Perish the thought!
*Sees Clanny stamping his foot impatiently....*
Oh, all right, this still isn't my favorite (cuz friend Ross has much more reading to cover yet), but it's up there....
The revealing sleeve cracked away as Traithe raised his hands. His expression no longer reflected the calm of a sorcerer in control of his craft, but revealed a man in abject agony. Thunder reverberated, cut through by his scream as storm and mist tightened down into a whirlwind that battered him to his knees. He rallied in an extremity of effort. Power answered. Raw, white and wild as elemental lightning, it stabbed down at his call, wrapping like light-jagged wire around his wrists and arms. It flowed untrammeled into his embrace, flowering into dazzling brilliance that slapped the eyes like a nova, blinding, impenetrable, and wholly dedicated to ruin. The Mistwraith recoiled, radiant with an afterglow of live charge. Its coils rolled back and separated, to lay bare the pearlescent span of South Gate. During the moment while its invading flow was interrupted, a charred figure in spark-shot robes dragged itself up from prostration. It raised hands seared with burns and traced a seal of binding on the air. Broken with agony, Traithe croaked out the Names that composed the chant of ending. And like a sling cord released from great tension, spells sheared asunder; the webwork of time bonds and engergies that enabled South Gate as a grand portal parted like singed silk and dissipated.
The Mistwraith's connection was severed, its vapors denied further invasion. Rain lashed across the soil between the dead gate. It pocked light-edged arrows in the puddles that interlaced into streamlets of runoff. Traithe remained, a cramped silhouette that could have passed for a pile of discarded rags, but for the fact that he wept with the deep, shaking sobs a child might utter in pain and terror.
Sheer magic, that.