Part 46 (1/2)

”Stand fast,” he told them. ”Just hang on. Our wizards are at work.”

Back on the parapet he found the human sorcerers all imitating VisiG.o.dred, using light to herd the savan dalage.

The Egg, Thing, and Zindahjira concentrated on the remaining monsters.

”The men-things,” Zindahjira boomed. ”They're immune to the Power.”

Ragnarson remembered Badalamen's indifference to Radeachar.

”They're human,” he observed. ”Sword and spear will stop them.”

True. His men were doing so. But, like Badalamen, the creatures were incredible fighters, as far beyond the ordinary soldier of s.h.i.+nsan as he was beyond most westerners.

”Arrows!” he thundered from the parapet. ”Get the bowmen over there!” No one heard. He ducked downstairs to the messengers.

The struggle wore a new face when he returned. The Tervola had unleashed a sorcery of their own.

At first he believed it the monster O s.h.i.+ng had raised during First Baxendala. The Gosik of Aubuchon. But this became a burning whirlwind with eyes.

Mist responded as she had then. A golden halo formed in the night. Within its confines an emerald sky appeared. From that a vast, hideous face leered. Talons gripped the insides of the circle.The halo spun, descended. The ugly face opened a gross mouth, began biting.

The screams of the ensuing contest would haunt Bragi's dreams forever. Yet the struggle soon became a sideshow. Other Tervola-horrors rose. Ragnarson's sorcerers unleashed terrors in response.

Through it all the Unborn pursued its deportations in a workmanlike manner.

The whirlwind and halo rampaged up and down the Gap, destroying friend and foe.

Once they crashed into Seidentop, the mountain opposite Karak Strabger. The face of the mountain slid into the canyon. In moments the defense suffered more than in all the previous fighting.

s.h.i.+nsan tasted the bitterness of loss too. Stojan Dusan conjured a seven-headed demon bigger than a dozen elephants, with as many legs as a centipede. Each was a weapon.

”It's the battle for Tatarian all over again,” someone murmured. Ragnarson turned.

Valther had come up. He had served Escalon in its ill-fated war with s.h.i.+nsan.

The mountains burned as forests died. Smoke made breathing difficult.

”Pull out while you can,” Valther advised. ”Use this to make your retreat.”

”No.”

”Dead men can't fight tomorrow. Every death is a brick in his house of victory.”

Valther stabbed a finger.

High above, barely discernible, a winged horse drifted on updrafts.

”That d.a.m.ned old man again,” Bragi growled.

VisiG.o.dred's apprentice suddenly struck from even higher. The winged horse slipped aside at the last instant. Marco kept dropping till Bragi was sure he would smash into a flaming mountainside. But the roc whistled along Seidentop's slope, used its momentum to hurl itslef into the undraft over another fire.

Surprise gone, Marco tried maneuver. And proved he had paid attention to his necromantic studies. His sorceries scarred the night air. The winged horse weaved and dodged and fought for alt.i.tude.

Ragnarson asked Valther, ”Who's winning? The battle.”

”Us. Mist and Varthlokkur make the difference. Watch them.”

Oh? Then why the admonition to get out?

They were holding the Tervola at bay and still grabbing moments for other work.

Varthlokkur developed the Winter-storm construct. Mist opened and guided another, smaller halo. It cruised over the defensive works, s.n.a.t.c.hing the creatures of Magden Norath. It even gobbled one savan dalage. Just one.

”Must have a bad taste,” Ragnarson muttered sardonically.

Radeachar returned from a trip east and was unable to find another unkillable. He joined the a.s.sault on the Tervola.

”We've got them now,” Valther crowed, and again Bragi wondered at his earlier pessimism.The Tervola went to the defensive. Above, Marco harried the winged horse from the sky.

But, as Valther had meant, that old man always had another bolt in his quiver.

Fires floated majestically in from the eastern night, from beyond the Kapenrungs, like dozens of ragged-edged little moons.

Mist spied them first. ”Dragons!” she gasped.

”So many,” Valther whispered. ”Must be all that're left.”

Most dragons had perished in the forgotten Nawami Crusades.

Straight for the castle they came. The glow of their eyes crossed the night like racing binary stars. One went for Marco. He ran like h.e.l.l.

The Unborn took over for him.

The leaders of those winged horrors were old and cunning. They remembered the Crusades. They remembered what sorcery had done to them then, when they had served both causes, fighting one another more often than warlocks and men. They remembered how to destroy creatures like those atop the castle.

”Get out of here!” Valther shouted. ”You can't handle this.”

Bragi agreed. But he dallied, watching the saurians spiral in, watching Radeachar drive the winged horse to earth behind s.h.i.+nsan's lines.

The Unborn turned on its dragon harrier.

The beast's head exploded. Its flaming corpse careened down the sky, crashed, thras.h.i.+ng, into a blazing pine grove. Flaming trunks flung about. A terrible stench filled the Gap.

Varthlokkur completed his Winterstorm construct as a dragon reached the tower.

Ragnarson dove downstairs, collecting bruises and a scorching as dragon's breath pursued him.