Promise of the Witch-King

by R. A. Salvatore

  The hand, closed into a fist, darted across as a second skeleton approached the wizard. The spell effect slugged the creature hard and sent it flying away.

  “Press on,” Mariabronne ordered. “The keep is our goal—our only goal!”

  But the ranger’s words were lost to the wind a moment later, when Olgerkhan faltered and cried out. Mariabronne turned to see the large half-orc slump to one knee, his half-hearted swings barely fending the clawing skeletons.

  “Dwarves, to him!” the ranger cried.

  Pratcus took up the charge, throwing himself at the skeletons crushing in around Olgerkhan, but Athrogate was too far away and too wildly engaged to begin to extract himself.

  Similarly, Jarlaxle had lagged behind back by the wall. The drow showed no eagerness to wade out into the mounting throng of undead, despite the fact that his companion, though his weapons were ill-suited for battling skeletons, had moved toward the half-orcs before the ranger had even cried out.

  Canthan, too, did not go for Olgerkhan and Arrayan, but instead slipped to one side as the ranger and Ellery turned and went for the half-orcs. Canthan retreated to the position held clear by Jarlaxle. With a thought, the wizard sent his enchanted hand back out behind him, gigantic fingers flicking aside skeletons. It reached Athrogate, who looked at it with some curiosity. Then it grabbed the dwarf and lifted him from his feet. The hand sped him in fast pursuit of its wizard master.

  Mariabronne, Ellery, and Pratcus formed a defensive triangle around Olgerkhan, beating back the skeletons’ assault. Entreri, meanwhile, grabbed Arrayan by the arm and started to pull her away, slashing aside any undead interference.

  “Come along,” he ordered the woman, but he felt her lagging behind, and when he glanced at her, he understood why.

  Arrayan collapsed to the ground.

  Entreri sheathed his weapons, slipped his arm around her shoulders, then slid his other arm under her knees and hoisted her. Slipping in and out of consciousness, Arrayan still managed to put her arms around Entreri’s neck to help secure the hold.

  The assassin ran off, zigzagging past the skeletons.

  Behind Entreri, when a break finally presented itself, Mariabronne grabbed Olgerkhan and ushered him to his feet. Still, when the ranger let him go, the half-orc nearly fell over again.

  “I do so enjoy baby-sitting,” Canthan muttered as Entreri carried the nearly unconscious Arrayan beside him.

  Entreri scowled, and for a moment both Jarlaxle and Canthan thought he might lash out at the insulting wizard.

  “Is she wounded?” the drow asked.

  Entreri shrugged as he considered the shaky woman, for he saw no obvious signs of injury.

  “Yes, pray tell us why our friend Arrayan needs to be carried around when there is not a drop of her blood spilled on the field,” Canthan put in.

  Again Entreri scowled at him. “Tend to your friend, wizard,” he said, a clear warning, as the disembodied hand floated in and deposited a very angry Athrogate on the ground before them.

  “Join up and battle to the keep!” Mariabronne called to the group.

  “Too many,” Jarlaxle shouted back. “We cannot fight them on the open field. Our only hope is through the wall tunnels.”

  Mariabronne didn’t immediately answer, but one look across the field showed him and the three with him that the drow’s observations were on target. For dozens of skeletons were up and approaching and more clawing skeletal hands were tearing through practically every inch of turf across the outer bailey.

  “Clear a path for them,” Canthan ordered Athrogate.

  The dwarf gave a great snort and set his morning stars to spinning again. Canthan’s huge magical hand worked beside him, and soon the pair had cleared the way for Mariabronne and the other three to rejoin those at the wall.

  Jarlaxle disappeared into the left-hand gatehouse, then came back out a few moments later and motioned for them all to follow. Shielded by Canthan’s magical hand, holding back the undead horde, all nine slipped into the gatehouse and into the tunnel beyond. A heavy door was set at the end of that tunnel, which Mariabronne closed and secured not a moment too soon, for before the ranger had even turned around to regard the other eight, the clawing of skeletal fingers sounded on the portal.

  “An auspicious beginning, I would say,” said Canthan.

  “The castle protects itself,” Jarlaxle agreed.

  “It protects many things, so it would seem,” Canthan replied, and he managed a sly glance Arrayan’s way.

  “We cannot continue like this,” Mariabronne scolded. “We are fighting in pockets, protective of our immediate companions and not of the group as a whole.”

  “Might be that we didn’t think some’d be needin’ so much damn protecting,” Athrogate muttered, his steely-eyed gaze locked on the two half-orcs.

  “It is what it is, good dwarf,” said the ranger. “This group must find harmony and unity if we are to reach the keep and find our answers. We are here together, nine as one.”

  “Bah!”

  “Therein lies our only hope,” said Mariabronne.

  To the apparent surprise of Athrogate, Canthan agreed. “True enough,” the wizard said, cutting the dwarf’s next grunt short. “Nine as one and working toward a single goal.”

  The timbre of his voice was less than convincing, and it didn’t pass the notice of both Entreri and Jarlaxle that Canthan had cast a glance Arrayan’s way as he spoke.

  CHAPTER 15

  SPITTING MONSTERS

  The tunnel through the wall was narrow and short, forcing everyone other than Athrogate and Pratcus to stoop low. Poor Olgerkhan had to bend nearly in half to navigate the corridor, and many places were so narrow that the broad-shouldered half-orc had to turn sideways to slip through. They came to a wider area, a small circular chamber with the corridor continuing as before out the other side.

  “Stealth,” Jarlaxle whispered. “We do not want to get into a fight in these quarters.”

  “Bah!” Athrogate snorted, quite loudly.

  “Thank you for volunteering to take the lead,” Entreri said, but if that was supposed to be any kind of negative remark to the boisterous and fearsome dwarf, it clearly missed the mark.

  “On we go, then!” Athrogate roared and he rambled out of the room and along the corridor, his morning stars in his hands and bouncing along. The weapons often clanged against the stone walls and every time one did, the others all held their breath. Athrogate, of course, only howled with laughter.

  “If we kill him correctly, he will block the corridor enough for us to escape,” said Entreri, who was third in line, just behind the dwarves and just ahead of Jarlaxle.

  “There is nothing waiting for us behind,” Pratcus reminded.

  “Leaving without that one would constitute a victory,” said Entreri, and Athrogate laughed all the louder.

  “On we go then!” he roared again. “Hearty dwarves and feeble men. Now’s the time for kind and kin, together banded for the win! Bwahaha!”

  “Enough,” Entreri growled, and just then they came upon a wider and higher spot in the uneven corridor, and the assassin set off. A stride, spring, and tuck sent him right over Pratcus’s head, and Athrogate let out a yelp and spun as if he expected Entreri to set upon him with his weapons.

  As Athrogate turned, however, Entreri went by, and by the time the confused dwarves stopped hopping about and focused ahead once more, the assassin was nowhere to be found.

  “Now what was that all about?” Athrogate asked of Jarlaxle.

  “He is not my charge, good dwarf.”

  “He’s running out ahead, but for what?” the dwarf demanded. “To tell our enemies we’re here?”

  “I expect that you have done a fine enough job of that without Artemis Entreri’s help, good dwarf,” the drow replied.

  “Enough of this,” said Mariabronne from behind Ellery, who was right behind the drow. “We have not the time nor the luxury of fighting amongst ourselves. The castle teems
with enemies as it is.”

  “Well, where’d he go, then?” asked the dwarf. “He scouting or killing? Or a bit of both?”

  “Probably more than a bit,” Jarlaxle replied. “Go on, I pray you, and with all speed and with all the stealth you might muster. We will find adversity this day at every corner—I pray you don’t invite more than we will happen upon without your … enthusiasm.”

  “Bah!” snorted Athrogate.

  He spun around and stomped off—or started to, for barely had he gone two strides, coming up fast on a sharp bend in the corridor, when a form stepped out to block his way.

  It was humanoid and fleshy, as tall as a man, but stocky like a dwarf, with massive fleshy arms and twisted, thick fingers. Its head sat square and thick on a short stump of a neck, its pate completely hairless, and no light of life shone in its cold eyes. It came right at Athrogate without hesitation, the biggest clue of all that the creature wasn’t truly alive.

  “What’re ye about?” the dwarf started to ask, indicating that he, unlike Pratcus and Jarlaxle behind him, didn’t quite comprehend the nature of the animated barrier. “What?” the dwarf asked again as the creature fast approached.

  “Golem!” Jarlaxle cried.

  That broke all hesitation from Athrogate, and he gave a howl and leaped ahead, eager to meet the charge. A quick overhand flip of the morning stars, one after the other, got them past the slow-moving creature’s defenses.

  Both slapped hard against the thick bare flesh, and both jolted the golem.

  But neither really seemed to hurt the creature nor slow it more than momentarily.

  Pratcus fell back for fear of getting his head crushed on a backswing as Athrogate launched himself into a furious series of arm-pumping, shoulder-spinning attacks. His morning stars hummed and struck home, once then again.

  And still the golem pressed in, slapping at him, grabbing at him.

  The dwarf dodged a crossing punch, but the move put him too close to the left hand wall, and the ball head of his weapon rang loudly off the stone, halting its rhythmic spin. Immediately, the golem grabbed the morning star’s chain.

  Athrogate’s other arm pumped fast, and he scored a hit with his second weapon across the golem’s cheek and jaw. Bone cracked and flesh tore, and when the ball bounced away, it left the golem’s face weirdly distorted, jaw hanging open and torn.

  Again, though, the golem seemed to feel no pain and was not deterred. It tugged back, and stubborn Athrogate refused to let go of his weapon and was lifted from his feet and pulled in.

  A small crossbow quarrel whipped past him as he flew, striking the golem in the eye.

  That brought a groan, and a pool of mucus popped out of the exploded orb, but the golem did not relent, yanking the dwarf right in to its chest and enwrapping Athrogate in its mighty arms.

  The dwarf let out a yelp of pain, not for the crushing force as yet, but because he felt a point ramming into his armor, as if the golem was wearing a spiked shield across its chest.

  Then the stabbing pain was gone and the golem began to squeeze. For all of his strength, Athrogate thought in an instant that he would surely be crushed to death. Then he got stabbed again, and he cried out.

  Pratcus was fast to him, calling to Moradin and throwing waves of magical healing energy into the tough warrior. Behind the cleric, Jarlaxle reloaded and let fly another bolt, scoring a hit in the golem’s other eye to blind the creature entirely.

  The drow pressed himself flat against the corridor wall as he shot, allowing Mariabronne an angle to shoot past him with his great bow. A heavier, more deadly arrow knifed into the golem’s shoulder.

  Athrogate yelped as he was prodded again and again. He didn’t understand; what weapon was this strange creature employing?

  And why did the golem suddenly let him go?

  He hit the floor and hopped backward, bowling Pratcus over in the process.

  Then the dwarf understood, as the stabbing blade popped forth from the golem’s chest yet again.

  Athrogate recognized that red steel sword tip. The dwarf gave a laugh and started back at the golem but stopped abruptly and put his hands on his hips, watching with great amusement as the sword prodded through yet again.

  Then it retracted and the golem collapsed in a heap.

  Artemis Entreri reached down and wiped his sword on the fleshy pile.

  “Ye could’ve warned us,” Athrogate said.

  “I yelled out, but you were too loud to hear,” the assassin replied.

  “The way is clear to the keep at the wall’s corner,” Entreri explained. “But once we go through that door, onto the building’s second story balcony, we’ll be immediately pressed.”

  “By?” asked Mariabronne.

  “Gargoyles. A pair of them.” He kicked at the destroyed golem and added, “More, if any are in wait behind the tower’s northern door that will take us along the castle’s eastern wall.”

  “We should lead with magic and arrows,” Mariabronne remarked, and he looked alternately at Canthan and Jarlaxle.

  “Just move along, then,” said the thin wizard. “The longer we tarry, the more fighting we will find, I expect. The castle is creating defenses as we stand and chatter—spitting monsters.”

  “And regenerating them, if the gargoyles are any indication,” said Mariabronne.

  “Looking like a good place for training young dwarf warriors, then,” Athrogate chimed in. “Pour a bit o’ the gutbuster down their throats and set ’em to fighting and fighting and fighting. Something to be said for never running out o’ monster faces to crush.”

  “When we’re done with it, you can have it, then,” Jarlaxle assured the brutish little warrior. “For your children.”

  “Haha! All thirty of them are already out and fighting, don’t ye doubt!”

  “A sight I’ll have to one day witness, I’m sure.”

  “Haha!”

  “May we go on and be done with this?” asked Canthan, and he motioned to Entreri. “Lead us to the room and clear the door for me.”

  Entreri gave one last glance at the annoying dwarf then started off along the corridor. It widened a bit, and ramped up slightly, ending in a heavy wooden, iron-banded door. Entreri glanced back at the group, nodded to confirm that it was the correct room, then turned around and pushed through the door.

  Immediately following him, almost brushing his back, came a fiery pea. It arced into the open tower room, over the balcony. Just as it dropped from sight below the railing, it exploded, filling the entire tower area with a great burst of searing flame.

  Howls came from within and from without. Athrogate rubbed his boots on the stone for traction and went tearing through the door, morning stars already spinning. He was met by a gargoyle, its wings flaming, lines of smoke rising from the top of its head. The creature clawed at him, but half-heartedly, for it was still dazed from the fireball.

  Athrogate easily ducked that grasp, spun, and walloped the gargoyle in the chest with his morning star.

  Over the railing it went, and with a second gargoyle fast following as Athrogate rambled along.

  Into the room went Pratcus, Jarlaxle—wearing a concerned expression—close behind, with Ellery and Mariabronne pressing him.

  Canthan came next, chuckling under his breath and glancing this way and that. As he crossed to the threshold, though, a hand shot out from the side, grabbing him roughly by the collar.

  There stood Artemis Entreri, somehow hidden completely from sight until his sudden movement.

  “You thought I went into the room,” he said.

  Canthan eyed him, his expression going from surprise to a hint of fear to a sudden superior frown. “Remove your hand.”

  “Or your throat?” Entreri countered. “You thought I went into the room, yet you launched your fireball without warning.”

  “I expected that you would be wise enough not to get in the way of a battle mage,” Canthan retorted, a double-edged timbre to his voice to match the double ed
ge of his words.

  The mounting sound of battle inside rolled out at the pair, along with Olgerkhan’s insistence that they get out of the way.

  Neither Entreri nor Canthan bothered to look the half-orc’s way. They held their pose, staring hard at each other for a few moments.

  “I know,” Canthan teased. “Next time, you will not wait to ask questions.”

  Entreri stole his grin and his comfort, obviously, when he replied, “There will be no next time.”

  He let go of the mage, giving him a rough shove as he did. With a single movement, leaping into the room, he brought forth both his dagger and sword. His first thought as he came up on his battling companions was to get out of Canthan’s line of fire.

  Over the railing he went, landing nimbly on the lip of the balcony beyond. Up on one foot, he pointed the toe of the other and slid it into the gap between the bottom of the railing and the floor.

  He rolled forward off the ledge. As he swung down to the lowest point, he tightened his leg to somewhat break the momentum, then pulled his locked foot free and tucked as he spun over completely, dropping the last eight feet to the tower floor. Immediately a trio of gargoyles and a flesh golem descended upon him, but they were all grievously damaged from the fireball. None of the gargoyles had working wings, and one couldn’t lift its charred arms up to strike.

  That one led the way to Entreri, ducking its head and charging in with surprising ferocity.

  Charon’s Claw halted that charge, creasing the creature’s skull and sending it hopping back and down to a sitting position on the floor. It managed to cast one last hateful glance at Entreri before it rolled over dead.

  The look only brought a grin to the assassin’s face, but he didn’t, couldn’t, dwell on it. He went into a furious leaping spin, dagger stabbing and sword slashing. The creatures were limping, slow, and Entreri just stayed ahead of them, darting left and right, continually turning them so that they bumped and tangled each other. And all the while his dagger struck at them, and his sword slashed at them.