ahead.
'Gomja,' he whispered. 'There's-'
'I see it, sir,' the giff rumbled. 'It looks too big to be an elf.' Teldin heard the giff fumble with his pistol, then a muttered curse as Gomja threw the weapon to the ground. 'Flint's gone,' he said. 'Useless.'
'You've got that sword you found, right?' Teldin asked. He reached up and scratched at his nose as Gomja grunted in the affirmative. When he had awakened only minutes ago, he'd found his freshly broken nose had completely healed. The fal must have set up some sort of protective magical wall around Gomja and himself to prevent the wing of the armada from striking him. The wall had been crude, but it had worked. Perhaps he should be grateful.
'Sir,' said Gomja, stopping short behind him.
In the thick smoke ahead stood a huge black-armored figure. It obviously had heard them coming through the debris, and it was waiting for them to approach.
Teldin recognized the black plate-metal armor and its steel studs at once. 'Scro,' he whispered, drawing his short sword.
The scro became clearer. It was gray-skinned and nearly of ogre size, as thick across its chest as a tree trunk. Its arms and legs were similarly muscled, surpassing even Gomja's bulk.
What stopped Teldin short was the scro's face. Hideously-scarred by either fire or acid, it was barely recognizable as even remotely humanoid, except for its squashed nose and two large black eyes. It regarded Teldin and Gomja without comment. With a start, Teldin realized that the scro's mouth was blistered and burned so badly that the lips were shut.
The scro made a muffled sound, then breathed heavily for a moment. With a slow, steady motion, it raised its left arm, revealing a large, three-tined fork of black metal. This the scro brought to its mouth and made a quick slashing motion. Blood and pus ran down the scro's jaw to drip from its chin.
'Teldin Moore,' the scro croaked hoarsely in the Common tongue. 'I certainly hope that is really you. I've looked forward to meeting you.'
'Sir!' Gomja's hammy hand clamped down on Teldin's shoulder. 'Get back. You don't have the experience or the strength to deal with an opponent like this one.'
'We can take it together,' said Teldin. He knew Gomja was right, but he knew of no way to get out of this now. 'You go right. I'll go left.'
'You're being foolish, sir,' Gomja muttered back, taking a step past Teldin toward the scro. 'This is the sort of fight I've been hoping to have for months. A worthy opponent is-'
The scro moved rapidly at Gomja before either Teldin or the giff were fully prepared for it. Gomja jerked his sword up and struck down. At the same moment, the scro whirled on one foot, catching the sword in the black fork and coming to stand side by side with the giff, pulling Gomja's sword arm around in an arc. Reversing the arc, the scro flung the entrapped sword back up over Gomja's head, tearing it out of the surprised giff s grasp. The scro's right knee came up at the same moment and smashed into Gomja's midsection with a loud thump. The giff gasped aloud, staggering back to get his balance. The scro whirled, reversing its grip on its black fork, and brought the butt end down on Gomja's broad, thick forehead with an audible crack.
Gomja dropped like a lead weight and did not get up. The scro gazed down at its foe, then turned and looked down at Teldin. Its mouth bled freely, splattering droplets of blood across the front of its black steel armor.
'I seem to have been the victim of some magical hoax,' said the scro, spitting blood carelessly as it spoke. 'I thought I had found you dead and taken your cloak. I see that I was wrong, but I can fix that. It's your turn now. Give me a real fight.'
Teldin backed up. Gomja was breathing, but he was out cold. Teldin's foot caught on a piece of metal and he stumbled, catching himself at the last moment. He swallowed and looked around. Only smoke and wreckage were visible.
'A fight,' said the scro. 'Use your cloak.'
The cloak! Teldin stopped and concentrated, raising his left hand and pointing his index finger at the scro's head. Power suddenly rushed through his body, setting the hairs on his neck and arms on end.
'Here's a fight for you!' Teldin shouted.
A brilliant stream of magical bolts flew from his fingers and struck the scro in the face. The burst lasted for several seconds, sending dozens of fiery projectiles at his foe. The energy stream ended abruptly.
The scro appeared completely unaffected.
'Try again,' said the scro.
Teldin caught a hint of something in the scro's voice, and he realized it was useless. The scro must be resistant to magic in some manner, probably because of a magical item it wore. Using the cloak was not the answer.
But if it wasn't the answer, what was?
The scro took another step toward Teldin. ''You killed Gargon, my bodyguard, on Ironpiece,' it said. 'He was a good soldier. He is going to be hell to replace.'
Teldin had no idea what the scro was talking about. Did he mean the ogre who had tried to kill Gaye? Teldin glanced behind him and continued backing up, avoiding the debris.
'I'm disappointed,' said the scro. 'I had expected better. Word of your abilities has long preceded you. I was counting on a fight with an opponent equal to me.'
Equal to you, Teldin thought. Equal to you.
Teldin came to a stop. He adjusted his grip on his sword. He had one trick left. It was all he could think of.
'If you wanted your equal,' said Teldin, 'then why didn't you say so?'
He concentrated on the scro, taking in his opponent's size and musculature. Once he had it fixed in his mind, he focused on his cloak and opened himself to its powers.
For a moment he noticed no change, then felt a rushing of energy through his body that dwarfed everything he had previously felt when using the cloak. He felt his clothing grow tight across his chest and thighs, binding and pulling over his neck and upper arms. He seemed to be getting taller. Fabric ripped and split down his left and right sides. His belt tightened until he thought he would be crushed, then snapped apart and fell away. The sword in his hand seemed to shrink until it was merely of dagger size.
The scro had frozen in place as the transformation started, watching Teldin with wide, dark eyes. Blood continued to fall from its mouth as it stared.
'Impressive,' the scro said as the transformation ended. 'You are me. Two General Vorrs. You have become my equal-perhaps.'
Teldin said nothing. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, sword raised. 'Soon you will be my lesser,' he replied. He felt none of the bravado he put into his voice, feeling instead that he had been pushed beyond all rational limits. He had nothing left to do but fight.
General Vorr charged him. Teldin saw the gray warrior make a peculiar feint with his black fork-weapon as he came on. Not knowing what to expect, Teldin merely slashed out at Vorr's face, then impulsively turned completely around and slashed out again. He felt his wild strike bite into the flesh at Vorr's neck-and felt the impact of the butt of Vorr's weapon strike him dead center in his chest. Ribs broke, and blinding spikes of white-hot pain shot through Teldin's lungs. He staggered back, trying to breathe, and felt that he had been stabbed by a half-dozen spears.
Vorr came at him again. Teldin lunged forward, shielding his face with one hand and trying to impale Vorr with his sword in the other. The general sidestepped Teldin and hit him in the back with his fist, unable to bring his black fork to bear. Teldin kicked out in reflex, striking Vorr in the leg and knocking him off balance, then fell on his face and rolled to get up. He wanted to scream in agony from the pain in his chest and back. He knew he was going to die, but first he wanted to take this scro with him as payment for everything the scro, the neogi, and everyone eke had done to him.
A round piece of ceramic material lay at Teldin's feet as he got up. He bent down, seized it, and flung it at Vorr, then grabbed a long steel pipe as well and whipped it at the monstrous scro. The ceramic disk burst when it slammed into Vorr's chest, scattering bright shards everywhere. The general had recovered his balance again when the pipe slammed into his legs and knocked him back down.
Teldin felt a new surge of power flow through him. He wanted to kill this Vorr. Nothing else mattered. With a wild scream that tore his lungs as if they were set aflame, Teldin rushed at the fallen scro and leaped, his cloak and the rags of his clothing flapping in the air. Vorr came up, hands out and empty, and grabbed him by the arms, flinging him over his head and into the grassy earth beyond.
