him. Wisps of smoke from the potent acid started from half a dozen places on Geran’s clothing, but also from Rhovann’s. With a muttered oath the elf stumbled back from the seething pool in front of him, waving his hand to clear the air of the acrid fumes.
Geran used the moment of Rhovann’s distraction to turn back on the master stone, raising his blade for another stroke—but a damp gray hand closed on his ankle and yanked him to the floor. One of the incomplete runehelms had seized him and was trying to drag him away. “Damn it, leave me be!” he snarled, and split its skull with Umbrach Nyth. Dark ichor bubbled from the awful wound when he jerked the sword free, but the fingers remained clamped around his ankle, and it took him several precious moments to wrench himself free.
“Geran, smash the thrice-damned stone already!” Hamil shouted from the hallway outside. The halfling darted recklessly from one runehelm to another, dodging halberd blows that splintered the floor and smashed great gouges out of the walls. One of the monsters turned toward Mirya, drawing back its weapon to run her through as she fumbled with her crossbow; with a desperate lunge the halfling bounded over and dug out the back of its knee, sending its thrust aside as its leg buckled. The creature smashed at Hamil with a backhand blow of its great fist; the halfling flew a good ten feet through the air before hitting the opposite wall with bone-jarring force and crumpling. Another runehelm prepared to hew him as he lay stunned, but at that moment a brilliant green ray shot down the hall and struck it in the head. In a bright green flash the iron visor and gray clay disintegrated under Sarth’s magic, and the headless construct sank to the floor.
Battered and bleeding, the sorcerer smiled grimly at the top of the stairway they’d climbed. “I think I have finally determined how best to destroy these creatures,” he remarked. Then he was beset by the remaining runehelms in the hall, replying with a furious barrage of force darts and flame lances.
Fiery pinpricks burned here and there on Geran’s torso and arms where the droplets of acid clung, but he clenched his jaw and made himself ignore the pain. Instead of attacking the master stone directly, he darted clockwise around the great apparatus surrounding it, searching for his foe. Twice now he’d attacked the stone instead of the wizard; it was time to change tactics for a moment. He plunged through a cloud of smoke—Rhovann’s lightning spell had started a fire, it seemed—and found Rhovann only a double-arm’s length away, coming to meet him. Without a moment’s hesitation Geran stepped and lunged, driving his sword point clumsily at the elf’s midsection. Rhovann twisted aside with a sudden oath, deflecting the thrust by slapping at Umbrach Nyth with his silver hand. Sparks flew briefly as the shadow sword and the rune-marked hand met; the elf survived with a long, shallow cut under his ribs.
“Damn you!” Rhovann hissed. He jumped back as Geran recovered from his lunge, and leveled his wand at the swordmage. This time there was no dodging the mage’s fury; Rhovann shouted a spell of thundering power that picked up Geran like a child’s toy and threw him halfway across the chamber. Worktables exploded in clouds of broken glass and wooden splinters; incomplete runehelms were smashed into shapeless putty by the blast. Geran found himself stretched out on the stone floor, covered in debris and the contents of Rhovann’s vats. He groaned and shook his head, unable to stop the ringing in his ears. The room darkened and spun drunkenly as he fought for consciousness.
Slowly, he rolled to his belly and tried to push himself upright. He’d only managed to rise to his hand and knees when Rhovann kicked his sword away from him and leveled his wand in Geran’s face. “Now, at last, we see who is the better,” the mage spat. “Farewell, Geran. We shall not meet again.” He started to form a word of magic—and abruptly broke off into a choked cry, wheeling half around.
A crossbow bolt was lodged high in the back of Rhovann’s right shoulder. Geran glanced toward the workshop’s doorway and saw Mirya standing there, already working her crossbow mechanism for the next shot. “That’s for enchanting me!” she shouted. Behind her, several runehelms whirled away from Sarth and Hamil to charge at her back. She glanced over her