Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [184]
Shandril got up, grimly. The stink of cooked horseflesh was strong in her nostrils. Faithful Shield had lived up to her name all too well. The dracolich's flames had poured strength into Shandril, not harmed her. She only hoped Narm had survived.
Lightning cracked overhead as Shandril ran across the smoking road. She did not look up; she had eyes only for her man. A heart-twisting, blackened tangle of horse's legs met her gaze. Where once she would have turned away, sick, she now ran forward without hesitation, peering anxiously into the smoking slaughter. Narm! Oh, Narm!
He had no protection against dragonfire. He could well be dead. Their child would never know its father… Shandril snarled at herself. None of that!
Find him, first!
There he was, moving weakly, half-buried under scorched baggage. He was alive! Oh, gods be praised!
Tears ran down Shandril's face as she knelt beside him, tearing aside smoldering straps and canvas with frantic haste. Narm moaned. His hair smoked; the left side of his face was black and blistered.
"Oh, Narm! Beloved!" Shandril wept. Cracked lips moved; lids that no longer had lashes flickered open.
Watery eyes met hers, lovingly-and then looked beyond, and widened.
"Look out, love!" he hissed, painfully. "The dracolich comes!" Shandril followed his gaze.
The great Shargrailar wheeled directly above them, vast and dark and terrible. For all that it was only empty, hollow bones, the undead creature was awesome. Shandril shivered as she gazed up at its fell might. It turned and dove silently down the sky at them again.
"Run, Shan!" Narm croaked from beneath her. "Get you hence! I love you! Shandril, go!"
"No," Shandril said, in tears. "No, lord, I will not!"
As the great bony Jaws opened, she carefully climbed forward until she lay gently atop Narm’s blackened body, shielding him as much as she could.
Narm groaned in pain. She braced herself to lift her weight off him, and said softly, "I love you."
As the roar of the dracolich's approaching flame grew in the air about them, Shandril put her lips to Narm’s and gathered her will. Then blasting flame swallowed them again.
"Clanggedin aid me!" Delg muttered, as the mule bucked beneath him. The road before him was one great smoking ruin. A roaring cone of fire had just raked it again. In a moment the swooping dracolich would be above him. The mule bucked again. "Oh, blast!" Delg burst out, as he found himself somersaulting forward in the air. His frantic grab for the saddle-horn missed. Well, at least he still had hold of his axe. He tucked it close against him so that it would not be chipped in the hard landing to come.
So the mule's saddle was empty when the raking claws of Shargrailar swept the poor beast skyward, rending and tearing. The dracolich let out the first sound it had uttered in many long years as it rose into the air-a long, loud hiss of anger and frustration. It shredded the mule as if it were a rotten rag, and wheeled again. Destroying an enemy had never taken this long before.
Shandril desperately drew in all the flame that struck her, and strained to reach the dragonfire that ravaged Narm’s helpless body and draw it into her, too. Through their joined lips she felt the fierce energy flowing; sluggishly at first, then faster and faster. Gods, the pain! Her lips were seared as if by hot metal; tears blinded her. Her body shuddered at the pain, but she held fast to her Narm as the last of the flames swept over them and were gone.
Still energy flowed into her. She realized with a start that Narm's own energy was stealing into her now; she was killing him, draining him to death! Hastily she broke their kiss and stared anxiously down at the slack, silent face. Oh, Narm! She had no art to heal him! What had she done?
Bitterly, Shandril felt the swelling energy burning within her. Her veins were afire; she was bloated with more than she could hold for long. The pain…
Into her mind then came Gorstag's voice, telling of her mother: "… to heal or harm…!"