Book 8: Chapter 11: Mage
Never particularly adept at the Archean language, Martel had not been able to follow the conversation between Karolos and Atreus. As the lich lacked a face, he had no expressions to interpret either; thus, Martel had to trust his companion’s decisions, and when the spellbreaker did not attack, neither did he. Yet hearing the brief commands in Asterian, Martel understood their circumstances. The situation was fragile; they should extricate themselves before it turned into a fight. Not eager to know what an archmage of Archen was capable of, Martel complied.
As he began to move, Martel’s attention fell upon a circle of symbols on the ground where Karolos stood, partly obscured by his robe and cloak. While the Archean language gave Martel trouble, he recognised their letters readily enough, yet these symbols he could not read at all. It took him a moment to recognise them. They were not Archean, but instead the glyphs of Phoenik.
In that moment, the lich shouted words of anger, and Martel realised it was too late.
Atreus reacted first. He unleashed a surge of power that scorched the lich in front of them, striking the undead mage with his strongest spell. Fabric was torn and bones became black. Any lesser being of necromantic nature would have been torn to shreds, but the lich proved strong enough to survive and strike back.
“Fool! You think you can stand against the archmage of Archen?” he sneered, retaliating. A spellbreaker was guarded against all manners of spell-born attacks, but Karolos chose another method. Closing his empty fist, he simply picked up Atreus with his magic and threw him across the room, headfirst into the wall. Groaning, he fell to the ground.
Eleanor charged, flaming sword in her hand. Immediately, she was struck by a spell that Martel by now recognised as soulfire, bringing her to her knees. Agony flickered across her face, leaving her incapacitated.
In the lich’s empty hand, a blade created of glittering green magic appeared. “Now die, ever pathetic and puny!”
Martel released a lightning bolt, hoping to gain the lich’s attention. It tore through Karolos’s clothing and made him tremble briefly, but it did not interrupt his spell keeping Eleanor suppressed, and he raised his sorcerous blade to plunge it into her.
Reacting quickly, Martel released a gust of wind. Elemental magic seemed of limited use against the lich, so instead, Martel aimed at Eleanor, pushing her out of harm’s way.
As previously intended, Martel got Karolos’s attention and quickly learned to regret it. His closest victim gone, the lich looked at his new target. The battlemage felt his entire body seize up, as if struck by paralysis. He flew across the room, held by Karolos’s magic and unable to move. Powerless to do anything, Martel was pulled forward and into the awaiting blade born of the lich’s magic. “Now feed my passage from this wretched place!” the lich snarled. The green dagger made of sorcery passed harmlessly through armour to pierce Martel’s skin and leave a deep wound in his chest. Gasping, he was thrown onto the ground, face down, still paralysed by Karolos’s magic. Quickly, blood began to seep through his clothing, and drops fell onto the symbols of Phoenik that ringed the lich, making them glow.
“I shall be free!” Karolos exclaimed. “I shall have what Moloch promised me! But first, I shall have revenge!” He turned towards Eleanor and released his own lightning bolt from his staff. She fell to the ground, dropping her sword, which lost its flames. “Your pitiful followers will die, Atreus, spellbreaker, oath-breaker, and as the last, I shall wring the life from you!”
Martel panicked at seeing Eleanor struck again by such painful magic. Yet by attacking her with his spell, Karolos inadvertently released Martel from his magical grasp. Bleeding to death, the battlemage pushed himself away from the glowing circle on the ground. He could feel life slipping from him; the phantom wound in his chest would not close. Beyond that, he understood what the shining glyphs meant. Karolos had made himself a portal, and Martel’s blood had activated it. The lich would escape, wreaking havoc on the world.
Remembering Atreus’s tale, Martel knew what he had to do. He could not save himself nor his companions, but he could keep the lich trapped. Summoning his last spellpower, pouring it into empowered strength, he smashed down against the floor to break the portal.
Before his blow could land, his whole body became seized again. “Pathetic,” Karolos spat despite having no bodily fluids. “I would never be as careless as Elena, letting insects ruin my work.” He made a swift motion with his hand, and Martel was tossed across the room, striking the doorframe with his back. His vision darkened, and he knew. There was nothing left he could do. He had no magic left, no strength, nothing.
Injured, Eleanor picked up her weapon and reignited the flames. In response, the lich turned towards her, raising his staff. Another lightning bolt took shape around its gems, glowing with all the elemental colours, but before he could release, Karolos trembled violently.
Behind him, Atreus had gotten back on his feet, and once again used his magic that would shatter lesser undead; receiving such destruction for the second time, it gave even a lich pause. “How?” he shrieked. “You are barely standing! How do you have the strength left?”
“I’ve been through worse,” the spellbreaker mumbled, and he clenched his fist to release it a third time. Motes of magic blinked around his hand.
With an incoherent scream, Karolos stamped his staff into the ground. The glyphs on the ground glowed with an intensity to blind onlookers, and the light swallowed him up. When it disappeared, so had he.
“That’s lucky,” Atreus breathed. “I was bluffing.” He fell to the ground unconscious as his attempted spell dissipated. Across the room, Eleanor collapsed as well, her sword once more striking the floor with a clatter. By the doorframe, Martel lay, one hand clutching his chest.