Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 5 - The Cerulean Storm by Troy Denning Page A
Authors: Troy Denning
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limestone blocks
leading toward the center. The walkway stopped at the base of a minaret rising directly
out of the water. This slender steeple was faced with white onyx and crowned by a crystal
cupola.
Although she had reached the summit of the Pristine Tower, Sadira's singing croaked to a
stop. Between her and the gate stood ten wraiths, all armored in gray plate similar to the
first woman's. They wore their helmet visors down, so that all the sorceress could see of
their faces were the jewel-colored slivers of light emitted by their burning eyes: ruby,
sapphire, citrine, amethyst, and more. None of them carried weapons.
The largest wraith stepped forward. He extended a mailed hand and, in a raspy voice,
ordered, “Go down.”
Sadira reached into her robe and shook her head. She was vaguely aware that Magnus's
booming voice had grown urgent. Directly above the citadel's minaret, the pearly haze
swirled about in two great eddies, each spinning in the opposite direction.
“Stand aside-” She paused to clear a nervous catch in her throat, then continued, “Let me
pass.”
The wraith shook his head. “Borys is aware of what you and Rikus are doing,” he said. “He
has demanded your death.”
Sadira tensed, her limbs cold and aching. She wanted to ask how much the Dragon knew, and
whether he had found Agis, but realized that it would be futile. If the wraith replied at
all, his answer was sure to be misleading.
“Then Borys should come for me himself.” The sorceress pulled a tiny, two-tined fork of
silver from her pocket. “You won't stop me.”
She struck the fork against the wall and pointed the quivering tines at the wraiths. The
leader's purple eyes flashed brightly, and he threw himself to the ground. Several of his
fellows followed his lead, but not all were quick enough to react before Sadira finished
her incantation.
A shrill, painful screech shot from the end of the fork and blasted over her foes.
Blinding flashes of colored light flared inside the visors of the wraiths who had not yet
hit the ground. First their helmets, then the rest of their armor burst apart, the shards
instantly dissolving into wisps of gray fume. The whole tower shook with the violence of
the explosion, and the air erupted into a maelstrom of streaking colors: red, blue,
yellow, and all the hues of the prism. Only the leader and four other wraiths, all lying
on the stony apron, escaped the destruction.
The blast knocked Sadira from her feet, making her ears ring and sending her tumbling down
the stairs. The sorceress dropped the silver fork and clawed at the porous stone, breaking
off half her fingernails. As soon as she brought herself to a stop, she reached into her
pocket for another spell component.
By the prickling sensation of her skin, she knew that her first enchantment, one of the
most powerful she could cast, had drained her mystic energy down to her hips. She had
expected that, gambling that the attack would destroy most of her enemies in a single
blow. But she had not expected so many of them to drop to the ground, where the tower's
stone would absorb the magic vibrations she had sent to shatter the gems holding their
life-forces.
Sadira came up ready to attack again, the stairs still trembling beneath her feet and the
maelstrom tearing at her clothes. In her hand, she held a small iron hammer, the first
syllable of her incantation already spilling from her mouth.
When she looked toward the wraiths, she held her spell. To her surprise, they were not
charging. Instead, they stood on the apron between her and the gate, their feet planted
wide to brace themselves against the raging tempest. Behind them and directly above the
minaret, a faint gleam of pink was beginning to show through the swirling haze.
The sorceress raised her hand toward the light, hoping it came from the sun and that its
rays would
leading toward the center. The walkway stopped at the base of a minaret rising directly
out of the water. This slender steeple was faced with white onyx and crowned by a crystal
cupola.
Although she had reached the summit of the Pristine Tower, Sadira's singing croaked to a
stop. Between her and the gate stood ten wraiths, all armored in gray plate similar to the
first woman's. They wore their helmet visors down, so that all the sorceress could see of
their faces were the jewel-colored slivers of light emitted by their burning eyes: ruby,
sapphire, citrine, amethyst, and more. None of them carried weapons.
The largest wraith stepped forward. He extended a mailed hand and, in a raspy voice,
ordered, “Go down.”
Sadira reached into her robe and shook her head. She was vaguely aware that Magnus's
booming voice had grown urgent. Directly above the citadel's minaret, the pearly haze
swirled about in two great eddies, each spinning in the opposite direction.
“Stand aside-” She paused to clear a nervous catch in her throat, then continued, “Let me
pass.”
The wraith shook his head. “Borys is aware of what you and Rikus are doing,” he said. “He
has demanded your death.”
Sadira tensed, her limbs cold and aching. She wanted to ask how much the Dragon knew, and
whether he had found Agis, but realized that it would be futile. If the wraith replied at
all, his answer was sure to be misleading.
“Then Borys should come for me himself.” The sorceress pulled a tiny, two-tined fork of
silver from her pocket. “You won't stop me.”
She struck the fork against the wall and pointed the quivering tines at the wraiths. The
leader's purple eyes flashed brightly, and he threw himself to the ground. Several of his
fellows followed his lead, but not all were quick enough to react before Sadira finished
her incantation.
A shrill, painful screech shot from the end of the fork and blasted over her foes.
Blinding flashes of colored light flared inside the visors of the wraiths who had not yet
hit the ground. First their helmets, then the rest of their armor burst apart, the shards
instantly dissolving into wisps of gray fume. The whole tower shook with the violence of
the explosion, and the air erupted into a maelstrom of streaking colors: red, blue,
yellow, and all the hues of the prism. Only the leader and four other wraiths, all lying
on the stony apron, escaped the destruction.
The blast knocked Sadira from her feet, making her ears ring and sending her tumbling down
the stairs. The sorceress dropped the silver fork and clawed at the porous stone, breaking
off half her fingernails. As soon as she brought herself to a stop, she reached into her
pocket for another spell component.
By the prickling sensation of her skin, she knew that her first enchantment, one of the
most powerful she could cast, had drained her mystic energy down to her hips. She had
expected that, gambling that the attack would destroy most of her enemies in a single
blow. But she had not expected so many of them to drop to the ground, where the tower's
stone would absorb the magic vibrations she had sent to shatter the gems holding their
life-forces.
Sadira came up ready to attack again, the stairs still trembling beneath her feet and the
maelstrom tearing at her clothes. In her hand, she held a small iron hammer, the first
syllable of her incantation already spilling from her mouth.
When she looked toward the wraiths, she held her spell. To her surprise, they were not
charging. Instead, they stood on the apron between her and the gate, their feet planted
wide to brace themselves against the raging tempest. Behind them and directly above the
minaret, a faint gleam of pink was beginning to show through the swirling haze.
The sorceress raised her hand toward the light, hoping it came from the sun and that its
rays would
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