Ed Greenwood Shandril's Saga 02 Crown Of Fire

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wetly off the stones around it
Mirt rose from the sagging form of the gargoyle. Dark wetness smoked all down
the blade of his
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glowing dagger. He looked irritated. "Gods," he snarled, "give me something to
fight!"
The gods seemed to have heard. A breath later, the beleaguered travelers saw
dark, armored forms
charging out of the night Dark forms armed with swords.
Mirt's face twisted into a savage smile, and he gave a satisfied hiss as his
blades swept up to meet the
foremost Zhentilar.
The rumble that came from Delg as he bounded past Narm and Shandril also
sounded satisfied. "Watch
behind us, lad!" he called back, as he rolled under the blade of a Zhentilar,
and felled the man with a
smashing blow- to the side of his knee.
Something small and dark spun out of the night at Narm, and Shandril blasted
it into flying dust with a
little shriek of anger. The flash of her spellfire showed her the dark helms
of half a dozen or more
warriors approaching across the meadow. Lips tightening, she hurled a handful
of destroying spellfire.
If she wasn't quick, the next dart or arrow or stone might get to her beloved.
Narm gave her a quiet smile of thanks before he turned and pointed into the
night beyond Delg. Green
fire crackled from his hand, and Shandril saw three men in dark armor
convulsed in the grip of Narm s
magic before it faded. Their screams faded a tittle more slowly.
"Gods above, Mistress!" Tespril was frightened, her eyes large and dark.
"They've destroyed the
gargoyles already. Shouldn't we throw spells now, before our soldiers are
gone, too?"
Gathlarue was kneeling, nursing fingers that still smoked from where the rings
she'd worn had flared
and burned awry. She looked up and hissed in anger and pain, "Do you command
here, Miss?"
Tespril shook her head frantically. "No, no, Mistress," she said, almost
pleading in anxious haste. "Yet
look! Our best chance slips away"
Leaning over the edge of the rocky height where they crouched, she pointed at
the trampled grass
below. The meadow was lit up as spellfire lashed out again, and more Zhentilar
died.
Gathlarue reached out and caught hold of Tespril's arm and breast with cruel
fingers, digging them in
bruisingly deep. Tespril hissed in pain, but the sorceress clawed her way up
her younger apprentice
until she stood upright again. Swaying slightly, Gathlarue stared down at the
ruin of her force.
Freed, Tespril sobbed in pain and shrank away. Then Mairara felt the cold eyes
of her mistress turn on
her. "The mistake is mine," Gathlarue said in a soft voice. "I was too
impatient to get my hands on
spellfre." Site turned to look at the battle below once more, and spellfire
flashed again. "Now, Mairara,
is your chance to prove yourself. Use the power you planned to betray me with
- show me how good
your killing sorcery has become!"
Mairara stiffened, met the cold eyes of her mistress for a long, chilling
moment, and then whispered,
"I'll make you proud of me, Lady."
Gathlarue raised a hand. "Do nothing yet to draw their attention to us up
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here."
Mairara had already raised her clawed hands to work a spell that would blast
the fray below with
lightning. At her mistress's words, she lowered them, frowned, and then nodded
suddenly in decision.
Flicking hair back over her shoulder with one hand, she gestured with the
other, muttering.
The sprawled form of the gargoyle Mirt had slain now moved, wriggled,
slithered, and seemed to flow,
unseen amid the tumult of clashing blades and lumbering Zhenti-lar. It rose
slowly and split. twisting
and flowing into sudden sharp definition-becoming the alert, deadly-looking
forms of two smaller,
unharmed gargoyles.
Mairara made a growling sound deep in her throat, and spread her hands.
Gathlarue smiled. Somewhere
in the darkness behind them, Tespril whimpered. Mairara, eyes flashing,
gestured again, lips drawn
back from her teeth in killing laughter.
Delg turned, bloody axe in hand. Something had moved-there! Ye gods! More
gargoyles were leaping
and flapping out of the night, heading for Shandril. Roaring, the dwarf
bounded away from the
Zhentilar who'd been cautiously approaching and ran full tilt toward the lass,
swinging his axe for
momentum as he went.
Narm threw something into the fallen lantern's flames to make them blaze like
a bonfire. By its leaping
firelight, he spotted the gargoyles. With one hand, he caught Shandril's arm
and dragged her around to
see this new danger. Small bolts of light streamed from his other hand, but
the monster ignored them as
it plunged toward the human maid, claws reaching out to rend and slay.
Shandril turned in time to stare into red, baleful eyes close enough to touch
easily with her fingertips.
Startled, she screamed-spitting spellfire into the face of the thing as it
crashed into her, slashing with
cruel claws. She screamed again. Spellfire suddenly exploded into a bright
ball around her that made
Narm stagger back-and the gargoyle disappear forever.
In the wake of her fire-burst, Shandril lay dazed, smoke drifting from her
torn clothing. Where the
gargoyle's claws had slashed her, ribbons of blood glowed briefly with the
came radiance as spellfire,
and then faded.
On the trampled grass nearby lay Narm, groaning and clutching at his eyes. The
burst of flame must
have blinded him, at least for now.
Delg cursed as he ran toward them both. He saw the second gargoyle flying in
for the kill. sinuous
stone wings beating as it stretched out long-clawed limbs. With a last,
desperate hound, Delg leapt at it
It sensed him, and slid aside with frightening speed. Delg found himself about
to pitch over its moving
body, but he hooked his axe around one of its wings. The shock as he was
brought up hard against a
stony flank a moment later told him he'd succeeded. The gargoyle had crashed
to the ground.
The dwarf kicked and scrabbled against living stone for a few frantic moments,
then got to where he'd
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hoped to be: crouched low astride the back of the gargoyle, with a firm grip
on the root of one wing. He
raised his axe to hack and hew.
The gargoyle charged at Shandril-and with jarring force Delg brought his axe
down on the side and top
of its head. Stone chips flew. Beneath him, the monster shook and screamed. It
tried to stand up, stony
muscles surging-and Delg hacked at it again, putting his whole shoulder behind
the blow. Sparks flew
from the striking edge of his axe, and the gargoyle shuddered. A good part of
its shoulder broke off and
fell away-and a maddened instant later, the thing and Delg were both aloft.
The beast whirled, buffeting
Delg with stony wings, trying to shake him off.
At the stars overhead, Delg snarled, "For the glory of the Ironstars!" and
brought his axe crashing down
again. The unwilling mount of living stone he rode plunged earthward with
terrifying speed.
Rocks rushed up to meet him like hungry teeth. Delg clung to the gargoyle,
hacking desperately. Air
roared past him in an angry wind-and at the last instant, the gargoyle twisted
aside and shook itself,
tearing his fingers free.
The impact of the stone, smashing through his chest and guts like a great
fist, drove the breath from
him, and his axe spun away like a hurled hammer. Delg scarce heard the
despairing cry of the Zhentilar
it happened to strike, for he himself hung impaled on stone. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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