Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [166]
Elminster lifted his own hands in quick gestures, but the folk watching saw the air around the throne flicker and dance with sudden light. El knew no magic would take hold where he sat now; he could raise no barrier to stop missiles or blades seeking his life.
The mage royal laughed and ordered the armsmen who hadn't fired their quarrels yet to loose them. Elminster sprang to his feet.
A fat merchant standing under a pillar suddenly flickered and became a tall, slim woman with bone-white skin and large, dark eyes. One of her hands was raised in a warding gesture- and the crossbow bolts leaping toward the Stag Throne caught sudden fire as they flew. They flared and were gone.
The senior armsman turned and pointed at Myrjala. "Shoot her down!" he ordered, and two crossbows cracked as one.
Dodging around the throne, deciding which spell to use when he got far enough away from Undarl's magic-rending field, Elminster watched those bolts streak across the throne room at his onetime tutor. They glowed a vivid blue to his mage-sight.
He stared in horror; spells flared out angry radiance around them. Undarl laughed coldly as a sudden burst of light marked the destruction of a shield spun around the sorceress. It was followed by a second flash, an instant later, as an inner shield failed-and Myrjala staggered, clutched at her breast where one bolt stood quivering, turned sideways so he saw the second bolt standing in her side-and fell. Undarl's harsh laughter rang out loudly. Elminster started down the steps at a run, his own safety forgotten. He was still three running paces short of Myrjala's sprawled form when she vanished.
The green carpet where she'd lain was empty. Elminster turned from it, eyes blazing, and spat a spell. He was a single snarled word away from the end of the incantation when the mage royal's cruel eyes, fixed triumphantly on his own, faded away into empty air. The wizard had vanished, too.
Elminster's completed spell was already taking effect. Sudden fire raged along the gallery, and armsmen screamed hollowly inside their armor, writhing and staggering. Crossbows crashed down over the rail, followed by one guard, armor blackened and blazing, who toppled over the gallery rail and crashed down atop a merchant, smashing him to the flagstones. There were fresh screams from the courtiers as they rushed for the doors.
The portals they sought were flung open then, bowling over more than one hurrying merchant, and into the throne room strode King Belaur, naked but for a pair of breeches. His face was dark with anger, and a drawn sword glittered in his hand.
Folk fell back before him-and then fled in earnest as they saw who was behind the king. The mage royal was smiling coldly as he walked, his hands weaving another spell. Elminster went white and spat out a word. The air flashed, and that end of the throne room shook, but nothing happened… except that a little dust drifted down from above.
Undarl laughed and lowered his hands. His shield had held.
"You're on my ground now, Prince-and fool!" he gloated. Then his face changed, he gasped-and fell forward with a howl of pain.
Behind him, belt knife red to the hilt, stood a certain baker, brows trembling in fury. Hannibur had come to Athalgard to find his wife. Courtiers gasped. Hannibur reached down to cut the magelord's throat, but Undarl's hand darted out in a gesture.
The air pulsed and flowed, and the baker's raised dagger shattered. From the whirling sparks of its destruction rays of light leapt out in all directions: a protective spell-cage flashed into being around the fallen mage.
Elminster glared at Undarl and spoke a clipped, precise incantation. A second cage, its glowing bars thicker and brighter than Undarl's, enclosed the first. The mage royal struggled up to one elbow, face pinched in pain, and his hand went to his belt.
Hannibur stared down at the purposeful magelord and the radiances that had just consumed his only blade, shook his head in slow anger,