Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [100]
Realizing his warriors were overmatched, Azlar began a spell of mass destruction, one that would destroy both the relentless animal of war and his own guards.
The spell was cast in a matter of seconds, but even in that short time the orog had slain another of Azlar's men, leaving only three of the original six cultists standing. A carefully placed ball of fire erupted around the four figures still engaged in the melee, engulfing the combatants. Azlar recoiled from the blaze of his own spell, shielding his face from the heat. The inferno lasted only a second and was gone. The young mage looked up to see the charred remains of his loyal bodyguards smoldering on the cavern floor. The orog was still standing.
The beast's flesh was blistered from the heat, his coarse, dark mane was singed in places and burned clean off in others. But the orog was relatively unharmed. He grinned at Azlar, a malevolent smile full of sharpened yellow teeth and fierce, pointed tusks.
The young mage hurled another spell at the creature, a bolt of electrical energy strong enough to fell an umberhulk. The lightning struck the orog full in the chest and rocked the monster back a half step, but instead of tearing a hole through Graal's torso, the bolt was absorbed and dispersed by the monster's black ringed armor, again inflicting only minimal damage.
With a chuckle resembling a snarling growl, the orog advanced on Azlar again.
The raging battle between Xiliath's troops and the cultists was both a blessing and a curse in Corin's eyes. The chaos and confusion allowed him to move freely about the battlefield as he searched for Lhasha, but the violence of the confrontation was taking a heavy toll on the statues in the cavern. Wild, off-balance swings by soldiers broke limbs or shattered stony features. Warriors from both sides darted back and forth between the petrified bodies, using them for cover and concealment, sometimes toppling them over through careless disregard or sheer malice. Already several of the medusa's unfortunate victims were now nothing more than piles of rubble, forever beyond hope of salvation.
From the corner of his eye, Corin caught a glimpse of a small group of Xiliath's guards moving in to cut him off. As he turned to face the advancing threat, the guards collapsed in coughing, choking heaps, overwhelmed by the green cloud of noxious fumes that had materialized in their path.
Fendel. Corin quickly glanced over his shoulder at the old gnome, tilting his head in unspoken thanks for the magical aid.– Fendel was too busy conjuring another spell to notice the gesture.
Turning back to the carnage, Corin saw two cultists momentarily bar his path, but their weapons slipped from their suddenly clumsy grasps-another spell from Fendel. Unexpectedly unarmed, they offered no resistance as the one-armed warrior chopped them down without even breaking stride.
' Corin felt a sudden chill in the air descending from above and peeked up to the high ceiling. A dark cloud formed near the cavern's roof-black as the harbingers of the fierce storms that pounded the Dragon Coast throughout the Claw of Winter. Fendel was preparing to unleash a tempest within the room.
A fleeting feeling of panic seized Corin's chest-would the fury of the storm destroy more statues? But the feeling quickly passed. Fendel would never do anything to endanger Lhasha. Best to let the wizard worry about his spells, Corin realized. He had to stay focused on the task at hand. Lhasha was somewhere in the cavern, one of the countless forms still unidentifiable in the shrouding shadows of the dim torches. He could feel it. He knew it.
A stone form glimpsed from the corner of his eye brought him up short. Not the lithe,