Zelmair's Demise
Halro: a minor planet in the far reaches of a distant universe. Its most well-known tales are those involving the war against Venzrik, a dark mage of great power . . .
“You don’t even know what you’re doing here, do you?” Zelmair taunted, pacing the confines of the circle.
“I don’t need to know,” Galwyn spat, glaring at him from behind her spellbook.
“I think you do. You realize that by placing me in the circle with whatever it is you’re foolishly attempting to summon, you’ve effectively given yourself a doubly difficult task in containing us both.”
Galwyn laughed, a high shrill laugh. “You will not be working together, I assure you. His only interest in you will involve your immediate death.”
Zelmair shook his head; she was clearly past the point of seeing reason. He would give one final attempt at persuasion, but if she refused to listen he’d have no choice. “You know of me; you know that if I were anyone else you would have been dead the moment you entered my home. I’ve played along this far, but I cannot stand by any longer.”
She paused, looked up from her spellbook. “Don’t be dramatic,” she scoffed, “You know as well as I; breaking your vow would destroy you. It doesn’t matter if you can justify it to yourself; they do not take kindly to oathbreakers.”
He smiled and nodded. “So you still retain some measure of sanity. Good. Perhaps you can yet be redeemed.”
“Don’t patronize me, fool. Be silent.”
Zelmair chuckled lightly. “You don’t have the strength to bind me to silence. Seven decades of dedication cannot be overcome by three years of shortcuts.”
“I can!” she shrieked, “Be silent or I will bind you!”
Zelmair ignored the threat. “Enough, this is pointless. I have little time. You must have studied me, perhaps all of us, to a great extent in order to find out about my vow. But clearly you underestimate me, or else you do not know everything.”
She glared at him, began chanting under her breath.
Zelmair went on, a little more hastily. “You cannot trust Venzrik. He seeks only to use you to return to power. And I cannot allow that to happen.”
She continued her spell, her voice flowing from the circle-restraint into an expression of silencing. He noticed that it didn’t follow all the usual restraints, adding a few extra syllables at the end of each phrase. He didn’t recognize them.
“Galwyn, please stop this. I don’t want to fight you.”
She continued chanting, didn’t look up. Sighing, he crossed his arms in an X in front of his chest, then spread them out. A curtain of shifting purple energy sprang into existence in a circle around him, a few inches out from his body.
She finished her spell, but was clearly surprised by his use of magic.
He smiled slightly as the silencing fell over him. “You see? I am not defenseless.” His voice came out barely above a whisper; he couldn't negate the silencing entirely, but it was enough to shock Galwyn into stillness.
“But, how…” she looked up and around, as though expecting avenging spirits to appear at any moment.
“You do not know enough about me. Did you think that I had given up? Did you suppose that my ten-year exile was merely the despondency of an old man? No. I was not idle, nor was I moping. I was working, studying, experimenting. You may wonder how it is that I escaped your master’s notice, and you will have to remain ignorant. That information, I’m afraid, I am unwilling to divulge. In the unlikely event that your summoning succeeds, I wouldn’t want my secret to get out.”
“Silence!” Galwyn screamed, “Silence! I will not listen to you any more! Be silent, or I will kill you myself!”
Zelmair spread his arms invitingly; the purple light expanded to allow him the room to do so. “You may try, but as I have said…I am not defenseless. Attack me and it may be the last thing you do.”
She didn’t answer, just screamed wordlessly and dropped the spellbook to the ground. She raised her right hand in front of her face, conjuring an orb of compressed earth.
Zelmair took a step back and swept his hands downward in front of his chest. Semitranslucent scales grew rapidly across his body, their dull brown color mimicking that of his robe perfectly.
And just in time.
Galwyn flung her hand out in front of her, palm up, releasing the missile toward him. As it passed through the curtain of light a few handfuls of earth came loose and fell to the ground, but the majority of the missile continued unabated. It shattered against his scale-armor with considerable force. He staggered back a few steps and clutched at his chest, but recovered in time to dodge her next attack – a ball of white-hot flame flung in the same way as the earth.
“Don’t make me do this,” Zelmair called as loudly as the silencing would allow, “Venzrik’s not worth your life. Leave him to his insane plotting, get out while you still can!”
“Hold still and be silent, coward!” Galwyn screeched, her voice cracked slightly. Her words were immediately followed by another fire orb, then another earth orb.
Zelmair dodged, then bowed slightly. “If you truly refuse to turn back, then I have no choice.”
She didn’t respond, just laughed shrilly and threw an orb of compressed air at him. He dodged aside a moment too late, the force of the wind knocked him off balance. He fell into a crouch to recover his equilibrium.
“Last chance, Galwyn,” he said, his voice deadly calm.
“Venzrik is more powerful than you’ll ever be! You cannot threaten me!”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He stood up; raised his arms straight up in the air, then brought them sharply down to the sides as he took a step forward. An almost blindingly black shield appeared before him, a wall of light similar to the purple curtain. Unlike the curtain, however, it clung close to his body and only covered the area directly in front of him.
Galwyn had meanwhile sent two more fire orbs and one of water flying toward him, the last aimed off to the side slightly in case he tried to dodge that way.
She clearly wasn’t thinking straight; any halfway-decent mage could see through a pathetic attempt like that. In fact, few people would go into a fight with another mage just flinging the same spell over and over.
It didn’t matter. He wasn’t planning to dodge.
The fire orbs reached him, weakened slightly by the purple curtain they slammed into the black. And bounced back. The second trip though the purple weakened them yet further, to the point that any novice would have been able to disperse them harmlessly. But Galwyn wasn’t thinking clearly, or, it seemed to Zelmair, at all. Instead of dispersing or absorbing the weakened spells, she just dodged aside. Which would have worked fine had she been standing below Zelmair. But, as it was, the flames were at the exact right angle to hit the bookshelves that lined the room.
The flames may have been weaker, but they were certainly hot enough to set the shelves alight. Galwyn screamed as she noticed, dropping her half-conjured earth orb to the ground. She immediately started throwing globes of water onto the fire.
Zelmair shook his head. He took advantage of the temporary lull to cast a strengthening enhancement over himself. A steel-grey glow hovered about him a second before fading into his body.
Then he drew his sword, dispelling the magic that kept it hidden from sight. Since taking his vow, the sword had become his one offensive weapon. He took a few practice swings to get back into his fighting mode, then he closed his eyes and ran a hand along the blade several times. The blade began glowing blue, the light constantly shifting over it like rippling water.
Galwyn hadn’t even finished putting out her bookshelf by the time Zelmair completed his preparations. He stepped forward, dispelling the purple curtain so it wouldn’t weaken the enhancement bound to his sword. He reached the edge of the circle, found a specific area of the carving and brought his blade down hard. The symbols on the floor seemed to repel his blade, but he kept pushing. The blade finally cut through the resistance and smashed into the carved letters.
There was a harsh crack and a bright flash, then he was flung forward out of the circle. No longer a constraint, the circle was now merely a wall of force.
Galwyn turned back at the sound. Her eyes widened as she took in Zelmair’s glowing blade and her ruined circle. “What have you done?” she asked, horrified.
Zelmair stood, barely even off balance. “I have to stop you. Venzrik must be thwarted, whatever his plans for you and your summoning.”
Galwyn blinked, then snatched up the spellbook she’d dropped earlier. She backed away from him quickly, no longer paying any heed to her bookshelves. Though mostly drenched, enough sparks remained to begin setting the lower shelves alight.
Zelmair stepped forward again, his sword glowing as he advanced. “Give it up. You can’t defeat me.”
Galwyn’s expression was wild, somewhere between fear and insanity. “Maybe not,” she retorted in a shriek, “but I know who can!”
She flipped through the spellbook and began reading rapidly, still retreating as she spoke. Zelmair tried to move faster, to close the distance, but even his strength enhancement could only do so much for him at his age.
He realized that he wouldn’t be able to catch up to her at this speed, and she wasn’t casting anything at him, which made his black shield nearly useless. He was loath to pause, but had never mastered casting spells while moving.
He stopped, dispersed the black shield, and began a haste spell. Galwyn continued until she was directly across the circle from him, her lips still moving rapidly, her image slightly distorted by the magical force that flooded the circle. It took a few precious seconds for him to complete his haste spell, but then he was glad he’d done it. He moved around the circle with great speed, covering over half the distance before Galwyn even noticed.
She glanced at him, but didn’t resume her fleeing. She stood her ground, and he knew then that it was too late.
He moved in on her even as she raised her hands, dropping the spellbook to the ground. The floor shook; flaming books dropped off the shelf behind them, unnoticed. The symbols around the circle began to light up, glowing a deep green. Zelmair stopped, hurried to the circle instead. He brought his sword down, trying to break the circle, but the force pouring out from it just sent him flying back. He landed hard on the ground and heard, as if from a distance, Galwyn’s insane laughter.
“You’re too late, old mage, too late! You can never stand against Venzrik's power!”
Zelmair shakily got to his feet. His scaleskin still held, as did his sword’s enhancement and his strength, but his speed spell had been broken by the shock from the impact. He wasn’t surprised. Speed wasn’t one of his strengths.
Something began to appear within the circle, faint and wavering. He didn’t know what would happen to who/whatever it was; the circle wasn’t completely ruined, but it no longer had the containment integrity that it had previously.
He shook his head. It no longer mattered; he couldn’t do anything more to the circle. It was too strong for his sword to break. All he could hope for was to take down Galwyn before whatever it was Venzrik wanted summoned arrived. He started toward Galwyn.
She didn’t seem to notice. She was staring at the circle, cackling madly.
He hesitated only once before driving his sword through Galwyn’s side. The blade sparked on contact with her skin; she wailed and jerked away, leaving a bleeding gash in her side. Sparks of blue light ran along his sword’s blade.
“You can’t win, Galwyn. Join me and we can defeat this evil.”
Galwyn spat at his feet. “What do you know of evil, monk. I’m doing nothing more than following my master’s instructions. And just because that master is named Venzrik, you’ll kill me and think yourself righteous.”
Zelmair stopped, taken aback. Perhaps she wasn’t as far gone as he’d feared. “Then surely you can understand reason,” he pressed, “Surely you have seen it before. Those who want power will promise you anything to get it, but once they reach the top…”
“No, you’re wrong!” She raised her hands to begin a spell, but stumbled instead. She fell to her knees, clutching at her side. “You may be able to kill me,” she whispered, “but you’re doomed, old mage. Doomed.”
He wanted to help her, wanted to finish her off, wanted to stand back and watch her die. He shook his head and closed his eyes. A sharp humming from behind him broke him out of his indecision. He spun around and looked up.
The first thing Zelmair noticed was that the fire in the bookshelves had become a roaring inferno, spreading along the back wall. The second thing he noticed was that the creature in the circle was not a monster or a dragon, but a man. And third he noticed that the man was almost fully substantial.
Zelmair barely had time to draw a single startled breath before the man was expelled forcefully from the circle. He landed near Galwyn; Zelmair turned to face them.
His heart began beating faster; too fast.
It was Venzrik.
This whole operation with Galwyn, then, wasn’t some minor plan, some attempt at creating an opening. This must have been Venzrik’s masterplan. He had somehow found the door to his prison and given Galwyn the key. And Zelmair had played along; looking for information, assuming the world had plenty more time before Venzrik could even attempt another rise to power.
He’d been blind, a fool.
A pawn.
And now Zelmair estimated that he had approximately three seconds to live. He saw how Venzrik had landed, saw the way the man adjusted his weight and drew his hands across. He lived the next second as though it were a lifetime, sensed the beginnings of the power Venzrik drew from Galwyn. He felt with certainty that he couldn’t block, saw that he couldn’t run, knew that he couldn’t dodge. He saw only one way to disrupt the spell.
The fastest way to use magic was taking it directly from something. Hence magic swords, magic rings, and magic potions. Hence, also, the lifestealers. The most remote and rejected branch of magic, despised even more than necromancy, the practice of pulling energy directly from a living person to fuel your spell. It wasn’t entirely forgotten, but only barely. Zelmair had never known it to be practiced in his lifetime. And yet it came as no surprise to him that Venzrik had found a way to revive it. It felt inevitable.
Zelmair threw his sword with all his strength.
Venzrik didn’t see it until it was too late. He raised his right hand to block, assuming the missile to be aimed at him.
It wasn’t.
The sword hit Galwyn in the chest; its blue antimagic binding disrupted the flow of energy between her and Venzrik, even as it ended her life.
But the energy was now trapped between her, Venzrik, and an antimagic blade. Venzrik had just enough time to raise his hand to his face in futile defense. Then the sword exploded, sending shards of metal in all directions.
The roaring flame from behind him, the remains of his sword flying toward him, the half-finished fireball leaving Venzrik’s hand as the dark mage was speared through with a hundred fragments of metal, some still glowing with the blue antimagic; it all felt almost unreal. He knew he'd never be able to survive.
Zelmair blinked and took a step back; then the explosion and heat and flame all converged upon him at once.
Venzrik’s defeat at Zelmair’s hands was one of the most spectacular events in the history of Halro.
Venzrik’s various servants and creations continued to make trouble for Halro long after his demise, but after Zelmair’s victory it was three years before any of them dared to show their faces.
Though the exact events related here are only known to a few, Zelmair’s Sacrifice is remembered by all.
The End