Darkwell - Douglas Niles [149]
Suddenly a massive hand pinned him to the earth, driving the wind from his chest and threatening to crush his rib cage. He squirmed and managed to free his hands, including his sword, but then the massive fingers wrapped around him and lifted him from the ground. He groaned as the force of Bhaal's grip twisted his spine and slowly began to squeeze the life from him.
The links of his chain mail armor pressed into his skin, but the flexible armor seemed to absorb some of the crushing squeeze. Nonetheless, he could not draw a breath or move his torso or legs.
He looked desperately toward the well, a hundred feet away, as a red haze floated before his eyes. The black pool might have been a hundred miles distant, for all the good it did him. Through the mist he saw, or imagined, the crimson pulse of Bhaal's essence in the center of the well.
Pain exploded in Tristan's ears as the pressure of the blood pounding in his head grew to agonizing proportions. He tried to jab his blade into the hand that held him, but the angle made the attack impossible. He could only wave the weapon in the air fruitlessly, cursing this monstrous thing that was crushing the life out of him. He felt his consciousness rapidly slipping away.
Dimly he thought again of Robyn's message and pictured the soul of the god, so near yet so impossibly far. With his last strength, his lungs burning from lack of air, he threw his arm back and cast the Sword of Cymrych Hugh high into the air, toward the black water of the Darkwell.
The blade arched upward, spinning slowly, shining against the dark clouds that glowered overhead. Robyn froze, her heart pounding, as she saw the king's last desperate effort to save himself, Tavish held her breath as the weapon began its lazy descent. Still spinning, it seemed to tumble so slowly that time itself paused anxiously, waiting to see what would happen.
It became clear to them all that the sword would fall far short of the center of the well. It would not even reach the water. Tristan's awareness faded to black as he saw the sword drop inexorably toward the muddy shore. Robyn fought back a sob without success, Tavish sat, stupefied and devastated, on the ground.
Suddenly an orange shape popped into view, hovering in the air beside the falling sword. "Not here!" Newt grabbed the weapon in his forepaws, although the weight of the sword almost bore the faerie dragon to the earth.
"Over here!" Hovering awkwardly with the heavy weight, the dragon fluttered to the center of the Darkwell and dropped the sword.
The silver blade disappeared into the water with a soft splash, and for a moment nothing happened. Then the physical body of Bhaal cried out with a shriek of agony that made his thunderous roars throughout the battle seem almost silent. Robyn clapped her hands to her ears and fell backward, stunned.
The god's hand opened reflexively, and Tristan tumbled to the ground, unconscious. And then the flesh of the giant body began to shrivel and smoke, falling away from the bone in a hissing cloud of decay. Bhaal cried out again, a dull moan this time, and then the body vanished into a sizzling heap of gory sludge. Flowing into the well, the red liquid mass of Bhaal's flesh crackled with blue flame. Smoke erupted from the flesh, but the fire shed no heat.
The water of the Darkwell bubbled and seethed in a torment of agony as the blade struck deep into the god's unprotected soul. The bulb of his essence leaked ichor from a long gash where the Sword of Cymrych Hugh had sliced into it. Now the thing swirled through the water, torn asunder and rapidly spilling its power into the black water.
Explosions wracked the pond, casting curtains of steam and sludge into the surrounding air. The ground vibrated from a primordial wrenching, and gouts of steam and flame filled the sky.
Clouds of rancid smoke rose into the sky, destroying the Sword of Cymych Hugh with their venom, but