Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [58]
“That can’t be the creatures! They’re too far away!”
“Besides they’re blind….”
“No, they’re not! Why I saw one….”
It was all noise and confusion. The watch was gone; Mosiah had no idea where, but he thought he caught a glimpse of her, flying up over the wall to investigate. Standing in the center of the compound, feeling frightened and alone, Mosiah cursed Simkin for getting him here, then leaving him. But the curse was halfhearted.
“I might still be out there,” he muttered, shuddering. Another explosion rocked the stone work. People cried out in pain and terror, the confusion within the compound became general “Trapped!” He felt suffocated. Suddenly, he wanted to be out there, anywhere but trapped inside these walls, waiting to die.
Looking around wildly, searching for a way out, Mosiah’s gaze chanced on Xavier, who stood nearby with his War Masters Mosiah stopped, staring. A change had come over the warlock Having been in a state of near frenzy when demanding to know the whereabouts of Joram, now Xavier stood calmly, his face pale but composed. He was listening to his ministers who, as nearly as Mosiah could figure out from the snatches of heated conversation he overheard, were arguing about the most effective means of destroying the creatures.
“It kills with its eyes, like the basilisk, Your Highness,” argued one. “So we attack it the same way. One distracts it from the front and the other attacks the creature from the rear. A Sleeping Death spell—”
“Begging your pardon, Highness, but it is the light beam cast from the eyes of the creature that kills. A simple Darkness spell and—”
“Reptile. The creature is obviously a reptile, Your Highness. It has scales like a dragon. Freeze its blood with an Ice spell.”
It is hopeless, Mosiah told them silently. I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the head that can turn in all directions. I’ve seen the scales and they are made of iron. I’ve seen the Dead men with silver skin who serve these monsters, men who can kill with the palms of their hands.
Watching the Emperor, Mosiah realized suddenly that Xavier thought the same thing. The DKarn-Duuk was listening to the arguments but with a singular air of detachment, his mouth twisted in a wry, bitter smile, as though he found the warlocks entertaining but nothing more. His eyes were flat, empty, uncaring. He did not react to anything around him. A nearby explosion that caused everyone standing around him to fling up their arms, shielding their faces, did not affect him at all. Xavier didn’t even blink.
There came another explosion, then another. Beams of light from the monsters eyes shot into the compound, striking their victims with unerring accuracy. There seemed to be no escape from death, no way to avoid it. Those who flung themselves on the ground died. Those who sprang into the air died. No one knew where the deadly light would strike next. The beams never missed. A druid standing near the wall crumpled over without a sound, a hole burned through his head. An Ariel who had been watching from the skies crashed to the ground almost at the young man’s feet, his feathery wings on fire.
Those watching from the walls cried that the creatures were in sight, others shouted that a giant could be seen walking among them. Judging from sporadic bursts of lightning and flame, a few warlocks had rallied together, attempting to halt the monster’s approach.
“I should be doing something,” Mosiah said to himself, but he had no idea what. He had no weapon, he’d lost the crossbow. Not that it would have been much use anyway. Mosiah felt despair envelop him in its winding sheets, wrapping him up tightly, depriving him even of the will to live.
“Go!