Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [161]
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The black dragon roared out a challenge. Baerithryn of the High Forest wasted no breath in reply. He was working a magic as he rose in a tight spiral, banking and curling his tail to avoid the bolts of death the wizard was firing repeatedly from his wand.
"Stand and fight!" Undarl snarled. A moment later, a bolt caught the wheeling silver dragon's tail. It convulsed and plunged down below him, wind rippling in its wings, followed by the mage royal's triumphant laughter.
Something flickered in the air around him, but Undarl felt no pain. A failed spell, he thought, dismissing it with a shrug, and urged Anglathammaroth into a dive. If its claws could rake the silver wyrm's wings, this battle could be ended right now.
The black wyrm's shoulders surged powerfully. Undarl exulted in its might as the wind streaming past his ears rose into a wail. Aye, let it be now!
The silver wyrm was beating its wings frantically, trying to evade Anglathammaroth's dive. Undarl snarled at his steed to turn, turn, and not let their foe escape… but the smaller, lighter silver dragon was turning tightly back in and under them. They were going to plunge past it…
Anglathammaroth twisted violently; only the harness kept
Undarl from falling helplessly out of his high saddle. The black dragon's limbs curled as he tried to rake or bat at their foe with at least one cruel claw, but the silver wyrm was arching away from them. It was going to slide completely clear! As the rooftops of Hastarl rushed up to meet them, Undarl snarled in anger and triggered his wand again, aiming at the silver dragon's face. Its eyes, proud and sorrowful, met his own: it knew he could not miss.
The green bolt leapt out-and there was a flash as it struck a hitherto unseen barrier, a sphere around Undarl that… gods!
The mage royal roared out in helpless fear as the rebounding bolt crashed into him. Faerun seemed to explode around him. The torn ends of harness-straps slapped his face and shoulders, he spun in agony and felt a new, greater pain as one of the other wands in his sleeve exploded, blasting that arm to nothing and flinging him out of the saddle… Then, mercifully, Undarl Dragonrider lost all sight of sky and twisting dragons and rooftops below…
The black dragon screamed, a raw sound of horror and agony that echoed back from the city below, awakening every citizen of Hastarl who still slept. The wyrm arched and writhed, but its back was broken, the torn flesh where the saddle had been streaming gore into the wind. Nerveless wings trembled helplessly. Unable to turn, Anglathammaroth dived on toward Athalgard.
The crash shook all Hastarl. Flying raggedly, curled around his own weary agony, Braer saw those black wings crumple like those of a crushed insect-and the castle tower they'd struck shifted, cracked, and with a thunderous roar, toppled over into the courtyard below. Doomed armsmen screamed as they saw death coming down on them; Braer closed his eyes so as not to see the destruction.
Pain ruled him now. Braer felt his magic failing, his torn and bleeding body shifting and dwindling. As his wings receded back into the slim shoulders of an elf, he began to fall.
The rooftops were very close; he hadn't much time for a last prayer. "Mother Mystra," he gasped, fighting to open his eyes. He had a brief glimpse of smoke trailing from his own limbs, and then he was caught by something and cradled gently, the rushing wind around him slowing. Tears were blinding him. Furiously Baerithryn blinked them away and stared up into the face of his rescuer.
Dark eyes glowed