Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,111

showed them: an empty glade, surrounded by forest and washed by moonlight.

In fact, the clearing was heaped with boxes—a veritable matron’s ransom in magical items, arranged in three piles. Master Masoj sat on a moss-softened stone next to one stack of boxes, his diamond-dusted skin glittering like twinkling stars in the moonlight. The corpulent Urlryn stood beside another, sipping wine from his goblet. Master Seldszar, his head moving back and forth as he tracked the gems orbiting him, sat cross-legged on his driftdisc, above the third pile. Dark lenses screened his eyes from the moonlight.

Q’arlynd stood with his four remaining apprentices, their minds linked by their rings. They would be adding their energies during his prayer. Eldrinn—clad, as usual, in pale gray clothes that made his skin appear darker—was rooting around in Q’arlynd’s memories, satisfying his curiosity about what had become of Piri. Q’arlynd, heeding his promise to Flinderspeld, gave the boy a mental nudge when he strayed too near the portion of his mind that held memories of the magical pools.

Baltak had transformed his hair into the tawny mane of a lion and grown falcon wings in imitation of a sphinx. He kneaded the air, flexing his claws, reveling in the magical power that crackled through the night, proud to be a part of it. Zarifar, as always, was daydreaming. He stared up through the dome of force at the stars, drawing imaginary patterns between them.

Alexa watched the spot where the teleportation circle had deposited them. She nodded to herself as a section of ground turned muddy—a sign that the cavern had flooded as planned, preventing anyone else from coming through.

Seldszar cleared his throat. “Time to begin. Masters, please raise your fields.”

Q’arlynd thought he saw a flicker of movement, out beyond the dome of force. He peered in that direction, then decided it must be some creature of the World Above. Whatever it was, the dome of force would keep it at bay. And if it was a person out there, well… .

He touched his braid. The hair clip was still there, providŹing a solid, comforting presence.

He returned his attention to the masters as Seldszar, Urlryn, and Masoj began their transmutations. Each pulled out a preserved eyeball dusted with powdered diamond, pricked his finger, and allowed three drops of blood to fall. The orbs on their palms spun, and three multicolored globes of magical energy sparkled into existence. As these fields spread, a hissing rose from each box they touched. The boxes rattled slightly, as if jiggled by a mild earth tremor. Ghostlike images danced above them like heat mirages, as enchanted rods, rings, potion vials, robes, and amulets were consumed. Q’arlynd glanced at Seldszar, wondering if the Master of Divination was wincing behind those dark lenses.

Seldszar raised his hand. At his signal, each of the mages cast his spell. Seldszar crossed his hands against his chest, and flung them apart, shouting the abjuration that would shatter enchantments. The magical field around him exploded, streaks of energy shooting out into the night. Urlryn dropped to one knee with surprising grace for a male of his girth and slapped a hand to the ground, shouting a curse-negating spell. The globe of energy surrounding him coalesced into thousands of drops of light that fell to the ground like rain. Masoj cast the third and most powerful abjuration, his fingers twining like knots. The globe of magical energy twisted into a tight, dizzyŹing tangle—then shredded as he tore his hands apart.

Now it was Q’arlynd’s turn. He took a deep breath—and felt each of his apprentices inhale as he did. He’d been nervous until this moment, but the touch of their minds steadied him. So did the cool presence of the kiira on his forehead. He sent his mind deep into it, and sought out the ancestor who had honored Eilistraee.

Are you ready? she asked.

Q’arlynd nodded.

Sing with me.

Words shimmered in the air in front of him—words that only he could see. It was like reading a spellbook. As his eyes fell on each word, its sound was conveyed to his mind, together with the note it sustained in the melody. He heard himself singing, and was amazed at the beauty of his voice. He’d never heard it so rich, so vibrant. His apprentices, their minds linked to his, provided the harmony: Baltak a bold bass, Eldrinn a higher tenor, Zarifar a soft falsetto that twined delicately around Alexa’s alto. Directed by his ancestor, Q’arlynd touched thumb to thumb, forefinger to forefinger, forming Eilistraee’s