Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [97]
The scepter blazed red-hot. Flames streamed around it, circling from one eye to the other. Then came a sharp crack, a flash of blue-white magic. The scepter broke into shards, which flew away into the darkness and crumbled to dust.
The shapeshifter stiffened and then rose into a larger bulk. His two eyes were now black orbs surrounded by white flames.
"Yes. Yea. Oh, yes. Now I have the power!"
White fire leapt out. The shattered door disappeared-along with most of the wall around it. Stones collapsed in a quickening roar, and out of the heart of their dust, cold laughter arose.
"Storm?" a voice called lightly. "Storm Silverhand? Your foe is back!"
Seventeen
MINDFIRE AND STORMLIGHT
Shayna clung to Storm, emerald eyes large with fear. "S-Stay with me," she begged. "Don't let him touch my mind again!"
"Be at ease, Shayna," Storm murmured. "Gently, now." She held the trembling heiress in her arms, drew in a deep breath, and reluctantly called on the silver fire.
She wanted only a little thing from Mystra. There was a power learned by-thankfully-few archmages since the days of Netheril, the ability to "hang" spells so that they waited, cast and ready to take instant effect in an unseen, undetectable limbo. Storm used it now, soothing the terrified heiress while a spell of deeper slumber crafted by Azuth himself slowly unfolded.
When it was ready, she unleashed it on Shayna, kissing her to let the magic flow in.
With no more than a murmur, the noble went in her arms. Storm spun a ring of silver fire around her to stop the questing mind of the foe. Then she laid the sleeping girl against a pillar, curled up on her side and set three sloping timbers over her to turn away falling stones. Storm carried the dagger and the coronet two rooms distant and thrust them under a pile of rubble-not a moment too soon.
As she set down the coronet, it blazed with sudden fire. A faint echo of the foe's mocking laughter arose from it. Storm stiffened and then hurriedly heaped stones onto the circlet, being careful not to touch it again. When it was safely buried, she selected a rock as large across as a serving-platter, set her teeth, lifted the huge stone with a grunt of effort, and hefted it into place atop the pile she'd made.
She turned again, looking back to where she'd left Shayna. Bursts of silver fire, like snowflakes of light, were winking and flaring out of thin air; her magic was under attack. The foe was seeking battle again.
As the first gray glimmerings of dawn stole into Firefall Keep, Storm, sword in hand, stalked through its rubble-strewn heart. She'd tossed handfuls of dust over her blade to keep it from gleaming, and was walking as quietly and alertly as she could.
Where was he?
Tendrils of smoke curled up from charred timbers among the rubble. Dead armsmen lay everywhere crushed and half buried under falls of stone. The keep sported an open central well it had lacked yestermorn, an open bowl of death. The work of the ruthless foe, a shapeshifter who could drink in and use the powers of his victims. A shapeshifter who was beginning to seem unstoppable. There were days of work, here, just to-
With a sharp clack, a stone struck the tiles behind her and rolled away. Storm whirled around, looked up, and had a brief glimpse of a smiling mouth and a cluster of three watching eyes, all on their own tentacles. The mouth spat fire.
Storm dodged aside and pulled back her blade to save it from being destroyed. She called up silver fire to cloak her. The stones by her boots melted away smoking, as the gout of flames struck them. Dragonfire! Where by the names of all the gods had he found a red dragon to subsume? This was starting to seem a proper nightmare!
The groaning behind and above warned her. Storm launched herself into a frantic headlong dive. She bounced and skidded painfully