by David Adams
Uesra thought the light more a signal than a distraction, but couldn’t spare the time to wonder if her request had become garbled in translation. Even so, two heartbeats passed before she moved. Whether she would pay for that hesitation in blood would soon be determined.
She dropped and rolled back, rising up before her startled guards could pivot around. They were met simultaneously with the hilts of her two scimitars, their jaws no matched for the hardened metal. They both fell, unconscious.
The distraction Xanar had arranged might have been lacking, but his support wasn’t. Whether or not he had dealt with his own guards Uesra had no way of knowing, but she recognized the arrow that reached the man accompanying the shadowy figure as her brother’s. As quick as Uesra was, Xanar’s shot was quicker, so that before she reached her target, the mysterious being was alone.
Uesra’s intent was to put her sword to the figure’s neck, force him to yield, and then take things from there. As she leaped in, swords flashing, the figure stood motionless. He was either caught totally by surprise, defenseless, or very confident in his own skills.
If Praad had the time and the inclination, he would have admitted that he was, in fact, surprised. He had thought all the minds here sufficiently suppressed that any organized resistance wouldn’t be feasible. The cast spell, although weak, the arrow, and now this person leaping toward him was proof enough that he was mistaken. But he was far from defenseless. He sent a mental blast at his would-be assassin, a crippling wave of psychic energy that often killed, but always dropped the target to its knees, invariably leaving them little more than a shell for a broken mind. Death to those who survived the initial shock usually came as a relief.
This person did not stop, did not even hesitate. The swords swooped in.
Praad was no match for Orgoth in hand-to-hand combat—no one was—but he had, over the long centuries, taken the time to learn about the art from his brother and other teachers. In an instant two swords of flame appeared in his hands, and he parried his attacker’s scimitars as they drove upon him.
Uesra was surprised at the speed with which the swords appeared and were readied, so much so that she changed her plan and actually tried to strike a pair of blows to keep her opponent off balance. Those blows defeated and a counter-attack given, she parried herself, then backed up a step to regroup. She couldn’t focus too much attention on the blazing weapons, but something about them bothered her. She spared them a quick, direct glance, then understood why. The swords appeared to be not metal magically set ablaze, but simply flame in the shape of a sword. No craft she knew of could accomplish such a thing, and she marveled at how powerful the spell must be to allow such swords to stop her own magical blades cold. The hilts, too, were of fire, and did no apparent harm to the thin, bony hands that grasped them.
The flaming swords sprang into action, and Uesra needed all her skill, as well as the magic of Ashtalon and Thellas, in particular, to ward off the blows. The strikes were swift and heavy, a surprise given how frail her opponent appeared. Here and there she got glimpses of his hooded face, ghostly and ghastly, and the numbing chill she had experienced before continued to press upon her.
After a dozen quick attacks he drew back. “You are skilled,” he hissed. “Tragic that it will avail you not.”
“If you could have taken me, you would have,” she replied.
“A female,” he said, ignoring her taunt and responding instead to her voice. “All the better.”
Uesra feinted right and went left, locking one of his swords up with Thellas while Ashtalon drove toward his ribs. He blocked at the last instant and spun away.
The swift motion caused his hood to fall away. Sensing her horror at his revealed visage, he bestowed a gruesome, leering smile upon her.
“Praad,” she said, guessing this must be one of the three brothers, and he the most likely based on what Belzlak had told them.
He tilted his head to one side, studying her. “A rarity that one knows my name, rarer still that one dares speak it.” He sniffed the air while he tried, unsuccessfully, to probe her mind. “I’m sure we’ve not met.” After he received no response, he added, “Where are your manners? Should you not introduce yourself?”
“I’d rather introduce you to the edge of my blade,” she replied as she drove in, high then low.
Praad understood battle well enough to keep his mental as well as his physical balance. But he was annoyed to be at what he considered a disadvantage. He parried Uesra’s attacks, then came back hard and high, purposely going after her head, forcing her to move quickly in several successive motions. He could not penetrate her defenses, but he won a small victory, as Uesra’s hood started to block her vision. She tossed her head back to increase her field of view, and in doing so revealed her face.
Praad gasped with surprise and pleasure. “This explains much. An Ice Elf, yes?”
She admitted it, proudly. “Uesra, by name. May it be the last you hear.”
As she moved forward Praad backed away, content for the moment to simply hold her at bay. He had made a mistake, being so concerned with the paladin’s sword that he had missed the presence of the Ice Elves, minds closed to his usually reliable mental assaults. He guessed, correctly, that the arrow that felled the man near him was fired by one such as Uesra, and he was searching the crowd to prove to himself that he was right, and to see if there were others he might have missed. It didn’t take long to confirm the one with the bow, as he had his hands full trying to ward off a small group of guards. The other prisoners, for now, where doing little other than looking around in confusion, trying to piece together what was happening. It confirmed for Praad that his sway on their minds was still in effect.
Not wanting to back up too far for fear of losing sight of the larger group, Praad decided to hold his ground, and Uesra’s renewed attacks forced him to give her his full attention. She was good, very good. Orgoth would dispatch her easily, of course, and Praad was sure that he could as well, given time, but with other tools at his disposal, he didn’t need to take unnecessary risks. He sent out a pair of powerful mental images that affected everyone in the area, save Uesra and the other Ice Elf. As soon as he did so, chaos erupted.
Xanar found himself suddenly the target of not just a few guards, but everyone in his general vicinity. Why they had gone from only mild interest to all-out-attack in an instant was beyond his understanding, and he couldn’t spare the mental energy to ponder it regardless. It was all he could do to try to keep clear and save his own neck.
Uesra heard the tumult behind her, heard the sound of fast approaching feet crunching the snow. She dove left and rolled, needing to get clear of Praad’s swords and turn about to defend her back. For his part, Praad seemed more than willing to let her do so.
She soon understood why. Half the camp charged her, eyes wide with fear and dread purpose, swords raised. That was bad enough. Worse was that Silas and Barlow, now unguarded, regarded her with nearly the same look. If they had been armed, she wondered, would they be coming for her as well? Like her brother, it was soon all Uesra could do just to defend herself.
A wave of dizziness passed over Darius, a disorientation that caused him to blink his eyes three times and hold his head. With sudden, brutal awareness he found himself no longer crushed under the weight of his own doubts and fears, but rather called to action. Two great demons had appeared in their midst, and whatever had caused those in the camp to turn against the visitors was now forgotten in the fight against a common foe. But Darius did not charge, instead pausing, and not just because he hadn’t been able to grab his sword back at the camp. It was the swirl of his own thoughts that threw off his balance, and even though he could plainly see the two demons, something held him back. Something was wrong, and the harder he tried to push through his own mental fog to figure out what it was, the worse he felt. He finally fell to one knee, and found himself pulling in the frigid air in long, ragged gasps to fight off a growing nausea.
&nb
sp; One of the demons was ducking and diving, using the press of the crowd to what advantage it could. In their eagerness to slay the creature the gathering mob got in one another’s way, and the demon, surprisingly swift for its size, was able to stay clear of the swords, daggers, and other weapons flailing toward it. For some reason it wasn’t casting those nearest aside in its flight, something its rippling muscles indicated it was capable of doing.
Darius tried to steady himself and find his feet as he realized the demon and the crowd pursuing it were heading in his direction, but before he could do so he was staggered by another shock. The demon saw him, and then said, “Darius, I need some help here.”
The voice was Xanar’s.
Darius’ confusion deepened, but even as it did, he could sense his impending recovery. He couldn’t break the spell that had thrown him into despair, the one that played with his senses, but knowing he was under such control helped him regain a measure of himself. He knew evil was about, possibly one of the brothers, and knowing it, he would stand and fight, regardless of how dire the moment or the future seemed. He looked around, right then left, then found what he was looking for, well before the demon reached him. Gripping a sword now, he was ready.
What bothered Uesra—other than the fact that a crazed group of armed men was trying to end her life—was how quickly her attackers had moved against her. They had seemed little more than zombies earlier, mindlessly carrying out their tasks, when without any verbal cue or visual signal they suddenly sprang into action and set upon her. She was sure it was Praad’s doing, though how he had accomplished it she couldn’t say. And she felt these men were pawns in Praad’s game, unwilling participants most likely, making her reluctant to deal out more than superficial damage. They were clumsy fighters, too eager for the kill, and she was able to ward off the blows of those closest to her without too much difficulty. But she was mortal, and eventually she would tire. Praad, watching with obvious delight a safe distance away seemed to know that.
Barlow had gasped when the demons suddenly appeared, and he had to restrain himself from following his former guards as they turned to attack the nearest. He wanted so desperately to help, but without his sword… He stumbled about, looking for Gabriel.
Silas was in much the same situation, feeling naked and almost helpless without his staff. He offered a prayer for deliverance, but kept his eyes firmly on the foe before him.
Adrianna knew her own spells would avail her nothing. She could hardly remember the words needed to cast them. She backed away, but not in fear. Something about the demons was wrong. If she could just put her finger on what it was…
Xanar saw Darius grab a sword. Even with the press of humanity around him, the action brought a smile to his face. Together, they had a chance.
The demon smiled at Darius, almost as if it was glad to see him with a sword, as if it relished the chance for combat. But if that was the case, why did it flee the others? Darius readied the sword and screamed, not just a battle cry, but a protest against the utter confusion in is mind. The demon was right before him, a perfect visual representation of whom he believed his foes to be. But he remembered being tricked before, of seeing things some dark power wanted him to see…
“Darius!” Xanar called again, as his friend roared toward him, ready to kill.
Even over his own shout Darius heard his name, clearly spoken in Xanar’s voice. There was magic at work here, but was it used to mimic a voice or disguise his friend? He had experienced both before, when they had been pursued to the edge of the Auerl Forest, and only there found relief from mental torment. There was no enchanted wood here, though at least two elves were about.
Elves, Darius realized, he could not see. Elves that in number matched the demons.
He flew past whatever it was that was running toward him, having to make an instantaneous decision and knowing if he was wrong it would likely cost him his life. He suspected that if the demon was really his friend in disguise that those in pursuit were seeing the same thing, and so he had no interest in harming them if it could be avoided. He leapt into the air, turning his body parallel to the ground so that he slammed into the three closest in pursuit. As they all tumbled to the ground, another four were tripped up, and even more forced to go around the growing pile.
Xanar watched his friend fly past and throw the mob into disarray. It gave him several seconds, seconds he wanted to use to best effect. His eyes quickly found Uesra, holding her own but hard pressed. He fought off his instinctive reaction to start firing at those around her, calmed himself, and continued to search for a better target.
He found him, off to Uesra’s right, grinning at her predicament, a creature either withered and ruined and yet somehow still living, or else something not of this world. He flinched as Darius called for aid, gathered his focus once more, and fired a shot.
Praad was more stunned by the simple fact that he had been hit than by the exquisite pain. The arrow entered just under his left shoulder and lodged there. Despite the enormous span of time he had practiced his art, such a sudden shock snapped his concentration. The spell was broken, and everyone saw Xanar and Uesra for what they were once more.
A second arrow streaked in, but alerted now Praad was able to bat it aside with one of his flaming swords. He slid behind a tree to give him shelter and a chance to regain control. The wound was painful, the agony hot and delicious, almost enjoyable to a being such as he, but nowhere near fatal. With a pang of regret he realized he would have to sacrifice being able to bring everyone back alive to Kaelesh. He sighed and then quickly sent another mental assault out to everyone in the area, such that anyone they looked at would by appearance seem to be a demon. Inelegant, but sure to cause confusion and much fighting. If he had had time, he would have had each see whatever it was that frightened them the most, a much more effective way to force them to kill one another or to crumble in fear. But he knew the two elves would not be tricked, and he needed to deal with them swiftly, ideally with the help of the humans.
Praad did not get the respite he was hoping for. Uesra was on him an instant after his latest mental suggestion was launched, taking advantage of the hesitation and confusion created when Praad was hit and his psychological hold on the men was temporarily loosened.
Uesra could see the arrow just below Praad’s shoulder, knew he had to be weakened. She switched hands, wanting Ashtalon, which specialized in attack, in her right hand so it had the best opportunity of delivering a telling blow. She pushed as hard as she dared, and then pushed harder, feeling pressed for time, knowing her advantage might not last, unsure what other trick Praad might be preparing.
While some of the men noted Uesra and Xanar transforming from demon to elf and then back to demon, none of Yosh’s band really understood what it meant. Now each saw a demon anywhere they looked, and their reactions varied from being paralyzed with fear and doubt to attacking whoever was close by. Soon a general melee was underway, with no one sure who was an enemy and who a friend. Any that looked Uesra’s way would see only two demons fighting one another, a scene being played out across the area. Praad had indeed created confusion, but any help he might have hoped for in fighting Uesra would be long in coming, and he was under such duress from her assault that he could work no other plan until he rid himself of her, for a time or forever.
Like Uesra, Xanar could see things as they were. The other companions saw the same images as Yosh’s men, but their experience told them that while they couldn’t easily understand who was who, they knew these “demons” were no more than false images. As best as they could, Barlow, Silas, and Adrianna tried to keep out of harm’s way. Darius had a like notion, but having already decided to trust the demon-image that spoke with Xanar’s voice, he followed when beckoned to do so.
“Where are we going?” he asked, reminding himself all the while that the demon he spoke to was his friend.
“To Uesra. She fights against the leader.”
Praad tried to maneuver
Uesra back toward the others, hoping a stray sword might take her, but she would have none of it. She hacked away, and his defenses, though holding, were clearly slowing, especially on his left side where he had taken the wound.
A man with wild, crazed eyes leaped at Xanar as the elf tried to pass around a group locked in combat, knocking him off balance. Darius had gone another couple of steps, then skidded to a stop, realizing he couldn’t pick Uesra out on his own, not easily anyway. As he turned, he wasn’t even sure he hadn’t lost Xanar, as even the elf’s bow was hidden by the disguise he wore, but one demon tried to cleave another with a hard overhead blow, and the second deftly dodged it, whipped a leg around to take the first off his feet, and continued on toward Uesra. Darius followed.
Praad could almost measure how much closer each blow was coming to striking him. As much as he had respected this elf’s fighting skill, he realized now that he had still underestimated her. He let out a horrible, piercing wail, then swung the sword in his good hand with all his might. The elf ducked beneath it, and the blazing sword nearly sliced through the nearest tree. A real blade, driven so deep, would have stuck fast, but this one Praad easily pulled free, moving behind the tree as he did so. He had gotten the time he needed. He sent an urgent call, beckoning all in the area to him. Once he and his opponent were surrounded, he could see to it that Uesra became the center of attention—and of hostile intent. Glancing to his right, he saw two figures racing to his call already, but his pleasure was short-lived. He looked again, and saw one of them was the second elf, and even as he fixed him with a withering glare the elf readied his bow.
Uesra lunged around the tree, trying to skewer Praad.
Praad batted the scimitar aside, then wheeled to fend off the arrow, too late. If he had had two good arms, he might have been able to do so, but he couldn’t recover in time from the last parry made with his good arm, nor move his bad arm quickly enough. The arrow penetrated his chest and punched out of his back, just missing his spine. The blow may or may not have proved fatal, but it mattered not. The shock of the second hit lowered his guard for longer than he could afford against an opponent such as Uesra.
