Authors: Thomas M. Reid
Horial rolled his eyes, knowing that in the dark, the other man could not see his expression. “We’re just as ready,” he replied.
“You have the key I gave you?” Edilus asked, ignoring the sergeant’s comment.
Horial felt in his pocket for the gem the druid had given to him back at the encampment. The shard of quartz was still there. “Yes,” he answered. “And you’re sure it will get us all through the portal? Just the one piece?”
“As long as you do not delay,” Edilus answered. “The one with the key must go first, and all others who wish to pass through must follow quickly behind, while the magic is active. It should be accomplished easily.”
“All right then,” Horial said. “Let’s go.”
“As soon as I receive the signal,” the druid said, “we will cross the road and enter the ruins.”
At that moment, a low, cooing call of a morning bird sounded from the distance. Edilus snapped his head around in the darkness. “There,” he said, rising to his feet. “That’s the signal. It’s time to cross.”
The group rose up and began moving forward again, and after only a few paces, passed out of the
forest and through the scrub brush along its fringe. Out in the open, Selunealthough a mere sliver right before her new phasecast welcome illumination to light the journey. Wading through damp, waist-high grass, the five mercenaries and their escort of wood-folk crossed the open ground toward the place where the road from Reth circumnavigated the Nunwood toward Hlath. Although it was the only overland route between the two cities, the avenue was nothing more than hard-packed soil, but it was wide enough for three wagons to pass.
As the entourage reached the road and crossed to the far side, Horial noticed the outline of a structure in the distance. It seemed all leaning angles and jagged edges, and Edilus was leading them toward it. They closed the distance, the mercenaries following Edilus while the rest of the druids fanned out on every side, staring into the night, sniffing the air or listening. Horial thought they seemed on edge.
“That must be it,” Adyan whispered beside Horial. “It’ll be nice to sleep in a soft, dry bed in Arrabar tonight. It seems like it’s been a month since we left.”
Horial started to reply, but the whinnying of a horse cut him off. It sounded close. At almost the same instant, Edilus went to ground, dropping low enough into the grass so as to vanish.
What the? Horial thought as he looked in the direction from which the sound had seemed to come. Nothing was visiblemerely the open road under the night sky. There were no horses and no place to hide within several hundred paces. But the mercenary had not imagined the sound, for everyone around him was reacting as well.
“Back into the trees,” Edilus hissed, rising up into
a low crouch and beginning to jog toward the safety of the forest.
Before the druid had even gone three steps, an arrow hissed out of the night, sinking into the ground near his feet. A shout rose up from nearby. “To arms, to arms!” someone cried, and light suddenly illuminated the area from several locations about the group as more arrows fell among its members.
Horial spun about in place, trying to discern where the shouts had originated, but the sudden glow of lights in the sky forced him to squint and shield his eyes. He recognized the magical effect.
Just like Vambran’s signal flares, the sergeant realized.
By that point the pounding of hooves sounded nearby, and the mercenary could see a cadre of cavalrymen rushing toward the group. They seemed to have appeared out of thin air, for there was no place close by where they could have hidden beforehand. From another direction, more soldiers charged toward them on foot, again much too near to have been hiding anywhere but in the tall grasses. Then Horial noticed a group of infantry, and yet another of cavalry. In all, nearly half a dozen small unit§ of troops were bearing down on them, easily forty soldiers or more.
Silver Ravens.
“Ambush!” the sergeant cried out, realizing that the group was almost surrounded. The only direction that remained open for retreat was away from the forest. “To the ruins!” he shouted, grabbing at Burtis, who had dropped to one knee and was loading his crossbow. “Don’t waste your ammunition!” he told the Crescent as he shoved the man in the direction of the portal.
A crossbow bolt zipped past Horial’s head as he spun and found Filana looking about, dazed. Horial tried to take hold of the woman and show her the direction he wished her to go, but she sagged down at his feet then, and he saw the arrow jutting from the small of her back.
“Damn it to the Nine Hells,” Horial swore as he bent down and scooped the soldier up. Hefting Filana over his shoulder, he began to charge across the field as fast as his burden would allow. He spotted Edilus nearby, twirling a sling over his head and aiming at an oncoming mounted soldier. The druid released the sling and fired the stone just as Horial reached him. “Help me!” Horial said, trying to grab at the woodsman and pull him along. “I can’t carry her by myself!”
Edilus spun to stare at the sergeant, hatred plain in his expression. “Betrayer!” he shouted in fury. “You warned them that we were coming! You planned this ambush!”
Horial nearly punched the druid in the face. “So they could run down my own soldiers? You’re crazed!” Then he shook his head. “Suit yourself,” he said, trying to quell his anger. He turned to run.
Ahead, Adyan, Burtis, and Grolo had reached the base of the outer wall of the ruined structure. The had formed a line and were firing back toward Horial and the wounded Filana, aiming at targets that must have been just behind the two of them. To Horial’s amazement, two druidsone a wild elf and one a halfling, both with leaves and twigs tangled in their hairhad joined the mercenaries, working together to try to hold the ambush at bay long enough to allow their companions to catch up.
In the next instant, Horial felt the jolt of impact
twice in succession, and Filana jerked on his shoulder with a scream of agony. The mercenary felt two more strikes, but the woman did not react at all.
Then an arrow sank into the flesh of Horial’s leg, just above the knee, and he went down in a tumble.
This is it, the sergeant thought, groaning as he waited for the mounted troops to ride him down. May Waukeen deem me worthy to be received in Brightwater, he prayed.
Just beyond Horial’s sight, he heard the scream of men and mount, and the clash of weapon on weapon. Then, without warning, Edilus was there beside him, trying to help him up. Horial reached for Filana, trying to find a way to lift her while pushing on one good leg.
“Leave her,” the druid snapped, grabbing at the sergeant and dragging him to his feet. “She’s already left this world.”
Indeed, Horial could see by then the multitude of arrows protruding from her back, one at the base of her skull. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat in sorrow, then grunted as Edilus forced him to move. Together, the mercenary and the druid limped toward the others. But they could not move fast enough to evade the first group of horsemen bearing down on them.
Edilus let Horial slide down to the ground as the druid yanked his scimitar free of a scabbard across his back and slashed at the closest cavalryman. Horial managed to get to one knee and bring his crossbow up, aiming at the next mounted foe coming in, a mace held high and ready to deliver a crushing blow. The sergeant fired his weapon and saw the horseman twitch then pitch off the far side of his saddle as the horse thundered by.
A hail of arrows and bolts swished through the air near Horial, and one caught him in the shoulder. The force of the missile wrenched him around and he groaned, letting the crossbow slide free of his grip as he sagged forward, his face pressing into the cool damp earth beneath him. For the second time that night, the mercenary was certain he would die.
But the riders did not come.
“Come on!” Edilus rasped, trying to lift Horial once more and cross the few remaining paces to the ruins. The sergeant looked around and saw that the cavalry had retreated under a hail of bolts and missiles from the group at the base of the ruins. They were reforming, though, and the infantry was moving in, coming straight at the tiny band of defenders with bows and swords brandished.
Horial limped beside the druid, who had the sergeant’s good arm wrapped around his shoulders. Dizzy with pain, Horial could barely tell how close they were to the safety of the crumbling walls, and he expected at any moment to feel the sharp pain of more arrows piercing his flesh from behind.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pair reached the wall. Adyan took Horial’s other arm and helped Edilus bear him into the structure while the remaining defenders continued to fire their weapons at the onrushing foes.
“Where’s the portal?” Horial asked, fumbling in his pocket for the shard of quartz. He drew the fractured stone out and tried to hand it to Adyan. “Lead the way,” he told his companion. “Go without me,” he added.
Adyan shook his head. “We’re all going back together,” the man drawled, the scar along his chin
shining faintly in the light of Selune. “Not leaving you here for those bastards to tear apart.”
A cry of pain arose just on the other side of the wall, and when Horial turned to look, Grolo came dashing in through the gap in the stonework amidst a shower of projectiles. The dwarf looked Edilus squarely in the eye and said, “One of your mates is down, and the other, the wee fellow, went scampering through the grass in a blood fury. I don’t think we’ll see him again.”
Edilus nodded but said nothing.
“Where’s the thrice-damned portal?” Horial asked again. “We’re out of time!”
“This way,” Edilus said, turning and guiding Horial toward a partially collapsed flight of stairs. “The archway at the top,” the druid said, pointing as they moved.
Horial eyed the top of the steps, for it looked as though the stairway was hanging by will alone and would fall over at the slightest push. “You’re crazed,” the sergeant breathed. “That will never hold us,” he told the druid.
“It will,” Edilus replied, “if you go one at a time.”
“That doesn’t help me,” Horial said wryly, stil’l leaning against the druid. “I don’t think I can climb fast enough.” He grabbed hold of Adyan’s hand and slipped the shard of quartz into the man’s palm. “Get up there,” he said. “Get through the portal.” Adyan started to protest, but Horial talked right over him. “If I make it, I make it, and if I don’t … Vambran is counting on us.”
Adyan gave his friend one measured look, then he nodded and spun around. “Let’s go,” he said to Grolo.
The dwarf turned and followed Adyan at a distance,
waiting until the sergeant was at the top before proceeding.
Beside Horial, Edilus had drawn forth a totem, a bundle of twigs, leaves, and beads all tied together with strands of vine, and was chanting something indecipherable, his face turned heavenward and his eyes closed. Horial snuck a quick look toward the gap in the stone. The first shadows of moving figures were there, risking glances into the ruins, wary of attack from the defenders within. A lone swordsman stepped inside and rushed to the base of another crumbling wall, using it for cover. The figure gave a whistle and motioned for others to follow.
When Horial turned back to see what Edilus had planned, he saw that the druid had opened his eyes and was surveying the new arrivals. “Wait here,” the woodsman said, then sprang up and launched himself forward, sprinting straight toward the wall behind which their enemies crouched.
If Horial hadn’t heard the druid’s command, he would have assumed that Edilus meant to throw himself among his enemies, going down fighting and buying the mercenaries the time they needed to escape. But the sergeant knew he would never reach the top of the stairs in time. Already, he was feeling light-headed from the wounds he bore. He watched, stunned, as Edilus rushed straight at the wall.
With a primal grunt of exertion, the druid slammed into the wall full on, driving his shoulder against it and making it shiver. The wall, already canted from time and neglect, shuddered. Edilus continued to push, snorting with the strain, even as the first of the enemy soldiers came around the end of the cover to confront him.
Horial managed to draw the line tight on his
crossbow and cock it in place with his good hand. He pulled his last bolt from the quiver at his hip, slotted it, and took aim, balancing the weapon on his knee and holding it with one arm. The enemy soldier stepped closer to Edilus, drawing back his blade. The druid, involved in his own efforts, hadn’t yet seen the man. Horial steadied the crossbow as best as he could and squeezed the trigger lever, sending the bolt flying.
The sergeant’s aim was not true, but the shot managed to graze the soldier across the buttock. He yelped in pain and staggered as his intended strike was ruined. The blade slammed down against the stone wall with a clamor, inches from Edilus’s head. The druid jerked away in surprise, and the resulting extra force seemed to overbalance the wall just enough. It began to sag away from the druid, rumbling as it teetered over.
The soldier standing next to Edilus gave a warning shout to his men, but the wall was already on its way down, crashing to the earth with a bone-jarring roar. Horial had no idea how many soldiers were caught beneath that deadfall, but he knew they had little chance to survive. Those who were lucky enough not to be inside the ruin yet would have to find a new entrance, for Edilus’s efforts had sealed off the opening with rubble and dust.
The enemy soldier, limping, tried to retreat from Edilus, but he was not quick enough to jump out of the way of a ferocious kick from the druid. The man’s head snapped sideways and he dropped like a stone. Edilus wasted no time checking whether his enemy had fallen unconscious or not. He raced back to Horial, who was trying to drag himself up the stairs.
“At the top,” Edilus said as he bent and scooped Horial up like a bundle of laundry, “you must go through the portal on your own. I cannot touch you to help you through.”
Horial grunted as the druid began to ascend the leaning, groaning staircase, taking the steps two at a time even with the burden of the wounded sergeant. “You’re coming, too,” the wounded man said, spying Grolo just beginning to step through the archway. “If you stay behind, you’ll die.”