Bugles blared. Welvelod sensed surges of motion on every side.
The horns were sounding the retreat. Casting about, the undead Raumathari warrior saw that his allies were doing their frantic best to disengage from their foes and scurry toward the various doors that led into the interior of the fortress. Someone Uramar himself, most likely must have decided that their side was losing.
Welvelod whirled and bolted for one of the doors into the keep. A stag man jumped in his path and tried to spear him in the chest. He slipped the blow and stabbed at his attacker s flank as he sprinted on by.
Something thumped him between the shoulder blades, pitching him forward into a stumble but not quite making him fall. He didn t know what had hit him a missile or a handheld weapon and he didn t bother looking back to find out.
He tripped over the twitching body of an ice troll, and again had to fight to regain his balance. Reeling onward, he saw that the keep, and safety, were just ahead. A Nar demonbinder, his withered gray limbs covered in tattoos and a round brass amulet hanging around his neck, was holding the ironbound door as a pair of goblins scurried through.
The wizard looked straight at Welvelod, then gave him a grin and slammed the door with a bang like a thunderclap.
You filthy Nar bastard! Welvelod thought, just as something rammed into the back of his knee. He fell forward onto the ground. As he rolled over, a second spear thrust caught him in the face.
ELEVEN
The various doors around the castle slammed with a series of thunderous bangs. Gazing down from the rooftop of the keep, Aoth tried to judge if any of the enemy were left trapped in the corner towers or any of the smaller structures along the walls.
No, rasped Jet. According to the Rashemi, the Fortress of the Half-Demon is famous for the dungeons and tunnels underneath it. My guess is that no matter what door a troll or a witch ducked into, there is a way to join up with the rest.
You re probably right, Aoth said.
Curse it, anyway.
Did you think we could stop them from locking themselves in the donjon? Cera asked, breathing heavily. Despite the cold, her round face was sweaty, and she looked like she was feeling the weight of her mace and armor.
Not really, said Aoth. Given the haphazard way we tackled this, it went as well as we had any right to expect. He took another look over the battlements. There were a couple of living or undead foes still left out in the open, but none that looked worth a burst of his magic. The men-at-arms could deal with them. Come on, let s get down there.
He swung himself onto Jet s back, and Cera climbed up behind him, buckling in. The griffon lashed his wings and leaped over the row of merlons.
As Jet swooped downward, Aoth looked for Jhesrhi. Still unharmed, she d already set about the task of burning fallen trolls and the undead. Vandar and the Stag King were all right, too, and it seemed that neither the stag warriors nor the berserkers had suffered an inordinate number of casualties.
The latter were pounding at the castle doors with any makeshift battering ram they could find. But a door wasn t a foe, and without flesh to cut and blood to spill, the berserker rage had little to feed it. One or two at a time, they abandoned the futile assault and stumbled away, gray-faced and shivering.
The Brotherhood, thought Aoth, would still have been strong and ready for another fight. But he knew he wasn t being altogether fair. Even Khouryn s infantry couldn t have managed that mad charge into the castle any better than Vandar s lodge brothers. In fact, despite all their training, they might not have managed as well. There was a time for discipline and tactics and as far as Aoth was concerned, it was most of the time but a time for sheer fury as well.
As soon as the saddle straps had unbuckled, Cera jumped off Jet s back and went looking for those who needed her healing ministrations. Aoth took another glance around, just in case something was apparent at ground level that even fire-kissed eyes had missed from the air, and spotted the butt of Vandar s red spear peeking out from under the dead bugbear that had fallen on top of it.
Jet sprang back into the air to keep watch over the battleground from on high. Aoth walked over to the spear and picked it up. He caught his breath at the force and intricate structure of the enchantments he sensed inside it, and felt instantly wary of the weapon. It wasn t that it was cursed, or at least, its maker hadn t intended it to be. But he didn t like the feeling that as he studied it, it was taking his measure as well.
That s mine! called Vandar.
Aoth turned to find that the lodge master had come up behind him. He was glaring like he was still facing an enemy, and he still had the red sword in his grip.
Making sure he didn t hurry or look rattled, Aoth proffered the weapon butt first. I know, he replied.
I was just saving you the trouble of having to look for it.
I can understand that you covet it, Vandar said.
But the spirits gave it to me, just like they mean for me to have the griffons.
Aoth stared into the other man s eyes. But you ll settle for half of them, he said. Because you do remember giving your word?
Vandar held his gaze for a long moment. Then he blinked, and something that might have been confusion or even a trace of shame flickered across his face. Yes, he said. I mean, I keep faith with those who keep faith with me. He hefted the spear. Thanks for finding this.
Be careful with it and the sword, Aoth said.
I don t know much about fey weapons
Vandar turned toward the spot where some of his fellow berserkers were still trying to smash down a door. Can t magic break through there? he asked.
Aoth sighed and said, I hope so, but it s not going to do it yet. Call your men back.
We shouldn t give the durthans time to regroup! the lodge master said.
We need time to regroup, replied Aoth. Your brothers need to recover their strength, or the enemy will butcher them as soon as they do get inside. Your wounded need care, or they re likely to die. Is that what you want?
The Rashemi took a breath. No, he said. It s just that stopping halfway isn t how a berserker fights. He raised his voice to a bellow. Brothers! Leave the doors alone for now! Just watch them, and help the wounded!
While you and I, said Aoth, confer with our fellow officers.
They headed for the Stag King, who currently stood amid the phantom beasts he d wrested from the durthans control and brought under his own. An enormous wolf fawned at his feet, squirrels sat on his shoulders, and wrens and crows perched on the points of his antlers. It might have looked comical if not for their misty appearance, the foxfire in their eyes, and the gore caking the head of the fey lord s weapon.
That didn t go too badly, said Aoth.
The Stag King nodded. I see you pulled the Rashemi back from the doors, he said.
They ve taken a beating already, said Aoth. Maybe, when we do get the doors open, your warriors should go in first.
The spirit grinned as he replied, Would that work? I d be worried that such heroes would charge regardless, and trample my folk in their eagerness to close with the foe.
Vandar snorted. We might at that, he said.
It s all right, Thayan. The Griffon Lodge is happy to take the lead, in this fight or any other.
Fine, Aoth thought. Be an idiot. What do I care?
Aloud, he said, We need more men on the walls. After we put them there, we should be able to relax a little. Eat, rest, and recover both our physical strength and our spells. Let s plan on breaching the donjon a little before
