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The archers had been the stopper. Corpses feathered with shafts littered the
canyon floor. But the arrows were nearly gone. The easterners allowed no
recovery of spent shafts.
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Mist was optimistic, though. "Feng has gone his limit," she said. "He can't
waste men like this. The Tervola won't tolerate it. Soldiers are priceless,
unlike auxiliaries."
She was correct. The Tervola rebelled. But when they confronted Feng they
found....
He had yielded command to a maskless man named Badalamen. With Badalamen were
two old-timers: a bent one in a towering rage, and another with dull eyes. And
with them, the Escalonian sorcerer, Magden Norath.
The bent man was more angry with himself than with Feng. His tardiness had
given Feng time to decimate Shinsan's matchless army.
Feng grudgingly yielded to the Pracchia. The transition was smooth. Most
Tervola chosen to come west were pledged to the Hidden Kingdom.
At midnight the voice of the drums changed.
Ragnarson exploded from a restless sleep, rushed to his parapet. Shinsan was
moving. No precautions could completely squelch the clatter.
Reports arrived. His staff, his wizards, his advisors crowdedonto the parapet.
No one could guess why, but Shinsan was abandoning positions they had spent
all day taking. Sir Tury Hawkwind and Haaken attacked on their own initiative.
"Mist. Varthlokkur. Give me a hint," Ragnarson demanded.
"Feng's been replaced," Mist said.
"Yeah? Okay. But why back down?"
"Oh!" Varthlokkur said softly.
Mist sighed. "The Power...."
"Oh, Hell!"
It was returning. Ragnarson decided he was done for.
The Unborn streaked across the night. Beneath it dangled Visigodred. After
delivering the shaken wizard, it communed with Varthlokkur. "Gather the
Circle!" Varthlokkur thundered. "Now! Now! Hurry!"
The monster whipped away too swiftly for the eye to follow.
Visigodred said, "Something is coming down the Gap. Creatures this world has
never before seen. The ones Marco said turned Argon's war around. We can't
stop them."
"We will!" Varthlokkur snapped. "The Unborn will! We have to." He, Visigodred,
and Mist staggered. "The Power!" they gasped.
"Clear the parapet," Varthlokkur groaned, handling it more easily than the
others. "We need it."
Kierle the Ancient arrived, followed by the Thingand Stojan Dusan. Radeachar
rocketed in with The Egg of God. Ragnarson hustled his people downstairs.
He didn't want to stay either. There was little he dreaded so much as a
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wizard's war. But his pride wouldn't let him turtle himself.
Screams erupted from the canyon.
"They're here. The savan dalage" said Visigodred. "Varth-lokkur. Unleash the
Unborn before they gut us." He threw his hands overhead, chanted. A
light-spear stabbed from his cupped hands. He moved them as though he were
directing a mirror telegrapher. The earth glowed where the light fell. "Too
weak," he gasped.
Here, there, Ragnarson glimpsed the invaders. Some were tall, humanoid, fanged
and clawed, like the trolls of Trolledyn-gian legends. Some were squat
reptilian things that walked like men. Some slithered and crawled. Among them
were a hundred or so tall men who bore ordinary weapons. They reminded him of
Badalamen.
And there was something more. Something shapeless, something which avoided
light like death itself.
Radeacher swooped and seized one, soared into the night. Ragnarson saw an
ill-defined mass wriggling against the stars.
"Savan dalage," Visigodred repeated. "They can't be killed."
Radeachar departed at an incredible speed.
"He'll haul it so far away it'll take months to get back," Varthlokkur said.
"How many?" Ragnarson asked.
"Ten. Fifteen. Be quiet. It begins."
A golden glow began growing up the Gap.
All the Circle had arrived. They babbled softly, in their extremity even
welcoming Mist to their all-male club. This was no time for masculine
prerogatives. Their lives and souls were on the gaming table.
Radeachar reappeared, undertook another deportation.
Ragnarson briefly retreated to the floor below, where a half dozen messengers
clamored for his attention.
His formations were shambled. His captains wanted orders. The troops were
about to panic.
"Stand fast," he told them. "Just hang on. Our wizards are at work."
Back on the parapet he found the human sorcerers all imitating Visigodred,
using light to herd the savan dalage.
The Egg, Thing, and Zindahjira concentrated on the remaining monsters.
"The men-things," Zindahjira boomed. "They're immune to the Power."
Ragnarson remembered Badalamen's indifference to Radea-char.
"They're human," he observed. "Sword and spear will stop them."
True. His men were doing so. But, like Badalamen, the creatures were
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incredible fighters, as far beyond the ordinary soldier of Shinsan as he was
beyond most westerners.
"Arrows!" he thundered from the parapet. "Get the bowmen over there!" No one
heard. He ducked downstairs to the messengers.
The struggle wore a new face when he returned. The Tervola had unleashed a
sorcery of their own. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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