Spellfire - Ed Greenwood [50]
Fire rolled out with terrifying speed and washed over the lady on the far slope. The air was filled with the stench of burning. As the flames died the lady still stood, apparently untouched, her hands moving in the casting of a spell. About her the sparkling mist danced. The balhiir had ridden the fire across the chamber.
"Jhessail," Florin called. "A balhiir-the art is useless!"
"So I see," Jhessail calmly replied, ignoring the roars of Rauglothgor across the cavern. "Well fought, Narm. How is your companion? She looks worth our trouble."
Shandril found herself smiling. "Well met, Lady Jhessail."
Jhessail came up and hugged her. "You show a good eye, Narm. Let us proceed elsewhere now, lest we not see another meal to get acquainted over."
Florin and the elf, Merith, stood with drawn blades facing the dracolich. The mist swirled away from Jhessail and moved toward the elf s weapon.
"Your blade," Florin warned.
"If drained, then so be it," Merith's merry voice came back to them. Both of the fighters charged the skeletal monster.
Again and again the elf avoided the raking bones of the dracolich, with Florin also rolling and leaping in the same dance of death.
Shandril and Narm looked about in time to see a gray streak of motion, a slim, fast man leaped down the rocks toward them.
"Beware!" Jhessail shouted.
There was a sudden flash, and a roar, and the ground leaped to meet all of them.
Someone was shaking him. "Up, Narm," Jhessail said firmly. "We cannot stand in this place longer."
"I have Shandril," Lanseril's voice said from somewhere. "She's heavier than I expected."
Narm struggled to move, to rise. A warm hand was on his shoulder. "The dracolich?"
"Rauglothgor lives." Jhessail's voice was rueful.
"The balhiir hampers both sides in this struggle. The dracolich's lair has traps and harbors creatures subject to its will. It has moved to block our escape to the upper caverns."
"Are you not its match in art?" Narm asked, then he realized what he had said. "Oh, my pardon, La-"
"None needed," Jhessail replied, guiding them around tumbled boulders. "I doubt it, here in its lair.
Alone, spell to spell, perhaps. My spells are more numerous and stronger, but its are unusual and suited to defense."
They climbed up one side of the cavern toward where Merith stood waiting. His drawn sword no longer glowed. "Well fought," he said, kissing Jhessail.
"Where is Torm?" Narm asked, politely waiting until the kiss was done.
Merith and Jhessail exchanged glances and chuckled. "We think he used something from a little bag of tricks he carries to teleport out of here when he saw the balhiir, no doubt to save all of the magic he carries. I hope he also went to tell Elminster of what has befallen us, and we shall see some aid,"
Jhessail explained.
"And if aid doesn't come?" Narm asked.
"Then our inevitable victory will be a little harder,"
Lanseril said. "If you don't mind saying, what art do you currently command?"
Narm grinned. "I am but an evoker, lord. I have left one cantrip of little use."
The words had scarcely left his lips when there was a great crash and a roar of moving rock. Suddenly, the world was falling down on them again.
She hurt all over. Why had none of the tales of adventure ever mentioned the constant pain and discomfort? Shandril rolled over, slowly, feeling many aches and twinges. Stones must have fallen on her. Nothing seemed broken, thank the gods. It was dark, and it felt as if she were somewhere underground. She could tell by the cold flash of the beljurils around her that she was still in the dracolich's grotto. Where was Narm? Then a gem flashed nearby, and she saw a hand inches from her own. Narm!
Helpless tears blinded her. The hand was cold, lifeless. Then another flash of the magical balhiir showed the hand-black hair, thick fingers. It wasn't Narm. In relief and revulsion, she let go of the dead thing. Where to go? What to do?
There was the faintest of scraping sounds