The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [60]
Accepting the pause, Bastun stepped out from the weapons room, quickly surveying the tenuous integrity of the ceiling and detecting movement to his right. A deep darkness leaked into the room, crawling at the edge of his light. As soon as the Breath crossed the threshold, the returning spirits whined and growled. He ignored them and circled the tiefling. Ohriman snarled and came again.
They traded quick blows, and Bastun struggled to match the tiefling's speed. He didn't dare drop the Breath to free a hand for spellwork, so he was limited to what lay within the axe-staff. Calling upon the power he had, he managed to trap Ohriman's sword in the curve of his axe. Bright blue-white sparks leaped from the weapon, singeing the tiefling's hand, and Bastun slashed the Breath at Ohriman's legs. He cursed as Ohriman jumped nimbly out of the way, freeing his blade.
Though the shocking spell had done little damage, he pressed the slight advantage, bringing his axe to bear again. As another thunderous impact shook the room, Ohriman kicked the flat of the axe away and tumbled backward, dodging a large chunk of stone. Dust, rocks, and ice showered from the newly made fissure.
The tiefling rolled into a crouch, licking the back of his singed hand with an obscenely long tongue. Steam rose around his lips and he smiled.
Bastun circled around the cloud of dust, considering his options. The exit was several strides away, but he had no way of knowing how much damage had been wrought to the tower.
As if mirroring his thoughts, the spirits drew closer, circling the pair, though their shining eyes remained fixed on the Breath.
"Walls falling down, little ghosts sneaking up from behind." Ohriman smirked and stood, his head low as he moved forward. "You've got more skill with a blade than I gave you credit for, wizard. But you can't hold out for much longer."
"Perhaps you're right," Bastun said. He regarded the Breath and the cloud of dust flowing around his feet, then resumed his battle stance. "Then again, perhaps I can hold out just long enough."
Ohriman charged, blocking Bastun's axe to the side and aiming his attacks at the vremyonni's sword arm. Fresh pain lanced Bastun's forearm as a strike pierced through his defense. He fell back, maintaining focus, but hard pressed by the tiefling's furious assault. Close to the wall he turned his axe toward Ohriman, keeping the Breath behind him. Shadows on the wall peeled away as the ancient blade neared them, the ghosts screeching to escape its presence.
An ominous crash resounded from above. Bastun compromised his own defense, yelling as he thrust his axe at Ohriman's chest. The tiefling's sword sliced into his shoulder, just under the leather guard beneath his robes. Bastun ignored the wound and rolled to the side. A massive stone block broke away from the ceiling and smashed into the place where Bastun had stood. The sound was deafening, the dust blinding, and he fell on his injured shoulder. Pushing himself up, he had only gotten to one knee before Ohriman kicked him in the back.
Down again, he choked on dust, fighting for air. A boot crushed his wrist. Shadows screamed in his ear as the Breath was pried from his fingers. Growling, he rolled and swung his axe, but the nimble Ohriman easily leaped out of the way, the Breath in his possession.
Amidst crumbling walls and howling spirits, Bastun got to his knees, shaking with fear and pain. More of the ceiling crumbled as Ohriman dodged left and right, making his way to the only exit.
Where is your breath?
His master's lesson took on a more ominous meaning as he raised his hands and began casting. The magic came quickly, calming his nerves as he resolved himself to what must be done. His hand shot out, emerald energy gathering as he aimed for the ceiling above the doorway.
A thin green line of light shot from his fingertips, cutting through the stone and destroying any support it had left. Bits of debris fell first, giving the tiefling pause before the ceiling disintegrated and caved in. Ohriman