Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [108]
Several of the terror-stricken soldiers disappeared through the passage Azlar himself had torn into the treasure vault's wall, seeking an escape through the ancient smugglers' tunnels. The mage knew few, if any, would ever see the surface. Those who avoided the countless traps still active from the long-vanished underground criminal empire would become victims of the gruesome monsters that had taken over the tunnels when the smugglers had left.
Xiliath turned to focus another barrage of death on the medusa, and Azlar allowed a tiny seed of hope to be cultivated in his mind. The door to the secret entrance Xiliath had used to enter the chamber was still open. The tunnel beneath, Azlar knew, would eventually lead him to the surface.
The young mage emerged from his hiding place in the shadows and sprinted across the chamber toward the door. Just as he reached his escape route a beam from one of Xiliath's eyestalks slammed the door to the sub-tunnel shut. The door locked with an audible click, trapping Azlar within the cavern.
The wizard spun to face the creature now bearing down on him. Another beam from one of Xiliath's small eyes struck Azlar, and the wizard felt his limbs grow heavy and ponderous. He tried to turn and run, but every movement was agonizingly slow and labored. His feet felt too heavy for his legs.
He glanced back to see the beholder floating toward him, an evil chuckle rumbling out from the gaping row of teeth at the bottom of Xiliath's spherical body. The beast did not move exceptionally fast, but Azlar knew his own magically hampered movements prevented any hope of escape through flight.
In desperation, Azlar began to cast a spell to save himself, the incantation taking far longer than normal. The arcane words came in a sluggish drawl, the somatic gestures were performed in a deliberate, measured pantomime of true spellcasting. Yet such was Azlar's power that the spell still managed to function. A shield of flame encircled him. It was similar to the one Xiliath's now-deceased mage had cast, though Azlar's protective fire was red, not blue.
From Xiliath's central eye a cone of energy rippled the air, engulfing Azlar and instantly snuffing out his protective shell, leaving him completely defenseless.
Azlar's shrieks echoed throughout the cavern as Xiliath bit deep into his shoulder and tore away a chunk of flesh. The screams became muffled as the beholder's maw descended to engulf the wizard's head and torso. Xiliath's jaws bit down, severing Azlar's body in two just below his ribs, and the voice of the Dragon Cult's rising star was stilled forever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Fendel moved surprisingly fast for such a small, wrinkled gnome. Lhasha easily matched his pace, her lithe form bounding over the stones in soft, light steps, but Corin fell steadily behind. In part, he was burdened by the swords he carried in each hand. There was something else. He wasn't used to fleeing a battle. It went against all his training, everything he had ever practiced, everything he stood for as a White Shield and a warrior. Part of him resisted his own efforts to escape.
In the short time it took the group to cross the room and reach the arch of the cultists' passage, the warrior was already several paces behind his companions. As Corin entered the magically formed tunnel, soldiers darted past him on either side. He slashed out with his weapons without even thinking, his instincts for killing taking over. He hewed one man down with a single, fatal blow to the back and crippled the other with a hack to the leg, hamstringing the man.
It was only after his opponents fell to the floor that Corin realized they weren't attacking him. They weren't even armed. They had been fleeing the battle, running from whatever it was that had put Fendel to flight.
He passed or was