Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [18]
Listle allowed herself a smile of satisfaction at the deadly spell she had cast. Though the battle was entirely in the fiend's imagination, the consequences would be very real and quite fatal.
In its frenzy, the fiend did not see the ebony warriors- its own allies-who died screaming under its clawed feet. Soon another of the fiends began to shriek in terror, lashing out wildly with its talons. The others soon followed suit. In seconds, all nine spinagons were whirling about the courtyard, slicing onyx-armored warriors to ribbons with their blind flailings.
Listle stared in surprise. She hadn't expected her spell to affect all of them! She was no expert on the art of summoning-illusion was her preferred school of magic-but she remembered that a group of fiends called into the world through a single spell were inextricably linked. She hadn't realized how deep that nexus ran. Not that she felt like complaining.
The fiends turned on each other, and in less than a minute all of them were dead. They'd torn each other to pieces trying to combat foes that didn't really exist.
"And some people think illusionists aren't worth anything in battle," Listle said with a sniff.
The remaining black-armored warriors were quickly dispatched by the clerics. Disheartened by the grisly spectacle of the dying fiends and by the apparent desertion of their leader, Slayer, the last warriors did not put up much of a fight.
But the threat was not over.
"A foe in the temple!" came a shout from within. Recognizing the voice as Tarl's, Kern and Listle rushed into the temple behind Anton and Rialad. Inside, they found the blind cleric guarding the table that held the magically warded Oracle of Strife and swinging his hammer at a foe only he could see. Two clerics lay dead before him, victims of the invisible enemy.
"Show yourself, coward!" Tarl growled. "Your enchantments won't hide you from me."
Suddenly a shadow form materialized before the white-haired cleric. It was the huge abishai, Slayer.
"Out of my way, weakling cleric of Tyr," the fiend snarled. "The Oracle is mine."
"On my honor, you are wrong on that count," Sir Rialad cried, leaping forward. With a snarl, Slayer conjured a crimson ball of flame, hurling it at the brave paladin. It burst against Rialad's breastplate, covering him with searing fire. Howling as his flesh began to singe and wither, Sir Rialad sank to his knees.
Kern moved to counterattack, but a fierce look from Slayer stopped him in his tracks.
"One step closer, and this fool cleric is the next to go up in flames." The fiend was pointing a gleaming talon at Tarl. The white-haired cleric abruptly froze, unable to move, magically bound by chains no one could see.
Kern halted, unsure what to do.
"The Oracle is mine," Slayer hissed, reaching out for the tome.
"By Tyr, you will not have it!" a hoarse voice croaked.
Sir Rialad, his flesh dark and cracked, lurched forward and fell onto the table, clutching The Oracle of Strife to his still-burning chest. Crimson fire licked at the ancient parchment, then flared, consuming book and paladin together in a gout of flame.
Slayer screamed in outrage and spun around, only to be blocked by Kern's hammer. The paladin-aspirant stood protectively in front of his father.
"You've lost, fiend," Kern growled, amazed at the steel he heard in his own voice.
"You don't know who you're dealing with, cub!" the fiend shrieked, beating its leathery wings.
"I don't care who-or what-you are!" Kern shouted. For a moment he forgot that he was only a paladin-aspirant. With a fierce battle cry, he swung his hammer in a bone-crushing arc.
The fiend reached out and grabbed the weapon, jerking Kern's arms to a halt. The young man tried to yank the hammer free, but all his strength was nothing against the monster.
"You think you have won, but you are mistaken, Hammerseeker," the fiend hissed. "You have gained a little time, that is all. One day soon, my mistress