Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [104]
For just a moment, the Song softened, falling away, and he heard Talaedra's voice call out his name. Taen gazed out at his companions, struggling mightily against the summoned vrock, and he knew that he could not-would not-fail them. With an ancient bladesinger battle cry on his lips, he threw himself into battle. The Song surged within him, and he felt the power flowing through him. When the vrock's black-runed sword cut through the air, seeking his flesh, Taen brought his father's blade up to meet it. As the two swords met, Taen rolled forward, anticipating the demon's other claw that raked the space he had just occupied.
He would have lunged forward to strike at the vrock's now-unprotected flank, but a new sound caught his attention. Guarded by her demon, the renegade hathran was about to unleash another spell. The gathering arcane power flared against Taen's own senses even as the witch's chanted words clashed bitterly with his Song. The half-elf stepped out of his opponent's reach and studied the hathran for several heartbeats. The spell was familiar to him, and without hesitation, he summoned his own power and tried to counter her magic.
The crone finished her chant with a triumphant shriek and opened her palm, as if casting something forth. Fueled by the Song, Taen's arcane strength reached out to surround the harnessed eldritch energy. Black bolts of force flew from the witch's hands then sputtered into nothingness, absorbed by the half-elf's counterspell. The old woman's surprised curse did little to bolster Taen's optimism, for it had taken nearly all of his power to quench her spell. Whatever she might be, the hathran possessed a power far beyond anything that Taen had yet seen.
An icy feeling began to build at the base of his spine as he leaped forward, hoping to bring the black-robed crone down.
CHAPTER 28
The Year of Wild Magic
(1372 DR)
Marissa watched the telthor die.
Even as Cavan's powerful jaws locked on to the creature's neck and bit down, the druid found herself grieving. The telthor was evil or at least twisted by the one called Yulda beyond recognition. Still, as its body stopped moving and its luminous flesh began to fade before her eyes, Marissa grieved. Here was a part of Rashemen that would never exist again, and she had a hand in its passing.
There was little time to do anything but mouth a quick prayer to her god as the battle still raged in other parts of the cavern. Quickly she checked on Cavan, whose blood-matted fur and myriad open wounds made it difficult for the war-dog to walk; the loyal hound's front left leg hung at an awkward angle. Marissa reached out and opened her heart to Rillifane, asking his blessing upon the valiant animal. Within moments, divine energy poured out of her hand, repairing torn muscle and shattered bones. Cavan offered her hand a grateful lick before he bolted toward the rear of the cavern, returning to battle once more.
The druid was about to follow when Borovazk's cry of pain caught her attention. The ranger stood doubled while the demonic being advanced upon him. Looking carefully, she could make out tiny needle-sharp spores protruding from the Rashemi's flesh. Marissa saw Roberc slash valiantly at the demon, trying to draw its attention, but to no avail. Within a few heartbeats, the demon's wicked claws would shred Borovazk.
Gripping the Staff of the Red Tree, she called forth the power of the earth, shaping it with careful prayers to her god. Immediately the cavern floor around the Rashemi began to shift and buckle. Stalagmites grew in size, joining together to form a gray wall of stone that stretched from floor to ceiling. Protected from certain death, Borovazk reached toward his belt and pulled out a flask of green liquid. Marissa watched as the ranger pulled off the cork with his teeth and downed the potion. Relief flooded through her as the needle spores fell from his skin. She almost smiled