As in a dream, Alduin fell to his knees and took Balefire's head into
his
lap. He sat there, the shell of a man cradling a dying friend. He had
failed
again.

"Forgive me, Ricard..."

************************************************

The shock of Veer'Shule's passing nearly extinguished the wan and fitful
flame of Balefire's waning life.  He tried to focus on Alduin's face, to
understand what the scribe was trying to say, but the backlash of
magical force when the self-styled Master died left his concentration in
tatters.  It was all he could do to understand that now, with Veer'Shule
gone, the Heart was in complete control, intent on bringing the First
fully into existence, with unthinkable consequences for the world.
Peripherally conscious of Alduin's gentle touch, but unable to utter
even a final word of thanks, the warmage used his last reserves of will
to send a mental message to the Heart as it continued its implacable
exhortation of him to join the Blood to it.  His vision grew
dim...dimmer...and at last he could see nothing.  Knowing that his death
was upon him, unable to see on the physical plane at all, the warmage's
last shreds of perception showed him only infinite gray mists
surrounding the storm of magic around him, and a slowly forming,
malignant entity coalescing partly in this plane and partly in the one
on which he had lost his last tenuous hold.

"No.  I refuse."  The thought fled into the vortex of magic run wild.
In desperation, the warmage bethought him of the gods, whose help he had
spurned through a long lifetime.  He would not seek their help now, but
the Heart was bringing to pass an event that violated the rules of the
universe, in returning an eldritch horror from the mists of the past.
"Akatosh! Lord of Time!  Akatosh!  Dragon-God!"  No matter if his body
lay dead in the Hall of Bone, his consciousness could use the few
moments left as it faded.  "Time God, will you allow this abomination?
Hear me, not for my sake, but for that of the world!  Akatosh!"

But the Dragon God of Time was not listening, or deigned not to answer.
And Balefire lost his grasp on the ethereal plane as well, and felt his
consciousness whirled away into blackness, and silence.  His last
thoughts were of sorrow at failing in his last great task, and pity for
his companions left behind.  Only a very small, faint voice gave him
some solace as he realized he had chosen death before dishonor.  Slim
solace indeed, for the dead.  How long, he wondered idly, will my
thoughts continue ere they, too, fade into this all-encompassing
darkness, and even this last shadow of the Balefire that was, is no
more?  As if in answer, the darkness rushed in and smothered his
thoughts.

"Stay, Balefire Warmage.  Answer me a question before you give up."  The
voice was sourceless, soundless, yet it rang in his mind like a great
brazen gong.

"I am dead, whoever you are, but I have not given up.  My will outlasted
my life, which is as it should be."

"Nay.  You live yet, although barely.  Your body lies broken and spent
before me, along with that of the previous Master.  Your fist is
clenched, with the Blood upon it, so near and yet so far.  Near enough,
however, for our purposes.  The First awaits.  You are the Master now.
You need but will it.  You know this, deep in your heart.  I can see
it.  And yet you give up.  Answer me...why?"

"Heart?  You are the Heart, then?  You too have failed, then.  You think
to offer me mastery, in place of dead Veer'Shule?"

"Aye.  You bear the Blood.  You have the power if you only take it.
United, the Heart and Blood will raise the First, and nothing will stand
before us.  I see in your mind that you understand at last..."

"Aye.  Aye, I understand.  The First is but a reflection of its Master,
once the Horned Council.  Neither good nor evil, but powerful beyond
description.  If I were to accept, and join the Blood with you Heart,
the First would be *my* slave, a reflection of myself, and I should rule
the world.  More than one world, should I care to.  Life would again be
mine, mastery over all, for good or ill, at my choosing.  Immortality, I
warrant.  Is it not so?"

"You understand perfectly.  You need only agree to the joining.  I can
help.  Even now, the denigroth have dispersed, and your companions stand
bewildered.  Veer'Shule's killer weeps over your body, but the magic
storm damages him not.  I have contained and controlled the vortex; it
waits, stable, for your use.  You need only agree.  Accept the power,
and join the Blood to me by an act of will.  Act now, Master.  Life, and
the world, are yours.  The First awaits."

"No.  I refuse.  Call me not Master; for I refuse the title, and the
power. The power of the First is too great.  I would strive to use it
for good, but I am not capable of using such power selflessly always.
Nor is anyone.  I am a man, not a god.  Leave off your efforts to
persuade me.  The darkness calls me, and I shall sink into it.  I am
happy, knowing that I have in truth chosen death before dishonor.  The
First will have a long wait, Heart.  Farewell."

The voice of the Heart was silent, and Balefire waited for Death's last
dissolution, waited for his thoughts to unravel and fade into oblivion.

"You have won, Balefire Warmage.  Rejoice, for you conquer.  Long and
long have I waited, for the coming of the Blood-Bearer.  For the
fulfillment of the Prophecies.  For the Return of the First.  Yet the
Blood-Bearer refuses mastery, rejects ultimate power.  Embraces death
instead.  I am tired, Balefire Warmage.  And I cannot continue in the
face of a greater power.  I submit to the power of your will, and of
your sense of honor.  I yield, and accept your judgment.  Some power
remains, Balefire; it is yours to command.  Use it well.  Farewell."

Like a snuffed candle, the voice...the very presence...of the Heart was
gone.  Balefire felt himself drawn away from the darkness, sensed the
return of perceptions, tingled with increasing awareness and sensation,
senses whirling, thoughts scattered, and remembered, and felt...

Pain!  Incredible, agonizing pain.  Molten lead in his veins and
blue-white flame in his lungs.  Daggers twisting behind his eyes, and
acid bathing every inch of skin.  Pain such as he had never known, and
with it a weariness beyond his experience.  The world shuddered, and he
felt the vibration, as he felt the hard surface on which he lay, as he
felt the soft touch of the scribe's hands on his face.  And he opened
his eyes, forcing them to focus despite the pain.  On his fist, then, he
felt a pulsing, and he opened his flayed senses to the whirling,
sparking, multi-colored wheel of magic force surrounding him.

"My thanks, Alduin."   He forced the words out of tortured throat and
lips.  "'Twas bravely done.  We may survive this yet, and in any case,
we have won."

Focusing his will on the Blood, he formed his thoughts and
concentrated.  Before him, the Heart pulsed, still alive but no longer
acting.  The scarred mercenary drew a painful deep breath and willed the
power of the ambient magic into himself, feeling it flow through the
Blood and permeate all of his tissues, filling him to overflowing with
raw power.  He cast a healing spell at Alduin, and laughed through his
pain at how easy it was.  Next he healed himself, and the shock of
well-being was like like a plunge into an icy stream.  Health, and
power, and stamina rushed through his massive frame.  Now to finish what
he had come for.

Rising and picking up his staff, Balefire the Archmage, mercenary
warmage and returned refuser of ultimate power, raised his arms.
Bloodstone flashing on one fist, rune-carved staff gripped in the other,
he glared at the now-faint black mist hovering below the ceiling.
"Begone!  Your time is over!"  An eye-searing flash, and the cloud was
no more; the Eye had shut for the last time.  Looking around the Hall,
he saw his companions crouched on guard against half-solid swirling
forms of fell magic: the denigroth, wavering between reality and
unreality.  "Begone!  Your Master will not be coming.  Your purpose is
over!"  Another flash, and the denigroth were no more.  He turned to the
Heart then, and regarded his erstwhile opponent almost with tenderness.
He hesitated a moment, bracing himself against the increased shaking of
the Hall, now almost earthquake strength.

He grasped his staff with both hands, raising it high overhead.  "Your
long wait is over; your last Master is gone.  The First will come no
more, for good or ill.  It is better this way, for power must always
have limits.  You have Balefire's thanks, and those of the world.  Thus
I truly fulfill the prophecies.  Farewell."  He brought the staff down,
Bloodstone flaring with the power of his will and of the Heart-bestowed
power of magic, and struck the Heart with all the strength in his
war-trained shoulders and back.

The burst of light drove away all the shadows in the Hall, and when he
could see again, Balefire gazed upon a handful of shards that melted
away and disappeared even as he watched.  The maelstrom of magic was
gone as if it had never existed, and a glance at his ring showed it
completely inert, a simple carved bloodstone signet ring.

The warmage reached to help a bemused Alduin to his feet, and jumped as
a pillar crashed down in a cloud of dust and a hail of shards.  Half
carrying the scribe, the big mercenary shouted to his comrades, "Out!
We must get out!  The entire citadel is crumbling, now that its
maintenance spells are undone.  J'layah!  Have you the jewel we sought?
Speak quickly, for if I must search for it in this, 'twould best be done
immediately."

The rumbling was continuous now, and the Hall shook with the crash of
pillars.  Part of the ceiling gave way behind them as the party rushed
for the blasted doors.  A cloud of dust pursued them, and the
death-groans of the disintegrating citadel sounded louder.