strength, not agility and certainly not for stealth. But in the years since his liberation, he’d learned to compensate for his hugeness, deformities, and limp.
He peeked around a mossy tree trunk. His eyes widened, and a dozen inner voices clamored at once to explain the import of what he beheld.
They didn’t need to. He understood. The golems were indeed of Raumathari manufacture. He recalled seeing some of them in the vaults where their creators had kept them. But the folk marching along with the constructs weren’t Pevkalondra and her retainers. They were living berserkers, hathrans, and men in masks, along with the sun priestess who’d destroyed Falconer and the fire mage who’d contended with Nyevarra.
“How did they get past the fey?” asked one of Uramar’s souls.
But he didn’t have time to speculate or curse the durthans’ longtime allies for being less capable than they were supposed to be. He turned and crept back to the rest of the patrol.
“The folk up ahead are an enemy war band,” he whispered, “headed straight for the weir tress. Our troops outnumber them, but if the living take them by surprise, it could still be bad. Zashtyne.”
“Yes,” moaned a gray, wavering, all-but-faceless blur.
“Fly to Lod and warn him. The rest of us will delay the enemy and buy our comrades time to get ready to fight.”
Zashtyne hurtled away. The rest of the patrol awaited Uramar’s further commands. In their various fashions, they all looked resolute despite the long odds, and he felt a pang of pride in them. They embodied the truth of Lod’s teaching that the undead were higher, worthier beings than the mortal husks from which they rose.
Waving his hand, he bade them spread out so no blast of flame or rain of acid could target too many at once. Then he drew his greatsword from the scabbard on his back, charged, and his fellows exploded into a headlong dash along with him. They wouldn’t close the distance before the living noticed them coming, but with luck, they might get close.
His soul fragments shouted war cries or gave advice. One piece of the latter was to shroud himself in what was, for the living, crippling cold, and he willed the force to leap forth from inside him.
The patrol was twenty strides from the foe when the fire wizard spotted them and shouted an alarm, whereupon a bronze sphinx with brass joints and copper highlights pivoted and bounded at Uramar. He wondered if some knowledgeable foe was making sure he battled one of the constructs, for neither his aura of chill nor the life- drinking magic bound in his sword were likely to inconvenience it.
All right, then, he thought, I’ll do this the hard way.
The sphinx’s hinged jaw opened, and without breaking stride, it roared. The sound ripped through Uramar’s head, and a couple of his inner voices wailed. But most of the pieces of his mosaic self held fast against terror.
He faltered, though, just as if he were afraid, and waited for the sphinx to spring. When it obliged, he dodged to the side and cut at its neck.
Metal crashed as steel cracked bronze. The stroke fell well short of decapitating the automaton, though, and it spun around to face Uramar anew. At the same instant, golden light, painful like a bee sting, flashed at the corner of his vision. The sun priestess was channeling the power of her deity.
Uramar had hoped some of his warriors would reach her and the wizard before they could start casting spells. But things plainly hadn’t worked out that way, and he needed to deal with the sphinx before he’d have any hope of striking down the southerners himself.
The automaton lunged at him, and he cut at it. With a trickiness he hadn’t expected of a mindless thing- maybe its new master was operating it like a puppet-the sphinx stopped short and swiped at his blade with its paw.
Metal rang once more as the blow connected and nearly tore the weapon from his hands. Intent on reaching him before he could grip the hilt securely again, the sphinx pounced, and he spun aside.
As he did, he glimpsed a specter in flight, its arms and fingers stretching as it rushed the tall, slender wizard. She pointed her staff at it, and the end of the weapon and her long yellow hair both burst into flame. Then, however, all the fire went out as quickly as it had erupted, and she hurled darts of crimson radiance instead.
Uramar barely dodged the sphinx’s spring, and as a result ended up too close to cut at his foe. But as one of his voices needlessly reminded him, that didn’t mean the weapon was useless. He hammered the pommel down on the automaton’s spine with all his strength.
The sphinx lurched off balance, froze for an instant, then pivoted. Uramar hopped back and so avoided a snap of its bronze fangs.
At that moment, undeterred by his mantle of cold, a Rashemi warrior with a battle-axe rushed in his flank. Without taking his eyes off the sphinx, Uramar jabbed his sword to the side and caught the berserker in the neck. It would have been a lethal stroke even with an ordinary weapon, but in this case, the Rashemi withered and died before he could even slip off the point, let alone bleed out.
Meanwhile, the golem lunged, but it was no longer as fast and agile as before. Uramar retreated, shifted the greatsword back in front of him, and swung it down at the top of the sphinx’s half human, half leonine head.
The blade split its target all the way down to the mouth. The automaton collapsed in a rattling heap.
Uramar yanked the sword free and pivoted to locate the sun priestess. There she was, casting spells behind the protection afforded by two warriors made of light. He started toward her, but another golem, the enormous centipede he’d noticed at the start, interposed itself between them.
As he fought to demolish that construct, he caught more glimpses of the rest of the battle. His comrades were perishing one by one, vanquished by superior numbers.
Was it possible they’d delayed the living long enough? Some of the soul fragments thought yes, others no, but perhaps it didn’t matter anyway. Berserkers and golems were maneuvering to cut off any possible retreat.
So be it, then. Maybe the necromantic secrets of the
He sheared the centipede’s front legs out from under it, then smashed its head when it tipped off balance. By that time, though, more foes were converging on him, and he couldn’t see any of his allies anymore.
He wished he hadn’t been so awkward and shy when Nyevarra offered her affection.
And at that instant, as if his thoughts had brought her, she appeared beside him in a puff of displaced air, her tarnished silver mask on her face and the Stag King’s antler staff in her left hand. She took hold of his forearm with her right hand and rattled off rhyming words of power.
The world seemed to shatter into sparks, and he had a sensation of hurtling motion, although without being able to tell if he was falling or streaking along like an arrow. The feeling only lasted for an instant, though, and then his surroundings reassembled themselves into stable, coherent forms as abruptly as they’d burst apart.
Only now they were different surroundings. He and the vampire stood amid the towering weir trees, where everyone was rushing around preparing for battle.
“Zashtyne made it here,” he said, “and then you came for me.”
“We need you,” she said, her fingertips lingering on his biceps. “Are you ready to take on the mortals in a fair fight?”
He smiled at her. “I am.”
When Aoth Fezim and Jet swooped toward the deck, men scattered. And they kept their distance thereafter from the black griffon’s smoldering red eyes, beak, and talons.
It was the natural, prudent reaction, but Bez had no intention of looking intimidated in front of his own crew and aboard his own vessel, even if he was the Halruaan the beast-and his master-genuinely hated. Thus, he strode closer to the newcomers, past masts, rigging, catapults, ballistae, and the cranks that controlled the
“Yes,” said Fezim, “and unfortunately, the durthan who wields the Stag King’s staff appeared and whisked the patchwork swordsman I told you about to safety.”
“So now the rest of the undead and dark fey know we’re coming.”
“At least we got close to the weir trees, and Vandar and the others are moving up fast. They may engage before Lod and his creatures finish putting themselves in order. But we’re not going to take them by complete
