The Crown and the Sword

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘W hat happened?” Ankhar roared, seizing the chief of his bodyguard detail and shaking him by the shoulder until the man’s neck broke with an audible snap. The half-giant cast the suddenly limp body aside, glaring down at his stepmother. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice, if anything, louder and angrier.

Yet Laka didn’t even spare him a glance. She was busy pressing her hand to the bleeding wound on Hoarst’s chest, muttering some prayer to the Prince of Lies. Abruptly, as the half-giant stared, she plucked out the bloody bolt and tossed it aside. She hoisted her death’s-head talisman, held it over the Thorn Knight’s pallid face, and shook it wildly. The pebbles in the skull rattled and the green stones in the eyes glowed, visible even in the daylight. Finally the hobgoblin dropped the device so the fleshless mouth of the skull met the cold, blue lips of the dying man.

Hoarst gave a hideous shriek. The green light flashed again, so brightly this time that Ankhar was forced to blink. In spite of himself, he leaned closer, watching the bleeding Thorn Knight with narrowed eyes.

Hoarst gasped and coughed, choking violently. Laka turned him onto his side, and he vomited blood onto the inn’s smooth floorboards, convulsing with pain and finally curling into a ball and drawing ragged, retching breaths. The wizard’s eyes were shut, his hands curled into fists and clutched against his chest, as he shivered like one in the depths of Nordmaar fever.

“Almost dead,” Laka said, standing and fixing the army commander with a sharp-toothed grin. “But not quite.”

“The wand!” spluttered the half-giant. “Can’t you use it?”

Laka shrugged. “Dunno,” she replied with a lot less concern than the army commander expected to see.

“What will we do without it?” he growled.

“You take it,” she replied, handing him the slender pieces of wood she plucked from under the crate. He looked at the things, like a broken toothpick in his massive hand, and suppressed the urge to throw them to the floor. They looked so tiny, so insignificant, he couldn’t believe it would make any difference if he waved them at the elemental king and tried to give it orders.

Laka dusted off the ashes that covered her all over from her tumble into the hearth. She patted her belt purse and shook her head grimly as she glared upward at her stepson.

“Wand’s not the worst of it.” Laka pulled a small, ruby-encrusted object from her pouch, and showed it to Ankhar. The lid of the little box had broken loose and lay separately in her weathered hand. Several of the stones were loose-tiny chips of crimson flecking her brown, parchment-like skin.

“We have no box to hold the giant when it comes for us.” She made the announcement as if she were reporting a shortage of butter to spread on the army commander’s ration of bread.

Ankhar looked askance at the broken box. Its magic was gone, the half-giant realized. The wand was of little use even if it were in one piece. The elemental king could no longer be imprisoned in the magic box. The thought of that horrific being stomping toward him, free of its prison and out of control, suddenly struck home. It was a very unsettling thought, indeed.

“It will come soon, won’t it? And it will be seeking us-you, and me, and the Gray Robe?”

Laka snorted. “What do you think?”

Ankhar threw back his head and roared with exasperation. He beat a mighty fist against his chest then struggled to think, to regain command of, first, his own emotions, then his army, then this battle.

“Yes, I understand. The wizard who held the king at bay is wounded and possibly dying, and the box that we have held him in is broken.” He growled, turning his back and stomping angrily across the inn’s hall. He spun again and pointed a thick finger at his stepmother and the still-huddled form of the Thorn Knight.

“There is only one thing to do: fix it!” he roared. “Before it kills us all!”

Jaymes and Moptop, a little muddy and wet from their trek through the sewers, raced into the Temple of Kiri-Jolith, where the duchess agreed to wait for them. They found her and her captains in a side vestibule, examining a map of the city that was spread over a desk.

“You’re back!” Brianna cried, rushing to embrace the lord marshal. “How did you fare?”

He shrugged. “Not well. We managed to attack the wizard. He is badly injured, possibly slain, but a company of ogres charged in before we could do any more damage. We were driven back.”

“But at least you foiled the wizard!” cried the duchess, seizing at the straw. “If he can’t help the enemy any more, that’s got to be good for us.”

“It came at no small cost,” the lord marshal admitted. “Four brave knights fell in the course of our escape.” Jaymes turned to Lord Martin. “Your son’s courage was pivotal to our attack… but I am sorry to tell you that he paid for that courage with his life.”

The lord’s face drained of color. He staggered almost imperceptibly. Then he stood straight, forcing the words out through his clenched jaw. “The Kingfishers hold to the same creed as the other orders: Est Sularus oth Mithas. I am grateful his death was not in vain.”

“By all that’s holy-did you just leave the dead behind? The bodies of those brave men?” demanded Lord Harbor. He faced Jaymes across the table. “Do you mean to say you just fled for your own safety? That you didn’t make the wretches pay?”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” snapped Brianna.

“But the honor of the knighthood-the tradition! An honorable knight does not leave his comrades’ bodies in the hands of the enemy!”

“Such traditions must give way to dire necessity,” the duchess said.

“Your Grace,” said the lord, drawing himself up stiffly. “If it has come to the point where my advice is no longer req-”

“I require your good advice, my lord!” she declared. “And I shall continue to expect it. But right now we must address the emergencies at hand!”

“I intend to make the enemy pay dearly,” Jaymes told the lord. “I will not forget the sacrifice of good men. But we must persist with our plan. We can’t stop the elemental king, but now is our chance to strike at the army that flanks his advance.”

Lord Martin cleared his throat. “The elemental has gained ground rapidly-faster than his support troops can follow,” he noted. His pallor remained ashen, but his voice was firm and purposeful. “You are right; we might be able to come at them from behind and from the sides, hit them hard, while the monster is elsewhere.”

“Where is the giant now?” Jaymes asked.

“It began to demolish the armory shortly after you descended into the tunnel. It has been smashing away on the walls and towers there-almost in a frenzy. It’s not far from here,” Brianna explained.

“I remember where the armory is,” Jaymes said. “I should head there directly and have a look. If possible, I can harass and delay the creature. How many troops do you have in nearby positions?”

“Several companies have fallen back from the gate,” Martin informed him. “One or more can go with you.”

“Good. Get the rest of the garrison into a position for an all-out attack on the ogres and goblins.”

“We’ll have them ready as soon as we can,” said the duchess, her cheeks flushing. “There’s no time to waste.” She touched his beard with her small hand, looking up at him with shining eyes. “You… take care. May the gods watch over you.”

“All is not lost,” he replied. “Keep your faith, but be ready for anything.”

“Farewell, my Lord Marshal,” she said, pulling her hand away with visible reluctance.

With a final wave, the lord marshal and his professional guide and pathfinder extraordinaire dashed out the door and into the smoky streets of Solanthus. Lord Martin had preceded them and was waiting with nearly a hundred swordsmen and archers in two units. Raising shields and blades, the swordsmen swung behind Jaymes and the kender, while the archers hoisted their full quivers and trotted along, bringing up the rear.

The monster loomed over the wreckage of a military barracks, standing amidst the shattered stone walls. Winds whirled around its cyclone legs, raising a thick, noxious cloud of dust and casting medium-sized rocks through the air. These missiles flew randomly in all directions, crashing and skidding along the ground wherever they landed, adding to the chaos and destruction as they smashed through the wooden walls of nearby buildings.

Flames flickered around the lofty visage of its craggy face, and for a moment the monster paused, as if surveying its accomplishments thus far. The armory, once a small but sturdy castle, had been reduced to mounds of broken stone. Here and there were bonfires where the monster had aimed its fiery gaze, but the remnants of the stony structure lacked much in the way of combustibles, so there were no major conflagrations, just small blazes, smoldering piles of charred logs, and pyres of black smoke.

Jaymes and Moptop had spotted the elemental king as soon as they emerged from the temple. They cut down a side street, moving north for a couple of blocks then circling around through a narrow alley and entering the yard of a nearby stable. Lord Martin and his makeshift company trailed close behind. Now they all watched the conjured monster from behind a broken doorway and the shattered walls of the building across the street.

“What now?” asked the kender in a small voice, looking skeptically at the monster. “I hope it doesn’t notice us. It’s not like we can do much to stop it, can we?”

“I’m not at all sure what we’re going to do,” replied the man-a remark that caused his companion to blink in surprise or perhaps consternation. For once, however, the loquacious kender seemed at a lack for words; he merely nodded sagely.

The elemental king had wrecked much of the west side of Solanthus. Now, with the armory and adjacent barracks utterly demolished, it was faced with a choice. To the north sprawled vast neighborhoods of houses and apartments, while a turn east would take it toward the ducal palace and the heart of the Solanthian metropolis.

After a moment’s respite, the hulking creature took a step through the wreckage, striding toward the stable where the lord marshal and kender crouched in concealment. But they were beneath notice and hadn’t been spotted. One of its massive, swinging legs kicked through the remnant of the armory wall, coming to rest in the street. Dust billowed out and up with each step, and the smoke thickened in the force of the swirling winds. The monster took another step, and another, and soon moved away down the avenue.

“This way,” Jaymes said, leading Martin and the fighting men to the west, away from the elemental, keeping the shattered wall between themselves and the hulking monster.

In moments they reached a cross street. To the right, a small company of ogres were lumbering along in the wake of the elemental. In the opposite direction, they saw the brown, shaggy figures of a dozen warg wolves, each ridden by a goblin. The unruly, snarling beasts were poking through the ruins of a house, while their riders jabbered and shrieked.

“Here’s as good a chance as any,” Jaymes said to the lord. “Have your archers concentrate on those wolves. I’ll lead a group of swordsmen against the ogres.”

“Very good,” Martin replied. The bowmen, each with a sturdy longbow, nocked arrows to their strings. The soldiers with swords and shields took up their positions.

“Now!” Jaymes declared, drawing Giantsmiter and charging into the street with the swordsmen following.

Immediately the ogres barked and hooted, turning and charging the defenders in a mass. In moments the two sides were clashing. In the lead, Jaymes fought like a madman, slashing to the right and left. He dropped two ogres as the enemy clubs and blades smashed into the shields of the Solanthian footmen, and the narrow lane was filled with flailing bodies; slashing weapons; and howling, screaming combatants.

Jaymes swept another ogre off its feet, followed up by a fast stab that penetrated the brute’s breastplate, chest, and heart. Breaking from the melee, he glanced over his shoulder to see the archers were firing away, arrows scything into the goblins and wargs, dropping wolves and riders at fifty paces. Within breaths, the whole detachment of cavalry was wiped out, and a moment later the last of the ogres fell, bleeding and dying.

But then, before anyone could rejoice, a huge shape loomed into sight, as the elemental king, with no apparent pattern in its random movements, came lurching back the way it had come. The men found themselves exposed in the street, and looking up, scattered.

The lord marshal froze, expecting the monster to charge and trample them all.

Instead, the gigantic being veered away to the side. Fire flashed from its eyes, and the yawning mouth opened in a surreal growl, like the moaning of a powerful wind through a desolate wood-only a hundred times as loud.

“What’s it doing?” asked Martin, who ran up besides Jaymes.

“I don’t know. It’s as though it’s been distracted,” the lord marshal replied.

“Look!” cried one of the swordsmen. “The kender!”

They saw him then, standing on top of the roof of one of the few intact buildings down the street. Moptop was jeering and hooting imaginative insults, waving his arms and shouting in his high-pitched voice at the elemental king. The monster turned its immense face toward the diminutive kender, as though disbelieving. It roared and shivered.

“What makes you think you’re so tough?” Moptop yodeled. “I’ve lit matches that made more fire than you! You’re probably scared of little old me! Well, aren’t you?”

The elemental roared again, the sound pounding against their eardrums like a hurricane wind. The creature stood in place, limbs gesticulating madly, fire blossoming from its cave-like eye sockets. The gargantuan figure twisted and flailed in obvious torment. Moptop vanished from sight as the creature took a hunkering step toward him. Once more the monster halted, roaring and bellowing; then his tormentor was back in view.

The kender had climbed up a cone-shaped pile of broken rock, scrambling over large sections of wall, pulling himself up the steep summit with one hand. At the top, he braced his feet on a pair of flat stones, stood up to his full height, and brandished his fist, pointing straight at the monstrous creature.

“I’m warning you, big ugly. Get out of here, you!” Moptop screamed, hopping up and down on the rock. “You stupid fire-face! This is your last chance to run!” He clenched both fists, shaking them in the air, and whooped and shrieked in triumph and glee. “You’re nothing but a big, overgrown thunderclap-that’s what you are!”

The elemental roared again, even louder than before, anguished by-as Moptop would claim for the rest of his life-the incredible humiliation resulting from the kender’s taunts. The mighty creature took a step forward then another. It lumbered closer, kicking through a row of shattered houses. Violent winds gusted in its wake, and raindrops splashed all over the street, only to be instantly dried by the swirling gale.

Jaymes spotted a ladder nearby, leaning against the balcony of a two-story building. Quickly he scrambled up the rungs and onto the overhanging perch. He pushed through the door, raced down a narrow hallway, and found a stairway leading to the roof. Scrambling up, he emerged several buildings away from Moptop, but with a view of all the city.

From his high vantage, Jaymes could see a whole regiment of ogres advancing in formation down the Duke’s Avenue. He could see that Moptop was still busy hollering taunts, though the lord marshal was too far away to fathom his words. Nor was it clear that the elemental king understood. But the important thing was that the monster remained focused on the diminutive taunter as it strode right into the midst of the ogre battalion.

The brutish warriors noticed too late that the monster was upon them, and they began to flee, but they couldn’t get out of the way in time. Those whirlwind legs swept through the regiment, tossing dozens of ogres through the air as if they were milkweed puffballs or dandelion seeds. A few ogres tossed spears or hurled axes at their supposed ally, but these weapons had no more effect than had the blades of the city’s defenders.

Not content with that initial and apparently accidental massacre, however, the elemental bent down to swipe at other ogres with its crushing arms, bashing them to the ground or sweeping them up against the walls that stood on either side of the street. Dozens of brutal, strapping warriors were squashed like bugs. Huge columns of flames erupted from the elemental’s eyes, immolating other screaming ogres with infernal heat.

Jaymes looked down into the street and spotted Lord Martin.

“Get back to the duchess!” he yelled. “Tell her that the creature is moving away from here. Now’s the time to attack Ankhar’s warriors, while they are thoroughly disorganized!”

“I’m off!” replied the nobleman. “Good luck to you!”

Lord Martin raced away at a sprint, while the archers in the streets took shelter and directed a volley of fire at another group of Ankhar’s infantry, painted goblins who had appeared in the nearby street and were moving toward the ducal palace. The attackers took shelter behind barrels and in the shells of buildings to avoid the lethal arrows.

The king roared again, exulting as he thrashed around violently. Only when all the ogres had been slain, knocked senseless, or driven away did the elemental pause. Remembering, it looked back, fiery eyes seeking the kender, who was no longer in view. Jaymes leaped from his rooftop perch onto a lower building then dropped to the ground. Once more he held the great sword high, waving it over his head as he gathered the swordsmen around him, the whole company starting forward at a trot.

Then the monster changed direction again, moving away from the site of its orgiastic violence, lumbering toward the plazas, the gap in the city wall, and the teeming army of Ankhar the Truth, the vast bulk of which was still gathered on the plains.

The elemental king, a being of pure power and energy, did not have thoughts, plans, or ideas in the manner of men and other sentient, intelligent creatures. Rather, it was driven by mysterious instincts, lusts, and furies whose urges were primal, fundamental.

Now those instincts carried the creature toward those who had enslaved it, had stolen it from the realm-however hellish-that had been its lair, its kingdom, its home.

It roared and spumed like a terrible force of nature, leaving only death and destruction in its wake. Where there had been buildings, now there was only rubble. Stone walls toppled, everything made of wood burned. But the elemental king took no note of the damage, the havoc. Its fiery eyes scanned ahead, seeking its intended target.

Seeking the one who had enslaved it.

“It’s moving away, Your Grace! I can’t believe it, but the kender has succeeded in taunting the beast and drawing it away from the center of the city!” declared Lord Martin.

Brianna could make no reply, perhaps because the swell of her emotions so tightened her throat that she didn’t trust herself to utter any words of hope. But the evidence was clear in the violent spectacle before her eyes: the fire elemental, for some reason, had turned upon its former allies, the savage warriors of Ankhar the Truth.

After decimating a whole regiment of ogre soldiers, the fiery monster had proceeded to rip the ranks of goblin archers who had been assembling on the West Gate plaza. Then the creature had turned to slice through the whole line of enemy bowmen, casting hundreds of them through the air with the gale-force winds of its cyclonic legs. Storms of lashing water gushed from the liquid arms, sweeping away entire companies, drowning those goblins too small or stunned to pull themselves free from the torrent.

The duchess looked around her. The garrison had assembled more than two hundred Knights of the Sword, all armored, mounted, and bearing heavy lances. She had ordered them to gather in the courtyard before the palace. Summoned to the ducal banner-the sigil of the Sword-they had ridden here at once and awaited her orders.

The road was wide enough for some forty riders to charge abreast, so the mounted knights had formed six lines. Nearby stood hundreds of other troops, including swordsmen and axers, companies of militia bearing spears and shields, and several companies of longbowmen. The last-named had been armed with all of the feathered missiles remaining in the city arsenal. All the defenders were eager to avenge the terrible damage that had been inflicted on their city, and their comrades, in the previous days.

After months of siege and days of disaster, they were ready to strike back. To a man, these warriors understood that the coming battle must result in victory, or the city that they loved, that had sheltered their families and property, would be forever lost.

“But, Your Grace,” Harbor continued, lowering his voice and leaning closer to the slender young woman who had not yet spoken. “Surely you don’t need to lead the charge. Let my veteran knights take that responsibility, while you inspire us from the rear.”

“My lord,” she said, her stern tone softened by the warmth in her eyes. “I have watched too much of this battle-and this war-from the window of my lofty tower. Now I must lead, and I will wield my own steel in my city’s defense.”

Harbor tried to plead his case further until he realized with chagrin that the duchess was staring off without listening. He settled for quietly admonishing the nearby knights to look out for Brianna, on pain of their honor and their lives.

She sat high in the saddle of her black mare. Her copper-colored hair was unbound, trailing across her shoulders; Brianna had disdained a helmet because she decided it was important that she be seen and recognized. A small shield was strapped to her left arm, and a slender-bladed sword-more of a rapier-nestled in a scabbard at her belt.

Now the duchess drew that blade with a flourish and held it over her head. Her mare shivered restlessly, and she heard the snorting and stomping of the other horses as they, too, stirred under their riders now on alert, feeling the imminence of battle.

“Warriors of Solanthus!” she cried, her voice clear and strong. “Today is the day we reclaim our city! Follow your captains! The time has come! Acquit your honor!”

She pressed her knees together, and the big horse started forward, the knights abreast to either side of her advancing slowly at first, down the Duke’s Avenue. Brianna rode in the middle of the front rank, between a pair of large Sword Knights, who flanked her protectively. She didn’t glance at them or behind her, but rode easily for a short distance before kicking her mare and increasing to a trot. The ranks of knights kept pace.

They came to the place in the avenue where scores of ogres lay dead, many of them mangled or crushed by the elemental king. Again Brianna spurred her mount and the mare broke into a canter with the rest of the line sweeping forward to match her speed. Surging now, the men and horses thundered toward the enemy. The columns of Solanthian infantry ran hard to keep as close as possible to the mounted knights.

But the galloping horses pulled ahead. The wind blew Brianna’s coppery hair back in a shimmering plume. The noise of the pounding hooves echoed and reverberated from the surrounding buildings. Dust billowed, smoke swirled, and the noise swelled.

Brianna felt a thrill she had never known before, a sense of fate and inevitability, as if all the experiences she had undergone in her life, all of her choices-including her marriage to the duke who had proved a scoundrel-had conspired to lead her to this, the realization of her destiny.

The first rank of knights drew close to the great plaza, where thousands of Ankhar’s troops had collected. These goblins and hobs, ogres and humans-including many who had recently witnessed and survived the rampage of the giant elemental-were in disorder. Units were scattered; captains tried to reassemble their troops.

And none had been posted as sentries to watch the approaches.

The smoke swirled across the avenue, parting enough for some weary goblins to catch a glimpse of the approaching army. They shrieked a warning and turned to run. Others of Ankhar’s troops looked up, hastily raising arms, trying to discern the cause of the alarm. But none of the enemy units was formed or prepared to receive the charge of armored knights bearing lances.

Brianna felt a surge of transcendent emotion as the riders burst into the plaza. She had never killed in battle before, but now she felt an almost frantic urge to skewer the flesh of an enemy with her steel. A dozen goblins were scrabbling on their hands and knees right before her. They scrambled to get out of the way, but every one was pierced by a knight’s lance or crushed under the hooves of a charger before they could flee.

The attacking knights spread out, the first rank riding ahead. Brianna’s blade finally drank deep of blood as she slashed a burly shoulder-but the momentum of her racing horse drove the blade so deep the weapon was almost pulled from her hand.

The city’s infantry spilled into the plaza. They attacked with swords and axes, pikes and spears, and they exploded from all the smaller streets and alleys connecting the plaza to the rest of the city. Trumpets blared, blown by heralds on their light, fleet horses.

The lofty giant, its head still surrounded with oily smoke from its flaming eyes, was busy stalking across the plain outside the city. With vengeful purpose, it tore through the trenches and approach routes the ogres had so carefully excavated in the ruined gatehouse, smashing down great walls of stone, filling the entrenchments with muddy water. Breaking onto the plain, the elemental king reached Ankhar’s observation tower and crushed it flat with a single stomp of its massive leg. Its purposeful advance never hesitated, and soon it neared the headquarters camp of the half-giant’s army.

Brianna saw Jaymes, equally purposeful amidst the chaos. He had his sword in his hands now. He and the kender fought side by side, hacking and slaying at the head of a company of Solanthian footmen. The lord marshal’s eyes met the duchess’s, and he raised the weapon in a salute then dropped it to cut down a roaring ogre that the humans had surrounded and trapped.

Fighting raged around other pockets of resistance across the plaza, but there was only sporadic opposition as the Solanthians swiftly cut down every invader who didn’t have the sense to turn and retreat. Regardless, many managed to escape, crawling through the chaotic wreckage left in the elemental’s wake, scrambling for survival in panic.

Outside the ruined city wall, a few goblins raised their bows and fired volleys of arrows at the citizen army. Their missiles soared overhead and showered down on the plaza, but the volleys were not dense enough to slow the counterattack.

Ankhar’s troops were driven from the city, with all semblance of resistance shattered.

That Battle for Solanthus was won.

“Put the damned box together-now!” roared Ankhar. “Remember, old mother, Est Sudanus oth Nikkas! My power is my Truth!”

And the Truth, he could see with his own eyes, was that he was going to die very soon if they could not find a way to control the raging, uncontrolled elemental king.

It had burst out of the city, wiping out the tower and breastworks that had been constructed at such effort. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Ankhar’s warriors had perished in the storm of its passage. The half-giant looked down at the little chip of wood in his hand, Hoarst’s wand, which he had lashed together with a leather thong. Surely the wand was useless.

Ankhar wished most fervently that he could become a dormouse or a bat or some other creature that could hide or beat a hasty retreat. But it was not to be, for even now the elemental king advanced toward the half-giant with great, determined strides.

“It is nearly ready,” said his stepmother with maddening calmness.

She knelt on the ground, carefully affixing the rubies to the outside of the tiny container. They were not attached with any adhesive; she had popped each stone into her mouth and murmured a prayer to the Prince of Lies as she held it against the flat surface. Each time she removed her hand, the stone stayed in place-until the last, when, simultaneously, four or five of the ruby chits had fallen at once.

Laka scrambled through the dust, trying to pick up the precious gems, while Ankhar growled and paced in agitation. “Hurry!” he barked, but this only caused his stepmother to halt and glare wordlessly up at him. This being the opposite of the effect he was trying to provoke, the half-giant angrily held his tongue, turning his back on the old hob-witch so he was not tempted to strike her the blow she so richly deserved.

The Thorn Knight, Hoarst, lay on the ground where Ankhar had set him down. The wizard’s eyes were open, but he was pale. He had not spoken since his wounding in the sudden sneak attack. His gray robe still bore the stain of the blood, now dried, shed when the lord marshal’s bolt had pierced his chest. He had borne the wound, and the retreat from the city, without complaint, but now the Gray Robe seemed near death.

Ankhar looked at the mage with faint scorn. He was furious about the surprise attack and blamed the wizard for failing to defend himself and his commander. But something in Hoarst’s cold, cruel eyes prevented the half-giant from rebuking him.

The elemental king was moving ever closer. The magical creature had emerged from the rubble of the ruined West Gate, kicking through the mass of goblins there. Troops scattered in every direction, shrieking in terror. Each step taken by the king crushed more of them, while its gusting winds hurled soldier after soldier through the air. Ankhar had ordered a rank of pikemen to form up before his headquarters, hoping to buy time, but the commander could only watch in contempt as the troops dropped their unwieldy weapons and fled long before the conjured creature was upon them.

The giant elemental drew closer and closer, and for the first time in his life, Ankhar felt pure, abject terror. Every fiber of his being urged him to turn and run. With a sneer that bared both of his tusks, he took up his heavy, emerald-tipped spear, and cocked back his arm for one final throw. He would not die without at least a symbolic resistance.

Hoarst spat one word, a noise like a guttural curse, and abruptly disappeared.

Then the elemental king was there, towering overhead. Ankhar cast his spear, and the creature swatted it aside like a pesky gnat. One mighty fist smashed outward, the monster aiming directly at the half-giant. It had clearly singled out Ankhar for death.

“I cannot fix the box!” cackled Laka in frustration. She looked up, her thin lips parted in a sneering grin. “You must help! You must wield the wand!”

Ankhar looked again at the toothpick of wood, pinched between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand. Shaking to his toes, he lifted the little thing and pointed it at the approaching monster.

And, before the killing blow could land, the king of the elementals turned and strode away.

The elemental king felt the repulsion effect of the magic wand as a despised presence that, however intangible, could not be defeated. It flailed and roared but almost immediately redirected its frustration toward other targets it could hate. There were many creatures moving across the plains, thousands of mortals that were not protected by the unseen talisman. A mighty foot kicked through a column of Dark Knights, scattering riders and steeds high into the air. Screaming and thrashing, the doomed creatures tumbled back to earth, their broken bodies strewn, shattered upon the ground.

A group of hobgoblin archers took flight at the monster’s approach, and the king sent a tornado tearing through their ranks. Roaring with fresh freedom, the monster kicked through the rear ranks of the army. It felt unconstrained, released.

And the whole vast Plain of Solamnia was open before it.

The kender looked up at Jaymes, and even in the shadows of late afternoon, the lord marshal noted the rarity of tears in his eyes. Smoke swirled around them, but the worst of the battle was over, the noise muted. Soldiers moved about, counting the dead.

“She said I was a good pathfinder,” Moptop said plaintively.

He held the duchess Brianna’s head in his lap. An arrow jutted grotesquely from her neck. There was blood everywhere. “I should have looked out for her better!”

Jaymes knelt and reached to her neck, feeling for a pulse, even though the effects of that arrow were obvious and telling.

The Duchess of Solanthus was dead.