Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [133]
Another male stepped into her path. Liriel kept running, casting a simple heat-metal spell as she went. The drow dropped his sword and reached for his dagger. Consternation flooded his face when he realized it was not there.
"Looking for this?"
An elf woman with red-gold hair stood several paces behind him, a smirk on her face and a drow dagger in her hands. Shar-larra gave the dagger a mocking little shake and tossed it to Liriel.
In one smooth movement Liriel snatched it from the air and sent it spinning back toward the male. It slammed into his throat. His mouth moved around a drow curse, but only blood emerged. As the light faded from his eyes, he lifted one hand and in silent drow cant jerked out the curse he could not speak:
Lolth take you.
A shiver went through Liriel. She tossed her head, shaking it off, and looked for the elf, but Sharlarra was already off. She ran like a deer, weaving among the roiling throng with a small, hooked knife in one hand and a sword in the other. Wherever she went, hamstrung zombies toppled and fell.
Over the sound of battle came a terrible sound, a keening wail that would have given pause to a banshee. The cry grew in power, taking on the harsh, irregular rhythm of a drow chant. It was like no song Liriel had ever heard, but she recognized the power of a deathsinger's magic.
Dozens of zombies that had been reduced to a crawl by Shar-larra's knife stood up and resumed their advance. Those that had been cut apart by Rashemi swords retrieved their limbs-or someone else's-and pressed them back into place. They came on, moving inexorably toward the place where the witches stood.
Geysers of steam burst from the soil in the midst of that orderly advance. The rock itself stirred, flowing upward into a roughly human form-or at least the top half. A crudely hewn head, massive chest, and long, thick arms rose from the stone. A rocky fist hurled forward and shattered a zombie skull. Other, similar constructs took shape, and soon a score of stone warriors battered the advancing army.
A shout of triumph rose from the Rashemi warriors, greeting the appearance of the rock elementals.
Liriel could still hear the deathsinger's chant. So, apparently, could the zombies. They rose, and healed, and came on. Death-singers did not just celebrate death: they commanded it!
Liriel looked around for the source of the song. On a nearby ledge stood a male drow, flanked by two fighters. His many braids swung this way and that as he swayed in time to his own chant. A large ruby gleamed in his forehead like a third eye.
On impulse, Liriel reached for the Windwalker and called forth the powerful spell stored there-a spell that required as its material component a large and valuable gem.
The deathsinger's wail rose to a shriek of mortal agony. He clawed at his head, raking furrows in his own flesh. Suddenly he went rigid, and his form began to expand like that of a berserker entering frenzy.
The drow exploded in a spray of gore, shattering from within. A large ruby statue stood in his place. The golem backhanded one of the guardian drow and seized the sword hand of the second. It casually threw the dark elf from the ledge and made its descent with a crashing leap. The golem waded into the zombie throng, pushing them back toward the land-bound rock elementals.
Fyodor saw this from where he stood and fought, and a faint smile touched his face. It was well that Liriel had not promised to refrain from raising golems.
He caught her eye and raised his sword in a quick salute. She gave him a brilliant, fierce smile and continued fighting her way toward the witches.
From the vantage of a nearby cave, Gorlist watched the course of the battle. Jerking himself back from the sight, he paced and snarled like a caged cat. He slammed a hand into the stone wall, ignoring the blood that flowed from his torn knuckles.
"Damn her!" he snarled. "Damn her to the deepest depths of the Abyss!" Foam flecked his pale lips, and Shakti, watching him closely, realized that his mind