Entreri couldn’t help but wince as the gargoyle dived into it full speed.
Any thoughts he had of going to his friend were short-lived, though, and he instinctively dropped and rolled, slashing his sword to fend another of the horned creatures.
Still another was on the ground and charging at him, its limp telling him that it was the same one he had earlier slashed.
Entreri bent his knees and lifted his hips from the ground, arching his back. With a snap of his finely-toned muscles, he flipped himself up to his feet, and met the charge with a sidelong swipe that forced the gargoyle to pull up short.
The second dropped behind him, but the assassin was not caught off guard. He turned as the creature landed, dagger thrusting—not with any chance to hit, but merely to keep the gargoyle back a stride.
Over and around went his sword, right to left, then back left to right, and in that second roll, he had the gargoyle’s eyes and arms following the blade. Back went the sword the other way again, and the gargoyle had to twist even more off balance.
Entreri let the blade go all the way over until its tip was straight down. He turned with it and under it, lifting it and the gargoyle’s arms high. Again the creature tried to twist away, but Entreri’s movement had leaned him in at the creature. He let himself fall at the gargoyle, thrusting his dagger into the creature’s side as he went.
The assassin easily regained his balance, using the weight of the gargoyle to steady his fall. He tore his dagger free as he spun back to face the second, pursuing gargoyle.
Across came the sword, and the gargoyle leaped high, wings beating, to get above it. Entreri let the sword’s opaque black ash flow and he went forward as the gargoyle passed over him. He ducked low under the ash wall and waved the sword back behind him to create a second one.
Even as the gargoyles turned together to consider the puzzle, Entreri burst forth through the veil, sword stabbing right, dagger thrusting left. He cut fast to the right, where he had scored a hit, and came in with a dagger stab to the creature’s gut, followed by a half-turn that allowed him to bash the howling gargoyle’s face with the pommel of Charon’s Claw. He reversed his grip on the dagger as he pulled it free then jabbed it back once, twice, thrice, into the wounded beast.
He leaped forward as if to meet the second gargoyle, his ruse forcing the creature to break its momentum, but Entreri stopped short and whirled, his sword coming across at shoulder level to take the head from the wounded beast.
Entreri let himself fall over backward, timing it perfectly with the renewed approach of the second, which leaped above him as it charged past.
Up he stabbed with his sword, gashing the gargoyle beside the knee, and he rolled back, coming up to his feet behind the creature as it struggled to turn around.
Too slow.
Entreri took the thing in its kidney with his dagger, and the gargoyle howled and leaped away, spinning as it went.
But the assassin was right there with it, Charon’s Claw coming across low-to-high. The gargoyle tried to block and lost an arm for the effort.
It hardly noticed that, however, for the assassin pressed in, his dagger scoring a hit on the gargoyle’s hip. Entreri hooked and tugged as he fast retracted, dropping his left foot far back and pulling the gargoyle forward just a bit.
Close enough for Charon’s Claw. Across came the assassin’s right hand, the mighty sword creasing the gargoyle from face to wounded hip.
It shrieked, an unearthly sound indeed, and stumbled back a step, then another. It tried to beat its wings to lift away, but it was too late for that, and with a confused look at the assassin, it fell over dead.
Bolts of luminescent green flared from Arrayan’s fingers, burning into a charging gargoyle. One after another, her magically-created missiles reached out and seared the creature, and with each, its steps toward her became more unsteady.
Still, watching the woman, Pratcus feared that the gargoyle would rush over her. He shook the sight away—she would have to hold!—and continued his magical casting, leaping toward Olgerkhan as he did battle with two of the creatures, his heavy club smashing at their reaching, clawed hands. Bluish magic flowed from Pratcus and into the large half-orc. Healing energy stemmed the flow of blood from a wound the half-orc had suffered in the first exchange.
A shout from the side turned the dwarf on his heel, just in time to see the gargoyle collide with Arrayan, both going down in a heap. The dwarf leaped in and slugged the gargoyle in the back of its horned head with his mailed fist. He knew even as he connected that Arrayan’s missiles had already finished the job, though. He grabbed the dead thing’s shoulders and yanked it off the woman, then took Arrayan’s hand and tugged her to her feet.
Blood ran freely from Arrayan’s broken nose, but the dwarf had no time for that at the moment. He turned and began his spellcasting, and Arrayan did, too, though her arcane chant was slurred by the blood in her mouth.
Her missiles fired first, reaching out and swerving to either side of Olgerkhan to alternately slam the creatures he was frantically battling.
“Close your eyes!” Pratcus yelled an instant before his spell went off.
A burst of brilliant light filled the area around the battle, and Olgerkhan and both gargoyles recoiled in horrified surprise. Before the large half-orc or Arrayan could question the dwarf’s tactic, however, the purpose became apparent, for the gargoyle to Olgerkhan’s left began flailing helplessly at the air, obviously blinded.
Olgerkhan went for the one on the right instead. He swiped his heavy club across in front of him. As it went out far to the left, he let go with his trailing hand. He rolled the club under his left arm as he continued his swing, bringing it in behind his back, where he caught it again with his right. He rolled the weapon over so that its butt was sticking out before him, recaptured it closer to the leading edge with his left hand, and thrust if forward into the midsection of the leaping gargoyle as he, too, strode ahead.
The devastating impact doubled the gargoyle over, and Olgerkhan stepped away fast and slid his club back so that both his hands were on its handle again. With a roar, the brutish half-orc brought it in a great overhand swipe that cracked against the back of the gargoyle’s head and drove it face down to the ground.
Olgerkhan went for the second gargoyle, and Pratcus was already casting another healing spell for the warrior, when Arrayan yelped and flew forward, hit hard by the head butt of yet another diving creature.
Pratcus turned his attention to the gargoyle standing at his side, of course, but not before noting that Olgerkhan, too, arched his back in sudden pain, though nothing had hit him there. With no time to sort through the puzzle, the dwarf launched a sidelong swipe with his small mace.
The gargoyle caught it by the handle, just under the spiked head, but that was exactly what the dwarf had expected. Pratcus’s muscled legs uncoiled, launching him into the creature, and he let fly a left jab that crunched the gargoyle squarely in the face. That, not the mace, was Pratcus’s preferred method of attack, for he wore heavy metal gauntlets powerfully enchanted for battle.
The dwarf continued to bore in, pressing his face into the gargoyle’s chest. He let go of his mace and began driving his fists one after another into the gargoyle’s midsection, each heavy blow bringing forth a gasping growl and lifting the gargoyle from the ground.
Beside him, Arrayan re-oriented herself to the battle.
A heavy thump brought her attention to Olgerkhan, his club sending the blind gargoyle into a sidelong spin, so brutal was the blow.
Arrayan caught movement out of the corner of her eye and grabbed at her pouch where she kept her spellcasting ingredients. She waved her hand and called forth her magic, and the air above and to the side of Olgerkhan filled with stringy, weblike strands. Arrayan had nothing upon which to set her web, so it didn’t stop the descent of the gargoyle, but by the time the creature hit the ground between her and Olgerkhan, it was all tangled and fighting furiously to pull free of the st
icky filaments.
Its predicament only worsened when a second gargoyle flew past Arrayan, tumbling down at the entangled one’s feet and tripping it up. Right behind that battered form came Pratcus, howling his battle cry.
And Olgerkhan was there, too, driving his club down with heavy chops that shattered gargoyle bone.
Those chops quickly diminished, though, and Pratcus turned to question the large half-orc. The words stuck in the dwarf’s mouth, however, when he realized that Olgerkhan was gasping for breath, exhausted and struggling.
The dwarf eyed him with curiosity, not quite understanding. The warrior had suffered no serious hits, and the fight had barely begun.
Shaking his head, Pratcus could only turn and look for something else to hit.
Entreri wondered why he even bothered to stand up again after yet another roll beneath the reaching claws of a diving gargoyle. He also wondered why in the Nine Hells the warrior dwarf and the thin wizard hadn’t yet joined the fray. He figured that would soon enough be remedied, in any case, as a gargoyle swept down into the wizard’s small tent, tearing through the fabric with abandon.
But the two were not in there.
Entreri’s eyes narrowed as the tent fell away, leaving the gargoyle standing confused before a rope hanging in mid-air. The gargoyle tugged then climbed. Its head and shoulders disappeared into an extra-dimensional pocket.
There was a brilliant flash of flame, and the decapitated body of the gargoyle tumbled to the ground. Out of thin air leaped Athrogate, one of his morning stars smoking.
“Give me the boys and yerself fights the girls,” he roared. “For everyone knows there’s claws in them curls! Bwahaha!”
Entreri prayed that a dozen gargoyles would throttle the little beast.
A pair seemed as if they would do exactly that, soaring down fast, but the dwarf’s spinning morning stars kept them at bay, and a searing bolt of lightning flashed out from the extra-dimensional pocket.
From across the way, Entreri marked that lightning blast clearly, for so intense was the power that the gargoyles were incinerated and thrown away. He saw Canthan’s face peeking out above the rope, and he knew then that the frail-looking wizard was not one to be taken lightly.
A third gargoyle, on the ground, charged at the dwarf, who howled and charged right back. The creature came in and snapped its head forward to gore with its horn, but Athrogate leaped and similarly head-butted, forcing an impact with the creature’s forehead before it could bring the horn in line.
Dwarf and gargoyle bounced back, both standing staring at each other, and seeming as if on shaky legs.
Athrogate yelled, “Bwahaha!” again, snorted and launched a wad of spit into the gargoyle’s face.
“Mark ye with spit so I know where to hit!” he cried.
The dwarf went into a sudden spin, coming around with a leading morning star that crunched against the stunned gargoyle’s face. The creature’s head snapped back. Its arms out wide, the gargoyle arched its back and stared up at the dark sky.
Athrogate twisted his torso as he continued his spin so that his arms were on the diagonal, and his second morning star’s spiked head came in on the gargoyle descending from on high.
The creature jolted down and seemed to bounce, and it appeared as if it would just fall over.
The dwarf was taking no chances, though, or was just enjoying it all too much. He put the weapons in tighter alternating spins above his head, slamming the gargoyle several times, driving it back, back, until he finally just let the dead thing fall to the ground.
“Bwahaha!” the dwarf yelled as he charged in the direction of Pratcus and the two half-orcs.
He cut back suddenly, though, his heavy boots digging ruts in the ground.
Entreri shook his head and started the same way, but he pulled up as the dwarf halted and turned around. He knew what had gotten Athrogate’s attention, and a lump appeared in his throat as he watched a quartet of gargoyles diving at the drow’s globe of darkness.
“Jarlaxle!” he cried.
The assassin winced as the gargoyles disappeared into the impenetrable shadow.
Howls and screams, shrieks of pain and bloodthirsty hunger, erupted from within.
Entreri found it hard to breathe.
“Get there, dwarf,” he heard himself whispering.
CHAPTER 13
THE LIVING CASTLE
Pratcus could tell that the half-orcs beside him were faltering, and he frantically cheered them on with both words and prayers. He called upon his god to bless his allies and sent waves of healing magic into them, sealing their wounds.
But still they floundered. Arrayan threw out bursts of destructive magical energy, but her repertoire fast diminished, and many of her magical attacks were no more than cantrips, minor spells that inconvenienced an enemy more than they truly hurt it. No one could question the determination and bravery of Olgerkhan, standing strong as rock against the current of the gargoyle river—at least at first. Eventually the large half-orc seemed more a mound of sand, cracking and weakening, his very solidity seeming to lessen.
Something was wrong, Pratcus knew. Either the pair was not nearly as formidable as they had initially seemed, or their strength was draining far too quickly.
The gargoyles seemed to sense it, too. They came on more furiously and more directly, and Pratcus fell back as one crossed over Olgerkhan, the half-orc’s sluggish swing not coming close to intercepting it, and dived at the cleric.
Pratcus threw his hands up defensively, expecting to be overwhelmed, but he noticed the gargoyle jerk awkwardly, then again. As the dwarf dodged aside, the creature didn’t react but just kept its current course, slamming face-first into the ground.
Pratcus’s eyes widened as he noted two feathered arrows protruding from the dead gargoyle’s side. The dwarf scrambled to the northern lip of the hillock and saw his two missing companions battling furiously. Ellery guarded Mariabronne’s flank, her mighty axe cutting great sweeps through the air, taking the reaching limbs from any gargoyles who ventured too near. With the warrior-woman protecting him, Mariabronne, the legendary Rover of Vaasa, put his great bow to deadly use, sending lines of arrows soaring into the night sky, almost every one finding its mark in the hide of a hovering gargoyle.
“I need ye!” Pratcus yelled down, and the two heroes heeded the call and immediately charged the dwarf’s way. Even that movement was perfectly coordinated, with Ellery circling around Mariabronne, protecting his rear and both flanks, while the ranger’s bow twanged in rapid order, clearing any enemies from before them.
They joined Pratcus not a moment too soon, for Olgerkhan was near to collapse. The half-orc, down on one knee, barely managed to defend himself against a gargoyle that would have soon killed him had not Mariabronne’s arrow taken the thing in the throat.
Beside the large half-orc, Arrayan, her spells depleted, stood with dagger in hand. She slashed wildly, her every movement off-balance and exaggerated, her every cut leaving openings in her defenses that any novice warrior could easily exploit.
Ellery leaped to Arrayan’s side as the gargoyle bore down on the half-orc woman, its arms out wide to wrap her in its deadly embrace.
That momentum halted when an overhand chop put the warrior-woman’s axe head deep into the gargoyle’s chest.
Arrayan fell back with a squeal, tripping to the ground. Ellery noted a second creature’s approach and tried desperately to tear her axe free, but it got hooked on one of the dead creature’s ribs. Ellery reached across with her shield to fend it off but knew she was vulnerable.
The gargoyle’s shriek was not one of hungry victory, however, but of pain and surprise, as a pair of arrows knifed into its chest.
Ellery managed to glance back and offer an appreciative nod to Mariabronne.
The ranger didn’t notice, for he was already sighting his next target, bow drawn and arrow ready to fly.
Beside him, Pratcus breathed a sigh of relief.
Ath
rogate could not get to the globe in time, and Entreri watched helplessly as the four gargoyles disappeared into the darkness. Howls and shrieks erupted immediately, a flurry of claws slapping at flesh and a cacophony of opposing screeches, blending and melding into a macabre song of death.
“Jarlaxle,” Entreri whispered, and he knew again that he was alone.
“They do make a mess of it,” remarked a familiar voice, and Entreri nearly jumped out of his boots when he noted the dark elf standing next to him.
Jarlaxle held a thin metallic wand tipped with a ruby. He reached out and spoke a command word, and a tiny pill of fire arched out at the globe of darkness.
Noting the angle of the fiery pea and the approach of Athrogate, it seemed to Entreri almost as if the drow was tossing it to the roaring dwarf. Entreri thought to yell out a warning to Athrogate, but he knew that his call could do nothing to deter the committed warrior.
The pea disappeared into the darkness.
So did the dwarf.
A burst of flame lit the night, erupting from the globe, and when it was done, the darkness was gone and six gargoyles lay smoldering on the ground.
Athrogate ran out the other side, trailing wisps of smoke and a stream of colorful curses.
“Tough little fellow,” Jarlaxle remarked.
“More’s the pity,” said Entreri.
Across the way, Canthan poked his head out of his extra-dimensional pocket and watched the goings-on with great amusement. He saw Ellery and Mariabronne charge to the aid of the dwarf cleric and the two half-orcs and was distracted by the roar of Athrogate—that one was always roaring!—as the dwarf bounded toward a globe of darkness.
It was a drow’s globe, Canthan knew, and if the dark elf was inside it, the wizard could only hope the gargoyles would make fast work of him.
A familiar sight, usually one leaving his own hands, crossed into his field of vision, right to left, and he backtracked it quickly to see the dark elf standing beside Entreri, wand in hand.
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