Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [84]
Three huge, dark beings hung in air that had been empty moments before, eyestalks curling malevolently. The trio of beholders were floating behind the High Lord of Zhentil Keep, who stood facing Storm, his eyes dark with fury.
Storm gasped. "Tymora and Mystra, aid us!"
"Have they gone?" Shandril asked softly, lips at his ear. The Old Wolf shuddered to a stop, breathing heavily, and turned.
"Set me down," Shandril added-and was alarmed to feel him stagger under her as he bent to let her feet touch the ground. The Old Wolf was wheezing like a lustily plied bellows… she'd heard more than one fat man breathing like that back at the inn in her youth, just before they dropped dead.
The Old Wolf gasped fast and often as lie looked back the way they'd come. "I can't see them, lass," he replied at last. "And more… than that; even if they both appeared right here… in front of us… I can't run a step more… for a bit…" His breath came in gasps, and he put a hand to his chest before he noticed her anxious gaze-and angrily snatched his hand away again.
Shandril watched the sweat roll down his face and said gently, "Sit easy for a bit, Old Wolf. I have toer, visit the bushes. I don't think we'll see two mages of that power again until their battle's done-and a spell-fight tike that might have no survivor."
"Or it might have a winner," Narm said grimly, staring back up at the bare peak where they'd seen the two wizards outlined by a spell-flash. "I just hope it's the right one."
"I've always thought… Elminster could handle Manshoon… any day," Mirt puffed, "but in things… of magic… nothing is certain." He struggled to get up. "We must be… away from here, while we can!
There's-"
Shandril pushed him back down again. "Today still holds plenty of time for walking, when you've breath enough to do it. I need you."
Mirt stared at her, sweat dripping off the end of his large, red nose. "Lass," lie asked quietly, "what for?" Shandril looked fondly at the fat old man, and her mouth crooked into a smile. "To protect me, of course." Mirt's snort would have been louder if he'd had the breath to put behind it, but it was still impressive.
The fire crackled and flickered calmly in the aftermath of the reflective magic Elminster had cast into it. It had no way of knowing what was about to erupt around it Manshoon sneered at the archmage and the bard and snatched a wand from his belt. Behind him, the three beholders were drifting apart, moving to the sides of the fray where nothing could get in the way of their magical gazes.
Elminster’s hands were moving. Storm looked to him for instructions, but he paid her no heed. A dozen of his spheres were drifting around her now.
Manshoon's wand spat lightning The bolt writhed and stabbed through the air-until it reached the fire.
There it dipped sharply into the burning wood, as if dragged down by something unseen. Flames crackled; sparks flew in all directions. Then the bolt of lightning leapt up out of the fire again, arrowing back at the leader of the Zhentarim. Storm raised her blade as she heard him gasp. Lightnings whirled and struck home; Manshoon staggered.
The air was suddenly full of humming, bone-shaking beams of force as the eye-powers of one of the beholders lashed out at both Elminster and Storm.
The silver spheres created by Elminster s earlier spell were everywhere -darting and whirling to intercept the magics hurled at the bard and the old archmage. Whenever a sphere came into contact with tragic, it flared in a sudden, silent pulse of silver-blue light-before sphere and spell disappeared together. Elminster finished his magic and nodded in satisfaction. Feeling Storm's eyes upon him, he turned his head and wiggled his eyebrows at her. Then his hands were moving again.
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