Lightning erupted from her hands, but what should have been a contained burst instead manifested as huge, jagged bolts that sizzled from her flesh and raised the hair all over Icelin’s body. Stalactites rained down from the cavern ceiling as the lightning tore through them. Loud cracks and pops filled the air, and amid the chaos came the wizard’s scream. Lightning had burned through his spell shields all at once.
“Icelin!”
Ruen’s voice came to her distantly, through the blue blur of the electrical storm. “Stay away! All of you get away from me!” She screamed and bent double, clutching her stomach to try to rein in the spell, but the lightning came from everywhere: her hands, arms, and chest. Smoke rose around her, and even the blood from her wound took on an eldritch blue radiance.
Gods, I’m bleeding magic now, Icelin thought. The smell of charred flesh filled her nostrils, making her gag. She prayed that only the drow wizard had been killed by her lightning. But what if it wasn’t his burning flesh she smelled? What if Ruen had gotten too close?
It was too much. Icelin’s legs gave out, and she fell, curling into a ball on the cavern floor. She stopped fighting the sleep poison, let it cloud her mind and numb her limbs. Sparks burst in the air, bright pops in front of Icelin’s eyes, but the storm appeared to be dying down. The poison might even be helping to calm the lightning storm of magic. Icelin never thought she’d be grateful to the drow for that favor.
Her eyes drifted closed, and when she opened them, Ruen and Garn were leaning over her. Obrin stood behind them, keeping watch. They were alive, their flesh not charred and stripped away by lightning. Icelin almost couldn’t think beyond her relief, but then she saw Ruen’s face. It was a tight, pale mask, his eyes wide.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Slowly, Icelin sat up, aware of Ruen’s arm at her back, supporting her. “I think so,” she said. It was mostly a lie, but she didn’t want to worry him more. A hollow sensation had taken over her body, a lightness, as if she’d been emptied of all her energy at once. Right now, she was a shell. The sensation would pass but not quickly. Her arm ached, and the poison still coursed through her, but Icelin thought she could walk if she had to.
“Damn impressive sight,” Garn said, chuckling. “You burned that wizard to a crisp, girl.”
Well, at least I made someone happy, Icelin thought. A lump rose in her throat, but she couldn’t even cry. Maybe the magic had burned the tears out of her too.
Obrin lifted his axe and gave a sudden cry. Icelin tensed, but then she realized there was no alarm in the dwarf’s voice. His cry had been one of greeting.
“Is everyone all right?” called a voice from across the river.
Icelin turned. On the opposite bank, torchlight shone through a narrow tunnel, the place where Garn had been leading them before the attack. A cluster of dwarves stood at the tunnel mouth.
“You said to wait, and I waited, now let me through, damn you all!”
The familiar, grumbling voice made Icelin tremble with relief. Sull broke through the group of dwarves, but finding no bridge across the river, he paced back and forth along the shoreline.
“Are you all right, Icelin?” he called to her. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“Hurt her?” Garn said. “Did you see that lightning storm?”
Ruen’s hand clenched into a fist. Icelin wished Garn would stop sounding so damned pleased. “We’re fine, Sull,” she said, offering the butcher a weary smile. “We came to rescue you.”
“We heard the fightin’ and got here just in time to see the light show, but these two wouldn’t let me go to you,” Sull complained, pointing to a pair of female dwarves. The taller of the two was fair-haired, and the other had mahogany braids similar to Obrin’s. They both had axes identical to Obrin’s and Garn’s hanging from their belts, down to the three black horns. Echoes of Garn’s features showed up in the women’s faces, though only faintly in the fair-haired one.
“Are those your sisters?” Icelin asked Obrin. The dwarf only grunted, but it sounded to Icelin like an affirmative.
“We came back when we heard the fighting. We were worried those two were giving you trouble,” said the dark-haired dwarf woman in Common. “I see it was the drow instead.”
Obrin said something sharp, gesturing with his axe toward the tunnel mouth.
“He’s right,” Garn said. “This isn’t the place to talk. Wait until we’re home.”
“Agreed,” said the fair-haired dwarf, also speaking in the common tongue for Icelin, Ruen, and Sull’s benefit. Apparently, Obrin was the only one of the Blackhorn family with an objection to using Common. “We’re all tired from the journey down.” Her eyes met Icelin’s as she spoke.
Icelin didn’t argue. Sull was safe, and for the moment, at least, it seemed the dwarves meant them no harm. If there were more drow lurking about, she wanted to get somewhere safe as quickly as possible. Then they would determine the dwarves’ intent.
The fair-haired dwarf moved to the edge of the river and picked up a stone. Bringing it to her lips, she spoke a phrase in Dwarvish then cast the stone into the river.
A faint rumbling sounded from deep beneath the water, echoing in the cavern. One by one, stones rose from the river, stained dark by water and algae. They hovered above the river, fastening together to form a rough footbridge.
“Watch your step,” Garn advised, leading the way across the bridge.
Obrin followed him, and Icelin and Ruen came last. Ruen was still soaking wet from his dip in the river, but he never missed his footing on the slick stones. Not for the first time as she scrambled over the rocks was Icelin grateful that she’d abandoned her linen dresses in exchange for breeches and sturdy boots.
When they were safely on the other side, Obrin took up a position at the rear of the group and Icelin, Ruen, and Sull fell into the middle of the group of dwarves.
Icelin threw her uninjured arm around Sull for a hug. When Sull’s familiar warmth enveloped her, Icelin felt some of the emptiness inside her filling up. She tried to push the fractured images of the lightning storm and the smell of burning flesh from her mind.
“What did you do to get yourself captured like this?” Icelin demanded of Sull in mock sternness. “You should have been able to escape those two.” She pointed to the dwarf women.
“Not just the two,” Sull protested. “All four of them came on me at once, said I’d desecrated their burial grounds while I was diggin’ through a mint patch. I told them we weren’t lookin’ to disturb the dead; we were after that Arcane Script Sphere.”
“I see,” Icelin said, patting his arm. “What was their response?”
Sull’s face screwed up in dismay. “They all drew their matchin’ axes and said I was comin’ with them. Once they had me underground, they were goin’ to send a group back to capture you two, assumin’ you didn’t come after us.”
“Since you did come, it saved us the trouble,” Garn said.
“What Sull told you is true. We didn’t come here intending to desecrate your burial grounds,” Icelin said. She hesitated, remembering what Garn had said earlier. He knew what they sought. “This isn’t about that, is it? It’s about the Arcane Script Sphere.”
The dwarves exchanged glances. A flutter of emotions passed between the siblings and their father. The moment passed quickly, and the fair-haired dwarf turned to Icelin.
“We can’t speak of the sphere, but we do believe you intended no harm to our burial grounds,” she said. “I’m Joya. My sister is Ingara. Sull told me your names-Icelin and Ruen.”
“Our thanks to you both for aiding my father and brother against the drow,” Ingara spoke up. She had a rougher voice than Joya, and her gaze was direct. “You might have taken that opportunity to gain the advantage over them, but you didn’t.” Obrin shot his sister an annoyed glare, but Ingara merely laughed. “We can’t afford to spit in the face of aid against the drow, Brother.”