Slashco
02-11-2004, 02:57
This is my second attempt at a fanfic. Enjoy, and comments are always welcome. :)
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The stately domes and svelte minarets of Lut Gholein gleamed golden in the deepening afternoon light, casting lengthening shadows upon the drowsy city at their feet. The sky, in places, had become as blue as the deep sea beneath it; the water, a velvet drape occasionally wrinkled by the western breeze. Ancient cedars seemed to stretch their boughs wider, mingling with the ash-trees and sycamores above the colorful tile rooftops, and among them, the white myrtle-flowers poured heavy, sweet waves of perfume that descended, flooding the streets like a hot and intoxicating lava. To an outsider, at this sleepy hour between noon and dusk, the very air would have seemed enchanted. To the locals, it was another late-spring day in the Jewel City.
Though the usual evening bustle had not yet begun, at least two people in the city were at work: The young prince Gholan, naked to the waist, was in the Royal Palace's practice yard studying combat under the supervision of Nadlak, the scarred and grim-faced captain of the guards.
"You must extend your right leg more when striking, Highness" Nadlak observed for perhaps the seventh time that day. "Otherwise you are left off-balance and your enemy may take advantage of that. In fact, you must assume he will", he added. In one fluid motion he closed the gap between himself and his pupil, parried Gholan's staff, spun halfway and swung his own, sweeping the boy's legs out from underneath and sending him into the dust on his backside.
"Not fair, I was tired" Gholan protested as soon as he got his breath back. "I don't get it, Nadlak" he said, rising painfully and making his way to a stone bench. "What do I need all this training for anyway? We all saw the artificers' show last Autumn-Eve - do you remember the magic they possessed? Surely anyone who can make the sky bloom with light could also cause no small amount of grief to his enemies? Besides," he continued, growing more animated, "I've read stories of the Vizjerei and the Horadrim and other great wizards who mastered the elements and even gained power over life and death. How can the feats of a mere human body, no matter how well trained, compare with war magicians laying low entire armies? Would my education not be better spent learning spells?"
"Indeed you shall, Highness, in due time," replied the captain patiently. "But for now we must focus on your physical training, because-"
"Because magic is a crutch, boy." Absorbed in his own tirade, the prince had not noticed the thin shadow growing beside him, and he nearly jumped at the deep voice. He mentally berated himself for being inattentive to his surroundings. To his relief, Nadlak hadn't seemed to notice, otherwise Gholan was certain he'd have heard no end of it.
Standing at his side now was a tall, wizened man garbed in an unadorned black robe and a plain black turban inset with a single, brilliant amethyst. He leaned on his rune-covered staff, regarding the prince with a shrewd, penetrating and altogether uncomfortable look. The only sounds were of the wind in the trees, and a distant sussurating fountain.
Finally the young prince broke the silence. "Hello, Alheer", he said in what he hoped was a royally confident tone. "Has my Grand Vizier taken time from his busy day to come and survey my progress?"
"I was, in fact, sent by your royal mother to check on the training of our future ruler." The old man's voice carried an unmistakable hint of power, though he seemed well-disposed for the moment. "But now that I've arrived, I hear you would rather study spells than do your exercises, yes?"
"Well, no, I just didn't need - that is, I was tired, and Nadlak knocked me down, and I read about wizards, and..." Though Alheer's expression did not change, the prince felt less and less brave as he continued speaking. "It'd seem more useful to do magic, is all" he finished lamely, his gaze seemingly intent on penetrating the deepest mysteries of a small pebble near his left sandal.
"I see" pronounced the vizier, his tone not at all reassuring to Gholan. "Your instruction is appreciated as always, Captain," he said without turning, "but I think he's had enough for today. The prince and I need to speak, now".
"As you wish, sir. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Highness - perhaps we'll go over the basics of watching your surroundings again." You never know what dangerous creatures might sneak up on you, Nadlak added mentally as he bowed and left the courtyard.
Alheer watched him go. "A useful man, that. Smart enough to follow orders well, but not enough to try understanding them. Or perhaps that's what makes him the smartest of all? In any case, I believe we were talking of magic. Let's take a walk."
A faint moon was visible in the rose-tinged sky as the old vizier and his young charge made their way through the palace gardens. The breeze carried scents of exotic plants, and from beyond the ornamented walls, sounds of the city waking to life reached their ears.
"I have a tale for you, Highness."
"Honestly, Alheer, I think I'm getting too old for-"
"You are never too old for stories, boy, no matter what anyone says. And I think you'll benefit from this one. Now, listen...
Long ago, O Prince (the vizier began his tale), during the rule of your enlightened ancestor Jerhyn al-Sayal al-Rashid, when Lut Gholein was smaller and stone-walled and surrounded by the deadly desert, when the Prime Evils stalked the land and monsters and undead horrors lurked among the dunes, many adventurers were drawn to our fair city - warriors, magicians, rogues, noble crusaders and fearsome acolytes of Rathma, fur-clad tribesmen and armored knights, and a thousand more besides. Many were lured by thoughts of fame and wealth, nearly as many by knowledge and power. A few wanted to do some good in this world; and some just wanted to fight. And among this motley crowd of would-be heroes, there was a young Sorceress from the West named Kellandra.
Unlike the eastern Zann Esu, who are dedicated elementalists, Kellandra had been trained as a diviner - that is the art of scrying, of finding what is hidden, as you know. Except that this particular Sorceress had used that art for personal gain in a manner not altogether approved by her guild. In effect she was a thief, and a good one. Using her abilities together with a limited form of telekinesis, she excelled at making well-secured things disappear, much to the surprise and dismay of their former owners. After a brave though unsuccessful attempt at lightening the treasury of a local nobleman who'd hired some of his own magicians for protection, Kellandra decided that things were getting too heated in her home town, and so the last thing she caused to vanish was herself.
Like the others, she'd heard the rumours of adventure and plunder to be found among the desert ruins, and after many months of travel she eventually found her way here. Though skilled in her own path of magic, Kellandra knew that she would be no match for the enemies awaiting her out there, on the shifting sands. So after some inquiries in stores and taverns, she crossed the dusty streets (for once unmindful of the colorful wares displayed by merchants) and made her way to a small shop near the old city gates. When she saw the old man sitting under the awning, smoking his nargileh and watching the crowd, she knew she'd come to the right place.
'Ya Mawla, argaab anina' she greeted him. 'Many tales are told of Drognan the Wise and the power he wields. Teach me the ways of combat-magic that I may go to the deep desert and cleanse the foes of this city in your name!'
'I suspect it is your own pockets you wish to fill, but I will teach you nevertheless' said Drognan, for magic was freely traded in those days.
"Wait a second, Alheer. Drognan sensed her motives and decided to teach her anyway, just like that?"
"As I said, those wishing to learn magic were not usually turned away. In such a time of crisis any help was welcome. Or perhaps he sensed something special in her, who can say? Now where was I... ah, yes.
Kellandra was determined to arm herself with powerful spells, and with the memory of her journey into Lut Gholein fresh in her mind, she knew where to start. She said to Drognan, 'I have crossed the burning sand and felt the sun like fire upon my back. You have the knowledge of mystical fire; Teach me how to burn my enemies with it!'
'I have this knowledge and will share it,' the old mage answered, 'But in payment you must bring me a fine ruby worth at least one thousand shekels.' The sorceress agreed and left. She returned later that evening with a brilliant ruby-stone 'borrowed' from a nearby gem trader. Drognan accepted the gem, took the girl to a small ivy-grown courtyard behind the shop, and the learning began. For seven days and seven nights she learned the ways of fire: how to create a small flicker in her mind and nurse it, reinforcing it until it grew into a roaring inferno; how to produce mystical flames which burned hotter and longer than any man-made fire, and how to hurl those flames over great distances. She learned to sense the hidden potential energy in all objects, igniting them with a spell, and how to raise walls of yellow flame through which no enemy could pass lest they be reduced to ashes. By the eighth day she believed to have mastered fire's destructive nature, so she thanked her teacher and went into the desert to test her new powers.
"Hah, one week to master an element? I thought you said it takes years to become good at magic!"
"Well, Drognan was a very good teacher, and Kellandra a bright student. Besides, I only said she _thought_ she'd mastered fire. In truth, she was probably the equal of an advanced apprentice. Stop interrupting and listen.
Kellandra slew several small demons and creatures outside the city walls that day, and her confidence in her new skills grew. But as night came and the desert wind made her shiver, she knew there was more to learn.
In the morning she returned to Drognan and said: 'Night fell upon me in the desert, and the wind's teeth tore at my arms and numbed them. Teach me to freeze my enemies with cold.'
'I will do as you ask,' the old sage replied once again, 'but in payment you must bring me a sapphire of quality, worth no less than the ruby you fetched for me before.'
Acquiring the gem was simple enough, and for the next ten days Kellandra learned of cold. Whereas the nature of fire had been energetic and chaotic, cold was slow and lethargic. She learned how to draw the heat from a place and rob it of energy, how to slow the movements of her enemies by chilling them to the bone. Drognan showed her how to instill coldness into airborne moisture, creating crystals that grew into jagged ice-shards sharper and more deadly than a sword, and how, with a mental command, to form those same crystals into a glistening armored shell to protect her from harm. Satisfied that she had learned all she could, the sorceress once again thanked the old mage and left the city.
This time she ventured farther across the sands, and many monsters fell beneath her chilly onslaught. By and by, she made her way to the deserted beach littered with ancient wrecks, where a furious gale blew and the unquiet sea stretched on until it touched the curving sky at an impossible distance. A black and rumbling mass of cloud filled the livid horizon and was advancing toward land, soon obscuring the entire sky. Thunder rolled across the waves and Kellandra had barely sheltered herself within the rotting ribs of a sand-bound sloop when the mass broke, and the curtain of rain hit the beach with the force of a waterfall. With a sound as of mountains knocking heads, massive, blinding shafts of lightning shot from beneath the rolling clouds, striking sparks wherever they found metal, scorching black the nearby sand and sometimes outright fusing the molten droplets into misshapen lumps of glass which hissed and steamed beneath the falling raindrops.
"Such power," thought the sorceress, and she knew what she had to do. As soon as the storm's fury quieted down she came out of her hiding spot, and traveled back to the city and straight to Drognan's shop. The air was fresh and cool and smelled like lightning, and the old man was sitting under his awning, smoking.
'Blessings to you, Teacher' she said. 'Much have I learned from you, but there is yet more to be taught. The skies opened before me today; show me how to harness the power of lightning and use it against my enemies!'
Drognan regarded her for a moment, but agreed to teach what he knew, in return asking for a topaz of no lesser quality than the two gemstones she had previously brought him. Kellandra agreed and left, vowing to return soon.
Finding the gemstone proved somewhat more difficult this time, since the local dealer Kellandra had depended upon was growing increasingly paranoid at his disappearing stock, and had taken extra security measures. The sorceress had to travel accross town to find another source, but her skills did not betray her. Late in the evening she returned to the little shop by the city gates with her payment, and the lessons began.
During the next fortnight, Kellandra learned of lightning. Drognan showed her how to sense electrical charges, and the way they flowed along the path of least resistance from one place to another. She learned to modify the nature of a target increasing its conductivity, and to direct a bolt of lightning at it, even from a clear sky. Instilling objects with electrical charge and filling the air itself with a field of static electricity became second nature to her. The training was hard, but every day the sorceress felt herself becoming stronger and more skilled.
At long last the instruction was over and this time, Kellandra deemed herself ready for anything. She thanked her teacher for the final time, bowed before him and left the shop, in search of adventure.
She had already picked out her first target: A half-buried tomb in the deep desert said to belong to an ancient Horadrim sage of some reknown. It had not been thoroughly explored due to the dangerous traps and creatures within, and could thus contain a rather hefty amount of treasure (she thought to herself).
Though confident in her abilities, Kellandra did not wish to face the horrors of the tomb alone; so after some deliberation and searching, she made her way to Atma's tavern, a popular adventurer watering-hole, the very next afternoon. Coming in from the brilliant sunlight, the interior felt dark and oppressive. Even so, it was not hard to locate the one she sought; for although seated, he towered over everyone and his hulking shadow covered half the room. He was known as N'Jal the Silent and was rumored to be a northerner from one of the great tribes around Mount Arreat, though nothing certain was known of his origin. His arms were like the trunks of the desert oak, his face as a sand-scoured cliff. Strange tatoos curled accross his visage, and seemed to move in the flickering torchlight.
Kellandra put on a haughty face and spoke. 'I come to you with a proposal, Northman. There is a tomb far in the desert, filled with ancient treasure. I fear no sand-creature, but I will need a strong back to help me carry the loot. Will you accompany me in exchange for a third of the profits?'
The man made no reply. His features remained unchanged, and the sorceress could not tell whether he was thinking, or hadn't heard her, or simply didn't care. 'Perhaps another time' she muttered, but as she made her way toward the exit, he rose wordlessly and followed her.
That day was a dark one for the minions of Hell, my young prince. The two adventurers strode into the desert, and no demon-spawn nor undead horror could stand in their way. N'Jal charged onward, swinging his iron-tipped club, crushing bones and shattering skulls as he went. Behind him, Kellandra was ablaze with energy as she sent unending waves of ice-shards, rains of fire and bolts of lightning into the enemy ranks, slaughtering them by the dozens. Farther and farther they trekked accross the burning sand, sowing death in their way, until the cool darkness of the forgotten tomb beckoned to them.
They descended the crumbling stone stairs, steeled for battle. An army of undead skeletons rose to meet them, the spark of unholy magic burning in their eye-sockets. But N'Jal raised his mighty club, and a sickening crunch echoed through the forgotten corridors as iron met bone and turned it to splinters. Again and again his strokes fell, snapping bones like rotten twigs and driving the undead army back into the dust from whence it rose. The last of the foes, a great and hideously misshapen mummy, was raising its arms to cast some final spell when the barbarian reached it, his weapon a blur as it swung in a great circle through the air and connected with the monster's head, pulverizing it in a shower of dust and bone-chips.
Deeper into the stifling darkness they went, Kellandra's magic and the northerner's senses seeking out the many deadly traps and assuring them a safe path. Legions uncounted of undead monstrosities rose to bar their way, but none could withstand the fury of the two. Past a gauntlet of animated corpses, evil spirits and demonic servants they battled, and just as the barbarian was breathing heavily and the sorceress felt her magic nearly spent, a great archway opened up before them, into a silent room lit by a soft blue glow.
The two companions' eyes widened, for they had found what they sought: Before them, strewn accross the stone floor, lay more wealth than either of them had ever seen before. Piles and piles of gold coins glimmered beneath their torches, with the occasional twinkle of a precious gem among them. Diamonds the size of walnuts, enchanted amulets and charms, jewelry of silver, gold and electrum overflowed from ornate wooden chests. Ancient rolled-up carpets of intricate design and untold value lay piled in a corner; in another, richly decorated weapons and armors that could have outfitted kings of another age stood remarkably preserved. There were runed staves and magical trinkets, yellowed scrolls of magic with their twisting arcane designs, crystal vials containing rare perfumes and dyes, priceless and forgotten books, bolts of silk, crates of fragrant sandalwood, and so much more that it surpassed Kellandra's most wishful expectations.
As she surveyed the treasure before her, however, the old greed returned and her heart began to harbor a hidden design. She looked over at her companion, who seemed absorbed in studying a silvery warhammer whose handle ended in a carved skull with eyes of diamond. 'This oaf knows nothing of magic,' she thought. 'He'll probaby squander his share in taverns, when I could make so much better use of it. Yes, a treasure gained by one is after all more profitable than divided by two. If he should suffer an accident and perish in this tomb, well, no one will think twice of it.' Wasting no more time, she decided to strike.
She gathered her power and with her thought formed a blinding lance of pure flame, hotter than the fires of hell, and launched it toward the great northerner's turned back. But things went awry for the sorceress this day; for instead of piercing the man to the core and setting aflame his insides, the fire seemed to lose its power and dissipated after merely singing Njal's skin. The barbarian jumped and spun around, bewildered, but upon seeing the look on the sorceress' face he understood what was happening. Kellandra was now chanting furiously, her eyes glowing with a cold radiance as she spun a smoldering needle-sharp icicle from nothingness, and hurled it at her foe with all her might. But once again, the projectile did nothing but scrape the barbarian's chest, drawing a trickle of blood, then fell to the floor and melted. N'jal had now raised his club as Kellandra played her last card - with all her remaining strength she concentrated upon the dry, dusty air in the room and felt her hair trying to stand on end as the space around her was saturated with electricity. She raised her staff and unleashed not one, but a storm of jagged lightning-bolts which crackled through the air as they sped toward their target. They enveloped the barbarian and a smell of burning hair filled the room as he convulsed, gripped by their power. But as the lightning faded and vanished, he was still standing. With a bellow of rage, the first sound he had made since their meeting, he crossed the distance between himself and the bewildered sorceress in one mighty leap. Kellandra may have been skilled at the magical arts, but she had always disdained physical combat and was not trained in it; her frail body was no match for the angry barbarian, and she was laid low by a single swing of his great club.
The fight was over; quiet had once more returned to the ancient halls. The barbarian straightened painfully, wincing at his injuries. Despite his wards, some of Kellandra's magic had gotten through, and he knew it would take many days before he would completely recover. Grateful, he felt beneath his shirt for the protective amulet he'd purchased from Drognan only a day before and pulled it out, watching its inlaid gemstones glisten in the dim light - ruby, sapphire and topaz. He quickly stooped and searched the body of the sorceress, pocketing the few charms and vials the old mage had requested in exchange for the amulet. Then he hoisted up his weapon, and slowly started the long lonely walk into sunlight and back toward the city."
A draught of cool air washed over the garden heralding the approach of night. In the west, the sun had already sunk below the horizon, its remaining faint-orange light rapidly deepening to the blue of dusk.
"So you see, young Prince, a strong body must exist if a strong mind is to prosper," finished the vizier.
"Is that the lesson, Alheer? I thought it was 'never trust anyone'..."
The old man chuckled. "Perhaps that, as well. You will make a fine Sultan yet, boy. But now, it is time for us to start back. I believe we are expected inside."
They walked along the garden path leading to the castle, each lost in his own thoughts. Overhead the night's first stars appeared, glittering like gemstones.
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The stately domes and svelte minarets of Lut Gholein gleamed golden in the deepening afternoon light, casting lengthening shadows upon the drowsy city at their feet. The sky, in places, had become as blue as the deep sea beneath it; the water, a velvet drape occasionally wrinkled by the western breeze. Ancient cedars seemed to stretch their boughs wider, mingling with the ash-trees and sycamores above the colorful tile rooftops, and among them, the white myrtle-flowers poured heavy, sweet waves of perfume that descended, flooding the streets like a hot and intoxicating lava. To an outsider, at this sleepy hour between noon and dusk, the very air would have seemed enchanted. To the locals, it was another late-spring day in the Jewel City.
Though the usual evening bustle had not yet begun, at least two people in the city were at work: The young prince Gholan, naked to the waist, was in the Royal Palace's practice yard studying combat under the supervision of Nadlak, the scarred and grim-faced captain of the guards.
"You must extend your right leg more when striking, Highness" Nadlak observed for perhaps the seventh time that day. "Otherwise you are left off-balance and your enemy may take advantage of that. In fact, you must assume he will", he added. In one fluid motion he closed the gap between himself and his pupil, parried Gholan's staff, spun halfway and swung his own, sweeping the boy's legs out from underneath and sending him into the dust on his backside.
"Not fair, I was tired" Gholan protested as soon as he got his breath back. "I don't get it, Nadlak" he said, rising painfully and making his way to a stone bench. "What do I need all this training for anyway? We all saw the artificers' show last Autumn-Eve - do you remember the magic they possessed? Surely anyone who can make the sky bloom with light could also cause no small amount of grief to his enemies? Besides," he continued, growing more animated, "I've read stories of the Vizjerei and the Horadrim and other great wizards who mastered the elements and even gained power over life and death. How can the feats of a mere human body, no matter how well trained, compare with war magicians laying low entire armies? Would my education not be better spent learning spells?"
"Indeed you shall, Highness, in due time," replied the captain patiently. "But for now we must focus on your physical training, because-"
"Because magic is a crutch, boy." Absorbed in his own tirade, the prince had not noticed the thin shadow growing beside him, and he nearly jumped at the deep voice. He mentally berated himself for being inattentive to his surroundings. To his relief, Nadlak hadn't seemed to notice, otherwise Gholan was certain he'd have heard no end of it.
Standing at his side now was a tall, wizened man garbed in an unadorned black robe and a plain black turban inset with a single, brilliant amethyst. He leaned on his rune-covered staff, regarding the prince with a shrewd, penetrating and altogether uncomfortable look. The only sounds were of the wind in the trees, and a distant sussurating fountain.
Finally the young prince broke the silence. "Hello, Alheer", he said in what he hoped was a royally confident tone. "Has my Grand Vizier taken time from his busy day to come and survey my progress?"
"I was, in fact, sent by your royal mother to check on the training of our future ruler." The old man's voice carried an unmistakable hint of power, though he seemed well-disposed for the moment. "But now that I've arrived, I hear you would rather study spells than do your exercises, yes?"
"Well, no, I just didn't need - that is, I was tired, and Nadlak knocked me down, and I read about wizards, and..." Though Alheer's expression did not change, the prince felt less and less brave as he continued speaking. "It'd seem more useful to do magic, is all" he finished lamely, his gaze seemingly intent on penetrating the deepest mysteries of a small pebble near his left sandal.
"I see" pronounced the vizier, his tone not at all reassuring to Gholan. "Your instruction is appreciated as always, Captain," he said without turning, "but I think he's had enough for today. The prince and I need to speak, now".
"As you wish, sir. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Highness - perhaps we'll go over the basics of watching your surroundings again." You never know what dangerous creatures might sneak up on you, Nadlak added mentally as he bowed and left the courtyard.
Alheer watched him go. "A useful man, that. Smart enough to follow orders well, but not enough to try understanding them. Or perhaps that's what makes him the smartest of all? In any case, I believe we were talking of magic. Let's take a walk."
A faint moon was visible in the rose-tinged sky as the old vizier and his young charge made their way through the palace gardens. The breeze carried scents of exotic plants, and from beyond the ornamented walls, sounds of the city waking to life reached their ears.
"I have a tale for you, Highness."
"Honestly, Alheer, I think I'm getting too old for-"
"You are never too old for stories, boy, no matter what anyone says. And I think you'll benefit from this one. Now, listen...
Long ago, O Prince (the vizier began his tale), during the rule of your enlightened ancestor Jerhyn al-Sayal al-Rashid, when Lut Gholein was smaller and stone-walled and surrounded by the deadly desert, when the Prime Evils stalked the land and monsters and undead horrors lurked among the dunes, many adventurers were drawn to our fair city - warriors, magicians, rogues, noble crusaders and fearsome acolytes of Rathma, fur-clad tribesmen and armored knights, and a thousand more besides. Many were lured by thoughts of fame and wealth, nearly as many by knowledge and power. A few wanted to do some good in this world; and some just wanted to fight. And among this motley crowd of would-be heroes, there was a young Sorceress from the West named Kellandra.
Unlike the eastern Zann Esu, who are dedicated elementalists, Kellandra had been trained as a diviner - that is the art of scrying, of finding what is hidden, as you know. Except that this particular Sorceress had used that art for personal gain in a manner not altogether approved by her guild. In effect she was a thief, and a good one. Using her abilities together with a limited form of telekinesis, she excelled at making well-secured things disappear, much to the surprise and dismay of their former owners. After a brave though unsuccessful attempt at lightening the treasury of a local nobleman who'd hired some of his own magicians for protection, Kellandra decided that things were getting too heated in her home town, and so the last thing she caused to vanish was herself.
Like the others, she'd heard the rumours of adventure and plunder to be found among the desert ruins, and after many months of travel she eventually found her way here. Though skilled in her own path of magic, Kellandra knew that she would be no match for the enemies awaiting her out there, on the shifting sands. So after some inquiries in stores and taverns, she crossed the dusty streets (for once unmindful of the colorful wares displayed by merchants) and made her way to a small shop near the old city gates. When she saw the old man sitting under the awning, smoking his nargileh and watching the crowd, she knew she'd come to the right place.
'Ya Mawla, argaab anina' she greeted him. 'Many tales are told of Drognan the Wise and the power he wields. Teach me the ways of combat-magic that I may go to the deep desert and cleanse the foes of this city in your name!'
'I suspect it is your own pockets you wish to fill, but I will teach you nevertheless' said Drognan, for magic was freely traded in those days.
"Wait a second, Alheer. Drognan sensed her motives and decided to teach her anyway, just like that?"
"As I said, those wishing to learn magic were not usually turned away. In such a time of crisis any help was welcome. Or perhaps he sensed something special in her, who can say? Now where was I... ah, yes.
Kellandra was determined to arm herself with powerful spells, and with the memory of her journey into Lut Gholein fresh in her mind, she knew where to start. She said to Drognan, 'I have crossed the burning sand and felt the sun like fire upon my back. You have the knowledge of mystical fire; Teach me how to burn my enemies with it!'
'I have this knowledge and will share it,' the old mage answered, 'But in payment you must bring me a fine ruby worth at least one thousand shekels.' The sorceress agreed and left. She returned later that evening with a brilliant ruby-stone 'borrowed' from a nearby gem trader. Drognan accepted the gem, took the girl to a small ivy-grown courtyard behind the shop, and the learning began. For seven days and seven nights she learned the ways of fire: how to create a small flicker in her mind and nurse it, reinforcing it until it grew into a roaring inferno; how to produce mystical flames which burned hotter and longer than any man-made fire, and how to hurl those flames over great distances. She learned to sense the hidden potential energy in all objects, igniting them with a spell, and how to raise walls of yellow flame through which no enemy could pass lest they be reduced to ashes. By the eighth day she believed to have mastered fire's destructive nature, so she thanked her teacher and went into the desert to test her new powers.
"Hah, one week to master an element? I thought you said it takes years to become good at magic!"
"Well, Drognan was a very good teacher, and Kellandra a bright student. Besides, I only said she _thought_ she'd mastered fire. In truth, she was probably the equal of an advanced apprentice. Stop interrupting and listen.
Kellandra slew several small demons and creatures outside the city walls that day, and her confidence in her new skills grew. But as night came and the desert wind made her shiver, she knew there was more to learn.
In the morning she returned to Drognan and said: 'Night fell upon me in the desert, and the wind's teeth tore at my arms and numbed them. Teach me to freeze my enemies with cold.'
'I will do as you ask,' the old sage replied once again, 'but in payment you must bring me a sapphire of quality, worth no less than the ruby you fetched for me before.'
Acquiring the gem was simple enough, and for the next ten days Kellandra learned of cold. Whereas the nature of fire had been energetic and chaotic, cold was slow and lethargic. She learned how to draw the heat from a place and rob it of energy, how to slow the movements of her enemies by chilling them to the bone. Drognan showed her how to instill coldness into airborne moisture, creating crystals that grew into jagged ice-shards sharper and more deadly than a sword, and how, with a mental command, to form those same crystals into a glistening armored shell to protect her from harm. Satisfied that she had learned all she could, the sorceress once again thanked the old mage and left the city.
This time she ventured farther across the sands, and many monsters fell beneath her chilly onslaught. By and by, she made her way to the deserted beach littered with ancient wrecks, where a furious gale blew and the unquiet sea stretched on until it touched the curving sky at an impossible distance. A black and rumbling mass of cloud filled the livid horizon and was advancing toward land, soon obscuring the entire sky. Thunder rolled across the waves and Kellandra had barely sheltered herself within the rotting ribs of a sand-bound sloop when the mass broke, and the curtain of rain hit the beach with the force of a waterfall. With a sound as of mountains knocking heads, massive, blinding shafts of lightning shot from beneath the rolling clouds, striking sparks wherever they found metal, scorching black the nearby sand and sometimes outright fusing the molten droplets into misshapen lumps of glass which hissed and steamed beneath the falling raindrops.
"Such power," thought the sorceress, and she knew what she had to do. As soon as the storm's fury quieted down she came out of her hiding spot, and traveled back to the city and straight to Drognan's shop. The air was fresh and cool and smelled like lightning, and the old man was sitting under his awning, smoking.
'Blessings to you, Teacher' she said. 'Much have I learned from you, but there is yet more to be taught. The skies opened before me today; show me how to harness the power of lightning and use it against my enemies!'
Drognan regarded her for a moment, but agreed to teach what he knew, in return asking for a topaz of no lesser quality than the two gemstones she had previously brought him. Kellandra agreed and left, vowing to return soon.
Finding the gemstone proved somewhat more difficult this time, since the local dealer Kellandra had depended upon was growing increasingly paranoid at his disappearing stock, and had taken extra security measures. The sorceress had to travel accross town to find another source, but her skills did not betray her. Late in the evening she returned to the little shop by the city gates with her payment, and the lessons began.
During the next fortnight, Kellandra learned of lightning. Drognan showed her how to sense electrical charges, and the way they flowed along the path of least resistance from one place to another. She learned to modify the nature of a target increasing its conductivity, and to direct a bolt of lightning at it, even from a clear sky. Instilling objects with electrical charge and filling the air itself with a field of static electricity became second nature to her. The training was hard, but every day the sorceress felt herself becoming stronger and more skilled.
At long last the instruction was over and this time, Kellandra deemed herself ready for anything. She thanked her teacher for the final time, bowed before him and left the shop, in search of adventure.
She had already picked out her first target: A half-buried tomb in the deep desert said to belong to an ancient Horadrim sage of some reknown. It had not been thoroughly explored due to the dangerous traps and creatures within, and could thus contain a rather hefty amount of treasure (she thought to herself).
Though confident in her abilities, Kellandra did not wish to face the horrors of the tomb alone; so after some deliberation and searching, she made her way to Atma's tavern, a popular adventurer watering-hole, the very next afternoon. Coming in from the brilliant sunlight, the interior felt dark and oppressive. Even so, it was not hard to locate the one she sought; for although seated, he towered over everyone and his hulking shadow covered half the room. He was known as N'Jal the Silent and was rumored to be a northerner from one of the great tribes around Mount Arreat, though nothing certain was known of his origin. His arms were like the trunks of the desert oak, his face as a sand-scoured cliff. Strange tatoos curled accross his visage, and seemed to move in the flickering torchlight.
Kellandra put on a haughty face and spoke. 'I come to you with a proposal, Northman. There is a tomb far in the desert, filled with ancient treasure. I fear no sand-creature, but I will need a strong back to help me carry the loot. Will you accompany me in exchange for a third of the profits?'
The man made no reply. His features remained unchanged, and the sorceress could not tell whether he was thinking, or hadn't heard her, or simply didn't care. 'Perhaps another time' she muttered, but as she made her way toward the exit, he rose wordlessly and followed her.
That day was a dark one for the minions of Hell, my young prince. The two adventurers strode into the desert, and no demon-spawn nor undead horror could stand in their way. N'Jal charged onward, swinging his iron-tipped club, crushing bones and shattering skulls as he went. Behind him, Kellandra was ablaze with energy as she sent unending waves of ice-shards, rains of fire and bolts of lightning into the enemy ranks, slaughtering them by the dozens. Farther and farther they trekked accross the burning sand, sowing death in their way, until the cool darkness of the forgotten tomb beckoned to them.
They descended the crumbling stone stairs, steeled for battle. An army of undead skeletons rose to meet them, the spark of unholy magic burning in their eye-sockets. But N'Jal raised his mighty club, and a sickening crunch echoed through the forgotten corridors as iron met bone and turned it to splinters. Again and again his strokes fell, snapping bones like rotten twigs and driving the undead army back into the dust from whence it rose. The last of the foes, a great and hideously misshapen mummy, was raising its arms to cast some final spell when the barbarian reached it, his weapon a blur as it swung in a great circle through the air and connected with the monster's head, pulverizing it in a shower of dust and bone-chips.
Deeper into the stifling darkness they went, Kellandra's magic and the northerner's senses seeking out the many deadly traps and assuring them a safe path. Legions uncounted of undead monstrosities rose to bar their way, but none could withstand the fury of the two. Past a gauntlet of animated corpses, evil spirits and demonic servants they battled, and just as the barbarian was breathing heavily and the sorceress felt her magic nearly spent, a great archway opened up before them, into a silent room lit by a soft blue glow.
The two companions' eyes widened, for they had found what they sought: Before them, strewn accross the stone floor, lay more wealth than either of them had ever seen before. Piles and piles of gold coins glimmered beneath their torches, with the occasional twinkle of a precious gem among them. Diamonds the size of walnuts, enchanted amulets and charms, jewelry of silver, gold and electrum overflowed from ornate wooden chests. Ancient rolled-up carpets of intricate design and untold value lay piled in a corner; in another, richly decorated weapons and armors that could have outfitted kings of another age stood remarkably preserved. There were runed staves and magical trinkets, yellowed scrolls of magic with their twisting arcane designs, crystal vials containing rare perfumes and dyes, priceless and forgotten books, bolts of silk, crates of fragrant sandalwood, and so much more that it surpassed Kellandra's most wishful expectations.
As she surveyed the treasure before her, however, the old greed returned and her heart began to harbor a hidden design. She looked over at her companion, who seemed absorbed in studying a silvery warhammer whose handle ended in a carved skull with eyes of diamond. 'This oaf knows nothing of magic,' she thought. 'He'll probaby squander his share in taverns, when I could make so much better use of it. Yes, a treasure gained by one is after all more profitable than divided by two. If he should suffer an accident and perish in this tomb, well, no one will think twice of it.' Wasting no more time, she decided to strike.
She gathered her power and with her thought formed a blinding lance of pure flame, hotter than the fires of hell, and launched it toward the great northerner's turned back. But things went awry for the sorceress this day; for instead of piercing the man to the core and setting aflame his insides, the fire seemed to lose its power and dissipated after merely singing Njal's skin. The barbarian jumped and spun around, bewildered, but upon seeing the look on the sorceress' face he understood what was happening. Kellandra was now chanting furiously, her eyes glowing with a cold radiance as she spun a smoldering needle-sharp icicle from nothingness, and hurled it at her foe with all her might. But once again, the projectile did nothing but scrape the barbarian's chest, drawing a trickle of blood, then fell to the floor and melted. N'jal had now raised his club as Kellandra played her last card - with all her remaining strength she concentrated upon the dry, dusty air in the room and felt her hair trying to stand on end as the space around her was saturated with electricity. She raised her staff and unleashed not one, but a storm of jagged lightning-bolts which crackled through the air as they sped toward their target. They enveloped the barbarian and a smell of burning hair filled the room as he convulsed, gripped by their power. But as the lightning faded and vanished, he was still standing. With a bellow of rage, the first sound he had made since their meeting, he crossed the distance between himself and the bewildered sorceress in one mighty leap. Kellandra may have been skilled at the magical arts, but she had always disdained physical combat and was not trained in it; her frail body was no match for the angry barbarian, and she was laid low by a single swing of his great club.
The fight was over; quiet had once more returned to the ancient halls. The barbarian straightened painfully, wincing at his injuries. Despite his wards, some of Kellandra's magic had gotten through, and he knew it would take many days before he would completely recover. Grateful, he felt beneath his shirt for the protective amulet he'd purchased from Drognan only a day before and pulled it out, watching its inlaid gemstones glisten in the dim light - ruby, sapphire and topaz. He quickly stooped and searched the body of the sorceress, pocketing the few charms and vials the old mage had requested in exchange for the amulet. Then he hoisted up his weapon, and slowly started the long lonely walk into sunlight and back toward the city."
A draught of cool air washed over the garden heralding the approach of night. In the west, the sun had already sunk below the horizon, its remaining faint-orange light rapidly deepening to the blue of dusk.
"So you see, young Prince, a strong body must exist if a strong mind is to prosper," finished the vizier.
"Is that the lesson, Alheer? I thought it was 'never trust anyone'..."
The old man chuckled. "Perhaps that, as well. You will make a fine Sultan yet, boy. But now, it is time for us to start back. I believe we are expected inside."
They walked along the garden path leading to the castle, each lost in his own thoughts. Overhead the night's first stars appeared, glittering like gemstones.