Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [47]
As Morhion watched, a gibberling stuffed an apple into Cormik's mouth, silencing the rotund thief's colorful swearing. Cormik struggled uselessly against the crude bonds of twisted fur that encircled his wrists and ankles.
Morhion knew he had little time to act. A natural stone bridge spanned the deep chasm. However, crossing it would leave Morhion utterly exposed; the gibberlings would see him coming. There had to be another way.
An idea struck him. On his stomach, he crept to the near end of the stone bridge. He whispered the words of a spell, and his hands began to glow with a magical purple aura. Leaning over the precipice, Morhion reached down, stretching his hands toward the rough underside of the bridge. All of a sudden he lost his balance and slid over the edge. Cracking his body like a whip, he thrust his hands upward. His fingers brushed the underside of the bridge… and dug into the stone as if it were soft clay.
Hanging from his arms beneath the bridge, Morhion gritted his teeth and-thanks to the spell of rock-gripping he had cast-dug his fingers deeper into the stone. Hand over hand he edged forward, first plunging one hand into the stone, then pulling the other out and swinging forward under the narrow stone arch. The chasm yawned darkly beneath his dangling boots, and he forced himself to keep his gaze fixed ahead. His arms began to ache fiercely, and by the time he was halfway across, his shoulders seemed on fire. Over and over in his mind, he recited an old litany of concentration he had learned as an apprentice mage. He did not dare think what would happen if he let go of the stone.
Morhion was startled when he brushed up against a rough cliff face. He had reached the far end of the bridge. Vicious snarls echoed on the dank air. Forcing his throbbing arms to work, Morhion pulled himself upward, heaving his body onto the bridge. Gasping, he leapt to his feet. A trio of gibberlings stood mere paces away. Pointed ears pricking up, the stocky beasts heard him and turned around, their maws gaping ravenously.
Morhion was already moving. He kicked out, planting a boot squarely on one gibberling's canine face. Short limbs flailing, it tumbled over the side of the bridge and vanished into the gloom below. Another beast lunged for him, only to find the mage's knife buried in its throat. Morhion pulled the blade free. Squealing, the creature stumbled backward into its companion. In a snarling collision of fur and claws, the two gibberlings fell off the bridge and plunged into the defile.
Morhion looked up. The remaining gibberlings had closed in on Cormik, ready to begin their feast. One beast held his chubby leg in front of its open mouth, preparing to take a big bite. Desperate, Morhion let out a whooping battle cry. Startled by the sound, the creatures turned around, and Morhion found himself facing a hundred long-muzzled faces. For a frozen moment, nothing moved. Then, as one, the gibberlings sprang toward their new prey.
Morhion was way ahead of them.
"Darakka!" he shouted, thrusting his arms out before him. Crackling bolts of purple lightning sprang from Morhion's fingertips. Yips and howls of agony filled the air, along with the reek of singed fur. The magical lightning dissipated, leaving in its wake a wide swath of dead gibberlings. Morhion wasted no time. He picked his way over the heaps of smoldering bodies and leapt onto the slab beside the quivering Cormik. Those gibberlings scorched but not slain by the spell ran around in circles, snarling and snapping at others in pain and fear. The mayhem gave Morhion a chance to cut Cormik's bonds.
Cormik lurched to his feet, pulling the apple from his mouth and flinging it away. "I do like food," he gasped, "but not when I'm the main course."
Already the gibberlings were recovering