The masked witches

ELEVEN

The various doors around the castle slammed with a series of thunderous bangs. Gazing down from the rooftop of the keep, Aoth tried to judge if any of the enemy were left trapped in the corner towers or any of the smaller structures along the walls.

No, rasped Jet. According to the Rashemi, the Fortress of the Half-Demon is famous for the dungeons and tunnels underneath it. My guess is that no matter what door a troll or a witch ducked into, there is a way to join up with the rest.

You re probably right, Aoth said.

Curse it, anyway.

Did you think we could stop them from locking themselves in the donjon? Cera asked, breathing heavily. Despite the cold, her round face was sweaty, and she looked like she was feeling the weight of her mace and armor.

Not really, said Aoth. Given the haphazard way we tackled this, it went as well as we had any right to expect. He took another look over the battlements. There were a couple of living or undead foes still left out in the open, but none that looked worth a burst of his magic. The men-at-arms could deal with them. Come on, let s get down there.

He swung himself onto Jet s back, and Cera climbed up behind him, buckling in. The griffon lashed his wings and leaped over the row of merlons.

As Jet swooped downward, Aoth looked for Jhesrhi. Still unharmed, she d already set about the task of burning fallen trolls and the undead. Vandar and the Stag King were all right, too, and it seemed that neither the stag warriors nor the berserkers had suffered an inordinate number of casualties.

The latter were pounding at the castle doors with any makeshift battering ram they could find. But a door wasn t a foe, and without flesh to cut and blood to spill, the berserker rage had little to feed it. One or two at a time, they abandoned the futile assault and stumbled away, gray-faced and shivering.

The Brotherhood, thought Aoth, would still have been strong and ready for another fight. But he knew he wasn t being altogether fair. Even Khouryn s infantry couldn t have managed that mad charge into the castle any better than Vandar s lodge brothers. In fact, despite all their training, they might not have managed as well. There was a time for discipline and tactics and as far as Aoth was concerned, it was most of the time but a time for sheer fury as well.

As soon as the saddle straps had unbuckled, Cera jumped off Jet s back and went looking for those who needed her healing ministrations. Aoth took another glance around, just in case something was apparent at ground level that even fire-kissed eyes had missed from the air, and spotted the butt of Vandar s red spear peeking out from under the dead bugbear that had fallen on top of it.

Jet sprang back into the air to keep watch over the battleground from on high. Aoth walked over to the spear and picked it up. He caught his breath at the force and intricate structure of the enchantments he sensed inside it, and felt instantly wary of the weapon. It wasn t that it was cursed, or at least, its maker hadn t intended it to be. But he didn t like the feeling that as he studied it, it was taking his measure as well.

That s mine! called Vandar.

Aoth turned to find that the lodge master had come up behind him. He was glaring like he was still facing an enemy, and he still had the red sword in his grip.

Making sure he didn t hurry or look rattled, Aoth proffered the weapon butt first. I know, he replied.

I was just saving you the trouble of having to look for it.

I can understand that you covet it, Vandar said.

But the spirits gave it to me, just like they mean for me to have the griffons.

Aoth stared into the other man s eyes. But you ll settle for half of them, he said. Because you do remember giving your word?

Vandar held his gaze for a long moment. Then he blinked, and something that might have been confusion or even a trace of shame flickered across his face. Yes, he said. I mean, I keep faith with those who keep faith with me. He hefted the spear. Thanks for finding this.

Be careful with it and the sword, Aoth said.

I don t know much about fey weapons

Vandar turned toward the spot where some of his fellow berserkers were still trying to smash down a door. Can t magic break through there? he asked.

Aoth sighed and said, I hope so, but it s not going to do it yet. Call your men back.

We shouldn t give the durthans time to regroup! the lodge master said.

We need time to regroup, replied Aoth. Your brothers need to recover their strength, or the enemy will butcher them as soon as they do get inside. Your wounded need care, or they re likely to die. Is that what you want?

The Rashemi took a breath. No, he said. It s just that stopping halfway isn t how a berserker fights. He raised his voice to a bellow. Brothers! Leave the doors alone for now! Just watch them, and help the wounded!

While you and I, said Aoth, confer with our fellow officers.

They headed for the Stag King, who currently stood amid the phantom beasts he d wrested from the durthans control and brought under his own. An enormous wolf fawned at his feet, squirrels sat on his shoulders, and wrens and crows perched on the points of his antlers. It might have looked comical if not for their misty appearance, the foxfire in their eyes, and the gore caking the head of the fey lord s weapon.

That didn t go too badly, said Aoth.

The Stag King nodded. I see you pulled the Rashemi back from the doors, he said.

They ve taken a beating already, said Aoth. Maybe, when we do get the doors open, your warriors should go in first.

The spirit grinned as he replied, Would that work? I d be worried that such heroes would charge regardless, and trample my folk in their eagerness to close with the foe.

Vandar snorted. We might at that, he said.

It s all right, Thayan. The Griffon Lodge is happy to take the lead, in this fight or any other.

Fine, Aoth thought. Be an idiot. What do I care?

Aloud, he said, We need more men on the walls. After we put them there, we should be able to relax a little. Eat, rest, and recover both our physical strength and our spells. Let s plan on breaching the donjon a little before sundown.

So you want to fight the undead at night? asked Zyl. Aoth looked down to find the black hare crouching near his foot.

The Stag King shrugged. It doesn t matter, he said, It will be dark inside the keep and in the vaults underneath no matter when we venture in.

That s true, said Aoth. And we should expect it s going to get nasty. The enemy knows the ground, and we don t. Most of them will be able to see better than most of us can. They ll try to split us up and lure us into traps. Which means that if we lose our heads, either to panic or to bloodlust, and go rushing off into the dark, we re done for. Vandar, can you control your lodge brothers?

Even when the fury takes us, the Rashemi answered, we don t lose all our sense. He surprised Aoth by smiling a wry little smile. Not all of us, not every time. We ll divide up into war bands, each led by a brother far advanced in the mysteries a man who can ride the anger instead of letting it ride him. The others will move when he moves and stop when he stops.

Good, Aoth said as he turned to the Stag King.

And you can manage your warriors? I confess, I don t understand much about them, but I don t imagine they ve spent much time underground.

They ll be all right, the spirit replied.

Anyway, they re my concern, not yours.

Aoth took a breath of the smoky air. I m not trying to set myself about you, Highness, he said. Or you, Vandar. But someone has to think about the overall tactical picture. And maybe a captain who s taken more fortresses and fought more undead than he can remember, and who doesn t have the management of one particular part of our army to preoccupy him, is a good choice for the job.

The Stag King waved a dismissive hand. All right, human, he said. Perhaps you have a point. I promise, I ll at least listen to whatever you recommend.

Vandar nodded curtly. So will I, he said.

Finally! thought Aoth.

Jet laughed his screeching laugh inside his master s head. They just want someone to blame if it all goes wrong.

Uramar noted how the mushy flesh of the little demonic half-corpse oozed and dripped in Falconer s grip. The skull lord himself looked somewhat the worse for wear. He still had his gauntlet, but the same skirmish that had charred bits of his bones black had cost him the rest of his gear, and he d thrown on a brigandine that hung like a sack on his skeletal frame.

The biggest change was the loss of one of his skulls. A pair of Uramar s broken selves two of the more erudite and less sane ones were debating whether the Nar could somehow procure another or must manage with only two forevermore.

For a moment their voices waxed painfully loud. Uramar resisted the impulse to grit his teeth and pound at his temples. His command had just lost a fight, and the warrior parts of him understood that at such a juncture, his officers mustn t see him acting crazy or distressed. It would be bad for morale.

Suddenly, the half-corpse spoke, distracting him from his discomfort. I humbly apologize for making you wait, noblest of wizards. But I m sure that you comprehend that, surrounded as I am by our mutual enemies, I can t always answer instantly.

According to Falconer, the little half-demon was relaying the words of one Dai Shan, a merchant adventurer out of Thesk. The mortal s accent was strange to Uramar, but his light baritone voice conveyed intelligence and self-assurance.

We re under siege here, Falconer snapped.

Why didn t you warn me that the Griffon Lodge and their allies were coming?

Would that I could have, Dai Shan said, but to my eternal regret, I didn t know. I m sure such a sagacious leader as youself can appreciate that, even though I gather intelligence as assiduously as I can, I m not privy to everybody s plans. Are you in serious difficulty?

I ve had better days, the Nar replied.

Is there anything you can do to help us?

Dai Shan hesitated, or perhaps it simply took a moment for the magic to carry his words across the intervening distance. Perhaps, august magus, perhaps, he said. As it happens

With a soft slurping sound, the remaining flesh of the half-corpse liquefied all at once. It slipped off the little demon s bones and spilled to the floor in a splash of filth. A couple of Uramar s voices shrieked with laughter. A more squeamish soul wanted to puke, and its nausea churned his stomach.

I take it that s the end of the conversation? Nyevarra asked. The vampire witch seemed vibrant with impatience. Uramar suspected it was less because her allies had lost the first fight than because the sunlight had kept her from participating and drinking the blood of those who fell victim to her powers.

Yes, Falconer said. He dropped the imp s bones into the puddle of rot at his feet.

It s just as well, said Pevkalondra, sneering. A lustrous, eyeball-sized pearl was set in the left orbit of her shriveled face; and tiny silver scorpions crawled like lice in the folds of her faded blue velvet robe. Since there were only a handful of Raumvirans in the fortress, she arguably didn t enjoy quite the same status as Falconer and Nyevarra and needn t have been included in a council of war. But some of Uramar s shrewder voices had maintained it was politic to summon her to the keep s shadowy, ruinous great hall along with the other two.

Falconer pivoted to fix the ghoul with his double stare. And why is that? he asked.

Because anyone could hear the treachery in that oh-so-unctuous voice, Pevkalondra said. I would have thought even a Nar would notice. But perhaps

Don t start! Uramar said. Please. We re all brothers and sisters now, united by the creed of Lod. And even if we weren t, this would hardly be the time to renew old quarrels among ourselves.

I realized the Shou probably couldn t help us, Falconer said through gritted teeth. But it did no harm to communicate with him, and there s no reason to think he s playing us false. He said he chiseled the marks in the tombs under the Iron Lord s castle, and if so

Uramar raised his hand with its crooked, mismatched fingers, ridged scars, and piebald skin. You don t have to justify yourself, he said. I thought it was worth talking to him myself. Now we need to consider the question he asked us. Are we in serious difficulty?

Nyevarra made a spitting sound. Of course not! she said. I m not the only durthan who couldn t venture outside into the daylight. In the tunnels, we can turn the fight around.

I agree, Falconer said. My folk have demons we haven t used yet.

Pevkalondra nodded. And mine, constructs, she added.

Uramar smiled. Good, he replied. I knew I could count on your fighting spirit. Now, it seems to me that the best way to crush the intruders is to target their spellcasters. They only have a few, and their side can t win without them.

Again, I agree, Falconer said. And no one needs to coax me to focus my efforts on Fezim and the sunlady. I have a score to settle.

While I, Nyevarra purred, would take considerable satisfaction in bringing the Stag King low. What sort of dark fey sides with hathrans?

Then we have our strategy, Uramar said. Except that there s one more point to consider. What if, in spite of everything, the enemy gains the upper hand again?

Pevkalondra snorted. I plan for victory, not defeat, she said.

One of Uramar s more glib voices advised him how to answer. But with all respect, lady, he said, it s one of the strengths of the Eminence that we plan for every contingency. We figure out how to make even defeat serve our purposes. That s why no one can stop us from establishing our empire.

How nice, Falconer said. But what s the contingency plan now?

Simply this, Uramar said. If we smash our enemies, excellent. But if the battle goes against us, the more rational undead will retreat to safety along the deathways. Meanwhile, we ll leave zombies in fine armor and durthans masks and robes behind to perish with our goblins and such. Some will carry documents to create the impression that by taking this one fortress, our foes have crushed our entire enterprise.

Even as he articulated the scheme, he felt a pang of guilt; because all undead, even those with the dimmest minds, deserved better. But it was likewise true that any commander sometimes had to sacrifice troops to achieve his objectives.

Nyevarra nodded. I like it, she said.

Good, Uramar said. Now, let s talk specifics. Falconer, you know the fortress better than the rest of us. What s the best way to harry the mortals as they advance? Where are the best places to make a stand?

The winter sun had nearly sunk behind the battlements. Jhesrhi knew the next phase of the siege would begin soon, so even though she wasn t hungry, she made herself take a couple of bites from a hunk of pungent white Rashemi cheese.

She was rewrapping what was left in a threadbare old kerchief when Cera and Aoth approached her. The Iron Lord of Rashemen has griffons for sale, the war mage said, smiling a crooked smile.

We should go buy them.

It should all be straightforward enough, Cera said, quoting him as he d just quoted himself. The three of us can handle it.

Well, Jhesrhi said, the three of us are handling it. Give or take.

True, Aoth said. But be careful inside. Especially down in the vaults, which I m sure is where we ll find the hardest fighting.

She frowned. It wasn t like him to deliver such vague, useless cautions to a seasoned veteran and trusted comrade like herself.

Cera apparently thought the same. Are you worried? she asked. Did you have a vision?

Aoth snorted. You and your thirst for revelations, he said. No, thank the Firelord. I just wish we were doing this with the Brotherhood. But wishing won t make it so, so let s get on with it.

The berserkers and stag men had already heard the plan, so it didn t take long for them to form up in a rough horseshoe shape around the tall double doors in the center of the keep. Jhesrhi stood inside the arc and fixed her eyes and her will on the ironbound panels before her.

Pointing her staff at the doors, she recited a counterspell to dissolve the enchantments that buttressed them. Then she spoke to the mundane mechanisms that likewise secured them, commanding pins to lift and bars to slide.

Nothing happened.

But that was all right. The spells she d just attempted were the least of her magic. Next, she tried to breach the stone to the left of the doors as she d shifted the cavern walls in Grontaix s subterranean palace. Chanting, she swung her staff in a horizontal pass to indicate where and how she wanted it to split.

Warded like the entryway by the magic of the ancient Nars, the sandstone blocks ignored her.

It was going to take fire. Somehow, she d imagined that it would.

Sweeping her staff up and down in a pass that suggested leaping flame, she recited a rhyme in one of the hissing, crackling languages of the Undying Pyre. The fire that was a part of her sprang forth to cloak her.

But that blaze was a feeble guttering candle compared to the heat, or the potential for heat, concentrating in her hands and her staff. When she d gathered all she could hold, she raised the brass rod over her head and swung it at the doors like an axeman cleaving a foe from the scalp down.

A torrent of flame poured from the head of the staff. Neither the heat nor the brightness troubled Jhesrhi, but her allies cried out and recoiled.

For a heartbeat or two, the doors withstood even such an assault. Then the wood caught all at once, burning away to nothing in an instant. Half melted and deformed, the door s ironwork dropped, clanking onto the threshold.

Something as big as an ogre, with the head of a cat and a whipping tail as scaly as a dragon s, sprang out of empty air. Jhesrhi realized the gaunt form was a demon the Nars had bound in the entryway as the linchpin of their defensive magic. It was the fiend s strength she d been contending against, and, paradoxically, by overcoming it, she d set her adversary free.

The demon stretched out its clawed hands and lunged at a berserker. Aoth pointed his spear and pierced the creature with darts of blue light. The tanar ri staggered, and that gave Vandar enough time to rush it and slash open its belly with the red sword. Loops of guts came sliding out, and the creature collapsed. A second cut split its skull and spilled its brains.

Since it wouldn t do to set the donjon on fire, at least not yet, Jhesrhi extinguished the streaming, hissing flare and her personal halo of flame. Cera swung her mace in an overhand arc that ended with it pointing at the doorway. The pure light of the Yellow Sun flashed in the chamber on the other side. It might not hurt a goblin or troll, but it ought to discomfit most types of undead.

Nothing cried out. The berserkers surged forward. No! Aoth barked. Vandar and I will go through first. He shot the lodge chieftain a glance. Carefully.

The berserker scowled but also nodded brusquely. As you say, he replied.

Picking their way through glowing coals and scraps of hot iron, the two men prowled into the keep. Jhesrhi strode after them and entered with the first wave of Vandar s eager lodge brothers.

She found herself in a roomy, high-ceilinged vestibule, with an arched opening leading to other chambers on that level, and a staircase twisting upward. The enemy had left footprints along with drops and smears of blood in the dust when they made their hurried retreat back into the fortress. But, except for a dead hobgoblin that had evidently succumbed to its several wounds just after staggering inside, no one was there any longer.

Vandar looked around the gloomy, echoing space. You were right, he said to Aoth. They ve gone down into the crypts like the dead things they are.

Maybe not all of them, Aoth replied. In their place, I d leave a force hidden above ground, on the upper levels of this keep, in one of the secondary towers, or wherever, to follow us down into the tunnels and attack us from behind when it would do the most harm. So we re going to sweep the castle room by room. Then it will be time to head downstairs.

The Storm of Vengeance possessed more than her fair share of spellcasters, and none of them trusted Dai Shan. Their scrutiny made it difficult to achieve privacy. But after some investigation, he d found a sort of nook in the hold, a space walled off by a bulkhead and a bundle of barrels lashed in place, that sufficed as long as he kept his voice down and didn t let anyone spot him sneaking in or out.

Unfortunately, it was cramped, filthy, and stank of spoiled foodstuffs. But Dai Shan didn t allow its unpleasantness to hasten his departure. He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, breathed slowly from the diaphragm, and considered the implications of his annoyingly curtailed conversation with Falconer.

After he had assessed them as best he could, he still had a smaller matter to ponder: how to dispose of the useless half of the little dead demon. He was tempted just to leave it where it lay and let the rats he heard scuttling elsewhere in the hold gnaw it until nothing recognizable was left. But it was possible someone would stumble across it before that happened, and then Mario Bez would want to know why there were tanar ri bones aboard his skyship.

Dai Shan preferred to not have such a possibility hanging over his head. Better to take a small risk, and afterward, enjoy the tranquility that came with knowing he d resolved the situation. That was the path his father would have chosen.

With the gloom proving no hindrance to his sight, he prowled around the hold until he found a piece of oilcloth. Permitting himself a slight frown of distaste the half-imp, or what was left of it, was even more repulsive to the touch he bundled up the slime and bones and proceeded to the deck hatch that was farther forward.

Once on the companionway, he whispered a charm that caused the grime to fall away from his person. Next came a spell to deflect the attention of any potential observer for a critical moment. Then he climbed onto the deck and lowered the hatch behind him.

Trying to seem casual, he glanced around. As far as he could tell, no one was paying any attention to him, not even Olthe, the mannish-looking battleguard, who was practicing her axe strokes just three paces away.

Wondering if the hulking creature ever chopped the rigging, and if so, whether anyone, even Bez, had the nerve to complain about it, Dai Shan sauntered to the rail. He slipped the bundle over the side, and that was that.

He celebrated the success of his maneuver by taking a moment to enjoy the view of the frozen expanse of Lake Ashane shining red in the light of the setting sun. Though he d never traveled by skyship before, it hadn t taken him long to discover that flight was a pleasure unlike any other in his experience. He felt godlike with the whole world spread out below him, and he promised himself again that, however the House of Shan ended up disposing of the rest of the wild griffons, he d keep the blue-eyed king of the pride for himself.

Unfortunately, he couldn t just stand and enjoy the view for long; there was work to be done. He turned and made his way to the stern castle, where Bez stood at the great oaken wheel. He had underlings who knew how to steer the ship, but he seemed to enjoy taking turns at the task himself.

As Dai Shan mounted the companionway, he wondered what good it did for anyone to steer when the rudder projected not into water but rather empty air. Presumably, it was part and parcel of the same magic that allowed the Storm to fly at all.

Illustrious captain, Dai Shan said.

Greedy merchant, the sellsword replied, with a leer that indicated he was indulging his notion of humor. Where have you been lurking?

A quiet corner conducive to meditation, the Shou said, where I could stay out from underfoot as your industrious crew pursued their manifold tasks.

Bez grunted and turned the wheel a notch to starboard. The correction didn t appear to require any action from the sailors in the rigging, but those manning the windlasses controlling the folding wings immediately started cranking.

That sounds like a good place for you, the sellsword commander said. But I take it you think we need to talk.

The captain is as shrewd as he is courageous, Dai Shan said. When I meditate, I sometimes find it possible to send my spirit flying free of fleshly constraints. So it was this afternoon. I scouted ahead and witnessed the Griffon Lodge already attacking the Fortress of the Half-Demon.

Bez scowled. The Maiden of Pain take you then, you son of a sow, he said. If you hadn t insisted that I come back to Immilmar to collect you, the Storm could have gotten there first. As it stands, I guess we ll just have to hope the berserkers aren t up to the job. Then we can come flying heroically onto the scene to turn defeat into victory.

Dai Shan bowed. As always, when my shrewd ally speaks, I hear wisdom, he replied. That is indeed one possibility. But, if I may be so bold, perhaps we should take care not to discount any of our options prematurely.