Summoning a fireball spell, Liriel Baenre braced her feet and set off the small missile. She heard the fireball strike the enemy ship's unseen shield and counted rapidly until an answering flash exploded from the darkness that stretched between the battling ships. It was her own weapon, rebounded back. The fireball diminshed as it came, falling just short of the Elfmaid's deck and disappearing into the water with a weak fizzle.A smile of triumph flashed across the drow's face. She now knew how long she had between attack and escape. Again magic fire erupted from her fingers. A barrage of fireballs spewed forth, so quickly it appeared as though multicolored lightening flashed from her outstretched hand.The exhausted drow dropped to the deck. But she struggled back to her knees, hands clasping the Windwalker amulet, face set in determination as she called forth the gate spell that would take the piriate ship several miles to the south...and safety.Nothing...A scream of pure, primal rage tore from the drow's throat--never had magic refused to obey her call! Her scream ended in a shriek of prayer, a final desperate plea--to Lloth.Utterly spent, Liriel watched as her own weapons rebounded toward the ship in a colorful storm, whistling as they burst trhough the magical darkness and hurtled downward like falling stars. The illusion she had hoped to cast--the destruction of the Elfmaid and the deaths of those aboard--would soon be all too real.