She hadn't enough distance to throw Loren's Blade at him again. She reached for her club and hastened to one side so as not to be forced backward into the stairwell. A snap of her wrist extended the baton to its full length, but a simultaneous blow by the orog knocked the club out of her hand. It scudded across the floor among the clawed feet of the other orogs.
She gripped Loren's Blade tighter as her foe raised his sword for another strike. She'd have to parry with the dagger until she found another melee weapon.
Jarial released a spell. A fan of flames shot out from his hands, seriously burning the four creatures closest to him and singeing the hides of several others. Kestrel had hoped the fire would distract her opponent long enough for her to sink her dagger into him again, but he didn't so much as blink. None of the creatures did.
"Tyr preserve us," Corran muttered. Pathfinder in hand, he battled two orogs at once. The first lunged at the paladin with its blade. Corran's gleaming weapon easily disarmed the humanoid, sending the orog's short sword flying. It landed a few feet from Kestrel.
She retrieved the weapon and assumed a defensive posture just as her foe struck again. Sword fighting was not her forte, but the orogs didn't have to know that. She parried the humanoid's blows, giving herself a chance to become accustomed to the weapon before shifting to an offensive stance. Her opponent was strong and towered over her by at least a foot. When the opportunity arose, she would have to press her only advantage-superior agility.
Meanwhile, Durwyn's swinging axe caught her peripheral vision. The warrior had already defeated one opponent and now fought two more. Make that one more-another orog succumbed to his powerful strokes. The unfortunate mercenary, already burned by Jarial's spell, lost an arm to Durwyn's axe. He dropped to the floor without a sound.
So had all the fallen orogs, Kestrel realized suddenly. Except for her own companions' grunts of exertion and the clang of metal on metal, this was the most quiet battle she'd ever experienced. The humanoids fought and died without so much as a groan-a far cry from their usual whoops and calls of war.
More comfortable with her newly acquired weapon, Kestrel darted to one side. The movement forced her opponent to twist his body awkwardly to continue countering her strikes. The creature fought hard but mechanically, its swings and parries more the product of rote than battle fervor.
That blank stare was really starting to give her the creeps. There was definitely something wrong with these creatures.
Ghleanna swung her staff and hit Kestrel's opponent in the head, providing the opportunity the rogue had been looking for. Kestrel thrust her blade at an upward angle, catching the humanoid in the throat. The orog sank silently to the ground, its face never losing the blank stare.
When Kestrel glanced around, she saw that Durwyn had just dispatched the last of his trio of foes. Corran also had defeated three orogs with his new magical blade. As she watched, he lunged to catch another one-who had turned on Jarial-in the back. The creature remained standing, still as death, for a full minute, as if it hadn't realized it had been killed. Then it dropped as its comrades had.
As everyone caught their breaths, Kestrel retrieved her weapons. She studied the bodies of the orogs she had slain, then swept her gaze across all the orog corpses.
Not one of the creatures had bled.
"Uh, guys? Have you noticed-"
"No blood," Corran said as the realization hit him as well. He bent down to examine one of the orogs more closely. "The cult somehow drained the blood and life out of these creatures, leaving them animated corpses. Soulless."
Kestrel shuddered involuntarily. The more she learned about the Cult of the Dragon, the more she wished she could just walk away from this whole quest. Only the vision of all humanity wandering around in the orogs' soulless state kept her from making the suggestion. Instead, she turned her gaze to the stairs the bloodless humanoids had been guarding. At the top, the Room of Words waited. The Ring of Calling was only feet away-along with the cult sorcerers who would fight to the death to keep it.
The party burst into the Room of Words so suddenly that the sorcerer holding the Ring of Calling dropped the skeletal arm in surprise. He recovered quickly, his fingers and lips immediately moving to form an incantation.
Kestrel's dagger prevented him from ever finishing it.
Once she saw the light of life leave his eyes, the thief didn't spare the dying cultist another glance. One down, five to go, and good riddance to the chump on the floor. She gripped her second blade and scanned the room for her next target
Beside her, Durwyn released an arrow. The shaft whistled past her ear to embed itself in the heart of another cultist. The evil sorcerer's eyes widened beneath his leather hood. He gripped the shaft with his clawed hand and tried to yank the arrow from his chest, but his clumsy struggle only caused more blood to ooze from the wound. As the cultist gurgled something unintelligible, his gaze met Durwyn's-then took on the glassy stare of death.
Meanwhile, both Jarial and Ghleanna managed to unleash spells before the cultists could prepare any sorcery of their own. The half-elf's magic rendered one hooded sorcerer blind, while Jarial's sank an acid-laced arrow in the stomach of another. The wounded sorcerer screamed in agony as the smell of burning cloth and flesh filled the air. Tendrils of greenish smoke wisped from the hole in his gut. He stared at Jarial, his features forming a mask of hatred. His lips curled to spit out a foul-sounding, arcane curse. Then he began weaving a spell of his own.
Kestrel's heart pounded as the scarred sorcerer spun his retaliatory enchantment. The element of surprise had enabled the companions to kill or handicap four of the six cultists in the chamber. Though their odds had improved, victory still wasn't assured. Now they would have to rely on their wits and the strategy Corran had devised just before they entered the chamber. According to plan, the paladin would identify the band's most powerful sorcerer and-cloaked by Jarial's invisibility spell-disable him.
There was no sign of Corran yet, and the two unharmed cultists had overcome their surprise. One, the youngest-looking cult sorcerer she had yet seen, nervously stumbled over the words of an evocation that sent a burst of dark energy flying at Durwyn. The black flames struck the warrior in his bow arm. He dropped his bow and clutched his arm. "To the Abyss with your hellfire!" he cried. Pain flashed across his face, but for only a moment. His axe arm was still good, and with the discipline of a trained fighter he concealed his suffering and reached for his favored weapon. Axe in hand, he strode toward the wizard who had injured him. The scrawny young man backed up as the massive warrior neared.
When Kestrel's gaze landed on the other uninjured cultist, she caught him sneering at her. Judging from his more elaborate tattoos and the size of his claw, she guessed him to be the highest-ranking sorcerer of the group. The leader unleashed four black-flamed missiles. All at Kestrel.
She tumbled to the floor, but the sorcerous darts followed her. Pain ripped through her stomach, then her already-injured leg, with intensity that brought tears to her eyes. She curled into a ball in a half-coherent attempt to shield her chest and gut from the remaining missiles. The strikes seared her right arm, nearly forcing her to drop the dagger she still gripped in that hand.
"Bastard!" she spat as pain rocked her body. Her arm burned as if flames consumed it. She could barely control her hand.
The hooded cultist waved mockingly with his own mutated right hand. "Having a little trouble?"