spreading, filling his abdomen with cramping fire. The blade had pierced something vital, but there was nothing to do about it. Both of the company's healers had long since been killed, so he could either fight through to Evereska's allies and hope they had a good healer, or he could sit down and die.
Aubric closed off all awareness of the pain, calling on his old bladesinger talents to draw strength from the Weave and lead the charge across the charred plain. As they drew closer to Rocnest, he was astonished at the newcomers' losses. Elves and humans alike lay scattered by the dozens, most motionless and quiet, some writhing and groaning. He saw at least seventy or eighty casualties himself, and guessed the total could easily be twice that number. He assigned half a dozen of his own walking wounded to do what they could for the injured, though everyone knew that would be all too little.
Seventy paces from the enemy, a tremendous crack echoed across the plain. The newcomers' blue dome flickered and dimmed, then flashed out of existence. The phaerimm started forward again, only to be met by a volley of arrows and spears from Rocnest. The dark shafts struck in a clattering cloud, many ricocheting harmlessly off the thorn-backs' scales, but a few finding soft seams. One monster dropped to the ground with the butt of an elven spear in its mouth, and two more trilled in anguish, but most showed no reaction at all to the sticks bristling in their bodies.
A hundred warriors appeared atop Rocnest, visible now that they had attacked and turning to scramble down behind the jagged lip. They made it only a step before the rim erupted into curtains of golden fire and showers of fuming black rain. There was a cacophony of crackling flame and anguished screaming, then another sound-four roaring voices booming out the same intricate spell, complementing each other, working jointly to twine together separate strands of the Weave in one creation.
'It's a Circle!' Rhydwych said, coming to Aubric's side. 'The high mages are trying to open the gate!' 'How long?' Aubric asked.
'Too long.' Rhydwych pointed at the surviving phaerimm, who were plucking the last of the arrows from their bodies and rising toward Rocnest. 'Ten minutes, at least.'
Aubric's heart sank. The whole battle so far had taken only fifteen minutes, and the newcomers had done well to delay the phaerimm that long. He thrust his arm into the air, extending his thumb and smallest finger in the 'bow' signal.
'Arrows!' He turned to Rhydwych. 'How many of us can you magic up there?'
'None, if you expect us to put up a fight,' she said. 'There's a moment of confusion after any translocational spell-and a moment would be all the phaerimm need.'
Aubric nodded, then closed his fist and lowered his arm, calling the Swords to a halt 'Dying that way would do no good, but we must buy them time. Take your Lordly Wands and do whatever you can. The Blades will follow as we can.' Rhydwych's face paled, but she nodded. 'For Evereska.'
'For Evereska-and all the elves remaining to Faerun.' Aubric's stomach turned hollow and queasy. It was one thing to lead the charge into peril, quite another to order a dozen brave elves to their certain deaths. 'May the Harp Archer watch over you.'
'And you as well, Lord Nihmedu.' Rhydwych gave him a weak smile, then kissed his cheek. 'Don't let them make a mindslave of me.' 'Nor you of me,' answered Aubric.
Rhydwych drew a pair of battle wands, then closed her eyes and used her magic to mindspeak with her fellow wizards.
Aubric looked toward Rocnest again, where five healthy phaerimm were already halfway to the rim. The other two remained closer to the ground, wobbling about on their tails as they tried to recover their wits. 'Loose and advance!' Aubric yelled.
A volley of arrows darkened the sky, a dozen flying toward each phaerimm. Perhaps a quarter of the shafts directed against the injured creatures struck home, lodging themselves deep between their scales or in the pulpy rim of the mouth. One thornback dropped writhing and flopped like a trout out of water. The second vanished in the glimmer of teleport magic. The other flights streaked to within a few inches of their targets, then struck some invisible shield and bounced harmlessly away.
By the time the arrows tumbled to the ground, Rhydwych and her Wands were in the air, streaking after the phaerimm like sparrows after hawks. Aubric started to raise a hand to call a ground charge, then saw a dark- bearded human step onto a jagged spur atop Rocnest. He held a black mage's staff and wore heavy winter robes, and Aubric felt certain he was the same man whose silver flames had destroyed the first phaerimm.
Hit them again, my friend, and this time your arrows will strike home. On my signal.
Aubric did not question how the voice came to his head, nor hesitate to implement its command. He raised his thumb and little finger in the 'bow' signal and called a halt. 'Nock and aim!' he yelled. 'Choose your targets well.'
Even as he yelled this, the phaerimm unleashed a tempest of magic at the figure atop the rock. There were fireballs and ice storms, swirling clouds of vapor and black bolts of death, lightning forks and even a great disembodied hand. The human stood through it all, his arms spread wide, his black staff raised high above his head, its body surrounded by a purple aura as it drew attack after attack down into its shaft.
The figure could only be Khelben Arunsun. Aubric's spirits rose at once, for with one of the Chosen fighting in Evereska's defense, surely it could only be a matter of time before the phaerimm were driven from the Sharaedim. He waited patiently for the promised signal, all the while watching his Wands draw closer to the phaerimm, and the phaerimm closer to Rocnest, until he began to worry about distance and accuracy, and to fear that his archer's shafts might strike the Swords' own wizards.
Finally, the bearded figure lowered his staff. Though it was impossible to hear the archmage's voice over the booming chant of the high mages and the general battle roar, Aubric saw the human's fingers flashing through the familiar gestures of a magic dispelling spell. He lowered his arm. 'Loose!'
The thrum of eighty bowstrings sounded as one, and a cloud of arrows hissed through the sky. As they neared the phaerimm, the shafts bunched into swarms, almost like wasps streaking out to sting the fools who dared disturb their nests.
The flights struck with an almost audible thud, driving the phaerimm closer to Rocnest's basalt cliffs and a little downward. Fully half the arrows snapped against the creatures' scaly armor, but the others sank deep, adding their feathery tails to the forest of spines already rising on the backs of the phaerimm. The Lordly Wands adjusted their course and swooped to engage, but were brought up short when a handful of battered human mages appeared alongside Khelben to hurl a fusillade of bolts and flashes at the phaerimm. Several blasts ricocheted off their intended targets and streaked back to the caster, and a full half dozen merely vanished without causing visible harm. The other spells hit on mark, spraying cracked scales and broken thorns in every direction.
One phaerimm lost an arm and went tumbling ground-ward, only to vanish in a silver flash. The other four fought back in kind, swinging out to spray Rocnest's scorched rim with every color of hissing bolt. There were lightning blasts and fire streams and storms of exploding hail, but the most destructive attack was a surge of invisible force that slammed into the cliff itself, creating a boom so loud it hit Aubric like a punch. A web of fissures shot across the rocky face, bringing the rim down in a crashing mass of stone and black dust.
Rhydwych and her Wands swooped into the roiling cloud somewhere beneath the phaerimm. Aubric raised his arm to signal the blade charge and was startled to realize he was already half a dozen steps behind everyone else. Determined not to dishonor his position by being the last into battle, he reached out to the Weave and felt its strength surge into him-but he found also that his legs would not rise faster, nor his lungs draw deeper, nor his heart pump harder. He could not understand what was wrong-until he noticed the dull burning in his abdomen and felt the wet warmth pouring down his leg. The pain he had shunted aside, but one could demand only so much from a body, and he had long ago passed that threshold.
As the landslide settled, brilliant flashes and deep rumblings filled the dust cloud. A Lordly Wand tumbled out of the roiling mass in a dozen pieces and rained to ground amidst the Noble Blades. They paid no attention and vanished, screaming, into the swirling murk.
Aubric raced after them, lungs aching and muscles burning. The plain turned into a hazy field of jumbled stone and ghostly silhouettes, and the air grew thick with choking dust, filling his throat with racking coughs. It occurred to him he might not survive to thank Evereska's new allies, and his thoughts turned briefly to Morgwais- the Red Lady, with skin so bronze it was scarlet-and he was sorry he had not gone with her into the High Forest, not because he feared what was about to befall him, nor even because he knew he would never see her again,
