Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [57]
"It is time," Mahara said, interrupting his thoughts.
He watched with keen interest as the assembled othlor gathered around them in silent convocation. First one then the rest of the masked witches raised pale hands into the air. Suddenly, the clearing fell silent-neither wind nor bird nor shifting branch broke the stillness. With his own arcane senses, Taen could feel the slow buildup of mystic forces, like the gathering of power before a storm.
"May the telthor guide your steps," Mahara said then began a complex chant.
As her voice rose and fell to the rhythmic patterns that would focus and seal the power of the witch's spell, Taen's vision began to shift and blur, as if the world itself stretched and coiled around itself. He nearly jumped as he felt a hand grip his own. By its size and calloused feel, it could only be that of Borovazk. Blindly, he reached out until he could feel Marissa's shoulder; he rested his hand heavily upon it.
The flow of the arcane energy shifted violently, and Taen knew, from his own mastery of magic, that something was wrong.
"The traitor has some sort of mystic shield repelling our spell, Mahara," Najra called out, confirming what the half-elf had already suspected.
"Whatever she has in place," Mahara shouted, "the power of the Urlingwood will not be denied!"
With that, the witch slammed both of her hands together, palm to palm. Eldritch energy roiled from her joined hands, spilling out in waves upon Taen and his waiting friends. The world lurched madly then disappeared in a single moment of violent disorientation. Taen's mind tried to rebel at the utter nothingness around him, but years of arcane study had prepared him for the sense of dislocation.
Half a heartbeat later, the world resolved into a faded tableau of gray stone-the suggestion of a wall, the hint of an uneven floor-then just as suddenly, it disappeared in another gut-wrenching twist out of reality.
This time, Taen counted the heartbeats spent suspended in nothingness. Though he knew that he remained linked to his companions, all sense of touch had disappeared. Clearly, something had gone wrong! He'd used enough teleport spells in his day to know that some outside force had forcibly changed their destination. Now he worried that they would spend the rest of their lives trapped on the astral plane.
He was just about to cast a spell of his own when the darkness shifted around him again. When the nauseating sense of disorientation abated, Taen could once more feel solid ground beneath his feet, and the touch of his companions. The darkness, however, had not parted. It covered them like an impenetrable skin.
"What in all of the Nine Hells was that?" Roberc swore.
Before Taen could answer, something skittered and hissed somewhere in the darkness beyond them.
"Borovazk not like the sound of that, little friends," the ranger said.
Taen heard the sound of the Rashemi's weapons slide from their resting places. Quickly, he spoke an arcane word into the pitch black emptiness. The world exploded into light.
And the screaming began.
CHAPTER 16
The Year of the Arch
(1353 DR)
Steel rang against steel in the forest clearing. Sweat ran down Taenaran's face, stinging eyes and running in tiny rivulets down his back. The half-elf struggled to bring his sword into the third position, angled slightly above his head, when the silver-haired elf standing in the clearing's center called for the next attack. Arvaedra was a harsh swordmaster, and Taenaran knew that if he performed the maneuver even slightly off-center, the el'tael's quick eyes would catch it, and she would pounce on him like a wyrmling on a fatted calf. All of the tael knew that the only thing quicker than Arvaedra's sword was her tongue.
A cool breeze swept through the clearing, rustling branches and the long green cloaks of the other masters watching from the shadowy edges of the clearing. The wind sent a soft shiver down Taenaran's spine. He tried to ignore it in the same way that he tried to ignore the cold, impassive gaze of the other masters, made worse by the