The Night Voice

Chapter Sixteen

Chane was crouched near Leesil and Ghassan when he heard the clicks in the dark. Ore-Locks rose and, without a word, ran into the crevice’s stone wall. Somewhere above, Brot’an had found something and signaled for Ore-Locks to come.

Then a wild-sounding cry carried up from below.

“What is that?” Chane rasped.

Leesil had already half risen, as if to peek out of the crevice, but he stopped. The cry lingered but was quickly tangled in sounds of clangs of metal and guttural shouts. Chane rose to look downward. Some campfires appeared scattered by the number of tiny orange glimmers that flickered quickly from many forms rushing about amid screams, snarls, shouts, and more.

Somehow a battle had erupted in the camp, and Wynn was below somewhere with nothing but her staff.

“Magiere and Chap are with her,” Leesil said quietly. “She’ll be all right.”

Chane had no patience for reassuring lies. How had he let himself be talked into this? As he began to glance upslope, a chorus of high-pitched howls exploded in the dark. He twisted back to look down again as he heard more and more of those eerie sounds.

“Majay-hì?” Leesil whispered, rising sharply to follow Chane’s gaze.

Chane turned to Ghassan. “Do you know anything about this?”

The domin shook his head. “No.”

The sound of a soft footfall on stone reached Chane’s ears, and he reached for a sword.

Brot’an stood in the crevice’s top. An instant later, Ore-Locks stepped out of the crevice wall’s stone, appearing less than relieved. Chane did not have a chance to ask anything.

“I found a possible entrance,” Brot’an whispered, “beneath an overhang. But I only suspect so because of the guards present. At a flash of something in the dark, I crawled closer after signaling for Ore-Locks. The entrance is guarded by ... things I have never seen before. I could not count their numbers but saw outlines of at least two the height of myself. Sounds indicated there may be more nearby, so we both returned.”

Chane did not like this. With the exception of Osha, he had never encountered anyone as tall as Brot’an. To face two or more while bearing the chests was not possible. Everyone fell silent, likely contemplating the same thing.

“And,” Brot’an added, “given these are guardians of the Enemy, I suspect mere arrows would not dispatch them. My making such an attempt would only give away any element of surprise in our favor.”

That was worse, considering what Chane had seen of the assassin’s use of the bow hidden beneath his cloak and tunic.

Leesil asked Ore-Locks, “Wynn said you can take Chane with you through stone. Is that true?”

Chane tensed, and Ore-Locks’s brow wrinkled.

“Why?” the dwarf asked.

“We can’t fight while carrying the chests,” Leesil answered. “From here, can you pass through stone and move upward until you reach the passage inside, down a ways from the entrance under the overhang? Can you do it with you and Chane bringing at least two chests at a time?”

Ore-Locks finally nodded.

“Then the rest of us will clear a direct path,” Leesil added, looking to Brot’an. “Or at least keep the guards distracted while the chests are moved. If the opening is that well guarded, it has to be an entrance.”

Though this sounded risky, Chane could think of nothing better, and they had already lingered too long.

Leesil pushed past everyone to start climbing out of the crevice’s upper end. Brot’an followed, as did Ghassan. And then Chane was alone with his old comrade.

Ore-Locks shook his head. “I have never taken part in anything so haphazard.”

Chane agreed but did not reply. Too much was being planned in the moment, and he could not stop thinking of Wynn, wherever she was. Leaning down, he gripped one of the poles strung between two chests. A sharp rise of noise broke from below.

It repeated like rolling thunder. Ore-Locks rushed past the chests and Chane to the crevice’s bottom end.

“Horses!” the dwarf whispered.

Chane dropped the pole to join him. He had neither seen nor heard horses in the camp, but it was dark for even his eyes. His astonishment bordered on disbelief.

“Elves!” Ore-Locks said. “Never thought I would be glad of them.”

Chane’s night sight widened. He saw tall Lhoin’na riders in dark attire, scattering in a wave as they charged across open ground below at the mountain’s base. The only way that he knew who they were was by the glint of unsheathed swords and light-colored hair pulled up in tails.

Shé’ith riders.

This must be why Chuillyon had left, likely at Chap’s or Wynn’s urging and instructions. Checking on Wayfarer, Osha, and Shade had been an excuse, though how the Chuillyon had brought these forces in was a puzzle.

Chane grew furious, for no one had told him. Now a pitched battle raged close to Wynn. One rider caught his attention, for even in the darkness, he could see that one’s hair was brighter and his attire differed from that of the others.

“Osha!” Chane rasped.

His maimed voice could not carry over the distance. Even so, shouting would reveal their presence. He grabbed Ore-Locks as he pointed.

“Can you get to that one and turn him our way?” he asked.

“We do not have time! We must get through the mountain while the others distract the guards.”

In all his life, Chane had rarely begged for anything. “Please. For Wynn.”

Ore-Locks scowled, grumbled with a breathy exhale, and did something Chane had never seen before. He sank like a rock dropped into a pond and vanished under the mountainside.

Chane rushed to the crevice’s lower end. He crouched, rigid and tense, waiting to see where the young stonewalker would reappear as he watched Osha’s horse charge onward with the Shé’ith.

A distant clank of steel rolled downslope through the night.

Chane spun and looked upward through the dark as his panic rose another notch.

Leesil and the others had already engaged the guards.

Leesil crept after Brot’an, and then both of them flattened against the slope as they neared a place where he finally spotted the craggy overhang above. He heard Ghassan behind him.

Brot’an finally stopped, as did Leesil.

There was no more cover the rest of the way up. If there had been any, it had all been cleared away, likely for a defensible position.

Brot’an’s head turned, as if looking back, though Leesil could not see the scarred face within the dark hood. Brot’an curled his fingers to pinch something between the first two, and Leesil heard a stiletto slide out into that hand.

Brot’an went utterly still, his face still unseen in the pit of his hood.

Leesil understood and quietly unlashed his left punching blade. At that, Brot’an’s other hand slipped behind his back where he half lay on his side. That hand came back into sight, gripping a white metal, hooked bone knife.

They had to close the last distance at a run.

Leesil carefully levered up on one arm for a better look.

A hulkish form, as tall as Brot’an, dressed only in a waist-wrap, trudged toward the deeper dark below the overhang. It stopped, turned to face down the mountainside, and a nearby pole torch exposed it.

Leesil stared, not understanding what he saw. Ghassan drew a sharp breath behind him.

“Locatha,” the domin whispered.

Leesil didn’t know what that meant as he continued taking in the sight of the huge guard.

A hairless, scaled head with pure black eyes above its protruding muzzle looked down the mountainside. Whether it could see the battle below, Leesil couldn’t tell.

Its shoulders, broader than a man’s, were covered in glistening scales larger than the ones on its head. Those plates ran up its thick-based neck. In one hand, it steadied a double-thick spear’s shaft, but the blade atop that was the size of a short sword, at least.

“You know of these creatures?” Brot’an whispered without looking back.

Ghassan was slow in answering. “They are hard to kill and possess limited mental function. Both are useful qualities in a guard.”

Leesil didn’t bother to ask how the domin knew this.

“My skills are of minimal use on such minds,” Ghassan went on. “Take out their eyes first, if you can. Their hides are difficult to penetrate.”

The last of that was obvious as Leesil clenched his jaw. They hadn’t even gained access, and now this? The best option he saw was to keep the guards distracted while Chane and Ore-Locks snuck in the chests. And then what?

“Draw and divert,” Brot’an whispered, again without looking back. “Kill after.”

And how were they to do the latter? The largest weapons between them were Leesil’s punching blades. He wouldn’t know until too late if one of those could penetrate an armored hide deeply enough. Just the same, he pulled the other blade, and after one more breath ...

Leesil sprang up at a run, hoping to take advantage through surprise. He heard Brot’an right behind him as they raced to close the distance before being spotted.

Wynn grew frantic where she crouched, watching the battle below. But no matter what she could make out in the dark, she saw no sign of Magiere.

Had Magiere lost herself completely in facing so many undead? She was supposed to have led them into the reach of the sun crystal’s light.

Wynn almost stopped breathing. She watched as racing, screaming, and growling silhouettes down there threw themselves at one another. Now and then, some were briefly exposed by scattered firelight, and what she saw was best forgotten. Then she heard the howling and quickly rose up.

Chuillyon had brought majay-hì packs as planned, along with Vreuvillä ... and Wayfarer ... and Shade. Wynn forced herself to stay put. She desperately hoped Chuillyon had also been able to move Osha and the Shé’ith.

—Come ... find me ... and bring light!—

Wynn whirled around too quickly and almost fell, looking for Chap. He had to be here—somewhere—for him to speak to her like only she could hear in her mind.

But she didn’t see him anywhere.

She ran down a ways, looking northward. Had he gone with the packs into the battle?

—Come now ... with the staff—

Again, Wynn looked everywhere and still didn’t spot him. How was he doing this? Where was he? Had something changed, gone wrong?

—Wynn!—

Panic nearly overwhelmed her, and she looked to the battle again. Magiere was down there somewhere, and possibly Wayfarer and Shade as well with the pack. There was nothing she could do for them except ignite the staff.

It wasn’t time for that yet. Such an act might only cause more chaos and reveal her too soon.

Wynn took off, running northward along the base of the foothills. She hoped she could find Chap before something else spotted her.

Chap swerved away from another sword strike by the second animated corpse. He passed halfway through another ghost before realizing too late, and an icy chill shot through his bones.

Everywhere he turned, there were more glimmering, translucent forms having come for him out of the dark. And the first overmuscled corpse guard was rising up again. With both already dead, killing one of them seemed impossible. There were too many spirits as well.

He had to get to Ubâd.

The necromancer controlled all of the dead present, whether dead or undead himself. But there was no clear path to that still and silent robed body erect upon the tilted litter.

Then ... brilliant, white light exploded from behind Chap. For an instant, he could see nothing as he went white-blind. He heard the ghost girl’s screaming wail. The sound faded, as if growing distant, as his eyes adjusted.

Wynn had come! She had ignited her staff.

Chap saw one of the dead men turn toward the light’s source.

The spirits all around Chap wavered, some vanishing like vapor in a breeze under the glare. But not that one dead guard and likely not the other.

He had only one choice. To save Wynn, he had to abandon her for the only target that mattered.

Chap lunged around the dead guard in his way, racing for the litter. With each paw-strike upon the parched ground and stone, he called upon the Elements of Existence without time to stop and root himself in them.

From Earth beneath him, Air around him, Water within him, and his heat for Fire, he mingled these with his Spirit. He could only hope this worked. It was not until the last running paw-strike that he felt himself begin to burn.

This time, Wynn would not have mantic sight to see the blue-white phosphorescent vapors that rose like flames to flicker across his form.

He leaped.

His forepaws struck Ubâd’s chest and bound arms. The litter rocked wildly backward, and Chap nearly tumbled off.

Ubâd would call his servants here to his aid and forget about Wynn.

Chap tore at the dusty robe to get his claws into the necromancer’s dead flesh. He did not think of a guard’s blade coming down on his back. He forgot any of the spirits fighting to remain outside Wynn’s light and come for him. He thought only to feel the elements within him.

Ubâd’s corpse began to quiver as if awakening.

The stench of burning flesh rose around Chap, though he saw no smoke.

The necromancer’s withered, crossed hands began to wither even more, until the skin appeared to cinch in tight around the bones. Black fluids leaked out around the eyeless mask as the body became still. Even then Chap did not hear how quiet everything had become, except for the distant sounds of the battle.

He raised his head.

Everything was dark again. Not one spirit remained in sight, not even the girl. When he looked back, both dead guards lay on the ground. The nearest was facedown within arm’s reach of the litter, a sword still gripped in his outstretched hand.

And there was Wynn three strides to his right.

She turned about with the staff still held at the ready, though the crystal was darkened now, as if she too could not believe all the spirits were gone.

Chap again noticed the sounds of the battle in the distance below the foothills.

Wynn was here, but Magiere was not with her. Wynn had ignited the staff in the night, and its light—and its location—would have been seen everywhere, even by the Enemy’s forces.

Chap leaped off the litter and bolted past Wynn.—Run ... away from here ... now!—

Leesil had barely raised his right winged blade in charging the first locatha in sight. Its short-sword-like blade atop that double-thick spear shaft slammed down on his own weapon.

Impact raised a sharp clang in the night. His knees buckled as Brot’an ran past him.

How could this scaled hulk move so fast?

He lost sight of Brot’an and only heard a racing scrape of metal. As he slashed his blade aside and couldn’t get from under the pole-sword, he saw the master assassin duck around the locatha.

It was so big that Brot’an vanished completely.

That thing swiped backward with a clawed or taloned hand at the master assassin—and the hand was big enough to grab a head in its grip. There wasn’t a mark on the monster that Leesil could see.

Brot’an’s blade had done nothing to it, and Leesil hesitated too long.

When he spotted its tail, everything happened too fast.

Ghassan hadn’t said anything about a tail.

The locatha tried to twist with its swipe at Brot’an, and its long tail lashed the same way behind it. The tail never connected with anything.

Brot’an’s left arm appeared suddenly and wrapped across the scaled hulk’s broad neck.

His cowl-shrouded face rose above the reptilian guard’s right shoulder, and his right hand flashed out, across, and then back. Something glinted red-yellow in the torchlight as it tore back the other way above the locatha’s extended muzzle.

Brot’an’s hooked bone knife ripped through its right, black-orb eye.

Its maw widened in shock as it let go of its sword-spear. The spear’s blade slid off Leesil’s winged one. Long and sharp teeth in those widened jaws were like those of no serpent or snake he’d ever seen, and its rasping hiss tore at his ears.

Leesil hesitated as he saw another one charge out of the darkness under the overhang. He rammed his right winged blade into its sheath and pulled the stiletto up his left sleeve.

Ghassan had been right, and Brot’an had exposed the only way to kill one of these things.

Leesil had to get close—too close—to do it, and if he died instead, even Chane might not finish what they’d started.

Still staring below, Chane spun at a heavy footfall behind him and reached for his dwarven longsword. He did not need to pull the mottled steel.

Ore-Locks stepped past the chests toward him, glowering. Chane said nothing and turned back, looking everywhere.

Over a roll in the slope below, someone appeared on horseback. When the animal jolted to a stop, the rider dropped and came running with a bow in hand. Before the man crouched upon the crevice’s right lip, Chane already knew Ore-Locks had succeeded.

Osha’s face was obscured by the dark, but he panted in exertion as he looked down upon Chane.

“What?” he asked. “I must get below!”

Chane wasted no time. “Wynn may be down in that battle.”

In alarm, Osha straightened back up and looked below.

“Wait and listen!” Chane rasped.

Osha’s head swiveled back.

“She is carrying a bottle I gave her,” Chane rushed on. “It contains a potion like no other. Find her, and if she falls, even from the worst of wounds, it might save her ... or anyone else.”

Osha’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “Now? You tell me this only now?”

Chane realized he should have said something about the potion itself before, but he had given Wynn the bottle only last night.

A sudden, bright flash rose to the north.

Chane instinctively looked toward it, even as he felt his skin tingle uncomfortably as if it were beginning to burn. Then he had to duck below the crevice’s edge, knowing what that light was. Ore-Locks rushed in to peer over the crevice’s edge. That light lingered for at least three breaths—and then everything turned to full night once more.

Wynn was still alive, at least for now.

“Enough delay!” Ore-Locks said.

Chane heard Osha running for his horse and sprang up to go after the elf. Ore-Locks grabbed his arm. Chane had to let hunger flush through him to tear out of that grip, and he scrambled up and over the crevice’s side.

“Wait!” he rasped.

Osha did not stop.

Chane rushed after to grab him, and Osha spun, whipping back his bow as if to strike with it.

“That liquid has another use!” Chane rasped.

Osha froze.

“It was made with white petals,” Chane hurried on, “from flowers that grow only in Lhoin’na lands ... and your homeland.”

Osha slowly lowered the bow as his large amber eyes widened.

Chane knew that Osha had seen such flowers.

“I touched one, once, briefly,” Chane said. “I barely rose again after a night and another day. The distilled liquid, such as on an arrow’s tip, would have finished me or anything like me. If need be, use it and do not hesitate.”

Osha stared blankly at him.

“Do you understand?” Chane demanded.

Osha backed away in unsteady steps. Without a word, he grabbed the saddle and swung up into it. The horse wheeled to charge off without the nudge of heels.

“Are you done?” Ore-Locks asked angrily.

Chane lingered an instant longer.

There were more than just undead down there in that battle. There were other dangers to Wynn—to all of them. By the sound of the battle’s prolonged chaos, Magiere had failed to lead off the undead. More than likely, she was as lost to her own hunger as anything else down there.

Chane had known such bloody euphoria.

Nothing anyone could have done then would have brought him out of that state.

“Get moving!” Ore-Locks ordered.

Chane looked toward where that flash had erupted in the dark. He then turned at a run for the crevice and the chests.

Leesil dropped and rolled again. Another long blade atop a thick haft struck close to his head. The clang deafened his left ear as rock chips struck his face. He barely heard Brot’an and the other—half-blinded—locatha still engaged.

Not once had Leesil gotten close enough to thrust a stiletto into the second one’s eye. He couldn’t get behind it, for its thick and long tail swung around at him every time he tried.

He came to his feet again, and everything got worse.

A third, hulking, scaled form came around the overhang’s far side.

This one didn’t carry any weapon, but it didn’t matter. Leesil was already winded from trying to stay alive long enough to kill something. That was his last thought as the second one swung hard with the butt of its sword-spear.

Leesil dodged, rolled again, and saw ...

Brot’an somehow got inside the first one’s swipe. He rammed a stiletto through its already maimed eye, driving deeper this time, but its clawed hand came down on his right shoulder. The stiletto’s hilt ripped out of Brot’an’s grip as he went down, and the creature’s head whipped up and back.

At this first one’s screech and thrashing, the second one looked toward it.

Leesil rushed in, hopped, and planted one foot on the second’s dangling spear haft. He was up at its face by the time it turned those black eyes back on him. He heard the third one closing in but didn’t dare look away. And he thrust his stiletto as hard as he could into the second locatha’s nearest eye, using every ounce of strength to drive the blade into its head.

Something struck his side.

His breath rushed out.

Everything flashed white before his eyes from pain, and he went numb in shock.

He couldn’t breathe as the world turned black.

Vertigo and pain took over.

He felt himself slammed sideways into something. The jar brought agony as he tumbled over and over. How many times before instinct came back? He clawed with his free hand at whatever hard surface he’d hit, though it seemed to take so long to stop himself. When he did stop, he fought for air as his sight slowly returned.

Everything was dark except for flickering red light upon stone. Something huge stepped between him and that light. Silhouetted in flashes and flickers, it hissed at him.

He heard—felt through the stone beneath him—heavy footfalls coming.

But all that Leesil could think was ... Where is my Magiere?

Pain, hunger, fury—there was nothing else.

Magiere barely heard the screams. Was the last one hers ... or from her last prey?

Another white face suddenly appeared before her.

It nearly glowed in her fully widened sight, and those eyes—irises—without color made hunger burn until its pain drove her again. She struck, not knowing with what or how.

As its jaws widened, exposing feral teeth and fangs, a heavy blade cleaved into its face.

Its skull split halfway through.

Blackened fluids welled and splattered across steel.

It went down, slipping from her sight, but there were always more.

Some were not pale, and she lashed out at the bristled head that appeared, its face like an animal’s overlying bones barely human. Hardened nails tore into its jaw, grated on bone beneath, and she thought she heard the sounds of screaming.

This meant nothing, and neither did her own pain, for the hunger ate any agony and fed upon it.

White light filled the dark sky as more screaming rose all around.

The sound tore at her ears and into the skull. The light hurt her eyes and skin. Even hunger couldn’t eat it away. Fright took its place.

Magiere thought of something ... something ... she’d forgotten.

The longer that light hurt her, the more its pain tried to make her remember.

Then it was gone, leaving only darkness for an instant. All around her, there were still shouts, snarls, sounds that could never be human. Compared to what she’d heard only moments ago, it all seemed as quiet as whispers.

The howling and snarls grew louder. Screams, shouts, and worse answered.

Magiere stared about at forms racing and charging and tearing at one another again. Some of them were true animals ... wolves but not.

And that light was gone, so where was Wynn?

Magiere remembered.

She’d lost herself and rushed into the slaughter that she’d started. Every undead in sight had turned on anything living, as if it felt her own hunger. What had she done? She should’ve led, lured, or driven them to the light of Wynn’s staff.

And that light had come and gone.

Magiere’s fragile awareness almost broke when she saw one majay-hì—and another and another—tear through the horde around her. There weren’t enough of them. Magiere spun, her body now in agony from every wound she’d taken, but she hacked and tore her way north out of the carnage.

She had to find Wynn and that light.

Wynn gripped her staff with both hands. She stood in the darkness, hidden now near the edge of the battle. Chap was still and silent beside her, likely at equal loss for what to do.

There was no place else they could go.

Running to some other vantage point would have only made it harder to close in when needed. They could only hope they wouldn’t be spotted by anything in that chaos before they had to act.

Magiere had to be in there somewhere.

Wynn couldn’t tell one thing from another in the dark amid those black silhouettes setting upon one another. She heard the packs of majay-hì, but they were not going to last long against so many.

“Where is she?” Wynn whispered.

Chap didn’t answer, but something broke out of the masses in the dark. One form seemed to run toward them, and Wynn snatched the glasses dangling about her neck.

Whether that was Magiere or not, she would have to light her staff again. In spite of that weapon, she couldn’t stop the fear.

—Think only of the staff’s light ... and be ready—

Chap’s words were no comfort.

Wynn saw more night-shadow figures break from the battle and chase after that first one. When that one came even closer, she thought she was prepared. The first glimpse of a pale face, wild black hair and fully black eyes, and a hauberk darkened with stains made her sick and horrified.

Magiere slowed at the sight of Wynn and turned to face what followed her.

Wynn fought the urge to run to Magiere and raised the staff’s crystal high.

And still, Chap didn’t give the command.

More figures came rushing toward Magiere. All she did was raise up the falchion, gripping it in both hands, and stand there. Filthy hair and feral faces became clear to Wynn’s eyes. She heard them now—their snarls, shrieks, or shouts—over the battle’s noise as they raced toward that one lone figure standing in their path.

Magiere raised her blade higher.

Wynn pressed the glasses with their dark lenses over her eyes, not wanting to see what would happen, and ...

—Now—

Chap bolted, putting some distance between himself and the impending light.

The words tore out of her mouth instead of flashing through her thoughts.

“Mên Rúhk el-När ... mênajil il’Núr’u mên’Hkâ’ät!”

White light erupted from the staff’s crystal and burned away the night above and around Wynn.

Light exploded behind Magiere. It felt like fire all over her exposed flesh, and yet it did not affect her otherwise. It did not even slow her down.

The closest one coming at her was a ghul.

It was instantly swallowed in smoke exploding from its own flesh. Amid wails rising to almost human screams, it fell and began thrashing, trying to burrow into the hardened ground. Two pale-faced figures rounded it, and then staggered as flame sprouted to dance over their exposed hands and faces.

The frenzied terror of so many screams, shrieks, and wails smothered all sounds of battle left behind. Those farther back and too far to see scattered.

Magiere’s self-control broke again.

She rushed into the smoke, taking off a charred head, and before it hit the ground, she’d already fixed on her next prey.

Leesil braced for the charge of the last locatha—or the only one on its feet that he could see. He rolled and flopped aside as it tried to stomp on him. When he tried to push up to all fours, its immense tail came around at his head, and he had to drop again. His right hand was empty. The stiletto was gone, but he still held a winged blade in his left hand.

That scaled appendage whipped across his hair in passing too close.

There was no chance to look for Brot’an or the second guard that he hoped he’d put down. He shoved off, sliding backward, and rolled over to gain his feet.

Leesil pulled his second punching blade, and that thing was still coming.

At a sudden scraping thud, it buckled forward in a lurched stop ... and turned.

Leesil saw Chane right behind the third locatha with his longsword drawn and double gripped. He—and hopefully Ore-Locks—must have arrived inside the passage and run toward the fight.

Chane’s eyes widened in shock as the huge guard spun on him. Leesil didn’t see a mark on its back from Chane’s strike, and then he spotted Ghassan stepping out of the darkness from beneath the overhang—as if he had gone inside the entrance.

Leesil had forgotten the domin was even with them, but what was Ghassan doing in there?

Another movement pulled his gaze.

Brot’an pushed up off the ground, the first guard lying still at his feet, its face covered in blackish red blood. The second locatha lay still as well. Leesil’s stiletto must have driven in deep enough. And just as Leesil quickly looked back to the last guard ...

Brot’an stumbled.

Leesil flinched at the sight. For Brot’an never stumbled. Then his gaze met Chane’s for an instant. Chane’s shock vanished, and he raised his sword in a step to strike again. Leesil knew what Chane was doing. Ore-Locks then charged out of the dark and past Ghassan, his broader blade already drawn.

Their weapons weren’t going to put that thing down, but they would keep its attention.

Leesil fixed on the locatha’s thick, whipping tail. As Chane lunged just before Ore-Locks closed, Leesil knew the creature was still aware of him behind it. He wasn’t in a good way, judging by the pain in his side, but when he heard Chane’s blade scrape off the scaled hide, he charged.

Everything depended on Chane—and Ore-Locks—so that thing didn’t have a chance to turn around. Leesil waited until Ore-Locks swung the heavy blade. He heard it hit, saw the locatha recoil, and he leaped.

His left foot struck the base of its tail. He pushed up and wrapped his left arm, winged blade and all, around its neck below its jaws. Its large hand instantly clamped on his forearm, and even with the winged blade biting its palm, that grip crushed down. Ignoring the pain, Leesil rammed the point of his other winged blade into the side of its right eye.

He almost lost his hold when its head thrashed back.

He had to lean aside or be hit in the face, and he rammed the blade again, this time into the base of its jaw. He didn’t even know if Chane or Ore-Locks was still hacking at it until it began to teeter backward. All he could do was throw himself off it.

His side hurt even more when he slammed down and had to thrash over out of the way before it fell on him. When he rolled over, he saw something he’d never expected.

Ore-Locks dropped on top of that thing, or right beside it, and sank into the rocky surface. And as he did so, he wrapped one arm over its bloodied head and pulled the head down—straight through the stone.

The whole scaled body convulsed, limbs thrashing, and then it lay still.

Leesil just stared, not blinking, until Ore-Locks resurfaced partly, but he didn’t come fully out of the ground. By torchlight, he looked utterly strained and weakly reached up with one arm. Leesil tried to scramble toward him.

Chane’s sword clattered on stone as he dropped it, grabbed Ore-Locks’s arm with both hands, and had to heave to pull the dwarf out atop the stone slope. Ore-Locks half lay there, and Chane snatched up his sword again, raised it, and turned to make certain neither of the other two guards moved at all.

Everything seemed so quiet for so long.

Leesil didn’t even hear the distant sounds of battle over his own labored breaths.

Another flash of light below the mountain made everyone turn. Leesil stared down the mountain. The light did not go out this time, but it remained like a beacon in the distance.

“I apologize for not assisting,” Ghassan said, breaking the silence.

“Where were you?” Leesil panted out.

“As I said, I could do nothing against these creatures,” the domin answered, “so I scouted the path inward for anything else in our way.”

Leesil eyed Ghassan, not certain how much he believed in those words. Brot’an was on his feet, seemingly whole and steady again.

“We need light,” Leesil said, going to retrieve his fallen stiletto.

Ghassan took a crystal from his pocket. “I will lead the way.”

“Not yet,” Chane said. “We had only brought two orbs through when we saw what was happening. They are not far inside, but Ore-Locks left them hidden in stone. As soon as he is able, we will bring the others.”

Some small part of Leesil was almost relieved at the short delay, and he simply sheathed his weapons and dropped down again. It didn’t matter how Brot’an looked or acted; Leesil knew he was injured. And what else waited for them inside the mountain? A few outer guards wouldn’t be the only ones, not in this place and not even after a thousand years.

Leesil glanced back toward the entrance, thinking on his wife. There was no way to know the fate of Magiere and those with her.

Chap went numb, watching the carnage.

Wynn clutched the still-ignited staff, but Magiere was a good distance away on the edge of the light’s reach, and she had lost herself completely. She charged, hacked, or struck at one after another through smoking carcasses until she had nearly reached the battle’s fringe once again.

Part of him feared getting near her, the same part that shrank from what might be necessary, more so with every moment. All that stopped him from acting to stop her was the memory of the guide he had left for dead in the wastes.

Could he bear to look into her vacant eyes, staring up at nothing like an empty husk?

Magiere had barely regained herself to seek out Wynn and the crystal’s light, as she should have done at first ... but now?

One thing gave him hope.

There were riders charging through what was left of the horde.

They raced through the chaos in twos and threes. Chuillyon had succeeded in bringing Shé’ith along with the majay-hì packs. At least the chaos that Magiere had caused put those two factions at the advantage, for the moment.

Osha had to be one of those riders, still one of them, or so Chap hoped.

And where were his daughter and Wayfarer?

So long as Wynn was exposed, Chap could not even search for them, let alone rush at Magiere. Wynn was the only one besides Ghassan who could use the staff, so Chap feared leaving her unprotected.

Indecision crushed him—until he saw a black four-footed form run around the fringe of the chaos. Others of its kind were around it.

Chap howled loudly at the sight of Shade. The black form veered off, racing toward him, and Chap sprang forward as he called into Wynn’s mind.

—Stay back until I call ... or until you have to escape—

How many times would necessity force him to leave behind the ones he most wished to protect? Even as he and Shade closed on each other, he could not help looking for Wayfarer, hoping she had not followed the packs into the bloodshed.

Shade closed on him and shot past to wheel around. He slowed only until she caught up at his side. Though she must have wanted to race back to Wynn, he might need her to help stop Magiere.

The only other option for him would leave Magiere as an empty husk—and leave him with one more sin he could not bear.

Now that he knew memory-words would work with Shade, it took only one glance.

—Come—

As they closed in, he saw the bodies, mangled, bloodied, and broken, as the living and undead stepped upon them in tearing at one another. One he feared was an elven rider, for it was draped over the still bulk of a butchered horse. Another was clearly a majay-hì torn almost in half. There were more of the goblins than any other, but also humans—either living or not before they went down.

Far more numerous were those still fighting, among them majay-hì of varied hues launching at what had to be undead. They only turned on living enemies when they had to do so.

Two riders pounded and trampled through others toward a huge form Chap had never seen before. It was taller than any an’Cróan or Lhoin’na and was covered in scales.

Chap’s focus shifted to Magiere still ahead in the chaos, and again his doubts took hold. In her current state, she was the greatest threat to any undead present. Should he stop her now or wait and let her continue? He veered off toward the east, holding his distance from her, until he was near the fringe of the foothills ... and too far away from Wynn.

She had to keep that staff lit, and even that would not hold off anything but an undead. He tried to see Magiere more clearly, to get a look at her face, but she charged into another cluster of combatants.

In despair, Chap looked up and down the eastern fringe of the battle. Two forms spun out of the carnage, surrounded in a circle of wheeling and snapping majay-hì. Wayfarer and Vreuvillä backed toward the rise of rocky hills.

A vampire and a ghul on the outskirts of the battle spotted them.

At the sight of this, Chap lost all sense of reason and charged for them.

As Wynn watched Chap run, she clung to the staff with both hands, and her only thought was to keep the crystal ignited. She’d never kept the light burning for so long, and she was exhausted from her efforts in the battle thus far.

Still, in this moment, she had one task and one task only.

To keep light flowing outward into the night.