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Back to Empire on the HPe3000
... and ...
"Here, it is here." Engenulf was bled white by the spirit hand.
He staggered, still on his own feet, but with each step he wavered more
and more. He tore the skeletal bones from their parasitic grasp and flung
them at a slab of rock, one no different from a hundred others along the
rough hillside.
The hand shattered, an explosion of splintered bone and gallons
of the witans blood, the stone flickered and became clear. A mist
appeared, it wrapped itself in circles, first rising high, then
dropping down, then twisting in a spiral. A spiritual force entwined
with arcane magics, a guiding will that ground against an impersonal
device. There was a howl which could be felt in the giants bones, the
wolves joined in and added an ear-piercing cry to the shrieking grate
as two mystic forces met.
Nosnra clapped his hands against his ears but his body shook and
sweat dropped from his brow, his eyes rolled back showing white, lined
with bloody red. The pain began behind his eyes, his teeth ached deep
each nerve pulsed alive and throbbed, a jagged anguish. Around him the
wolves thrashed and snarled, they whined and snapped, some ran away,
others fell unconscious to the oerth. His giant warriors fared the same,
they did not run, but could not stand. Gosfrith shook upon the ground and
spat white foam out upon his beard. The witan lay still, blood
poured from deep gouges in his wrist and hand. The Hill Giant Chief was
the last upon his feet, he screamed defiance into the starry night, the
pain went on till he could not see, but he would not fall or turn away.
* * *
The door swung open quietly on oiled hinges. Harold darted in
before the rest and nearly tripped over a wooden branch left carelessly
on the floor.
"So what's in here." asked the ranger. "What treasures have you
found."
"Firewood." the halfling laughed "And a staircase leading down."
"Firewood! I could roof a hall with beams such as those." said
Harald pulling at his greying beard.
"Those stairs, we should see what lies below." said Gytha. "There
is nothing here but fuel."
"These aren't stairs, they're cliffs." Harold stood upon the top
stairs edge and peered down. Each step was at least twice his height.
"You can ride on my shoulder. It's an easy drop." said Harald.
"For you, they're as deep as a pit trap to me." the halfling
replied.
Gytha shook her head, impatient with the two friends banter. She
grabbed the edge and lowered herself till she hung with both arms
stretched, dropping only half a foot or so. She walked to the next stairs
edge then sat down. "Are you two coming or should I go alone." she called
to ranger and the thief.
"Well then," said Harold, "give me a hand, we can't let her show
us up."
* * *
The smell of smoke drifted in around the door. Talberth sniffed
and put out his hand. The door was hot, the iron handle warm to the
touch. Dark fingers of smoke crept between the upper edge of door and
frame. They crawled to the roof and danced about, soon joined by a steady
stream, long black tendrils sneaking through the cracks.
Talberth knew fire well, but had no spell but one to resists its
flames, yet it was the smoke which killed. This vast room would fill quick
enough if the hall beyond had been set aflame.
* * *
(To Be Continued)