All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [16]
He rose up to his full height, made the pass that touched the two crumbling substances together, and chanted:
"By dung of bat and sulphur's reek And mystic words I now do speak- Ashtyn ortkruu angcoug laen- Let empty air burst into-flame.*"
As the components dwindled and left his hands empty, one end of the street below obediently erupted in ravening flame, in an explosion that hurled blazing bodies against walls in a gruesome chorus of thuds.
In the flickering aftermath of the fire, Ondeler could see some armored men fighting on despite the flames rising from their bodies. He felt a chill of fear; how-?
Undead. Ah, of course. Most were ashes, but a few were horses and men, bare-boned or burning, still moving, fighting…
Through them stumbled a man with a drawn sword, who wore only boots and a furious expression. Sword-lord Amglar had finally reached the red-lantern house. He was heading for the door beneath Ondeler and glaring up at the balcony as he came.
"Crimson curtains, wizard! Are you trying to burn all Essembra down, and us with it?"
"It does seem to work, Swordlord," Ondeler replied with a serenity he did not feel. "Nice uniform, by the way…"
Amglar made a certain rude gesture with his sword, but the wizard sneered and raised his hands as if to cast a spell. The Zhentilar snarled and hastened out of view, in under the railing, heading for the door.
"I am here, Ondeler," Myarvuk said from the chamber behind the balcony where the wizard stood.
"Good," said his Zhentarim master. "Did you bring my envoy with you?"
"Envoy?"
"The woman who came for you… Belurastra."
"The-?" Wisely, Myarvuk swallowed his astonishment and replied levelly, "She stands beside me, master."
"Get her some riding breeches, boots, a dagger-you know," Ondeler said, eyes still on the street below. "She'll be riding with us."
"Lord?" Belurastra asked in a low, cautious voice, as the apprentice mage hurried away
"Aye, envoy?"
"I-I am unused to war. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"I am," Ondeler said flatly, watching a dozen men-at-arms hacking undead limb from limb across the street. An attacker rode toward them, and the wizard swept a stone from another hidden pocket, whispered a word over it, and held it out to make an intricate gesture.
An instant later, a boulder the size of a small cottage appeared above the undead mount and rider and crashed to the cobbles, crushing them both into a tangled, bloody mass. Ondeler nodded in satisfaction. "Another fireball may not be necessary," he announced..
That's good news, wizard," the sour voice of Sword-lord Amglar grunted from the room behind. "Your last fire spell sent at least seven of our swords to their graves… and a few more bid fair to join them before the day is full."
"Their surviving swordbrothers might just be able to deal with a few zombies," Ondeler said sarcastically. "Weight of numbers and all that."
Amglar ignored this, refusing to rise to the challenge. It was not the first time this arrogant Zhentarim had likened loyal troops of Zhentil Keep to pitiful inferiors not able to match wits or swords with the walking dead. He wondered idly if Ondeler would have dared to act thus if he'd known that Amglar was under orders to report regularly to Draethe, steward of the Inner Circle, on the wizard's performance. Well, no matter; one such report was soon going to be the last, featuring the sorrowful news that Ondeler's own incompetence had brought about his death in battle. Amglar had been considering elegant ways of wording that missive for some time now.
But enough; it was time to play the stone-skulled soldier again. "I've ordered all the troops awakened, fed, and made ready to march," he said heavily. "As soon as the last undead ones are hewn down and burned, we go north. They're probably laughing in Mistledale now, thinking they've the whole day to dig in and await us… I'd like to take most of that preparation time away from them."
"All the troops?" Ondeler turned,