Ed Greenwood Spellfire

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stepped in front of her love, grave eyes meeting hers, steadily, urging her
on. How like Gorstag's those eyes were. She thought of Gorstag, kind and
jovial, roughly wise and knowing. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth
to fight the coiling thing within her. The heat and the pain rose suddenly and
sharply, squeezing her heart in a blazing grip.
And then she was through. Sharp pains pierced her knees as she fell hard onto
the rocks, white heat building within her. She was burning still, but she
could master it.
Exulting, Shandril rose, and saw Florin and Merith, their blades flashing,
fighting many men in the narrow mouth of the cavern. Her heartbeat was
deafening thunder in her ears and she barely heard Elminster's shout. The elf
and the ranger drew aside, steel flashing. Florin raised his blade in solemn
salute as she rushed past them.
Shandril knew she was shouting. White lightning lanced from her hands, mouth,
and eyes, and crackled ahead of her. Wherever she looked men burned and died.
She heard screams, and drowned them out with a long, triumphant shriek of her
own, rising high as men were swept away in flames. Then the cavern mouth was
empty, blackened. Men lay still, blades smoking in crisped hands.
Oh gods, what have I done? Six, seven ... twelve ... how many? Was there no
end to them? Shandril recoiled in horror, fighting the fires raging within
her. As she stood there,
SPELLFIRE
hands spread and smoking, a long skeletal neck swung down into the cavern
opening, and two chilling eyes stabbed at her. Rauglothgor the Undying opened
his bony jaws, and the world exploded in flame.
Shandril moaned, pain atop pain raged within her. Tears blurred the wall of
flames; then she could see again, and Rauglothgor's horned skull-face was
still before her. The dracolich's evil eyes met hers, and she was afraid.
Those eyes laughed down at her with all the arrogance and strength of cold
centuries and dragonfire, and she was suddenly angry. This skeletal creature
was laughing at her, secure in the knowledge that she was a girl, unskilled
and unwise in the ways of battle and magic.
She felt her anger grow. A rock a mere rock! had felled Symgharyl Maruel, in
all her pride and cruel mastery of magic. Oh yes, she faced a dracolich now,
but now she had the means to strike back! Burn, then, oh-so-mighty
Rauglothgor, burn and know how it feels, you who burn us like so many flies
scorched in torchfire . . . burn!
Shandril flung her arms out as if she could stab the undead dragon with her
fingertips, and from them crackled lightnings anew. Rauglothgor burned. A
sullen radiance pulsed white within his bones. The dracolich reared up high
and roared in pain and fear. Stones raked from the cavern ceiling by his horns
fell in a shower about him, and his great claws convulsed. He raised bony
wings and writhed, until finally the great undead dragon sank down, bones
blazing with white, blue, and purple flames.
So passed Rauglothgor, Night Dragon of the Thunder Peaks; His bones blackened,
split, and burst asunder. All that remained crumbled as the flames died.
Shandril stumbled into the darkness, fire still raging within her. The cavern
beyond was dark and large, and there were torches flickering below her,
glimmering and dancing on drawn swords. More cultists, just come, scrambled to
meet her, blades raised easy prey stumbling blindly, undoubtedly fleeing the
great Rauglothgor beyond.
Easy prey, indeed. Shandril opened her mouth and screamed as they came, and
flames gushed forth. She raised her hands and smote them with spellfire,
hurling blasts
ED GREENWOOD
again and again, until none stood against her. Shandril stumbled on, exulting,
fire still blazing within her. Less, now she could see and hear that the
knights followed her.
"Shandril!" Narm's anguished voice broke through the roar of her fire.
She shook her head and motioned him back. Fire from her hands fell harmlessly
against Elminster's ready barrier of force, and Narm stayed silent as Shandril
ran on. Still the fires raged within her, and she feared to bury herself and
them all by blasting at the rocks around her. So she ran across the cavern and
up its far slope, seeking the outside and any more cultists who might lie
ahead.
She found them, laden with treasure; though they soon enough dropped it to
find their blades when she blasted the first of them. Some raised arms to hurl
spells, but magic missiles curled past her and struck them down before the art
could be unleashed. It was too late for them to run or fight. In the face of
her spellfire, they only had time to die. As Shandril climbed past them, she
thought that they did that very well. More cultists met her in the cavern
above, and more died.
Shandril climbed up through the tunnels to the keep, and daylight. As she
moved up the crumbling steps, blue flames licking the old stone where her
boots touched it, Shandril saw the mountain slopes below. No cultists were
upon them, and the sky was clear and cloudless. She turned, flames blazing
around her swirling hair, and screamed, "Get back!" And the knights fell back.
Elminster, his barrier still up, restrained Narm. Shandril turned to the sky
and stones about her and spread her hands.
She threw back her head and screamed her pain and exultation, loud and long,
and flames rolled forth. Stones cracked and fell around her, the shards
cutting her, and she laughed. Daylight grew as the walls fell and stone
crumbled. She backed down the stairs of the shattered keep as it fell away
around her.
"Back! Back!" she cried to the knights behind her, and hurled spellfire forth
again. Pillars of broken wall stood like huge teeth against the sky before
they too toppled. The keep was gone, completely fallen, and still the fires
raged. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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