Frost formed on the wet planks around Eli's feet as the voice of the red sorceress rose again in the dissonant drone of another spell.
Khaemil's reflection was a dark blur on the polished surface of the shield, silhouetted before the dazzling lightning outside the window. Quin watched as his tormentor raised an arm, the mace clutched in his hand. At the zenith of the swing, Quin pushed up on his hands and kicked Khaemil's knee out from under him. Khaemil gasped in shock and fell to his other knee. Quinsareth picked up Bedlam, the noisome blade instantly springing to life in a blend of thunder and wolfish growls. He flipped the shield up on its edge, scattering bones and dust to the floor, and slid his arm through the braces. He spun around to face the canomorph as tremors shook the tower. Wooden beams creaked below and both combatants felt the floor tilt. Water dripped through the ceiling as the structure shuddered beneath its own weight. Khaemil bared his fangs. Rising to his feet and stepping backward, he raised the mace in both hands and spat out the words of a spell. Quinsareth took faltering steps forward, the stone floor splitting between his boots. The pain of Khaemil's torture still filled his body, but survival pushed him on. Holding the shield before him, he was surprised at its lightness. Strangely, the shield seemed to pull him forward, reacting to the Gargauthan's voice and drawing its new bearer closer to the spellcaster. The shadurakul's voice roared to a crescendo and several smoky black swords materialized in the air around him. At his command, the ghostly blades darted forward to assault the aasimar. A sound like tearing metal rang in their ears as the ethereal blades sank into the shield. Even those aimed at Quin's legs were pulled upward to meet the shield's face. All were swallowed into the steel, the sound of their destruction clanging in Quin's head. The shield's braces tightened around his arm, fitting to his grip as if pleased. Catching his balance on the tilted floor, Quinsareth charged forward to meet Khaemil's grimace. Bedlam wailed through the air and crashed into the haft of the canomorph's mace.
Quin pushed against Khaemil's strength. He smiled wickedly as the weapons scraped against one another, Bedlam drawing a deep gouge in the mace's haft. Khaemil pushed back, cursing as Quin ducked the shove and let him stumble forward. He's too strong for his own good, Quin thought, and stepped sideways, making a show of raising the growling sword high. Khaemil reacted quickly, bringing his mace to bear against the intended cut, but Quinsareth spun to his right instead. The shield slammed against the Gargauthan's weapon and extended Khaemil's reach for a heartbeat or two. Bedlam screamed downward in that moment, shearing through the canomorph's wrist and neatly severing his hand.
Khaemil roared in pain as the mace clattered to the floor along with the lost hand. He drew the stump of his wrist to his chest, squeezing it tightly as blood streamed across his robes. His sharp teeth clenched as he mumbled through them in a grating language, cursing in one of the many tongues of the Lower Planes. He stepped back from the aasimar, who calmly observed the shadurakul's disfigurement. Khaemil's face twisted in agony, his features blending with those of the shadow mastiff that hid beneath his humanoid facade. Narrowing his pearly eyes, Quin's stare was every bit the match for the predatory gleam of his opponent. The tremors repeated more violently than before, as if some crucial support had been removed. The tower stood at the mercy of the chaos of magic outside. Khaemil stumbled as he walked backward, falling to his knees. The shadows flooded Quin's body at his slightest call, his eyes murky with their color after only a few blinks. "I spare you your mistress's beating, dog!" he shouted. "I shall collect my fee from her directly!" He kicked Khaemil full in the chest, sending the shapechanger backward against the window sill. The mortar crumbled weakly under the impact, stones shifting under his weight.
Ancient stones and shadurakul were snatched away, tumbling into the whirlwind of the hungry storm. Khaemil's screams were quickly lost in the gales and ripping lightning. Rain poured in through the yawning hole in the wall and seeped between the cracks in the stone beneath Quin's boots. Stepping away from the gaping hole, Quin caught sight of movement to his right and saw himself reflected in a tall silver mirror. The shield he carried wore the profile of a proud Shaaryan woman with fiery hair and blazing eyes. The face of Ossian's lover faded slightly as he watched, the image rippling through the metal by some strange power. He nodded quietly to the image of Zemaan before the mirror was tossed by the wind to shatter on the floor. He closed his eyes and willed forth the shadow road, turning translucent and blurry as it accepted him. Behind him, the tower collapsed stone by stone, burying the bones and legends it had kept secret for centuries under a mound of ruin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Lightning forked wildly over the city, setting fires, deafening those too close, and killing those it touched. The roars of eager devils in the clouds were joined by the howls of bloodthirsty gnolls waiting for a breach to open in the walls. The hyena-faced brutes' eyes glowed in the tall grass, just beyond the hunters' deadly arrows.
Gargauthan warriors gathered in front of the war wizards among them.
Like armored devils, they watched Morgynn's spellcraft through masks frozen in toothy snarls and leering skull grins. Sheets of rain and icy wind never touched the blood mage within the invisible sphere she'd woven. She hovered inside it, just above the muck and mud.
Morgynn drew her dagger and sliced open the palm of her right hand.
Holding the wound high, she willed her blood to drip freely. The blood was caught by her spell, collecting into a perfect sphere drop by drop. Her breath spun the red orb in place, enchanting and boiling it as she deftly directed the spin with her dagger. The globe grew to the size of a fist, glowing with an inner, flickering light, and she let the sphere rest on the tip of her dagger. Through its glossy translucence, she admired the burning image of the crimson city captured in the spinning globe. "Open them," she told it. "Bring them my blessings." She blew on the sphere and sent it flying. It swelled as it neared the gates, gathering a tail of red flames as it grew larger and faster. She watched as warriors jumped and skipped away from the death she sent to them, abandoning their walls and shouting unintelligible curses. Morgynn imagined she heard swift and whispered prayers as well, but these were only a faint descant above the orchestra of storm, magic, and the pulse of the Weave.