The Cleric Quintet: The Fallen Fortress

Chapter Twenty

 
The sword wielder came in a straight thrust, but Pikel caught the blade in a free hand and flung it aside, oblivious to the lines of blood growing on his unarmored hand. The dwarf's other arm pumped straight ahead, the end of his club slamming into the attacker's face. Pikel grabbed up the club in both hands and chopped three times in rapid succession, driving the man to the floor.
Then the furious dwarf whipped a backhand cut that flung a goblin, trying to use the moment to climb atop the counter, several feet away. Back and forth came the heavy club, swatting weapons, breaking bones. Back and forth with undeniable fury; no defenses withstood the roaring dwarfs assault
"Ooooooo!"
An ogre threw men and ores aside to charge the counter, leaped up bravely, stupidly.
Pikel smashed its knee out, spun a complete circuit and hit it again as it fell, squarely in the chest, sending it tumbling into the crowd. With the enemies directly before him knocked away by the sprawling ogre, the outraged dwarf hopped sidelong.
"Ooooooo!" A swordsman lunged for Ivan, but Pikel smashed the man's elbow against the lip of the counter before his sword ever got close.
"Hey, he's mine!" Ivan started to protest, but Pikel, not even hearing him, continued to wail and to batter. His next swipe snapped the man's neck, but the dwarf followed through too far on his backhand, cupping Ivan and sending him flying backward from the counter.
Pikel was not even aware that he now stood alone. All that he saw was his dead snake, the serpent that had befriended him. He ran back and forth along the counter, showing no weariness in his furiously pumping limbs, feeling no pain from his many, and mounting, wounds, tasting only sweet vengeance as he continued to beat back, to overwhelm, the suddenly hesitant mob.
"We need more support up in front!" Ivan bellowed angrily as Shayleigh helped him back to his feet
"Arrows?" Shayleigh explained, indicating her empty quiver and the single arrow she held to her bowstring.
Ivan reached up and yanked the arrow out of his face. "Here's another one for ye," the dwarf explained grimly. He jerked suddenly, weirdly, then reached over his shoulder and produced yet another long bolt
Shayleigh's eyes widened as she looked past the dwarf, looked to a table the enemy had rolled into position so that some archers might get shots through the opening at the side of the counter. She put up her bow immediately and fired, hitting only the wood of the blocking table, but forcing the enemy bowmen to duck down behind.
"I'll get ye some arrows!" Ivan bellowed as he turned to regard the scene. Out ran the dwarf, full speed. An archer popped his head up, taking a bead. But he lost his nerve as the roaring dwarf drew near, and his shot flew harmlessly high.
Ivan narrowed his focus straight ahead, ignored the many enemies shouting and pointing his way from the side. He lowered his head and hit the heavy table full force, knocking it back over onto its legs and winding up atop it
The three stunned archers underneath looked up in surprise. TTiey didn't realize how vulnerable they had suddenly become with their barrier now above them until an arrow whistled in, killing one.
Two sets of eyes looked back to Shayleigh; both men were relieved to see a goblin rush across, inadvertently intercepting the elf s next shot at the cost of its own life.
Ivan came over the back side of the uprighted table, rolled in at the men headfirst, the flat side of his axe smacking one of the remaining archers on the side of the head. The other man scrambled to get a dagger out and readied before the dwarf could right himself and bring his axe to bear again. But Ivan had let go of his weapon, scrambled in and clamped his strong hands against the sides of the remaining enemy's head.
A dagger cut into the dwarfs shoulder, but with a growl, Ivan heaved straight upward, the man's head going flat against the bottom of the table. The dwarf continued to press, planted his feet under him and his shoulders against the table and heaved up with all his strength. Ivan ducked low as the table flew up a foot and then started to descend, but he kept his arms, and the enemy's head, up high.
"Bet that hurt," the dwarf muttered as the table slammed back down, and the man's face scrunched up.
The man was sitting awkwardly, his legs twisted beneath him, his eyes still closed tightly. Ivan punched him in the face anyway, to get him out of the way, then the dwarf scooped up his axe and the nearest quivers and charged out from under the table, back for the counter area. A crossbow quarrel drove through his calf, and he pitched headlong, but he was up in a moment, running again, gnawing his thick lips against waves of searing pain.
Shayleigh had to spin about and put her third, and last, shot into the face of an ore that had slipped over the far side of the counter, around Pikel's continuing frenzy. When the elf maiden turned back Ivan's way, she found herself faced off against another goblin. Desperate, with no time to go for her sword, Shayleigh whipped her bow across, trying to drive the creature back.
"Yous is dead," the goblin promised, but Shayleigh shook her head, even smiled, seeing a large, double-bladed axe come up high behind the creature's head.
Ivan stumbled across the goblin's back as it fell "Here're yer arrows!" he cried, tossing Shayleigh three nearly full quivers. He had no time to hear her reply, for he spun about, axe flying wildly before him, to knock aside a thrusting spear.
Shayleigh, too, spun about, fitting an arrow as she turned and firing above the counter opposite Ivan, firing once, and then again as the press became general on all three sides.
"Dead snake!" Ivan cried repeatedly, prodding his frenzied brother on. "Dead snake!"
"Ooooooo!" Pikel wailed, and another enemy was swatted away.
But Shayleigh knew that they would need more than Pikel's frenzy to hold out, and more than the two-score arrows Ivan had just given to her. Her arms pumped repeatedly, firing to the side and out in front beside Pikel, every shot scoring a direct hit, every shot blasting an opening for yet another enemy to step in.
*****
"Bonaduce!" Danica called, and she headed for the wall, leaping up into the swirling fog. She hit the stone hard, and fell back, dazed, into the room.
She rolled in a defensive somersault, feeling betrayed and vulnerable. Dorigen had gotten rid of Cadderly, and the dangerous woman still held that wand. Danica turned another somersault, coming back to her feet more than halfway across the room from the still-sitting wizard.
The password was Bonaduce," Danica accused.
"Only those so designated by Aballister may enter his private chambers, even with the word," Dorigen explained calmly. "He wanted to see Cadderly. Apparently, you were not included."
Danica's arm jerked suddenly, and one of her daggers flew at Dorigen. It sparked as it connected with a magical shield and bounced to the floor beside the woman, who promptly put her wand in line with Danica and held her free hand up, warning the monk to stay back.
"Treachery," Danica breathed, and Dorigen was shaking her head in denial through every syllable of the word.
"Do you believe that you will kill me with that wand?" Danica asked, beginning to circle, her balance perfect, her legs ready to launch her away, with every measured step.
"I do not wish to try," Dorigen replied sincerely.
"One spell, Dorigen," Danica growled. "Or a single try with your wand. That is all you will get"
"I do not wish to try," the older woman said again, more firmly, and to accentuate her point, Dorigen dropped the wand to the desktop.
Danica stood a bit straighter. her perplexed look genuine.
"I did not lie to you," Dorigen explained. "Nor did I trick Cadderly into going somewhere he does not truly belong."
Again, the indication was that Dorigen believed a larger fate to be guiding this encounter. Danica was not so convinced as her counterpart She believed in the power of the individual, in the choice of the individual, and not in some predestined path.
" Aballister will likely punish me for letting the young priest through," Dorigen went on, against Danica's doubting expression. "He hoped I would kill Cadderly, or at least exhaust Cadderly's magical powers." She chuckled and looked away and Danica realized that she could spring atop that desk and throttle Dorigen before the wizard ever reacted. But Danica did not move, held by the continued note of sincerity in the wizard's voice.
"Aballister thought the malignant spirit, the evil personification of the Ghearufu, would end the threat to Castle Trinity," Dorigen went on.
The ghost that you sent after us," Danica accused.
"Not so," Dorigen replied calmly. "Originally, Aballister did send the Night Masks to Carradoon to kill Cadderly, but the return of the spirit was purely coincidence - purely a fortunate coincidence as far as Aballister was concerned.
"He did not know that Cadderly could defeat that spirit," Dorigen continued, and again came that curious chuckle. "He thought that his storm would surely destroy you all, and so it would have, except that Aballister did not know that you were far from Nightglow by that point. Fearful would he have been indeed, if he learned that Cadderly could defeat even old Fyren after he was finished manipulating the wyrm."
Danica nearly fell over backward, her almond-shaped eyes opened wide.
"Yes, I watched that battle," Dorigen explained, "but I did not tell Aballister about it I wanted his surprise to be complete when Cadderly arrived so soon at Castle Trinity."
"Is this penitence?" Danica asked.
Dorigen looked down at her desk and slowly shook her head, running her crooked fingers through her long black-and-sUver hair. "More pragmatism, I would guess," she said, looking back to Danica. "Aballister has made many mistakes. I do not know that he will defeat Cadderty, or you and your other friends. And even if we win this day, how can we hope to conquer the region with our army shattered?"
Danica found that she honestly believed the woman's words, and that made her more defensive, fearing that Dorigen had cast some charm enchantment over her. "Your reversal now does not excuse your actions over the past months," she noted grimly.
"No," Dorigen agreed without hesitation. "Nor would I call it a 'reversal.' Let us see who wins in there." She indicated the swirling mist on the wall. "Let us see where fate guides us."
Danica shook her head doubtfully.
"You still do not understand, do you?" Dorigen asked sharply, and with the change in tone, the agile monk was down immediately into her threatening crouch.
"What are you talking about?" Danica demanded.
Dorigen's answering shout stole the strength from Danica's knees, hit her so unexpectedly that she could not even babble a retort They are father and son!"
Ivan fared the best of the three trapped friends as the fighting in the dining hall raged on. In the tight opening along the side of the cubby, the stout dwarf and his mighty axe formed an impenetrable barrier. Men and monsters came against him two at a time, but they couldn't hope to get by his furious defense. And though Ivan was sorely wounded, he took up a dwarven battle chant, narrowed his focus so greatly that it did not allow him to feel the pain, did not allow his wounded limbs to weaken.
Still, the relentless press of enemies prevented Ivan from going to his brother, or to Shayleigh, both of whom needed support. The best that the yellow-bearded dwarf could do was yell out, "Dead snake!" every now and again to heighten Pikel's fury.
Shayleigh blew away the first man who tried to come over the counter, hit the next adversary, a bugbear, with four arrows in rapid succession, the hairy creature slumping dead before it ever got atop the narrow area Shayleigh then fired one to her side, between Pikel's legs, catching an ore in the face, then turned back as another enemy, a goblin, leaped up on the counter.
She shot it in the chest, dropping it to a sitting position, then shot it again, putting out the light in its eyes.
The goblins behind this victim proved smarter than usual, though, for the dead goblin did not fall away. Using its bleeding body as a shield, the next goblin in line came up atop the counter. Shayleigh got it anyway, in the eye as it peeked over its dead comrade's shoulder, but the rush as both creatures pitched in behind the counter gave the following goblin a clear path to the elf maiden.
With no time to notch another arrow, Shayleigh instinctively grabbed for her sword. She whipped her bow across with one hand, deflecting the straight-ahead spear attack, and just managed to angle her short sword in front of her as the goblin barreled in, its own momentum impaling it
Shayleigh jerked the dead thing to the side, throwing it down, and tore free her blade, its fine edge glowing fiercely with its elven enchantments. She had no time to take upiier bow, though, and knew that she wouldn't likely get a chance to put it to use in this fight again. She dropped it to the floor and rushed ahead, meeting the next adversary before it fully cleared the counter.
The goblin was off-balance, just beginning its leap to the floor, when Shayleigh got there, her sword snapping one way, knocking the goblin's defenses aside, and then the other. Quicker than the goblin could recover, Shayleigh poked her sword straight ahead, popping a clean hole in the creature's throat She used its shoulders as a springboard as it slumped and got up to the counter at the same time as the next enemy soldier. The man hadn't expected the rush and was pushed back, sprawling into the pressing throng, leaving Shayleigh free to smash down at the ore that was next in line.
She killed it cleanly, but a spear arced over its shoulder as she bent for the strike.
Shayleigh stood very straight, tried to keep her focus through the sudden jolt and blur of agony. She saw the spear hanging low from her hip, saw a man grab at its other end. If he managed to twist the shaft about...
Shayleigh hit the spear just under its embedded tip with her sword. The fine-edged elven weapon slashed through the wood, but the shocking jolt nearly sent Shayleigh falling into blackness. She held on through sheer stubbornness, forcing her sword through her most familiar attack routines to keep the pressing foes at bay until the waves of dizziness swept by.
"Ooooooo!" Pikel's club did a rotating-end dance before the stupefied expression of an ogre. The giant monster swiped across with its hand, trying to catch the curious weapon, but by then, the club was gone, brought up high above the dwarf's head.
"Duh?" the ogre stupidly asked.
The club slammed down on its skull.
The ogre shook its head, its thick lips flapping noisily. It looked up to see what had hit it, looked up and up some more, its gaze continuing for the ceiling until it overbalanced and fell backward, taking down three smaller comrades under it Pikel, already down at the other end of the counter, didn't even see the ogre fall. A man had come up, and the dwarf slid down low, club swiping across to blow the man's feet out from under him.
A sword gashed Pikel's hip, but down low, he saw even more clearly his poor dead snake. His club came flashing across, snapping the sword wielder's head to the side, breaking the man's neck.
"Ooooooo!" Fikel was up in an instant, iiiry renewed. He skidded back the other way, defeating a potential breach, then came flying back again, tripping up a climbing goblin. The creature stumbled back, its chin slamming, and hooking, against the counter's lip.
That was not a good position with Pikel's club fast descending.
But how long could Pikel last? The dwarf, for all his rage, could not deny that his movements were beginning to slow, could not deny that the press of enemies had not relented, that two soldiers had come into the back of the dining hall for every one that the companions had killed. And the friends were all hurt, all bleeding, and all weary.
Across the hall, near the door, a man flew up into the air suddenly, over the ogre that was standing before him, his arms and legs flailing helplessly. Pikel glanced back curiously that way whenever he got the chance, glanced back just in time to see a huge sword explode through the front of the ogre's chest With power beyond anything the dwarf had ever seen, the ogre's attacker tore the impaling sword straight up, tore it through the ogre's chest and collarbone to exit at the side of the dead creature's neck. A giant arm swung around, connecting on the ogre's shoulder with enough force to send the dead thing flying head over heels away.
And Vander - Vander! - waded ahead, his fierce swipes taking down enemies two at a time.
"Oo oi!" Pikel cried, pointing his stubby finger toward the door. Shayleigh, too, noticed the firbolg, and the sight renewed her hopes and her fury. Tangled with an ore atop the counter, she punched out with her free left hand, slamming the creature's jaw. She feigned a jerk with her sword, then punched again, and a third time.
The ore swayed, balanced precariously on the counter's edge. It somehow blocked Shayleigh's darting sword, but her flying foot got it squarely on the chest, knocking it backward.
"Vander is come!" she cried, so that Ivan, too, might know, and she rushed to the forward edge, crouching low and slicing down to drive back the next would-be attacker.
That damned ring!" Ivan bellowed into the face of the man standing before him, referring to the magical, regenerative ring that Vander wore, a ring that had once before (and now, apparently again) brought the firbolg back from the dead.
Ivan's wild laughter gave his opponent pause. The dwarf brought his axe up over one shoulder, and the startled man reacted by throwing his sword up high.
Ivan loosened his grip with his bottom hand and drove his top hand down, the butt end of the axe shooting straight out to pop the man in the face. He fell back, dazed, and Ivan tossed his axe up into the air, and in a single, fluid motion, caught it low in both hands at the bottom of its handle and whipped it diagonally across, slashing the man's shoulder.
Near the middle of the room, a spearman jabbed at the firbolg's hip, scoring a minor hit Vander twisted about and kicked, his heavy boot connecting with the man's belly, driving up under his ribs and launching him fifteen feet into the air.
Vander spun back the other way, all his weight behind an overhead chop that cleaved a goblin in half.
The sight proved too much for the goblin's closest companions. Howling with terror, they rushed from the room.
Too many other enemies presented themselves for Vander to consider pursuing the goblins. An ogre rushed in at him, its club coming across to score a direct hit on Vander's breast. Vander didn't flinch, but smiled wickedly to show his attacker that he was not hurt.
"Dun?"
"Why do they keep saying that?" the firbolg wondered, and his sword took the surprised ogre's head from its shoulders.
To the companions still at the counter, Vander's walk resembled a ship rushing through choppy seas, throwing a spray of goblins and ores and men high into the air at his sides as he passed, leaving a wake of blood and broken bodies. Vander was at the counter in a mere minute, cutting the enemy force in half. Pikel came down beside him and together they blasted an opening around to the side so that Ivan, too, might link up.
By the time the three got to Shayleigh, she was sitting atop the counter, leaning heavily on the pillar support, for her remaining enemies had gone screaming away into the halls.
Vander picked up the wounded maiden, cradling her in one arm. "We must flee this place," he said.
They'll be back," Ivan agreed. They looked to Pikel, who was reverently extracting the bottom half of his sliced snake from his torn sleeve, muttering a quiet, "Oooo," as each inch slipped free.
Bolt for Bolt, Fire for Fire
Cadderly did not understand where he might be; this plush, carpeted room in no way resembled the harsh stone of the underground Castle Trinity. Gold leaf ornamentation and beautifully woven tapestries hung thick on the walls, all depicting images of Talona or her symbol. The ceiling was sculpted and decorated with some exotic wood that Cadderly did not recognize. Any one of the ten chairs in the huge room, their backs and seats carved to resemble teardrops, seemed worth a dragon's hoard of treasure, with sparkling gemstones running up their legs and armrests and silk upholstering covering them from top to bottom. The whole of the image reminded Cadderly of some pasha's palace in far off-Calimport, or the private chambers of one of Waterdeep's lords.
Until he looked deeper. The song of Deneir came into Cadderly's thoughts without his conscious bidding, as though his god was reminding him that this was no ordinary room, with no ordinary host. The place was extradimensional, Cadderly realized, created by magic, woven, to the last detail, of magical energy.
Looking more closely at the nearest chair, the song playing strong in his thoughts now, Cadderly recognized the gems as variations of magical energy, saw the smooth silk as a uniform field of magic and nothing more. Cadderly remembered an experience in the tower of the wizard Belisarius, when he had battled an illusory minotaur in an illusory dungeon. On that occasion, the young priest had perverted Belisarius's handiwork, had reached down the minotaur's throat and extracted an illusory heart of his own design.
Now, in this unfamiliar and obviously dangerous setting, Cadderly needed a boost to his confidence. He focused again on the chair, grabbed at the backing's magical field, and transmuted it, elongated it, and turned it flat.