Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [72]
"Fhazail," Corin called out. "I'm coming for you, Fhazail." And still, he could elicit no reaction.
He moved a step closer, and realized something was wrong. Very wrong.
Squinting through the shadows Corin could just make out Fhazail's face, his features frozen in a grotesque mask of horror. His coloration wasn't right. He was ashen, had an unnatural pallor, and there was something else.
From just over his shoulder he heard Lhasha warn, "They're heading this way."
He pulled his attention from Fhazail and turned in the direction she pointed. The ambushers were being routed. Goblins and kobolds fled in panicked terror, the cultists in close pursuit. The human cultists hewed them down from behind, stabbing them in the back as they tried to run, pursuing their foes like dogs on the hunt. Some of the ores and goblins still held their ground, but the tide of battle was surging toward them, sweeping across the clearing like a wave breaking over the sand.
Behind the combatants Corin could just make out the figure of the young mage, but the barrage of magic one normally expected from a wizard in battle was absent.
The young man merely stood in place, his fist raised high above his head.
Stranger still, a woman in robes was walking the battlefield, systematically approaching the pockets of ores and humans who still held their ground against the cult soldiers' rapid advance. Wherever she walked, their ranks broke and men fled in terror-or stood completely stiff and motionless, as if paralyzed by fear.
Her back was to Corin and Lhasha, but even through the night's gloom Corin was sure she was the one he had seen with Fhazail and the young wizard when they emerged from the warehouse-the infamous "package." Her hood was down now, her head uncovered. Through the darkness Corin could just make out her wild, unkempt tresses swaying in the wind. Only, there was no wind tonight, and her hair didn't so much sway as… wriggle.
"Gods save us," Lhasha whispered as the woman began to turn in their direction.
Protected by the power of his ring, Azlar alone could look upon what no creature, man or beast, should ever see-the face of the medusa. For a moment he was held prisoner by the vision. Though a monster, the medusa had the elegant features of a stunning noblewoman. Her skin was pale and flawless, her hps full and red. Her aristocratic beauty was marred only by the mass of writhing snakes atop her head and her empty, vacant eyes depicted a reflection of her magically enslaved mind.
Azlar shook off the bedazzling effects of the charmed medusa's unexpected appearance, and looked out across the battlefield. Already half a dozen enemies had been turned to stone-the inevitable consequence of gazing on the medusa's features. A few cultist statues dotted the field as well, casualties caught unaware by their master's sudden unleashing of his secret weapon.
Raising the hand with the ring above his head to focus his powers, Azlar mentally commanded the medusa to march into the battle. He took care to focus his new toy's deadly countenance on their attackers, trying to avoid excessive casualties among his own men. Enemies smart enough or lucky enough to shut their eyes as the medusa approached were spared the horror of being turned to stone, but with their self-imposed blindness they were quickly cut down by Azlar's soldiers or slain by countless bites from the venomous serpents of the medusa's hair.
"Don't look!" Lhasha screamed.
Corin clenched his eyes tight. With his vision gone, the sound of the quickly approaching battle became very loud. In seconds, the fleeing horde would run right over them, and with their eyes shut they wouldn't even be able to see it coming.
"Corin!" Lhasha called out, trying to be heard above the cacophony of the panicked soldiers approaching. "Don't