Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [92]
Hmmph! In this caravan, who couldn't it have been?
Shaking out his blankets in a savage temper, he kicked aside chests and coffers to clear space enough to lie down again, wondering darkly just which rival might be lurking near. Perhaps if he spun a spelldisguise and got himself to somewhere safe where he could watch who came calling on this wagon while still listening to the thoughts of the spellfirewench and her ma – There was a sudden flash from the wagon entrance, a high, thin scream, and the head of the worst dullard of his two guards came bouncing wetly down the wagon toward him.
With a snarl of revulsion and fear Aumlar whirled to face – the light, springing sideways out of long habit as he did so.
His feet came down in a hard yet slippery confusion of chests and coffers even as his shoulder slammed bruisingly into the wagon side – but the stabbing blade of shimmering magic drove through nothing but air where he'd been and faded before it could sweep sideways and reach him.
His attacker cursed softly and asked, "You weren't particularly fond of these Zhentilar, were you? I'd hate to upset you unduly, Chaunthoun. Your clear head and unfettered judgment are such assets to Manshoon's little Brotherhood of tail-biting vipers."
The somehow familiar voice came from behind a slowly advancing wall of drifting silver sparks, a spell every bit as deadly as the spellblade that had slain the guards. Aumlar eyed its inexorable promise of doom and sighed. He should know that voice.
The lure he'd prepared to overwhelm Shandril Shessair had to be used now, on this more immediate foe – or there wouldn't be another night or day beyond that, or any more of either days or nights, for Aumlar Chaunthoun. Oh, Blood of Mystra indeed!
He murmured the word that sprang the trap, sprang back across the wagon, and in midair said aloud, as recognition came to him at last: "Pheldred!"
"In full glory! Well met again, Aumlar, after all these years. I've come to pay you back for maiming me."
"Of course – if you can," the Zhentarim told his unseen attacker calmly. "It must be hard to win respect in the ranks of the Red Wizards when your arms keep changing into manacles. My best curse; how did you manage to break it?"
"The same way you set it. The hard part was finding what fiend you'd bound into it and by what names I could command it. I went through years of torment for that, Aumlar. Now, so will you!"
"I think not," the Zhentarim snapped, as the first of his wands rose into view and fired, its burst shredding Pheldred's deathwall spell and revealing the floating man behind it. Dark hair, glittering black eyes, dark maroon robes, two plain finger-rings of course, a dagger and a whip thrust through a richly made belt… nothing unexpected there. Good; the Red Wizard was right inside the wagon. He could feel those crackling shieldings around Pheldred, so they couldn't be illusory. Right in – as the old, old saying put it – the very jaws of his trap.
Aumlar smiled as wands that obeyed his will rose into view on all sides of the Thayan, and began to fire.
Shields flared instantly into wailing brightness around the floating wizard, who sneered. "Really, Aumlar, is that the best you can do? I expected rather more than this from such a widely feared flower of the Zhentarim!"
A shield failed with a sound like shattering crystal, followed by the one beneath it.
Aumlar spread his hands and replied mockingly,
"Pray accept my apologies, Pheldred. These feeble efforts of mine were intended to punish but not slay a young lass untutored in magic. If you'd announced your arrival, I'd have prepared something more suitable, but perhaps my paltry wands are about right for dealing with a Red Wizard? There goes another of your shields, and – oh, my – another!"
The Thayan snarled, his dark eyes snapping with anger, as his third and fourth shieldings collapsed.
His hands were moving in the gestures of a spell Aumlar didn't recognize, but the Zhentarim did not intend to stand still and be blasted. He started to clamber and walk through