Black wizards - Douglas Niles [117]
They were near the center of the cavern when they saw them: a dozen small, dark-skinned figures that swaggered into the path before them. Each was about four feet tall with a scraggly beard and evil, glittering eyes. They looked much like ordinary dwarves, except for their dark skin and wide, staring eyes.
As the companions stopped suddenly, another band of the creatures moved from among the mushrooms to block their route to the rear. They were surrounded, since their size made passage among the fungi impossible.
Tristan stepped forward, taking care to make no overt gesture. "Hello," he said. "We were… admiring your garden."
One of the dark dwarves spit onto the ground and pulled a sturdy axe from his belt. The others, he saw, all held weapons ranging from hammers and shortswords to a number of hefty axes. The creatures moved in, muttering in a tongue the prince didn't understand.
Still, Tristan was reluctant to draw his sword. For one thing, they were badly outnumbered.
The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when one of the dwarves threw his axe, aiming for the prince's head. Tristan ducked quickly, and the weapon sailed harmlessly by. But the rest of the band howled in rage, and charged – a furious mass of little people, brandishing their weapons with bloodthirsty intent.
The prince whipped the Sword of Cymrych Hugh from its scabbard, and the dwarves paused, momentarily dazzled by the gleaming weapon. And then he heard Alexei.
"Sorax, Frigius Newll – Ariith!"
He felt a blast of something to his left, and the air grew suddenly frigid. A dull blue light flashed in the cavern. It was not bright, but it etched expressions of terror into the faces of the dark dwarves. Most of the dwarves before him gasped or shrieked for a split second, and then collapsed, stiff as icicles. Their flesh turned a pale blue, and frost instantly began to condense on their exposed skin and the metal fittings of their weapons and clothes. A cone-shaped explosion of magic had frozen everything in its path, clearing the way for the men's escape.
Tristan heard howls of anger behind him, followed by the clash of steel – Daryth was protecting the rear of the party. Several of the dwarves before him had avoided the effect of the spell, and instead of running in terror at the awesome display, they charged with even greater intensity.
Tristan's sword split the first one nearly in two, as the prince danced to the side to avoid a hammer blow aimed at his kneecap. He whirled to stab the hammer-wielder in the throat, continuing his motion through a full circle. The whistling arc of his sword lifted the head of a third dark dwarf, and the path before them lay open.
"Run!" he cried, urging Alexei forward as he ran to Daryth's side. The mage hesitated, and then did as he was told while the two men with sword and scimitar slashed and stabbed at the angry attackers.
"Let's go," grunted Tristan as the dwarves fell back to regroup. The two men turned and sprinted after Alexei as the howling mob of their enemies burst into pursuit.
"There's gotta be a hundred of 'em back there now!" panted Daryth as they caught up to Alexei. The three men soon reached the far side of the cavern where, true to the mage's memory, the cave continued on.
"There's a bridge a little way up here," gasped the wizard, slowing slightly. "If we can cross it, I have a spell that might be able to knock it down."
"Good," grunted the prince, turning to look behind. Their pursuers were not in sight; their stumpy legs had left them far behind the running humans.
"Here," said the mage, stopping to wheeze for breath as the tunnel widened into a broad ledge. A deep canyon blocked their path, and they could hear the thunder of racing water far below. The ceiling still pressed above, and an occasional fungus growing from the walls shed the familiar green light.
It was not bright, but even so they saw the end of the bridge. But that was all that they saw, for the rest of the span was gone.