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ground, Basel's spell took effect.
Armed men, garbed in the pale blue-green of Halruaa's militia, sprang from
the ground like mushrooms after a summer rain. Shouts of renewed purpose
burst from the beleaguered troops. The dark-clad invaders, suddenly
outnumbered and outfought, were pressed back toward their comrades.
Basel nodded with satisfaction. "A small step, but a good one." He reached
out to touch the glowing scrying globe mounted near the helm. The light within
parted to reveal the caller as King Zalathorm himself.
The face in the globe was almost unrecognizable as the mild man who
presided over endless councils. This man had a warrior's fierce eyes and wore
battle robes of ancient design, so brightly colored as to be barbaric.
"Well done, Basel! If you've more ideas like that, speak quickly."
"That was not my plan, but Matteo's."
A moment of struggle passed over the king's face and was gone. "Where is
the jordain?"
"Aboard Avariel, sire." Basel gestured, and Matteo stepped into the king's
line of vision.
The king gave a curt nod. "Send him to me. If his conscience requires
dispensation from the use of a transportation spell, tell him that he is not the only
one who made hard choices for the good of Halruaa. Basel, I release you from
your vows of silence."
The king's visage disappeared from the globe. Matteo turned questioning
eyes to the conjurer.
Basel was fumbling in his spellbag for the needed components and did not
meet the jordain's eyes. "I'd keep you with me if I could, my son, but the king has
need of your counsel. Come to me after the battle, and we will talk."
He closed his eyes and began to chant a spell of teleportation. Matteo
stepped into the path of a small, crimson wind tunnel that spilled from Basel's
hands. Instantly he was whisked away into a white, soundless world, but the
wizard's words-and the possibilities they offered-followed him into the void.
* * * * *
Procopio clenched the rail of Starsnake, his personal skyship and the
command ship of the Halarahh militia. He gazed at the battle below and sought
furiously for something that could turn the battle and ensure Halruaa's victory and
his own.
It was not going well. Several legions should have marched north from
Halarahh. Apparently the queen's metal army had kept them too busily
employed. Basel Indoulur's mushroom army had evened the score somewhat,
but such warriors never lasted long enough. Too many warriors had died in the
Nath. Three skyships lay in smoking ruins amid the foothills, and at least a score
of wizards had fallen with them. Even so, Procopio's campaign was considered a
victory, and his ship flew nearly at the head of Zalathorm's fleet.
Like a flight of vengeful dragons, the Halruaan ships soared toward the
invaders. They maintained a careful wedge formation to keep a path clear for
spells hurled by wizards on every ship. Fireballs and lightning bolts flew like
fireworks at a festival-and fizzled out just as harmlessly. The invaders had come
well prepared for conventional battle magic.
Unfortunately for Procopio, he had spent years studying just such
conventions. Something different was needed, something unexpected!
A high, ringing note soared from a nearby skyship-a metallic clarion call
signaling the climax of a mighty spell. On and on the music went, until Procopio
clapped his hands to his ears. To the east, two of the highest mountains, still
snowcapped even in summer, began to shudder. The ice caps shattered like a
goblet broken by a single high, pure note. Snow thundered down the mountains,
engulfing the latest wave of Mulhorandi invaders and burying the pass.
But the Mulhorandi were far from finished. Clouds began to rise from the
spray of snow and mist, taking the form of a man. A titanic figure etched in blue
and white and gray took shape, its feet deep in the snow and its massive fists
thrusting high into the sky. In its hand was an ice-colored dagger as long as a
ship's mast.
The weapon slashed down, tearing through a skyship's sails and plunging
into the deck. The sound of splintering wood disappeared in a sharp explosion as
the magical rod that powered the ship snapped free. The skyship listed to port
and began a spiraling descent.
"Storm elemental," Procopio muttered, recognizing an obscure Mulhorandi
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