The Wizardwar (18 page)

“Crinti stragglers,” Matteo said softly. “Keep your weapons at hand.”

Iago shot a disgusted look at Andris. “So much for his jordaini honor!”

Shrill, ululating battle cries rose from a dozen hiding places, coming at them from all sides and echoing off the surrounding mountains.

“The floodgate clearing,” Andris said urgently. “It’s nearby and gives our best hope of holding out against so many.”

“How many would that be?” retorted Iago. “How large an ambush have you arranged?”

No one heard his objection, for they were already riding hard on the heels of Andris’s mount. Iago kicked his horse into a run, following the other jordain up the steep, narrow path created by the streambed and into a clearing.

Andris leaped from his horse and put his shoulder to a large, rounded boulder. Themo came to help him. They rolled it into the opening made by the stream, and then piled more rocks on top. The makeshift dam would not stop the Crinti, but it would slow them down.

“Now there’s only one way in,” Andris said, pointing to the pass leading out of the clearing.

“And only one way out!”

A woman’s voice, harsh and heavily accented, rang through the clearing. The jordaini whirled, just in time to see a large net spinning toward them from behind a precarious pile of rocks. The weighted net slapped into them and brought them down in a tangle of limbs.

Over a dozen Crinti warriors stepped from the shadows of small caves, planting themselves in a circle around the edge of the net and holding the jordaini trapped beneath. One of them, a tall woman with crimson tattoos encircling her upper arms, looked Andris over appraisingly.

“Elf-blooded or not, I did not think you would return. You have also spoken with Kiva?”

Matteo noted the stunned expression that crossed his friend’s face, the flicker of confusion and indecision.

“No,” Andris said shortly. “I didn’t know she had returned.”

“Then you brought the humans here on your own. Well done.” The big Crinti pulled out a sword and slit open the net over Andris. She reached down and hauled him to his feet.

Her gaze skimmed her other captives. Her strange, blue eyes narrowed when they settled upon Matteo. “This one killed Whizzra. It was his woman who summoned the dark bines.”

“My friend,” Matteo corrected.

Shanair laughed and cast a sly glance toward Andris. “And here is another of your ‘friends?’ You do not choose them wisely. This one betrays you, and the girl was not strong enough to master what she summoned. She is dead now, or gone beyond the veil, which is much worse.”

She turned to her warriors. One of them had a large, powerful crossbow cranked and ready, leveled at Matteo’s chest. The chieftain jerked her head in Matteo’s direction. “Kill him first, but slowly.”

The gray archer smirked and lowered her aim.

“Wait,” Andris said. He pulled out his jordaini daggers. “I’ve known this man since boyhood. A crossbow is too swift and too kind.”

He turned to Matteo. He flipped both daggers, caught them by their points, and sent first one then the other spinning toward the captive jordain.

The first dagger struck the ground near Matteo, neatly slicing through the tied ropes of the net. Matteo thrust his arm through the opening and closed his hand around the handle of the second, spinning dagger.

A risky move, catching a thrown dagger, but one the two of them had practiced together since boyhood.

Matteo sliced through the net and burst out into the clearing, drawing his sword as he came. He dropped into guard position, prepared to hold off the Crinti’s blades as Themo and Iago struggled free.

As he moved, he saw Andris whirl and seize the woman’s crossbow. The jordain forced her aim up at the large, unstable rock formation that had hidden the Crinti ambush.

Boulders tumbled down into the clearing, bringing more stones with them. Andris hurtled forward, driving Iago toward a small overhang. The four jordaini flattened themselves into the scant shelter as the thunder and dust of falling rock filled the clearing.

“She was wrong, you know,” Matteo shouted at Andris. The pale jordain sent him an inquiring look. “The Crinti chieftain. She said I do not choose my friends well.”

A quick look of gratitude flashed in Andris’s pale eyes. “Obviously she never met your horse Cyric.”

The two jordaini shared a chuckle. When the avalanche ceased but for echoes carrying the grumbling thunder from mountain to mountain, they came cautiously out, swords ready.

Most of the Crinti had gone down under the tumbling stone. Some shifted weakly, others lay bloody and still. Only a few Crinti were left standing-odds the jordaini could reasonably face. The chieftain staggered to her feet, her wild, steel-gray hair crusted with blood.

“Another traitor,” she said, eyeing Andris with disdain. She spat at the ground. “You are not worth fighting. She is not worth fighting for. We go.”

The surviving Crinti turned and disappeared through the pass, swiftly melting into the hills.

“Shouldn’t we give chase?” Themo asked.

Iago sent him a withering look. “Remember the battle cries that sent us scurrying into this hole? This was a small group. Most of them are out there. If they want to leave Halruaa, I say we let them.”

He turned to Andris. “You have proved me wrong. See that you keep doing so.”

“I値l do my best,” the jordain agreed, “but I should warn you that despite my best intentions, I seem destined to betray those around me.”

“A strange sentiment,” Matteo protested, “from someone whose quick thinking kept us alive.”

“I thank you for that thought, but remember that heritage plays a strange part in destiny.”

“Then it’s just as well we jordaini seldom know of our ancestry,” Iago said curtly. “Do you think the Crinti was telling the truth about Kiva? Is she still alive?”

Andris sighed. “I don’t know what to think. The spells cast during the invasion were right out of Akhlaur’s spellbook. Few living wizards could cast them. To my thinking, the possibility of Akhlaur’s return indicated that Kiva died in the Plane of Water. But Shanair spoke of Kiva as if her survival was a fact we both knew. She had no reason to lie to me.”

Another tremor shuddered through the clearing. “Another rockslide,” groaned Themo, eying the distance between the jordaini and their recent shelter.

“Worse than that,” Matteo pointed to the center of the clearing. Cracks splintered the hard-packed ground, revealing glimpses of several strange items that had been dislodged by the tremor-a cat-headed statue carved in jade, a sword hilt forged from crimson metal, a strangely shaped rod.

“This is a natural site of power, made stronger by those hidden artifacts. Wizards use ritual to focus magic, but this is not the only way of doing so. Sometimes magic can be triggered by other strong energies.”

“Like an avalanche,” Iago said.

Themo nudged the discarded crossbow with his foot, then sent a sidelong glance at Andris. “Seemed like a good idea at the time, did it?”

Andris wasn’t listening. He stared at the strange circle of light dawning in the clearing. It erupted in a sudden brilliant flare, then faded.

In its place stood a monstrous creature, easily twice Themo’s height. Exaggerated elven ears slashed upward, framing a hideous green-scaled face. Living eels writhed about the monster’s head, their tiny, fanged jaws snapping. Four massive arms flexed, making the monster look like a mutated wrestler preparing for attack. Each of the four hands sported curved talons as deadly as daggers. Thick, greenish hide armored the monster, and slightly luminous drool dripped from its bared fangs.

The monster’s black eyes settled upon the stunned jordaini, and it threw back its head and let out a shrieking howl that spanned the spectrum of sound, at the same time a thunderous grumble and a raptor’s shriek.

“Holy mother of Mystra,” breathed Themo.

Iago drew his weapons. “Few men are granted their wishes. You wanted to fight the laraken.”

“Obviously, I lied.”

Despite his jest, the big jordain was pale as death. Matteo remembered Themo’s recently confessed doubts about his worthiness as a warrior. Yet Themo pulled his sword and shouldered his smaller comrades aside, rushing in to take the first slashing blow of the laraken’s claws. The other jordaini followed close behind.

Matteo gave a silent prayer for the men who had fallen in the last battle with this foe and those who were about to join them.

Basel Indoulur stepped from the shimmering magic of his transportation spell into a grim, gray world. The sun climbed sluggishly toward its zenith, looking faint and pale through its shroud of mist. He found himself nearly at the top of the mountain, looking down into a small, rock-strewn clearing.

The sight below chilled him. Four men battled a fierce, four-armed creature. The monster seized one of the men in all four hands and lifted him, struggling and kicking, to its waiting fangs. A glint of sun reflected from the man’s hair, and auburn lights flashed like a premonition of spilled blood.

“Matteo,” murmured Basel, his voice thick with grief and dread.

A smaller man darted forward, his sword angled high and braced like a lance. He threw himself at the monster, and his sword found an opening beneath the creature’s upraised arm.

Its bellow of pain and rage shook the mountains. Hurling Matteo aside, the creature fell upon this new foe. Its two lower hands seized the man’s sword arm at wrist and elbow. With a quick twist it snapped the arm like a reed, bending the forearm into an impossible angle.

The other men-a huge man in jordaini garb and one that looked more like a soap bubble than flesh and sinew-slashed at the monster with their respective weapons of steel and crystal. Matteo staggered to his feet, found his fallen sword, and rejoined the battle. All of them fought fiercely, clearly determined to rescue their comrade.

But the creature would not be cheated or deterred. Still holding the small man’s mangled arm, the monster jerked him up high and used him like a flail to beat back his own would-be rescuers. Again and again the monster lashed out. The three jordaini dodged and rolled aside from each blow, but they were helpless to prevent injury to their captured comrade. In moments, the man was reduced to something that more closely resembled a broken doll than a brave jordain.

The monster backed away several paces. Each of its massive hands closed on one of the wounded man’s limbs, and the creature threw all four of its arms up high. For the briefest of moments it held the man aloft, well above the reach of his comrades.

Then, with a ringing shriek, the monster threw its four arms wide and tore its victim apart.

All this happened far more quickly than the telling would take. Muttering an oath, Basel reached into his sleeve for a battle wand, one he had carried for twenty years. Leveling it at the strange monster, he chanted the spell that would loose stinging bolts of cold. He smiled as icy blue light streaked from the wand. Cold and ice were rare things in Halruaa, and Basel’s enemies had seldom been prepared for such an attack.

He looked forward to seeing this one’s response.

Matteo ducked under slashing claws, then lashed out high. His sword retraced a bloody line under the laraken’s lower left arm-one of the monster’s few vulnerable spots. Ichor flowed freely down the creature’s side. Matteo dropped and rolled away, yielding his place to Themo. When the big man was forced to evade, Matteo came back in.

The two of them harried and worried the creature, like a pair of wolves snapping at a stag. Matteo tried not to think of Iago’s fate or his conviction that they all would share it.

“Fall back,” he snapped at Andris. His friend seemed more insubstantial than ever, little more than a shadow. The presence of the laraken obviously leeched away his strength. Yet Andris kept coming in, using his near-transparency as a means of slipping up behind the monster unseen.

Andris ignored Matteo and slashed at the laraken’s tail. The monster shrieked and thrashed the wounded appendage wildly. One blow connected, sending Andris tumbling painfully over the rocky ground.

But Matteo and Themo made good use of the diversion. They moved out wide on either side of the laraken, swords flashing as they kept all four of the monster’s hands busy and held well out from its body.

The creature wheeled this way and that, as if sensing its vulnerability.

The attack came from an unexpected quarter. A bolt of pale blue sizzled down from a nearby mountaintop, heading directly for the laraken’s chest.

Matteo’s first impulse was to leap between the monster and the magic. Instantly he checked himself-his resistance to magic was strong but certainly not absolute, and since he had never before seen a missile of this nature, he did not know if he could survive it.

Instead he threw himself at Themo, knocking his friend clear of the magic missile. They rolled together, swiftly breaking apart and coming to their feet in ready guard-just in time to see the missile find its target.

The blue light softened and spread as it approached the monster. A glowing haze enveloped the laraken and sank into its hide like water into a sponge. As the laraken absorbed the magic, its wounds closed and the muscles on its corded limbs swelled with renewed strength.

“It’s healing,” Themo marveled, staring at the monster. “What now?”

“We hope that whoever cast that spell isn’t stupid enough to do it again,” Matteo said grimly.

The laraken shrieked and came at them in a darting charge. Matteo set his feet firmly, lifted his sword, and prepared to die well.

Suddenly another fighter appeared between him and the charging laraken. With astonishment Matteo recognized Basel Indoulur. The portly conjurer stumbled and fell to one knee, dropped prematurely from a blink spell that had been intercepted and drained by the laraken’s hunger.

“No magic!” Matteo shouted as he charged forward to protect the wizard.

The laraken slashed at Basel with rending talons. Matteo caught the laraken’s wrist near the hilt of his sword and threw himself to one side. The laraken, expecting more resistance, was led slightly forward. Matteo only hoped Basel had the wit and instinct to use this moment to escape.