Baloth’s expression grew doubtful. “They’ll have to get within range of the archers. Are you sure, my lord?”
“Yes! I’m sure!” Kurthak snapped. His face was dark with anger. “Go.”
Bowing, the hairless ogre sprinted away. Before long, a party of six ogres split off from the camp and started toward Kendermore. Kurthak and Tragor watched as they crossed the meadow. Shouts rang out from the town’s walls, and the kender scrambled into position behind the merlons, readying their weapons. The camps at the edges of the forest stirred, too, as the ogres watched the scouts cross the meadow.
Soon, the thrum of bowstrings carried across the field. Arrows soared high, arcing across the clear, blue sky, then dove at the scouts like angry wasps. One of the ogres fell immediately, his body pierced by the deadly shafts, but the rest raised great wooden shields, deflecting the shots as they pressed closer. The kender loosed a second flight, then a third. Another scout caught an arrow in his shoulder, spun with the force of the blow, and swiftly died, another shaft lodged in the back of his skull.
The remaining four scouts stopped barely a hundred yards from the wall. Arrows and stones fell upon them like hail, but they did not falter. They peered out from behind their shields, up at the top of the wall.
Two of the humans-the men-stood at the battlements, firing longbows along with the kender. The woman had disappeared from view. The scouts stared at the two men for a few heartbeats, then turned and started to run, back toward the woods.
One died, his back riddled with arrows, before he could take two steps. Another fell before he took ten. A victorious whoop rose from the walls. A third nearly made it to safety, then caught an arrow in his leg and collapsed. He tried to crawl and was pierced six more times before he finally lay still. The last scout won clear, however, and continued to run, even when he was out of bowshot. His eyes flared with wild desperation, as if the legions of Chaos pursued him.
Baloth loped from the tree line to meet the scout and had to catch his arm and drag him to a halt. The scout rested a moment, catching his breath, then, made his way to Kurthak. Baloth walked behind, axe in hand.
“What news?” the Black-Gazer demanded as they approached.
“My lord,” the scout said, and bowed. “They are two men, dressed in leather and furs. One wears a feathered headdress.”
Tragor spat. “Barbarians,” he sneered. He looked at Kurthak. “From the Dairlies.”
The Black-Gazer pursed his lips. “I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve never seen a Dairly barbarian in a feathered headdress.” He glowered at the scout. “What else can you say about them?” he demanded. “Their faces! Their hair!”
“They looked… like humans,” the scout said lamely, quivering before the hetman’s wrath. “The feathered one was old… white hair. Many wrinkles. He wore a fur vest, and his arms were bare except for bracers. And-he was very tall… for a human. The younger one spoke to him.”
“Yes?” Kurthak thundered, his eyes widening. “Did you hear what he said?”
The scout hesitated, his eyes flicking about as if he sought to flee the Black-Gazer’s sight. Baloth raised his axe, but Kurthak stayed his hand with a glare.
“What did he say?” Kurthak boomed again. “Tell me!”
“I-didn’t hear all of it, my lord,” the scout said hesitantly. “We couldn’t get dose enough. But he called the older one his chief, and spoke his name.”
Kurthak’s eye shone. “His name,” he said. “What was it?”
“R-Riverwind, my lord…”
The Black-Gazer caught his breath suddenly, and the scout squeezed his eyes shut, whimpering and hunching his shoulders in expectation of Baloth’s axe’s descent. After a moment, however, Kurthak exhaled slowly. He stroked his chin, wondering, and then his face hardened as he reached a decision. Muttering an oath, he turned away from the meadow and headed into the Kenderwood.
Tragor hurried to catch up, caught off-guard by his master’s sudden movement. “My lord!” he shouted. He reached out and caught the hetman’s elbow.
The Black-Gazer’s single eye was ablaze as he whirled to face his champion. Tragor didn’t balk, however; he stood his ground and returned his master’s smoldering stare. “My lord, what is it?”
“A danger,” Kurthak replied. He glanced behind him, deeper into the woods. “I must go to Blood Watch.”
“Blood Watch!” Tragor blurted, astounded. “What for?”
“To tell Malystryx.”
Kurthak turned to go again, but once more his champion caught him. “My lord,” Tragor said. “Must you leave now? The army.
“Is yours to command while I am gone,” Kurthak replied. “Keep them here, away from the walls. Let no one enter or leave Kendermore.”
Tragor bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“I will be swift. Don’t try to take the town while I am gone. If I find that you have disobeyed me…” He let his voice trail off, the threat in his single eye enough to make his mind clear. Then he looked past Tragor, back toward the edge of the meadow. “Baloth!” he shouted. “See to that coward, then come with me.”
The hairless ogre grinned, understanding the tone of the Black-Gazer’s voice. He brought down his great axe, cleaving the scout’s head from behind. As the slain scout crumpled to the ground, Kurthak turned and stormed urgently away through the forest. Baloth hurried to follow.
Chapter 18
Malystryx slumbered in her nest deep within Blood Watch, her serpentine form shuddering and twisting as she dreamt of carnage. Her breath came in great snorting rushes, a massive bellows that fed the forge-fires in her belly. Smoke hung around her, swirling and eddying with the twitching of her wings. Her claws scratched the floor, scoring the stone with long, jagged furrows.
“Mistress.”
Even in the depths of sleep, she heard Yovanna’s voice. Angrily, she hauled herself back to wakefulness, her bloody dreams forgotten. She cracked open a golden eye, glaring at the black-cloaked form on the balcony above her. Yovanna met her baleful gaze calmly from within the dark depths of her hood.
“I have told you about waking me,” Malys hissed.
Yovanna nodded. “I would not do so, Mistress, if it did not seem urgent to me. The Black-Gazer has come.”
A jet of flame erupted from Malystryx’s maw, scorching the stone. She raised her head to look straight at the black-cloaked figure. “Kurthak?” she demanded. “Why has he left Kendermore?”
“He would not tell me, Mistress. He insisted that he speak with you.”
With an impatient snort, Malystryx slowly uncoiled and stretched her sinuous form. “You shouldn’t have disturbed me, Yovanna. The fool could have waited until I woke.”
“That was my thinking, Mistress,” Yovanna replied carefully. “But he came here three days ago, and you have been asleep the whole time. I thought you would prefer to see him now, so he can go back where he belongs.”
The dragon unfolded her wings, fanning them slowly to work out the stiffness of slumber. “Very well,” she rasped. “Where is he? Not within this mountain, I hope.”
Yovanna shook her head. “I left him and his companion on a ridge, a league west of here.”
Malystryx said nothing more to her servant. She tensed, then leaped almost straight upward, her legs launching her like coiled springs. Her wings beat slowly as she streaked up past Yovanna and caught the stony edge of the shaft with her clutching claws. With practised ease she pulled herself up into the cleft, then squirmed up through the rock, away from her nest. It was a tight fit, the shaft’s rough walls scraping her hide as she slithered along. It had not been so when she’d first claimed Blood Watch as her lair, but that had been quite some time ago. Malys had grown a great deal since then. There had been many other dragons to feed upon.
Daylight shone above her, a spot of blue amid the blackness of the stone. She heaved herself toward that light, her tail thrashing behind her. Then she was free, emerging from a vent in the side of the volcano like some
