Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [91]
"Gods!" one of the warriors gasped.
The priest beside him murmured, "Holy Tyche, be with us."
Four spheres of hitherto dark, slowly brightening radiance floated in the center of the huge chamber. Three of these globes were as tall as two men, and one other, smaller globe hung between them.
The nearest globe held a motionless dragon, its vast bulk coiled up to fit within the radiance, its red scales clear to their gaze. It seemed asleep, yet its eyes were open. It looked strong, healthy, proud-and waiting. The most distant globe held a being they'd heard of in tales: a robed, manlike figure whose skin was a glistening purple, whose eyes were featureless white orbs, and whose mouth was a forest of squid tentacles. It, too, hung motionless in its radiance, standing upright in emptiness, its empty hands having one finger less than their own. A mind flayer! The third globe was partially hidden behind the dragon's bulk… but the Blades could see enough to bring the cold, sword-biting taste of fear strongly into all their mouths at last. The globe's dark occupant was a creature whose spherical body was inset with one huge eye and a fanged mouth, and fringed with many snakelike eyestalks: a beholder. Its dread kin were said to rule over many small realms east of Calimshan, each eye tyrant treating all beings who dwelt or came into its territory as its slaves.
Elmara's gaze, however, was drawn to the fourth, smaller globe. In its depths hung a large book held open by two disembodied, skeletal human hands. When Elmara narrowed her eyes against the bright blue glare-everything in this place was magical, making her mage-sight almost useless-she could see bright webs linking the four globes and wavering between both skeletal hands and the tome. They must be animated guardians, those bones… as well as the three monsters.
"So do we turn away from our greatest challenge and live, or go after that book and die gloriously?" Ithym's voice was wry.
"What use is a book?" one of the warriors replied with loud fear.
"Aye," the other agreed. "Just what Faerun needs-more deadly spells for mages to play with."
"How so?" Gralkyn put in. "Yon book might be prayers to a god, or filled with writings that lead to treasure, or…"
The warrior Dlartarnan gave him a sour look. "I know a spell-book when I see one," he grunted.
"I did not ride all this way," Tarthe said crisply, "to turn back now-if there is a way back that won't kill us all. I also have no desire to ride back into that last inn empty-handed and have all the tankard-drainers there think us a pack of cowards who did nothing but ride out, eat a few rabbits in the wilderness, and ride home again, our untested blades rusting in their sheaths."
"That's the spirit-" Ithym agreed, then added in a stage whisper "-that'll get us all killed."
"Enough!" Elmara said. "We're here now and face two choices: either we try to find another way onward, or we fight these things, for be in no doubt: all of those globes are spell-linked to the book, and those bone-hands, too."
"One death is imminent," the warrior Tharp said in his deep, seldom-heard voice. "The other we can look for later."
One of the priests held up his holy symbol. "Tyche bids the brave and true to chance glory," the Hand of Tyche said sharply.
"Tempus expects adventurers to embrace battle, not slip away when strong foes threaten," agreed the Sword of Tempus. The priests exchanged glances and grim grins as they readied weapons.
The thief Gralkyn sighed. "I knew riding with two battle-mad priests would bring us trouble, in depth and at speed."
"And disappointment came not to you," Tarthe said, "for which you gave much thanks. So you are now at peace, ready to speak of strategies against these globed beasts and not weasel words to try to get out of facing them!"