Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [94]
The sudden flames hurled the men to blazing and broken deaths against the walls of the room.
Weeping amid the dying shouts and screams. Shandril lay sprawled atop Narm, feeling spellfire flowing steadily out of her. Twisting feebly, she tried to gather her will but could not stop the flow. The skull was draining her with frightening speed. A bright path of radiance, spellfire being sucked out of her forever, now linked her with the grisly thing as it floated low overhead, chuckling. Shandril struggled to pull free by willing a sudden surge of spellfire into the bone thing. It hissed at her in anger but the steady flow of its draining continued, and the fire within her was fading fast.
Narm lay lifeless beneath her. Shandril stared up at the grinning skull, and cold fear crawled along her spine. The only way to stop this skull slaughtering everyone in this town-in Cormyr, and even in Faerun-was to cut off its supply of spellfire.
And the only way to do that was to end her own life. Shuddering, Shandril crawled toward a dagger, fallen beside Thrulgar' s hand. The lich's spellfire suddenly flailed her as the skull realized her intent. It wanted all she had; she must not die yet. Tears nearly blinding her, Shandril gripped the weapon and slowly, determinedly, brought it to herself. Would dying hurt much? She swallowed, shut her eyes against sudden tears, and pressed the keen, cold edge against her throat…
The roar of spellfire that rose around her now was deafening. numbing; it shook her like a leaf… Could she complete the task? Angry spellfire thundered around her. Tears sizzled on her cheeks as the white heat dried them. She felt a sudden, chilling jab at her shoulder: the skull had set its teeth in her again. In the storm of flames, Shandril struggled on, trying to die…
Chapter 14
SKULL UNLAID FORBEAR THEE
When death comes unlooked for, it finds a way into the strongest fortress. It does no good to set extra guards al the gates.
Asargrym of Baldur's Gate
A Merchant Master's Life
Year of the Blue Flame
"Ah, now we come to it, lass; 'tis time."
"Time for what?" Storm Silverhand had been drifting off pleasantly to that place of dreams where gods whispered to mortals. Elminster had finished his tale, and the stars still glimmered watchfully overhead.
"For ye to guard me – remember, ye came on this ride to guard me?"
Storm rolled over and smiled sleepily at him. "I still can't imagine what I can protect you against that you can't guard against better yourself."
Elminster patted her bare shoulder affectionately and said, "Stand guard over my body while I go dreamweaving."
"Dreamweaving? You?"
"I know no better way of putting ideas into the minds of sleeping folk to sway them into doing certain things without clumsy coercion or betraying my hand in it."
Storm nodded, stretched, and got up, shrugging on her leatherjacket. "I knew it was too soon to take off my boots," she said sweetly, stepping back into them with a sigh.
Elminster waved a hand. "Ye won't need them-who's to see thy bare feet, out here in the night?"
Storm smiled. "The ones who'll be attacking, of course."
Elminster shook his head at that, and smiled. "Ah, ye al-"
Then he broke off, swayed, and turned to her, his face suddenly grim. "I must attend to things, it seems," he said, snatching up his staff.
"Shandril?" Storm asked, her long sword already in her hands.
Elminster shook his head. "Narm. When I trained him, I linked to him-and I've just felt him die."
Storm's face paled. "Old Mage," she said quickly, "may I"
Elminster inclined his head. "Of course." The mists took them.
They were in a room of stone, strewn with fallen farmsplintered and tumbled furniture, and small plumes of smoke and dying flames. Elminster seemed to know where they were. He was staring not at Narm's sprawled body, but at who lay atop him: Shandril Shessair.
She lay curled on her side, unmoving. A human skull hovered over her, its teeth locked on her shoulder. The flesh there shrank as they watched, dwindling toward bare bones.