Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [97]
Graal pointed a huge paw toward Fendel, who was trying to creep away into the shadows on the far side of the room while he still searched for Lhasha. "Don't forget the other one."
The wizard raised a trembling fist into the air, the glowing ring intensifying in brightness. The medusa responded by taking a slow step forward. Her hood remained in place. Corin put his head down and barged across the room toward the orog and his soldiers.
If the warrior's time was at hand, it would end on the point of a sword, falling in battle the way a White Shield was supposed to die, not trapped in some hellish limbo of eternal stone.
The force of the sudden explosion from the east wall knocked Graal's men to the ground, including the frail wizard-the old man's staff was sent careening across the cavern floor. Even the orog's giant frame was sent reeling backward by the devastating concussion that rocked the cavern.
Corin was hurled through the air by the blast. He hit the ground and rolled several times until he smashed into the side of one of the crates piled up against the west wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. Small clumps of earth and pebbles hailed down on him, and a cloud of dirt and dust choked his lungs and stung his eyes.
Dazed, he rolled onto his side and looked back toward the far wall at Fendel, assuming the gnome had cast some earth-shattering spell. But the gnome was nowhere to be seen. He too had been blown clear by the unexpected detonation. Despite himself, Corin glanced over to the medusa. She lay crumpled on the floor, her face still shrouded by her hood and veil, her enslaved mind incapable of giving her body the order to rise to its feet without the volition of the stooped old mage who wore the ring.
On the east side of the room, standing in the rubble of what once had been a square chunk of solid stone wall, was Azlar. The wizard's arms were fully extended at the level of his shoulders, his palms facing outward and his fingers splayed. A green glow enveloped his hands as the last remnants of his powerful spell shimmered and flickered before winking out.
A platoon of armed cultists poured into the cavern through the breach, looking to overwhelm their still-stunned foes. Six of them formed a protective circle around the young wizard commanding them.
"The ring!" Azlar shouted to the rest of his troops. "Bring me the ring! Snap the old man's bony finger off if necessary, just bring it to me now!"
As the cultists approached, the ancient sorcerer struggled to rise, then fell back to the floor as his weakened bones failed him and his eyes rolled back into his skull. Though the mage's body was old and frail, his magic was powerful. A spell discharged from the tip of the aged wizard's staff, triggered by the old man's collapse. A ring of blue fire sprang up around his unconscious form, engulfing the first two cultists who tried to touch him. They died screaming in agony, blue smoke wafting up from their charred corpses.
Graal was there, already recovered from the concus-sive shock of Azlar's entrance. A single sweep of his black blade disemboweled one unfortunate cultist. Another was decapitated by the return stroke of the orog"s blade. Graal struck with precise fury, chopping two more cultists down before the others stumbled back, fleeing before his wrath.
By the time Corin rose to his own feet Graal's position had been augmented by the arrival of the second wave of Xiliath's reinforcements. They circled the old mage, his motionless body still on the ground. Because of the shield of blue flame surrounding him, no one was able to check if he still lived.
As if drawn by the arrival of Xiliath's reinforcements, a second wave of cultists swarmed in through Azlar's magically wrought entrance. For a brief second, the two armies faced each other in silence. And then all the Nine Hells broke loose as they