Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [110]
Enraged, the fighter attempted another blow, this time aiming for her throwing arm. The strike hit. Her armor saved her from injury, but Loren’s Blade slipped from her grasp. It clattered to the ground, landing at the cultist’s feet. The fighter kicked the offending weapon out of his way. It scudded across the floor toward the pool slough.
Kestrel leaped, trying to catch it in time. She missed by inches. The dagger slid into the mire and sank from view. Damn it all! The magical blade had become her favorite weapon.
She barely had time to gain her feet before the cultist struck again. Ghleanna’s spell was wearing off. Though she managed to parry the fighter’s blows, he slowly maneuvered their duel until he stood between her and the slough. Now even if an opportunity to break away from combat presented itself, she could not simply run for the ledge-she would have to fight her way past him. Worse, with the slough at his back instead of hers, she was left exposed to other opponents.
He brought his blade down once more. She gripped her club with both hands, one on each end, to block the strike. The iron baton vibrated with the force of his blow. He swung again and again. Pain shot through her arms as she fought a losing battle against his superior strength.
He raised the weapon for another hit. She brought the club up to parry, but he suddenly kicked her instead. The stomach blow knocked her to the ground. Her club fell from her grasp.
She scrambled backward, hand flailing as she desperately tried to find her weapon. The cultist kicked her again as if for good measure. She heard her ribs snap, felt pain shoot up her side. Then her foe leaned back, raising his sword for the killing blow.
Turnabout was fair play. With all the force she could muster, she sprang off her hands to plant both feet in his groin. The surprise move, coupled with his shifted center of balance, proved enough to knock him over. He fell backward.
And screamed.
The watery mire of the pool caught him in its deadly embrace. In seconds, it sucked his withering form under the surface, leaving only iridescent bubbles in his wake.
Kestrel’s abdomen and side throbbed, but she had no time to dwell on it. Spotting her club a couple feet away, she snatched it up, ran back to the slough, and leaped. She landed hard on all fours, her broken ribs screaming at her.
Not a graceful landing, but she’d made it across. Now only a wall stood between her and the Sapphire of the Weave.
Magical effects continued to explode and zoom through the air. A haze of smoke and other matter developed, blessedly obscuring vision. She could follow the sapphire’s glow like a beacon while the haze cloaked her from others’ sight.
She ran to the wall, her injured ribs protesting each step. She wanted to throw up. Maybe that’s how she’d defeat Mordrayn, she thought darkly. She doubted the archmage would anticipate an attack like that.
Between the haze and shadows, she couldn’t see the wall’s surface well enough to judge whether it offered sufficient natural holds for free climbing. She tore her rope off her belt and tossed the grappling hook up to the ledge. The last time she’d glimpsed Mordrayn, the archmage had been as entranced as ever. She had more to fear from cult missiles and magic than from the evil sorceress herself. Or so she hoped.
She tugged on the rope to ensure the grappling hook’s grip, then began her ascent. How were her friends faring? She couldn’t dwell on their fate right now. She had to concentrate on reaching the sapphire.
Hand over hand. Hand over hand. Her arms ached with exertion and her ribs with each breath, but the familiar movements helped focus her ricocheting thoughts. The Word of Redemption. Ethgonil. She had to get close enough to speak it. She was almost there.
She reached the top and rolled onto the ledge. A glance at Mordrayn revealed that the archmage was still locked in communion with the Mythal, unmindful of all else. Blue-white flames