Elminster's Daughter - Ed Greenwood [104]
The world burst apart in blue fire-he knew enough to duck down and shield his eyes now-and one of the helmed horrors was gone. The other two flew on toward him as if nothing had happened.
Which was when a distant voice said severely, "Brorm? You know Old Thunderspells doesn't want us hurling spells here, so close to him! I don't know what you're blasting, but stop it!"
An armored form loomed up over Surth, a battleaxe gleamed as it swept down, and-Bezrar snarled, "Eat flaming death, metal pig!"
The world burst bright blue again, tumbling Surth back head-over-heels into a tanglethorn bush, this time.
He blinked at the sight of his own blood, glistening in red droplets in a line across his thorn-torn hand, and heard that voice, a little nearer and a lot more furious now, shout, "Right, Brorm, that does it! I don't care how much the Old Man dotes on your spinach pie-I'm going to flail your backside for you! Don't you try to run now-I may be older, but I'm wise to your tricks, and 'twill take a lot to surprise old Pheldemar of the Fireballs!"
Bezrar promptly blew up the third armored sentinel, and in the wake of the blast, the two stunned Marsembans heard the unseen Pheldemar say something very rude.
There followed a crashing of foliage off behind the trees to the right of the trail, where the forest cloaked some gentle hills, a vigorous, hard-striding man in battle-leathers marched into view, wearing a long leather overcloak that flared out behind him with the haste of his approach. His face resembled an old boot, his hair was steel-gray, and a long black rod bristling with tiny spires and spikes that flashed with a spectrum of winking radiances was clutched in his left hand. His right hand wore a long, flaring-cut white glove, and a flickering radiance like white fire surrounded it.
"Brorm?" he barked as he came up to the trail, peering suspiciously in all directions. "Where by the brass breastplates of Alusair are you?"
His eyes fell upon the riven shards of a helmed horror on the narrow dirt path right in front of him.
Pheldemar of the Fireballs gaped down at them in astonishment-a dumbfoundedness that deepened as he glanced along the trail and saw more chunks and shards that had recently been the very best sort of Cormyrean coat-of-plate battle armor. He could see pieces of at least two helms without taking another step.
"Mystra"he swore, softly but with feeling-and hurriedly called forth a shielding-spell around himself from his rod. Whoever or whatever had done this must still be lurking nearby. That last blast had been only moments ago. Yes, there!-some of the shards were still rocking in the wake of the force that had hurled them to where they now lay. The War Wizard shook his head, went into an alert crouch, and advanced carefully along the trail.
Almost immediately he caught sight of a boot. The leg wearing it belonged to a man clad like a downcoast merchant-breeches, boots, the hip-length tunic so little seen in the King's Forest or the uplands where smocks were for field-work and belt-tunics for riding or stalking in the forest-who was lying beside a tan-glethorn bush, eyes closed and one hand a-dew with fresh blood. He'd never seen the man before. His eyes fell to the belt-a long-knife, of the sort used in Marsember. Just a longknife. Whoever this man was, he'd had something to do with the destruction of the helmed horrors… but he certainly didn't look like a brigand or a wizard or any prepared foe of Cormyr. As for whether he was really senseless or not…
Pheldemar leaned closer, pointing his rod at the man. A blast of conjured water sho-
There was a sudden crash and rustle from right behind the War Wizard. He whirled, rod rising-but was still halfway through his turn when something large, hairy, fat and sweating smashed into him and ran right over him, trampling hard.
"Reeeeaaaaaaaagh!" Aumun Tholant Bezrar screamed, waving his arms wildly as he ran pell-mell through the forest, crashing into trees and saplings wherever the trail wandered and his frantic