Extinction - Lisa Smedman [70]
That said, the fire elemental gave a roar of triumph as the invisible magical bonds that had held it fell away. It disappeared as abruptly as a blown-out candle.
"An illithid," Gromph whispered.
That explained, then, why he held a thought bottle in his hand. A tickle of memory returned. He'd created the thing-and the bottle that matched it-for use in the event of his capture by a mind flayer. His plan had been to offer it to the creature…
There, the memory faded.
Shrugging, Gromph placed the bottle carefully in the drawer beside the other one and pushed the drawer shut.
"Sorcere is under attack?" he muttered. "We'll see about that."
Gromph strode toward the balcony where two of his students stood. They were Norulle, a fifth-year student who had used a hair-growth cantrip to cause a long, dwarflike beard to sprout from his chin-hardly an appropriate affectation, given whom they were fighting-and Prath, a first-year student who was still only in his thirties, and whose stocky build and bulging biceps should have caused his House to enroll him in Melee-Magthere, instead. Both had their backs to the corridor down which Gromph hurried and were sheltering behind the ghostly image of a turtle shell the size of a table that hung in the air, just in front of the balcony.
Norulle flinched as a hail of arrows struck it, most of them exploding to splinters as the spell destroyed them. One arrow, however, sparkled with arcane energy. It pierced the magical barrier and snagged the sleeve of Prath's piwafwi. Barely glancing at it, Prath yanked it free and cast it aside. A moment later, a trickle of blood dripped from his hand. He shook it away.
The boy should have been a soldier, indeed, Gromph thought.
From outside came the sounds of battle: the shouted orders of the duergar below; the creak-and-thump of catapults being winched and shot; the crackling, explosive hiss of magical energy; and the frantic chanting of mages, casting retaliatory spells from the balconies above and below.
"Norulle, Prath-what's happening?" Gromph asked as he strode out onto the balcony. "Where are your instructors?"
Norulle whirled around in surprise, a wand clutched in one hand.
"Master!" he gasped. "You're here!"
Diamond dust glittered in Norulle's hair and beard. Someone had cast a powerful protective spell upon him.
It was Prath who answered Gromph's question, "Leandran's gone. He was hit square on by magic fire."
He pointed at a spot farther along the balcony-a smoldering crater in the stone floor. Through a hole at the center of it, Gromph could see the ground below. Smaller craters, also still smoking, pitted the wall behind that spot like splash marks. Each was ringed by a circle of frost. The two students had obviously used a cold spell to extinguish the blaze. Of Leandran, the school's Master of Abjurative Magic, there was no trace, save for the lingering stench of burned flesh.
A whistling sound drew Gromph's attention. He glanced to the side just in time to see an enormous clay pot arc up toward Sorcere and strike the side of the stalagmite, several dozen paces away. It broke against the stone, splashing liquid fire in all directions. The fire poured down the stone, burning everything in its wake: stone walls, a decorative arch of wrought iron above the balcony, and the balcony itself.
Figures on the balcony scurried away from the rush of flame-one of them a little too slowly. As some of the stuff poured down onto his piwafwi, his agonized screams filled the air. They were cut off a moment later when the wrought-iron arch, weakened by the fire, collapsed with a loud squeal of metal. Above the spot where it had been mounted, the wall continued to burn, and the flames soon ate a hole through the stone.
Gromph stared