Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [130]
She sank down, clutching herself with both hands against sudden, surging pain. Ironguards were great spells, but when a foe used an enchanted blade…
"Sharantyr!" Shandril cried, leaping out of the wagon in a halo of snarling spellfire. "Are you hurt?"
"I – I'll live," the ranger managed to reply, going to her knees. "I think."
Arauntar was pounding toward them across the camp, sword in hand and an endless bellow calling guards to him as he came. Several had heeded and were following him, but reluctantly and at quite a distance.
Behind Shandril, however, was a sight that shook Sharantyr more than anything she'd ever seen before.
The screaming darkness was man-shaped, now, and thrice as tall as the wagon. As she watched, it grew swiftly larger, looming like a shadowy giant.
Shuddering and writhing, it grew ever darker and more solid. It was drinking the spellfire that Shandril had hurled!
"Shan!" the ranger screamed, pointing. "Behind you!" The maid of Highmoon turned, saw, and pointed both her hands at the shadow-thing like a wizard gleefully hurling his first lighting bolt.
As Shandril poured spellfire into the looming giant in an eye-searing white storm that shook the very air it tore through, Sharantyr saw that the young woman's teeth were clenched, and her face was as white as bone. Fine fury, yes, but how could the lass prevail against something that could feed on spellfire?
Pain crashed over the ranger in a fresh wave, and she lost all sight of false Voldovans, running guards, shadow-giants and spellfire-hurling Shandrils alike in a shuddering collapse onto her face and side, writhing on the trampled grass. What magic had been on that blade?
The ground was shaking so violently now that the ranger started to tumble from side to side, ending up on her back – in time to see the night sky split apart with spellfire.
Flames were arcing all over the camp as Shandril lashed out. "Die!" she spat. "All of you! Die and leave us all be! Touch not Sharantyr and Arauntar and my Narm! Leave us alone!"
*******
Laeral gasped and swayed. An anxious apprentice dared much to reach out and touch her – then held the Lady Mage of Waterdeep, cradling her awkwardly as if she might shatter or burst in a fury of rending spells. Other apprentices in that chamber of Blackstaff Tower saw and fell silent, staring in awe.
"Lady," the daring apprentice asked, "are you – well?"
"Back," Laeral said urgently. "Maratchyn, leave go, for your own safety!"
The youth did so, to stare at her anxiously from a few paces away. Laeral waved at him. "Get all enchanted things out of this chamber," she gasped.
"Go!"
Apprentices stared an instant longer, then hastened to do her bidding… save Maratchyn. He stood by, hands raised to – he knew not what. Catch her if she fell?
He saw Laeral steady herself, clench her fists as if to fight down pain or nausea, and straighten. "Yes," she whispered, nodding to empty air. "Yes, sister, I feel it too."
The apprentice's stare widened as a ghostly face started to form in the air facing Laeral. He'd seen Alustriel, High Lady of Silverymoon, a time or two before and knew very well who he was looking at.
She gave Maratchyn a wink of recognition as she grew more solid. He swallowed. She knew him? Oh, gods…
"Her spellfire must be out of control," Alustriel said simply. "This could be the end."
Laeral nodded. "We must be there. Can you -?"
Alustriel smiled thinly. "If this continues, a Weavefield between us will serve to scoop enough of this wild, spilling-in-all-directions energy to strengthen me fully and take us all to Shandril."
"All?"
"Bring Mirt and Asper, as well as the both of us – but leave yon handsome apprentice behind. I've a feeling we'll have enough innocent victims to try to protect against raging spellfire as 'tis."
Laeral gave the overbold Maratchyn a warning look as she replied, "I can feel one such right from here, now. Mother Mystra, but her spellfire's strong!"
"You feel one who needs protection? Who?"
"Sharantyr of Shadowdale – sorely wounded,