Danica uttered no such prayers for the first orog she had felled. She had hit the beast squarely in the throat and knew that its windpipe was crushed and that it soon would suffocate. The other two fought savagely, though, despite the wounds Danica had inflicted. Wielding finely crafted, razor-edged swords, they soon had the young woman backing steadily away.
A sword cut just above her head as she ducked. She kicked straight out, connecting with the monster’s thigh, but had to back off as the other monster pressed her savagely. One, two, and three, came the creature’s wicked swipes, each missing the scrambling woman by no more than an inch.
Then Danica was up again, balanced on the balls of her feet. The orog she had kicked lagged behind its companion in the pursuit, and Danica found her opening.
The single orog thrust its sword straight at her. Faster than the weapon could get to her, Danica fell into a crouch, nearly sitting upon the ground, then came up hard and angled in toward her attacker, the fingers of her right hand bent in tightly against themselves. Her left arm led the way, brushing aside the orog’s sword, leaving the monster defenseless. Her deadly right arm, coiled tight against her chest, snapped in through the opening, slamming her open palm into the hollow of the orog’s chest with every ounce of power the young woman could throw into it.
The beast hopped two feet from the ground and landed back to its feet, breathless, then it fell dead.
The remaining orog, moving in on the young woman, looked at its fallen companion curiously then abruptly changed its course, howling and hooting, scrambling for the trees.
Danica started to follow then dropped to her knees in surprise as something whistled past her, just a few feet to the side. The dart hit the orog in the back and exploded, throwing the creature face down on the ground. It gasped once for breath that would not come then lay still.
Danica looked back to see Cadderly, his crossbow, reclaimed from the unconscious wizard, in his hand. Standing over Dorigen, he seemed a terrible thing to Danica, his visage stern and angry.
Danica guessed what emotions tore at poor Cadderly. She understood the guilt and confusion that had brought him to that point. But it was no time for weakness.
“Finish her,” Danica instructed. She glanced around quickly to ensure that there were no more enemies nearby then ran after the departing trees, where the larger battles had been joined.
Cadderly looked down at the unconscious wizard, clearly disgusted at what he knew he must do.
When he had led the procession from Syldritch Trea, Elbereth had thought to keep his forces together and cut a wedge through the enemy lines to rejoin the People. As the prince came upon the scene of battle, though, he saw the folly of his plans.
There was no line to cut through, and no clear group of elves to rejoin. Chaos ruled in Shilmista, a wild scramble of elf and goblinoid, walking trees and giantkin.
“Good fighting, elf!” were the last words Elbereth heard from Ivan, circling back out of the trees with Pikel, as the elf prince sprinted off to the side to engage a bugbear moving along a patch of brambles.
By the time Elbereth had finished the creature, the trees had moved past and split up, many going for the fires burning in the north or for the cries of battle in the east, and the dwarves were nowhere to be seen. Too busy to go in search of them, Elbereth sounded his horn, a call that he hoped would soon be answered.
Temmerisa appeared in moments, flying like the wind, with Shayleigh holding tight to the steed’s reins. The horse ran down one goblin then leaped over several others as they crawled through the thicket.
“The trees!” Shayleigh cried, her words choked with hope and astonishment. She looked back over her shoulder to an oak that pounded down a host of monsters. “Shilmista has come alive!”
Shayleigh dropped from the saddle. “Take Temmerisa,” she said quickly to Elbereth.
“The horse is in fine hands,” Elbereth replied, refusing the bridle. “I only called to ensure that Temmerisa and his rider were still about.”
“Take him!” Shayleigh implored the elf prince. “Find your father. I have heard whispers that he alone faces Ragnor, and if that is true, he will need his son beside him!”
Elbereth needed to hear nothing more to convince him. He grabbed the bridle and swung up into the saddle. “Where are they?” he cried.
“The line of bluetops,” Shayleigh replied.
Elbereth pounded through the forest. He saw dozens of small encounters where his sword might have been of use, but he had not the time. Galladel facing Ragnor! The thought lodged in Elbereth’s throat and stuck his heart like a sharp pin. He recalled his own painful encounter with the powerful ogrillon, a fight he would have lost. And Elbereth was more highly regarded as a swordsman than was Galladel.
Elbereth ducked under a low branch and pulled Temmerisa in a tight turn through a narrow gap between two maples, then urged the horse into a long leap across a patch of brambles. He could feel the lather on Temmerisa’s muscled neck, could hear the proud steed’s lungs straining to pull in the air needed for such exertion.
Another leap, another turn, then a straight charge, and Temmerisa seemed up to the task, running hard, sensing his beloved master’s urgency.
Elbereth caught sight of the giant out of the corner of his eye, saw the hurled boulder rushing in. He yanked hard on Temmerisa’s reins, turning the horse aside, but not fully out of harm’s way. The white stallion went down under the force of that impact, but came right back up, stubbornly, and continued on his way.
“We will pay back that beast,” Elbereth promised, slapping his precious steed’s neck. Temmerisa snorted, lowered his great head, and charged on.
Ivan and Pikel tried as best they could to stay in the vicinity of the marching trees. Every orc or goblin the dwarves encountered slowed them, though, while the oaks walked right through, scattering horrified monsters wherever they went.
The dwarves heard elves cheer from all around, though they saw few of Elbereth’s kin. Not that they minded, the brothers were more interested in spotting enemies than in finding allies they didn’t really believe they needed.
Then the trees were far beyond them, fanning out in their steady march, and the Bouldershoulders were all alone.
“Uh-oh,” Pikel remarked, suspecting what was to come. Sure enough, dozens of humanoids appeared from their concealment in the wake of the passing trees, dozens of monsters with no apparent targets other than the dwarf brothers.
“Get yerself ready for some fighting,” Ivan said to Pikel.
The words were hardly necessary. Pikel smashed one orc even as Ivan spoke.
Then Pikel grabbed his brother and scrambled to the side, under the low-hanging, thick boughs of some pines. Ivan understood his brother’s intent, and wisdom, as soon as the monsters closed in on them, for the close quarters and low visibility favored the outnumbered dwarves.
Still, almost everywhere that Ivan swung his axe, blindly or not, he found some monster waiting to catch it and a dozen others in line behind, ready to step in.
Safe in his high perch, Kierkan Rufo thought himself quite clever. He had no intention of playing any role in the horrific battle beyond that of observer, and in that regard, he thoroughly enjoyed watching the pitiful goblins, orcs, and orogs flee before the incredible power of his moving oak.
He changed his mind when the oak stumbled upon a different enemy: two giants that were not so cowardly and not so small. The tree shuddered violently as a boulder slammed against its trunk. It swung a branch at the nearest monster, connecting solidly, but the giant, instead of falling dead, grabbed the limb and twisted.
Above, Rufo heard the sharp crack of living wood and thought he would faint away.
Another branch swung in to pound on the monster, but the second giant got in close to the trunk, grabbing on with frightening strength. The giant heaved and pulled, and the huge oak swayed to one side then the other.
More branches descended over the more distant giant, battering a
nd lashing it. The monster caught a few boughs and snapped them apart with its huge hands, but the beatings were taking a heavy toll. Soon the giant fell to its knees, and soon after that, the oak pounded it to the ground.
Another thick branch, the lowest on the great tree, wrapped around the trunk, encircling the tugging giant in an unbreakable hold.
Kierkan Rufo found himself cheering the tree on as the giant fought for breath. Rufo thought the battle won, thought his oak could finish its foe and move on, hopefully to safer and smaller opponents.
The gasping giant slumped as low as it could get on its thick, trunklike legs then heaved for all its life, pushing up and to the side.
One of the oak’s roots bent back on itself, and the tree went down in a heap, never to rise again, clutched in a death grip with its doomed destroyer. More branches wriggled in to ensure the giant’s fate.
Rufo was sure that one of his legs had been broken, though he couldn’t see it. The leg was pinned under a huge tree branch. He thought of crying out then realized the stupidity of that. Many more enemies than allies were around to hear him.
He scooped away some dirt, digging a shallow pit, then he pulled as many small, leafy branches over him as he could and tried to lay very still.
Danica came into the chaos with her mouth hanging open in amazement. Never had the young woman witnessed such destruction. She saw the tree go down with the giant then another tree went down, farther in, under a press of bugbears.
Danica looked back behind her, worried for Cadderly. She couldn’t protect him—she didn’t really believe she could protect herself. With a resigned shrug and one longing glance back to where she’d left him, the young woman set off, knowing she would have no difficulty finding an enemy to hit.
A resounding “Oo oi!” turned her head to a grove of thick pines. A bugbear rushed out, followed by a flying club. The weapon took the creature in the legs, knocking it to the ground. Before it could rise, Pikel ran out, collected his club, and splattered the bugbear’s head against the ground. The dwarf looked up at Danica, his white smile shining within the layer of gore that covered his face.
Despite the madness and danger all around her, Danica returned his smile and winked at the dwarf, and both she and Pikel suspected that it would be a wink of farewell.
Pikel disappeared back into the pines, and Danica bent low and took out her twin daggers. Then the young monk went a-hunting.
Cadderly fumbled with The Tome of Universal Harmony, trying to find some answers that would offer him escape from the task Danica and the insane situation had placed upon his shoulders. Dorigen lay still below him, groaning softly every now and then.
More important was the growing roar of the battle. Cadderly knew he could ill afford to delay much longer, that he should join in the fight beside his friends, and that even if he didn’t, the melee would likely come to him all too soon. He had his retrieved crossbow reloaded—only five darts remained—and lying ready atop the fallen wizard.
The pages of the great book seemed a blur to him. In his frantic state of mind, he could hardly read the words, much less discern some value in them. Then he was pulled from the pages all together, distracted by a distinct sensation that he was not alone. He spent a brief moment concentrating on that feeling, focusing his thoughts.
Slowly, Cadderly reached down and took up the crossbow. He spun, letting his senses guide him where his eyes could not, and fired.
The explosive dart slammed against the trunk of a sapling, blasting the tree apart. Just to the side of it Cadderly heard a sudden flap of leathery wings.
“You cannot hide from me, Druzil!” the young scholar cried. “I know where you are!”
The sound of beating wings faded away into the forest and Cadderly couldn’t prevent a grin of superiority from crossing his face. Druzil wouldn’t bother him again.
Dorigen groaned and began to shift her weight, groggily trying to get up to her elbows. Cadderly turned the crossbow down at her and loaded another dart.
His eyes widened in shock at his actions. How could he think of killing the defenseless woman, and how could he think of using his damning weapon to commit the foul deed? His breath came in gasps. Barjin’s eyes stared at him from the shadows.
He dropped the bow and took up the book, closing it and grasping it tightly in both hands.
“This is not what you had in mind when you gave this to me,” he admitted, as though he were addressing Headmistress Pertelope, then he slammed the heavy tome on the back of Dorigen’s head, again dropping her flat to the ground.
Cadderly worked frantically, before the wizard recovered again. He pulled three rings from Dorigen’s hands: first her signet ring bearing the design of that enigmatic Talonite sect, then one of gold set with a shining black onyx—the one Cadderly suspected had loosed the magical flames—and the last of gold set with several small diamond chips. The wizard’s robe came off next. Cadderly stuffed it into his backpack. He found a slender wand slipped under a tie in Dorigen’s undergarments, and fumbled through any pouches or pockets in her remaining clothing, making certain she had no more magical devices or spell components.
When he was done, he stood staring at the helpless woman, wondering what to do next. Some spells, he knew, required no physical components, and others used small, common items that could be found almost anywhere. If he left Dorigen like that, she might still play a role in the continuing battle, might wake up and kill any of them, kill Danica, perhaps, by uttering a few simple syllables.
Outraged by that thought, Cadderly grabbed his walking stick and laid the wizard’s hands out to the side. Grimacing as he swung, he smashed Dorigen’s fingers, on both hands, repeatedly, until her hands were black and blue and wickedly swollen. Through it all, the drugged and battered wizard only groaned softly and made no move to pull her hands away.
Cadderly gathered his possessions, placed the bandoleer with the remaining darts over his shoulder, and started away, not having any idea where he should go.
At last Elbereth spotted his father, fighting in the small clearing against Ragnor. The elf prince knew it would take him some time to circumvent the many other melees in the area to get near Galladel, and he knew, too, that Ragnor was fast gaining an advantage.
He watched his father try a desperate, straightforward strike. Ragnor caught the elf king’s arm and sent his sword in an overhand chop, which Galladel stopped by grabbing the ogrillon’s wrist. It all seemed horribly familiar to Elbereth. He wanted to scream a warning, wanted to destroy himself for not telling his father of the ogrillon’s favorite tactic.
The stiletto popped from Ragnor’s sword hilt, straight down at Galladel’s vulnerable head, and still Elbereth could only watch.
They continued their struggle for another moment before Ragnor freed his huge arm and plunged it down.
And suddenly, so suddenly, Elbereth was King of Shilmista.
TWENTY-TWO
VISIONS OF HELL
The mighty stallion stormed in, bravely bearing its rider toward the enemy leader. Bugbears stepped out to intercept, but Temmerisa lowered his head and plowed straight through them, scattering them like falling leaves.
Temmerisa stumbled, the great horse’s forelegs tangled in a falling bugbear. A trident, thrown from the concealing brush, entered Temmerisa’s side, finishing the proud horse’s charge. Down Temmerisa went, whinnying and thrashing from the poison that had tipped the devilish weapon.
Elbereth rolled free of the tangle and looked back in horror as his proud steed stilled.
But when the elf prince looked around, he saw that his path was clear all the way to Ragnor.
“Come along, elf,” the ogrillon spat, recognizing Elbereth from their earlier encounter. “I have beaten you before. This time I will kill you!” Just to spur his opponent on, Ragnor kicked the elf king’s corpse at his feet.
For all his confidence, though, the ogrillon was shocked at the sheer wildness of Elbereth’s charge. The reluctant king’s s
word whipped and hacked furiously, cut in on Ragnor, and stubbornly came back in after the ogrillon barely managed to parry the first strike.
“I avenge my father!” Elbereth cried, slashing away.
Confident Ragnor smiled wickedly and thought, The elf king was this one’s father? What victories I will pile up this day!
Elbereth’s furious assault went on and on, and Ragnor remained on the defensive. The ogrillon was a veteran of a thousand battles. He knew that the younger elf’s rage would play itself out and soon give way to exhaustion.
Then it would be Ragnor’s turn.
By the time Cadderly got in sight of any of the fighting, he had passed the scarred remains of the earlier melees. Blasted trees and bodies lay all around him. The cries of the dying seemed a macabre game of ventriloquism with too many bodies about for the young man to discern the source of any single cry.
One goblin grabbed his ankle as he passed. Instinct told him to fire his crossbow at the monster, but he realized that the goblin, blinded from a sword slash and near death, had grabbed him out of fear, with no thought of attacking. Cadderly pulled his leg free and stumbled away, having neither the courage to finish the creature, nor the time to tend its mortal wounds.
In the distance, another of the walking trees tumbled, buried under the bulk of a hundred monsters. Most of those creatures were already dead, tangled in strangling branches, but those that weren’t hacked wildly at the fallen oak. An elf rushed to the tree’s defense, taking down two orogs before he was buried by the others and ripped to pieces.
Cadderly didn’t know which way to run or what to do. For the young scholar, who had lived his whole life in the sheltered library, all of it seemed like some vision of the roiling Hells.
He heard soft weeping in a nearby tree and saw Hammadeen in its boughs, her shoulders bobbing with her sobs.