She ran around to the side of the white marble gatehouse. Here, in the quiet shadows, the wounded had crawled away to suffer or die. There was no time to help them. The Qualinesti princess and the dwarf hurried to the foot of the gatehouse wall. The marble was smooth as glass, offering no handholds.
“That line of windows, up there!” Gundabyr said, pointing. “It must be a stairwell.”
Vixa made a stirrup of her hands. Shaking his head, the dwarf told her, “You may be a warrior-hero, Princess, but you couldn’t lift me. Climb on!”
He slapped his broad shoulders. Vixa wasted no time arguing. She placed one foot on his bent knee and clambered up to his shoulders. Gundabyr swayed and grunted, but he held. The added height allowed Vixa to reach the sill of the lowest window. She hauled herself up. The dwarf’s guess had been correct-she found herself in a dimly lit stairwell.
“Princess! Catch!” Vixa leaned out the window. Gundabyr extended a discarded spear. He climbed the shaft as she anchored it, throwing her weight against the pull of his. Weeks of slavery had thinned the stocky dwarf sufficiently that he was able, just barely, to squeeze into the narrow window opening.
Once they were both inside, the Qualinesti princess cried, “Let’s go!” They charged up the steps. The thumping of Gundabyr’s feet behind her was a reassuring sound. Above them, the noise of the fighting rose. As Vixa rounded the fourth bend in the stairwell, a body came tumbling down, nearly knocking her from her feet. The Silvanesti soldier slid to a lifeless stop against the curving wall.
There was a landing ahead, clogged with wounded and dead from both sides. From there, the steps passed through a narrow opening and wound in a tighter spiral to the roof. Vixa stepped carefully over the fallen fighters. Just as she did, a Dimernesti with a long silver braid of hair loomed out of the darkness. His eyes widened in surprise. He backed a step and brought up his barbed spear. Vixa batted it aside with the flat of her blade, pushing forward all the time. Gundabyr crouched nearby, waiting for an opening.
The shoal elf hefted his spear and hurled it at Vixa. She easily deflected it with her shield, but while she was busy doing so, the Dimernesti’s hands flashed to his waist. They came away with a weighted throwing net studded with gleaming fishhooks.
“Vixa! Look out!” roared the dwarf. The Dimernesti swung the net once and let fly. Instinctively, Vixa put up her shield. The weighted net wrapped around it and her. The fishhooks took hold. She tried to back away from her advancing foe, but tripped on the fallen warriors.
As the Dimernesti brought out a short-handled trident, Gundabyr bellowed a war cry and swung his axe. The nimble shoal elf leapt over the low swing. The dwarf’s intervention allowed Vixa to struggle to her knees. She tried to discard her encumbered shield, but the fishhooks had pierced her clothing and, quite painfully, her skin.
The Dimernesti closed in. He kicked at Vixa’s netted shield, and the blows sent her reeling once more. Her side exposed, he lunged with the trident. Vixa, flat on her back, flung up Druzenalis’s short sword. As she thrust it at her opponent, she felt a surge like lightning flow from the hilt and travel along the blade. A flash of light jumped from the blade tip. In the next instant, the astonished Dimernesti found himself impaled on the blade. The trident fell from his webbed fingers. He collapsed sideways, taking the sword with him.
Gundabyr was at her side. “Get this damn net off me!” she fumed. The dwarf wound the net around the trident, like noodles on a fork.
As he worked to untangle the barbed net, Gundabyr demanded, “What just happened? I’d swear that little sword of yours just reached out and-and
“There is certainly some power in it,” she agreed, wincing from the pain of the fishhooks. “Trust the marshal of Silvanost to carry a magical weapon!” Her arm was free at last, and she impatiently flung her shield aside.
They ran up the last few turns of the stairs and emerged onto the roof. As Gundabyr was fond of saying, the luck was with them-and it was all bad. They faced eight Dimernesti, and no Silvanesti archers remained to help them.
“Uh, suggestions?” Vixa asked as the seven-foot-tall enemy turned to face them.
“Trust the gods and have at ’em!” cried the dwarf, rushing forward.
Caught by surprise, she gathered herself and followed him. “Great plan!” she shouted as they raced across the rooftop.
The mercenaries were used to fighting elves of their own stature, and the axe-wielding dwarf was new to them. By the time they figured him out, Gundabyr had knocked two down with great sweeps of his axe. Vixa accounted for a third very quickly by rushing in and allowing her magical sword to do its stuff. In a flash, the opposition had shrunk from eight to five-a definite improvement.
The Dimernesti separated, trying to surround their attackers. Vixa and Gundabyr closed together, standing back to back. As their opponents sized them up, Vixa said to the dwarf, “I like this sword. Maybe I’ll keep it.”
“The marshal doesn’t strike me as the generous type,” commented Gundabyr, trying to keep a wary eye on two Dimernesti simultaneously.
With keening yells, the five shoal elves rushed them. Vixa parried one spear, thrust through the belly of the Dimernesti wielding it, snatched back her weapon, and parried her other opponent’s attack. Gundabyr, fighting three foes, shoved the axe head into one fellow’s chest, knocking him down. As he fell, another elf speared the dwarf in the shoulder. Roaring from pain and anger, Gundabyr chopped the spear off, and his attacker’s hands as well. The third elf swung his spear at the dwarf, catching him on the side of the head. The dwarf staggered forward, trying to ward off further attacks with wild swings of his axe.
“Vixa!” he cried, falling to his knees.
The Qualinesti princess was busy defending her own life. Her opponent jabbed his spear at her face and chest. Her sword tip flashed under his nose. He backed to the edge of the roof. Suddenly, he gave a cry and toppled. A Silvanesti arrow had sprouted from his back.
The last Dimernesti, realizing he was alone, ceased his attacks on Gundabyr and sprinted for the steps. Vixa let him go, rushing to where Gundabyr lay.
The tough dwarf was still breathing, but his shoulder was bleeding freely. Vixa tore a wide strip from the hem of her kilt and jammed it against Gundabyr’s wound.
“Aaah!” he moaned. “You’re killing me!”
“Shut up!” she said fiercely. She pressed the bleeding wound harder.
From below came scraping and vibration as the ponderous gates were swung shut. That told her that the Silvanesti had prevailed, and the gate was now secure. A few moments later, Samcadaris and a score of fresh archers spilled onto the roof of the gatehouse.
“Lady! Are you well?” he called. His lean face was blackened by soot and streaked with blood-green Dimernesti blood. His red cape was bloodied as well.
“I’m all right, but Gundabyr needs a healer,” she told him.
Samcadaris surveyed the carnage on the rooftop. “The sisters of Quenesti Pah are in the street below. Here, you two, take Master Gundabyr to them. Take him with all care and honor!”
Two elves carried the grumbling dwarf away. Vixa picked up Druzenalis’s magic sword and shoved it through her belt.
“That was magnificent,” Samcadaris told her when they were alone. “I never saw a finer fight. Two against eight-and they larger than you!”
“It was stupid,” she said flatly. “Barging up here, just me and Gundabyr. Suppose there had been twenty instead of eight? I’d’ve ended up on the pavement down there, like your brave archers. I might have anyway, if not for this sword.” She patted the pommel of the marshal’s weapon.
“Ah, yes, Balif’s sword. Longreacher.”
Vixa stared at him and then at the sword. “Balif? This weapon belonged to him?”
“Yes, indeed. Great Silvanos had it wrought specially for his friend. He wanted the kender general to have a weapon that would make up for his lack of height. The sword has always been carried by the first soldier of the realm, the marshal of Silvanost.”
Vixa withdrew it reverently from her belt and held it out to him. “I feel privileged to have held it, much less borne it into battle. But it’s not right. Druzenalis should have it.”
Samcadaris put his hand on the hilt, gently pushing it away. “Druzenalis has served the nation long and honorably. Of late, he has quarreled openly with the Speaker. His Majesty took the sword from him for good reason. He loaned it to you as a sign of favor.”
Before she could say anything, runners appeared in the street below, crying out a summons from the Speaker
