Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [101]
"That's right, you fools," the witch continued, occasionally lashing out with a bolt of arcane power directed at Taen's mystic wall, "you've finally discovered my secret-and too late to do anything with it. By the time those foolish othlor discover that you have failed in your mission, my forces will already be victorious, and with the power of the Staff of the Red Tree"-she pointed a gnarled finger in Marissa's direction-"finally under my control, no force in all of Rashemen will be able to stop me."
"Who says we have failed in our mission?" the half-elf spat back at the crone, hoping she couldn't see the tiny droplets of sweat that beaded on his forehead. At this point, he held his arcane defense together by sheer force of will-a will that was beginning to weaken with each successive blast of power from her outstretched hand.
The witch's laughter echoed through the stone cavern. "Who says?" she asked with a sharp-edged smile. "You foolish little elfling… I do!" The crone leaped forward with a piercing shout.
Taen fell back a step despite himself. Now that she stood only a few feet from him, he could see with sickening horror the ruin of the crone's left eye. Black power billowed out of the gaping hole where her eye should have been. A chill ran up Taen's body, threatening to freeze his heart as he gazed into its obsidian depths. The half-elf felt something lurch from deep within him, as if the crone's empty socket were some sort of unspeakable portal-a portal that opened into the vastness of another plane and threatened to suck in his spirit, leaving him trapped for all eternity in a sea of oblivion.
Marissa's shout caused him to pull his gaze away from the witch's pulsating eye. Taen didn't know how long he had been trapped beneath her baleful stare, but it had been enough time for the crone to cast another spell. This time, a sphere of roiling purple energy erupted from the center of her cupped hands and streaked toward the half-elf's arcane wall, which collapsed with a sudden snapping sound as soon as the purple ball struck its leading edge.
"Fleshrender," the crone shouted immediately, "kill them!"
Taen fell back another step beneath the shock of his spell's destruction but felt Borovazk's powerful arms supporting him. Without missing a beat, Roberc and Cavan stepped forward to meet the snow tiger's charge.
"Is time we finished this," Taen heard the ranger's voice hiss loudly in his ear.
The half-elf cast a quick glance in his direction and nodded. All traces of levity and humor were gone from the Rashemi's normally good-natured face, and Taen found himself thankful that Borovazk was an ally and not an enemy, for in the grim cast of the ranger's jaws and the man's iron-hard stare, he could see clearly see the warrior who had killed an ice bear with his bare hands.
"Yes, Borovazk," Taen said, drawing his sword as he did so, "it is indeed time." The half-elf waited for half a heartbeat as the Song rose in him once more before he leaped into the fray.
* * * * *
Marissa froze when she heard the harsh tones of the old woman's voice, and her heart pounded violently within her chest. Memories swam before her eyes, visions of an ugly hag bending over her shackled body. Sweat beaded on her face, and she nearly dropped the Staff of the Red Tree from a hand that went suddenly slack from fear. It was as if she were back in the hag's vile chamber of tortures without any hope of rescue. An unpleasant echo of pain seared her flesh as the crone's voice rose to shriek defiantly at her companions.
She would have been caught in the backlash of Taenaran's spell as it collapsed before the witch's arcane onslaught, but the Staff of the Red Tree buzzed angrily in her mind, dispelling the paralysis that had gripped her spirit. Quickly she stepped away from the conflagration and gripped the Rashemi artifact tightly,