A’valman stood alone on the extreme right, mandril thrust before him in trembling hands. Ball after ball of wizard-fire roared from the wand, flying through the air to crash into a demonspawn.

  The Ill-creature took the assault on its staff, the iron glowing red with heat as it absorbed the magic, then white. Lightning flashed around the Ill-creature, ripping through the ranks of its own army. It was trapped. It had no safe place to redirect the assault.

  A’valman pressed his attack. His body shook with effort, but the mandril stayed pointed straight at the demonspawn’s heart.

  The iron rod flared brightly and exploded into flame. The demonspawn followed an instant later.

  The wizard staggered and let the mandril drop to his side. A vikhor leaped into the opening created when the magical flames died.

  A’valman jerked the wand upward. A trickle of fire sputtered from the mandril, vanishing long before it reached the Ill-creature. The wizard let the wand fall from his fingers. He stood unmoving as the Ill-creature approached.

  The vikhor dashed forward, howling in anticipation.

  Two arrows flashed into the monster’s chest, reducing it to ashes.

  More vikhors rushed into the gap, but a swordsman interposed himself in front of the wizard. It was Sulmar! He fought defensively, holding the Ill-creatures at bay while A’valman regained his strength.

  Luckily, the bulk of the attackers remained engaged with the dwarves and Legionnaires. Less than a dozen turned to harry Sulmar. The vikhors snarled and snapped just beyond reach of his blade, but any who came closer vanished in a flash of blue steel.

  Vikhors! Chentelle searched the battle lines. It was only vikhors. Where were the shadow knights? She spun around. A dozen shapes were scurrying down the side of the mountain, clinging to the rock face like giant spiders. “Drup, behind you!”

  The young Legionnaire whirled. His bow came up as he sighted and loosed in a single motion. “Archers, guard the rear!”

  Blue light sparkled in the abdomen of one Tenebrite. It staggered and fell from the wall in a rain of ash.

  More arrows shot through the air. Three more shadow knights fell.

  The others burst into frenzied action, closing the distance with unbelievable speed. Two of them simply jumped from the wall. Their legs buckled as they crashed to the ground, but they started to rise again immediately.

  Vorpal shafts took out the leapers before they could regain their feet, and more Tenebrites fell from the rock face. The others made the perimeter. Three of them went to the walls, their legs and abdomens blurring as they stepped onto the narrow walkway wearing the bodies of armored men. The other dropped in front of Chentelle, its yellow eyes glowing maliciously.

  She summoned her Gift and opened her mouth to sing.

  The Tenebrite tilted forward. Its back legs scraped together in a blur of motion.

  The shrill whine drove through Chentelle’s ears, drowning out her own voice. Her Gift could not save her.

  The Tenebrite shuffled forward, sword raised to strike her down.

  Drup leaped at the creature, a vorpal arrow clutched in his hand. The Ill-creature dodged sideways, but the gleaming tip still scraped a shallow gouge across its abdomen.

  The shadow knight sent its blade whistling toward the Legionnaire’s exposed back.

  Drup dived out of the way and rolled to his feet. His vorpal sword scraped from its scabbard.

  He barely had time to raise it before the Ill-creature was upon him. Steel crashed against steel as the shadow knight forced him backward. Every touch of swords leeched power from the vorpal blade.

  He needed help. But the Tenebrite’s screech still drowned Chentelle’s voice. She searched the walls. Three of the other archers had already fallen. The last was fighting a desperate duel on the walkway with the last remaining shadow knight. He looked young, even for a human.

  The walkway!

  Chentelle ran to the wall and pressed her face against it. She extended her Gift, feeling the firm threads of dwarven Stone Lore. She latched on to those threads and sang. Her voice had to reach only to the stone wall; the whine couldn’t stop that. The threads of dwarven magic vibrated with her voice, carrying her need to the walkway underneath the shadow knight. The bricks released their hold on each other, and the Ill-creature tumbled to the ground in a shower of loose rock.

  But was she in time?

  Almost no radiance remained in Drup’s vorpal blade. He was being herded steadily into the corner by hammer blows of the shadow knight’s sword. He ducked under a cut and tried to roll free of the trap.

  One of the Tenebrite’s legs shot forward. It struck the Legionnaire in the chest and hurled him back against the wall. The red sword shot downward.

  Drup raised his blade to block. The vorpal sword shattered and dropped from his limp hand. He scrambled backward, but his feet tangled in the row of bodies and he went down.

  The Tenebrite scuttled forward.

  A bowstring thrummed. Light whistled through the air. The Tenebrite staggered, blue flame spouting from its back. The red sword fell to the ground, landing mere moments before the ashes of its master.

  Chentelle looked behind her. The young archer was already stringing another shaft and turning toward the front. His sword vibrated in the ground near the foot of the wall, embedded in a pile of ash.

  Laughter rang down from above. A great shadow swept over the battlefield. The dragon roared, and acid spewed from its mouth, splattering their right flank.

  A score of vikhors fell, howling in agony as the vitriol burned through them. But they were not alone. Five dwarves and three of Kruzel’s Legionnaires went down with them.

  Ill-creatures surged through the hole. The lines collapsed. All sense of order disappeared as the battle dissolved into a dozen individual melees. The left flank disintegrated as the vikhors attacked their rear.

  A’valman came hurtling over the wall. He landed hard, but scrambled immediately to his feet.

  Chentelle gaped at him. “What are—”

  He drew his vorpal sword and threw it past her shoulder. The blade spun through the air, then it stabilized. It floated in the gap between walls, lashing out at any vikhors that came near. An instant later, the archer’s blade sprang from the ground to join it.

  Drup scrambled onto the wall and retrieved his bow. His hands moved in a blur, sending bolts of blue flame into the swirling chaos.

  Dacius formed a rallying point on the left flank. His armor shone through the mass of Ill-creatures, and his sword carved through their ranks. His voice thundered over the field, but it gave no rousing cry to battle, only the guttural grunts of a man pushed to exhaustion.

  The right flank was hopeless. Vikhors swarmed without check. Defenders were isolated, surrounded, and torn to pieces.

  Suddenly, the pressure eased. Vikhors streamed away from the walls, charging back down the hill.

  What was happening? Chentelle climbed onto the wall and searched the field. It was Sulmar!

  The Tengarian was halfway down the hill, charging toward the Black Dragon. Vorpal swords glowed in both of his hands, and his path was littered with smoldering ash. He chanted a one word battle cry like a mantra. “Kaliya!”

  Kruzel was only a step behind him. The Legionnaire matched Sulmar’s deadly grace with a berserker fury. He laid about him with the vorpal spear, Bonesplitter. Blood flowed from a dozen wounds on his chest and legs, but he gave them no notice. His battle cries were incoherent and terrible.

  Vikhors poured down the hill, swirling around the two warriors, trying to cut off their advance.

  Bone gestured. Lightning shot from his wand, sizzling toward the humans.

  It shattered against a wall of green flame. A’stoc had finally dispatched the last of the demonspawn. The Thunderwood blazed in his hands, but he didn’t attack. He couldn’t as long as the necromancer sat astride a living creature.

  Bone’s cackle roared over the hilltop. “You are exhausted, fool. You can barely stand. I will pry the Staff from your dead hands and then raise your corpse to serve my whim.”

  Lightning shot from the necromancer’s bone wand. A’stoc blocked it with Earthpower, but it penetrated far into his shield before dying.

  Dacius drove his sword through a vikhor. The Ill-creature fell, and none jumped to replace it. The hilltop was clear. “FALL BACK. FORTIFY THE INNER WALLS.”

  What about Sulmar and Kruzel? Chentelle watched the weary Legionnaires stagger through the gate. Not one was uninjured, and most seeped blood from a half-dozen wounds. Dacius was right. These men had no strength to pursue the vikhors. But Dacius himself was absent.

  She turned back to the field. There! The human lord stalked purposefully down the hill. Beside him were Fen, Fel, and two of their brethren, marching to the steady beat of a war chant.

  But they were too far away. Scores of vikhors surrounded the two humans. Kruzel’s spear still flashed with manic energy, but as often as not, now, it missed its mark. The human flailed about, trying to react to a dozen threats at once.

  Sulmar was halted, too. The vikhors ringed him completely. He spun in a continual circle, blades whirling without cease. The Ill-creatures could not penetrate the defensive web of his steel, but he could not press forward without exposing his back. And the spinning blades were slowing.

  A’stoc was paralyzed. He could neither attack the necromancer nor turn his attention away long enough to help the warriors.

  “Necromancer!” Kruzel shifted his grip on the vorpal spear. “Die!” His arm shot forward. Bonesplitter sailed through the air, piercing Bone through the rib cage.

  The necromancer dropped from the dragon’s back.

  A’stoc took advantage of the reprieve to gather his strength. Earthpower ripped through the vikhors, reducing scores of them to dust. But the wizard dared not strike too close to the humans. The vikhors closed around the defenseless Legionnaire.

  Arrows shot through the air, destroying two of the vikhors. A sword followed, whistling through the air to reduce another of the Ill-creatures to ash. A second blade whirled and hung in the air before Kruzel’s face. Howling in triumph, he seized the blade and lashed out at his attackers. He slashed about wildly, holding the monsters at bay until Dacius and the dwarves arrived to relieve him.

  Sulmar jumped into the opening created by A’stoc’s blast. He sliced a sword through a vikhor’s neck and let it fall to the ground with the creature’s ashes. The second he left in one of the Ill-creature’s chests. Now nothing lay between him and the Black Dragon. He bolted down the hill, drawing his black sword as he ran.

  The dragon leaped, huge bat wings beating furiously against the air. The ground fell away beneath it.

  Sulmar jumped, dark blade thrust over his head in both hands. The sword bit into the dragon’s shoulder and sank to the hilt. He pulled himself onto the dragon’s back, using the sword as a grip.

  The beast screamed and beat its wings faster. Dragon and rider sailed into the darkness.

  Lightning flashed into A’stoc’s shields, driving the wizard backward. Bone stood at the bottom of the hill, Kruzel’s spear still driven through his ribs. The necromancer advanced on A’stoc, Ill-Lore crackling in the air around him.

  A’stoc steadied himself and called on the power of the Thunderwood. Green flame shot forth to meet the necromancer.

  Magic dueled in the air. The glare was blinding. Earthpower and Ill-Lore flared and pulsed, ripping chunks of stone from the earth in their fury.

  The center of the storm raged back and forth between A’stoc and the necromancer. But through it all, Bone advanced up the hillside. Step by step, he drew nearer to the exhausted wizard.

  Suddenly, the necromancer screamed. In a moment, Chentelle saw why. Bonesplitter glowed fiercely and lifted the Ill-creature into the air. The spear thrashed back and forth, ripping through Bone’s leathery flesh.

  The twisted wand dropped from Bone’s hand. The aura of Ill-Lore vanished, and Earthpower ripped through the necromancer. Flesh and bone flaked away into glowing embers, and the embers faded to nothing.

  Chentelle felt a rush of freedom and joy. She was suddenly conscious that the necromancer’s eyes no longer touched her soul. By the Creator, all this time! She hadn’t even realized the connection still existed, but now she knew it was gone. And she knew something else. Father Marcus would be free, too.

  Bonesplitter hung in the air for a second, then dropped to the ground.

  The few remaining vikhors offered little resistance. Those who did not fall under vorpal steel turned and fled into the night.

  “It’s over,” A’valman said.

  A wave of relief rippled through the defenders. A few even managed to raise a weary cheer.

  “Wait,” Chentelle cried. “What about Sulmar?”

  17

  Reunited

  “We have to find him!”

  Dacius pulled the helm from over his head. His face was pale from exhaustion and blood loss. “I’d like to, Chentelle, but how? We don’t know where to look, and we don’t have the strength to search. Look around. I have a dozen wounded and no healer. There aren’t three men in camp who could walk farther than the bottom of the hill.”

  “But—” She cut herself off. He was right. One look at the battered and exhausted soldiers told her that. The wizard councilors had set up a first aid station, but their skills were quickly overwhelmed by the demand. Broken bones sat unattended while they struggled to bind wounds and control bleeding. Some of the wounded were closer to death than life.

  She glanced at the deep red blood that still seeped down Dacius’ leg. “You’d better go see the wizards yourself.”

  He followed her look. “You’re right. As soon as I check the perimeter.” He turned and limped off.

  But she couldn’t just give up. She had to find Sulmar. He might be in trouble. Might? He had been carried away by a dragon!

  She spotted A’stoc poking through the rubble on the hillside and ran toward him. Maybe the wizard could help?

  “Be careful where you step,” A’stoc said as she approached. He was using the Staff to sift through the piles of broken and charred bones that littered the hill. The gnarled wood trembled in the wizard’s hands, and his breath came in heavy gasps.

  “A’stoc, I need your—”

  “Wait!” He flipped part of a giant’s femur out of his way with one end of the Staff. “Ah, there you are.”

  Bone’s wand lay exposed on the hillside. The twisted rod was hardly distinguishable from the remains that surrounded it. She shuddered, remembering what its touch could do. “Is it still dangerous?”

  A’stoc raised his Staff overhead with both hands. The Thunderwood crashed down, splintering the bone wand. “Not anymore. Now, what do you need?”

  “We have to find Sulmar.” She stared into his eyes, letting him see her need. “The dragon flew off with him. You have to help me find him!”

  A’stoc winced and looked away from her. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned heavily on the Staff: “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know!” Chentelle took a deep breath. She had to stay calm. But Sulmar needed help. She could feel it! They had to find him. “He was on the dragon’s back. I don’t know where they went.”

  A’stoc looked at the night sky. “We have an hour or more until first-light. We can organize a search then.”

  “But that might be too late!” She grabbed the wizard’s arm, pleading with him. “Don’t you see? If he dies, his soul will be lost forever.”

  A’stoc’s arm quavered under her fingers. “Chentelle, please, try to understand. I will help, but we have to wait. There are still vikhors out there. They will not attack the camp, but alone in the dark we will be vulnerable. Whatever strength I had has been spent already. I could not protect you.”

  “Oh, no, he’ll be helpless.” She tried to catch the wizard’s eyes with her own. “Please, we can’t leave him out there alone!”

  A’stoc turned away and rested his head against the Staff. “I’m sorry, Chentelle.”

  “Fine.” She spun on her heel and stalked off. The wizard called something to her back, but she didn’t really care what he said right now. If no one would help her, she’d find Sulmar on her own. The question was, how?

  Find the strength in who you are. Sulmar’s words; maybe they held the key. She walked to the edge of the ruined battlements, far away from the others. The distance would make it easier. She sat down on the cold rock and shut her eyes, closing out the world of her senses. She had reached a peace with the torment of the Desecration. Now she needed more; she needed a boon. Breathing deeply and slowly, Chentelle let her awareness expand into the tortured earth.

  The land screamed at her, but it was the old scream. She knew it, now. She could go beyond the pain. She became aware of other notes, faint buzzes of warmth underneath the land’s cold dirge. They were touches of life on an ancient grave. These were close, dotting the hillside above. She allowed herself a slight smile.

  But she had to go further, had to ignore the close presence of her friends. She opened herself to the Desecration, letting the song of cold agony fill her. It seemed to go on forever, the grave of the world, endless, eternal. But there had to be more. Somewhere, there had to be warmth, life. Somewhere there had to be the touch of Sulmar. She just needed to find it.

  The scream was everywhere. It roared through her, drowning everything. The cold was terrible, final. There was no resisting it, no denying it. She could only sink into the icy grave, surrendering all hope of warmth. She just had to let go. It would—wait!

  Chentelle’s eyes snapped open. Her body was shivering violently, and a horrible scream burned through her throat. Her jaws ached and her head throbbed, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Finally, her exhausted lungs gave out. The scream ended, and she gasped desperately for fresh air. More shouts drifted down to her from the top of the hill.

  Drup was running toward her, vorpal sword bare in his hand. He covered the distance in fast, easy strides. Behind him, A’stoc stumbled-down the slope. Even with the Staff for support, he barely managed to keep from falling.