Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [71]
She returned his volley with an arrow of her own. It conjured into existence in mid-air and streaked toward Azlar. He casually stepped to the side. The missile struck the ground, splashing acid in a small circle around the impact point, scorching and searing the grass of the clearing with its corrosive juices.
From Azlar's fingertips a swarm of glowing projectiles arced toward another of the red robed figures. A simple spell, quick and deadly, but only if unleashed on an actual creature. Another reflection vanished under the attack, leaving only two-one of which was the real enemy.
The sorceress hesitated. Azlar knew her arsenal of magic was nearly depleted, while he had many spells left. A thin green ray shot from bis hand, and this time he found the right target. The woman tried to scream, but her cry was cut off as she disintegrated into a small pile of dust. Azlar turned his eyes to the clearing, determined to find Fhazail.
He was oblivious to the tide of the battle. He scanned the edges of the fray, certain the steward would be lingering on the farthest reaches of the violence, and then he saw the man's unmistakable round form, cowering on the edge of the trees. Azlar conjured an enormous spider's web between the trees, ensnaring Fhazail in a mass of sticky, virtually unbreakable strands.
With the traitor safely trapped by his spell, Azlar's attention focused on the field of conflict. Dead goblins, ores, and kobolds littered the earth, but there were still many, many more pressing forward. Azlar's men were slowly being drowned beneath wave after wave of attackers.
Azlar began a spell of mass destruction, one that would kill both friend and foe alike. A desperate move, but one that was necessary to protect the package from falling into enemy hands. He stopped abruptly and broke off in mid-casting, allowing the gathering magic to fizzle uselessly away. A cruel smile crossed his hps as inspiration struck.
He cast another spell, one different than what he had originally planned. Azlar reached out with his mind and seized hold of Fhazail's psyche, crushing the steward's will with his own, using his magic to mentally dominate the still hopelessly ensnared man.
"Fhazail," the mage whispered. "Look over here, Fhazail. At the package. Look closely. Watch her, and don't blink."
Compelled by Azlar's sorcery, Fhazail's head turned until he stared intently at the still cloaked woman.
Azlar briefly touched the simple gold ring on his right hand. The package took a small step forward, responding to the magical enchantment of the ring. The wizard focused his mind, and the figure slowly reached up and removed her veiled hood.
***
Corin saw the eyes of his enemy go wide as Graal reacted to something behind Corin. The warrior resisted the urge to turn and look, thinking it was some orog trick designed to distract him and leave him vulnerable. He tensed for the expected assault from his enemy, but instead of leaping to attack, Graal turned and fled into the trees. Corin didn't even try to follow. The move was so unexpected, he could do nothing but stand there stunned in bewilderment.
"What… what just happened?" Lhasha asked, as confused as Corin.
Corin shook his head. "I have no idea." He glanced into the trees where Fhazail had been hiding, and saw the steward had been imprisoned in some kind of cocoon. No, not a cocoon. A web. Corin moved slowly toward his enemy, sword drawn, eyes searching the forest for a new, unseen opponent.
He wanted the satisfaction of killing Fhazail himself, he wasn't going to leave him to be devoured by some giant spider. Corin wasn't about to rush in and end up becoming a meal himself. His senses were finely attuned to his immediate surroundings, but he could still hear the sounds of battle from the far side of the clearing. From the curses of the ores, the yelps of the goblins, and the whining barks of the kobolds Corin could tell that the cultists now had the upper hand.
From the shadows that still partially