, which he was flipping back and forth between his two hands, so casually. By Lunitari, how she wanted to tear that thing from his grasp. Yet she knew that before she could reach him, he would destroy her with the simplest spell.

He smiled coldly, as if reading her thoughts, then continued to speak conversationally.

"The flaw in that plan-destroying them along with the Tower-is that I won't get to see the last looks on your colleagues', my victims', faces. Tons of rock fall, they die, and it's all over. No, I might prefer a more measured approach." He extended his hand before him, made a simple gesture, and two heavy chunks of stone rolled together, pinioning Jenna's ankle.

"Such as this!" Kalrakin squeezed his hand and the enchantress gasped in pain as the two blocks of stone slowly began to move together, squeezing her ankle so tightly that she cried out. Slowly the two stones began to grind closer together; the bones of her ankle began to be crushed.

"Yes, that would be much better." The sorcerer seemed pleased with his experiment. "A gradual approach. More fun to watch."

Then the stones stopped moving, though Jenna was still trapped. Pain etched on her face, she looked up, sensing that Kalrakin wanted to toy with her, torture her; anything, she thought, if it would help buy a little time.

"I can pull in the walls on all sides of that chamber, just like those stones now pinning your ankle." He seemed oddly eager to explain his brainstorm to her; she had the bizarre sense that he was seeking her approval.

"I could do the same with all the little wizards. Gradually shrink the room, so to speak, until they are all pressed into the center. Like fish in a net, they will splash around, wriggling and wiggling. Perhaps some will even climb atop their companions as the space grows smaller. Oh, they will know they are going to die, but it will take some time for them to get it over with. Yes, perfect-I will kill them all that way, so they die with a sense of style!"

Kalrakin chortled, absently fondling his artifact, pacing back and forth as he imagined his lethal spell. "Of course, by the time I've finished, the tower will be in too sad a state to stand. It must come down-it must be totally destroyed! How fitting-a perfect monument to mark the graves, not just of a few dozen feisty wizards, but a tomb for all godly magic upon Krynn!"

Despairing, Jenna looked over at the dark elf. The rocks pinning her ankle ground slowly closer to each other. The pain was unbearable. She thought of a spell that could relieve the pressure, and she murmured it quietly. With great relief she felt the stone on the inside of her leg soften a bit, becoming almost rubbery. But she kept her expression grim.

She glanced again at Dalamar, and her eyes widened for a moment, before she turned quickly back to the sorcerer, hoping that her surprised reaction hadn't given her away. But she was sure of what she had seen.

Dalamar's hands were twitching, and the bloody mess that remained of his lips had started to articulate a spell.

The pain was a distant thing now. Dalamar knew that his face was badly torn, suspected he might even be blinded, but that was no matter to him now. His flesh was finally responding to his will, and he would allow no weakness to restrain him now. He called upon his hand, his might, his magic.

He drew a quiet breath, ignoring the blood that gurgled in his throat as he filled his lungs with precious air.

As awareness returned to his flesh, his every nerve seemed to scream out from the highest peak of agony. But he also heard the whisper in his ear, Nuitari counseling him, soothing him, acting as immortal balm.

Serve me, my elf-serve me as you never have before. This is not just your life at stake, nor even the lives of all the mages. You strive now for the survival of godly magic upon Krynn-and if you fail, my cousins and I will he forever banished from the world.

And he knew that it was the truth. Dalamar had to survive, had to fight, had to prevail.

The spell took time to build in him. The gift of his god, given to him through the medium of this tower, was not something that would smite the sorcerer. But it would allow Dalamar the chance to slip away; to make a tactical retreat; and to form one last, desperate attack. Vaguely he sensed Kalrakin taunting someone-it could only be Jenna. She must still be alive, fighting on. He was relieved by that knowledge. Now he needed to do his part.

Words choked thickly in his bloody mouth, but he gritted his teeth and forced the torn muscles to give shape to the necessary sounds. And then the power exploded from him in a god-nourished burst of magic, one of the most potent spells he had ever devised. It was not a spell of warmth, but of absolute, irresistible cold. The force of it shot out; surrounded; and embraced the room, the Tower, and the forest, clamping down on movement, on life, and on vitality with irresistible force. It coalesced through the air, the ground, the very world, imposing the will of the dark god on all creation.