Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [107]
The last tatters of magical smoke evaporated. High above, the shadowsteeds cried out as they caught sight of their enemy again. They folded their wings and dove once more. Morhion had no more offensive spells left. He could only watch.
Suddenly a dark form appeared before him. Two burning eyes bore into his chest. "The shadevari will slay you, mage," Serafi hissed. "Why do you not do something?"
"I have no magic that will stop them."
"What of the witch's ring?"
The mage shook his head ruefully. "Would that I understood its magic. It might indeed help me. But I do not." What did it matter now? He had done what he had intended; he had bought Mari and K'shar time enough to reach the blocked fissure. "I will die now."
"You are wrong, mage!" Serafi shrieked. "I will not let you!" He stretched a translucent gauntlet toward Morhion's chest. "I need some of your life force. Give it to me!"
Before Morhion could answer yea or nay, the spectral knight took what he wanted. The mage cried out as crackling green energy leapt from his chest toward Serafi's outstretched fingers.
"Ah, yes!" Serafi whispered exultantly.
The shadowsteeds were nearly upon them. Serafi withdrew his hand as Morhion sank to the ground with a moan. Serafi turned and thrust his clenched gauntlet toward the descending creatures. This time the magic was blood-red, and it crackled away from the spectral knight's hand. Crimson energy engulfed the shadow steeds, sizzling as it plunged into their dark bodies. They screamed in agony, winging high into the sky to circle warily above the pinnacle.
"Your magic-it harmed them," Morhion gasped in amazement.
Serafi shook an ethereal fist in anger. "It was not enough."
Weakly, Morhion struggled to his feet. "Then do it again," he croaked. "Use more of my life force to destroy them."
"It would kill you," Serafi said flatly. "And in case you have forgotten, preserving your body is the sole purpose of this exercise."
Morhion gave a grim laugh. "Then I think you have failed, Serafi." He pointed weakly. High above, the tow shadowsteeds separated, winging away from each other. They were going to dive at the pinnacle from opposing directions.
With effort, Morhion straightened his frame to his full height and brushed his flowing hair from his brow. He would meet his death with dignity. As he lowered his hand, his eye caught a glint of violet. Isela's ring. Once again he was struck by the contrast of brilliance and blackness contained within the ring's purple gem. It was almost as if the jewel did not simply reflect the world round, but rather separated that reflection into the basic components of light and dark. Morhion let out a gasp. In that moment, he understood the key to the ring's magic.
He jerked his head up; the shadowsteeds were mere seconds away. At the ruined tower, his spell of protection had worked against the shadowhounds. Yet he knew now that it had not been the spell itself. It was because of the wall. Morhion cast his memory back to that night, picturing the ancient stone wall: the light of the rising moon glowed brilliantly on one side, while on the other side night reigned pure and perfect. It was the same separation that had marked the beginning of the world, when the song of the gods had split the shadowy chaos into two ordered elements, light and dark.
Could he forge a similar wall now? Perhaps. The spells were simple, and Morhion knew them. He began with a spell of light, conjuring a sphere of brilliant white radiance, then stretching and shaping it into a sheet that covered