Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [44]
"Damnation!" she cursed aloud. "I can't keep running anymore. When will this nightmare end?"
And the gods heard. There was an ear-splitting crash from the cavern behind her. Shandril was flung violently forward amid a helter-skelter of rocks, coins, gems, gold chains, and choking dust. Over the din, the thief of Deepingdale heard the dracolich Rauglothgor gI’ve an anguished, bellowing roar that rose and fell, then died away in hollow echoes.
Then came three short, sharp explosions. Shandril screamed and held her ears. The deep rolling did not die away, but seemed to be coming from all sides.
Small rocks struck her like stinging rain. Then loud booms sounded again, and larger slabs and pillars of rock broke free and fell. Refusing to be entombed alive, Shandril crawled desperately on into the darkness. She heard faint, despairing shouts far behind in the dark, but the words dissolved in the never-ending echoes.
When chaos finally died into stillness, Shandril was alone in the drifting dust. Her ragged breathing was deafening in the sudden silence. She lay still, aching from bruises and scrapes, covered by sweat and dust and small stones.
Suddenly, she noticed a pale glow from the rubble below. Shandril stared at it as her eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. The glow came from a sphere of crystal. Its curves were glossy-smooth, and it was a little larger than a man's head. The steady white radiance came from within it, and by its light Shandril could see that it lay among a pile of treasures.
She picked her way to the sphere. When she nudged it cautiously with a toe, the glow did not flicker. She watched it for a time, waiting for any change, peering closely to see if anything might be hidden beneath it. Finally, she reached down and touched it.
She ran her hand lightly over the cold smooth surface, then stepped hastily back, eyeing the sphere narrowly. But nothing flickered, nothing changed.
Shandril crouched down and gently lifted the sphere.
It was light, and yet somehow unbalanced, as though something were moving inside. But she couldn't feel, hear, or see anything inside.
Holding the sphere up like a lamp, Shandril looked around. The jagged ceiling of the cavern hung close overhead, stretching away perhaps twenty paces, to meet the broken and rubble-strewn stone floor. She swung around slowly, gold coins and other treasures winking as the radiance met them. She was at a dead end. The roof of the cavern had fallen in, and she was trapped, far underground!
Panicking, Shandril scrambled forward. There must be a way out' The whole wide cavern can't have been blocked, just like that' "Oh, please, Tymora, whatever has gone before, smile upon me now!"
And then the light she bore fell upon an out-flung arm.
The young man who had been chasing her across the cavern earlier lay face-down, silent and unmoving. A pile of stones half-buried his legs. Shandril stared down at him for a moment and then knelt carefully amid the rubble and gently brushed the hair from his face.
His eyes were closed, his mouth slack. She knew him now. He was the man whose eyes she'd met across the taproom of The Rising Moon, the same man who'd defiantly hurled magic at Symgharyl Maruel before the gate in Myth Drannor.
He was handsome, this man. And he had tried more than once to help her. Abruptly, he moved slightly.
Before she knew it, she had set the globe down and was carefully lifting and cradling his head.
He stirred and worked his jaw. Pain and concern lined his face, and he spoke suddenly. "More devils!
Is there no end? No-" His hands moved, and he caught at her. Shandril found herself dragged down onto the rock beside him.
"Must… must…" he hissed weakly.
Shandril grunted and struggled against his grip, reaching for a weapon she no longer bore. And then, inches from her ear, she heard a surprised "Oh." The pressure on her shoulders eased, and his hands became suddenly gentle. Shandril looked up into his eyes, now open and aware. They met hers in wonder, and in them she saw dawning hope, and confusion,