The Grand Crusade Read Online Free PDF Page A

same results. He had confirmed that the globe was magickal in some manner, but got nothing else useful in that regard. What he did notice, however, was that his spell was shredded differently this time, the energy swirling away in another pattern.
    It flowed, much as urZrethi magick flows. He shifted his approach and, instead of casting a human diagnostic spell, went for one he had learned from an urZrethi instructor. It flowed from his hands and covered the globe with a dark coat. Occasionally little lines of silver, like lightning, would flash here and there,
    then the spell evaporated.
    The results of the urZrethi magick did not tell Kerrigan much, other than that Bok had cast a spell on it. That spell seemed suited to little more than masking other magick. He knew that to peel that spell away would take a lot of hard work and many hours, and he did not feel he had time to waste. Moreover, he had an idea.
    Kerrigan began to shape a spell in the urZrethi style, imagining it to be smoke rising from an extinguished candle. He poured energy into it, giving the wisp of the spell life, then sank the slender thread of it into the shield spell. Kerrigan’s new spell flowed with Bok’s magick—at first on the surface, then down through the protective layer. The trickle of energy he expended on the spell was insufficient to trigger a reaction by Bok’s spell, so little by slowly his thread drifted on and in and finally reached the globe itself.
    The flowing sensation of his spell had pleased Kerrigan, and had tickled the palm of his right hand. When the spell touched the globe, however, that tickle became a stab of agony that felt as if the ball had sprouted a spike and driven it straight through Kerrigan’s hand. A wave of fatigue washed over him and the world dimmed for a moment. Kerrigan wavered and slumped to his right as the globe rolled from his hand and onto the floor.
    Kerrigan watched the ball jump and twist, then flatten into a thick disk,
    stretch into a tall cylinder, and finally gather itself into a roiling thundercloud. All motion froze for a second and a keening wail sounded, then the silver ball expanded and resolved itself into the shape of a warrior. Though only a foot high, the model had been worked with exquisite detail, right down to the way the man’s long hair moved against his shoulders.
    It shouldn’t be moving. Kerrigan shook his head to clear it, and the figure’s details faded for a moment, then became sharp again as Kerrigan concentrated. The figure actually looked familiar and after a moment’s reflection Kerrigan realized it was modeled on a statue of Prince Kirill of Okrannel, Alexia’s father, that Kerrigan had seen at Fortress Draconis.
    The little figure bowed to him, then melted back into the silver sphere.
    Kerrigan levered himself up into a sitting position again. “What is that?”
    Rymramoch’s head canted to the side, then the puppet gestured and the globe floated to his outstretched hand. “It is little more than a toy we use to train ourselves in magick. Bok did layer it with a protective spell, but you worked through that quickly enough. The device may have seemed greedy to you, but dragons use it and barely notice the demands.”
    The puppet’s fingers curled up and inward, sinking into the ball. Kerrigan caught a hint of magick, then the hand opened again. “There, I think that should work. As a device, it allows one to concentrate. The figure you created is something you remember?”
    “Based on a statue I saw at Fortress Draconis, yes.” Kerrigan shifted his shoulders. “What am I supposed to do with the thing, just make models?”
    “No, no, quite a bit more.” The puppet tossed the sphere to him again. “When you penetrated Bok’s spell, you made a connection with the ball. The magick in the ball drew strength from you to allow itself to function. You found that taxing, yes?”
    Kerrigan nodded. “All spells require energy to make them work. You have to be careful in case you exhaust