Crown of Fire - Ed Greenwood [95]
"By Mystara's bloody beauty!" Eyes blazing, Elminster was hurrying across the room.
The skull rose from its feeding, fixed its gaze on him and opened its bony jaws to hurl spellfire. The angry blast of spellfire tore through the Old Mage; its flames leapt out of his back and scorched the wall beyond.
Shocked, Storm saw him stagger, tremble, and then struggle on toward the skull. Elminster's body seemed to be alive with flames. He advanced slowly, fighting against the flowing spellfire like a man walking against a deep, fast stream. As he went, his staff blazed into life. Pulses of radiance raced along it to where the Old Mage's hands held it. When they reached his hands, he tossed the staff aside, grunting in pain. Storm thought he looked suddenly very old.
Elminster reached the skull, took it firmly in hands that caught fire, and hurled it against a wall. There was a roar of spellfire. Sparks as big as a man's hand-bigger by far than the blackened, smoking, ruined extremities the Old Mage was now holding up, groaning in pain winked and leapt around the room.
Smoke rose where they touched.
Elminster's staff shattered with a noise like thunder, and the room was suddenly dark. A single, glowing light remained against the wall, growing slowly brighter.
The skull was cracked but still hung together, spellfire swirling around it. Storm swallowed, and then set her teeth and leapt at it, bringing her blade down.
The skull darted to one side. She pivoted and lashed out at it again. This time her blade just caught the edge of its jaw, and sent it tumbling end over end through the air.
Desperately Storm ran after the skull, trying to hit it before it could spit spellfire at her.
She failed. Flames roared out at her-and the bard flung herself frantically to the floor, landing hard on the cold flagstones. Then she was up, scant inches in front of the hungry blaze and dodging around the room, hacking at the darting, spinning skull as it spat swirling flames at her. She groaned, then screamed as spellfire burned her. Staggered, she slipped on a fallen sword and was burned again. The pain made her gasp, but she leapt over fallen townsfolk and fought on. She was burned again and again, the smell of her charred leathers growing ever stronger, Sweat ran down her limbs with the fury of her leaps and twists. She battled both the laughing skull, which hung always out of reach, and the agony inside her, which grew all too powerful as time went on.
Storm smelled her own cooked flesh as she raised a burned arm to drag her long sword around for yet another strike, trying to smash the skull in a corner. It ducked and weaved under her blade, and shot free-only to spin about and spit gouts of spellfire at her as she ran desperately along a wall. Fire was suddenly all around her again, and Storm rolled, scraping over an armored body she couldn't see. She fought to keep control of her stomach against the sickening pain of fresh burns. Though the pain made her weak, she kept up her attacks, trying to buy time for the radiance growing at her feet.
Shandril, whose body was glowing ever brighter. Shandril's eyelids fluttered as Storm rolled past her, and spellfire rained down all around. The bard staggered to her feet and faced the lich lord once more, circling to keep it from seeing Shandril. Storm's heart soared as she dished the air and forced the skull to back hastily away. Behind them both, Shandril stirred.
The bard could barely stand now. Spellfire roared past her ears, and she heard her hair sizzle. Storm stumbled, moaning in her agony, bracing herself against the fresh pain she knew would come tearing into her.
But it did not come. Blinking, Storm stared at the skull-and saw Shandril's arm raised from the floor in front of her, gathering in all the spellfire that was meant to slay Storm. Shuddering in relief, the bard fell to her knees, leaning on her sword in exhaustion. Her silver hair swept down over her burned body, and she