Five or six dozen Lord's Men stood ready above the gate, their bows strung and arrows nocked. Without a bow of his own, Clavel stood behind the line of archers, facing outward, trying to stay out of the way, yet remain close to the action. He looked up and saw a murder of crows circling the wall, wings flapping. The birds settled into glides as they navigated the currents.

"Take aim!" the archers' commander shouted.

The crows were flying low. They were ready to pick the carrion, Clavel reasoned. Clever birds.

The archers took aim all along the line. Some hands trembled. The repetitive pounding of the behemoths' steps echoed up their spines, and they did not know if their arrows would even penetrate the behemoths' scales.

Then Clavel noticed something curious. At least two of the crows were holding objects in their feet. The items flashed as they reflected sunlight—they were made of glass. And they were directly over the archers. Clavel leaned his head back and saw another crow hovering right over him, a small glass flask in its feet.

"Get ready!" shouted the commander. The Lord's Men drew back their bowstrings.

Fear arising in his throat, Clavel tried to dive for cover, but there was none to be had. He fell on his belly and desperately tried to roll under the bowmen. He upset their feet and a few tumbled backward, landing on top of him. Two archers lost their balance entirely and fell off the wall with a scream of death.

All along the line of archers, Lord's Men turned their heads to look at the source of the commotion.

The crows released their flasks in unison.

"Fire!" the commander shouted, but not a single bowstring snapped in response. The flasks, which Clavel too late recognized as alchemist's fire, smashed on the archers and the wall. Leaping, roaring flames burst upward, crawling along the top of the wall and raining fire down each side. The Lord's Men closest to the impact let out cries of agony as their clothes erupted in fire, their bowstrings incinerating in their hands. Those farther from the blasts released their weapons and went running to help their fellows, slapping them in a vain attempt to put out the fires.

Clavel rose, a plume of orange flame leaping from his purple cloak, his screams unheard among the chorus of pain. He plunged off the wall, landing as a flaming wreck directly in the behemoths' unchallenged path.

* * * * *

Vell watched as flames decimated the mass of soldiers assembled on the wall. Blazing men tumbled to the ground like a fiery waterfall. He looked upward and saw the crows scattering away from the fires. He silently thanked Lanaal. Her plan had worked perfectly.

The behemoths behind him moved into a line, single file, as they approached the heavy wood gate into Llorkh. Vell stepped onto the flaming ruins of some fallen archers, barely feeling any pain as the blazes were extinguished under his vast feet.

Arrows flew down at them, but the missiles were few, and they bounced off thick behemoth hides or embedded, troubling the creatures little more than pinpricks.

Vell's mind reached out to his imprisoned fellows. He felt their excitement, felt them straining against their bondage even more strongly now that liberation seemed so close.

Shepherd, they seemed to say, give us our freedom!

Vell raised himself partly onto his hind legs and kicked the massive gates to the city, the last barrier between him and the behemoths, and the ancient wood groaned. He kicked again, and the whole gate shuddered. A crack raced to split the wood from the point of impact. With one more kick, the door splintered and fell apart.

Vell lowered his neck to pass through the gateway into Llorkh, where a whole city was ready to fight him.

* * * * *

Sungar lay on the floor of the cramped cell, its walls marking the edges of his world. With his ear to the ground, he could feel the vibrations of the huge thunderbeast steps. He smiled.

His two dungeon guards arrived at the cell door. He lay limp and clenched a fist under his body.

"Wake with the morning, chief," said one of the dungeon guards, unlocking the cell door. "Kiev requests another audience." He spoke faster than Sungar had ever heard him, the urgency plain in his voice. Looking up, Sungar could see that both soldiers had swords at their belts, though neither of them had their hands anywhere near the hilts.

The instant the first guard walked into the cell, the keys still in the lock, Sungar burst into action. He unleashed all of the anger he had kept in check till this moment. In his clenched fist, he hid all of the dust and pebbles that had fallen from his cell walls during his imprisonment, and he threw it into the guard's eyes.

As the guard tumbled back, surprised and blinded by Sungar's attack, the second guard stepped backward into the passageway and quickly pushed the cell door shut. Sungar grasped his fellow by the hair and slammed him face-first into the stone wall, then pulled him back and let him fall to the ground. With a swift foot, Sungar stamped on the guard's face, and with the single blow the guard's skull collapsed, his head smashed open on the cold cell floor.

In the corridor, the surviving guard desperately fumbled with the keys, glancing with fear at Sungar's raging eyes, gone wild and red with fury. The chieftain made a run for the cell door. The guard jumped backward just as Sungar rammed his foot into the door and sent it flying open, its thick iron hinges trembling as it smashed into the wall.

The guard reached for his sword, but before his hand reached the hilt, Sungar assailed him with both fists. He pushed the guard backward against the far side of the passageway, pummeling him into the stone wall with fast blows. The guard succeeded in drawing his sword, but as soon as it left his scabbard, Sungar snatched it from him and sank it deep into its owner's chest. The guard spat up blood, and his head lolled in death.

The sound of clapping echoed off the dungeon walls. Sungar turned to see Hurd Hardhalberd at the door of his cell. The prisoners looked upon each other for the first time. The stout dwarf was gray-bearded, with long scars down his cheeks, much as Sungar had imagined.

"Good show, Sungar," said Hurd. "Now if you'll be lettin' me out, we'll be ready to cause some serious damage."

Sungar went to his own damaged cell door, where the keys still dangled from the lock. He pulled them out and dashed to Hurd's cell, trying numerous keys before finding one that would turn.

"Grrruuh...," came an indecipherable grunt from the dark passageway. Standing in the shadows was Kiev himself, his half-orc features lit by flickering torchlight. A sickly grin crossed the torturer's hideous face, his sharp tusks glistening with saliva. In his hand he clutched a weapon all too familiar to Sungar—his glass-studded lash.

Sungar turned the key and it clicked in the lock. Kiev's long whip uncoiled with a resonant crack and it snaked through the air, wrapping around Sungar's legs and pulling tight. The barbarian chief collapsed onto the hard ground, losing his sword as he fell.

Hurd burst free of his cell. "I've been waitin' fer this too long!" he shouted as he dashed down the passageway as fast as his legs could move him. He leaped into midair as he reached Kiev, colliding with the half-orc and knocking him backward on the dungeon floor in a vicious, reckless attack. Kiev released his whip as the dwarf gripped his throat and squeezed.

Kiev shoved Hurd's shoulders with both hands, sending the dwarf tumbling backward. The half-orc regained his footing and pulled out a dagger, holding it out before him, daring Hurd to attack him again. And Hurd, unarmed but undeterred, faced him down.