Neversfall (32 page)

“He’s dead, sir,” the boy said, twitching.

“Then the third, and if he’s dead, then the fourth. Just get me somebody, boy!” Jhoqo yelled, and he started toward the central tower, namesake to the citadel.

Before he reached the door, an older man, a bit thick through the belly, came to a stop in front of him and saluted.

“You have a wizard in the mines, yes?” Jhoqo said. The man nodded.

“Go and get him right away. Tell him I have a challenge for him,” Jhoqo said, craning his neck to look up at the top of the tower.

+ + + + +

Of all the feelings that swirled through him, Taennen dwelled the longest on foolishness. He was afraid, intimidated, uncertain… but mostly, he felt foolish. The torchlight held by the man behind him guided his steps through the tunnels. Taennen glanced back once to see the ragged squad behind him, stumbling through the stone corridors. Foolishness.

Here he was, hoping to lead a score of soldiers and ten

utterly untrained farmers and craftsman against a fortified citadel held by veteran soldiers who weren’t as worn and weary, and who outnumbered them besides. The only advantage they had, by his reckoning, was that the Chondathans and their dwarf cohorts would be unlikely to expect an attack by the very forces they had just routed.

“How many can we expect?” asked one of the former captives—a farmer by trade—and not for the first time.

“We should be ready for at least twice our numbers,” Taennen replied.

The soldiers nodded and traded words of encouragement and reassuring claps on backs. The few citizens all seemed to pale at the same moment. They would be the first to die, Taennen knew. Unable to skillfully wield the weapons they had been given and facing trained foes, they would fall quickly. They would serve the cause best if they could live long enough to distract an enemy, allowing a Maquar or Durpari soldier to end the attacker’s life swiftly. It was a matter of stretching their numbers. Taennen stopped, the people behind him stumbling into him.

“Sir?” someone said.

But Taennen barely heard the question. He turned to look at the former captives, their eyes wide and knuckles white on weapons that would likely not help them. A soldier knew that his life might be forfeit at any time, but these men and women—farmers, brewers, herders—they had sworn no such oaths. Taennen needed their numbers and their swords, but guilt tugged at him. Surely many of them would die.

Looking at the former prisoners, their thin faces reflecting a lack of proper nutrition, he spoke. “Go back. Turn around and await us at the edge of the woods. If we don’t return, head straight south. You’ll come across an

expedition sooner or later, likely some halflings who will take you in.”

The soldiers stayed quiet though a few exchanged glances. The former captives, frail and tiny compared to those around them, stood stunned.

“You said you needed us,” one of them said

Taennen nodded. “I do, but people are going to die. The soldiers among us have all sworn oaths to fight for our lands and have training. You owe no one anything and have lived your lives away from conflict. If you go with us, you will die and quickly.”

“We know that,” the same man responded to the reluctant nods of several of the others.

“Then why come?” asked one of the Maquar before Taennen could respond.

Another man, shorter and rounder in the belly, shrugged and said, “Like you said before. They have to be stopped before they come to my front door. Besides, lots of innocent folk will die by these weapons they’re selling. I won’t have that on my soul while I sleep in my comfortable bed.”

Taennen shook his head. “Innocents die all the time. We can’t save them all. We can’t stop it all. You aren’t responsible.”

The man nodded and said, “True enough. But I’m here. Maybe I can save some. I have to try.”

“Very well. Thank you. Thank you all,” Taennen said.

A few of the civilians looked less eager.

“The offer is still open to anyone. Anyone who wants to leave, should. We will find you when this is over. Feel no shame in leaving,” Taennen said.

A bearded man in tattered brown robes and a woman in a filthy silk dress both pushed their way back through the line toward the forest exit. A few breaths later, two more

men joined them. Some of the other civilians tried to stop them, to talk them out of leaving, but Taennen insisted that they be allowed to go.

No one else chose to leave, so Taennen led his troops toward the large cavern where he had encountered Bascou. He hoped the man was truly dead and hadn’t been saved by the other brigands. How many would there be? Would they be waiting in ambush? Could they retake Neversfall?

Taennen did not know, but he was there and he had to try.

+ + + + +

Adeenya directed a group of four soldiers to her left, then another group to her right. The remaining few under her command fell in behind her, all of them trying to slip through the woods as quietly as they could. The southeast corner of Neversfall peeked through the woods. This was as close as they’d get under the forest’s cover. She gave the signal.

Her squad of roughly fifteen soldiers dashed out of the obscuring covet of the Aerilpar forest and into the flat plains beyond. Speed was their priority. The less time they spent in the open, the less time archers had to target them on their approach to the citadel’s gates.

Sprinting across the field, Adeenya listened as best she could over the thumping boots and the swishing grass for the telltale whisk of an arrow whirring past. She was certain Jhoqo’s forces would send them flying soon.

Adeenya made her way to the front of her runners, less than a bowshot from the main gate of the citadel. She was waving a soldier on faster when an emerald ray of light

lanced through him from her right. His body flaked into ash and scattered in the warm breeze.

“Gods damn it! The tower! Get close to the wall now!” Adeenya ordered. Jhoqo had found an arcanist potent enough to wield the powers of Neversfall tower itself. Her mind raced, wondering what might come next. The damned thing might stand up on huge stone legs and come after them for all she knew.

The scent hit her as she sucked in breath after screaming. The man’s charred remains, meat on a fire, mixed with a scent that reminded her of cleaning agents used by maids in her father’s house. The green ray had cut a swath of grass from its path before it had sliced through the man, leaving behind black marks and the smell of cleanliness.

The soldiers around her held their speed through the discipline of their training. No one wavered from their goal of reaching the front gate, their pounding legs drawing them closer every moment. One soldier near the rear of the pack spat a curse, drawing everyone’s attention to the tower just in time to watch as a small bead of red and orange light coalesced into an enormous ball of fire barreling toward them.

The ball continued to grow in size as it sizzled through the air. Adeenya, and those around her, leaped to the ground and fell flat. Most of the licking flames passed over their prone forms, though several, including Adeenya, did not escape unscathed. Taking no time to look at the fresh burns, Adeenya jumped to her feet and resumed her charge. Her flesh cried out against the pulls and tugs as she ran, but she grunted the pain to the background of her mind and pushed on.

The scent of burnt flesh filled her nostrils and dared her stomach to keep its place. Light flashed in the corner of

her eye, followed by a scream from behind her, but Adeenya did not slow, did not turn her head to look.

She reached the front gate, slowing just in time to avoid slamming into it due to her momentum. She stood in the archway of the door, relatively safe from missiles or spells from above. Two Durpari soldiers joined her, and the three began hammering at the center of the doors with the butts of their weapons and hard kicks.

“Out of the way!” Corbrinn shouted behind them. His chest heaving from the run, the halfling closed his eyes and murmured as he laid his hand on the door. Its thick wooden beams began to bend and curve, writhing as though in pain. The wood creaked and groaned, the sound like nothing less than the death knell of some wild animal.

A gap four handspans wide opened in the door. More of Adeenya’s forces arrived, levering their weapons in the new opening, and in moments, the door splintered open wide enough for them to pour through a few at a time. The snarling faces and shouts of the Chondathans within greeted the invaders as they followed Adeenya. She loosed a battle cry and charged at the oncoming line of enemies.

Xhe torchlight shimmered off the curved tunnel walls like sunlight on water. The drumming of running feet announced the arrival of the intruders. Taennen rushed toward the cavern where he had found the crates of weapons. He hoped his squad would not get trapped in the confining tunnels before engaging the enemy. As he rounded the final bend in the corridor, his hope was dashed. Twenty paces from the entrance to the cavern, the tunnel walls still hemming them in, two dwarves were running toward him.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, their bulk occupying the width of the corridor with little room to spare. The taller one readied his halberd while the other drew up his shield and axe. Behind them, half a dozen more dwarf and human mercenaries gathered.

The eyes of the dwarf pair went wide when Taennen did not slow his charge, even though the men behind him had stopped. Five steps away, Taennen shouted for his troops to fight hard and punch through the defensive pair quickly. Three steps away, the muscles in his legs, hips, and back tensed before releasing and sending him into a dive through midair. He sailed over the dwarves’ weapons and tucked

himself into a roll as he landed. He found his feet quickly, groaning from the impact, but he did not look back.

Taennen swiped at another of the dwarves in the cavern even as the clash of metal on metal began ringing behind him as his troops engaged the duo in the tunnel. His target ducked the blow, tripping in surprise. Taennen disregarded him and rushed at one of the Chondathans. The foreigner was ready for Taennen’s charge and sent a racing thrust toward him. Taennen turned the blade aside with a snap of his shield and sent his own weapon toward the man’s shoulder. The Chondathan parried the blow but too late saw it for the feint it was. Taennen planted a foot in his chest and kicked out. The darkblade stumbled backward, his arms flailing. He had no chance of defending himself as Taennen sprang into him with two cuts that severed his throat.

By the time his troops had felled the taller dwarf behind him, Taennen had killed two men, harried a dwarf to distraction, and started a fight with another. The dwarf, wearing a gleaming suit of armor ornamented with a holy symbol, slammed his hammer into the ground where Taennen had stood a moment before and cried out in rage at the miss. Trying to end the fight quickly, Taennen risked exposing his side, leaning in for a quick slice across the dwarf s throat. The warrior’s gorget saved him as the khopesh glanced off the steel.

Taennen paid for his boldness as he felt at least two ribs give way under the impact of the hammer’s head. The Maquar leaped back to catch the breath that had been stolen. The dwarf gave him no respite and charged with a battle cry. Taennen sidestepped the dwarf’s trajectory only to stumble into another human darkblade who had been trying to work his way into the fray. The Chondathan tripped in the collision, but Taennen kept his feet

and delivered a hard kick to the man’s jaw before readying himself for another charge from the dwarf paladin.

The dwarf stepped around the prone darkblade and into Taennen’s reach. As the warrior drew his hammer back, Taennen fell forward, aiming his shoulder at the ground. The heavy bludgeon sailed over him as Taennen lashed out, his khopesh digging into the dwarf s face. Taennen hit the ground and rolled to his feet in time to dodge another blow. The gash in the dwarf s face bled, a river of red on his ruddy face, but if it slowed or pained him much, he did not show it.

Taennen feinted again, and the dwarf obliged with a thrust of his hammer. Taennen easily avoided the blow and sent his blade across the forearm of the dwarfs weapon hand. His enemy roared in pain, clasping the wounded wrist with his other hand. Taennen did not hesitate, and in two strokes the dwarf fell to the ground, his face unrecognizable through the blood and exposed bone.

Two of Taennen’s soldiers were down—one dead, the other screaming in pain as blood pumped from his stomach. All of the former captives were alive and faring well against their opponents. They worked together, covering one another with dedication. The shorter dwarf with the axe had been dispatched, and Taennen’s troops now engaged other opponents in the cavern.

“Finish them and join our brothers above when you can!” Taennen shouted.

Three soldiers fell in behind him as he ran to where the Chondathan captured by the formians had said he would find an entrance to the citadel. Taennen spied a ladder carved into the stone wall. He raced up the rungs and shoved himself through a trap door to find himself standing in one of the outlying buildings in the courtyard

of Neversfall. Without waiting for the men accompanying him, Taennen ran out the door and into the open space of the citadel beyond.

+ + + + +

Adeenya shoved the corpse of her first opponent off her sword and twisted her body just in time to deflect the attack of another. The Chondathan held her block and tried to slip his second sword into her abdomen. She skirted out of his reach and stabbed toward him. He parried the blow with one weapon while slicing low at her legs with the other.

The sounds of battle erupted all around as her troops engaged the Chondathans. Her burnt flesh ached for relief, and pain cried out against the constant motion flexing and stretching the skin painfully. Suddenly her opponent dropped, a shortsword in his back. Corbrinn nodded at her and leaped to his next quarry after plucking his sword from the man.

Her next opponent landed a painful thrust on her hip. She stifled a cry and twisted to remove the blade from her body. As she spun, she saw that only seven of her troops had breached the gate, the rest likely dead or severely injured by the magic of the tower. Much of her force was gone, and those who remained were utterly surrounded by the enemy, outnumbered at least four to one. Adeenya growled as her opponent sliced her upper arm with another strike. She returned the attack blow for blow, giving better than she got, but her troops were not faring as well.