from his infernal plane into the mythal chamber.
He was tall, well over six feet, and sturdy of build. His skin was marble-white, even paler and more colorless than that of a fair-complexioned moon elf. His hair was long, black, and straight, and his eyes were large and absolutely black, with no hint of pupil, iris, or white. He wore a long crimson robe embroidered with gold designs, and he carried a large silver sword point-down in one hand, keeping it close by his side. A small trickle of dark blood ran down his face from some unseen injury in the center of his forehead, but Malkizid paid it no mind.
“I am here,” he said.
“So I see,” Sarya replied.
She let her gate lapse, and immediately spoke the words of a second spell. Beneath Malkizid’s feet a complex summoning diagram flared into existence, encircling the powerful devil with a barrier of impenetrable magic.
Malkizid glanced down, and his mouth twisted in a cold imitation of a smile.
“What is this, Sarya?” he asked.
“A binding diagram that should hold even you, Malkizid. Simply a precaution in case you were not forthright about aiding me once summoned.”
“It is hardly necessary, I assure you. I have come to help you, after all. What could I possibly gain by betraying you now?”
“I have no idea, but I see no reason to invite treachery.” Sarya watched Malkizid carefully, a spell of dismissal only an instant from her lips.
Malkizid shrugged. Blood dripped from his wounded forehead.
“As you wish, then,” said the devil. “I can instruct you just as well from within this diagram. Now, will you speak the spell of mythal reading? You will need to make visible the threads that bind this artifice together.”
Sarya hesitated. “Is there any chance of warning the mythal’s creators by casting that spell here? Several of those who raised this mythal are still alive. I can think of at least one who wields Mystra’s silver fire.”
“I know of whom you speak,” Malkizid replied. He did not name the wizard Sarya was thinking of, for it was well known that Mystra’s Chosen could hear their names spoken anywhere in the world, and any words that the speaker uttered after the name. “I do not fear him, but then again, I am protected inside this exceedingly thorough summoning circle. However, the first thing we will do is silence the mythal’s alarms and prevent it from sending out any kind of warning to its creators. I will show you how.”
“Can you be certain that it will work?”
Malkizid’s dark eyes flashed, and a frown creased his noble countenance.
“Sarya Dlardrageth, I forgot more about mythalcraft ten thousand years ago than those who raised this stone managed to accumulate in all the time since. This mythal was raised by mere novices. Long ago I taught the Vyshaanti how to build wonders you could not conceive of! In the days of Aryvandaar’s glory mythals were weapons of war, and mythalcraft was the grandest and most terrible of the martial skills. Of course I know how to conceal my presence from such a device!”
Despite herself, Sarya took half a step back. For just a moment she glimpsed the ancient anger that Malkizid hoarded beneath his calm demeanor, and demon queen that she was, she still took note.
“You have had access to this mythal for nearly twenty years,” she observed. “If you are so knowledgeable, why haven’t you subverted it already?”
Malkizid grounded the point of his silver sword in the smooth stone floor and glowered at her. “First, I am not an elf, nor the recipient of any special blessing of Mystra’s. You still possess enough elf blood in your veins to deceive some of this mythal’s defenses, Sarya, while I do not. Second, I dare not set foot in the bounds of this mythal through any use of my own power. The wards raised by the Zhents two decades ago trap devils within the mythal’s bounds. I will show you how to modify that stricture soon, but until I found you, I had no one to bring me
He was tall, well over six feet, and sturdy of build. His skin was marble-white, even paler and more colorless than that of a fair-complexioned moon elf. His hair was long, black, and straight, and his eyes were large and absolutely black, with no hint of pupil, iris, or white. He wore a long crimson robe embroidered with gold designs, and he carried a large silver sword point-down in one hand, keeping it close by his side. A small trickle of dark blood ran down his face from some unseen injury in the center of his forehead, but Malkizid paid it no mind.
“I am here,” he said.
“So I see,” Sarya replied.
She let her gate lapse, and immediately spoke the words of a second spell. Beneath Malkizid’s feet a complex summoning diagram flared into existence, encircling the powerful devil with a barrier of impenetrable magic.
Malkizid glanced down, and his mouth twisted in a cold imitation of a smile.
“What is this, Sarya?” he asked.
“A binding diagram that should hold even you, Malkizid. Simply a precaution in case you were not forthright about aiding me once summoned.”
“It is hardly necessary, I assure you. I have come to help you, after all. What could I possibly gain by betraying you now?”
“I have no idea, but I see no reason to invite treachery.” Sarya watched Malkizid carefully, a spell of dismissal only an instant from her lips.
Malkizid shrugged. Blood dripped from his wounded forehead.
“As you wish, then,” said the devil. “I can instruct you just as well from within this diagram. Now, will you speak the spell of mythal reading? You will need to make visible the threads that bind this artifice together.”
Sarya hesitated. “Is there any chance of warning the mythal’s creators by casting that spell here? Several of those who raised this mythal are still alive. I can think of at least one who wields Mystra’s silver fire.”
“I know of whom you speak,” Malkizid replied. He did not name the wizard Sarya was thinking of, for it was well known that Mystra’s Chosen could hear their names spoken anywhere in the world, and any words that the speaker uttered after the name. “I do not fear him, but then again, I am protected inside this exceedingly thorough summoning circle. However, the first thing we will do is silence the mythal’s alarms and prevent it from sending out any kind of warning to its creators. I will show you how.”
“Can you be certain that it will work?”
Malkizid’s dark eyes flashed, and a frown creased his noble countenance.
“Sarya Dlardrageth, I forgot more about mythalcraft ten thousand years ago than those who raised this stone managed to accumulate in all the time since. This mythal was raised by mere novices. Long ago I taught the Vyshaanti how to build wonders you could not conceive of! In the days of Aryvandaar’s glory mythals were weapons of war, and mythalcraft was the grandest and most terrible of the martial skills. Of course I know how to conceal my presence from such a device!”
Despite herself, Sarya took half a step back. For just a moment she glimpsed the ancient anger that Malkizid hoarded beneath his calm demeanor, and demon queen that she was, she still took note.
“You have had access to this mythal for nearly twenty years,” she observed. “If you are so knowledgeable, why haven’t you subverted it already?”
Malkizid grounded the point of his silver sword in the smooth stone floor and glowered at her. “First, I am not an elf, nor the recipient of any special blessing of Mystra’s. You still possess enough elf blood in your veins to deceive some of this mythal’s defenses, Sarya, while I do not. Second, I dare not set foot in the bounds of this mythal through any use of my own power. The wards raised by the Zhents two decades ago trap devils within the mythal’s bounds. I will show you how to modify that stricture soon, but until I found you, I had no one to bring me
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