Caledor’s masterpiece was the Vortex, a spell that had saved the entire world and which even to this very day protected his homeland.

How could you compete with that?

He already felt certain that he was going to try and find a way. He strode down to the forges.

It took long hard hours wielding the heavy hammer, sweating at the forge, using all his strength while weaving potent enchantments into the metal. It required him to perform two very difficult tasks at once, and it taxed his mental and physical strengths to the limit. By the time the finished blade gleamed in his hand he was exhausted – it was all he could do to drag himself to his chambers and throw himself upon his bed. Sleep took him almost instantly. Visions of Tyrion and the Everqueen being pursued through dense forests by armies of druchii dogged him. Over everything loomed two gigantic figures: one was robed and cowled and radiated a chill aura of deadly power, the other was the Archmage Caledor. They seemed to be involved in some titanic battle of wills, and he knew he was part of that struggle.

He awoke with a growing sense that time was running out.

Chapter Seven

‘I cannot say I am pleased to lose you,’ said Morelian as Teclis entered his chamber. He glanced significantly at the new blade that hung scabbarded at Teclis’s side. ‘Your power and your skill could be of great use here in Hoeth.’

‘The tower does not need another defender,’ said Teclis, wondering why the High Loremaster had summoned him.

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Morelian, although he did not say it loudly lest they be overheard. ‘In any case, I have some gifts for you to use on your quest.’

‘Any help will be gratefully received,’ said Teclis.

‘I suspect you will need all of it by the end of your journey. I fear you go along a very dark road.’

‘Your words are not calculated to improve my morale.’

‘You are not riding into such circumstances that overconfidence would be justified.’

‘I trust that your gift does not consist merely of advice, no matter how well meant. If you continue in this vein it may discourage me from departing entirely.’

‘Hopefully you will find this a somewhat greater mark of my faith in you,’ said the High Loremaster. From behind his desk, he produced a helmet that Teclis recognised. It was a winged crown that had once sat in the vaults beneath the tower.

‘The War Crown of Saphery,’ he said. It was difficult to keep the awe from his voice. ‘You’re placing a mighty trust in me.’

‘Let us hope that it is justified,’ said Morelian. He raised the crown reverently with both hands and placed it upon Teclis’s head. Almost at once, Teclis felt a difference. His eyesight and his hearing both became much keener. He could see the High Loremaster’s face in much more detail than he had ever been able to do before, with his weak eyesight. Concern was written in the old elf’s face, and something else too, something like respect.

‘I will do my best to see that it is,’ Teclis said. His own voice sounded different now. It was louder and more decisive. He was much more aware of the flow of magical energy about him. He was not entirely sure of all that the crown was doing for him, but he was certain that it was enhancing his power in many ways.

‘It is a princely gift,’ Teclis said.

‘Think of it more as a loan,’ the High Loremaster said. ‘For as long as you live, you will hold it in trust for the tower. On your death, it will be returned to us.’

‘It shall be as you say,’ Teclis said. ‘And once again I must express my gratitude. Never did I expect to be granted such a boon.’

‘It may well be that you carry the destiny of us all with you,’ said the High Loremaster.