"Fine, except for one thing," Avari said firmly. "I'll go first; if anything nasty is sitting on the other side waiting for us, I'll have a surprise ready."
Shay started to argue, but the rasp of Gaulengil leaving its sheath silenced him. She was probably right: if trouble awaited them, she was likely more capable of handling it.
"Very well, Avari, but remember: any violent action will break the spell, and our rescue of the others will be infinitely more difficult. Do you remember the word of activation?"
"You only made me say it a hundred times, Shay. Yes, of course I remember it."
"Good. Hufferrrerrr, do you have the amulets?"
"Yes, of course I am having the amulets," the leotaur answered in imitation of Avari.
"Good. Now hold out two of them. I will take one, and Avari the other." The two amulets vanished. "Now, place it over your head, Avari, and make a final check of everything. Once we go, we can not return for a forgotten item."
"Everything seems in place, but not being able to see myself doesn't help. I could be naked for all I know."
"I sincerely hope not, for both our sakes," Shay said with a chuckle. "I am also ready. You may say the word of activation when you are ready, Avari. I will follow after a count of ten."
"Just a moment." Shay watched Gaulengil materialize on the ground, then observed the odd scene of the invisible woman giving Hufferrrerrr a fierce hug. "Stay well, Huffer," she said.
"Be resting assured that I am doing so, Miss Avari," he said with a toothy grin. "And also that I will be following you as soon as I am finding someone for to be watching the horses."
"Okay." Gaulengil vanished again. "Ready, Shay?"
"Ready."
"Leksedoiu," she said perfectly. There was a slight pop as air rushed into the space vacated by the warrioress.
"Avari?" Shay called; he received no answer. "It worked, Hufferrrerrr. Farewell. One... Two... Three..."
Avari materialized without mishap, stumbling as her footing changed. She could see nothing in the darkness, but she knew she was in Zellohar. She would never forget that musty, “deep” smell. After a heartbeat she realized that the darkness was not complete, but the lighting very dim. She wanted to wait for her eyes to adjust, but remembered Shay's warning about being clear of the landing area. She squinted into the dark. Before her loomed the black-on-grey of an alcove. Holding Gaulengil in front of her, she inched into the deeper darkness.
A sudden creak and a rush of air warned her that the alcove held a doorway. She had no time to move before something strode headlong into her.
A voice shouted in a strange language, and hands grappled her in the dark. She tried desperately to wiggle free, but to no avail. A metal-clad fist flailed by, missing her cheek by a hair's breadth. She tried to swing Gaulengil, but there was no room, so she settled for a brutal head butt. A resounding clang rang in her ears as her helm contacted with something metal. The grip weakened as green light flooded from Gaulengil's emerald.
Damn it! she thought as she watched her own arm materialize. But her self-condemnation ceased as the light revealed a hideous demon helm grinning at her from only a foot away. Dead white eyes blinked away blood that had splattered up from the owner’s smashed upper lip. With a flash of memory like something out of a nightmare, she reached for his throat, raising her sword to hack the head from Iveron Darkmist.
He shouted a command, but she didn't care. She had him in her grasp, and nothing could stop her from killing him. Then a massive weight struck her aside the skull, knocking her from the darkness into a deeper and even more pervasive gloom.
"Nine... Ten. Leksedoui."
Shay knew instantly that something was wrong. His eyes strained to see in the green glow, while hoarse shouts rang out around him. Towering figures crowded around the light ahead. He flattened himself against one wall, looking on in horror.
Avari lay slumped against a wall, Gaulengil’s gem providing enough light for him to see the dark mass of blood along the side of her face. Her chest moved, telling him that she lived, but not how badly she was injured. Several shapes loomed over her; one prodded her, then began a thorough search of her person.
A commanding voice cut through the din, and the small throng parted to reveal the Nekdukarr, Darkmist. A destructive spell flashed into Shay's mind, but he knew the odds were impossible. He bit back the incantation and managed to control his rage. The Nekdukarr was snapping orders to the tall shapes that Shay now recognized as ogres and two immense rock trolls.
Shay realized what must have happened: the change in illumination from a sunny meadow to the dark keep had betrayed them. The result: one unconscious warrioress.
Shay watched as Darkmist motioned toward Avari, then at her sword. One of the trolls picked up Gaulengil, eyed its keen edge, then sheathed the blade, dousing the emerald's green glow.
He watched impotently as Avari's weapons were removed and her chain mail stripped off, then her body slung over one of the huge beasts' shoulders. Then something drew his attention that nearly made him cry out in anguish. Darkmist had retrieved the woman's pouch and fished out the enchanted diamond.
Why didn't we leave it with Hufferrrerrr? Shay thought. The Nekdukarr grinned in the stark white light, shouted more orders to his attendants, then pocketed the artifact.
Shay's anguish turned to trepidation when his nemesis turned to enter the room while the ogre that carried Avari lumbered in another direction. If he lost sight of the gem, he might never get the chance to recover it, but what if they were taking Avari to be put to death? Leaving her to face such a fate alone was unthinkable. He followed the ogre, hoping that the Nekdukarr would not discard such a prisoner without at least interrogating her first.
The gigantic warthog that served as Grem’s mount snorted and pawed impatiently. The half-ogre jerked its rein, raking the spiked bit into the beast's mouth, and it quieted, blood dripping from its tusked jaws. Grem cared nothing for the pain he inflicted; in fact, the spurs and spiked bit were designed to work the beast into a whirling battle rage.
Grem felt the first tingle of battle lust himself. Glancing around, he grunted in satisfaction; his troops were well hidden, and the human soldiers marching into sight were oblivious.
The column of foot soldiers walked four abreast along the dusty road, led by a single horseman on a white charger. A cavalry contingent brought up the rear, followed by several wagons. The half-ogre smiled at the enemy's foolish deployment. His troops would be dressed in the humans' shiny mail and feasting on horseflesh by nightfall.
Grem fidgeted, but controlled his desire to charge down to the slaughter; he had not reached captain’s rank by being rash. Only when the enemy had advanced to the perfect position did he sound his horn. Crossbows cracked in response to the harsh note, and a volley of fifty bolts shot toward the enemy.
A third of the human infantry were cut down by this first salvo. Grem bellowed his approval, then blew his horn again to signal his foot soldiers to attack. His bloodlust now fully engaged, he kicked his mount into a charge, yelling a harsh challenge.
The enemy ranks were a shambles. The wagons wheeled and clattered back down the road, while the horsemen milled about in confusion, apparently uncertain whether to follow the wagons or fend off the attack. The human archers were more organized, launching a volley of arrows that felled several of Grem’s troops, but the captain cared little; he had plenty of troops, and he was prepared to sacrifice them all for a victory over these arrogant, high-horse humans.
His forward troops—tall jackaleks and shambling wagloks—crashed through the disorganized lines of human foot soldiers. As they overwhelmed the defending ranks, the scene became a confused haze of spattering blood and thrashing arms and legs. In a welter of blood and blades, the humans were trampled into the road.
Grem howled his approval, eliciting a squeal from his mount. The enemy's foot contingent had been devastated. Those still alive seemed stunned by the surprise attack, and the mounted lancers
were nowhere to be seen; the cowards had fled.
"Victory!" he bellowed as his troops waded through the enemy, slashing and hacking at everything that came within reach. Confident of their triumph, Grem sounded his horn and spurred his mount into the fray. His axe beheaded a sniveling human as a low rumble rolled through the air, a vibration heavy with portend: the tremor of approaching hooves.
He jerked his reins and wheeled his mount as forty armored lancers thundered around the bend, charging directly at his troops. Grem laughed and bellowed orders to his bowmen.
“Fire another volley!”
To his dissatisfaction, fewer than a dozen crossbows cracked; most of his bowmen had dropped their weapons to join in the slaughter. Even worse, the bolts that did fly clattered against shields and chain mail; not one found its mark.
Grem howled in anger as the heavy lancers crashed into his troops, breaking the ranks of jackaleks that were guarding the flank. Then the cavalry wheeled and thundered off before his troops could counterattack.
Grem’s bloodlust turned to rage as he bellowed through foam-flecked lips and flailed his axe at his troops. As they finally formed into a reasonable rank, another wave of horsemen thundered around the bend.
"CHARGE!!" Grem screamed. His troops would overwhelm the horsemen with sheer numbers. It would not do to let the humans gain an advantage, no matter how small.
His troops rumbled to the attack, blades flashing in the noonday sun, spears bristling in the fore. Only yards before the fateful clash, however, the armored cavalry skidded to a halt, wheeled in perfect unison and retreated.
"NO!!" Grem roared, enraged at the humans' insulting tactic. They would not make a fool of him! He sounded his horn again and again, beating his troops into a frenzy of bloodlust, urging them to chase down the taunting lancers.
Captain Thallon's green kerchief fluttered from his up-thrust hand as his contingent of cavalry thundered through the point of ambush. The enemy raged a scant twenty yards behind, the long-limbed jackaleks leading the headlong rush of howling fiends. Thallon risked a glance over his shoulder. The ruse was working; the enemy troops were strung out in a chaotic mob.
As he led his lancers toward the end of the kill zone, the captain glanced at the trees lining the roadside, trees which, thanks to the wonders of Feldspar's magic, completely concealed his infantry and archers. The enemy had never even realized that the soldiers they so easily slaughtered were only illusions.
When they passed the marker, Thallon whistled shrilly and pulled his phalanx of cavalry to a halt, pivoting to face the charging enemy. He almost felt a twinge of remorse as he dropped the kerchief and two hundred arrows raked the enemy in a deadly swarm. Shrieks and screams of agony shivered the air as two more volleys cut down the confused beasts. The surrounding forest showed no signs of soldiers; it was as if the killing shafts flew from the trees themselves.
Then a horn sounded and the trees faded into mist. Ranks of warriors advanced from both sides of the road, their shields linked in tight formation. The enemy was caught in a trap identical to its own, but unlike the illusory foe they had defeated, the fell soldiers fought back viciously. They reorganized into defensive ranks as the infantry engaged, even though more than half of their number lay wounded or dead.
Thallon watched with anxious confidence as the detachment of light cavalry crashed from the foliage to cut off the enemy's only avenue of retreat. The horses danced into the fray, allowed their riders to impale foes, then danced back out.
So far, so good, the Captain thought, giving the signal to his second, who sounded a clear two-toned note upon his horn. Promptly, the infantry disengaged and retreated, covered by another flight of arrows. Then, out of nowhere, a searing whirlwind of flame enveloped the center of the enemy force.
“Thank you, Feldspar,” Thallon muttered as he watched the flames subside, leaving the opposing force split, the halves divided by a mass of charred bodies. He lowered his lance and nodded to his second while heeling Gargantua hard.
Another horn call sent the two cavalry detachments charging straight at one another, pressing the harried beasts between the sharpened tips of their lances.
Thallon crashed Gargantua through the first lines of tall but frail jackaleks, his heart pounding in time to the heavy hoof beats. He raised his lance tip to avoid the lesser targets, lowering it to skewer a rampaging waglok. The weapon passed cleanly through the ravening beast, but snapped off as he passed. Yenjil let the weapon go, drawing his sword to hack at the grasping hands and flashing blades all around him.
As the infantry rejoined the fray, fighting waned to pockets of stubborn resistance, which were then decimated by either archery or a separate cavalry charge. Thallon swept the length of the field, lending his blade where needed and shouting orders to chase down those that tried to flee. In an effort to be everywhere and see everything, he did not notice the thrashing mountain of hair, sinew and blackened steel that leapt at him from within one of the shrinking enemy contingents.
"CAPTAIN!"
The scream brought him around in time to see a mounted soldier crash headlong into the attacking beast. The light mount hit the charging warthog and its rider at a full gallop, and the result was devastating. Bones snapped like kindling at the impact, and the horse squealed horribly as the beast's tusks lashed into its exposed belly. The riders crashed to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and steel, but both struggled to their feet.
Thallon wheeled Gargantua and skirted the thrashing bodies of the dying mounts to reach the embattled pair. His soldier had a sword drawn, but the massive figure that opposed him wielded a broad and wickedly serrated axe. One swing snapped the lighter blade like a twig and ripped through chainmail like cloth.
"NO!" Yenjil screamed as his savior crumpled.
A hot flash of pure hatred drove Thallon on. He spurred Gargantua toward the hulking form, even as it turned and raised its axe again. Gar charged on, superb training blinding her to the danger. The blow went wide as Gargantua's broad chest smashed into the hulking figure. The haft of the axe cracked the horse hard on the jaw, but the blade swept beyond the animal's neck, snapping Thallon's sword and cutting a neat crease in his breastplate. The axe caught on the saddle, and was snatched from the half-ogre's hands as the great mount's hooves pounded him into the road. The weapon spun in the air, its heavy black handle striking Thallon in the temple. He crashed to the ground, landing a stride from the fallen rider who had saved his life.
Yenjil stared into Logan's pained eyes, then at the boy's hands clutching futilely at the terrible wound in his chest.
"Cap... tain... I..." Logan gasped, blood flowing from his mouth as he tried to speak.
"No, Logan, don't try to talk," Yenjil croaked, crawling through the bloody mire to the youth's side, lending his own hands to try and suppress the bleeding. "You're going to be all right. Just stay with me. HEALER!!"
"No, Captain... I..."
"You did fine, Logan. Just fine."
The youth's eyes focused beyond him, and for a moment Yenjil thought he had expired, but then his lips moved again.
"Be... hind you!"
Thallon paused, not comprehending, then his throat constricted as he recalled the battle that still surrounded them. He whirled to face the half-ogre he'd just ridden down. One arm was bent oddly, and one eye was crushed into bloody ruin, but the misshapen creature stood, and there was murder in his mien.
"Captain..." the half-ogre rumbled, hefting his recovered axe in his one good hand and stumbling forward. "At least I will have the pleasure of killing you before I am defeated."
Thallon started to rise to meet the attack, weaponless though he was, but stopped as something cold was pressed into his hand from behind. He glanced back to see Logan's dying smile as he handed a broken lance tip to his commander. Then the smile faded, and the eyes glazed.
"Good bo—soldier," Yenjil Thallon murmured between clenched teeth. "Dismissed..."
He blinked hard, then whirled and lun
ged, placing the butt of the broken lance to his shoulder as he drove all his weight into the charge. His opponent gawked in surprise as his axe arced beyond Thallon's head. They collided, for a moment face to face, the tip of the lance protruding from the half-ogre's back as Thallon’s momentum bore the larger figure over backwards. Thallon landed on top, then rolled off.
Amazingly, the creature still lived, though the lance had severed the half-ogre’s spine, rendering its legs useless.
Yenjil crawled to the fallen axe and gripped its black haft. A shiver of revulsion swept up his arms as the evil of the weapon tried to overtake him, but the enchantment was only a flicker against Yenjil Thallon's raging anger. He shook off the effect, and dragged the heavy blade back to the half-ogre.
"So you’ll kill me before you’re defeated? Well," he snarled as he looked around at the dwindling battle, "it looks like you have been defeated, and here I stand with your own weapon." Thallon hefted the broad blade and smiled coldly. "What now?"
"I surrender," the half-ogre croaked with an evil smile. "Your honor won't allow you to kill me if I surrender. You'll have me healed and put me in irons to be taken to some dungeon, where I will live to a ripe old age."
Yenjil shook his head slowly, his lips curling back. "I think not!" A guttural cry of vengeance tore at Thallon's throat as he swung the axe, plunging it downward with a sickening finality.
As Yenjil let the black haft slip from his hands, the fell blade buried in the half-ogre's chest, his conscience stabbed him. Killing a helpless enemy was not like him, but it had felt so... right. He glanced to the axe and shivered, realizing that it must be cursed; he would have Feldspar destroy it. Turning, he spied the lifeless body of the youngest soldier under his command, and sighed heavily; another death on his hands.
The weary captain lifted Logan’s torn body in his arms to carry him away from the carnage. He would not let such an honorable young soldier lay on the same field as the filth he had just disposed of.
Nekdukarr Page 27
