Prince of Lies - James Lowder [91]
As Gwydion started forward again, the shawl curled around his foot. It rubbed up against him for a moment like a house cat, then it, too, transformed. The tattered cloth became a sheet of magical force. A flick of Mystra's fingers, and the glowing sheet slipped beneath the inquisitor's boot. It strained, trying to topple the giant, but soon fell limp.
Gwydion pointed his toes down and ran the boot's razor tips along the shimmering square. The god-forged metal tore through the enchantment, shredding it into blue-white wisps that quickly dissipated.
Shouts of alarm went up from both ends of the bridge. Orcs from the Zhentilar lined the span's southern end, far from the fighting; they paused in shoring up the support beams to gawk and jeer at the strange warriors. On the opposite bank, a horn sounded from the city walls. Human soldiers with longbows appeared atop the twin gatehouses, while others pushed the huge gates closed.
Mystra glanced in both directions, checking to be certain none of the mortals were coming to join the battle. Gwydion used that momentary distraction to charge. When the Lady of Mysteries turned toward the inquisitor again, he towered over her, fists drawn back to strike. She barely managed to dodge the duel blows, which fell like thunderbolts against the bridge. Huge chucks of stonework plummeted from the walkway into the Tesh.
Fear shook the part of Gwydion's mind left unfettered within the Gondish shell. He was attacking a goddess! His fear demanded he run, to escape the fight, but the urgency of Cyric's command overwhelmed those thoughts. Mystra was a heretic. She must be destroyed.
The inquisitor charged again, feinting first to the right then darting left. He caught the goddess's arm as she attempted to sidestep the lightning-quick strike. The avatar's elbow splintered in Gwydion's grip. The hooks in his gauntlets tore long ribbons of flesh from her arm as she pulled away.
Mystra showed no fear of Gwydion, no pain from his assault. With nimble fingers she traced an arcane pattern along her battered arm, and the wounds healed.
Enraged, Gwydion lashed out again, and again Mystra sidestepped the blow. The inquisitor's fist knocked another jagged hole in the bridge. Stone and timber fell from beneath the goddess's feet, but she floated above the breach. As Mystra landed on the other side of the gap, she cast one of the most powerful enchantments known in the planes.
At a single word, unknown by all but the most learned wizards, a sphere of pale silvery light formed around Mystra and Gwydion. The inquisitor felt the jolt of the spell, felt his limbs slow. His heightened senses registered a dozen weird occurrences simultaneously. The debris from the hole between him and the goddess had stopped falling toward the river. The fragments hung suspended in air, motionless. The sounds of the city's harbor and bustling streets, the trumpeting from the battlements and the shouts of the orcs, all were suddenly banished from his ears. The subtle wear of the wind, of decay, against the bridge had ceased.
Mystra had stopped time itself.
The spell should have been enough to end the battle. Yet, almost as quickly as his senses told him what Mystra had done, the inquisitor found himself moving again.
For the first time, Gwydion could read the goddess's emotions on her beautiful features. Faint surprise showed in her inhuman eyes, but the grim line of her mouth told the knight Mystra had expected the spell to fail. She was testing his limits, toying with him. Again Gwydion wanted to flee, but Cyric's commands drove him forward, toward the trap he now knew the Lady of Mysteries had set for him.
The silver sphere disappeared, and time rushed in to fill the void. The wave of sound and smells and sensations shook the inquisitor, unbalanced him long