Chapter 15
Veren Redmorning saw the chimaera as it turned from the watchtower and started toward him.
"Kev'ran," he said.
"Yes, Chieftain."
"How much mana do you have left?"
"I have a little, Chieftain. Enough for one fireball or the frenzy, perhaps." Kev'ran was not looking at the chimaera, but he was sure she had seen it. It was impossible to miss. Especially now that it's getting closer.
"One fireball isn't going to kill a dragon," Veren said. "And I doubt whether my bladestorm will reach that high." He had to speak louder, to be heard over the rush of giant wings.
"Loudwhisper and I discussed the possibility that something like this might happen," Kev'ran said.
"Oh, yes?" Veren said.
The chimaera's two mouths glowed faintly green. Redmorning received the impression that it was magic, not fire, which made the light, but he doubted he would ever know.
"You should windwalk now, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. Her voice was quite calm. Veren caught the metallic smell of magic as she began to call up her last spell.
"Safest there," Loudwhisper said, straining to be heard as he gestured toward the group of warlocks in front and to the right.
Veren Redmorning swore quietly. In other words, for them to do their job, I have to be willing to run away while the two of them get killed.
But, for all that Veren knew himself to be small, insecure, and not a particularly good fighter, he also knew one other thing. He was an Orc.
I'm not going to do it.
He made himself invisible, to forestall further argument, but did not move away. Kev'ran would not be able to see him. At least I can try with the blades. It'll do as much good as anything Loudwhisper can do, with that thing so far off the ground.
He had lost sight of Rokhyel Shadebreaker as he talked to his bodyguards. Now, through the blue haze of the windwalk, he saw the tall skeleton stalk around the edge of the warlocks. Some of the spellcasters rearranged themselves to take shots at the chimaera, but most had to give all their attention to assisting the raiders and grunts, and by now few had much mana.
Shadebreaker stopped a few yards in front of them. A cold breeze whipped his cloak around his naked ankle bones as he raised his sword up over one shoulder. Hairs rose along the back of Veren's neck as he saw the coil of green-black light begin to form around the blade.
"I hope Shel'yin is watching this," Kev'ran said. "Someone should remember that the dead man kept his word. For all the good it will do us."
"Yeah," Loudwhisper said.
And then the chimaera stooped down toward the skeleton, and they both cast at the same time. The coil of death and the blast of green passed each other in the air. Both struck their targets at almost the same time.
The chimaera reeled in the air as the black threads tangled its two heads, and an unearthly scream split the winter air. Blood ran from the corners of its mouths, but it stayed in the air.
Or it would have, if not for Kev'ran's fireball.
"Demons," Veren said, but the sound was completely lost in the roar of the flame. By the time it hit the chimaera, the sphere must have been two yards across, glowing with a blood-red corona.
The creature's blood seemed to ignite as the flame struck it, sending up a green flare around its heads. It reeled in midair, then careened over the great hall. Redmorning did not see it impact, but he felt the ground shake.
Veren Redmorning dropped his invisibility in time to catch Kev'ran as she started to sag. Loudwhisper looked from them to the battle.
"I've got her," Redmorning said. "You worry about whatever else is out there."
"Yes, Chieftain," the Orc said.
Kev'ran pushed away from him after a moment, but he felt that she was shaking.
"Are you all right, Warlock?"
"I will be, Chieftain," Kev'ran said. "But I fear the Shadebreaker will not."
Redmorning looked back at the skeleton, and winced.
Rokhyel Shadebreaker knelt in a bare patch where snow had been. His cloak was gone, not even rags remaining. His tunic of mail glowed slightly green, still heated by the chimaera's breath. All of his bones that Veren could see glowed as well, and cracks began to form in the surface as he watched. It looks like he's about to fall apart.
"Isn't there anything we can do for him?" Redmorning asked. "He's saved more than one life."
"I'm afraid not," Kev'ran said. "None of us would know what to do."
It was at that moment that Glaive ran around the corner of the great hall. A dismounted huntress ran after her, shrieking with fury as she tried to swing a short sword at the other Elf.
"Dead man!" Glaive shouted in Orcish.
Rokhyel Shadebreaker turned on his knees, and Redmorning saw that one of his arms was gone. One side of his jaw hung loose, and cracks spread from the edges of his sockets. The light inside them was still very bright, and a dark haze seemed to hang around him.
He's already growing back mana. That's bloody fast, Redmorning thought.
"Brought you something," Glaive announced, and pulled up a yard or so from the Undead. She turned and casually parried a wild swing from the huntress.
"Whhhaaat?" Veren never forgot the sound of that voice. If it had seemed hollow before, now it was cavernous, seemingly echoing from far beneath the earth.
"Get better when you kill," Glaive said. "I saw you." She slid to one side to avoid another cut. Then she used her broken glaive to parry an unexpected stab. The huntress had managed to draw her belt knife with her other hand.
"You do nnnot… Underssstand… what you are sssaying," Shadebreaker said. His voice was more normal, but Redmorning could tell it took terrible effort.
Glaive shrugged. "She gonna die anyway," she said. "You feel better, you be saving my life?" She dropped her hand for a moment, and the huntress lunged for the opening. Glaive blocked the blow, but barely. She grinned into her adversary's face, then ducked an elbow swing. She jabbed the other Elf in the ribs with a stiffened hand as she disengaged.
The huntress was broader of shoulder than Glaive, and she wore full armor, but Veren Redmorning had no doubt at all about what was happening. She's playing with her. It's another game, just like all the others.
"You would offer me… Another life… Just like that?" The Undead reached for his sword and levered himself to his feet. Or rather, to one foot, because the other one dissolved into powder when he put weight on it.
"Offer you mine, if you want it," Glaive said. She turned slowly as the huntress circled her. "I owe it. But I rather not be dead, if you willing to take somebody else."
Rokhyel Shadebreaker made a sound, a hiss and a soft rattle. A plate of his skull puffed into dust and drifted away, showing nothing but green light underneath. Veren thought he heard him say something, then, but he was never sure.
One skeletal hand shot forward. A very small coil flew from the Undead to the huntress. She started to throw a knife. Glaive's hand caught her wrist in an unbreakable grip as the black threads closed around her helmet, winding into flesh and bone. Glaive watched with apparent unconcern as one tendril of blackness sought her fingers.
She let go when the huntress began to fall. Redmorning saw this peripherally, because he was busy watching the Shadebreaker. The transformation was swift. Bones knit with uncanny accuracy, missing bits coalescing out of nothing to piece themselves back together. Cracks crawled backwards like retreating spiders, leaving clean surfaces behind. Even the old cloak spun up out of nowhere. The shreds of fabric formed a small tornado that became a whole garment as they settled on Rokhyel Shadebreaker.
"Didn't hurt," Glaive said, wriggling her fingers experimentally.
"No," Rokhyel Shadebreaker said. "I did not allow it."
"How did you know, Glaive?" Veren Redmorning said. "No one else noticed."
"'Cause I not blind, like Orcs," Glaive said. She knelt beside the dead huntress and rummaged briefly, then came up with the throwing knife. She stuck it in her belt as she rose easily to her feet. "I got something for you, too, soon as we done here."
She waved a hand toward the snow barrier, which was now more red than white. The remaining Night Elves seemed to be making an orderly retreat. Darksun and Bladeleaper held their troops back, letting the enemy go.
"They got no magic, got no chimaera," Glaive said. "And they not expect so few Orcs be so tough. They run home, for now."
"Good," Veren Redmorning said. "We don't have enough Orcs to hunt them all down."
He surveyed the field of battle, silently counting bodies. We lost a few, but it looks like we've got more wounded than dead. And they lost more than we did.
Redmorning supposed he should be proud of this. But it doesn't really matter. It's not a victory unless we've got enough left to survive the journey South. We've got a long road ahead of us.
He turned toward his commanders with the weight of his post settling on his shoulders like a vest made of lead. But even then, he had time for one last thought:
Did I really hear him say "I'm not ready yet?"