by Ed Gentry
Sprinting across the field, Adeenya listened as best she could over the thumping boots and the swishing grass for the telltale whisk of an arrow whirring past. She was certain Jhoqo’s forces would send them flying soon.
Adeenya made her way to the front of her runners, less than a bowshot from the main gate of the citadel. She was waving a soldier on faster when an emerald ray of light lanced through him from her right. His body flaked into ash and scattered in the warm breeze.
“Gods damn it! The tower! Get close to the wall now!” Adeenya ordered. Jhoqo had found an arcanist potent enough to wield the powers of Neversfall tower itself. Her mind raced, wondering what might come next. The damned thing might stand up on huge stone legs and come after them for all she knew.
The scent hit her as she sucked in breath after screaming. The man’s charred remains, meat on a fire, mixed with a scent that reminded her of cleaning agents used by maids in her father’s house. The green ray had cut a swath of grass from its path before it had sliced through the man, leaving behind black marks and the smell of cleanliness.
The soldiers around her held their speed through the discipline of their training. No one wavered from their goal of reaching the front gate, their pounding legs drawing them closer every moment. One soldier near the rear of the pack spat a curse, drawing everyone’s attention to the tower just in time to watch as a small bead of red and orange light coalesced into an enormous ball of fire barreling toward them.
The ball continued to grow in size as it sizzled through the air. Adeenya, and those around her, leaped to the ground and fell flat. Most of the licking flames passed over their prone forms, though several, including Adeenya, did not escape unscathed. Taking no time to look at the fresh burns, Adeenya jumped to her feet and resumed her charge. Her flesh cried out against the pulls and tugs as she ran, but she grunted the pain to the background of her mind and pushed on.
The scent of burnt flesh filled her nostrils and dared her stomach to keep its place. Light flashed in the corner of her eye, followed by a scream from behind her, but Adeenya did not slow, did not turn her head to look.
She reached the front gate, slowing just in time to avoid slamming into it due to her momentum. She stood in the archway of the door, relatively safe from missiles or spells from above. Two Durpari soldiers joined her, and the three began hammering at the center of the doors with the butts of their weapons and hard kicks.
“Out of the way!” Corbrinn shouted behind them. His chest heaving from the run, the halfling closed his eyes and murmured as he laid his hand on the door. Its thick wooden beams began to bend and curve, writhing as though in pain. The wood creaked and groaned, the sound like nothing less than the death knell of some wild animal.
A gap four handspans wide opened in the door. More of Adeenya’s forces arrived, levering their weapons in the new opening, and in moments, the door splintered open wide enough for them to pour through a few at a time. The snarling faces and shouts of the Chondathans within greeted the invaders as they followed Adeenya. She loosed a battle cry and charged at the oncoming line of enemies.
Chapter Twenty-three
The torchlight shimmered off the curved tunnel walls like sunlight on water. The drumming of running feet announced the arrival of the intruders. Taennen rushed toward the cavern where he had found the crates of weapons. He hoped his squad would not get trapped in the confining tunnels before engaging the enemy. As he rounded the final bend in the corridor, his hope was dashed. Twenty paces from the entrance to the cavern, the tunnel walls still hemming them in, two dwarves were running toward him.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, their bulk occupying the width of the corridor with little room to spare. The taller one readied his halberd while the other drew up his shield and axe. Behind them, half a dozen more dwarf and human mercenaries gathered.
The eyes of the dwarf pair went wide when Taennen did not slow his charge, even though the men behind him had stopped. Five steps away, Taennen shouted for his troops to fight hard and punch through the defensive pair quickly. Three steps away, the muscles in his legs, hips, and back tensed before releasing and sending him into a dive through midair. He sailed over the dwarves’ weapons and tucked himself into a roll as he landed. He found his feet quickly, groaning from the impact, but he did not look back.
Taennen swiped at another of the dwarves in the cavern even as the clash of metal on metal began ringing behind him as his troops engaged the duo in the tunnel. His target ducked the blow, tripping in surprise. Taennen disregarded him and rushed at one of the Chondathans. The foreigner was ready for Taennen’s charge and sent a racing thrust toward him. Taennen turned the blade aside with a snap of his shield and sent his own weapon toward the man’s shoulder. The Chondathan parried the blow but too late saw it for the feint it was. Taennen planted a foot in his chest and kicked out. The darkblade stumbled backward, his arms flailing. He had no chance of defending himself as Taennen sprang into him with two cuts that severed his throat.
By the time his troops had felled the taller dwarf behind him, Taennen had killed two men, harried a dwarf to distraction, and started a fight with another. The dwarf, wearing a gleaming suit of armor ornamented with a holy symbol, slammed his hammer into the ground where Taennen had stood a moment before and cried out in rage at the miss. Trying to end the fight quickly, Taennen risked exposing his side, leaning in for a quick slice across the dwarf’s throat. The warrior’s gorget saved him as the khopesh glanced off the steel.
Taennen paid for his boldness as he felt at least two ribs give way under the impact of the hammer’s head. The Maquar leaped back to catch the breath that had been stolen. The dwarf gave him no respite and charged with a battle cry. Taennen sidestepped the dwarf’s trajectory only to stumble into another human darkblade who had been trying to work his way into the fray. The Chondathan tripped in the collision, but Taennen kept his feet and delivered a hard kick to the man’s jaw before readying himself for another charge from the dwarf paladin.
The dwarf stepped around the prone darkblade and into Taennen’s reach. As the warrior drew his hammer back, Taennen fell forward, aiming his shoulder at the ground. The heavy bludgeon sailed over him as Taennen lashed out, his khopesh digging into the dwarf’s face. Taennen hit the ground and rolled to his feet in time to dodge another blow. The gash in the dwarf’s face bled, a river of red on his ruddy face, but if it slowed or pained him much, he did not show it.
Taennen feinted again, and the dwarf obliged with a thrust of his hammer. Taennen easily avoided the blow and sent his blade across the forearm of the dwarf’s weapon hand. His enemy roared in pain, clasping the wounded wrist with his other hand. Taennen did not hesitate, and in two strokes the dwarf fell to the ground, his face unrecognizable through the blood and exposed bone.
Two of Taennen’s soldiers were down—one dead, the other screaming in pain as blood pumped from his stomach. All of the former captives were alive and faring well against their opponents. They worked together, covering one another with dedication. The shorter dwarf with the axe had been dispatched, and Taennen’s troops now engaged other opponents in the cavern.
“Finish them and join our brothers above when you can!” Taennen shouted.
Three soldiers fell in behind him as he ran to where the Chondathan captured by the formians had said he would find an entrance to the citadel. Taennen spied a ladder carved into the stone wall. He raced up the rungs and shoved himself through a trap door to find himself standing in one of the outlying buildings in the courtyard of Neversfall. Without waiting for the men accompanying him, Taennen ran out the door and into the open space of the citadel beyond.
Adeenya shoved the corpse of her first opponent off her sword and twisted her body just in time to deflect the attack of another. The Chondathan held her block and tried to slip his second sword into her abdomen. She skirted out of his reach and stabbed toward him. He parried the blow with one weapon while slicing low at her legs with the other.
The sounds of battle erupted all around as her troops engaged the Chondathans. Her burnt flesh ached for relief, and pain cried out against the constant motion flexing and stretching the skin painfully. Suddenly her opponent dropped, a shortsword in his back. Corbrinn nodded at her and leaped to his next quarry after plucking his sword from the man.
Her next opponent landed a painful thrust on her hip. She stifled a cry and twisted to remove the blade from her body. As she spun, she saw that only seven of her troops had breached the gate, the rest likely dead or severely injured by the magic of the tower. Much of her force was gone, and those who remained were utterly surrounded by the enemy, outnumbered at least four to one. Adeenya growled as her opponent sliced her upper arm with another strike. She returned the attack blow for blow, giving better than she got, but her troops were not faring as well.
Adeenya fought on, convinced the battle was lost, hoping only to soften the enemy for Taennen’s invasion from below. She hoped he was having better luck, but she pushed the thought away as she finished off her opponent with a vicious stroke across his chest.
She faced off against two more before the previous one had even settled on the ground. Adeenya’s arms were made of stone, her muscles fatigued from exertion and blood loss. She felt faint and questioned her eyes when both of her opponents were suddenly yanked backward away from her.
The big formian, Guk, appeared out of nowhere, sending four of the larger formians into the fighting. Two of them ripped and clawed at the Chondathans she had been fighting, the humans already bleeding from fresh wounds. Guk disappeared, leaving his soldiers behind to fight. Where he had gone, Adeenya did not know, nor did she care. The possibility of surviving until Taennen’s forces arrived to meet them in the middle of the battle suddenly seemed real.
Adeenya stumbled forward, strength returning to her limbs as though her newly regained hope was healing her. She stayed on the fringe of the formians, stabbing their opponents where she found openings. The Chondathan body count quickly rose, and the foreign mercenaries came together, tightening their formation to protect themselves.
Guk appeared again, the last two formians beside him. They leapt into the battle alongside their leader. Guk picked up a long axe from the nearby corpse of a fallen Chondathan and drove the weapon into an enemy. The big formian edged around the fighting, picking his attacks carefully.
Adeenya swore aloud when half a dozen more Chondathans came sprinting across the courtyard to join their pressed comrades. Her curse was followed quickly by a shout of elation as Taennen came into view, ahead of the new Chondathan force. Behind him were some of his soldiers. Instead of following him, they turned to face the threat of the oncoming Chondathans, thus segmenting the courtyard into two battles. Adeenya thrilled to see Taennen again, but she kept her focus on the fight before her. She became concerned when Taennen stopped, still some distance away.
Adeenya’s forces had been badly reduced, but she was alive. Guk’s warriors were handling the Chondathans well, rendering the darkblades unconscious when possible instead of killing them. Dead slaves made poor slaves, after all.
Taennen’s legs burned with fatigue, but the battle raged and nothing would stop him. Nothing—except the voice he heard from behind him. Taennen turned at the sound, two words uttered in a booming voice that carried over the din of clashing steel between them.
“My son,” Jhoqo said, standing on the far side of the skirmish.
Taennen glanced over his shoulder at Adeenya before facing the man who had raised him. He sprinted in that direction, a snarl on his face. Jhoqo walked toward Taennen, his steps even and steady. The Maquar urir parted the combatants before him like herd animals, pushing through them with no regard for their quibbling or their blades. His gaze never left Taennen just as Taennen’s never left him. Jhoqo stopped, standing his ground on the near side of the engagement.
Taennen charged at him, recalling the tactics Jhoqo had taught him to guess his opponent’s defense and determine how to penetrate it for a quick kill. If he did not kill the man quickly, he would lose the battle. The image of Jhoqo’s blood spilling onto the brown, dry earth in the early morning haze of rising heat and cresting sun came into his mind. He felt no thrill at the notion, but neither did it disgust him as it once would have. It was necessary to ensure what Taennen believed in—a duty to himself and the others.
The first strike of his khopesh rang off Jhoqo’s armor with a metallic screech, but for the first time Taennen heard only his own voice in his mind with no interference from his father, Jhoqo, Loraica or even Adeenya.
Jhoqo spread his arms out wide and stepped back from Taennen. “Please, don’t do this. You have to know that I love you. You are my son,” the urir said. “I do what’s best for you.”
“Like you loved the men and women who have fallen here? Like you did what was best for Loraica? You killed her, didn’t you?” Taennen asked.
Jhoqo frowned. “No, of course not. She was my daughter.”
Taennen stepped back, wary of the man’s blade. “Your love cost Loraica her life.”
Jhoqo said nothing.
“Who killed her? Whose blade?”
“Marlke. Marlke did it.”
“Then at least Loraica is avenged,” Taennen said. “And your Bascou is dead.”
“I wish I could have seen you fight him. I’ve no doubt I would have been heartbright of your prowess,” Jhoqo said.
Taennen roared and charged the man, lashing out with his weapon, again to no avail. Jhoqo stepped to the side but did not return the attack.
“I love you. You are my son.”
Taennen kept his weapon ready but nodded and said, “I do not doubt that you do, and I am grateful for the man you helped me become. The man who misses his murdered friend. The man who knows that what you’ve done is wrong.”
Jhoqo cocked his head to the side and asked, “Then you intend to kill me yourself? Would Loraica want that? ”
“I do not wish your death, but I understand its necessity now,” Taennen said.
A Chondathan man harried by two Maquar stumbled between Taennen and Jhoqo as they spoke. In a flash of brilliant green light, one of the Maquar turned to ash, his sword dropping to the ground with a rattle. The tower glowed and pulsed with the power that it poured down upon its enemies.
Jhoqo’s eyes narrowed, ignorant of the interruption. “Tell me why it must be that way.”
“Tell me why your former friends and soldiers are dying right now! Tell me why that cursed tower is slaughtering them!” Taennen said.
“It shouldn’t be happening this way. They shouldn’t be dying. But you have given me no choice, so I ask you the same question,” Jhoqo said.
Taennen scowled and said, “We’ve been dying since we came here!”
Jhoqo nodded. “A few deaths, to bring the rest together. Unity has always been my goal,” he said
“More than a few died!” Taennen said.
“It became clear to me that I could not sway as many of you as I had hoped. When Bascou’s men came, I saw in the faces of our own soldiers that they would never see the light and truth. I knew then that more had to be done,” Jhoqo said. “Fear inspires where loyalty cannot. Things needed to escalate.”
“Escalate? Listen to yourself! You sound so … practical about it all,” Taennen said.
“It is for the glory and benefit of Estagund that I do what I do now! I had hoped you would understand too.”
“So you shut me out of your plans? You kept me in the dark to your true motivations? You killed my best friend? A soldier whom you loved?” Taennen asked. “That does not sound hopeful to me. But now that I see your plan, I owe you thanks. Before we came here, I probably would have followed you blindly down whatever path you chose. But now I can see your depravity and save myself from your fate.”
Jhoqo stiffened his posture and said, “You must choose your way as everyone must. The South does not seek unseeing dolts and, as its defender, neither do I. We abound in
mindless followers as it is. I wanted you to choose. I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted your help in righting the wrongs. But you are making the wrong choice.”
“Then you’ve not presented me with one at all,” Taennen said as he began to circle his opponent.
Jhoqo answered the maneuver by moving as well, his head hanging low. “No. You still have a choice and have had all along.”
“Did you give Loraica a choice?” Taennen asked.
“You see the injustices every day, but you choose to do nothing! I am a freedom fighter. I see the inequities and work to right them,” Jhoqo said, ignoring the question.
“Freedom fighter? Fighting for the wealthy merchants who pay you to make them more coin illegally?” Taennen said. “For the chakas who can’t see past their own purses?”
“For everyone!” Jhoqo shouted. “For everyone, son. Philosophies are murky, messy things, impossible to interpret, but the Adama is very clear on one thing: All is one. Everything is connected. You believe that, I know you do.”
Taennen did not respond but lowered his khopesh, even as the screams of dying soldiers rolled in waves through the courtyard. More scorching rays from the tower rained down.
“That’s all I’m fighting for. If our people are allowed to trade with Mulhorand, then they make more coin. They spend that coin at home where more of our people benefit from that spending. It comes full circle, elevating the wealth of the lesser merchants as they sell to the wealthier, thereby spreading the wealth. All around it, our people will be better for it,” Jhoqo said.
“Until they are crushed by the Mulhorandi’s endless war,” Taennen replied. He lifted his khopesh and advanced. “When you became a Maquar you swore to uphold the rajah’s laws. What about those? You’re breaking a law.”