He grabbed two spears and marched off forty paces from the edge of the pit. He planted the spears in the ground with about three cubits between them. “Fen, Fel, I need new walls. Anchor the ends to the mountainside, there and there, and angle them forward to these points. If I give you Kruzel and his men to assist, how high can you raise it by an hour before sunset?”

  Fel examined the distance. “Four cubits if we sacrifice aesthetics and permanence.”

  “But we will have to scavenge the buttresses from the excavation tunnel,” Fen added.

  “Do it,” Dacius said. “And take whatever material you need from the outer wall. How many arrows do we have?”

  “One hundred and seventy-eight.”

  “Plus the twenty your man selected.”

  “Okay, give me six archer stands, three on each wall.” Dacius turned to Drup. “Find the five best bowmen here and place them under your command. Distribute the arrows as you see fit. That’s all. Move out, people! We’ll meet again one hour before sunset.”

  The camp exploded into activity. Legion horses were used to haul stone from the excavation tunnel and the outer walls. The odd scraps went to patch the inner battlement, while the best pieces were handed over to Fel and Fen.

  The dwarves were a marvel of efficiency. Each brother took a crew of six miners and worked on one wall. The last dwarf, the cook apparently, sat in the middle of the camp and pounded a slow cadence on a large drum. The dwarves matched the beat with a deep, rumbling chant and set their work to the rhythm. They shaped the granite easily, using strong fingers and the power of their chant. Drum—accept a stone from a Legionnaire. Drum—flatten and smooth the bottom. Drum—the right. Drum—the left. Drum—the top. Drum—set the brick in place. Fen and Fel came behind the miners, using their Lore to bind the stones in place. Wherever their fingers passed, the bricks joined together, forming a seamless wall.

  Chentelle joined the Legionnaires in hauling the stone. The work seemed endless: lift, carry, drop, return. Her muscles trembled with strain, but she took comfort from the steady chant. The droning rhythm seemed to lend strength to her back and legs.

  As tirelessly as the dwarves worked, they could not keep pace with the influx of stone. By the time the wall was two-thirds complete, enough granite had been stockpiled to readily complete the fortification. Kruzel kept three men with him to assist with the final stages and sent the rest to join Jarl at the inner battlement.

  Chentelle placed her last load of rock onto the pile and stretched her back gratefully. It felt as if she had carried the entire mountain single-handedly. She massaged the back of her neck with one hand and noticed someone staring at her from beside the field stables: A’stoc.

  He turned and started walking away when she looked up.

  “A’stoc, wait!” She told Sulmar to stay where he was, then rushed over to intercept the wizard. “I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You were only doing what you thought was right. I’m sorry.”

  His eyes searched her face for several moments before answering softly, “No, Chentelle. I acted foolishly. You were right to be angry. Now, please excuse me. I must prepare.”

  Chentelle watched him walk away, unable to decipher the strange emotion she had heard in his voice. Despair? Was the coming battle truly hopeless? She heard nervous whinnying from inside the tent. Even the horses could feel it! She felt blind and stupid.

  The horses! She ran to the center of camp and burst into the command tent. “Dacius!”

  The Legionnaire looked up from conversation with Councilor A’rullen.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right, Chentelle. We were just finishing.” He nodded his head to A’rullen. “Thank you for your help, councilor.”

  “Now,” he said as the wizard left the tent. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was just wondering,” she said. “What are you going to do with the horses?”

  He shook his head sadly. “We can’t use them, I’m afraid. Our force is too small to fight a battle of maneuver.”

  “But what are we going to do with them? There isn’t room for them inside the wall, and if we leave them tied outside they’ll be slaughtered.”

  “I know,” he said. “But they can’t survive loose in this wasteland, and I can’t spare a man to lead them away.”

  “Let me do it.” Chentelle fought down a surge of fear. “I don’t have to go with them. I can use my Gift to send them east.”

  Dacius smiled and nodded assent. “Fine. But wait until the construction is complete and don’t send them all. Move the four fastest horses inside the new fortification. Face them into the mountain and make sure they’re hobbled and wearing blinders. Grab one of Jarl’s men if you need help.”

  “I will.” She started to back out of the tent.

  “Wait,” Dacius said. “Will you do me a favor before you leave?”

  “Of course.”

  Dacius walked to the corner of the tent, where the armor of Lars Covenant was laid out neatly. His face flushed with embarrassment, and he shrugged. “There aren’t any squires here. Would you…?”

  Chentelle grinned and bowed deeply. “I would be honored.”

  While Dacius lifted the breastplate and held it to his chest, Chentelle struggled to lift the back plate. By the Creator, it must weigh three stone. Groaning with effort, she raised the armor and pressed it against the human’s back. The molded shoulders and waist slid into place as if the cuirass had been forged precisely for his body. But how was she supposed to attach it? There were no straps or buckles.

  Dacius shifted the frontpiece slightly, and the two halves slid into alignment. The metal rang with a high, clear tone, and soft blue light glowed along the lines of joining. When the glow faded, the seams were gone. Nothing remained to show that the armor had ever been more than one piece.

  “Amazing,” Dacius said. “It’s nearly weightless.”

  Chentelle blinked. The armor had changed. The skirt of plates that had hung only from the bottom of the breastplate now circled the Legionnaire’s hips completely. And new plates dropped from the shoulders, protecting his upper arms. She pointed. “Dacius, look.”

  His eyes followed the line of her finger, then grew wide in surprise. “More wonders!” He picked up the gauntlets and slipped them on quickly. He flexed his fingers experimentally, seeming pleased at the ease of movement. Then he picked up the five-sided shield and slid his left arm through the braces.

  As soon as his hand closed around the grip, shield and glove both flashed with brilliant blue light. “Look.” He spread his arm to show Chentelle the inside of the shield.

  The steel gauntlet had extended upward to cover the inside of his arm to the elbow. More astonishingly, the glove itself now showed neither fingers nor thumb. It had fused with the grip of the shield.

  Chentelle reached out and tilted the shield so that Dacius could see its face.

  “By the Creator.” Dacius grabbed the shield with his right hand and pulled. There was a muffled pop, and his arm slid free of the braces. The left gauntlet showed no signs of its earlier transformation. He flipped the shield around so that he could see it better. “Even now. By the beard of my father, this A’kalendane was truly a wizard.”

  The face of the shield now bore the twin suns of House Gemine.

  Dacius picked up the solid-faced helm. “I had thought this unfinished. But now…” He lowered the casque onto his head.

  Once again, the steel shone with blue light. The headpiece joined to the cuirass forming a segmented gorget that completely protected the Legionnaire’s neck.

  “CHENTELLE, THIS IS MARVELOUS.” Dacius’ voice resonated from the helm in all directions. It filled the tent with deep, rich sound. “I CAN SEE CLEARLY, BETTER THAN CLEARLY. I THINK I COULD SEE IN COMPLETE DARKNESS.”

  “You look…” Chentelle struggled to find the right words, “very fearsome.”

  “WELL, I—”

  Sulmar came crashing through the door to the tent, sword in hand. His eyes searched the tent for any threat. Seeing none, he relaxed and sheathed his blade. “I heard yelling, mistress. Lord Gemine, is that you?”

  Dacius reached up and slipped off the helmet. “Hello, Sulmar. I’m sorry to have startled you. The helm seems to amplify my voice.”

  Sulmar nodded and ducked out of the tent.

  Dacius stared through the open flap, eyes fixed upon the new construction. All mirth vanished from his face, replaced by iron determination. “It won’t be long, now.”

  As soon as the walls were complete, Dacius called everyone together again. He had spread out the bundles of weapons and armor on the ground, and he stood behind them, helmet resting on his arm. He waited quietly while everyone settled into place.

  “Order of Battle!”

  The Legionnaires present snapped instantly to attention. Everyone else became silent and attentive.

  “Commander Kruzel,” Dacius called, “you have the right flank. Yeoman Jarl, you are the left. Both units minus the archers Drup has selected. The wizards will deploy as follows: A’rullen—left, A’stoc—center, A’valman—right. Fen and Fel, you and your miners will be our reserve. Determine authority however you wish, but let me know who commands before nightfall.

  “Both flanks and their magical support will deploy at the inner battlement. We will hold that position as long as possible. Reserves and bowmen deploy within the inner walls. Archers, you’re too few for volley fire. Select targets and make each shot count. If there are shadow knights among the enemy, target them first. Sulmar, you and I have no fixed position. We will provide immediate support for any position that is pressed. Pay particular attention to A’stoc. He will be unsupported in the center. Chentelle, the mountain guards our back, but the enemy may have forces that can cross it. I am trusting you to find your own path, as you have done before, but keep an eye on that slope as well.”

  Dacius paused, then continued in a softer voice. “Most of you have never seen the kind of enemy we will face today, but by now you have all heard tales. Make no mistake, the necromancer is a terrible foe, but all of the advantages are not his. We have the high ground and a fortified position, and the enemy cannot maintain his attack past the hours of darkness. We have three of the mightiest wizards in the Realm at our side, one of whom commands the power of the Thunderwood. And we have one thing more. I tell you now, the enemy made a fatal error when he allowed us time to retrieve A’kalendane’s hoard, for he has given us the power to destroy him.”

  Dacius stepped back and donned his helm.

  “FRIENDS.” A flutter of astonishment rippled through the crowd at his voice. “BEFORE YOU LIES THE POWER OF WHICH I SPEAK, THE WEAPONS OF A’KALENDANE. BY CONTRACT, YOU ARE EACH ENTITLED TO ONE ITEM FROM THE HOARD. I TELL YOU NOW, TAKE TWO, TAKE THREE. I COMMAND EACH MAN TO TAKE WHATEVER WEAPONS HE CAN USE EFFECTIVELY, WHATEVER ARMOR HE NEEDS. THIS IS NOT GREED. IF THERE IS NO BATTLE, YOU WILL RETURN ALL BUT YOUR SHARE. BUT IF BATTLE COMES, WE MUST MEET IT WITH ALL THE STRENGTH WE HAVE TO BEAR. THEN, EVERY SWORD THAT FINDS ITS MARK BECOMES PROPERTY OF THE ARM THAT WIELDS IT. EVERY SHIELD THAT TURNS A BLOW BELONGS TO THE LIMB THAT IT SAVED. WE FIGHT TODAY FOR THE HOPE OF THE WORLD. WE WILL NOT FAIL.”

  Dacius drew his sword and thrust it into the air. “FOR HONOR! FOR LEGION! FOR CREATION!” The shout thundered off the mountain, echoed by the voices of every warrior in camp.

  Quickly, the men filed through to select their arms. Most of the Legionnaires chose a sword and a light shield. Some also selected a spear or dagger. The few helmets and bits of armor were snatched up quickly. Fen, Fel, and one other dwarf chose large shields, nearly as tall as themselves, and heavy daggers which they could use as swords. The others all took long spears and the same type of dagger.

  Chentelle headed for the stable. She couldn’t put it off any longer. The horses that were staying had already been moved. Now it was time to send away the others. Sundancer was waiting for her by the entrance of the tent. She pushed open the makeshift gate and swung onto the mare’s back. The other horses milled behind her, free to leave but too well trained to bolt.

  Chentelle wrapped her arms around Sundancer’s neck and slowly reached for her Gift. She focused every ounce of concentration on the mare, on her feel, her heat, her strength. She needed to open up only a tiny bit, just enough to communicate a simple idea. She wasn’t even touching the ground, only Sundancer. Even so, the dead scream assaulted her, twisting her world into a spasm of pain and despair. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, giving a vibrato to her voice.

  “Go east,” she sang into Sundancer’s ear. “Guide the herd. East is food, east is water. Go east. Go.”

  She felt a chord of understanding in the mare and clamped down her Gift immediately, blocking out the scream. Sundancer twitched nervously, and Chentelle slid off of her back. She pushed her way through the tent, prodding the other horses to leave. With Sundancer’s help, she managed to get them all under way. She watched long enough to be satisfied that they were heading in the right direction, then headed back to the fortifications.

  The Legionnaires were already in place along the inner battlement. With a feeling approaching awe she realized that many of them were sleeping. Dacius and Councilor A’rullen were deep in conversation on the left flank, and A’stoc and A’valman were arguing about something on the right. She walked toward the right.

  “Enchantress!” A’valman called. “I’m glad you are here. Perhaps you can help me talk sense into him. I am trying to convince him that if the battle goes poorly he should leave the rest of us and escape with the Staff.”

  She turned to A’stoc. “It does make sense. We can’t afford to lose the Thunderwood. Don’t forget the—the other mission we’re on.”

  “Exactly!” A’valman said. “Remember your other mission, whatever it might be. It serves nothing for you to throw the Thunderwood away. If we are all going to die anyway, you should save yourself and the Staff.”

  A’stoc looked at Chentelle strangely, then turned to the other wizard. “I do not think that will happen.”

  A’valman threw up his arms in disgust. “I give up. If you are determined to risk the destruction of the Creation, I cannot stop you.”

  “Wait,” A’stoc said as the councilor turned to leave. “Do you know how to focus through a mandril?”

  “What?” A’valman raised his brows at the unexpected question. “Yes. It is not my specialty, but I can use one.”

  A’stoc pulled a thin wooden rod from inside his robe. “This was your father’s. It may serve you better than that sword in the coming battle.”

  A’valman stared at the wand. His jaw trembled, and tears welled in his eyes. Slowly, he extended his hand. “I—I don’t…”

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything. Just use it well, brother.” He placed the wand in A’valman’s hand and walked toward his place in the center.

  Chentelle stared after him. He wasn’t acting at all like himself. She hurried to the new fortification, a knot of fear twisting in her belly.

  The dwarves had taken a position just inside the gateway. They squatted in a circle, facing inward. Each of them had a small drum between his knees, on which he was beating a soft, slow tattoo. On the walls, Drup’s archers ranged their bows, firing Legion arrows at fixed targets on the hillside. Quivers full of A’kalendane’s vorpal shafts were stacked neatly at each one’s feet.

  Chentelle found a position in the corner near the horses, and sat down with her back to the mountain. Sulmar appeared from somewhere and stood beside her. If he was frightened, or even anxious, he gave no outward sign. They waited.

  Just before dark, a Legionnaire rushed by and dropped two loaves of bread and a canteen at their feet. Chentelle had no appetite but she forced herself to eat some of the bread. It was heavy and slightly bitter, but it seemed to settle her stomach a little. She washed it down with water from the canteen, then sat back to wait some more.

  Twilight faded into night, and Dacius called for orb-light. Scores, maybe hundreds, of adartak crystals sparked into life, illuminating the hilltop with a soft white glow. Chentelle’s eyes were drawn to the fringe of the radiance, to the gray shadows and the black curtain beyond. She searched the darkness, expecting at any moment to see the foul yellow eyes of the enemy.

  Time passed: minutes, hours. Nothing came.

  She began to wonder whether A’valman had been right. Maybe Bone didn’t have any more Ill-creatures to throw at them. After all, they had forced the necromancer’s hand when they showed up at Skysoar. He might not be able to mount a large attack so quickly. The ways of the enemy were often inscrutable, but surely it, too, suffered the strictures of logistics. Her eyes burned from fatigue and the stinging dust. Blinking didn’t help, so she shut them for a moment.

  “THEY COME!”

  Chentelle jerked awake. What? She jumped to her feet. The dwarves stood solidly between her and the gap in the wall, arranged now in a phalanx five deep and three across. When had that happened? She squeezed past them and peeked through the opening.

  Pale shapes lumbered through the darkness. Fleshless bones gleaming in the orb-light, pinpricks of yellow light floating in empty sockets, bodies clicking grotesquely with each step, the skeletons marched toward them. Ancient weapons twitched in their fingers, and scraps of tattered uniforms hung from their bones.

  By the Creator! Bone had raised the bodies of those killed in the Desecration, torn them from the womb of this dead land. Logistics? This was the formation of an entirely new and terrible force! They surged up the hill, hundred or more for every man on the walls: skeletons of humans, goblins, elves, and other creatures she didn’t recognize.