Resurrection

After pricking the tip of his finger on the edge of the duergar axe at his belt, he squeezed a few drops of his blood into the vial. He then smeared the tips of his fingers with the admixture and incanted the words to one of his most powerful spells, a dweomer that would whisk him back to his offices should certain contingencies-contingencies that he would have to articulate as part of the casting-occur.

His fingers traced glowing lines in the air as he recited the incantation. Presently, the spell was completed but for the articulation of the contingent triggers. The magic of the spell sizzled around him, awaiting his words. He thought for a moment about the nature of the spell traps he would face then whispered the triggers aloud:

"Should my body be rendered involuntarily immobile or be materially consumed by magical energy of any kind, should my soul be trapped or otherwise imprisoned, should my mind become enfeebled or otherwise unable to function."

The spell soaked into him, there to await a triggering event. Gromph had only another step or two to take before he moved against House Agrach Dyrr.

Moving his hands through another intricate gesture, he spoke the words to a spell that rendered him invisible. With another whisper, he modified the magic to cause the invisibility effect to last a full day rather than its normal duration of but an hour or two.

Finally, he called upon the ongoing transmutation that allowed him to change his shape and mentally selected the form of an incorporeal, undead creature: a literal shadow. The magic seized him, and his body grew dark, shadowy, and insubstantial. His flesh grew light but his soul grew heavy. He was suffused with dark energies. Prath disappeared; a living shadow replaced him.

Gromph felt his existence stretched across multiple realities. He felt solid to himself, as did all of his equipment, but his «flesh» tingled, and most of his senses felt dull. He could not hear or smell and the loss of sensation disconcerted him. Too, he could not touch anything on the physical world, at least not in the way he was used to. He was solid; the world was shadow. He perceived the touch of physical objects more as a distant pressure change than a tactile sensation.

He «sat» in Prath's chair only as matter of will, not because of the physical properties of the chair.

He could have passed through it had he wished. The archmage perceived no colors-only varying shades of gray-but his visual acuity grew sharper. Solid objects looked solid, the lines between them as sharp as a razor. He knew that he could walk on the air as easily as on the ground. He knew too that he could still cast spells in his shadow form. His equipment and components had transformed with him, so they were solid to him.

He was ready.

Literally sheathed in an armor of protective magic, Gromph floated up from Prath's chair and rose through the stone ceiling above him. Passing through the solid stone of the ceiling blinded him while he was within it, but he simply kept willing himself upward until he passed through it.

The wards in Sorcere's structure did not impede his progress. Gromph had cast most of them and knew the gestures and words-his voice sounded hollow when he spoke-to bypass them safely.

Soon, he was in the air above the school, with a breathtaking view of all of Tier Breche: the spider-shaped, curving walls of Arach-Tinilith, the stout pyramid of Melee-Magthere, the soaring spires of Sorcere. Smoke rose from the tunnels to the north and explosions, and shouts still rang through the area. He took only a moment to enjoy the view before he turned and flew south along the cavern's ceiling, moving amidst the stalactite spear points that hung from the cavern's roof.

He passed over the bazaar, where he had fought the lichdrow, over the Braeryn, and headed directly toward Qu'ellarz'orl and besieged House Agrach Dyrr.

On her knees before the altar of Lolth in the otherwise empty temple, Yasraena prayed to the

Spicier Queen, not for deliverance-Lolth despised such weakness-but for opportunity. She knew that unless something changed, and soon, the siege of her House must eventually succeed. She needed to locate the phylactery and decide whether she would honor her bargain with Triel. The damned thing could have been under her very feet and she would not have known it. She cursed the lichdrow for the thousandth time, and cursed herself for allowing her House to pursue schemes concocted by a male.

She looked up to the altar, hoping for a sign of Lolth's favor. Nothing. The light from a single holy candle flickered on the polished body of the majestic widow sculpture that stood behind the altar-in reality, a guardian golem. The statue stared down at her with eight emotionless eyes.

In the distance, Yasraena heard an occasional shout from the forces arrayed atop her fortress's walls. Hours before, thunderous explosions had shaken the complex, booming along the walls.