Pools of Darkness - James M Brown [118]
"Fiend! Is Marcus really dead?"
A roar from the fiend cut his question short. Brittle quickly raised his sword as Miltiades charged forward to face him.
The two skeletal warriors stared at each other for less than a second, then nodded silently in an unspoken greeting of honor. In the next instant, blades flashed and crunched as the two became a whirl of steel and bone.
Evaine and Andoralson directed their most powerful spells at the fiend. Swirls and sparks of green and blue energy illuminated the chamber in an eerie glow. The beast laughed off nearly half the magical attacks. Gamaliel circled around behind the monster, poised himself for a leap, then sailed through the air to land on black wings. Four paws, claws extended, raked and gouged mercilessly.
Andoralson cast an illusion, duplicating himself ten times. The real druid was lost among his images. All eleven conjured illusionary monsters, directing them at Tanetal, but the fiend merely waved them away with his hand. In moments, the druid stood alone. Nearing exhaustion, Andoralson gasped for breath as he raised his hands to cast another spell.
Ren lay slumped against the wall. He struggled to reach a healing potion in his pocket, lifting it to his lips. The blood that poured from his arm and trickled from his chest gradually slowed and stopped. The ranger's bones were still broken, yet his life no longer drained away. Yet he was helpless to do anything.
Brittle and Miltiades continued their deadly dance, matching each other blow for blow, parry for parry. Swords sang and crunched as the pair's exquisite but horrifying choreography led them around the chamber.
Evaine never ceased directing jets, clouds, and streams of emerald energy at the enormous black beast. Nearly half her spells fizzled uselessly away, and no matter how the monster was harmed, its injuries gradually healed within minutes. Evaine racked her brain for some inspiration, but she had little time to think amid her furious spellcasting.
Gamaliel still clung to the fiend's back. Black ichor flowed down the monster's muscled form, puddling at its feet. A stench like stagnant water accompanied the blood.
The skeletons continued their duel. Every few seconds, a sword found its mark and a shard of bone chipped off to sail across the chamber. The two were so embroiled that both were virtually oblivious to their surroundings.
Evaine had nearly completed another spell when she noticed the paladin's danger. By the time she dispatched her magical energy, it was too late even to shout a warning. Both skeletal warriors had stumbled dangerously close to the pool, bobbing, weaving, and dodging. And then it was over. Evaine watched as the pair teetered for a moment, then tumbled into the pool of darkness with a syrupy splash.
The inky fluid bubbled and boiled as the magical water tried to drain the souls of those who battled within. Every few moments, a bony hand or glinting sword tip broke the surface of the vile water, but there was no way to know which warrior had the advantage. It was only clear that the two skeletons battled for their souls. Occasional syrupy blobs splashed over the rim and sizzled on the stone floor, only to ooze back to the pool by sliding up over the edge.
At last a skeletal hand reached out of the pool, gripping the side. Then a second hand grasped the edge, and a bony form began to pull itself out of the murk. Evaine's heart sank as she realized that it wasn't Miltiades, but Brittle. The enemy warrior struggled to haul himself up. But another bony hand reached up and yanked the evil creature back into the pool. Miltiades still lived-but for how long?
The pit fiend laughed in delight. A minute globe of darkest night formed at the tips of the fiend's talons, then slowly drifted toward the druid. In the globe's writhing mists, Andoralson saw his worst nightmares come to life but couldn't tear his eyes away from the evil images.
"No!" he shrieked, toppling to the ground. The druid kicked and struggled, screaming and gibbering at nightmares invading