Tilda looked across at Zeb, his bow ready on his lap, and nodded. They both leaned out and shot. Tilda at least thought she hit a hob in the leg through the open balustrade, but both had to duck back as another volley struck around them.
The air tore like parchment and lightning arced across the room, striking among the archers who screamed and roared. Nesha-tari stood at the head of the outer circle of stairs, beige cloak flapping around torn shirt and trousers and a grim smile on her face. Tilda peeked back around the pillar and saw the archers were no longer an issue. But there was trouble under the catwalk, where Shikashe and Heggenauer had been forced to yield ground. John and Amatesu had gotten one of the double doors shut but several of the hobgoblins in heavy splint mail poured into the chamber before the ex-legionnaire joined the samurai and Jobian holding the rest back in the hall. Amatesu dove on one of the hobgoblins before it got very far, clubbing it in the head, but three more broke from the melee and started banging down the stairs toward the archers on the dais.
Zeb had no time to reload his crossbow and snatched his axe from his back. He barked, “Stay behind me!” as he stepped toward the charging trio.
Tilda shot one in the head before it made the bottom of the stairs, then drew two throwing daggers from her vest and cast both. Her right-armed throw was better but the blade skipped off a hobgoblin’s helmet. The other at least stuck in the creature’s knee, toppling it howling to its side. The third charged up the stairs at Zeb until realizing it was alone, at which point it stopped and blinked at the man with the axe. Tilda took the moment to snatch up her bow and an arrow, and shot it in the face.
Zeb turned to Tilda with his eyes wide. “Maybe I’ll stay behind you.”
Deskata whistled sharply. He, Shikashe, and Heggenauer had driven the mass of hobgoblins back into the hall before breaking off the fight, and Amatesu slammed the second of the double doors behind them, locking them with a hobgoblin axe dropped into braces. There were perhaps a dozen hobs scattered around on the floor, lying still, bleeding out, or merely bleeding and crawling away. No more had appeared on the catwalk above.
“It is clear! Pull out!” Tilda called, and the party turned to run around under the catwalk back for the hall by which they had entered. Tilda nocked an arrow and backed away more slowly, still eyeing the catwalk. Zeb slung his axe and scampered back for the crossbow he had left on the floor.
Zeb was beside Tilda when he passed between the two horn-like pillars, and Tilda cried out and dropped to the floor as the two posts suddenly rang like a massive tuning fork, filling the room with a booming throom of sound she could feel in her bones. Tilda grimaced and looked around wildly, but there was no sign of Zebulon Baj Nif to be seen.
*
One step between the pillars took Zeb from the stone floor atop the dais into snow nearly two feet thick on the ground, and whipping through the air. He stumbled and plowed into the stuff head first, sliding a drift down his chest through the neck hole of his ring mail. His face was buried as well, which at least muffled the profanity.
He snapped his head up but could barely open his eyes as the wind was sharp and icy, and he began to shiver as he was in no ways dressed for the weather. Zeb rolled to a seat and looked back, and thought he dimly saw the outlines of the platinum horns behind him against the whipping wind and night sky. Then suddenly both were illuminated, and Zeb saw that though the shapes were the same, these were two great tusks rising out of the snow on the ground, more massive then those of any pachyderm of which he had ever heard.
Zeb turned around again the see where the white light was coming from, his teeth now chattering and face feeling numb. A figure stood some distance away, tall and bundled in heavy robes of thick animal skin. One sleeve flapped loose in the wind for the figure had but one arm, held high above its head to raise a staff. Bright white light shone from the staff, and threw sharp shadows across the snow from a second figure struggling toward Zeb. This one was dressed the same as the first, bundled in heavy furs, yet its gait seemed to be that of a woman despite the fact that it was made awkward by a pair of snow shoes strapped to her feet.
She was almost on top of Zeb before he could hear her voice over the wind. She was shouting his name.
Zeb tried to rise but it was difficult in the loose snow, and he did not manage it until the woman arrived beside him and hooked her hands in mittens under his arms. She picked up his axe and thrust it into his numbing hands.
“Who are you?” Zeb shouted, for he was actually more curious about that at the moment than he was about his location.
With the light coming from behind her Zeb could not see the woman’s face in a deep fur-line hood, plus she had a snapping scarf wrapped around most of it. She leaned in close to shout by his ear, but not an answer.
“No matter what you see, do not linger! Turn, and flee through the gate!”
“The say what now?”
The woman leaned back and pulled down her scarf. Zeb could still hardly see her as his eyes were tearing up and the lashes had begun to freeze together. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“Turn and run through the gate!” she shouted, then shoved Zeb hard in the chest with both hands.
*
The echo of the tuning-fork buzz lingered in the great round chamber. Uella had squealed and clapped her hands over her ears, falling backwards off the balustrade of a high balcony near the top of the tower, where they had moved for a better view of the fighting on the floor. Poltus winced and hissed, and Balan shuddered in the soft silk of a fresh smoking jacket.
“That was unexpected,” he muttered.
The monkeys on the floor below converged on the dais, where now only the dark-haired Miilarkian girl stood, shouting a name. The others scrambled up to join her and she started shaking the Circle Wizard by the front of his robes. Balan could not hear her words from the distance, but she was screaming. Booms echoed through the chamber as the hobgoblins began to beat on the barred door.
“What the hell was that?” Uella demanded.
“Trouble,” Balan said.
Several of the monkeys shouted at the Miilarkian in alarm, but she produced a dagger in either hand and hopped between the two platinum pillars flanking the Node space. Nothing happened. She hopped back the other way, and nothing happened that time either.
“The gate is not fully open,” Poltus said, sounding relieved. Balan did not share his emotion.
“Give it a minute.”
*
Zeb stumbled backwards between the pillar tusks on the tundra, wind-milling his arms and almost hitting himself in the face with his axe. Then he hit the ground with a grunt, and soft, dewy grass tickled the back of his neck.
He was on his back beneath a blue sky supporting fluffy white clouds. He sat up, snow crunching inside his armor, but it was pleasantly warm here. He was in the woods, tall trees all around him with white trunks and verdant branches moving on the soft breeze. Water burbled somewhere nearby. Standing stones stood among the trees under the boughs, irregular gray rocks with yellow flowers blooming around them. Their polished faces were carved with lines that looked to Zeb like the old runic alphabet of ancient Danoric, the mother tongue of his native Minauan. For a moment, Zeb thought he was going to cry, though he could not imagine a reason why he would, for this was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. It felt like home and Zebulon Baj Nif, born a Warchild of the Riven Kingdoms, had never felt that feeling before.
There were two tree trunks directly in front of him, stripped of branches though they still looked alive. They were bowed wide in the middle and the tops were sharpened points, like tusks.
Do not linger. Run through the gate.
Zeb did not want to leave this place, but he did what the strange woman had told him. He had not seen her face but for some reason he thought he had known her, and he trusted her completely.
*
“Somebody do something!“ Tilda shouted, then she jumped as the pillars rang a second time
. Zebulon Baj Nif barreled out from between them and neither had time to do anything but widen their eyes before he slammed into her. They went down in a pile and almost slid off the top of the dais before Brother Heggenauer knelt and stopped them against his leg.
“Tilda?” Zeb blinked down at her. His helmet was gone and his hair was wet. Cold water dripped off his nose and onto Tilda’s.
“Get off!” Tilda hissed at the couple hundred pounds of Minaun and ring mail on her chest.
He did so with a helpful yank on his collar from Shikashe, who hoisted Zeb to his feet. Claudja helped Tilda to hers, and as Zeb stood up facing her a chunk of wet white material Tilda was unfamiliar with plopped to the floor from under his armor.
“Is that snow?” Amatesu asked.
“Uh. Yes. I think so.”
Shikashe frowned behind Zeb, reached out and tugged something off his ring mail. The samurai held several blades of deep-green grass between his fingers.
“What happened to you?” Claudja asked. Tilda was glad she did, as she wanted to know but was still trying to get her breath back after Zeb had nearly collapsed her rib cage.
“I think I went somewhere else,” Zeb said, his eyes wide and wondering. “A couple of places, actually.”
Tilda and some of the others turned to look at the Circle Wizard, but Phoarty only shrugged and shook his head.
“I’ve got nothing,” he said. “Really.”
Nesha-tari cleared her throat, and the doors barred against the hobgoblins shuddered under a heavy impact.
“We should go if we are going,” John Deskata said quietly. “We can sort out what just happened later.“ John looked absolutely awful as he was the only one who had not bathed recently, and was now spattered both in hobgoblin gore and his own blood from the deep thigh wound Amatesu had already healed. But worse than that to Tilda was the hard, blank set of his face, and the smoldering green eyes that now looked both somehow right, but terrible.
Nesha-tari waited no longer. She pulled both Claudja and Phoarty by the shoulders and hurried them down off the dais and back toward the open set of doors, the Duchess still holding tightly to a dagger Tilda had given her and the wizard clutching a heavy satchel to his chest. Shikashe handed Zeb his crossbow and followed the others, while the cleric and the shukenja still eyed Zeb oddly.
“Are you all right?” Tilda asked him once she had her breath back.
Zeb nodded dully, then his eyes seemed to finally get some focus back as he looked at her.
“You? Did I hurt you?”
“Bruised but unbroken,” Tilda said, and turned to follow the others. Zeb trotted beside her.
“You’re sure?” he said, his voice now returning to normal after sounding punch-drunk and stupefied. “Miss Matilda, I would never forgive myself if I in any way damaged your breasts.”
Tilda stopped for a moment at the bottom of the dais stairs, and Zeb jogged on past her looking back with a wide, wolfish smile and a wink.
“Told you he likes you,” Heggenauer said as he clanged by as well.
Tilda started after them shaking her head, but her mouth broke into an unbidden smile. Amatesu was beside her as the two mounted the stairs at the back of the line. The echoing bangs from the other door were deafening now, and when everyone was in the hall by which they had entered they closed those doors behind them. There was no way to lock them from this side.
Tilda wanted to ask if anyone had any idea where they were going, but Nesha-tari had already set off down the long, carpeted hallway at a lope and the others had to rush to keep up. They did not slow until they reached the end of the hall that ran the full length of the palace’s wing, and the open doors to the tower through which they had entered, what now felt like days ago. Despite that feeling, Tilda was surprised to see the gray light of Vod’Adia’s early dawn through the open doors across the tower floor.
Nesha-tari waited for the others to gather around her before she stepped out into the tower with her hands spread apart and the blue lightning sparking in her palms, raking the surroundings with her luminous eyes. She spoke in Zantish.
“She says,” Zeb panted, “that we should get away from here and regroup in the house where we camped last night. From there we will decide what to do next.”
“How far is that?” Claudja asked.
“Just across the open area. The three-story on the corner to the south and west.”
The party filed into the tower, Tilda again with her bow raised though her chest and arms were already sore. Not so much from Zeb crashing into her, but more from the score or so of bow shots she had taken in a matter of minutes.
Nothing interfered with them in the tower and Nesha-tari led the way outside again at a run, heading for the footbridge over the snaking ditch through the blasted palace grounds. The others ran with her, grouping closer together than was probably wise, but all feeling nervous.
Something dark and massive arose from the ground to the east of the party, throwing a great shadow across the morning sun. Tilda felt its touch like an icy hand and the strength went out of her legs. Party members were falling to the ground, and she was one of them.
The same titanic roar that had shaken all of Vod’Adia awake on the first night after the Opening sounded again, though this time it came from much closer, and it was aimed. A heavy wave of sound pressed Tilda into the dirt and dust and she lay beneath it shuddering, for surely nothing could stand in the face of it.
Chapter Forty-One
The noxious stench of Danavod’s breath washed over Nesha-tari Hrilamae, flapping her cloak and the tattered legs of her trousers. Dust blew over her bare feet but the servant of Blue Akroya leaned into the maelstrom. At least it was not the Dragon’s full breath weapon, for just as Akroya could cast lightning from his maw Danavod could spit acid. Probably enough to turn the party and the ground around them to a soupy puddle.
The party would have been unable to avoid it, for apart from Nesha-tari and Uriako Shikashe everyone had flattened to the ground. Even the samurai had stumbled to one knee. Nesha-tari kept her feet only because this was not her first time in the presence of Greatness.
“Danavod!” she cried when the wind subsided. The Black Dragon was a mountain before her, an even darker black than the stone city all around. “I am Nesha-tari Hrilamae, the favored servant of your Brother, the Azure One! Desist!”
Danavod growled from deep in her stomach, the rumble oozing out of her maw along with tendrils of smoke. Her voice came from no particular location.
“Your affiliation avails you not, if you have come against me on Akroya’s orders.”
Nesha-tari’s blue eyes blinked. “I have not. Nor am I against you at all! I came only for these people.” Nesha-tari threw out a hand toward where the Circle Wizard and the Duchess huddled on the ground in the midst of the party, the lot of them cringing like mice. “It was your own Shugak who sent me to stop this Wizard, while Akroya sent me to slay an Ayonite who sought the capture of this woman.”
“You did not stop the Wizard,” Danavod’s disembodied voice boomed. “He has been unto the Node, and it is disturbed.”
There was a grunt from Uriako Shikashe. The samurai was back on his feet, though still hunched over in the Dragon’s shadow. His two swords were in his two hands.
“Shikashe, sit!” Nesha-tari shouted at him, but he either did not understand or just chose to remain swaying on his feet. Fortunately Danavod was not paying him any heed. The Dragon lowered her great head to fill the space in front of Nesha-tari.
“Do you deny helping this Wizard come unto the Node?” Danavod growled, both in her words and from the wall of swords that were her poniard teeth. Nesha-tari shuddered but stood her ground.
“I do,” she said through her own clenched teeth. “I dragged him away from the place before he had cast any spell, or worked any sort of magic.”
Danavod’s lifeless black eyes were like huge pearls, yet there was a knowingness within them.
“Then I shall not
slay thee myself, Nesha-tari Hrilamae. Though I shall not make the same promise for others.”
The Dragon rose on her hind legs, spread her wings, and released another shattering roar. Uriako went flat on his back and Nesha-tari sat down hard. The massive Dragon threw herself high into the air and the sun was blocked out by a gray hurricane of dust raised by her beating wings. Nesha-tari still heard the Dragon’s voice though she could no longer see her.
“Leave this place if you can Nesha-tari, and return to your Master. Your fate is in your own hands, and your blood is not on mine.”
The Dragon rose high over the palace and rent a hole in the mist high above as she left Vod’Adia. Nesha-tari saw a patch of blue sky for only a moment, before the vaporous seal closed around it.
The ground was ringing under hobnailed boots, and hobgoblins sounded horns. Nesha-tari peered through the settling dust and saw two groups of them, one coming through the tower from the palace, and another charging across the open ground from the west. There were dozens of the hulking Magdetchoi in either band.
Nesha-tari got back to her feet and she was the only one to do so yet, for the others were only starting to shake themselves from under blankets of thick gray dust, hacking and spitting. Nesha-tari could have left them, and made her own way for the gate. Not long ago, that is exactly what she would have done. But she looked at Heggenauer, the human priest that had stood for her against a grinning devil. She hated the man thoroughly at the moment, cursed him under her breath, then summoned her magic to her hands and unleashed crackling blue lightning from them both, one bolt arcing toward either group of onrushing hobgoblins.
*
Balan stood atop the dais with his arms folded and a deep frown on his face, sparks clicking off the floor as he tapped his silver-shod hoof. Poltus hovered in the air, drifting from one curving platinum pillar to the next, red eyes sharp and focused.
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