"So it would seem, dwarf," Phlegothax replied, turning away from the remains. "And so it would seem you speak the truth."
"Well, are ye gonna let that scum get away with killin' yer own mother? Why, I'd roast him to cinders if I were ye!"
"So I have heard of you humanoids," it rumbled, shaking its head. "Such victims of sentiment. This pile of bones is nothing to me. But that does not change the fact that you have told me the truth, and thus, saved my life. I at least owe you—"
"Phlegothax!" a commanding voice barked from the corridor. "What in Mortas' name are you doing in here? And why is that dwarf running free? Guards, restrain that dwarf!"
DoHeney hefted Lynthalsea and bolted for another exit, but huge hands grabbed them before he'd taken five strides. He drew his axe to offer some substantial resistance, but was cuffed upside the head. Rough hands relieved him of his weapons and satchels. Crimson light flooded the chamber as the contents were dumped onto the floor.
"Bring that to me!" the lord of Zellohar commanded as he spied the ruby.
"Be not so hasty, Lord Darkmist," Phlegothax seethed between bared fangs. "You have betrayed me. You seek to use the very gems I have recovered for you to destroy me, as you did my maternal ancestor. This I will not permit."
"What are you talking about? I know nothing of this pile of bones! This dwarf has been filling you with lies."
"One of you is lying, that much is clear." The dragon's eyes narrowed in irritation. "But the proof lies with the dwarf, and I am not one to take betrayal lightly." The dragon moved forward, but stopped when a blinding flood of white light burst forth from a pocket of Darkmist's robes.
"Hold, dragon!" he bellowed. "I already possess one of the gems. And one is more than enough to slaughter even the mightiest dragon."
"Wha—How did you—Ummff!" DoHeney's eyes nearly popped from their sockets at the sight of the enchanted diamond. Did this mean Avari and Shay were captured or... dead?
"As you said before, there is no telling what might result if my magical flame touched one, or even several of the gems." Phlegothax reared back and drew a deep breath, signaling his readiness to release his flames.
"There are only two outcomes to this dilemma, Phlegothax," the dark lord surmised, still holding the glowing diamond aloft. "Either you leave me the gems and go in peace, or we clash and are both destroyed."
A long silence ensued during which neither faction moved, twitched or even glanced aside for fear of the other. Then, finally, Iveron Darkmist spoke.
"Make your choice, dragon! For you know I will not let you leave unless all of the gems are mine."
"Very well, Nekdukarr," Phlegothax hissed, plucking the sapphire from the deep pouch within his cheek and placing the glowing stone carefully on the floor. "Take your enchanted stones and be sure in the knowledge that our conflict is not resolved. Dragons do not forget betrayal, Nekdukarr."
DoHeney's howl of protest rang off the walls as the dragon lumbered from the room. He had, apparently, been misinformed about dragons' interpretations of honor.
Ears ringing from another brutal slap, he watched as the lord of Zellohar Keep placed the four cornerstones one at a time into black leather pouches, then slipped each pouch into its own black silk bag, all of which he tied to his belt. Darkmist shouted orders in a language that DoHeney did not know, and the entire contingent departed for the depths of the keep, leaving the room's occupants to their timeless sleep.
CHAPTER 36
Well, these odds are nothin' to write home about!" Sergeant Kaplan grumbled, adjusting his perch in the saddle. The spear thrust that had unhorsed him the previous day was now only a wide pink scar, but the scar creased a spot particularly tender to a mounted soldier. However, Sergeant Kaplan's major discomfort was not due to his tender backside, but rather the sprawling enemy camp beyond the trees in which the cavalry were hidden.
Beyond the tree line, the open fields were crowded with a warren of enemy troops, tents and equipment. The forward trenches stood well back from the city’s northern wall to avoid arrows. Smaller encampments guarded the eastern and western gates.
"Sarge, look!" his second barked, pointing at the center of the camp. "There it is! Just like the captain said!"
"Aye. Stand ready, lads!" His pre-fight jitters chilled to stark wonder as tremors shook the earth.
In the midst of the main enemy camp, a small hillock rose among the tents. A loud "UUUNNNNFFFFF" shivered the air as rocks and earth flew up. Several tents fell over, and nearby enemy troops scattered in panic. The hillock grew, sloughing dirt and stones as an immense humanoid shape heaved up to crawl free of the earth. The creature was truly gigantic, as wide as it was tall, and it was tall, towering over even the huge rock trolls.
“Eloss preserve us,” Sergeant Kaplan whispered in awe as he watched the being emerge from the earth. It was a rock raver, an otherworldly creature he had heard of only in tales. Thallon had told them what to expect, but the reality teetered on the far edge of belief. “Thank the gods that wizard is on our side!”
Gouts of dirt and stones rained down as the rock raver tore itself free of the earth. As if repulsed by the filth that camped upon its soil, it began flailing its great three-fingered fists at the milling orcs and jackaleks, sweeping them aside like grass before the blade of a scythe. It waded through their midst, stamping and swatting, ripping tents from their mountings and smashing siege engines to kindling. Some of the larger enemy troops tried to stand against the massive thing. One screaming ogre smashed an axe into its back, but the rock raver whirled and grabbed the beast, lifting it and tearing it in half.
The creature of earth raged on, slaying scores and drawing the entire enemy camp's attention. Wagloks and ogres formed a ragged circle around the raver, so that when it advanced, those behind attacked, chipping away at its joints with long pikes. When it whirled, others did likewise, attacking and retreating relentlessly. Finally, a rock troll leapt forward and smashed a spiked club into one of the legs, snapping it off at the knee. The rock raver fell like a tortured cliff of broken shale, thrashing upon the ground as the attackers bashed it into a heap of splintered rock.
"That’s the signal!” Kaplan shouted. “Hard at it, boys!"
Seventy-five mounted lancers thundered out of the trees and across the open field, a single long line of sharpened steel sweeping toward the disarrayed camp. They were halfway to their targets before they were even noticed. The enemy had only seconds to form into ranks as the lethal lances bore down on them. Moments before the line of lancers struck, a horn blasted forth and the charge veered, turning forty-five degrees to the left, crashing into the enemy at an unexpected angle.
Kaplan's lance pierced the screaming maw of a jackalek, and he kicked his mount onward, shouting for his lancers to keep in formation. Attacking at an angle allowed them to rake half the circumference of the camp, and kept the horses out of the tangle of equipment and trenches. Only in the open fields could their full effectiveness be brought to bear.
The gut-wrenching screams of dying horses, men and beasts beat at Yenjil Thallon like the swords, spears and pikes all around him, but he was much too busy guiding their charge to lament the losses.
He gave the signal to disengage, and the cavalry tore along in a line close to the northeast wall of the city. Thallon was careful to direct his troops between two apparently discarded pikes that had been thrust upright into the soil in the middle of the empty field. A dozen yards beyond the pikes, they turned and formed into ranks. Thallon's stomach lurched.
Holy Eloss, where did they all come from? he thought as he saw the horde of fell troops in their wake. He had seen hundreds die moments ago, but now there were even more. He guessed that they had miscalculated the enemy's strength by half.
Damn!! he swore silently. How could we have made a mistake like that?
The answer was revealed when something within the main camp drew his eye. A large tent fell away to reveal a bunkered tunnel. Creatures poured from the orific
e like rats from a flooding sewer drain.
Forcing himself to focus, Thallon looked to the south where the enemy contingent guarding the east gate was now charging toward them; that, at least, was according to plan. He glanced toward the city, but only a few dozen arrows arched from the walls toward the enemy; far fewer than he had hoped for.
Yenjil turned his attention back to the main group of attackers, gauging their speed. When they were fifty yards from the upright pikes, he shouted the signal. A horn sounded, and two hundred arrows raked the charging enemy line. Double ranks of archers materialized from invisibility in front of the horsemen, even as their second flight of arrows flew toward their targets.
Thallon called out, and his cavalry wheeled and charged to the rear, leaving the archers to stand against the overwhelming force. Four more flights of arrows swept the advancing beasts, which had finally slowed and raised shields to ward off the deadly shafts. As one, the archers broke ranks and retreated, firing as they went.
A howl of victory rose from the enemy force, which gained momentum as the arrows thinned. Then the advancing hoard received its fourth surprise of the day. The leaders died even before they knew what had killed them, charging headlong into the ranks of invisible pikemen who had been waiting just behind the archers.
Meanwhile, Yenjil Thallon's cavalry crashed into the much smaller force attacking from the south. They made surprisingly short work of them, but Thallon had no time to celebrate.
As the lancers rode back toward the main battle, Yenjil watched in helpless horror as his strategy broke down. The infantry had fallen back and reestablished their line under the raking fire of the reformed archers, but the miscounted enemy forces were not slowed in their headlong charge. The flame of their morale, fanned by the blood of their own fallen, drove them forward. His infantry were forced to drop the unwieldy pikes and draw swords and shields, beating a hasty and costly retreat to keep from being overrun.
"Kaplan!" Thallon shouted. "Counter the enemy flanking maneuver to the east! I'll get the gate open and we'll get behind the walls!"
"Aye, sir!" the sergeant shouted. Hooves pounded off to ensure the enemy did not envelope the retreating troops.
Thallon raced toward the gate, the emperor's colors flying free from the raised lance of his escort. But when they reached the gate, their welcome was less than warm.
"Open the gate, in the name of the emperor!" he bellowed, removing his helm to glare at the faces staring down from the battlements. "There's a battle to be fought! Open the gate and call out your troops! Together we can crush this filthy rabble!"
"The gate is closed," someone shouted down, "and is to remain closed, by order of Duke Ceryl. If there's a battle to be fought, it's your battle, stranger. We want no part of it!"
"No part of it?" Yenjil Thallon nearly fell off his mount in astonishment. "This is your enemy! The siege on your city may be broken this day, if only you lend a hand! Now by the authority vested in me by the emperor, I demand that you OPEN THIS GATE!!" A glance confirmed that time was short. The enemy was pressing his troops back by sheer force of numbers.
"There was no siege until you arrived, stranger using the emperor's name," the voice wailed. "We were arranging for negotiations when you attacked. The gate will remain closed!"
"Damn you, open this gate or you condemn us all to death!" Yenjil screamed in a pleading rage, but no answer came.
"Captain!" his flagman shouted in horror. He pointed to a breach that had opened in the line of soldiers.
A squad of light cavalry charged in to fill the gap, but the ranks were backing steadily now, relinquishing ground to save lives. The tactic was working, but it was hardly a winning strategy. It was time to disengage from this undisciplined horde.
"Sound recall," he instructed, turning to rejoin the desperate fray. "We've got to get to some cover before we're overrun!"
As the three-tone blast rang out over the field, Thallon said a quick prayer that his contingency plan would work. The archers fell back and fired a rolling volley into the enemy's foremost ranks, aiming dangerously close to the infantry in an attempt to free them of their opponents. As the arrows struck, the foot soldiers disengaged, opening a gap between the opponents like a ripping sheet. Light cavalry roared down the gap to widen it, then Feldspar, who had been hovering invisibly overhead, sent a fiery whirlwind racing along in the wake of the sprinting cavalry.
The lancers and the spectacular fiery whirlwind sped through the gap between the two armies. The enemy withdrew as if being charged by thirty flame-hoofed steeds from Hades. The infantry turned and ran, close on the heels of the archers, and reformed into ranks before the gate.
Thank you, my friend, thought Thallon as he glanced up at the now-visible mage. He flinched as lightning crackled from the midst of the enemy force toward Feldspar. The discharge spattered against an invisible shield that incandesced white and showered sparks down like a burning rain. The wizard soared away to the north, but a darkly clad form rose from among the enemy to follow. Thallon could expect no more support from that quarter.
"We have been betrayed, my soldiers!" Thallon yelled above the crackling din of the charring flesh of the enemy. "Our only hope is to reach the trees and—"
"Captain!" Sergeant Kaplan yelled as his diminished phalanx of cavalry thundered up. Thallon estimated that his lancers now numbered barely fifty.
"We've been cut off!" Kaplan said, pointing his bloody sword at the tree line. "A mob of them jackaleks outflanked us and bolted into the trees. They have lines set up just within the foliage, waiting for us to run into their trap."
"Damn!" Yenjil cursed, squinting at the shapes milling within the thick cover. "Well, I'm open to suggestions, Sergeant. We have enemies on two sides, the unyielding gate of Beriknor behind us, and the bay to the south."
Kaplan surveyed the area, seeing the same grim play of future events that his captain did. Then he took off his helm and smiled.
"Well, sir, I think we'd better let the troops decide this one, bein's it's likely the last choice they'll ever get to make."
"Of course, Sergeant." Thallon removed his own helm and let it fall to the turf.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, eying the newly forming lines of enemy troops through the diminishing flames of Feldspar's whirlwind, "we have a decision to make, and not an easy one. We can surrender and pray that some of us are taken prisoner, and therefore stand a chance of survival. Or we can fight. We can fight and die like soldiers, not in defense of this rabble who have betrayed us, but in the defense of our titles as the Emperor's Finest!"
"So what'll it be?" Kaplan bellowed in a basso profundo that shook the ground. "Do we die as prisoners, or do we die like soldiers, and take this scum of the earth to the Nine Hells with us?"
The resulting roar struck Yenjil Thallon like nothing he had ever experienced, raising his heart from the pit of his stomach to soar into his throat. For a moment even the massed horde of fiends that opposed them quailed at the sound. Kaplan roared with pride, whirling his mount and casting his shiny helm in a perfect arc over the walls of traitorous Beriknor.
"Quickly!" the captain commanded. "Retreat to the wedge of land between the city and the sea! We stand a better chance if we can’t be flanked."
So as the enemy advanced, this time in tightly packed lines that bristled with swords and barbed shields, the emperor’s army stood waiting between the unforgiving walls of Beriknor to their left and the rocky shoreline of the bay's cold waters to their right.
Looks like a good place to die, Yenjil Thallon thought grimly, limbering up his sword and forming his remaining lancers into tight ranks behind the infantry. There was no space to maneuver and no room for tactical positioning. The best they could hope for was to support weaknesses in the line with well-timed charges into the enemy's midst. The chances of returning from such a charge were not good.
As the two forces clashed, Yenjil had one last thought: Well, Avari, my fair warrioress, I hope you fare be
tter than I.
CHAPTER 37
Avari gritted her teeth, trying not to gag at the stench of the ogre that tugged her along by her manacled wrists. She feigned injury, dragging her steps while her mind raced with worry.
If they move me, how is Shay going to find me again? she thought, stumbling to gain a better grip on her chains. If she could jerk the three-foot length of iron links free of the ogre's grasp, it might make a formidable weapon, although the rough metal had already worn her wrists raw again.
Her trepidations ground to a halt when her escort dragged her into an alcove ending in tall doors of dark wood. Avari realized where they were and her heart skipped a beat; this was the alcove she had ducked into after using the transposition stone. A tremor of fear ran up her spine as the ogre pounded on the portal. A word from within, and her lumbering keeper worked the latch. She blinked at the lamplight, then stared in wide-eyed horror.
"Ah, good. My elusive thief has finally recovered enough from her injuries to be my guest."
Avari did not even hear his words. Her eyes were transfixed by the demonic helm, and the dreadful sword that had ended Jundag's life.
"You have no idea how grateful I am for the return of my lost artifact," he continued, rounding the wide desk and approaching to within a few steps. "I must decide on a proper reward for your commendable behavior."
Just a little closer, bastard, she seethed. All I need is one clear shot, and your head is coming right off!
"At least give me some indication that you understand me. I have taken great pains to learn your crude language."
"I... understand..." Avari seethed between clenched teeth, "and I'm going to kill you for what you've done."
"Brave words for someone in chains," he scoffed, turning his back to retrieve something from his desk.
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