shaft
Galaeron rolled Takari to her side and plucked the creature's barb from her back. The wound was already swollen and pestilent Deep in the puncture was something small and round, glowing hot scarlet in Galaeron's dark sight Knowing better than to attempt removing the thing now, he called Ehamond over and pushed Takari into the arms of the battered elf. Take her and go. If we don't follow, make a report.'
'You'll follow,' said Ehamond, glancing toward the strange creature. 'You'd better-who'd believe this if you don't?'
With that, he pulled Takari into a cross-shoulder carry and vanished up the tunnel. Galaeron started to toss the tail barb aside, but thought of what Takari would do and threw the spike contemptuously across the silvery barrier. The creature caught it, then rose a few inches and floated to Galaeron's end of the cavity. Though it was impossible to perceive anything resembling emotion on the faceless thing, Galaeron had no doubt that were it able to attack across the silver barrier, he would be dead.
The creature was still hovering in front of Galaeron when a beam of purple magic crackled through the hole, catching the thing in the back and slamming it against the barrier. It writhed madly, loosing an ear-piercing squeal that sounded like it would bring the roof down.
'Now!' It was the same voice that had filled the tunnel earlier. 'Take up my swords and kill it now!'
The remaining elves reached for their weapons and started forward, but Galaeron did not want them anywhere near the creature. 'Not swords! Magic bolts.' He raised his hand. 'On my count… now!'
Shafts of golden magic began to converge on the creature. Some sank into its stony hide with no effect whatsoever, but most struck powerfully, hurling the thing back into the purple beam, blasting off thorns and pieces of hide. Galaeron's first spell had barely left his hand before he repeated it, firing another flurry of raw magic even as the creature tumbled away from the first. His bolts flashed through the silver curtain and met the beam of purple magic coming from the other side.
The result was not exactly an explosion. There was a flash of a thousand colors and the roaring silence of the void, then a horrid prickling and the bewildering realization that he now lay slumped against the tunnel wall. The air reeked of burning iron, and everything ached. There was a crimson ring on the silvery barrier, flickering and steadily growing dimmer as it expanded outward. On the other side of the curtain lay the strange creature, its body pocked and pitted with blast marks, strips of peeled hide showing long strips of green flesh. As Galaeron struggled to comprehend what he was seeing, the thing rose off the ground and floated over to the barrier, then stuck its head through the smoldering hole.
Galaeron's stomach grew hollow, and his stunned elves began to fill the tunnel with low groans. The huge mouth seemed to smile, then the creature floated the rest of the way through the hole. It plucked an unconscious human off the floor, then delicately pulled off his helmet.
Galaeron forced himself to his feet. 'Stand if you are awake!' he yelled, reaching for his sword. 'Defend yourselves!'
Only a handful of figures stirred, but it was enough to make the creature drop the human. The thing's mouth swung toward Galaeron, shooting a plume of black fog out between its teeth.
There was no time to shout a warning. Galaeron barely managed to close his mouth before the cloud rolled over him, burning his eyes and nostrils and making his lungs cry out for air. The sound of coughing and retching filled the tunnel, anguished and frightened and all too brief. By the time Galaeron could summon to mind the words of a wind spell, half the voices had fallen silent. By the time he actually uttered it and sent the deadly fog whirling down an empty side passage, the rest of the voices were also quiet.
Knowing he would be the next to fall, Galaeron did not fight the terrible rage rising up inside him. Anger bred folly, but it also bred desperate courage and mad strength, and he had seen enough of this devil-creature to know what he needed most He charged after the receding edge of the black cloud, still holding his breath and swinging his sword blindly into the murk. He felt the edge bite once, then inverted his grip and lunged, driving forward with all his strength.
The blade sank perhaps a foot before slowing to a stop. Galaeron dropped to a squat and heard two arms whistle past his head, then he jumped back and saw two more come slicing out of the swirling cloud. He pulled a glass rod from his sleeve. The fog spun away and left the creature's body floating not five paces away, his sword lodged up near its mouth. Hoping a lightning bolt would prove more effective than the rest of his magic, he leveled the rod at the thing's body and started his incantation. 'Not magic,' boomed the deep voice. 'I said swords!'
Galaeron glanced over and saw the swarthy wizard stepping through the barrier, dark robes swirling around him like shadow. The creature whirled toward the human, twenty tiny tongues of flame already crackling on its fingertips. Melegaunt circled his hand, creating a wheel of cold blackness in the air before him, and stepped confidently forward. The flames shot straight from the monster's hands into the shadowy wheel and vanished.
Galaeron was already moving, snatching a black sword from the hands of a fallen human and leaping to the attack. Even with the leather wrapped around the hilt, it was so cold it burned his flesh, instantly turning his fingers numb and stiff. He attacked anyway, bringing the edge down two feet from the creature's tail.
The dark blade sliced through effortlessly, cleaving the tail off cleanly.
The creature shuddered in pain and whirled on Galaeron but stopped when it nearly impaled itself on the dark blade. Galaeron lunged for its throat, nearly dropping his weapon when the thing pulled back and his frozen fingers could not adjust.
Galaeron changed hands. In that instant, his armor grew so hot it began to glow, filling the tunnel with eerie pink shadows and washing out his dark sight. He screamed in agony but rushed forward slashing wildly The creature had no choice except to fall back-straight into Melegaunt Tanthul.
The wizard pushed forward, driving the thing onto Galaeron's blade. It gave the same pained squeal it had earlier, but he could hardly hear it over his own wail. He found the strength to twist the blade and drag it along as he fell.
A pile of green entrails landed on the dust before him, and the creature drifted slowly to the floor at his side. Galaeron screamed and rolled away, fumbling for his dagger.
Melegaunt Tanthul placed a restraining foot on his stomach, then kneeled at his side. 'It's dead. Well done, young fellow. Now hold still.' The wizard passed his hand over Galaeron and spoke some strange magic, and the armor cooled. 'Better?' Galaeron nodded. 'What-'
'No time for talking. There are another dozen on the way.' The man pulled Galaeron to his feet, then gestured at the hole in the silvery curtain. 'And now they can get at us.' Biting back a scream of pain, Galaeron asked, 'They?' 'Later, or well be as dead as everyone else.'
The wizard started to pick his way through the bodies. Elf and human alike, their faces were contorted into masks of anguish, their chins covered with beards of red froth.
Melegaunt stopped beside Shatevar's deflated body and pointed at Vala's legs. 'That one's still alive. Bring her.'
Though the wizard looked capable of carrying his own wounded, Galaeron pulled Vala from beneath the eye tyrant. Much to his astonishment, her chest was rising and falling with breath, just as the wizard had said it would be. Galaeron loaded her over his shoulder and started after the wizard, paying no attention as her black sword dropped silently into the dust.
Melegaunt spun on his heel and pointed at the weapon. 'Her darksword, you fool.' '1 can't carry it.' Galaeron displayed his frozen palms.
The wizard stepped closer, running his gaze over Galaeron's face. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, seeming to notice Galaeron's pointed ears for the first time. 'You can't be of the Granite Tower…'
CHAPTER TWO
20 Nightal, the Year of the Unstrung Harp
In the month of Nightal, the sand winds turned wild and bitter, sweeping in from Anauroch full of stinging grit and stabbing cold. At night, no elf in uncloaked armor could long abide their frigid blasts, yet Galaeron's scalded flesh raged at the extra weight of his thkaerth wool cloak. His hands, still dead and white from touching
