Cloak of Shadows - Ed Greenwood [126]
The room was slaughterhouse chaos now, as Sylune dealt death to the Malaugrym. She rose up out of the heart of them for a moment and calmly cast a transmutation spell; the dagger in Shar's hand quivered.
She looked down at it. The good steel now shone with a glossy silver plating, and she could see Belkram's sword and Itharr's dagger were the same. With a shout, Sharantyr raced across the room and buried her tiny fang in the nearest Malaugrym.
He screamed. Sharantyr matched it with a shriek of her own, a shout of anger and disgust as she poured out all she'd held in check since seeing Old Elminster's dripping head snatched away from them in Daggerdale. She waded into shifting arms and tentacles and beaks, snapping fanged jaws and swimming thousands of eyes, hacking at rubbery flesh that smoked and shriveled where her blade touched it.
The room rocked again. She spun around to face the spell-flash.
"This has gone far enough," Milhvar said coldly from where he'd just appeared in the center of the room. At his last word, his prepared spell struck, hurling everyone back against the walls with bruising force.
Everyone except a certain flying ghostly form, who smiled a crooked smile at him and hurled a glowing blue blade through the air.
Point-first it slashed across the room, humming as it went, and Shar saw Milhvar's lips working in frantic haste.
Abruptly he was gone in a cloud of sweat, and another body was in his place. The Malaugrym mage Iyritar screamed as the sword of Mystra tore into him.
Impaled on the blade, Iyritar flailed his hands about vainly, clawing at the air in his agony.
From the wall where Iyritar had been, Milhvar stepped forth, weaving another spell as the three rangers tore free of his fading bindings and launched themselves from the walls with silver blades raised.
Sylune abruptly winked out. Shar stared up at where she'd been in astonished horror, slowing in her run. Itharr's shout of alarm dragged her eyes down to see what Milhvar's magic had wrought.
Iyritar's gore was on fire, blazing with scarlet flames as it sprayed from the dying Malaugrym's body and spread out to form a sphere of blood around the sorcerer's limp form, with the blade of Mystra lodged in it. In seconds the sphere was complete. Milhvar wiped sweat from his brow with one hand and visibly relaxed.
A smile crept slowly onto his face as he stepped forward and held up a hand to slow the charging Harpers with a magical wall. From behind its invisible safety he told them, "Without your precious blade, you're trapped here, to become our playthings or slaves-or carrion, if you prefer. Like all humans, your fates will befall you swiftly."
Behind Milhvar, a faint ghostly form faded into view, lit by the red radiance of the blood-sphere. Sylune was frowning in concentration as she thrust a hand into the red flames.
The three rangers saw her spectral body arch in agony, but it was the sphere that moaned.
"Stop trying to get at the blade, Argast," Milhvar said sharply, without turning to look. "You'll get badly hurt if you persist. The blood-sphere works against Malaugrym just as well as mortals."
The Shadowmaster elder strode toward the rangers, and the invisible wall moved with him, forcing them back. The sphere moaned again as Sylune, her face twisted in pain, thrust herself through it and held herself there. The sword burst free, trailing blood in a long arc of droplets as it soared high into the air.
The ghostly Witch of Shadowdale fell away from the blood-sphere, face pinched with pain, but managed to raise one trembling arm to point at Milhvar.
In silent obedience the blade leapt across the chamber and burst through the heart of Milhvar of the Malaugrym.
"No! No! Not… when I have… the cloak…" he sobbed, doubling over and flickering in and out of visibility.