Whereas Aoth had more magic already selected for the casting. With luck, he and the orc should be able to retreat unharmed and lose themselves in the darkness.
Then, however, the saddle shook again. Stumbling, Aoth peered around but didn’t see the ghoul sorceress or anyone else casting the same spell he had. Apparently, his original magic had further weakened preexisting faults in the bedrock.
Rumbling, more snow and earth crumbled over the edge. Worse-much worse-it also poured down into a crack that started opening at the brink and knifed its way inward, cutting across Aoth’s intended line of retreat.
Standing where he was, even he couldn’t see how deep the new crevasse was, but it was plainly deeper than a ditch. Deep enough that he and Orgurth couldn’t just hop in and scramble right out the other side. He turned, taking stock of where the enemy was and what the enemy was doing, and realized he and his comrade had only one recourse.
“This way!” he said. He ran toward the caves, and Orgurth followed. Arrows rained down around them, and blue and scarlet rays stabbed in their direction.
Halting and turning when necessary, Aoth cast spells of his own. A burst of conjured sunlight seared and dazzled powerful undead and burned common zombies and skeletons to ash. A wall of fire leaped up to hold back other foes.
Flames didn’t stop the constructs, though. Either leaping over the luminous yellow barrier or simply plunging straight through, they raced after the fugitives like hounds coursing after a pair of stags.
By the time Aoth and Orgurth ran into the clear space the Raumvirans had left between their front ranks and the mountain fastness, the automatons were closing fast. Aoth wondered if he should stop, turn, and throw another spell. It might cost him his life, but maybe the orc at least would reach the open cave mouth.
Then, however, his fire-kissed eyes saw a sudden glimmer of power run through the peak before him. It looked like water flowing through a network of tiny cracks, and when it finished defining itself, he also discerned the first infinitesimal shifting in the bulging masses of stone it had outlined.
The constructs swept toward Aoth and Orgurth in a converging wave of sculpted blades, fangs, talons, pincers, and stingers, of jointed metal, wood, ceramic, and even stone. Then the face of the Rashemi’s mountain refuge, or a fair portion of it, anyway, dropped away from the granite underneath. Banging and crashing, enormous and unnaturally smooth and round-to make them roll better, no doubt-the dislodged boulders cascaded onto the saddle and tumbled onward.
Aoth and Orgurth stopped running toward the stones and poised themselves to dodge. But Aoth couldn’t see any spaces to dodge into. The boulders were like an onrushing wall.
He drew breath for another magical bellow. Maybe the blast would bump one or two of the boulders off course and make a space.
Then, however, one stone veered sharply to the left, and the one beside it flew off the ground in an arc that would take it safely over the warriors in front of it, in each case, for no apparent reason. Aoth wondered if an earth spirit was steering the boulders.
It was a night for cacophonies, and the crashing as the tumbling stones slammed into the constructs was the most deafening yet. When Aoth yelled for Orgurth to start running again, he could barely hear himself for the din.
As they clambered up the steep slope that led to the open gate, masked men appeared in the opening and brandished wands and staves. Other portals opened, and similar figures appeared in those as well. Thunderbolts and orbs of flame blazed from the ends of the magical weapons. Fortunately, like the leaping boulder, the attacks passed over Aoth and Orgurth’s heads to strike at the Raumvirans.
Hands grabbed the sellswords and hauled them into the cave mouth and to safety. A cave dweller in a leather owl mask trimmed with real feathers regarded the newcomers and said, “The avalanche was our best defense, and we were saving it for just the right moment.” His tenor voice sounded young and pugnacious, but maybe he was just afraid.
“Easy, Kanilak,” said a Rashemi in a wooden mask carved to put a third eye in the center of his forehead. His voice was deeper and older. “We likely weren’t going to get a better moment than when all those constructs charged within range.”
“Still,” Kanilak said, “these two had better be worth it.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Orgurth said, “seeing as how now we’re trapped in this hole with the rest of you.” He gave Aoth a sour look to convey that he knew whose fault that was.
5
Darkness blinded Jhesrhi, and the cold made her shiver. Occasionally, she thought she heard one of Sarshethrian’s enormous “vermin” shift position, but the tiny sounds might simply be one of her stag warriors moving slightly or even her own pulse beating in her ears.
Still, it made her skin crawl to imagine that one of the shadow-beasts might actually touch her before she realized it was there, and that in turn made the urge to summon a protective mantle of flame from the core of her that much harder to resist.
Formerly, the irrational impulse to call fire had resided in the staff she’d carried away from Mount Thulbane, but when she’d sacrificed the weapon to steal Tchazzar’s breath and strength, it had truly become a part of her.
It was unhealthy to give herself over to the impulse, though, or at least Cera seemed to think so, and it was certain that showing a light would alert the enemy to their presence. So Jhesrhi endured feeling vulnerable and the general unpleasantness of the deathways as best she could by thinking of Aoth, Khouryn, and Gaedynn, her cherished comrades from the Brotherhood.
She wondered if Gaedynn was still keeping company with the fashionable Chessentan lady he’d met at a ball. The woman was nice enough, but still, even though, in a vague, abstract sort of way, it shamed her, Jhesrhi found herself imagining how fire might flow along the folds and through the layers of one of the noblewoman’s elaborate silk and fur ensembles.
“They’re coming,” Sarshethrian whispered abruptly. The sound startled Jhesrhi and made her jump even though he’d told her he’d magically project his voice to warn her when battle was imminent. “Prepare yourself.”
She closed her eyes, murmured rhyming words, and touched a fingertip to each eyelid on the final syllable. When she opened them, she could see, albeit with colors faded to shades of gray and not as far as she could have with the aid of light. She could, of course, have enjoyed the benefit of the enchantment all along but hadn’t wanted to waste the power required to keep renewing it.
She was sitting on the ground with her back against a black marble mausoleum carved with an elaborate scene of Kelemvor judging the dead. Its antennae twitching, a thing like the shadow of an enormous cockroach crouched to her left. She rose and crept to the right to peek around the side of the tomb.
She was on a hillside in the largest space she’d yet seen in the sometimes claustrophobic vaults and tunnels that made up the deathways. Predictably, the space was a graveyard complete with twisted, leafless trees and wilted wreaths. All the tombs and monuments were black.
Thanks to Gosnorn’s information and the manner in which it jibed with his own knowledge of his dominions, Sarshethrian had been certain Lod would pass through here on his way to Faerun and Rashemen, and now Jhesrhi saw for herself that it was so. Like most any warlord marching through dangerous territory, the leader of the Eminence of Araunt was traveling in a column with his followers arranged protectively around him.
Prompted both by her martial training and natural curiosity, Jhesrhi first picked out Lod himself, and her eyes widened in surprise. The few bone nagas of her experience had been simply and precisely that, the naked, reanimated skeletons of enormous snakes with skulls nearly the same shape as those of human beings. The master wizard who’d woken Lod, though, had crafted something unique.