The Pale ~ North Slopes of the Feyls

Pale, thin, windburned, three of the soldiers of Eld who had set out last autumn on a mission assigned by the High Mage of Eld trudged through the deep snow blanketing the northern slopes of the volcanic Feyls mountains. Only three of the original party of twenty remained. Four had been buried under an avalanche of snow only a few days past. One had fallen while climbing a cliff face. Two more had fallen ill and been left behind. Three had been separated from the rest and died in a snowstorm. The rest had died in a series of unfortunate accidents. Neither the frozen ice wastes of the Pale nor the northern slopes of the Feyls were hospitable to outsiders.

But three had nearly reached their destination, and for what Master Maur required, even one survivor was enough.

The three stood halfway up the mountain at the base of the shifting, iridescent radiance of the Faering Mists. Snow covered the ground, and their breath made clouds of mist that coated their bearded faces with fine layers of ice crystals.

One of the three knelt to build and light a fire in a small, rocky hollow that offered at least some protection from the wind howling through the tall peaks. As he did so, a dark, pervasive consciousness pressed down upon him. His muscles froze. His lungs contracted, forcing him to breathe in short pants.

The paralysis lasted for only a moment, but that was long enough for his mind to be ripped open and thoroughly plundered. His head lifted of its own volition, turned slowly to scan his surroundings. He caught sight of his two companions and realized the same commanding power had gripped them.

«Your location will do. Set the chemar in a secure place where the portal can open without interference. The first Mages will arrive in four bells.»

The crouching Elden soldier acknowledged the order. «Understood, Master Maur. It will be as you command.»

Eld ~ Boura Fell

The air in the treasure room had grown stifling. Sweat trickled down the sides of Melliandra’s face as with painstaking care, she slipped that last threads of the seventh magic ward free.

Relief overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her hands. Shaky breaths shuddered in and out of her lungs as a series of fine tremors shuddered through the muscles she’d kept locked into place for who knew how many bells while she unraveled the weave.

When her body stopped shaking and her racing heart slowed back to a normal beat, she reached for the brass latch on the case. Half expecting poison darts to shoot out the moment she pressed the release catch, she moved to one side and held her breath again until the catch popped open with nothing more dire than a snick of sound.

The case opened, revealing drawer after velvet-lined drawer of jewels. Rings. Pendants. Jewelled cuffs and armbands. Torques and ropes of shining crystals.

She had no concept of riches. No umagi born and raised in a Boura did. But the gleam and sparkle of the chest’s contents dazzled her eyes, and the hum of power that rose up from the jewels roused a spark of avarice in her heart. These glittering baubles were, if not the source of Vadim Maur’s power, at least the tools he used to amplify it. Her fingers itched to gather them up, to take them all with her. Surely something so powerful would come in handy one day.

She reached for a large, faceted blue crystal that she could almost swear was calling her name, but before she could touch the glittering gem, the memory of Lord Death’s stern lecture sounded in her mind. You do not know what you will find in this room. There will be objects of great power, including many objects of terrible Darkness, things that can consume the souls of the unwary. Touch nothing except what you know belongs to me.

She’d already broken her word by taking the two daggers for herself. But those blades had not vibrated with magical energy as these jewels did. They had not called to her in seductive voices, begging her to take them.

Her hands curled into fists, tucking her wayward fingers tight against her palms.

Get the crystal you came for, Melliandra, then close the chest, she told herself sternly. Quickly before you do something stupid.

The scold helped. She tried her best to ignore the call of the blue crystal while she peered through the drawers, looking for the stone Lord Death had drawn in her mind. She found it and many more like it in the third drawer. Dark red cabochon crystals, most gleaming with rainbowed lights.

To verify which stone belonged to Lord Death, she invoked a final Spirit weave, one that filled the air with a song of intense, exotic beauty. One of the largest of the crystals in the drawer suddenly flared with a whirling burst of brightness deep in its center. That was it. That was the one she’d come for.

She snatched Lord Death’s crystal from the velvet, then shoved the all the drawers back into place and slammed the chest doors closed. She didn’t even breathe until the latch clicked back into place and the seductive call of what lay inside the case fell silent. As swiftly as possible, reversing the actions she’d taken to unravel Vadim Maur’s protective weaves, she restored the wards around the case. Then, and only then, did she let herself cup the gleaming crystal in her palms, release the song weave once more to make the lights inside the stone shine and dance, and crow in silent victory.

She’d done it. She’d done it!

Eld ~ Boura Dor

With his communications in the spell room complete, Vadim Maur returned to Boura Dor’s command center. The three adversaries he’d brought with him from Boura Fell were gathered in the corner, talking quietly amongst themselves. He called them over.

“Primage Rutan has gathered an assembly of Mages by the Well of Souls. I want you three to go with them. I have decided that you, Garok, should take command, with Rutan reporting to you. This mission is vital and should be led by the most experienced and powerful Primages available. Rutan will give you the details when you join him.”