James Davis - The Shield of Weeping Ghosts

Down again, he choked on dust, fighting for air. A boot crushed his wrist. Shadows screamed in his ear as the Breath was pried from his fingers. Growling, he rolled and swung his axe, but the nimble Ohriman easily leaped out of the way, the Breath in his possession.

Amidst crumbling walls and howling spirits, Bastun got to his knees, shaking with fear and pain. More of the ceiling crumbled as Ohriman dodged left and right, making his way to the only exit.

Where is your breath?

His master's lesson took on a more ominous meaning as he raised his hands and began casting. The magic came quickly, calming his nerves as he resolved himself to what must be done. His hand shot out, emerald energy gathering as he aimed for the ceiling above the doorway.

A thin green line of light shot from his fingertips, cutting through the stone and destroying any support it had left. Bits of debris fell first, giving the tiefling pause before the ceiling disintegrated and caved in. Ohriman fell back as rock and dust covered the path, sealing them inside. He turned around, madness in his eyes at the realization that they were trapped, then spied the open door behind Bastun.

Bastun followed the desperate logic: the smaller room might provide some protection from the collapsing ceiling of the armory. He didn't pause in his casting to consider that safety just yet. The Weave flowed around him as he took up his axe and stood before the small room. One way or another, the Breath would remain buried.

Ohriman charged, intent on bowling him over, but Bastun's spell finished first. Several chunks of stone floated from the floor around him, spinning and whirling. He sent the first flying toward Ohriman's legs. The tiefling dodged, but the movement slowed his rush to safety. Before he could recover, Bastun hurled the rest all at once, his will directing their flight.

One smashed into Ohriman's temple, bloodying his face. The next slammed into his shoulder, spinning him, but he continued to move forward. Then one struck his chest, and another his stomach, knocking the wind from him and doubling him over. The tiefling stumbled forward, gripping his stomach and baring his teeth as he drew closer.

The ceiling between them buckled with another impact, but Ohriman kept moving. Seeing the Breath so near again,

Bastun allowed himself a brief moment of hope and gambled on an idea. Straining, he focused his spell on a heavy stone. Lifting it into the air, he sent it flying in a wide circle, slamming into Ohriman's back. The tiefling fell just before the crack in the ceiling gave way.

Amidst the chaos of noise, Bastun noted the loudest of the stones' grumblings yet. The entire structure shook, and it seemed only a few scant breaths remained before they were buried. Crashing to the ground, Ohriman's grunt of pain was lost as a shower of stones thundered into the chamber. Dislodged from the tiefling's grip, the Breath clattered to the floor near Bastun's feet. Scooping it up quickly, Bastun backed away as Ohriman leaped to his feet. With the last of his spell, Bastun closed the door to the weapons room and leaned against it. Hearing the latch click, he stood resolutely as Ohriman closed the distance, sword flashing barely a stride away. Bastun held his breath and reached back to brush the door handle.

The trap sprung as quickly as before.

Freezing cold burst around him, showering Ohriman in shards of ice and bone-chilling wind. Cuts split the tiefling's face, and he raised his hands against the spell, dropping his sword and slipping to the ground where the magical cold formed thick ice around his legs. The mysterious fever burned across Bastun's flesh, painful but protecting him against the ward's icy breath.

Pushing the door open, he ducked inside the room as the ceiling buckled with a final groan of weakening rock. Ohriman fought to free himself, frozen to the floor as the tower gave in to collapse.

The old metal door slammed shut, and Bastun pressed himself against it, keeping as close to its frame as possible. Tons of stone thundered down in the central chamber, crashing against the door and rattling his teeth. Weapons shook from the walls, clanging to the floor. Cracks appeared to either side of him and he shoved the Breath into his belt.

Reaching into his pouches he retrieved a pinch of sparkling dust. Whispering the spell quickly, he felt his skin harden and grow thick. A gray discoloration spread over his hands and arms, giving them the look of iron.

The entire room shook, and he prayed to the Three as the stone above him split. Debris bounced off his shoulders and arms, the spell protecting him for now, but he hoped the magic would not have to contend with much more.

The back of the room collapsed in a cloud of dust and the door broke from its frame, leaning against the ruin outside. Stones and rock fell for what seemed like forever, until the light from his axe-staff was all but completely obscured. An image (lashed through his mind-himself lying buried for years in rubble, clinging to the Breath as he was dug free. Screams hid behind the chaos of destruction and, thinking of the spirits, he feared he might actually witness his own exhumation.

The rumbling faded, walls groaning as the structure adjusted to the collapse.

Laying against the door, he stared up into a new darkness. The chamber outside was gone, the weapons room half-buried, leaving him in a small space filled with dust and rock. He listened to each creak and pop in the settling stone, waiting to be crushed at any moment. His shoulder suddenly ached, the wound remembered after the chaos.

Afraid to move, he endured the pain a little longer, resting his aching body, and took slow breaths as the dust settled, waiting to see if the Shield would bury him as it buried all its secrets.

What did you do to her?" "What had to be done."

Thaena's head hurt. Noises seemed too bright and, as she tried to open her eyes, light seemed too loud. Duras was a blur, leaning over her, holding her shoulders. She heard his voice, knew his touch. Her relief was bittersweet as she remembered where they were.

"She's coming around," she heard Anilya's voice from somewhere to her left.

"Thaena," Duras said, "can you hear me?"

She coughed. Her throat was dry and aching from the cold. Duras pulled her up slowly. Her head swam, as if she were still swaying and turning in the fangs of a giant skull. He held her in a sitting position as she waited for the nausea to subside. His grip was strong, fierce, and warm.

"You are welcome, Rashemi," Anilya said before turning away.

"Duras," Thaena croaked, then cleared her voice. "What did she do?"

"I don't know," he said, bringing a waterskin to her lips. "It doesn't matter now. You're fine. The bleeding has stopped."

She ran a hand along her thigh where the bone-beast had bitten her. Fearing her leg would be gone, she was surprised to find smooth skin, clean and whole, albeit a little numb. She drank more of the water and held her arm out to Duras, who carefully raised her to her feet. Finding her balance, she felt refreshed. Her leg had no pain. In fact her entire body, once aching and bruised, seemed restored.

Looking around she found the chamber empty and quiet. Only the faint sound of the wind outside and her own breathing disturbed the silence. Bones lay scattered around the floor as before, but now they were broken and splintered beyond what time had done to them. Raising her eyes to the high balcony, she felt the heavy silence. There were no arrows to fall or archers to loose them. All were gone and swallowed by shadows.

"We are trapped here?" she asked, afraid of his answer.

"We checked the rest of the tower," he said, his voice low and bordering on grim. "Every floor below this one has collapsed."