Emperor of Ansalon

Chapter 19

Lyrelee lay still where she had fallen, nearly a hundred feet down the steeply sloping ravine from her companions. Ariakas saw the twisted missile in her body but then was forced to forget about the priestess as he and the two dwarves faced a howling onslaught. The trenchlike walls of the narrow gully gave them some protection from the cross shy;bows, but as he crouched there and studied the attackers, Ariakas realized they had walked into a well-planned ambush.

The attackers were Zhakar, judging by their stature and the heavy cloaks covering them. Their next volley of bolts ripped savagely toward all three of the travelers; these dwarves apparently cared nothing for their kinsman. Indeed, several carefully aimed their small crossbows at Tale Splintersteel, and it was only the mer shy;chant lord's quick reflexes that saved him.

A bolt ricocheted from a rock beside Ariakas, and the warrior ducked as another grazed his shoulder. His sword was in his hands, though he had no memory of drawing it. He looked around, frantically trying to form a plan of defense. They were surrounded. Looking upward, he saw a rank of cloaked dwarves surging down the gully from the crest of the ridge.

Below, Lyrelee lay motionless, and the Zhakar ignored her body as they spilled into the gully and began to charge upward. Ferros Windchisel, in the lead, met the first of the attackers. The cloaked dwarves, disadvan-taged by attacking uphill, quickly fell back before the Hylar. Ferros sent a pair of them tumbling, skulls split by his keen battle-axe.

"Your sword!" Tale Splintersteel's voice cracked with terror. Cowering in the bottom of the narrow gully, he frantically gestured Ariakas forward.

Sneering in disgust, the human was about to leave the Zhakar to his own defenses when he remembered that, without Splintersteel, their chances of getting an audi shy;ence with the dwarven king would be virtually nonexis shy;tent.

"Fight, damn you!" Ariakas barked. "Unless you think you can talk them out of this attack!"

Leaping from rock to rock, the nearest Zhakar now loomed beside them. Apparently without fear, the stocky fighter launched himself through space, howling madly as he flailed toward the human warrior. Ariakas stuck him with the red blade, dumping the body off to the side with the force of the dwarf's own momentum before whirling to deflect the diving attacks of the next two Zhakar.

By this time Tale Splintersteel had drawn his own hook-bladed short sword, though he continued to jabber at Ariakas, pleading with the man to use his potent blade.

For his part, Ariakas fully intended to incinerate a bunch of Zhakar in the red blade's fireball. The attackers, however, were spread thinly across four directions of the steep slope, and the dragon-breath attack would only scour a part of one of those approaches. If he didn't want to waste the attack-and he didn't-he'd have to wait until his targets were more tightly packed.

The three of them fought for their lives. The Khalkist dwarves set aside their crossbows and brandished swords, whooping and screaming as they attacked in furious waves. The companions kicked rocks and stones to tumble free against the attackers below. The narrow gully gave them a little cover, and also served to channel the downslope attackers straight into the Hylar's axe.

Ariakas killed two dwarves at the edge of the ravine, then spun and drove back the attackers on the other side. Skidding noises warned him to look upward, and the warrior's sword swiftly gored another pair of Zhakar that had charged straight down from the ridge crest.

Ferros gave a shout as the loose rock beneath his feet broke free and he slid down the slope. Falling to his back, the Hylar skidded on the tumbling scree, kicking a Zhakar full in the face when the cloaked figure tried to slash him with a hook-sword.

"After him!" shouted Ariakas. He seized the squirm shy;ing Tale Splintersteel by the scruff of his collar and pushed him down the ridge. The merchant dwarf slipped and bounced, but kept his feet as he plunged after the careening Ferros Windchisel.

The human warrior brought up the rear, taking long strides to keep up with the dwarves. After five steps Ari shy;akas stopped, planted his feet, and whirled to face upward. A half-dozen shrieking Zhakar rushed in pur shy;suit along the steep gully. The first of these leapt at Aria shy;kas, and he knocked the dwarf to his right with a sweeping blow of his sword. He bashed the second one on his backswing and repeated the maneuver back and forth until all six, gouged and bleeding, had been sent rolling down the ridge.

Turning in the momentary lull, Ariakas plunged downward again, nearly losing his balance as the gully floor dropped through a steplike progression of three-foot cliffs. A Zhakar leapt at him from the right, and he chopped the dwarf almost in two, barely breaking stride. Another one rushed to the left edge of the ravine, but then ducked away when he raised the sword.

Ferros Windchisel finally arrested the momentum of his slide, though not before he had reached Lyrelee's motionless body. His rapid descent had carried him through the bulk of the attacking Zhakar. Tale Splinter-steel joined them a moment later, and finally Ariakas reached the group. The Zhakar pursuers, for the moment, had been left behind and above them-though several skipped nimbly down the slope, closing fast. Again crossbow bolts bombarded them, but here the gully walls rose high and the runty dwarves could not find clear targets.

Ariakas saw with relief that the priestess was alive. Lyrelee's eyes were opened, and her parted lips revealed tightly clenched teeth. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from the staccato beat of her gasping breaths.

"Look out!" warned Ferros, and Ariakas looked upward in time to hack a charging Zhakar and drive back two more with lightning slashes of the crimson blade.

"Come on-let's run!" cried Tale Splintersteel, starting to lunge past Ferros and flee down the ridge.

Ariakas again grasped the Zhakar by the scruff of his neck, jerking him back none too gently. He bent down shy;ward, confronting the terrified eyes behind the cloak with his own grimly determined glare.

"Help her!" he snarled, releasing Splintersteel.

"Your sword!" begged the Zhakar. "Use it! Kill them!"

Angrily Ariakas shook off the suggestion. The attack shy;ers were still too scattered for him to slay more than a few, and he wasn't about to squander the precious power.

Lyrelee, still unspeaking, sat up; her face was pale and her eyes were dim, unfocused. Tale Splintersteel, mutter shy;ing, reached for her arm and roughly helped her to her feet.

Now several Zhakar closed in from each side. Ferros and Ariakas did their best to hold them at bay while Tale and Lyrelee hobbled slowly down the gully. The moun shy;tain dwarf's axe blade was spattered with blood and bits of Zhakar robes, and streams of sweat ran down his bearded face while he whirled to face each new attack.

Ariakas maintained his position as rear guard, where an increasing number of the attackers came at him. Soon the companions had dropped well below the area of the ambush, and Ferros-freed of the necessity to hack his way through dwarves-aided Tale in helping Lyrelee. Their pace picked up considerably, Ariakas falling back to hold the pursuing dwarves at bay.

The Zhakar displayed a healthy respect for his crim shy;son blade, gradually becoming reluctant to press close. They held back, launching bolts from their crossbows whenever Ariakas turned to hurry after his companions. One of these stuck him in the shoulder, inflicting a painful wound, and when he spun to do battle, another missile lodged in his breastplate.

Numerous dwarven bodies littered the bottom and sides of the ravine, and many other dwarves moaned piteously where they had fallen. A number of these had been injured when tumbling down the rocky slope, so that all told the ranks of the attackers had been sorely depleted.

Still, by the time they reached the bottom of the long slope, Ariakas could see many dozens of the stunted dwarves creeping down the ridge in their wake. A desul shy;tory rain of crossbow quarrels arced downward, and one of these scraped the Hylar's hand, producing a growl of anger from Ferros. Still, the barrage lacked the intensity of the opening volley, and the companions broke from the shelter of the ravine across the narrow valley floor.

A thin stream splashed through the steep-sided vale at the foot of the ridge, while another slope-it could have been a mirror image of the incline they had just descended — stretched toward the sky beyond the brook.

Lyrelee, leaning between the two dwarves, limped toward the streambank, while Ariakas kept his attention riveted on the dwarves above. The Zhakar hastened for shy;ward, but now they were too far back to catch the group before the waterway.

At the edge of the water, Tale Splintersteel stopped, though Ferros and Lyrelee stepped right into the stream. The channel was barely two feet deep, which would have been no higher than his chest, but the Zhakar mer shy;chant dug in his heels. The attackers surged forward, so Ariakas planted a firm kick in his companion's backside, flinging Tale far from shore before the cursing dwarf splashed into the water.

Ariakas waded after, fetching the spluttering figure up from the current, surprised to see Splintersteel quivering in terror. Desperately the dwarf clutched at the warrior's waist, and in disgust Ariakas carried the wretched figure the few steps to the far side of the stream. Ferros and Lyrelee had already emerged, and the dwarf helped the priestess stumble away from the shore. The Hylar's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as Ariakas tossed the dripping Zhakar onto the bank.

Once out of bow range, the party looked back at their pursuers, gathering along the bank. Ferros Windchisel spoke to the bedraggled Tale Splintersteel.

"Do all of you hate the water so much?"

Still muttering, the dwarf gave a surly nod.

"We might have bought ourselves some time," Ferros noted with an appreciative look at the stream. Several slick rocks broke the surface, but anyone trying to cross without getting wet would be in for a real challenge.

They continued away from the stream and toward a steep gully leading up. In moments they had climbed beyond arrow range from the valley floor. Tale Splinter-steel's teeth chattered, and he shivered uncontrollably- altogether the picture of extreme misery. True to the companions' deduction, the pursuing Zhakar reached the banks of the stream and began to curse and catcall after them, but made no attempt to wade across.

One of the Zhakar jumped to a rock in the stream, perching awkwardly on the rounded top. When he tried leaping to the next intended stepping stone, however, he slipped and plunged into the water. Shrieking in pain or horror, he frantically splashed back to the shore and crawled out.

Lyrelee groaned and sagged to the ground.

"Keep an eye on that bunch!" Ariakas warned the dwarves, kneeling beside her. The priestess closed her eyes, wincing in pain, and Ariakas saw that the arrow penetrating her side had been jostled and wrenched in its wound. Lyrelee's breathing was shallow, her color pallid.

The man felt a burning determination-she would not die! Yet only with the aid of his goddess could he hope to help her.

Everything else vanished into the background as Aria shy;kas remembered his training in the temple. "Takhisis, mighty Queen of Darkness," he uttered softly, "summon forth the healing strength of my faith, and bring it to bear against this woman's hurts!"

He felt the power of the goddess thrumming through his limbs, and-with hands that felt almost detached, as if they belonged to someone else-he first touched the shaft embedded in the wound, and then, very gently, removed it. Lyrelee's eyes flashed open, and she placed a hand over his, drawing strength from the power of the man and the Dark Queen.

Within a few minutes she sat up, and when he helped her to her feet, she stood alone, steadily. The sparkling determination returned to her eyes, and the pale cast of her skin was the only visible reminder of her weakened condition.

"The little beggars are inventive-I'll give them that," noted Ferros Windchisel, indicating the dwarves across the stream.

Ariakas saw that the Zhakar had formed a chain of laborers, passing large rocks from one to the next. The last dwarf in the chain stood at the bank of the stream, pitching the rocks into the water as they reached him. Slowly the line of boulders extended into the water, forming an impromptu jetty, with gaps to allow the water to flow through. Within a few minutes the rudi shy;mentary bridge extended most of the way across the stream.

"We'd better get going," Tale Splintersteel urged, his voice tense and agitated. "They'll be after us!"

"You three go on ahead," suggested Ariakas, the beginnings of a plan taking root in his mind. He studied the Zhakar who gathered at the streambank waiting for the completion of the bridge. "I'll stay back-see if I can't give them a little something to remember us by."

Gently carrying the sword with the crimson blade, Ariakas started back down the slope, taking care to remain out of bow range. Several of the cloaked dwarves saw his descent, shouting and jabbering excitedly, point shy;ing toward the warrior and brandishing their weapons in fury.

With a few crashes and splashes, the bridge was fin shy;ished, and the Zhakar began to pour across, leaping the narrow gaps where water continued to flow. The crowd shy;ing was so frantic that several of them stumbled from the irregular surface, splashing into the liquid they had tried so hard to avoid. Nevertheless, at least fifty of the runty dwarves surged forward in a mass, infused with blood-lust.

As the tightly packed horde raced toward him, Aria-kas slipped and slid farther down the incline until he had almost reached the level of the valley floor. The near shy;est Zhakar raised their weapons, no doubt wondering at the folly of this human who accepted such an unequal battle.

The warrior lifted his sword toward the front of the pack, murmuring a plea to his goddess. As before, Takhi-sis heard, and granted him her favor. The blade began to glow, so brightly that the leading dwarves faltered slightly in their charge, uncertain what would happen next.

They never had time to realize what did. Without a sound, the sword suddenly spit out a searing, brilliant tongue of flame. The fire embraced the leading Zhakar with greedy fingers, devouring flesh and torching robes. Before they could open their mouths or utter any cries of pain, a dozen dwarves had died, blackened to crisp, charred corpses scattered along the valley floor.

Ariakas hefted the blade slightly, allowing the billow shy;ing cloud of fire to expand outward and upward. Now the sound of roaring flames rumbled around him, mixed with the pathetic shrieks of Zhakar dwarves who saw death approaching and could do nothing to avoid it. Flames licked across shriveling dwarven skin, and bod shy;ies wrapped in fire fell to the ground and writhed, smok shy;ing bundles of agony. Billows and sheets of oily flame hissed from one dwarf to the next, seeking, killing.

Those dwarves on the fringes of the assault turned and fled back across the bridge, starkly proving the depth of their water abhorrence. Even in blind flight, the Zhakar crowded onto their impromptu bridge. None of the wretched creatures plunged into the stream, even as the scalding fireball drifted closer.

Finally the swordsman turned the full brunt of the attack against those dwarves who tried to get onto the bridge. The mass of Zhakar disappeared in a howling, smoking inferno, and even when the gouts of fire ceased to belch from the sword, the pile of corpses burned, sending a cloud of black smoke billowing upward into the sky.

Ariakas looked across the valley bottom. He saw a dozen or more Zhakar, still alive, desperately scrambling away from him. Good, he thought. He wanted survivors so that the tale of his might and his brutality would reach the ears of the Zhakar king. Instilling fear within that monarch was a major part of the warrior's plan.

Only then did he look down at the blade. A chill of portent ran through his body as he saw it. When the fires had died and the weapon had performed its deadly work, the steel surface had faded from red, as he had known it would. Now, however, it became a deep, rich blue.