LITMIR.BIZ

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readied spells that would cause the stones’ fundamental essence to flow into a liquid, be coaxed into any shape the magicians desired, and then re-hardened. The magic was complex, requiring decades of study, and the force it required and the artistry employed always impressed Gulamendis. Basic rock was not simply turned into building material, it was lent a beauty and elegance that was the hallmark of the taredhel. The wall was an off-white colour, topped with a parapet, but the merlons between the crenels were a deep yellow. From a distance, they looked white and gold. Barely a tenth complete, and their new city already spoke of its future splendour. It would be the new capital for all elvenkind on this world.

      In less than a week the outlines of the new settlement could be seen. He had heard people call it, ‘e’bar’, home in the ancient language, and suspected that might come to be its official name, no matter what the Regent’s Meet might decide. As he walked, Gulamendis could sense the magic everywhere, a faint vibration in the fundamental fabric of this space, what the mancers called ‘the loops of being’. All around him, elven will was being imposed on rock and mud; vast boulevards were being cleared, with flashes of blinding white light, and he could only imagine the heat as the incendiari, the magicians specializing in fire magic, burned away acres of undergrowth and detritus. Arboris had already worked their arts on the trees, commanding them to uproot and walk to their desired locations.

      Gulamendis understood the scope of his people’s power, he had seen evidence of it all his life, but never before had he witnessed so many practitioners of the arcane arts expending their skills so vigorously at the same time. It was positively intoxicating.

      As he watched, Gulamendis saw a team of drovers divert their carts down a pathway towards a levelled patch of land. The building pad had been fashioned with magic only hours before; the geomancers completing in minutes what picks, shovels, and drags would have taken hours to accomplish.

      The massive horses were urged forward slowly, while the cleverly contrived carts gently tipped, depositing large rocks on the ground in a roughly straight line. Gulamendis lingered, fascinated by the unfamiliar magic. These masters of the arcane controlled the very stuff of the world: the rock, soil, crystal and sand.

      Three young magicians walked to a point halfway along the line of rocks and together incanted a spell. The stones grew soft and began to flow together before the Demon Master’s eyes. Then two master geomancers, supervised by a Grand Master, moved between the three younger spellweavers, and began to control the flow. A wall of stone rose before them, liquid like runny clay. When it reached the appropriate height, the Grand Master began to apply his arts. First he smoothed the surface until it became an unbroken, almost eggshell white, then along the top decorative designs appeared, carvings that would have taken artisans months to achieve with chisels and hammers. Gulamendis understood the theory behind this craft; his own spells were often designed to layer other spells, patterns such as this were combined and then unleashed in series simply by incanting the master spell. Still, it was a wonder to behold.

      Then the Grand Master added the crowning touch as patterns transmuted on top of the wall, in a reddish-gold colour that the Demon Master presumed to be a blend of copper and gold. He knew it was not paint or gilt, and that this Grand Master’s power allowed him to refine the rock into a patina of metal.

      The taredhel were unmatched when it came to the arcane arts, their control over the very elements of the world was breathtaking. Centuries of inherited craftsmanship had resulted in this spectacular creation. It was more than a splendid wall, it was its effortlessness that stunned the Demon Master; the legacy of scholars, artists, and magicians in action. Like all of the taredhel, these magic users took quiet pride in their accomplishments, they sought no praise, for to do less than their best was to court personal shame.

      Gulamendis turned away. To one who usually laboured in solitude, whose expertise lay in darker arts, there was something almost too bright here, something that could cause sun blindness if one stared too long. Not for the first time, the Demon Master wondered at his people’s appetite for power. Unlike the Forgotten, who had lusted after their ancient master’s might in a vain attempt to raise themselves up to the stature of the Dragon Host, the taredhel sought knowledge for its own reward. They were descendants of the eldar, the true Keepers of Lore. Still, the Demon Master wondered if there was much difference between the taredhel and the moredhel.

      Gulamendis was first required to report to the senior magician at the site, Grand Master Colsarius, but after that the Regent Lord’s mandate directed him to discover if demons were present on this world.

      Gulamendis didn’t need to do much investigation; there was demon scent in the very air, but muted, so distant that only one as sensitive as he would recognize it. Magic had flavours and signatures, and if you knew the spellweaver well enough, you could recognize his handiwork as easily as spotting a master’s mark on a sword blade or fine piece of jewellery.

      Still, this very faint sense of demon piqued Gulamendis’ curiosity. He would have to travel some distance from this place, as so much surrounding magic would make detecting the exact location of the demons more difficult. Once he was alone, far from here, he could deduce where to begin his search. Besides, it was a good excuse to get away.

      He had his own agenda, one that he, his brother and a handful of others had sworn to see fulfilled, even should it mean their death, for they understood the destruction racing headlong towards the taredhel only too well.

      Andcardia was lost, no matter what anyone still defending it might wish; the fervour with which the Regent Lord threw his remaining resources into building this city at the expense of defending Andcardia was proof that he knew that the Demon Legion would overwhelm them eventually. It was as inevitable as the surge of the ocean tide, and like the ocean tide, relentless. Still, much had been revealed and more could be learned, for Gulamendis knew one thing above all else: somewhere out there lay a portal, a gate between worlds, a path from the Fifth Circle to this one, and while it stood open demons could be summoned easily, or worse, find their way into this realm unaided.

      He reached a huge gap in the first section of wall, through which this road passed. Gulamendis had no doubt that the Regent Lord would spend time with the fabricators of its majestic gates ensuring that their design and execution were as precise and ornate as they had been back on Andcardia. The Regent Lord fancied himself as a tasteful man and had taken an interest in the design of everything the taredhel had constructed over the last two centuries. Every façade was framed with ornate mouldings and cornices, rooftops were peaked, and every one topped with a spire. Gulamendis was forced to concede that though his people had a taste for ostentation, he was in the minority, preferring simpler, more elegant design.

      He considered what he knew about the demon gate. He and others of his calling had faced scorn and ridicule over their assertion of its reality, accused of seeking to avoid complicity in the demon assault. No matter whom he tried to convince, only a handful of magicians, almost all practitioners of the darker callings, had believed him. One ally had proven a surprise, an ancient priest, the elta-eldar. Gulamendis had simply made one passing observation that had sent the ancient Loremaster rushing to the archives.

      That priest had later sought out Gulamendis when he had been imprisoned. He had asked questions and offered his insights, eventually leaving the prisoner alone to sweat out his days and shiver through the nights.

      It had been his apprentice, Spellmaster Tandarae, who returned at last to speak on his master’s behalf. Gulamendis saw the younger priest approaching.

      ‘Gulamendis,’ he said in greeting.

      ‘Fare you well, Tandarae?’ answered the Demon Master.

      ‘As well as one might expect, given our current circumstances.’ He glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then walked over to Gulamendis and put his left hand on the Demon Master’s shoulder. Lowering his voice he said, ‘I suspect you have much to do and need to be about your business; I’ll walk with you, for I also am hard pressed by duty.

      ‘I just wanted you to know that what you have brought to the attention of myself and others has not gone unheeded. You have our thanks.’

      Not entirely sure where this was leading, Gulamendis said, ‘I

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