The serpentine shapes sank beneath the surface again, but although the water stilled, the reavers’ latest rampage did not. Again the Magori broke through the front line, this time in great numbers. Taken aback by the intensity of the new assault, the defenders tried to seal the gap as best they could, but the line began to collapse even more. Now those on the edge had to defend from more than one direction.
Lord Broedius stood in the saddle. “Sound second strike!”
After a momentary hesitation, someone sounded two short notes. Aryx had no time to wonder what “second strike” meant, too caught up in trying to watch out for not only himself, but Seph and Delara as well. Aryx worried about both of them, his brother because of his inexperience and Delara because of her continued risk-taking. Twice since she had rescued him he had to save Delara from her own actions as she nearly cut herself off from the shifting line. Aryx feared losing her as much as he did Seph.
Delara glanced his way, favoring him with a look that made him want to blush even in the midst of combat. They fought virtually side by side, their weapons a lethal combination.
“What did Lord Broedius yell?” she called.
“ ‘Second strike’!”
“What does he mean by—” A scythe sword came perilously close to decapitating her, and by the time she dealt with its wielder, the answer arrived in force.
From every avenue, from every street, poured minotaur warriors, General Geryl at their head. Now the defenders’ numbers swelled. Geryl’s swift decision to lead them strengthened the blow they struck. The crustaceans who had broken through attempted to retreat, but what had been a break in the line turned into a box, with the attackers trapped inside. The reavers fought hard, sending many of their adversaries to the grave, but far more Magori perished.
When the last of the underdwellers who had broken through lay dead, the newcomers moved to the forefront. Aryx and the others found themselves pushed back toward the rear of the line. Delara seized the gray minotaur and pulled him back yet farther, well out of reach of the battle.
“Breathe, Aryx! Catch your breath! This may be our only chance!”
“Aryx!” Seph seized his arm. “You’re bleeding!”
He looked down and saw that his brother was right. A long, vicious gash cut across his chest and another alongside his left arm. Only now did he feel the stinging pain of his wounds. Fortunately, for all their vividness, Aryx quickly discovered that neither ran very deep.
Delara nudged Seph aside. “Let me see that. I’ve trained in field surgery.” Not always trustful of clerics, the minotaur race had over the centuries developed the science of field surgery to such a degree that even the Knights of Solamnia had occasionally sought out their knowledge. “You shouldn’t go back into battle without a bandage over that chest wound.”
Seph hooked his axe into its harness. “There’s a well over there. I’ll bring water for all of us.”
Aryx stared at the fierce fighting just yards from them. “But you can’t wait for me!”
“You’ll fight better for the few minutes of rest and the bandage, Aryx. A good warrior knows that. Look around you. Others are doing the same. And if you go headlong back into battle without resting, you know that most of them will follow you, so think of them, if not yourself.”
Although he saw truth in her words, the gray minotaur still cringed inside, thinking that others might die while he stood here. Nonetheless, he tolerated Delara’s ministrations and gratefully accepted the portion of water that Seph passed to him.
A fearsome figure on horseback rode up to them. It was Lord Broedius checking on the wounded. He eyed Aryx and his companions. “Well fought, minotaurs! If only your damnable god would have stayed around and fought as well as his so-called chosen!”
“Sargonnas did as he must!” Delara snapped, momentarily forgoing her efforts on Aryx. “If he is not here, then he is elsewhere, working to save all of us!”
“Or he may be dead. My Lady Takhisis doesn’t abandon her subjects, which is why when this is over, we, her warriors, are destined to be the masters of Krynn!”
“This is hardly the time for theological discussion,” a weary Aryx pointed out. “Lord Broedius, shouldn’t more reinforcements be brought forward? We can’t keep doling them out in pieces.”
The knight’s ebony eyes narrowed. “We’re nearly out of reserves. With so much area to defend, virtually every available minotaur is stationed somewhere, as are my own men. Unfortunately, the two ships of reinforcements didn’t arrive in time, and I doubt they’ll be able to get through now. There should have been more here in the city to use as reserves, but this cursed disease is spreading like wildfire. Since your patriarch’s collapse, the number of cases has escalated, especially just prior to the battle! Worse, several from both our races have fallen since the start from the same illness!”
“Now, why do I find that particularly fascinating?”
“You and me both, minotaur! This plague’s not natural. The cleric thought the fog or our shelled friends might be responsible, and I’m inclined to believe him now. Of course, if we can’t get rid of the fog, there’s no use even thinking about it,” Broedius added, mirroring Aryx’s earlier thoughts. “We just have to keep fighting and hoping!” The knight commander coughed. “And this damned fog is getting thicker again! If only those blasted mages could have come up with some way to push it back, I feel certain that we could—”
A tremor shook the area hard. Pieces of masonry fell from nearby buildings. The knight fought for control of his startled mount and might have fallen if Seph had not seized the animal by the bit. Someone screamed.
“Tremor!” Aryx shouted.
“Tremor?” Delara clutched the nearest wall. “This is no tremor. This is a full quake!”
The Knight of Takhisis got his mount under control. “And damn well timed, by my Lady! This is no natural disaster!”
Aryx had to agree. He recalled the earlier quake and knew that it, too, had been no act of nature. Recalling the gargantuan shapes he had noticed in the harbor, Aryx wondered if they could not only swim but burrow like the Magori.
A horn sounded.
The ebony-eyed knight looked in the direction of the battle. “They’ve broken through again!” Broedius forced his horse around and rode off toward the lines without a word. Several of those in the area followed suit.
The reavers had indeed broken through again … and in several locations. The Magori clearly had been less surprised by the quake than the defenders, fueling the possibility that the force behind them had been responsible for it. To their credit, a group of knights under the command of an officer Aryx suspected to be Drejjen tried to re-form their talon directly in front of the foremost invaders, but, sorely outnumbered, they were soon fighting for their lives. Aryx started to rise, intending to join them whether Delara had finished or not. He could not stand by idly now.
A new tremor rocked the area. Drejjen’s talon fell apart.
The top of the building by which the minotaurs stood began to collapse.
Aryx saw it first. “Look out!”
Delara leapt out of the way. Aryx threw Seph to the side, but the action cost him his balance, and in order to save himself, he had to stumble backward as quickly as he could.
Delara watched in horror as tons of mortar and stone plummeted toward the hapless minotaur. “Aryx!”
His feet slipped out from under him, but Aryx immediately went into a roll, praying to whatever god who might listen that it would be enough. The sky above him darkened as the collapsing wall neared.
A torrent of dust and rubble bathed him as he rolled. Rocks pelted him again and again, stinging bites like those of a thousand bees.
When at last it seemed safe, Aryx rose to his knees. Thick clouds of dust mixed with the fog, making it virtually impossible for even him to see more than a few yards at first. Of the others he could find no trace, but from the direction of the battle lines he heard renewed fury. The Magori had stepped u
p their attack once more, attacking with a ferocity Aryx found hard to believe. Little could stand against the monstrous reavers.
Aryx tried to rise to his feet but found the ground beneath him still too unstable. He heard someone who sounded like Seph call his name, but the voice came from far away. When Aryx tried to shout back, dust caused him to choke.
The clamor from the battle lines continued to grow. Forgetting his companions for the moment, Aryx noticed many figures milling about nearby. If memory served him, the lines should have been farther ahead.
He heard more shouting, above the other voices one that the bedraggled warrior thought he knew. A moment later, General Geryl materialized in the fog, with a band of minotaurs and knights, Drejjen included, surrounding him. With them came a vision that horrified Aryx, a fresh swarm of the Magori, their weapons already bloodied.
He searched for the Sword of Tears, but at first he could not find it. Once again the demon blade had betrayed him at the most critical of moments. Aryx started to curse Sargonnas’s gift, then noticed a faint gleam from under the rubble. Sure enough, the sword lay buried beneath it. The warrior dug frantically, knowing that each second of delay cost his people. At last he managed to free the enchanted artifact.
Aryx held the weapon high, staring at the great stone. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were?”
As before, the Sword of Tears did not answer him. Forgoing any further attempts at questioning, Aryx instead looked around, scanning the area one last time for either Seph or Delara. Far from the battle, he spotted a sword lying in the streets, the feminine arm of its former wielder thrust out of a pile of masonry.
Delara? Despite the carnage around him, he had to know. Aryx started toward the arm, but no sooner had he taken the first few steps when anew tremor struck. He stumbled, only with effort finding support. Aryx found himself facing the desperate defenders just in time to see General Geryl’s horse falter.
The young minotaur cursed himself for a fool. If the body beneath were Delara’s, Aryx clearly could not be of any help to her. No one could have survived such a crush of stone. Geryl and the others, even Subcommander Drejjen, needed his strong arm.
He took a step toward them, but then the ground directly beneath him shifted, the tremors having already weakened it. One of Aryx’s feet sank down as rubble poured over it. Cursing, the warrior tugged on his leg.
A lance hurtled past his shoulder, sinking into the loose stone.
Reacting instinctively, Aryx seized it, pulling it free from the grip of a startled Magori. Recovering, the massive crustacean reached for him, mouth snapping and claws ready to tear Aryx in half. The gray minotaur swung the barbed lance around and thrust. He caught the reaver full in the mouth, ramming the lance in as far as he could.
The clawed hands seized the weapon, trying to pull it free. Aryx suddenly pulled with it, removing the barbed end and catching the deadly reaver off guard. Claws groping empty air, the Magori froze, confused by the tactic. Aryx took advantage, jamming the lance into its throat and finishing off the creature.
As his adversary fell, Aryx saw General Geryl’s horse, already unsteady on its hooves, tumble over, three lances protruding from its side. The minotaur commander fell from his steed but rolled to his feet with incredible dexterity.
One of the knights tried to shield him and received a slash across the back of his neck that nearly severed his head. He collapsed into Geryl’s arms. Geryl put the unfortunate man aside and struck at his slayer, cutting through one eye of the murderous Magori. A scythe sword came perilously near the elderly warrior, but Geryl dodged it, then sunk the blade of his axe into his attacker.
With some effort, Aryx at last freed his leg. However, as he took up the Sword of Tears, yet another shock wave struck. A column of earth thrust upward, and with it went the hapless warrior. Aryx watched the tops of some buildings fall below him. The column abruptly sank again, losing half its height and much of its width. He barely clung on to safety.
If the unseen Coil had caused the quake, then clearly the servant of Chaos cared little whether it destroyed friend or foe in the process. From his unstable perch, Aryx saw three Magori fall through a crack that split open beneath their feet. Another column of earth threw a knight and his mount high into the air.
General Geryl managed to stay on his feet, but a crevice opened up next to him, separating the champion from most of his followers. One of the reavers moved in on Geryl, brandishing its lance. The minotaur officer deflected the weapon, not seeing a second Magori coming up from behind him.
“General Geryl! Behind you!” Aryx’s shout went unheard by the officer. The young minotaur tried to scramble down the column of earth, which had momentarily stabilized. He still had a chance to possibly save Geryl.
He had nearly made it down when the column collapsed entirely, tossing him to the earth like a doll. Aryx struck the ground shoulder first, the wind knocked out of him. For a few precious seconds, the world spun round. The minotaur shook his head, trying to clear his eyes.
As his vision returned, Aryx saw the second Magori raise its sword. At last Geryl noticed his other foe and tried to turn to compensate. Unfortunately, he turned too slowly. The reaver’s deadly blade moved as a blur, cutting through flesh and bone.
The general roared in pain, but despite his horrific wound, he did not immediately fall. Teetering, the veteran warrior threw himself at the Magori who had severed his limb and drove the head of his axe through the unarmored throat. The monstrous invader hissed, grasping futilely at the gaping wound.
A wave of acidic blood rushed over General Geryl, searing his face. He fell on top of the dying crustacean, clutching his burn-wracked features.
The first Magori drove its lance through his back.
Cursing, Aryx stumbled to his feet again. He had no thought but to kill as many of the foe as he could before they killed him. The defenders had failed; aided by the fog, the endless waves of Magori had proven too much even for the proud minotaur empire. Seph and Delara were probably already dead, or else he would have seen them by now. All that remained for him was an honorable death.
“Aryx?”
He whirled toward the sound of the voice, the Sword of Tears wailing. Only at the last second did Aryx recognize Rand, but a Rand such as he had never seen, for despite being disheveled and dirty, the cleric wore about him an aura of silver-blue, an aura that radiated from within the human. It covered him from head to toe, moving as he moved. The sight left Aryx speechless.
The glowing human stepped toward him. “Praise be you still live, Aryx!”
The Sword of Tears suddenly shifted in the minotaur’s grip, pulling Aryx’s hand with it as it sought to embed itself in Rand’s chest.
Secrets
Chapter Thirteen
“No! Not him!” Aryx tried to pull the demon blade back, weariness hampering his effort.
The sword said nothing, straining to reach the human. Rand remained just beyond its reach. Perhaps something had warned him at the last moment. He stood frozen, narrowed eyes fixed on the struggling weapon. The great green stone flared as the Sword of Tears sought its victim.
“No!” Aryx roared again. “You’ll obey me now, or I’ll throw you into the Blood Sea when I get the chance!”
The insidious artifact abruptly ceased its struggle, sending him reeling. Rand, perhaps risking himself more than he knew, quickly reached out to prevent Aryx from stumbling over the rubble. The cleric pulled the minotaur to the side of a battered building, out of sight of the battle. As he touched Aryx, the silver-blue aura around him first flashed brighter, then dulled to nearly nothing.
“Praise be that you are well, Aryx,” the pale cleric said. “And thank you for your effort with that … sword.”
The minotaur glared at the blade, tempted to hurl it down a nearby crevice. Yet despite the sword’s treachery, he knew all too well that he would need it again. Against the Magori, it had proven the most effective weapon so far, although as the strug
gle had progressed, Aryx had wondered at its occasional sluggishness.
Despite their present danger, he finally sheathed it, not wanting again to risk harming the cleric.
“Good to see you’re well, too, human.” He eyed Rand, still seeing the faint aura. “But what are you doing here?”
The thin blond man looked down, almost ashamed. “I have made vows to fulfill some tasks for my patron. They forced me to step back from the battle. In order to try to make up for my lack of participation, I attempted alone what I and the Knights of the Thorn could not accomplish together—ridding us of this choking fog before it weakens us even more.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “And as with the black mages, I succeeded in nothing.”
The clatter of battle continued around them, but although Aryx wanted to return to the fray, Rand’s talk of ridding the islands of the cursed mists caught his attention. He, too, felt that the defenders’ only chance at this point required dispersing the fog, but if neither clerics nor mages could do it, then how could he hope to? “There’s nothing you can do? Not even with the power of Kiri-Jolith behind you?”
“I am not even certain if I can touch upon his power anymore,” Rand replied, eyes hollow. “It has grown steadily worse these past couple days, almost as if he draws distant from his own followers. I have had enough trouble maintaining certain links to others of my faith. Now I fear the struggle the gods face requires all his will, which leaves me nothing more to use. I have no power save hope, and even that is dwindling.”
“No power?” Aryx surreptitiously focused the emerald orb on the human. The silvery blue aura intensified somewhat, although not nearly as much as it had when the cleric had saved him from falling. Still, he wondered how Rand could speak so casually about his lack of power with such a clear indication otherwise. Surely the cleric had to sense the energy surrounding him. What else could it be but magic of some sort? “None at all?”
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