Rising tide - Mel Odom [82]
The giant disembodied hand squeezed more tightly, holding the snake high overhead with ease despite the creature's struggles to escape. All of the fighting nearby that Pacys could see came to a halt as combatants stared at the strangling snake.
Piergeiron turned in his saddle and lifted his helm. A small smile twisted his lips and his eyes lighted with fire. "Maskar Wands," he said, "hail and well met."
Pacys turned quickly. In all his wanderings through Waterdeep and the rest of Faerun, he'd never met the man, one of the Sword Coast's greatest wizards. He moved away from the men around him, seeking a clearer view.
Maskar Wands stood in a flying chariot drawn by a pair of red firedrakes whose claws struck sparks from the sky as they ran. Though not six feet tall, Maskar appeared regal and grave. The wizard's hairline had receded over the years to reveal his broad forehead, but silver hair still flowed in the wind. He wore the robes of a wizard, with a family crest-three gold stars on a field of purple with a black sleeve-was worked into the chest of the garment.
"Hail and well met, Lord Piergeiron," Maskar called back. His dark gaze never left the strangling snake in the sky above the harbor. "I came as quickly as I was able."
Excited murmuring drifted through the crowd Piergeiron had led into battle. Maskar Wands, though one of Waterdeep's most famous residents, didn't put in many public appearances, but when he did, it was to let everyone know his opinion on the ways magic was being abused. He and Khelben Arunsun had argued extensively on the subject, and bards scattered across Toril waited lustfully for the war everyone was certain would inevitably take place between the two wizards.
Piergeiron turned back to his command. "I want this street secured," he ordered. "Take your men down to East Torch Tower, find those who yet survive there, and get them organized. I want whatever ships are there to be appropriated and used to retake this harbor."
One of the watch captains nodded, then led his command across the intersection of Dock and Ship Streets, through the tangle of corpses.
Maskar gestured at the chariot and firedrakes and they disappeared. From all the legends Pacys had heard about the man, he knew Maskar Wands disapproved of any abuse of magic. The wizard gazed blackly at the snake hanging from the huge hand he'd conjured.
"Now," he said sternly, "now we show these invaders that Waterdeep will never bend, much less break."
He gestured at the fire consuming the building beside the Mermaid's Arms and the flames stopped reaching across the building, bending to the mage's will. Pacys watched as the fire gathered itself, then shot skyward in a whirling mass of colorful pyrotechnics that spread across the dark heavens around the sea snake constricting around the giant, disembodied hand. The pyrotechnics limned the struggle, making it visible for miles, drawing all eyes.
The bard saw Maskar speaking, but his voice seemed to come from high overhead, a thunder of threat. "You've made a mistake in attacking the City of Splendors this night," the mage roared. "Retreat while you can. There will be no mercy."
Even before the echoes of his voice died away, the disembodied hand closed more tightly. The crack of the giant sea snake's vertebrae snapping echoed over the harbor. Still, the great creature struggled, its body refusing to admit defeat or death.
The hand disappeared at a spoken word from the arch-mage. As the writhing mass of coils plummeted toward the water, the wizard pointed again. A fireball scored a direct hit on the snake, wreathing it in flames that burned with white-hot intensity. Only ashes drifted down to hit the storm-tossed water.
“No mercy!" Maskar repeated in that booming voice.
Pacys glanced around him, looking at the smoke-stained, bruised and battered faces, and saw renewed hope glow in the eyes of the Waterdhavians around him. They