The Floodgate by Elaine Cunningham

restored.”
    The elf leader glanced at the ghostly jordain. “And the karasanzor?”
    “He is called Andris. He also survived the laraken. He is a jordain, a name humans of Halruaa give to their lore-masters. He is also a battlemaster, resistant to wizardly magic and skilled at fighting against it”
    The elf looked puzzled. “He is these things, you say?”
    “Yes. Is.”
    Andris was not sure what this cryptic exchange meant, but he noted that Kiva had neglected to mention his elf blood. He ached to claim what kinship he could. Before he could speak, Kiva stabbed him with a glare, eloquently and unmistakably warning him to silence.
    The elf spokesman was not yet done with his questions. “Let us say that you have these weapons of magic. Let’s assume that we could prevail against the humans. Why would we want to fight them again, when peace was so hard-earned and long in coming?”
    “Because if we don’t, Akhlaur could return.”
    Stunned silence met her words. Andris felt as shocked and skeptical as the elves looked.
    “All these many years,” Kiva went on, “the laraken’s source of strength was a trickle of water from another world, a world full of magic-an endless supply of magic. The laraken escaped into that world. So did Akhlaur.”
    Horror startled Andris into speaking out of turn. “Why did you help it escape?”
    The elf woman’s glance flicked over to him. “Why would I lead an army of magic-dead warriors against the laraken, except to destroy it? It was my intention to enter the Plane of Water once the laraken was destroyed, to face Akhlaur. But Tzigone did not hold the laraken, choosing instead to waste her spells attacking me.”
    Andris thought back upon the confusion and chaos of battle. The laraken had broken free of Tzigone and rushed back to the spring just as Kiva conjured a large, bubbling gate. When Kiva fell, it was within arm’s reach of this gate. Perhaps the laraken’s escape truly had been accidental, but the notion of her “facing Akhlaur” was too much for his mind to absorb.
    “Kiva, the necromancer disappeared over two hundred years ago. No doubt he is long dead.”
    “Since when was a necromancer inconvenienced by death?” Kiva spoke as if quelling a child who interrupted his elders’ conversation. “Do you think him incapable of transforming himself into a lich?”
    Andris had no answer. The specter of an undead Akhlaur dwarfed any possible response into insignificance.
    “There is more,” the elf woman went on. “It was Akhlaur who created the laraken, fashioning it so that whatever magic the monster absorbed would pass to its master. Now the laraken is again within Akhlaur’s grasp. That can only speed his return to power and to Halruaa. When he emerges-and eventually he will-alive or dead, it matters not-it will be as the most powerful deathwizard Halruaa has ever known. If he is to be stopped, it must be now.”
    Andris nodded slowly, seeing a thread of logic in Kiva’s complicated tapestry. How could she avenge herself and her people if the wizard responsible for so much suffering was beyond her grasp? Given what he knew of Kiva, her plan involved more than a simple spellbattle confrontation. He did not exactly trust Kiva, but if at the end Akhlaur was vanquished once and for all, wasn’t that worth the risk?
    The elves seemed equally conflicted. “I am called Nadage,” the elf spokesman said at last “I am a scout and warrior. What you suggest is a matter for the elders.”
    “There is little time,” Kiva protested. “Such a trip would take days.”
    “Not so. When humans were first spotted in the forest pass, battle preparations began. We can reach our camp by nightfall. You will come and speak before the People.”
    Without further discussion, the elves turned and headed westward. Kiva gave Andris a little shove, and they fell into step behind.
    “Perhaps it was a mistake for me to come with you,” Andris observed softly. “They seem reluctant