the fortress- except the vremyonni. He hoped that those vremyonni secrets had remained safe and well-hidden for Rashemen's sake.
On the northern end of their path around the wall of rubble, Thaena signaled the place of another obelisk. This time she waved Bastun along with her to inspect the stone, eliciting a frustrated sigh from Syrolf. Thaena seemed not to hear the warrior, but Duras glowered at him as Bastun moved to accompany the ethran.
He noted that the stone did indeed bear a stronger marking of ash over the original sigil and he studied the odd symbol from several angles trying to discern its meaning. Duras approached from behind to look as well, but after a moment he returned his gaze to the end of the street.
'There's some sort of clearing up ahead,' he remarked to Thaena, squinting through the fog.
'Yes,' Bastun said, not looking up from the obelisk. 'If memory serves, it should be an old merchant square.'
'I'd like to take the lead group to scout the area.'
'Of course, Duras,' Thaena said, also involved in Bastun's observation. 'We shall be along shortly with the others.'
Bastun's mind flew through the tomes of history he had studied among the vremyonni, trying to place the odd smearing of ash, the vague shape that just barely escaped his memory. Duras led the lead warriors toward the clearing, leaving Syrolf in charge of the fifteen in the rear. More of the oddly quiet thunder rumbled, and the snow came on in larger flakes as Bastun tried to shield the symbol from being obscured. The sound of the warriors' boots crunching through the snow was powerfully loud, amplified by his mask, and he tried to shut out the world around him.
The Firedawn Cycle still tugged at his mind, keeping a rhythm he could not shake from his thoughts. Sighing in consternation, he caught himself humming the tune and looked back at the the sigil from the opposite side of the obelisk. His mind refused to recognize it.
At the distant end of the street he heard Duras's group stop, their voices low as they discussed something they'd found.
Shutting out their voices, Bastun drew closer to understanding what he was seeing. Thaena had backed away, watching the bobbing light of the torches through the snow with concern.
'Is this supposed to be here?' Bastun heard them say, a slight echo among the close buildings of the merchant square.
It clicked in his mind: an ancient book on ancient and extant languages of the north. An arch here, a straight line there, the pattern matched well. He remembered the page, a listing of ancient arcane alphabets in the surrounding regions of Rashemen. His eyes widened in alarm and his quick intake of breath drew Thaena's attention.
'It looks like the path has been blocked,' Duras's voice said, a note of caution echoing in Bastun's ears.
'Call them back!' he said and faced the distant clearing. 'The symbol is of the Nar!'
Chapter Three
Running toward the open square, Bastun yelled through the fog. Dulled thunder rolled through the clouds. The wind picked up, obscuring his warnings. Syrolf shouted behind him, running to stop him, but as the wind shifted Bastun could already hear the sound of taut bowstrings straining against the curve of bows. He spun around, seeing Syrolf several paces back, and waved his hand.
'Get down!'
Arrows whipped through the fog, cracking against buildings on the eastern side of the road. Several found their marks. A few warriors dropped to their knee with arrows embedded in shoulders and legs or long cuts where the missiles had grazed exposed skin. Bastun rolled in the snow, diving behind a nearby column for cover. Shouts erupted from the square down the street, a similar attack taking Duras by surprise. The Rashemi acted quickly, scattering and spreading out so they would not be such easy targets. Syrolf and a few others formed a semi-circle around Thaena, who began casting.
Bastun watched and waited as Thaena wove a spell of protection against the bows. The energy she summoned made tiny ripples in the Weave that he could feel, tempting him to call upon his own magic. He gritted his teeth, breathing slow and even.
The attackers loosed another volley of arrows, this time at
Thaena, but her spell held strong, knocking the missiles from the air to land useless in the snow.
Rocks shifted from the ruin on the western side of the road, and with a fierce war cry the Nar burst from their hiding spots, brandishing axes and long-handled swords. The fang answered that cry with a call every bit as fierce, growling as they summoned the famed rage of the berserkers. Up the street, Duras and the rest of the warriors howled their own call to battle and formed a line to close the square into a killing ground.
Bastun gripped his staff. The warriors to the south prowled forward, baring their teeth and hunched low to the ground, ready to spring. Duras to the north did much the same, backing out of bow range to force their attackers to come forth and face them. Though slightly greater in numbers, the Nar were more than evenly matched. Thaena held her staff low, respecting the stand-off and ready to add her magic to the battle. The guards that protected her were ready to lay down their lives in her defense and eager to lay down many more Nar lives in doing so.
No one looked for Bastun. No warrior came to fight at his side or even glanced his way. Under normal circumstances Bastun would have preferred this, but under normal circumstances his hands would not be so tied by wychlaren law.
The Nar poured down the fog-shrouded rubble. Fur cloaks flowed around their broad shoulders, their bare arms riddled with tattoos. Bows had been left behind in favor of the vicious heavy blades they bore with ease. As they reached the base of the pile and continued their charge across the snow, they shouted battle cries. The Rashemi charged back, closing their spread line and raising their voices in unison.
Steel rang against steel, and the Nar cries dissolved into grunts and challenges. The Rashemi continued growling, losing themselves in an animal fury that grew with each strike. Thaena cast globes of crackling black energy into the fray, taking at least one screaming Nar to the ground where he writhed for long moments before laying still. Bastun heard Duras's voice from the north, but he could only see the faint glow of dropped torches on the ground. Blurry silhouettes danced, flickered, and disappeared in the fog.
Biting his lip, Bastun fought to maintain his calm. He was forbidden to cast any magic until safely away from Shandaular's borders. He knew the wychlaren could not have suspected the Nar would enter the city so brazenly, and for a heartbeat he wondered how the Nar had accomplished such a feat in the first place. Peering south again, he saw the Nar had not been prepared for the berserkers and had backed up several paces to defend themselves against the assault. To their credit, the Nar maintained a fierceness that was impressive.
Syrolf slashed again and again in wild abandon, seeming possessed as he bore down on yet another foe. Finding the proper opening, he swept the thick-bladed short sword behind his opponent's knee, lifting high and laying the Nar on his back to be hacked apart before he could rise. Cries of victory spurred the others on and they called out their kills, competing with one another even in combat.
Thaena's circle of guards had joined the rest of the fang to better face their attackers. The ethran stood her ground fiercely, shattering a Nar blade with a gesture and swinging her staff into his jaw. Before his broken teeth had time to disappear into the snow, she was casting again. She spun and sang words of magic, a vision of Rashemi myth and legend leaving her foes in ruin.
In the midst of the battle, Bastun detected the sound of more rocks tumbling from the wall of rubble, his mask picking up the noise of steel sliding from leather scabbards. A second group of seven Nar had crept to the base of the wall in silence, murder in their eyes as they saw Thaena's exposed back. Bastun cursed and pulled the hood from his head, measuring his breath as he stepped from behind the column to intercept the would-be assassins.
'Forbiddance be damned,' he whispered and charged forward, chanting a spell and hurling a sphere of ice that exploded in the chest of the lead barbarian. The man cried out in shock and pain, bleeding and gasping for air as he fell.
