The king frowned and stepped toward the noble. Before he could ask another question, a deafening thunder erupted inside the courtyard. Even from his side of the gate, Agis could see tons of boulders pouring down into the courtyard. The Joorsh warriors cried out in a single shocked voice. A cloud of rock chips and dust came roiling out of the gateway to engulf Mag’r.
“It’s a trap!” the sachem yelled.
Agis ran for cover, sprinting at an angle for the cliffs that flanked Castle Feral’s gateworks. He narrowly avoided the outthrust hands of several Joorsh who were just climbing onto the apron, and dived into a hollow at the base of the bluff. He crawled to the back of this hole, hoping that it was small enough to keep the giants’ thick fingers from plucking him out.
The noble need not have worried. No sooner had he found his hiding place than a soft, low-pitched rumble issued from the gates, growing louder and more resonant with each passing moment. The dust haze settled enough for him to see Mag’r looking back through the gate, and the rumble developed into a roar. Castle Feral began to shake so badly that Agis could see centuries of encrusted dirt and loosened building stones dropping onto the apron outside his hole.
Mag’r spun and threw himself away from the gate. Half his reinforcements did likewise, but the other half were still standing on the apron when a cataclysmic bang shook its barren stones. A massive granite ball came blasting from the gateyard. The gateworks erupted into a shower of jagged masonry, cutting down every living thing that stood before the blast and raising a thousand plumes of dust as the shattered stones splattered into the Bay of Woe.
The ball continued on, plowing into the mountain of rubble that covered the apron, flinging dead giants and huge boulders high into the air, then arcing out over the silt bay to vanish from sight beneath a long plume of dust.
Like Mag’r and the Joorsh warriors who had survived the explosion, Agis could only stare in open-mouthed wonder as the debris stirred up by the stone came drizzling back to the ground.
Finally, the shower stopped. Mag’r appeared from the far side of the gate, a mountainous silhouette lumbering through the dust haze. Behind him came a dozen more Joorsh forms, long spears or heavy clubs clutched in their hands, too dazed to speak and stumbling over the rubble like the survivors of an inferno that had destroyed an entire city.
“Come out, spy!” yelled Mag’r, pulling an enormous dagger from its sheath. “Don’t make me search for you, or your death will be twice as painful!”
Agis remained motionless and silent in his little alcove, content to take his chances. It would not be long, he suspected, before the Poison Pack charged to his rescue.
Sure enough, the noble soon heard the clatter of stumbling giants coming from the rubble-strewn gateyard of Castle Feral. The sound was followed by the raucous battle cry of the Poison Pack, an angry wail so full of hissing and chirping that it sounded almost ghostly.
Forgetting about Agis, Mag’r raised his sword and charged into the courtyard. The rest of the Joorsh followed, but the Poison Pack began to pour out of the castle onto the apron. Peals of thunder rolled over the peninsula as the two groups of warriors met, their weapons clashing like bolts of lightning. Angry yells and savage snarls filled the air. Dripping fangs sank into unprotected flesh, while bare hands smashed arachnid skulls and snapped serpentine necks. Soon giants from both tribes were crashing to the ground, their blood running in dark rivers and gathering in steaming lakes.
For a few awestruck moments, Agis watched the battle without moving. Then, once he judged that the giants were too preoccupied with each other to bother with him, he slipped from his hiding place and crept along the wall. Just a few feet away danced the legs of fighting giants, their blows echoing off each other like clashing mountains. Once, Agis was nearly crushed when a Saram toppled over in front of him, and another time he was bowled over when a Joorsh tooth, still slick with the giant’s saliva, crashed down on his shoulder.
Eventually, the noble reached the hole where the castle gate had once stood. The place was even more littered with bodies and rubble, if that were possible, than the rest of the apron. The gateyard was an impassable jumble, except that a valley of crushed stone and flesh marked where the granite ball had rolled through.
In the center of this valley, Agis saw Bawan Nal and Sachem Mag’r, the only living beings in the gateyard, battling furiously. Nal fought with his back to the trench-path, thrusting first with a lance he carried in one hand, then slashing madly with the crude bone sword he held in the other. His owlish eyes blazed with a murderous light, and his hooked beak hung half-open, ready to clamp down on any appendage that came too near it.
Although Mag’r faced away from Agis, the noble did not doubt that the look on the Joorsh’s face was every bit as angry and determined. The sachem was making good use of his single sword, turning each parry into a counterattack, thrusting first at the bawan’s throat and slicing next at his abdomen.
Both giants fought with a grace and skill that the noble found surprising, but the advantage clearly belonged to the larger Joorsh. Mag’r towered a full ten feet over his foe and was making good use of his size to force the Saram back. From all appearances, it would take him only a few more passes to drive Nal clear to the trench-path-cutting off any hope Agis still had of catching Tithian before the king captured the Dark Lens.
The noble slipped into the gateyard and picked his way along the edge of the valley of crushed stone. Filled as it was with death and unwashed giant flesh, the place smelled incredibly foul. Agis tried to breathe through his mouth and put the stench out of his mind, but the farther into the courtyard he went, the worse the odor became.
The noble was just trying to slip past one side of the battle when Mag’r let out a mighty bellow and pressed forward with a vicious series of slashes. At first, Nal gave ground rapidly, and it appeared he would be driven back to the trench-path before Agis could gain it. Then the bawan stopped and ducked a high attack, countering with an abdomen slice that the noble feared would bring an end to the battle.
Mag’r saved himself only by jumping to one side, almost crushing Agis as the giant landed at the edge of the valley of crushed rock. The ground trembled, and the rubble shifted beneath the noble’s feet, then he found himself struggling to regain his balance as the giants’ combat raged over his head.
Agis looked up and caught Nal’s golden eyes flitting away, fixing on Mag’r’s black sword as it flashed down from the sky. The bawan lifted his own blade to parry. The two weapons met high overhead, filling the canyonlike space between the giants with a tremendous clap that rattled the noble’s ears.
The sound had not even died away before Nal’s lance darted forward, a gray bolt of lightning streaking past just yards above Agis’s head. The Joorsh twisted away with surprising agility for his rotund figure, but still took a shallow gash across the abdomen. Several gallons of warm blood spilled from the wound, nearly knocking the noble from his feet as they splashed over his head.
Screaming in rage, Mag’r countered the successful attack by smashing a bare fist down on the lance, snapping the shaft in two. The head of the broken weapon landed a short distance away. Keeping a close eye on the huge feet dancing all around him, Agis scrambled across the rubble and picked it up.
As the noble retrieved the weapon, he heard a tremendous crack far above. He looked up to see the pommel of Mag’r’s sword arcing away from Nal’s face, taking the top mandible of the Saram’s beak with it. The bawan roared in pain and stumbled back, raising his free hand to cover the gruesome wound.
Mag’r moved forward to press the attack, and once more Agis found himself many steps behind the battle. He could see the Joorsh striking repeatedly at the beasthead, rapidly beating down the weaker giant’s guard. Raising the head of Nal’s broken lance, the noble rushed forward. As he came up behind Mag’r, he took a deep breath and, holding the lance in both hands, drove it into the king’s fleshy calf.