Chapter Twenty-One
The shaman’s seat of power was located at the far end of the cave complex. But even if it hadn’t been, they’d still have known it for what it was.
The entry had clearly been carved out of the solid rock, with slowly burning torches in crude cressets to either side. The opening itself was higher than it was wide and had a dogleg bend just five feet within. And its solitary guard was an immense creature that resembled a bizarre mix of urzh and perhaps ur gaban, which Ahearn and Elweyr alternatively called grubbers, grabbers or gobblers.
However, this being’s faint similarity to that small species did not go beyond its facial characteristics. It was at least eight feet tall, with arms proportionally as long and muscled as an orang’s. The group held their breath as Elweyr exerted his now familiar thaumantic power upon it. And they all exhaled in relief as the spell—or thaumate—proved so effective that the towering monster simply lay down, curled up, and promptly went to sleep.
Directly in front of the entrance.
“Well, that’s not very helpful,” S’ythreni sneered as the group approached. She glanced at Ahearn, produced what looked like a pin. “Shall I do the honors?”
He held his sword ready, gestured at the snoring creature with the other. “By all means. I don’t fancy fooling with a kaghab.”
The aeosti checked the being’s limbs, found a loose fold of flesh in its upper arm, inserted the needle.
Druadaen started. “Won’t that make him wake up?”
She withdrew the pin. “On the contrary. It will make sure that he doesn’t.”
Kaakhag grunt-laughed, inspected the entrance closely. Ahearn stepped away from the kaghab, looked at the big urzh, who shook his head.
S’ythreni sighed. “Let me guess: he never heard about, let alone entered, this part of the complex.”
Ahearn shrugged. “As he told us, when he escaped, the last chief still refused to leave any forces in these caves. So, we go with the simplest plan: run in fast, fight hard, and use everything in our bag of tricks until we get rid of the beady-eyed bugger running the show. As soon as that’s done”—Druadaen almost laughed at the certainty in Ahearn’s tone—“whoever’s closest to the entry stands watch there. Best if it’s someone with a bow”—he glanced at Druadaen—“because we need to keep the tunnel clear if we’re going to backtrack a bit to fetch Kaakhag’s get-brother.” The big urzh nodded vigorously. “Anything to add?” Ahearn finished, looking around the group.
They shook their heads as Elweyr passed out a vial to each as they crouched in the shadows. Druadaen stared at it as the others began anointing their weapons with the contents: a faintly yellow fluid.
“What is it?” Druadaen asked, holding it out.
“Poison. Adder venom.” Elweyr answered. “The color is from the fixative that will keep it on your weapons. Give it a few seconds to set,” Elweyr answered.
Druadaen started at the explanation, then glanced at S’ythreni, then down at the small, flapped pocket to which she’d returned the needle. As grim understanding grew, he stared hard at the other two humans. “No one mentioned poison when we were making our plans.”
“Hoped we wouldn’t need it,” Ahearn muttered as he started dabbing it on several arrows.” He glanced at Elweyr. “Is that all we’ve got?”
The thaumantic shrugged one shoulder. “Couldn’t make any more.”
Druadaen hissed, “You made it?”
“Well, I’m also an alchemist.”
Druadaen opened his mouth but the overlapping surprises kept any coherent sound from coming out.
Ahearn saved him the trouble. “We haven’t the time for this. Yes, he’s an alchemist and a damned fine one. Yes, alchemists make poisons. And yes, we need to use it now. Much as I regret it.”
“Well…at least you regret it.”
The others all stared at him. “He regrets having to waste it,” S’ythreni murmured with a small smile.
Druadaen stared at her, then at Ahearn, who held out the poisoned arrows. “Here. Don’t rub them together.”
Without thinking, Druadaen leaned away. “I am no assassin!”
“And down here, ye’re no soldier, either, Dunarran.” Ahearn jerked his head toward the final chamber. “You think this lot would scruple to do otherwise, if our places were reversed?” He pushed the arrows at Druadaen. “We can argue later. Now, it’s time to do our job.”
Druadaen did not reach for the arrows. “If I take them, it does not mean I will use them. Not unless we are in dire need.”
Ahearn rolled his eyes. “Now you do sound the fool—and without even a hint of the philosopher. We are in dire need, every second we tarry in this place. I’d have used poison before if we’d had enough. But now’s no time to be saving it for later, nor for you to get dainty on us. When we pass through that opening, we can be certain of only one advantage: surprise. So if we use these quickly enough”—he shook the arrows in his fist—“it just might make the difference between us living and dying. So you’ll use ’em, or you’ll answer to me if any one of this group dies because you didn’t.” He pushed the arrows at Druadaen again.
Who accepted them as if they were vipers. Which, given the source of the poison, was not entirely inaccurate.
Ahearn emitted a satisfied grunt. “You ready?” he asked Elweyr.
The mantic nodded and produced a small metal ball from a flapped pouch. He touched it; the top sprang open, like a round six-fanged mouth. Inside was an even smaller ball, made of crystal and clutched by a small clasp.
Elweyr removed the crystal sphere. As he did, Ahearn shifted to stand behind him, lifted his traveling cloak as if to shield him from something.
Elweyr’s eyes closed, he folded his hand into a fist that concealed the sphere. A moment passed—and then his fingers were suddenly glowing. “Eyes,” he muttered. Druadaen did not know what he was referring to…but discovered an instant later; the thaumantic unfolded his fist to reveal a blinding kernel of light resting on his palm.
Druadaen spun his head away from the painfully bright glare. As the green-blue afterimage faded, he peripherally saw Elweyr return the crystal sphere to the clasp and reseal the top of the metal ball.
Darkness rushed back in at them. Ahearn lowered his cloak. Kaakhag uncovered his eyes, glanced behind him, nodded reassuringly.
“Well and quickly done, my friend,” Ahearn muttered to Elweyr. “No one saw, so no one’s the wiser.” He looked at his sword, tested a two-handed hold on the hand-and-a-half grip, then gazed slowly around the group. “Remember: make your first strike to any flesh you can reach. A graze with this poison is as good as a blade to the heart. Let’s go.”
* * *
After the dogleg, the entry ran straight back, with firelight from the far end illuminating it enough for S’ythreni’s sight to be more helpful than the urzhen’s. While the Bent ability to see heat allowed them to operate in total darkness, it came at the cost of detail. With enough light, the aeosti’s eyes were far more likely to detect the thin strands or slight seams that might trigger an alarm—or traps and snares.
As they neared the far end of the tunnel, though, she faded back to the rear again, allowing the two urzh to move back to the front, Ahearn at their backs. “Ready your bows,” he muttered over his shoulder. Druadaen felt a pulse of fear as he sheathed his sword. Yes, he’d had a bow in hand during their earlier melees in the deep. But on those occasions, they had known the numbers they’d be facing and in what positions. Here, if they were suddenly confronted by a pack of Bent at arm’s length, he’d have nothing more than a thin curve of wood and bone with which to fend them off.
“On three, then,” Ahearn murmured. “One, two…”
Druadaen didn’t really hear the “three.” If fear and hesitation had been put aside, it was just a vague sound that marked an abrupt transition: from routine perception to the keen—yet time-slowed—sensory acuity of combat.
The two urzhen bounded forward into the chamber, Umkhira coming close enough to one of the enemy—either reclining or sleeping—to kill him with a single heavy chop.
Ahearn ran in, veering slightly to the left. Raun followed at his heels until the fighter pointed at the mass of prone figures against that wall, loosing a sharp whistle as he did. The dog shot toward them as if he’d been launched from a catapult.
Elweyr stepped into the room, manipulated the metal ball, sent it rolling swiftly over the unusually smooth floor.
As he did, Druadaen came up on the thaumantic’s right, drawing his composite bow. S’ythreni was on Elweyr’s other flank, her own weapon ready. They sought, and quickly found, two targets in the wide lane that the three in the front rank had left open by pushing to either side as they entered.
S’ythreni’s crossbow slapped sharply and one of the first rising figures—clearly a kosh—was hit in his thigh; his skirt of armored hide pleating, hanging loose for comfort, had failed to intercept the quarrel. He staggered, fell to that knee, started to rise, but then convulsed as the poison began to do its work.
Druadaen had drawn down on another rising figure when he realized that he still had the same unpoisoned shaft nocked. He hesitated: Shoot quickly or with a poisoned arrow? Prejudice against poison fused with urgency; he fired what he had ready…yet as soon as he’d loosed the arrow and saw it drive the second kosh to the ground, he was glad he had inadvertently saved the poisoned one.
Because a new target was rising…and continued to rise until it loomed even taller than the kaghab that had guarded the entry. This creature’s face wasn’t ur gaban or urzhen but was decidedly asymmetric; the deformed and oddly small head looked down at him from atop a massive body weighing well over five hundred pounds.
The next thing Druadaen was aware of was a second, and poisoned, shaft leaping off his bow as he shouted, “Monster!” because he didn’t know what else to call the being. Hardly noticing the impact of the arrow, it started forward, a length of timber swinging up in its grip—
Elweyr’s metal ball stopped rolling; with a sharp clack!, both the lower and upper halves sprung open. On the bottom, six legs snapped outward, fixing it in place as the six segments on top flipped back, revealing the actinic crystal sphere.
Brilliant light flooded the chamber. The “monster” flung up a massive, stub-fingered hand to cover its eyes. Druadaen saw his chance, brought another poisoned shaft over his shoulder, loosed it. As he watched for any sign that the venom was taking effect, he nocked another arrow and noticed that even more mammoth hulks were rising, bellowing, shielding their eyes. And he thought: Ahearn was right; we don’t have enough poison.
Peripherally, he caught glimpses of the others:
—S’ythreni cursing as she fought to pull the lathes of her crossbow back more rapidly;
—Kaakhag’s axe rising and falling, trailing red mist as it cut deep into urzhen who’d been lounging instead of standing at their posts;
—Umkhira and Ahearn sweeping deeper into the room on the left, where the majority of the kosh were still struggling to shrug into their armor while also protecting their eyes;
—and just beyond them, Raun as he leapt from one rising urzhen silhouette to the next, teeth making dull ripping sounds as he went.
Druadaen was about to loose a third poisoned shaft when the first and largest of the “monsters” began to stumble. “Two hits is enough,” he snapped at S’ythreni as he shifted his own aim.
Just as her crossbow cracked again. “Now you tell me,” she hissed.
Druadaen had the next closest behemoth lined up, but this one had a cured hide covering most of its torso. But the crude kirtle did not reach to the knees. He adjusted low, fired, saw the shaft go between its legs, cursed, was mollified when a kosh shrieked behind it. But it was still lost time and a lost shaft.
Druadaen had drawn on the monster once again when it abruptly cast out its free hand, as if suddenly blind. “Leave him for blades,” Elweyr muttered loudly across the gap between them.
Druadaen shifted his aim to the third, and apparently last, of the huge creatures and let fly at its unarmored chest. The shaft hit and went deep, dark blood welling up, but the creature shrugged it off as if it was a nuisance.
As Druadaen readied his last poisoned shaft, he saw an armored kaghab moving rapidly through the nearly equipped mass of urzhen. “S’ythreni—” he started, just as her crossbow clapped sharply and the bolt hummed into the long-armed Bent. It quickly recovered from the impact but began tilting sideways as it resumed moving. Druadaen released his second arrow at the last of the larger monsters and, a moment later, it too began evincing similar unsteadiness.
He considered: Continue to use his bow or go to his sword? Peripheral vision showed Umkhira and Ahearn hacking and goring the monster’s blinded cousin; it had already absorbed enough damage to kill any three humans. Druadaen drew another arrow, aimed over his companions and loosed at its head.
The monster moved erratically; the shaft skimmed past its ear. He reached for another arrow, glimpsed Raun and Kaakhag on opposite flanks embroiled with the urzhen who were just steps ahead of the large, central mass of their fellows. Druadaen drew, fired, saw the arrow hit the monster square in its chin. Although the wound did not seem serious, the monster roared and grabbed the long shaft, tugging to pull it free of the bone. During that brief pause, Ahearn glanced toward Elweyr, who shook his head: still no sign of the shaman.
Druadaen cursed silently, dropped his bow, hoped it would survive underfoot in the general melee soon to be joined, hoped the same for himself, cross-drew his blades…and watched as a great number of the charging urzhen abruptly slowed, as if each one of them was now burdened by a great load of rocks.
“This won’t last long,” Elweyr muttered. His voice was becoming strained.
Druadaen rushed into the suddenly paralyzed center of the enemy, hoping to intercept enough of the unaffected ones to buy time for the two flanks of his own force to rejoin and form a skirmish line. Otherwise, they risked being swarmed, surrounded individually, and defeated in detail.
The closest Rot was swinging a mace wildly, a buckler almost forgotten in its off hand. Druadaen lunged, which caused the urzh to check its headlong charge and swing before he was ready. Druadaen leaned away from the arc described by the mace, then rolled his wrist as he swayed back in, cutting low for the inside of his enemy’s off-side calf. The urzh howled, tried stepping back, but fell, the muscle severed.
A moment later, the monster Elweyr had blinded finally toppled, his backward fall crushing two of the Rot beneath him. Umkhira and Ahearn glanced over, saw Druadaen’s position, swung toward him. Seeing that, he cheated a step to the right to close the distance to Kaakhag, who was likely to prove the weakest part of whatever line they could form. Like many urzhen, his training and choice of weapon were suited to his temperament: to attack ferociously and so overwhelm his opponent that he had little need for defense. At least Kaakhag was not one of the Bent who insisted on rejecting a shield in favor of wielding a two-handed weapon.
Ironically, Druadaen spent the next half minute being very glad for the Outrider emphasis upon fighting with two weapons rather than a shield. Light-footed evasion, dodges, and fast flurries of parries were all that was keeping him alive. Occasionally, he managed to catch a slow or overextended arm or leg during one of the rare moments when he was not repelling attacks. But step by step, he was being forced back, unable to hold his ground against so many. Before long, he would tire and without having inflicted many casualties.
What he saw from the corners of his eyes was not reassuring; his companions were even more beset than he was. Ahearn was not only skilled with a bastard sword but was surprisingly quick and agile for so large a man. However, he too was having to fall back slowly to keep Umkhira on his flank.
She was swift enough with her shield but had never been taught to use it to deflect, rather than directly block, the axes and maces that were hammering at her now. Her face showed pain and weariness as she tried to reach out effectively with her one-handed axe. Kaakhag was only engaged with two enemies presently, but his skills were markedly inferior to Umkhira’s: he, too, was being driven back.
And the shaman had yet to bring his own powers to bear upon them: a very bad sign, given that they were becoming increasingly vulnerable with every passing second.
As if conjured by Druadaen’s misgivings, their true foe finally made his presence felt: the sluggish urzhen lagging behind the center of their line were suddenly freed of Elweyr’s burdening mancery. They charged forward to join the others already forcing back the intruders’ uneven and shaky line.
A moment later, a small opening in the far wall of the cavern—little more than a crevice—began vomiting a slow stream of kosh: fully armored, weapons at the ready. The only reason they were not emerging twice as fast was that many had shields, which forced them to twist sideways as they exited whatever chamber was behind them.
As his attackers turned to confirm the arrival of this reserve force, Druadaen leaped forward, cross-cutting one, rolling his wrist and elbow to quickly redirect his sword point into another—and then gave ground, using the break in tempo to peer closely at the wall near where the kosh were emerging.
S’ythreni confirmed what he thought he saw: “Back wall has slits.”
Elweyr cursed, and Druadaen knew enough about mancery to understand why. With the shaman positioned to see and send his powers through a murder hole, Elweyr had no way to be certain of hitting him and would be unable to ascertain the effects if he did. So, if they couldn’t figure out some way to attack him without fighting through his still-deploying forces…
Elweyr shouted, “Stand close! Now!”
Druadaen and his companions all backpedaled toward the mantic; even Raun broke off and ran for the outward-facing cluster.
As he arrived, Elweyr brought both hands together in a ring, creases stark in his face. His eyes went blank for a moment—
Then, as they flicked open in profound confusion, a screeching cackle echoed out through the murder slits in the back wall. “Godsblocks!” swore Elweyr, whose rapid blink looked more perplexed than aggravated.
“Again!” demanded Ahearn.
“Trying,” the mantic murmured as the urzhen crashed into the four on the line. S’ythreni stood behind them, crossbow aimed at the rear wall. Elweyr repeated his gesture, but the same result: nothing—except this time, he shot a rapid glance at Druadaen. In the course of an instant, his expression transformed from confusion, to fury, to dread, and finally, resignation.
“Elweyr?” Ahearn howled.
Another cackle came from the murder slits, followed by threats in mangled Commerce, promising that they would now feel burning ants beneath their skin, be unable to fight or even stand…
But nothing happened.
The same voice unleashed an infuriated screech, yelling profanities at urzhen deities.
In the dark behind one of the slits, Druadaen saw a shift in the shadows. While parrying, he shouted, “S’ythreni!”
She was already head down over her weapon, smiling. “Behold the price of blasphemy,” she whispered as her ironpith crossbow discharged with a sharp slap. The quarrel flashed straight through the slit.
The resulting scream stopped the Bent in mid-attack. When the scream became desperate shrieking, some of them wavered. Several of the kosh, the last that had emerged from the secret chamber, ran back through the crevice, shouting for their leader.
“On me!” Ahearn hissed as he shifted to the left rear, getting the group clear of the entry. “Stay out of their way and make a half circle, backs to the wall.”
They did, Kaakhag trailing a generous amount of blood from a deep cut in his left thigh. But as he limped to comply, he also nodded his approval at Ahearn’s orders.
The shaman’s shrieking became convulsive, then spastic, and finally transitioned into a keening gargle.
The urzhen in the chamber—well over two score of them—had already begun to glance at each other fearfully when the kosh that had entered the rear chamber reemerged at a run, shouting and swinging wide of the intruders as they made for the exit.
Druadaen could only make out two of the words they yelled “—is dying!—” before all the Bent in the chamber broke ranks in an urgent rush to flee the cavern.