Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

An idea struck him. On his stomach, he crept to the near end of the stone bridge. He whispered the words of a spell, and his hands began to glow with a magical purple aura. Leaning over the precipice, Morhion reached down, stretching his hands toward the rough underside of the bridge. All of a sudden he lost his balance and slid over the edge. Cracking his body like a whip, he thrust his hands upward. His fingers brushed the underside of the bridge … and dug into the stone as if it were soft clay.

Hanging from his arms beneath the bridge, Morhion gritted his teeth and—thanks to the spell of rock-gripping he had cast—dug his fingers deeper into the stone. Hand over hand he edged forward, first plunging one hand into the stone, then pulling the other out and swinging forward under the narrow stone arch. The chasm yawned darkly beneath his dangling boots, and he forced himself to keep his gaze fixed ahead. His arms began to ache fiercely, and by the time he was halfway across, his shoulders seemed on fire. Over and over in his mind, he recited an old litany of concentration he had learned as an apprentice mage. He did not dare think what would happen if he let go of the stone.

Morhion was startled when he brushed up against a rough cliff face. He had reached the far end of the bridge. Vicious snarls echoed on the dank air. Forcing his throbbing arms to work, Morhion pulled himself upward, heaving his body onto the bridge. Gasping, he leapt to his feet. A trio of gibberlings stood mere paces away. Pointed ears pricking up, the stocky beasts heard him and turned around, their maws gaping ravenously.

Morhion was already moving. He kicked out, planting a boot squarely on one gibberling’s canine face. Short limbs flailing, it tumbled over the side of the bridge and vanished into the gloom below. Another beast lunged for him, only to find the mage’s knife buried in its throat. Morhion pulled the blade free. Squealing, the creature stumbled backward into its companion. In a snarling collision of fur and claws, the two gibberlings fell off the bridge and plunged into the defile.

Morhion looked up. The remaining gibberlings had closed in on Cormik, ready to begin their feast. One beast held his chubby leg in front of its open mouth, preparing to take a big bite. Desperate, Morhion let out a whooping battle cry. Startled by the sound, the creatures turned around, and Morhion found himself facing a hundred long-muzzled faces. For a frozen moment, nothing moved. Then, as one, the gibberlings sprang toward their new prey.

Morhion was way ahead of them.

“Darakka!” he shouted, thrusting his arms out before him. Crackling bolts of purple lightning sprang from Morhion’s fingertips. Yips and howls of agony filled the air, along with the reek of singed fur. The magical lightning dissipated, leaving in its wake a wide swath of dead gibberlings. Morhion wasted no time. He picked his way over the heaps of smoldering bodies and leapt onto the slab beside the quivering Cormik. Those gibberlings scorched but not slain by the spell ran around in circles, snarling and snapping at others in pain and fear. The mayhem gave Morhion a chance to cut Cormik’s bonds.

Cormik lurched to his feet, pulling the apple from his mouth and flinging it away. “I do like food,” he gasped, “but not when I’m the main course.”

Already the gibberlings were recovering from the blast, and some recalled their prey. Morhion slashed out with his knife, keeping several of the beasts from leaping onto the platform. Cormik drew a jeweled dagger long enough to serve as a short sword and plunged it into the belly of another gibberling. It fell howling into the crowd. Instantly, several other gibberlings set upon the creature and tore it apart in a gory feast.

“We’ve got to free the others,” Morhion said urgently, waving his knife at an advancing gibberling.

“I suppose you want me to go,” Cormik complained as he eviscerated another of the creatures. “Very well, but do cover me. And remember, gibberlings don’t like bright lights.”

One of the disgusting creatures clambered onto the slab right in front of Morhion, its open maw dripping saliva. The mage kicked out, shattering its jaw and throwing it backward. Concentrating for a moment, he muttered the arcane words of a spell. A spark shot up from his hand, bursting overhead in a ball of radiance that hovered in the air like a tiny sun.

Immediately, the gibberlings descended into bedlam. The creatures cowered against the light, yowling and whining piteously, frantically running around in small circles. Cormik wasted no time. He hiked up his robe in distaste, stepping on the flat heads of some of the sniveling, prostrate creatures, knocking others aside as he made his way toward the stone cage where Mari, Kellen, and Jewel were imprisoned.

A huge boulder covered the only exit from the prison. “It took a score of them to push the boulder into place,” Mari shouted through a gap in the stones. “We’ll never be able to move it!”

“I wasn’t thinking of moving it,” Cormik replied. Grunting, he picked up a large rock and hurled it against the cage’s stalagmite bars. The thin columns of stone cracked. Face puffed and red with effort, Cormik hefted another rock and heaved it at the cage. This time two of the stalagmites shattered, creating an opening wide enough for the three to scramble through.

“Thanks for getting the door, Cormik,” Jewel said brightly as she climbed out of the cage. “You’re a perfect gentleman.”

“I think I’ve given myself a hernia,” Cormik groaned.

The gibberlings still cowered under the brilliant magical light, and Morhion took the opportunity to climb off the platform. Something crunched beneath his boot. He looked down and saw that it was an old skull. A human skull. Bones were strewn around the stone slab, along with bits of armor and rusted weapons—the remains of past meals. A glint of silver caught Morhion’s eye. Bending down, he picked up a metal cylinder. A wax seal covered one end of the silver tube. Morhion broke the seal, and a curled piece of parchment slipped out. Carefully unrolling the paper, he saw that it was covered with the spidery writing of magic. A wizard’s scroll. The spell inscribed there was not one that Morhion recognized. It seemed to have something to do with … feathers.

“Morhion!” Mari cried out. “The gibberlings are getting used to the light.”

Morhion looked up, shoving the scroll into a pocket of his vest. Mari was right. Shading their beady eyes with clawed hands, some of the furry creatures were climbing to their feet. Others were already shambling forward. Their hunger was stronger than their fear. A few of the braver gibberlings advanced on Mari and the others, gnashing yellow fangs. Hastily, Morhion cast another spell, and a flurry of blazing purple sparks whirled in the air. The sparks quickly sizzled through fur to the creatures’ tender flesh. The gibberlings snarled and rolled, batting their paws against their smoldering pelts. Morhion quickly moved toward the others.

“Duck!” Mari shouted as he drew near.

Without hesitating, he crouched down. Mari swung her short sword, neatly decapitating two gibberlings who had been just about to pounce on the mage’s back.

“We have to get back to the bridge!” Jewel exclaimed, waving a curved dagger to keep a slavering gibberling away from a wide-eyed Kellen.

Morhion concurred, but now dozens of the creatures were braving the light to close in around the companions, and more joined them every second. He slashed his knife at one of the creatures, cutting a mortal gash in its side. In moments the things would overwhelm them with sheer numbers.

“We’ve got to do something!” Mari grunted as she brought her sword down in a slashing arc. Her blow cleaved a gibberling in two, revealing the creature’s inner anatomy, which consisted largely of stomach. Mari slashed again, and Morhion noticed something interesting. Chittering with terror, several gibberlings had scrambled away from a shadow on the cavern wall—Mari’s shadow, cast by the magical sphere of light. He wondered …