In the old tower, with it's shuttered windows, Lysette looked wearily at the old man. There was something hauntingly familiar to him.
Could this be the scrawny youth they'd picked up only days ago?
If so, how did he get this old?
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her, hugging herself close.
"Where's my Lord and Master?" She asked petulantly.
"Grit, get the girl some mulled wine, will you"
Randorian spoke and the short, squat goblin like creature put a hot poker in a mug of wine and handed it to the confused girl.
"Lysette I want you to listen to me and watch closely"
The old man, waved his hands over an ornate mirror while Grit lit some incense-cones. The heavy fumes mingled with the scent of spiced wine. A picture began to appear in the mirror, like the view an eagle would have of the land.
Armies were moving, brightly coloured Brightsparians, fur clad Norsemen infantry, Lisendonairean cataphracts and archers. They met with the Aran Dor army in a plain before a rocky crag, topped with a dark tower.
Horde upon horde of goblins were camped around the crag, with huge wolves runnign through their camps, howling. An army of lich advanced along the River of Darkness, closing the retreat.
Morning broke gloomy and wet, rain turned the fields into a muddy swamp, which caught foot and hoof, turning the cavarly useless. The goblins advanced under cover of the gloom and the rain. Arrows clouded the sky and goblin and men fell as the shafts pierced armour and skin. Vargs snapped at horses legs and bellies, disabling them even further. The lich advanced from behind a wave of dread flowing in front of them, as the lifeless horde moved closer.
Lysette shivered.
Focus shifted as the undead legions fell on the rear of the armies of the Realms, towards the castle. A small group of people were moving upwards along the rocky road. Battling their way through Zordamon's minion. A young pale man on a horse, looking scared, but tossing balls of bright fire towards the enemy, a pair of swordsmen hacking their way up.
"Thoren..." Lysette breathed.
A women wielding a sword that seemed an extension to herself, a priestess, whose mace crunched skulls and spells fed power to her companions, another woman, whose magic tore through enemy ranks. A bow man and a big cat, taking their own toll of the enemy.
And a tall man on a tall horse with a dark shadow behind him, his eyes flashing as arrows failed to find him and swords went astray. Incongruously he seemd to be playing a lute.
They passed a gate, but the priestess fell to a winged demon. In the court the bowman saw a familiar face and charged only to be torn to pieces by the great cat that suddenly turned upon him.
Goblins overwhelmed and pinned down the Paladin, while the younger of the two swordsmen disappeared in a flurry of knives.
The dark mage, a young girl at his side, appeared and unerringly tossed a crystal vial towards the Elven Queen. It broke and to the girl's astonished eyes the mage light went out as she turned to stone.
The younger of the two magicians fell as arrows pierced his chest. The younger Randorian's illusions grew frantic as he tried to protect himself from the renewed attack. The minstrel wore a look of infinite pain on his face as the norseman charged forward and fought his way up to the Dark Mage. The girl at the man's side answered his beckoning call and then slid a long dagger into his belly.
Lysette sobbed as she saw the look of triumph on her own face.
The minstrel cried out and seemed to grow, wings sprung from his shoulders, wide and sable, as his clotihng seemd to flow away until all that was left was a white kilt. Jewels glittered on his arms and chest as he swooped up and picked Randorian from his horse and chased towards the sun. A final flurry of goblin arrows sped up, one hitting the young mage in his hand.
That dark mage laughed and laughed, the sound was the last thing Lysette heard before she fainted.
Later.
The old mage wiped the girl's feverish brow, an old scar showing clearly on his hand.
"Fight little one, fight. Follow the voice of your heart."
Still later.
The lights in the tower were dim when the girl awoke to find the old man nodding besides her.
"Thoren!"
"Hush, child."
Randorian answered and clumsily patted her shoulder. The girl flung herself into his arms and cried herself back to sleep.
And later.
"Now listen to me. The angel saved me to give you this chance. You fought of the spell of Zordamon, now you must learn the secrets of the mages. Only this way we can change the past and give the others a chance of life. Not Death.
It will be a hard task...are you willing?"
Randorian looked at the girl, who nodded.
"Yes, Randorian, I am willing."
Her voice was steel under velvet.
5 years later the young woman looks at her old mentor. Goblins are laying siege to his mages tower. They have been at it for a year now and the defences are weakening.
"I think you've learned all I know, Lysette. It is time to send you back."
Lysette nods and kisses the old man on his cheek.
"You have been wonderful, Randorian, I wish there was a way to stay, but if I fail...you will have survived for nothing."
"You won't fail, child."
The old mage prepares the spell and send the girl on her way. The goblins have breached the walls and are swarming over his defences. He sighs.
"It's as good a day to die as any...but I won't die without a fight."[This message has been edited by Jayhawk (edited 06-13-2000).]