R. Salvatore - Bastion of Darkness

Salazar

TRULY IT WAS a trying moment for Belexus, a pivotal moment in the life of this man who had been a warrior since his earliest recollections, who had trained for all of his life for battle. He had faced whip-dragons and talons by the score, had run into battle with odds a hundred to one against him, had slain a young true dragon, and had faced the wraith of Mitchell, and had done so willingly-so many times staring down the prospect of near-certain death. And always, even in his very first battle, the ranger had done so without hesitation, with a song-to Avalon, to King Benador, to Andovar-on his lips.

But none of those battles, none of that training, and none of the precepts of his warrior code, could have prepared Belexus for this awful moment. Time seemed to stand still, frozen, as the ranger’s thoughts whirled, recollections of every battle replaying in an instant. Everything stopped-the breathing, the heartbeat-and in that awful moment, for the first time, Belexus tasted fear, sheer terror, threatening to hold fast his legs and arms, tangibly weighing down his mighty sword.

Indeed it was a pivotal moment, the truest test of courage. And Belexus found then his warrior’s heart. And Belexus stepped through the terror. And Belexus charged.

He heard the wizard’s voice, though the words did not register, saw the dragon’s reddish hue, horned head rushing forward, maw gaping, spearlike teeth gleaming. With a growl, the ranger set his feet firmly, legs widespread, took up his sword in both hands, and drove a mighty upswing that connected on the dragon’s armored jawline with a screech like metal on metal, white sparks flying from the blade.

The dragon was not biting at Belexus, but at Ardaz: a wizard, obviously, and doubly dangerous to the sensibilities of this creature spawned of Thalasi’s magic. The great wyrm would have had Ardaz, too, and that surely would have been the end of the befuddled Silver Mage, but the ranger’s tremendous blow deflected the angle of the attack just enough, and the massive maw snapped with the crackle of a huge tree splitting just over the wizard’s head.

Belexus’ sword rang on and on, vibrating in his hands, and though he knew that its craftsmanship was superb, he feared for the integrity of the blade.

The dragon recoiled its neck past him, head shooting back twenty feet, like a giant snake coiling to strike, and the ranger recognized that he hadn’t even hurt the thing! He had hit the dragon harder than he had ever hit anything before, and he hadn’t even cracked the outermost scales, hadn’t even dug a deep scratch upon them!

A sharp intake of breath, a huge suction that tugged the ranger forward a step, showed that the next attack would neither be slowed nor deflected by any blade.

“My staff! Oh, grab my staff!” the ranger heard Ardaz cry, and he turned and saw the wizard holding the staff out toward him, both it and Ardaz glowing a soft blue.

Belexus dove. He heard the blasting exhale, the fiery gout, as he caught the staff’s end and fell facedown to the stone. He felt sticky, gooey, as if he had jumped in a vat of thick cream, and in the instant before the flames engulfed him, he noted that he, too, was suddenly glowing that same bluish color.

Then he felt the heat, and saw only the bright orange glow of the flames rolling over him, engulfing Ardaz, and rolling out toward the spirit of DelGiudice, who was standing off to the side and who was not glowing with the wizard’s protective shield. On and on came the searing blast; Belexus could feel the gooey shield thinning, and feared that it would not hold. He heard Ardaz screaming, whether in horror or in pain, he could not tell, and heard, too, DelGiudice’s shrieks. Had the ghost, who had not gotten to Ardaz or the staff, been consumed?

Then it was over, as abruptly as it had started, and the ranger pulled himself up from the soft, molten floor. The burn area did not reach to DelGiudice, Belexus noted with relief, seeing the ghost still standing there, terrified and unmoving. Ardaz was making fast through the molten sludge toward the exit, crying for Belexus to hold fast to his staff.

The ranger plodded to keep up, taking care to get his feet up high before the stone could solidify, thus trapping him in place.

They cleared the edge of the burn area, Ardaz tugging Belexus free of the last grasping stone then urging him on, both of them calling for DelGiudice as another line of fire came forth, licking at their backsides, chasing them right out of the room.

“DelGiudice!” Belexus called, his tone frantic, for the ghost was not with them.

“We have to make it into the narrow tunnel!” Ardaz yelled back, pulling fiercely at his staff, offering no room for debate. “Run, oh, run away! I do daresay, that one’s breath will melt us both!”

He heard them running, calling, and initially thought it prudent to chase after them, to get as far away from this horror as possible. But unlike his first visit here-when the wyrm had been asleep, when he had not witnessed the fiery breath-Del found that this time his sensibilities betrayed him. He knew that he should flee, and yet he could not, held firmly in place by a profound, completely illogical, and completely consuming terror. He winced, his will nearly breaking altogether, when the wyrm loosed another searing blast down the corridor after the departing wizard and ranger.

The dragon started after the pair, but skidded to an abrupt halt, its huge claws screeching on the stone, digging deep lines. The reptilian head swiveled down and about, and lizard eyes narrowed, as if the great beast had just noticed the third of the intruder party.

“Greetings,” Del heard himself saying, and he wondered why.

The dragon responded with typical impatience, sending forth its fires over poor Del. And the ghost screamed-how he screamed!-as the bright flames washed over him, filtered through him, bubbled the very stone at his feet. On and on it went, on and on Del screamed, but his yells diminished before the dragon fires lessened, as his physical sensibilities broke through the barrier of terror and informed him that he was not burning, was not hot at all, that the dragon fire had no effect whatsoever!

He looked up at the wyrm, could hardly make out its horned head through the flaming deluge, and waited, and waited, until at last the fire stream ended.

“Impressive!” Del congratulated.

The sheer power of the outraged dragon’s ensuing roar split stone, and down came the snapping maw. Unsettling indeed was that sight to Del, the rows of spearlike teeth chomping over him, seeming to bite him in half. But again the mouth only closed with a resounding, empty snap, the dragon’s maw passing right through the insubstantial ghost, and when the wyrm lifted its head, Del stood impassively in place, looking up at it.

“Again, I must agree that you are quite impressive,” Del, growing ever more confident now, mustered the courage to remark. “Ineffective, but impressive.”

He nearly swooned at the sheer speed and power of the claw slash, the three-taloned weapon swooshing right through him, screeching off the still-warm stone at his feet, tearing deep jagged grooves.

“You are not real!” the wyrm cried, and Del took note of the slightest hint of distress in its godlike voice.

“Yet here I stand,” Del started to respond, but the dragon was paying him no heed at all.

“What trick is this, wizard?” the wyrm roared. “What distraction?

But you shall not escape! You who dared to disturb the slumber of Salazar shall not live to see the light of day!”

“Oh, and it is a bright day,” Del remarked, for no better reason than to distract the wyrm again, to indeed distract it that his friends might hustle out of the caverns.