15th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, The Pomarj
Streaming tails of fire behind them, numerous bright yellow balls plunged straight down out of the sky, slamming into the crowd below and exploding on impact. Elrohir and Talass, who were just starting to move out the guard post door, had the best view.
The comets were not falling indiscriminately. In fact, they were falling in a line pattern running north-south, running parallel to the temple's east wall, and landing about thirty five feet or so from it. When each one hit, it exploded in a brilliant flare of red fire that resembled nothing else so much as a rose blossoming at accelerated speed. Although powerful (Elrohir winced as a nearby screaming orc directly underneath a comet was turned to ash by its impact), the small flowers of fire about twenty fire in diameter that spread out from their landing points were noticeably less intense and resulted in minor burns and combustibles catching fire at worst.
The ranger looked. It was hard to tell how far south the curtain of fireballs extended, although it seemed to extend at least the length of the temple wall. To the north, it seemed to extend as far as the docks; creating a narrow corridor perhaps ten to fifteen feet wide all the way out to the closest pier- where the flaming ship would be passing by in a few minutes.
Elrohir turned back to the others. "GO! GO! GO! GO!"
He and Talass turned left and began running, followed close behind by Argo and Caroline.
Back in the cemetery, there was panic. Some of the slaves were massing in a pile by the door that led into the guard post, pushing and clawing at each other to get through. Sarkos was trying to stay in the midst of the crowd and direct them, but he was quickly becoming overwhelmed by the effort.
Marisee was nearly hysterical now, as well. "I can't do this! I can't go out there! I'll die!" She shrieked.
"You'll die if you stay!" Zantac shouted back. "Come on! I'll be with you the whole time, I promise!"
The wizard risked a quick glance back towards the crypt. Grasping a barbed spear in his right hand, the witch doctor Rezshk confidently strode out to stand beside Glarg. He flashed a vicious smile at the assorted slaves and adventurers but said nothing. Instead, he turned to the ogre standing next to him and began casting a spell.
He's shining him up, groaned Zantac inwardly. Short duration spell too, if he's waited until now to do it. Probably nasty. He turned to Nesco. "Go!" he shouted. "I'll cover the rear!"
Lady Cynewine stared at him for a moment, shook her head momentarily at what she no doubt considered an idiotic move by Zantac and then nodded, and with Tojo moved ahead, helping Sarkos trying to keep the mass of former slaves moving in the right direction. Together, they managed to start pushing them out the far door into the street.
Zantac half-pushed, half-dragged Marisee towards the guard post door. As he did he watched Rezshk walk briskly over to stand by the wall in the exact same spot where the Willip wizard had earlier cast his spider climb spell. The orc pulled from his spell component pouch his own live spider as Zantac and Marisee headed towards the guardhouse, and the witch doctor was lost to their sight.
Glarg however, was moving directly towards them now. Moving unnaturally fast.
Marisee screamed as she and Zantac ducked into the guard post just as Glarg's club smashed into the wall next to them, showering them with shards of stone.
"Ye gods! They must be storming the temple!"
Cygnus released his grip on Aslan's shoulder and whirled around. He had to agree with his friend's assessment. The temple main chamber was littered with boxes, debris, even feces. Those within had apparently fled quickly, and en mass.
Aslan was already heading towards the inner temple doors, which lay ajar. "Come on!"
Cygnus needed no urging. Not burdened by armor, the wizard ran past the paladin and pulled open the door that led into the cemetery and charged forward towards where the guard post lay. Although much of the vegetation that had grown suddenly upon their initial entrance here had turned brown and died off, there was still enough to limit lines of sight. It wasn't until he got within twenty feet of the crypt that the mage stopped. He had a quick glimpse of an ogre ripping the wooden door of the guard post off its hinges and squeezing his bulky frame inside. Further away and off to the left, Cygnus thought there might be a figure standing on top of the temple wall, but he couldn't identify it from here.
What he could identify without a problem though, were orcs. They were pouring out of the crypt door into the cemetery. One of them spotted the magic-user and shouted out something guttural to his companions. They all turned to face him and snarled.
Cygnus turned back to warn Aslan.
The mage's eyes widened, and a sick look came into his face. "Oh, no!" He told the paladin. "You know I don't like that! You know I haven't practiced as much as I should have!" Nevertheless, he ran over to Aslan, casting a quick glance up at the fiery sky overhead and then back at the charging orcs.
"Couldn't you at least have created a saddle or something?" Cygnus pleaded.
Aslan snorted and stamped his hoof impatiently.
Just at they came through the outer door into the street, Marisee grabbed Zantac and with surprising strength, wrested both of them over to the right side, instead of to the left with the others. They flattened themselves against the wall as Glarg came out seconds behind them, his massive frame crumbling the stone frame of the doorway. Without a second glance, the ogre turned left and ran after the others, bellowing at the top of his voice.
Was that a brilliant maneuver, or just plain lucky? Zantac wondered. He looked over at Marisee, but the young woman was pointing northwards.
"Look!" she cried. Zantac followed her outstretched arm.
Nesco was trying to run, but the slaves were spreading out now, covering much of the safe corridor. They were jostling her every which way as they brushed past. She also noted grimly that this "safe" corridor might not be so safe after all.
The comets were not falling continuously. The ranger could already see that some of those in the crowd were staring upwards, trying to find a moment in which to dash forward. At the head of the pack, Nesco could already see Talass grappling with a half-orc who had broken through. Her husband pulled Talass' attacker off her, and the cleric's war hammer struck the half-orc in the side of his head, sending him spinning back towards the edge of the corridor. The half-orc recovered, raised his sword again-and then vanished in a red burst as a comet incinerated him with a direct hit.
How many of us are actually going to make it? Nesco thought, then looked around her again. I've got to save as many of them as I can. Even our prisoner-
Wait! The Slave Lord! Where is he?
Nesco quickly spotted their captive, but there were so many people in the way she knew there was nothing she could do at the moment. He was behind her, at the trailing edge of the former slaves. Most of them had taken the time to slam into him as they ran past, and he was covered with even more cuts and bruises than he had sported previously. Only the fact that half of the former slaves had already dropped their weapons in fear and the other half were too busy running to safety, had spared his life thus far. He flashed a grin at Nesco that made the ranger sick to her stomach and then, with a glance upward, turned sidewise and made a dash for the crowd.
It was exactly this that Marisee was pointing at. "Quick! Zantac!" She cried. "You've got to stop him! No one else can!"
Zantac frowned at her. "Look Marisee, I've got no love for the man, but why do we have to kill him now? Didn't you say earlier that-"
"But don't you see?" Marisee shouted, her brown eyes pleading with the wizard. "Nesco's brother- Sir Miles! If the Slave Lord gets away, he'll make sure Miles is killed! You've got one spell left! Use your magic missiles and slay him before it's too late!"
This was all happening too fast for Zantac. He tried to sort things out, but there wasn't time. If he was going to take out the Slave Lord, he had to do it now. He pointed at the slaver and began incanting.
Then that feeling, that nameless something that came into Zantac's head every so often, did it again, shaping his thoughts for him…
You told Marisee that you only had one spell left.
BUT YOU DIDN'T TELL HER WHICH ONE IT WAS, DID YOU?
Zantac's eyes grew wide and he gasped, stopping the incantation.
I just lost the spell, he thought.
"That's right," came a voice from behind him that started off as Marisee's but finished off as his own. "And a whole lot more."
Two gloved hands grasped his head from behind.
Nesco could not see Zantac. She could barely see the Slave Lord, as her ex-prisoner plunged into the crowd, suffering only a few burnt hairs from the nearest comet impact some twenty feet away. She had lost him.
Sarkos, on the other hand, had not.
As Cynewine watched, the hirsute warrior also made it into the crowd, which parted before his seemingly berserk rage. Much faster than his more seriously wounded quarry, he caught up to him and spun him around. Sarkos raised his sword to strike.
It was at that point that, from the corner of her eye, Nesco saw the spear.
It was sailing along just over the heads of the crowd, and then it dipped abruptly, snaked around two members of the mob and impaled Sarkos from above and behind, pinning the burly man down to the ground, its shaft still quivering. The Slave Lord and the others by him gaped at the spectacle, then turned their eyes back towards the temple wall.
Standing atop it was Rezshk. A wild gleam in his one eye was visible even from where Nesco stood, a good hundred feet away from the witch doctor. She stared at the orc for a moment and then returned her gaze to Sarkos, to see if he was still alive. What she saw made her catch her breath.
The spear sticking up out of Sarkos' back hadn't stopped quivering. Now it slowly backed out of the fighter's body, its backward-pointing barbs ripping out more flesh as it exited. Flying backwards through the air, the weapon returned to Rezshk, who was already standing with his right arm cocked back behind him, his hand curled to receive his weapon.
He's not going to waste any time, Nesco realized. With a sinking heart, she looked around. Sarkos may or may not have been killed by the spear, but the mob had swarmed all over him by now, so Nesco knew it didn't really matter anymore.
A piercing scream, even louder than the surrounding tumult caught Cynewine's attention. Glarg the ogre had caught up with the rear end of the fleeing slaves. One young man's cry of terror was cut short as the massive club slammed into him, sending his instantly-lifeless body sailing off into the crowd.
Nesco cried out in rage and started running back towards Glarg, but the others- Elrohir, Talass, Argo, Caroline and Tojo- had already passed her. She gasped with the effort to keep up with them and had to turn to the very edge of the safe corridor to avoid the rest of the oncoming slave mass. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Slave Lord again.
The man now held Sarkos' sword in his hand. He held it aloft as he shouted out to the mob, inciting them to break through the curtain of comets and kill or capture the fleeing slaves. His words seemed to be having an effect as several tough-looking human and half-orc warriors gathered around him and then began to move northwards.
Suddenly, the Slave Lord and those around him crumpled to the ground with no sound other than the thud of their bodies hitting the cobblestones and the clank of dropped weapons. Others in the crowd pointed up to the sky.
About fifty feet in the air, astride a gleaming white pegasus, a figure in brown robes was pointing downwards.
"Got him!" yelled Cygnus.
The wizard frankly didn't think he was going to be able to cast his sleep spell, or any other spell for that matter. Bent low over the polymorphed Aslan, holding onto his neck for dear life with his left hand, Cygnus was glad he had decided to leave his quarterstaff at home. As it was, he was still frightened out of his wits. He hadn't ridden either pegasus much at home, and they had special saddles to help their riders stay on.
The mage looked around frantically as Aslan orbited the scene. He could see the burning ship continuing to slowly sail westwards along the docks. It looked like at least some of the slaves might make it to one of the largest piers just as the ship reached it, although he couldn't imagine how any of them would be able to board the vessel, even if they would dare risk being burnt alive.
Further south, he could see Elrohir, Talass, Argo, Caroline and Nesco engaged in battle with a fierce looking ogre. Tojo, for some reason, seemed to have tumbled past the ogre and was continuing to run south.
He couldn't see Zantac.
What he could see easily however, was the rain of arrows and crossbow bolts that were now heading in his and Aslan's direction. Cygnus grabbed Aslan's neck with both hands and shut his eyes. He flinched despite himself as several of them struck, and he felt a sickening lurch as Aslan jerked with the impact, as well.
Cygnus opened his eyes. Despite his knowing that both and Aslan had been shined up by all the mages and priests of the Sir Dorbin party right before their departure with every defensive spell they had available (including protection from arrows), his reaction had been instinctual. Seeing their ineffectualness, only a few missiles continued to be fired at them now by the crowd. Cygnus didn't know exactly how many arrows and/or bolts the spell could absorb before being used up, but he hoped it would be enough.
"What do we do now?" He yelled helplessly at the pegasus, knowing that Aslan could not speak in this form. The mage could only hang on tightly and trust in the paladin's judgment.
Aslan came out of his circle and started heading towards the largest battle.
Glarg was proving to be a lot more trouble than his opponents had bargained for. Although not quite moving at the lightning pace he had a minute or so before, the massive arcs his club made swinging at his foes were causing them to be particularly cautious. Elrohir and Nesco, knowing full well that one direct hit would kill them, had by unspoken agreement fallen into a supporting role, feinting with their weapons and trying to give Talass, Argo and Caroline the opening they needed to make that crucial strike.
So far though, it wasn't happening. Glarg was clearly protected to at least some degree by an invisible field of force that tended to turn aside weapon blows, much as the priestess of Hextor had been. Roaring in rage, the ogre was attacking with more skill than most of his kind. In fact, he seemed as good as any fighter they had yet encountered, and his abilities were no doubt enhanced still further with magic, as well. Nesco had looked around for Zantac, cursing the wizard for not being around to provide a magical dispel or something of the sort, before she remembered that he had been just about out of spells anyway.
Lady Cynewine knew that Cygnus and a pegasus that Argo had told her was Aslan were flying around overhead somewhere, but she could no longer spare a glance upwards to check. Glarg had fixed his black eyes on her now. His brow furrowed with recognition.
"You!" he yelled. "This time, me make sure you stay dead!"
The giant club swung and down at the ranger, who jumped backwards at the last moment. Mud and stone fragments from the street showered the ranger from the weapon's impact. Glarg raised the club for another strike, but then cried out in pain and spun around.
Argo had rammed Harve into the ogre's left hip and was wrenching the sword around in the wound. Bigfellow's eyes widened as he saw the metal-shod club head come whipping around at him, but the ranger ducked in time, although he was forced to let go of his sword, which remained embedded in Glarg's side. The ogre was now gazing at Argo in raw fury.
"Me kill you!" he screamed, saliva spraying the ranger.
"Me no surprised," retorted Argo, wiping his face and looking for a chance to grab Harve again. Somehow, Glarg's dim brain was able to tell him what Bigfellow was attempting, and he turned around so that his left side was facing away from Argo. The ogre grinned at his own cleverness, and then screamed with pain as Caroline, who was flanking the ogre opposite her husband, had grabbed Harve when it came by her and yanked the glowing sword out of Glarg's femur. The young woman stepped back a pace as Glarg redirected his attentions on her. This proved to be yet another mistake on the ogre's part, for he immediately yelped as Talass' war hammer put several cracks in his left knee. However, this time his club swing didn't miss.
Talass was lifted off her feet and landed on her back in a spray of blood. Elrohir cried out and moved towards her but stopped when he saw his wife waving him off. The ranger hesitated.
Talass' face was a wretched parody of what it had been. Several of her teeth littered the street. He nose was an unrecognizable mess, and one eye seemed to bulge dangerously in a smashed socket.
Elrohir could hardly stand to look at his wife this way, but the priestess still seemed to be in a battle-induced rush, and he knew it might do more harm than good to try and calm her down. Now Talass was looking at him. She was trying to say something, but Elrohir couldn't understand it. The cleric was pointing at him repeatedly, as if she was trying to point something out to her husband.
Then Elrohir realized Talass wasn't pointed at him, but behind him. He whirled around and saw it.
"Nesco!" He screamed. "Duck!"
Instinct took over for Nesco Cynewine. Although an opportunity to bury her sword in Glarg's lower back had presented itself, she instead flung herself down to the street as something passed over her. The ranger looked up in time to see Rezshk's spear curve around and begin to retrace its flight path.
It was coming back at her. Nesco tensed and readied herself to roll out of the way, but the spear passed overhead again and then rose into the air. She breathed a sigh of relief. The weapon was merely returning to the witch doctor, who was again standing with his right arm cocked back, ready for another throw. Nesco looked around again. She could see Talass stare off to the south, then slowly begin to hobble off in that direction. A flash of annoyance passed through the ranger. While Talass was no doubt seriously hurt, Nesco was sure she was still in worse shape. Why was-
"Caroline! Nesco! Elrohir!" Hold him off! We'll be right back!"
And with those words, Argo Bigfellow Junior began running after Talass.
Nesco staggered to her feet. "You've got to be kidding me!" she screamed. "What do you want me to do- pluck out my heart and throw it at him?"
But the two of them were gone. Nesco looked back at the battle to see Glarg grinning at her.
"You little ones cowards," the ogre said. "But me make you littler still."
Moving fast, the club came up and swung down at her.
Zantac's eyes popped open. A great searing pain began in his cheeks where Marisee's gloves had touched them. The fire quickly spread throughout his entire head, and then down to his shoulders. His face started twitching and then spasming. With no small difficulty he turned around, just in time for a dagger to bury itself in his left shoulder.
He could still manage a partial scream and did so, both at the pain coming from both sources and from the sight that awaited him, even though it was what the mage had been expecting to see.
An exact duplicate of himself was standing where Marisee had been a moment before. The only signs that she had ever existed were the ivory gloves the false Zantac wore (now stained with the same bright green liquid that was dripping off Zantac's cheeks), the dagger which the imposter now yanked out of the real wizard's shoulder with a satisfied grunt, and the bottle of bright green "perfume" the imposter held in his left hand.
"Told you Rezshk had a spy," the doppelganger chuckled. "You humans are always on the lookout for lies, when it's the truth that always does you in." He slashed again with the dagger, but Zantac was somehow able to parry the blow with his quarterstaff, which both of his hands were now locked tightly around. The wizard didn't know what to do. Even if he had had any spells left, which he didn't, he'd never be able to cast them. The spasms were starting to get worse, and he could feel the burning starting to creep down into his torso. His panicked eyes looked into his own malicious ones.
"Finally realizing how ugly you are?" his duplicate sneered, and then momentarily assumed a bemused expression. "You just don't think, do you?"
The dagger came back again, and this time plunged into Zantac's right shoulder blade, because the wizard, in a blind panic, had turned to run. His legs were already starting to refuse to obey his commands, however. The magic-user could hear his own laughter behind him, and he knew he was dead.
He's right, Zantac thought. I wanted to come along on this expedition. I thought I could handle whatever came up, and I couldn't, and now I'm dead. I didn't think.
The phrase reverberated in his head.
Didn't think. Didn't think…
And without thinking, his something made him act.
Zantac rammed his quarterstaff into the cleft between two cobblestones of the street and ran around it as fast as he could. As he came around, the mage let the poison-induced grip he had on the staff stay there and he pushed off with his feet, jumping as high as he could, up and forward.
The doppelganger's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened with mute surprise as both of Zantac's feet slammed into his chest. The duplicate staggered backwards. He kept his footing, as well as his dagger, although the poison bottle dropped to the ground. The grin returned to the creature's face as he watched Zantac fall clumsily to the ground and writhe around in pain.
Although the constant jerking of his head made it difficult, Zantac could still see his own form looming over him now. The mage saw the dagger, now bright red with his own blood. Now it was coming down…
…and now something was slamming into the upright Zantac and another gleaming sharp something was slicing into its body. The Zantac on the ground winced as he saw what looked like his own torso being cut open. As it fell, the doppelganger's form was already beginning to transform, but that Zantac didn't see. He was staring with horror at something that looked like a mockery of Talass' face bending over him. A firm hand clasped his shoulder, and the fire and the spasms went away. Talass and Argo helped him to his feet.
"Wha- what happened?" the wizard gasped. He looked over to see Tojo, katana in hand, staring down at the dead doppelganger.
"You sure know how to pick 'em, Zantac," Bigfellow grinned and then bent down and picked up the bottle of bright green liquid. He held it in his gauntleted hand, frowning.
Zantac looked over to Talass. He thought maybe the cleric didn't realize how badly she was hurt, but as she watched her swish her tongue around in her mouth and then spit out a bloody tooth, he figured maybe she did. He smiled gamely at her. "Thanks Talass, for curing me."
She shook her head. "Didden cure you." She muttered.
Zantac looked confused. "What?"
Talass' eyes flashed with anger, as if she thought Zantac was referencing her inability to speak properly, but then cooled down as she realized the truth. "Nah devou enough for cure. Srow onry," she stated, sounding remarkably like Tojo now. "Fi hours onry. Maybe run course by hen. Oat know wha kine oh oison ha is."
"I do," said Argo. The other three looked at him, and he presented the bottle to them.
"It's called ka plerth. It's an orcish poison, brewed from certain roots. The humanoid troops under Herzog Grenell use it sometimes. I didn't know those particular plants grew this far west, though. It acts on the body's muscles, causing them to spasm. Not fatal by itself, but it makes the target easy prey to pick off."
Talass glared at the small bottle, her expression made even fiercer by her bulging eye. "Oison. Eppon of cowards an heh uncrean."
Bigfellow smiled at Zantac. "Sorry we took so long getting here. Tojo was the first one to spot you, but he ran into about a dozen orcs that had just popped out of the temple en route to you. I know he didn't need the help," the ranger added with a smile at the samurai, who remained expressionless, "but we thought we'd just hurry things up a bit." Argo's auburn eyes grew thoughtful as he regarded the bottle in his hand again, then turned to look back northwards. "Cowards and the unclean. You're right, Talass. It most certainly is…"
The ranger suddenly ran off back towards the others, still holding the bottle.
"Argo!" Talass yelled, then moaned and clutched her cheek from the effort that had cost her. She was now doubled over in pain, and dribbling blood. "Ner haught… he wood… oh hat far…" she gasped.
Zantac was about to offer assistance when he noticed Tojo walking over to him.
To Zantac's astonishment, Tojo pointed at the dead doppelganger and then wagged his finger in the wizard's face.
"She pray you rike rute, Zantac-san."
And with that, the samurai also ran off northwards.
"What? Huh?" Zantac shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Talass straighten up and look at him. Despite the obvious effort it cost her, the cleric smiled at him.
"You not aree wiff him?"
"Agree with him?" Zantac cried out in frustration. "I CAN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND HIM!"
Nesco had just barely dodged the blow, but she felt so weak she could hardly stand up. Her numerous wounds were all announcing their intention to start simultaneously start bleeding again on her.
Caroline, seeing the ranger's plight, dropped her own sword and grabbed Harve with both hands. She waited until Glarg's eyes flickered over to Elrohir following a successful feint, and then rammed the sword into Glarg's gut. It wasn't a deep wound, but it was enough to make the ogre roar in pain.
"Well Harve," Caroline asked, breathing heavily but still smiling. "How am I doing?"
"Less gabbing and more stabbing, woman!" the sword shouted.
"Why, you pointed piece of cr-" Caroline began.
She never finished the retort. Caroline had a split-second view of the club head before it slammed into her right arm. She heard the bone break, felt the weapon as it continued on to crash into her side, and then everything went black.
Elrohir and Nesco both screamed as they saw Caroline drop to the ground. It was as much a reaction in horror as it was an attempt to distract Glarg from his follow-up smash. It was ineffectual however, as the ogre smiled broadly, and raised his weapon high over his head.
…but even Glarg's sudden scream of agony was lost in the crack of thunder that accompanied the brilliant light of the lightning bolt. The bolt from above left the ogre literally smoking. He was still standing but seemed in a daze. He slowly turned his head upwards in bewilderment.
Cygnus pumped his fist in the air again. "YES!" He shouted, then cried out in alarm as Aslan suddenly twisted and turned in mid-air, nearly throwing his passenger off. The wizard was about to ask what the hell Aslan was doing when something stabbed him in the back. The impact threw Cygnus forward and his forehead bounced off Aslan's neck. Before the full extent of the pain made itself known to Cygnus however, it suddenly doubled in intensity. The magic-user screamed out in agony as he felt something gouging out a chunk of his flesh as it pulled back out of his body.
Worse, it was taking with him with it.
Cygnus tried to hold on, but it was no use. He caught a brief glimpse of a spear flying off back towards the temple as he pitched off and fell into space.
I can't believe I didn't memorize a feather fall spell, was his last thought as sky and ground spun dizzyingly around him.
Tojo was the first to rejoin the battle with Glarg. With his battle cry rivaling the ogre's roars in volume, Tojo drew his wakazashi as well, which the others had rarely seen him do, and fought with both swords against the giant. He whirled like a top, both blades slashing and cutting. None of the wounds were vital, but they were quickly piling up. It seemed amazing that the ogre could continue to battle with all the damage that had been inflicted upon him, but he did. Clearly, he was a much more formidable opponent than they had expected.
Elrohir looked around. Talass had also rejoined the fray, although that consisted of grabbing Caroline and dragging her off a few feet away. Elrohir had no idea if the younger woman was dead or unconscious, but he couldn't spare the time for a longer look.
Now even Zantac was back from wherever he had been, threatening their foe with his quarterstaff. Admittingly that wasn't much, but every little bit helped now.
There was still no sign of Argo, however. That left Tojo, currently closest to Elrohir, as their best fighter ongoing, and even he was seriously wounded.
Glarg knew this and was concentrating his attention on the samurai now. As Tojo moved in for another pass, the samurai's right foot slipped in some of the blood that now pooled in the street. With a cry of surprise, Tojo went down. He was quick to start rising to his feet, but the club was already in motion, directly in line with Tojo's head.
With what surely seemed the last of his strength, Elrohir stepped forward and underneath the swing and thrust Gokasillion upwards at what he hoped was the exact correct moment. It was. The sword's tip bit into the wooden shaft of the club, behind the metal-shod head. With a roar that was born out as much pain as sheer effort, Elrohir twisted, and the ogre's club went sailing out of his hands. The weapon slammed into a mercenary standing at the edge of the crowd, knocking the man senseless.
Talass, gasping in agony, stood up again. Caroline was still alive and in fact was beginning to stir, but the priestess could do little more for her. The cleric's gaze turned southwards again.
Dammit! Where's Argo?
Then she saw him. The ranger was standing back about twenty-five feet or so, dangerously near the outer edge of the safe corridor. She must have run past him without seeing him. Argo was not looking at her however, or at any other member of the party. His sling out and a bullet ready to fly, he was staring upwards at the wall, shouting out something in orcish.
Rezshk glared down at the puny human below him. Clearly, he was trying to goad the witch doctor by shouting out insults in crude orcish. Rezshk wondered what kind of mistake this fool think he might make anyway. The battle belonged to him, Glarg and his allies. Despite the loss of his doppelganger spy, their foes were all now near death, and Rezshk was determined to push them over that line.
The orc grinned as Argo's sling bullet bounced harmlessly off him, courtesy of the vial of black liquid he himself had brewed up earlier. As his returning spear quickly nestled into his waiting right hand, Rezshk instantly flung it at the annoying human.
Talass cried out in frustration as much as in horror as the spear sank into Argo's right side, despite the ranger's best efforts to dodge it.
"What are you doing?" she screamed at him.
If Bigfellow heard, he gave no sign. He dropped his sling and grasped the handle of the spear, apparently trying to pull it out. Talass closed her eyes in sorrow. He's going to find out in a minute that he didn't have to do that, she thought.
As if on cue, Argo's scream hit her ears. Talass opened her eyes again just in time to see Argo sink down to his knees, and the spear start to fly back to Rezshk. She started to stagger back towards the ranger.
Rezshk's smile grew even wider as joy flowed through him. He yelled to his beaten foe in Common, not wishing to debase orcish by sharing it with a mere human. "Old orcish saying, human! Insults do not a battle win!"
His right hand waited patiently as the weapon returned to it.
Instantly, Rezshk's one eye popped wide open. A searing pain blossomed in his right hand, and then began to run down his right arm, which began to spasm. His fingers locked around the spear and would not let go. His mind raced as he realized what had just happened…
Talass pulled up short as Argo held out his hands in a gesture for her to halt. As she did, she could see his gauntlets were stained a bright green.
"Old human saying," he said to her, with that infuriating smile that Talass knew that, despite herself, she'd miss if she never saw it again. "What goes around, comes around."
Screaming in agony, Rezshk could not control his upper body as it pitched backwards, and with a final shriek, he toppled over back into the cemetery, vanishing from view.
It was incredible, but Elrohir, Nesco and Tojo could not doubt the evidence of their own eyes. Just as Glarg, deprived of his only weapon, had raised his foot to squash Tojo into samurai paste, three of the incoming comets had apparently veered from their downward trajectory and slammed into the large humanoid. As the ogre roared in agony yet again, Elrohir glanced upwards.
What he saw made him gasp in astonishment, and not a little horror.
About thirty feet in the air, Cygnus was dangling upside down. His left hand, the one that held his ring of shooting stars, was still pointing directly at Glarg. It was he who had sent the missiles of fire, and not their mysterious savior, whose comets continued to rain straight down.
What was holding onto Cygnus though, was no pegasus. It was a devil.
A horned devil, to be precise. As big as Glarg, the black, winged horror was flapping its wings madly, moving around in a slow circle. One clawed hand held firmly onto Cygnus' right leg. The mob below was moving back in horror. Only the occasional bolt or arrow was flying up now, and those went wide.
Elrohir's eyes narrowed at he stared at the devil. "Aslan?" He whispered.
And then despite all the battles he had been in ever since he had arrived in Highport, despite all the horrible things he had seen happen to his friends when their attention had lapsed for just a second, Elrohir realized again a split-second too late that he had made that very same mistake once again
For the last time, was Elrohir's last coherent thought as Glarg's hands grabbed him around the middle, lifted him up and started squeezing.
Elrohir's scream was cut off along with his oxygen supply. His left hand opened in reflex, and the shield fell out of it and clattered to the ground below. He swung Gokasillion, but the ogre was holding him at arm's length, and the tip of the ranger's weapon passed inches away from Glarg's nose. Elrohir tried to reposition Gokasillion to stab down at the ogre's arms, but he couldn't. He was too weak, in too much pain. As he felt his ribs start to crack, he knew he had lost.
Glarg was nearly mad now, with combined agony and delight. He could feel all the other humans slashing, stabbing and bludgeoning him, but it didn't matter. The ogre knew he was mortally wounded, but he didn't care. He knew Rezshk would heal him. He decided to kill this one in his hands, this one that had tricked him before and now had taken his favorite club away from him, and then retreat back to the temple. Glarg knew he could outrun these puny humans. He eyed the one the others called "Elrohir" and just slightly relaxed his grip, just for a few seconds before his final squeeze. Glarg loved to see that last look of terror in his victim's eyes. It made him feel even stronger.
"Me kill you now!" he said to the human, who stared at him dumbly, blood dripping out of his mouth.
"What?" Elrohir said weakly.
Glarg snarled. "Me said, Me kill you now, human!"
The human cupped his left hand to his ear. "I can't hear you," he gasped. "What?"
With an inarticulate roar of frustration, Glarg pulled the human in so that they were now nearly- nose-to-nose. "STUPID DEAF HUMAN! ME SAID, ME KILL YOU-"
Elrohir rammed Gokasillion through Glarg's right eye and all the way up into his brain.
"No need to shout," the ranger whispered just before blacking out. "I heard you the first time."