Stormlight - Ed Greenwood [99]
Stone, plaster, and wood collapsed amid the roiling flames and crashed heavily to the floor. Tiles buckled, spilling the debris down through it to the level below.
The dragonfire suddenly ceased. The jaws that had spouted it were gone.
Storm frowned, held back her outpouring of silver fire, and broke into a run, getting away from where she'd stood before the foe could trigger another ceiling collapse. She'd taken a bare dozen running steps when the floor heaved so hard it threw her to her knees. A deafening crash set her ears ringing. She was plucked up and flung on by tumbling timbers.
From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the ponderous plunge of an entire turret, arched windows and all down from above, through the floor where shed been-and on, on down through all the levels below.
Storm struck a pillar, ribs shattering like dry twigs. She spun around it with the force of her tumbling flight, and fell to a now-tilting floor, roaring out her pain like any dismayed warrior. She was still skidding to a dusty stop when a sudden thought made her chuckle.
"Apt name-Firefall Keep."
As the thunder of rolling stone died away, the tatter-clad bard lay still and turned the energy inside her to healing. One bloody end of a rib was protruding from her flank; Storm frowned down at it and then grasped it, set her teeth, and pulled it forth. Warm blood drenched her fingers and she shuddered, let silver fire burn both gore and bone fragment away to nothing, and held her hand to her side.
"About now," she muttered, "he'll see the morning sun and remember there's a kingdom out there he could be despoiling-and it'll be 'rend the annoying barrier' time again."
She laid her sword across her knees, made herself as comfortable as she could, and closed her eyes, letting the web of silver fire tell her where things were. The morning sun fell through the shattered ruins of the keep and laid bright fingers of sunlight across her cheek. The warmth made Storm almost purr with pleasure-an instant before the stabbing spells and mind-thrusts at her barrier began. Then her gasps became loud and quick and urgent. She rolled around on the stones, clutching her half-healed gut and wondering if she could hold him back this time.
“Mother Mystra,” she hissed, “be with me now!”
There was no answer… Slowly, very slowly, the floor beneath her stated to tremble.
The sun on his cheek was bright and warm. Broglan Sarmyn, war wizard of Cormyr, blinked at it. He slowly became aware that he was lying on sharp stones, in stillness. The only sounds he could hear were some tentative bird calls, though he dimly recalled the rubble beneath him shaking as sounds like thunder rolled and crashed all around, not long ago… or perhaps it had been a dream.
His last clear memory was a blinding flash from the floating black eye, as it shuddered and blinked at him almost beseechingly. That had come soon after the scepter-and where had it come from, anyway?-had disappeared. Now the eye was gone, probably consumed in that flash of energy, and he was lying in the rubble alone. Ah, well, even among wizards, the gods rarely grant the sight and wits to know what's going on.
Speaking of stumbling… Cautiously he got up, testing his aching body. Bruises everywhere, some very painful, but it seemed that Broglan Sarmyn was whole and could walk unhampered. It seemed he would have another chance to walk straight into his own waiting grave.
Well, he'd best be about it. With a grunt of pain, Broglan got up, made sure the dagger and the two wands were still sheathed at his belt, and started a cautious exploration.
This part of the keep was roofless: shattered walls and rubble, rubble everywhere. It looked like a manor-house he'd once seen after two wizards had dueled each other to death in it: a rubble-choked shell. He could