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He
licked
his
lips
.
The
throbbing
had
died
away
,
leaving
a
strange
,
waiting
kind
of
silence
.
Malich
raised
his
head
and
shouted
one
single
syllable
.
Blue
-
green
fire
flashed
from
both
ends
of
the
staff
.
Streams
of
octarine
flame
spouted
from
the
eight
pouits
of
the
octogram
and
enveloped
the
wizard
.
All
this
wasn
’
t
actually
necessary
to
accomplish
the
spell
,
but
wizards
consider
appearances
are
very
important
.
.
.
.
So
are
disappearances
.
He
vanished
.
Stratohemispheric
winds
whipped
at
Mort
’
s
cloak
.
’
Where
are
we
going
first
?
’
yelled
Ysabell
in
his
ear
.
’
Bes
Pelargic
!
’
shouted
Mort
,
the
gale
whirling
his
words
away
.
’
Where
’
s
that
?
’
’
Agatean
Empire
!
Counterweight
Continent
!
’
He
pointed
downward
.
