Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [86]
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The dark cloud whirling above them suddenly sharpened and grew still darker. Shandril could see that it was now a forest of dark swordblades, all pointing straight down at the ground, and all whirling in swift spirals, like a hundred corkscrews.
Nay, swiftly descending spirals! Like a patiently settling mist, the cloud started to descend, draining itself away into all those swords. In a rising, discordant singing, they loomed larger and longer and darker, whirling nearer…
Men were shouting or crying out in frantic fear or cursing – Shandril could hear Orthil Voldovan, and Arauntar, and Beldimarr all gasping out floods of words that were cruel, colorful treasures of invective – and Narm was desperately muttering an incantation, trying to weave a counterspell when there was no time left to cast anything.
Shandril summoned up a last surge of spellfire to cleave this death that was reaching for them. As the flames started to flow, an old and coldly amused voice arose out of them, saying quite distinctly, "I hope that competence comes soon, Eirhaun. More than that, I hope it comes in time."
Mystra's doing? Who was speaking, and who was Eirhaun?
Shandril shook her head. There was no time left to wonder, no time to do anything more than nod at the aptness of the mysterious words, and gather her paltry remaining spellfire, and wait for just the right moment as the dark blades came whirling down.
14: Fighting for Life in Haelhollow
Fight, little fools! Mount your wars and raise your towers and make your chases. I like to taste wellmarbled meat when I'm crunching your bones.
Hamairathgauraundon, High Wyrm of the Crags
Words Spent On Little Fools: Instructing Humans
Year of the Watching Helm
The cloud resolved itself into a dark, glittering forest of swordblades, spinning point-first down in deadly spirals.
"No!" Korthauvar Hammantle shouted. "Don't slay her, you fool!"
"Who -?" Hlael snapped, leaning forward to see, but Korthauvar gave him no answer. The taller Zhentarim was too busy leaping to his feet and casting the strongest shielding spell he knew, as fast as his fingers could fly and his lips gasp out the incantation.
"No!" Hlael said, face paling, as he realized what Korthauvar was going to do. "You can't – "
Korthauvar could, and did. He hurled his spell into the depths of the crystal, even as Hlael threw himself and his chair over backward, scrambling to get clear before – The crystal exploded in a bright roar of force and tinkling of razor-sharp crystal shards that peppered the walls like hard-driven hail before raining down all over the chamber.
Korthauvar lowered both his hands, seeming not to see that they were streaming blood and bright with glistening shards in a score of places. He'd shielded his face and throat, and that was all that mattered.
"Hlael," he muttered, "get up. It's your turn to weave a farscrying. We've got to see what happened. I saw her face – she knew she hadn't enough spellfire left to disrupt that spell."
"She had enough to defend herself, surely," Hlael protested, clambering up from behind his chair.
"Yes, but she has her husband to think of and the two guards she healed earlier. She dotes on folk so easily, remember."
Hlael sighed. "She's young."
"Aye, and she'll die that way, right soon, if we don't cast just the right spells," Korthauvar declared, striding over to his scattered heap of spellbooks.
"Now spin me that farscrying! I have to see what happened – now!"
Hlael nodded hastily, shook himself, and started to stammer out the spell. Korthauvar growled out wordless frustration and started flipping pages of the oldest, most powerful spell-tome he owned. Unless he was mistaken, Haelhollow was boiling with a storm of spells right now that would make a mistake at a MageFair look like a mere trifle!
The sky low over Haelhollow erupted in a sudden bright conflagration. Boiling brightness tore apart the dark cloud of descending blades like bright lantern beams slicing through nightgloom. Lightning bolts sprang out of that roiling,