The Qualinesti princess shouldered through the lines, ducking under linked hands until she reached the base of the city wall near Pine Tree Gate. The sound of humming grated on her nerves and caused an ache in her head. Atop the wall she saw Silvanesti warriors moving about and hurried to join them. Two score young elves, newly pressed into the depleted ranks of the Speaker’s host, stood behind the crenelations that protected the parapet.
“Who commands here?” Vixa asked.
The elves were staring out toward the river. Without turning, a spear-armed youth replied, “Marshal Samcadaris, lady. He passed here an hour ago.”
Frowning, Vixa followed the direction of his rapt gaze. Her frown became an expression of shock. The shrinking Thon-Thalas was completely obscured by a sea of white cloud. The cloud stretched upstream and down as far as Vixa could see and overlapped the banks by several yards. The top of the cloud was level with the wall upon which she stood, and it looked as solid.
“When did this fog come up?” she demanded.
The spear-carrier replied, “At sunrise. It has been thickening steadily ever since.”
“Why do the people stand together humming?”
“It is the will of the Speaker, lady. The clerics of the high gods began to grow weak and fell as the mist closed in. The Speaker summoned the people to reinforce the magic.”
Vixa shook her head as she looked back toward the city, at the rows and rows of humming Silvanesti. Of course, they weren’t actually humming. The sound was in fact the rapid chanting of thousands upon thousands of Silvanesti voices. She shivered, and gooseflesh rose on her arms. The focused power of these eastern elves sent tingles racing along her spine.
Thunder rumbled overhead. Directly above the sea of snow-white cloud, a long serpent of blue-black thunder-heads coalesced rapidly in the still air. Lightning flashed inside the dark mass.
“Looks as though we’ll get wet today,” Vixa noted. The recruits divided their anxious gazes between the white fog bank and the gathering storm.
“Lady, what shall we do?” asked the spear-carrier, fear tingeing his words.
“Are you afraid?” He nodded, and the others echoed his gesture. Vixa said firmly, “Good. Fear will put iron in your arm and fire in your belly. Then we shall win.”
She walked on, past tired veterans and green recruits pressed into service to fill out their ranks. As she went by them, the Qualinesti princess offered low-voiced advice and encouragement in equal portions. Though not a Silvanesti, she still had two thousand years of royal blood in her veins. Her calm, expert manner garnered respect from the veterans and brought a measure of comfort to the frightened newcomers.
Vixa felt a fat raindrop strike her cheek. It ran down to the corner of her mouth, and she tasted salt. She stopped and looked up. The thunderclouds had expanded, filling the sky overhead. Several more drops landed on her face. They were salty as well.
The raindrops were made of seawater!
Hitching up her sword belt, she jogged to the tower ahead of her. On the open summit she found Samcadaris with most of his corps of dismounted cavalry.
“Marshal! It’s Vixa Ambrodel!”
He waved to his troopers to let her through. Rain was falling more regularly now. A boom of thunder rolled over the high tower. Samcadaris was standing on a wooden platform that allowed him to see over the crenelation. Vixa climbed up beside him.
“Where have you been?” he inquired.
“Asleep in the palace. I nearly missed everything!”
Thunder crashed once more, and the heavens opened up. A torrent of salty rain fell on Silvanost. “You may wish you had missed this!” Samcadaris shouted over the deluge and thunder.
“Coryphene summoned this rain to sustain his army!”
The marshal nodded. “I have only a few thousand regulars left. The rest are mere children, artisans, and idlers scraped up and given arms. I pray Eriscodera and your dwarven friend get back in time.”
“Gundabyr? Where’s he gone?”
“They sneaked across the river before dawn to round up what militia had already gathered. If reinforcements don’t arrive soon, I doubt we can hold the city.”
Weird bleating erupted from various points along the length of the white cloud obscuring the river. The Dargonesti were blowing on conch shells. The sound lifted the hairs at the nape of Vixa’s neck, but she realized the noise was probably meant to be practical rather than theatrical. It was likely that Coryphene’s warriors couldn’t see through the fog either. The noises were probably signals from the different commands.
A Silvanesti shouted from the wall. “They’re coming!”
“Stand to arms,” said Samcadaris sharply. Weapons rattled as the order was relayed along the city wall. “Archers, stand ready.”
“Sir,” said an officer at the marshal’s elbow, “the archers have only one quiver left per elf.”
“Then order them not to miss,” was the grim reply.
Vixa wiped salt rain from her eyes and asked, “Where do you want me, Marshal?”
“Royalty may choose their own ground, lady.” He smiled wanly. “And there are any number of weak areas on the wall. However, there”-he pointed at a spot farther along the battlement-“halfway between this watchtower and Pine Tree Gate, that’s our nearest weakness.”
She nodded briskly. “Give me twenty stout fighters, and I’ll hold the wall against all comers!”
He agreed. Vixa and her picked squad ran down the steps from the watchtower to the place he’d indicated on the battlement. Halfway between Samcadaris’s watchtower and Pine Tree Gate she halted her band. Salty rainwater pooled on the stone parapet, pouring off the wall through small openings in the crenelations. Vixa shucked her sodden cloak. The call of the Dargonesti conch shells abruptly ceased.
Despite the pounding rain, thick tentacles of white fog detached themselves from the main mass of cloud and crept up toward the battlements. Vixa found them uncomfortably similar to the massive limbs of the kraken, which had wrought such havoc on the fortress of Thonbec.
Under the astonished eyes of the Silvanesti, these foggy tentacles gripped the smooth stone walls just beneath the level of the parapet. They thickened and solidified. Now the rain splashed off their hardened surfaces and streamed down their inclined length. One elven warrior, smitten with curiosity, broke ranks and approached the odd growths. An instant later, he toppled from the wall, riddled with arrows.
Vixa cried out as more arrows flickered up from the fog bank. With shrill shouts, Dimernesti mercenaries, wielding captured Silvanesti bows, swarmed out of the mist. They ran up the solid tendril of fog to the top of the city wall.
“Lock shields!” Vixa commanded. Her band of hand-picked warriors obeyed just as a hail of arrows raked them. “Swords out! Attack!”
They rushed the lightly armed Dimernesti and in short order pushed them back over the crenelations. All along the wall, sea elves mounted to the parapet on pathways of solidified vapor.
“We must disrupt their assault,” Vixa said quickly. “All of you! If you can shoulder a spear or swing a sword, follow me!”
The Qualinesti princess swallowed hard and leapt through a crenel toward the magical fog ramp. She wondered if it would support anyone, or only Coryphene’s chosen. Her feet landed on a surface hard as marble. She looked back. Her twenty warriors were with her. The other Silvanesti stood watching.
“What are you waiting for? The enemy is gaining the wall! Come on!” She plunged down the ramp and into the fog below. The lack of visibility was disorienting, but Vixa found the going easier if she didn’t worry about where her feet fell. She concentrated on listening for the enemy and on the sounds of the Silvanesti behind her.
Soon the brown mud of the riverbank appeared ahead. Vixa was vastly relieved when her feet splashed in the diminished Thon-Thalas.
The warriors arrived behind her. “Where now, lady?” one asked.
She turned. The city above was lost in the wall of white cloud, an
d none of them could see more than a few feet in front of their noses. Not even elven eyes could penetrate this magical fog bank. However, Vixa quickly discovered that the fog, though it veiled their eyes, did not affect their ears. She could hear the battle going on behind and above them. Ahead, Dargonesti were running to the fight, their wide, bare feet slapping loudly in the mud. The fog also seemed to act as a shield against the deluge of rain. Only a few raindrops splashed against Vixa’s armor. She pointed with her sword to the right.
“That way,” she said firmly. “The enemy seems to be coming from that direction.”
They formed in a close column of twos. Some thirty volunteers had followed Vixa and her original band, making a total of fifty warriors under her command. Surrounded though they were by several thousand Dargonesti, Vixa was unafraid. The fog was a two-edged weapon. It would screen them from Coryphene’s warriors just as well as it hid the sea elves from the Silvanesti.
Silently, Vixa and the Silvanesti made their way through the mist. Now and then, small groups of Dargonesti ran past, unaware. They also came upon sea elves who had crawled away from the city and died. Even as they tried to follow the edge of the river, it dwindled before them. Vixa called a halt when an odd odor reached her nostrils. At first sweet, then somehow sour and disagreeable, the odor was amazingly familiar. Where had she smelled it before?
Incense! It was the sour-sweet scent that had filled the temple level of Urione. The Dargonesti priests responsible for the strange fog and salty rain must be near.
She led her contingent of Silvanesti forward at a slower pace. To the left she spied a group of tall figures, standing close together. Whipping her sword in a circle overhead, Vixa signaled the attack.
They charged the enemy. Instead of evil priests, they found a band of Dargonesti warriors trying to slake their thirst in the rapidly shrinking river. The sight of the attacking Silvanesti sent the sea elves leaping for their spears, which they’d left driven into the mud nearby.
A melee ensued. Vixa was unsure how many of the foe they’d flushed, but attack was their only option. The Silvanesti spread out, trying to envelope the sea elves. Unencumbered and unprotected by shield or helmet, Vixa eluded Dargonesti spear thrusts while striking home again and again with her sword. Panting from lack of water, the Dargonesti gave ground. In spite of the salt rain, the sea elves appeared to be in desperate straits.
Staggering with fatigue, one of the Dargonesti jabbed at Vixa. She dodged, spun, and drove her blade into his ribs. This exchange had taken her a short distance from the rest of her command, and when her opponent fell, she found herself looking at a circle of perhaps twenty gray-robed Dargonesti priests, facing inward, a seething cauldron in their midst. Sprigs of smoldering incense were woven into their long jade hair. The odor of incense was overwhelming, but above it rose the smell of death and decay. These were the undead priests of Zura.
“Silvanesti, to me!” Vixa shouted. “Slay the priests and break their spells!”
The fight was over in minutes. The mages were so engrossed in their incantation, they did not attempt to flee or fight back. Even when confronted by sword-wielding enemy, the faces of the Shades of Zura remained expressionless and devoid of life.
When the slaughter was done, Vixa stood with the remaining Silvanesti soldiers, panting with exertion.
“This is no work for warriors,” muttered one of the Silvanesti. “Slaying unarmed clerics!”
“They were armed more mightily than any of us,” Vixa retorted. She bent over, her hands resting on her knees, and panted. “By their spells Silvanost could be lost.”
From her bent position, Vixa saw the green Dargonesti blood staining the muddy water at her feet. She also noticed something else-she could see her own shadow. Vixa stood erect and looked at the sky. The mist was thinning. A freshening wind and the heat of the sun were shredding the evil fog. With the priests of Zura dead, their conjurations were being dispersed by the living force of Silvanost’s own clerics.
This was not altogether a positive occurrence from Vixa’s point of view. As the mist lifted and the salt rain ceased, she and her command found themselves a lonely island in a sea of Dargonesti. Hastily they formed a circle, every elf facing outward, sword and shield ready. Vixa sheathed her blade and recovered a Dargonesti spear from the mud. Without a shield of her own, she needed the reach of the longer weapon.
Several hundred enemy warriors formed a short distance away. Vixa paced inside the small circle of her soldiers, giving orders in what she hoped was a steadying voice. Now and then she glanced up at the city. A furious fight still raged atop the wall. She uttered a brief, silent prayer for Samcadaris. Then there was time for nothing but survival.
The Dargonesti rushed them from all sides. They had rags tied around their heads to keep their gills damp, but the sun was out now and the air was warming rapidly. Vixa could see the powerful blue-skinned warriors gasping even as they tried to squeeze the small circle of Silvanesti into oblivion. At least, she thought, the city will be saved. Destroying the spell of the evil priests was worth all their lives.
The press of bodies was overpowering. Vixa raced around the inside of the circle of warriors, stabbing her spear at encroaching sea elves. The weapon was finally wrenched from her grasp. Two Silvanesti in front of her were knocked down by the sheer weight of Dargonesti pushing in. Vixa tried to back away, but she fetched up against the backs of the Silvanesti behind her. There was no place left to go.
She grabbed a sword from the lifeless hand of one of her soldiers and dueled with a pair of spear-armed Dargonesti. Something hard rapped Vixa sharply on the side of her head. Stunned, she went down. A wounded Silvanesti fell across her legs. The river mud gripped her. She felt herself sinking into it.
A horn blared above the clash of war. With the shouts and screams of combat around her, Vixa couldn’t tell if it was a Dargonesti conch shell or Silvanesti brass. She struggled to rise. Her borrowed sword slipped away and was swallowed by the mud.
One of her soldiers cried out, “The silver moon banner of Eriscodera! It’s the militia!”
Vixa grappled with fallen friends and foes and staggered upright. She nearly wept with relief at the sight that met her eyes. On the far shore were thousands of Silvanesti, those called to arms by the Speaker’s edict. At their head was an auburn-haired elf on horseback. Silvanost was saved!
With a concerted shout, Eriscodera and his cavalry left the marching levies and charged down the dry, cracked riverbank onto the mud flats. The white-kilted infantry, armed with pikes and halberds, came after them to the music of elven pipes and drums. The music wafted across the narrow channel that was all that remained of the mighty Thon-Thalas. Vixa watched the cavalry flounder in the heavy mud, but they kept coming. They weren’t making for the western gate of Silvanost though, but for a cluster of poles and banners in the center of the river.
“Silvanesti, rally!” she shouted hoarsely. “On your feet!”
Barely a dozen warriors remained to answer her call. The Dargonesti had fallen back when Eriscodera’s trumpets had sounded. The sea elves seemed uncertain whether to finish off Vixa’s little band or form and meet the oncoming cavalry.
Atop the city wall, Coryphene also heard the blaring of the horns, and he saw disaster looming for his army. Three-quarters of his depleted host was engaged in a wild fight along the walls. When the priests of Zura had died, the magical ramps of solidified fog had vanished. Coryphene’s troops on the wall were trapped. The Protector was committed to this battle as the will of his queen, and he would not have ordered retreat even had the ramps still been in place. He was quite prepared to fight to the last elf. However, when he saw Eriscodera’s cavalry divert from the city to Queen Uriona’s pavilion in the river, his ambition failed him. His queen was alone and undefended but for her servants. The fact that she was still covered by seven feet of water didn’t seem to register in his frantic mind. Coryphene saw drylanders bearing down upon his divine mistress, and he acted.
He threw down his weapons and leapt from the wall in a graceful, arcing dive.
No land dweller could have survived so great a fall, but Coryphene’s body, accustomed to the press of the ocean’s depths, absorbed the shock of impact. He hit the sun-dried ground, rolled down to the line of mud, and got shakily to his feet. The blood streaming from his face and the cries of his officers, still atop the wall, were all ignored as he hurried toward Uriona’s pavilion.
The remaining Dimernesti mercenaries had fled upon first sighting the levies. They were back in the Thon-Thalas heading for the sea even before Coryphene’s prodigious leap. When the Dargonesti on the wall saw their leader leave the field of battle, the fight went out of them as well. Word quickly spread through their ranks that the Lord Protector had deserted them. They drew back from their exhausted enemies and grounded their arms. Amazed, Samcadaris sent an emissary forward to discover their intentions. The Silvanesti officer came back with word that the sea elves wished to surrender.
The dazed marshal accepted with alacrity. With his lieutenants at his side, Samcadaris came down from the watchtower to accept the surrender of the Dargonesti army.
“Uriona! Uriona!” Coryphene shouted. He shed breastplate and armor as he ran, limping, then dove into the brown river. Born as he was to the water, still he couldn’t cover the distance in time to reach the queen before the Silvanesti cavalry did. They surrounded her pavilion and slew any servants who tried to do battle with them. Coryphene found himself hemmed in by lance-wielding soldiers long before he set eyes upon Uriona. He drew his dagger to die fighting. At that moment Eriscodera and Gundabyr arrived, the dwarf riding double with Eriscodera’s standard-bearer.
“Take him alive,” said the dwarf. “He’s their leader.”
Coryphene still struggled to reach his queen, flailing in the chest-deep water until he was exhausted. The Silvanesti cavalry barred him from getting any closer. Uriona was out of the water now and on her way, under heavy guard, to the west bank. At last, Coryphene ceased his struggles. He bowed his head.
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