Realms of the Arcane - Brian M. Thomsen [58]
Skeletal arms upraised, Kohath cast a spell of his own.
Tiuren had no knowledge of sorcery, but Kohath's spell seemed to him a thundering avalanche of boulders crashing down a mountainside in comparison to Diccona's meager stone flung without skill. The spell she cast was lost in the rising magical might summoned by Kohath and his Dark Eye.
The floor beneath the three figures began to quiver. A rumbling rose all around, and the temperature began to climb. Tiuren could remain no longer. Terror, more from seeing what had become of his friend than for his own well-being, forced him out the door and down the hall. Diccona's screams rang long in his ears.
The entire palace shook. On the stair, Tiuren met a handful of guards who raced upward, their faces filled with dread.
"No," Tiuren told them, shaking his head. 'There's nothing you can do. Flee."
"But the king. The queen. We must-" a guard said, pushing past. He referred to Kohath, not Darius, Tiuren could tell.
"Do as you wish. Your life is your own-but you no longer have a king, and quite possibly no longer a queen."
"Gods!" another guard cried. "What has happened?"
"There is no time." Tiuren did what he could to keep his voice level and calm. "Flee." Without looking to see what decision these good, loyal men made, he raced down the stairs.
As he reached the bottom, the shaking intensified. The temperature continued to rise as he made his way toward the foyer, the doors, and the way out.
Something grabbed his arm and wrenched him backward. It was Darius, knife still clutched in his hand, breathing erratically.
'Tell me," he rasped, "what is going on?" The knife rose toward Tiuren's throat.
Tiuren had endured enough of this wretch's threats and demands. He shifted his weight toward the wizard, knocking him off balance, and grabbed at the arm holding the blade, turning it away.
Darius reacted quickly. Fear-strengthened muscles twisted the knife back toward the bard.
Tiuren threw his body into Darius. The two tumbled to the floor as some of the ceiling supports gave way from the shuddering quake and bits of plaster and wood crashed near them. As the two struck the floor, Tiuren made sure the knife found a home-in Darius's chest.
Tiuren rolled and gained his feet. The floor cracked open near him, steam and sulfurous air belching out of the ever-widening opening. Rumbles and crashes as loud as he had ever heard told him the upper levels of the palace had collapsed.
By the time he had reached the doors, steam and smoke clogged the air, choking him. He slipped out into the courtyard. Bodies lay everywhere, covered by rubble, crushed by what looked like-as near as Tiuren could tell-most of the south watchtower. A gaping hole in the curtain wall was all that marked where it had stood. Tiuren was dismayed to see so many friends among the fallen. Even noble Beanth lay under the ruined tower.
Kohath's slaying wrath was indiscriminate. The dead king's quest for vengeance knew no bounds.
The shaking of the earth continued, and fire burst forth from the numerous fissures opening all around Tiuren. He could do nothing-he couldn't even see anyone for him to help escape. Realizing that there was no time to reach the stables (if indeed they still stood), he ran for the opening in the wall, thunderous crashes and the roar of spurting molten rock behind him. Fire from within Faerun itself was consuming the fortress.
Across the rolling hills, Tiuren ran until he could no longer hear the rumbling or feel the vibration of the ground and the unnatural scorching heat on his back. In the distance, only a reddish, hellish glow marked the palace. He collapsed from exhaustion.
* * * * *
Weeks later, Tiuren stood at the edge of what was once-beautiful Vantir.
Nothing in his experience could have prepared him for the sight of his homeland smoldering like a charnel pit. The stench of death pervaded the