Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [134]
She came to the end of the hall; stone stairs ascended in a dark spiral, and she went up. The crown of fire still raged around her head and lit the way.
Dark armor gleamed in the light of her flames. A desperate Zhentilar suddenly leaned down from around the curve of the stairs, swinging a heavy morningstar. Spelllight twinkled and pulsed along its length; Shandril threw her hands upward and embraced the spiked end as it came, The weapon smashed her against tire wall. She crashed hard into the stone. Breath hissed out of her in plumes of flame, but still she clung to the weapon. The soldier above tried to tug the morningstar free, but Shandril smiled grimly al him and held on.
The magic of the enspelled weapon surged into her, the metal in her hands glowed white, melted, and ran through her fingers.
Cloaked in rising spellflames, she melted the sword that the terrified Zhentilar now swung at her-and then blasted into his helm, leaving it empty, blackened metal, The headless body fell limply to the stairs and rolled past her. She climbed on, hurling fire in all directions.
Fresh shrieking told her she'd come to another floor full of wizards. Futile spells lashed out, clawing at her in vain attempts to take her life; arrows of magic sizzled into nothingness as they leapt at her; balls of acid hissed into ash; and illusions of snarling dragons and diving beholders lunged at her, thrown by those who had nothing else to fight with, She blasted their upraised, spell-casting hands, the doors they tried to hide behind, and the floor they stood on, sparing none of them.
One overconfident Zhent flung open a door and flashed a sinister smile. Dark beams leapt at Shandril from his leveled wand. The spellfire Shandril unleashed swept away beams, wand, wizard, and all, smashing a hole in the side of the building, Flames rolled out of the fortress in a boiling ball, The torn and smoking contents of the room fell from tire scattering flames and rained down on Spell Court.
Zhentilar warriors had been flooding into the courtyard, frightened officers snarling orders and lashing those who lagged. In awed unison, they stared up at the rolling flames.
Something black and burning fell from the midst of the scattering fire and landed at one warrior's feet, It was a shriveled human hand, smoke rising from the exposed bones of its fingertips, The Zhentarim ring that had adorned one finger was only a melted star of metal now. The Zhentilar warrior looked up at the jagged hole in the side of the fortress, shivered, turned, and started to run.
An officer snarled an order, but the arrow that should have taken the fleeing soldier's life was never fired, The archer, too turned and ran-and then another, and another, until the square was emptyingshouting, fleeing men spilling out into the streets.
An explosion rocked a nearby spire of the citadel, It slowly cracked and fell, to shatter on the stones of the courtyard. Nearby, air old and crumbling balcony was tarred loose by the impact and broke off, Screaming priests tumbled into Spell Court with itInside the citadel, Shandril climbed on, A group of desperate wizards took a stand on the stairs, using spells to hurl stone blocks down on her, As Shandril smashed the first few blocks to hot, flying sand, an avalanche of stones thundered down the stairs and swept her away.
Wizards cheered. Shandril cascaded helplessly down the stairs, fetching up against the wall after tumbling a floor or two. Blood ran from her mouth and from a gash on her forehead; her face and arms were dark red with bruises. Finding her feet among life tumbling stones, she snarled and held up her hands, Spellfire blazed; her blood turned to flame, and her cuts sizzled. glowed, and were gone. Then she waved both hands angrily, and a column of spellfire roared up the spiral stair.
In its smoking wake Shandril climbed again, on steps that cracked and groaned