Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [134]
Gorlist drew his sword, preparing to leap into the combat. Shakti started forward.
"No! Wait! Wait for-"
Her words were cut off as something hard slammed into the back of her head. Her red eyes glazed and rolled up.
Thorn stepped from the shadows and shoved the stunned priestess aside. Shakti hit the wall hard and slid down to the damp stone floor.
"Now," snapped the elf fighter, "let's continue the discussion we were having earlier."
Liriel raced toward one of the elementals. The stone guardian began to shiver, vibrating faster and faster. The drow took refuge behind a rock just as the creatures shattered. Shards of rock soared over the battlefield as if they had been shot from a tre-buchet, arching toward the witches. The women met them with a single soprano shout. Stone clattered against an invisible wall and slid down to form a rough stone wall around their position.
Liriel scrambled to her feet, staring in disbelief at the place where the elemental had stood. She knew that spell! She had studied it as a girl with the Shobolar wizards. A relatively simple spell, it was the sort of thing that one of Triel's warriors might know.
She glanced toward the eastern sky. The crimson rim of the sun edged over the mountains, turning the snowy peaks into a silent tribute to the night-spilled blood. Day had come, and yet the drow fought on undeterred, and their magic still held.
Drow magic on the surface. This wasn't possible!
Oh, but it is, my little Windwalker.
The drow stopped dead. She knew that voice, though she had heard it only once before, mockingly repeating Fyodor's words, a wolf is always a wolf.
Her hand went to the Windwalker amulet, the magical trinket that allowed her to bring her magic to the surface.
Yours? taunted the beautiful voice. Perhaps you forget that what was 'yours' was first mine.
A terrible possibility began to burn into Liriel's mind. "No," she whispered.
Oh, yes. The amulet is more powerful than you dreamed. It can hold the power of this land, and the spirits who act in league with these witches. The spirits are scattered, sundered. Yield to me, as you did before, and we will command them with a single voice!
Even as Liriel shook her head in vehement denial, she knew what must be done. Once before she had called a wandering spirit into the Windwalker and sent it safely home. In doing so, she had healed Fyodor of his uncontrolled rages. If the amulet was truly that powerful, could she do this on a greater scale?
And more important, could she keep such power from Lolth's hands?
She ran toward the witches and vaulted over the tumbled stone wall. Two groups of six stood in linked spellcasting, commanding airborne whips that lashed at Triel's forces. Zofia stood between the two groups, directing their efforts.
Liriel hurried to the old witch, holding out the Windwalker. "What one witch knows is known to all. You said that I would bind and break, heal and destroy. Help me!"
The witch took Liriel's small black hand without hesitation. "One circle," she said, reached her free hand out toward her friend Wanja.
The hathran gripped the old woman's hand in her own. One after another, the witches joined hands. The circle went around and stopped with Anya. The young witch hesitated only a moment before she reached her hand out to the drow.
The moment their fingers touched a surge of power went through Liriel, a magic as great as any she had known under Lolth's sway. She opened her mind to the Windwalker and the drow magic stored within.
A frigid wind buffeted her, whipping her hair around her and chilling her until she felt certain her skin must be a gray as a bheur's. None of the witches was touched by the storm. All its fury was focused on Liriel as the goddess tried to claim her and take for herself this power.
This land.
But Liriel was not alone. The will and power of the witches lent their strength to hers. Their collective will thrust the goddess aside, as a circle of lamplight pushes back the darkness.
Liriel shook off the debilitating chill