attack.
The poison glands in its upper lip swelling, the creature lunged to bite her, and she met the threat with a cut that bisected its throat.
As the ettercap toppled, she spun away from it, meanwhile whirling her blade in a sweeping parry that, though executed blindly, knocked away the taloned hand of the conjured being that had sought to attack her from behind. Perhaps she'd startled it or stung its fingers, for it faltered. She feinted a head cut to addle it still further, then drove her blade into its chest.
The creature dropped. Pulling her weapon free, she peered about and saw that the two remaining ettercaps had succeeded in placing themselves on opposite sides of her and were warily moving in. They thought that when she turned to defend herself from one, the other would be able to rend her or sink its venomous canines into her from behind.
Their tactics might well prevail, if she permitted them to close in on her, press her, and generally control the tempo of the exchange. To forestall that, she bellowed and sprinted at the one crouched between her and the wall.
Its crimson eyes goggling in surprise at her precipitous action, the ettercap nonetheless managed to throw up one of its long, wiry arms to fend off her blade, but she dipped her point beneath the block and plunged it into the brute's belly.
As she yanked the sword free, she heard the remaining ettercap charging up right behind her, and realized she didn't even have time to whirl around to face it. Reversing her weapon and gripping the hilt with both hands, she thrust it backward under her arm, ducking simultaneously.
Just as she'd hoped, the ettercap's raking hands, aimed high, lashed harmlessly over her head. Meanwhile, the long sword slammed into flesh.
She sidestepped clear, turned, raised her weapon for another stroke or parry, then saw it wasn't necessary. The ettercap she'd just stabbed was collapsing, and the other five were sprawled motionless on the ground.
Tazi felt a swell of exultation as intense as any she'd ever known. She hadn't been a fool to trust in her skills and prowess. She was finally her old self again.
But she knew she had no time to stand and revel in the knowledge. She dashed for the door.
A different sort of arachnid, black with brown stripes, leaped from one of the window stages, its bony-ridged legs extended like lances to stab its prey. Talbot leaped aside, and the sword spider crashed down beside him. He drove his blade into its thorax, and it shuddered, listed to one side, and fell.
As usual, while he'd been busy eliminating one threat, others were moving in on him. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a bravo skulking up on his flank. The tough was phenomenally ugly, as if, in punishment for some crime, he'd been magically transformed into something inhuman, and the spell to restore him had only barely done the job. Tal whirled to face him, and his King Imre wig picked that moment to slip down over his eyes.
Knowing that the ruffian would seize the instant of his blindness to attack, Tal parried by sheer instinct. His blade rang on that of his opponent's, blocking his cut to the flank. The wig fell down to the floor, and Tal hacked at his adversary's sword hand, half severing it. Keening, the ugly man dropped to his knees.
One of the round-bellied ettercaps charged Talbot, its thin arms with their long-fingered hands outstretched, only to plummet abruptly from sight when a trapdoor opened beneath its feet. An instant later, a flying chariot drawn by pink dragons dropped from on high, nearly braining a ruffian who had been in the process of aiming a crossbow at Tal. The startled bravo jumped, his finger pulled on the trigger, and the bolt flew wild.
Talbot grinned. Evidently, Lommy and his brother Otter, who generally operated the Wide Realms's array of mechanical tricks and effects, had made their way to the controls beneath the stage and in the hut above and were trying to use them to help Talbot. Other members of the troupe were striving to do the same by flinging missiles and abuse from the relative safety of the wings.
Uskevren warriors were still fighting doggedly here and there about the theater, and Brom was still keeping the masked wizard busy. Their duel stained the walls with flashes of colored light, even as it filled the air with cracklings, hissings, thrummings, waves of heat and cold, and foul odors.
Meanwhile, Tal was battling as well as he ever had in his life; Master Ferrick, his teacher, would have been proud. Yet he suspected that none of it, not his own skill nor the valor and ingenuity of his supporters, would matter in the end. The enemy's superior numbers would soon carry the day, for, strong as he was, even he couldn't keep fighting this furiously for much longer, with never an instant's respite to catch his breath. Already he was panting, and could feel fatigue building in his muscles.
If only he could bolt through the door at the rear of the stage! It looked to be his only hope of survival, and he wouldn't be abandoning his allies, because all his would-be slayers would pursue him. But those same enemies were pressing him so hard that it was impossible to break away.
Retreating before another ettercap's advance, he heard a rattling overhead, looked up, and saw a falling star. The tasloi operating the hoists and windlasses had doubtless dropped the piece of stage dressing in hopes of hitting one of his assailants, but unfortunately, his timing was off.
Tal tried to dodge, but was too slow. Though only made of painted plywood, the star still struck him square and hard and dashed him to the floor.
He tried to drag himself out from underneath it, but his limbs barely stirred. Through blurry eyes, he watched his foes, human and otherwise, rushing in at him, and understood in a murky way that he was stunned, helpless, and in consequence about to die.
Then a primal, indomitable other roared up from the depths of his mind. He flung the star off and leaped to his feet. The moon wasn't full, he wasn't sprouting fur or fangs, but for this one moment, the wolf had nonetheless emerged to preserve the life the two of them shared.
The nearest bravos quailed before his feral grimace, or perhaps the growl rumbling in his throat. The summoned creatures kept coming. Tal decapitated a green spider, gutted an ettercap, and stormed into the midst of his foes.
Somewhere deep inside himself, the rational, human Talbot cried out in protest, for in its berserk fury, the wolf was taking the wrong tack. If he rushed in among them, he might wreak havoc for a moment, but then his foes would assail him from all sides and overwhelm him. Alas, his bestial alter ego refused to heed him.
Talbot drove his long sword through the torso of a one-eyed tough armed with a battle-axe, killed a spider at the instant it shimmered from a translucent, ghostly condition into solidity, then, suddenly, he glimpsed another blade flashing alongside his own.
Startled, he glanced to see who his new ally was. Tazi, clad in a suit of dark leather he'd never seen her wear before, had darted out of nowhere to help him, and somehow, her unexpected appearance banished the wolf. He was himself once more.
His sister's sudden assault had likewise caught the enemy by surprise. Together with the wolfs devastating onslaught, it served to scatter them and drive them back.
It was the opportunity Talbot had been waiting for. 'Come on!' he gasped, and he and Thazienne dashed for the exit at the back of the stage.
As the enemy lunged after them, a painted backdrop depicting a castle by the sea crashed down between the hunted and the hunters, delaying the latter for a precious moment. Tal heard his fellow players cheer.
The Uskevren's box had been reduced to a sad condition. Portions of the paneling and seats had been variously charred, shattered, warped, and covered in frost. Brom was sure he didn't look in any better shape. He was bruised, bloody, and blistered, and his good mocado doublet, purchased shortly after Lord Uskevren hired him and the first truly genteel article of clothing he'd ever owned, hung in tatters about his lanky frame.
Meanwhile, his masked opponent with the strange, pale eyes hovered unscathed in the air beyond the paling, looking exactly as he had at the start of their combat.
Sadly, Brom's situation was every bit as dire as it appeared. His adversary hadn't misspoken; he was the stronger wizard. Until now, Brom had managed to hold his own, but he knew he'd been lucky, and at this point, he'd
