Similar ghastly beings came running and riding out of the ravine; large and small, unspeakably ugly and horrific to see.
Winged monsters as tall as a house crawled up the ravine sides and threw themselves off to take advantage of updraughts and prevailing winds. They sailed over the heads of the ubariu and with their long claws ripped open the scalps of the defending warriors.
The catapults had opened fire now and were keeping up an answering barrage on the attackers.
Flying beasts attacked the armored wagons, landing on them or climbing on top to destroy the wind sails, or to strip off the iron plates to get inside. The allied army had to support the vehicles under attack.
Suddenly the shrillest of screams issued from the depths of the chasm; it was louder than any other noise. The voice was so loud that it cracked the rocks at the side of the chasm. Friend and foe alike stopped in their tracks in utter horror and the monsters ceased their onslaught. They were terrified of their own kind.
“Ubar protect us,” whispered Sirka, flinching and stepping back involuntarily. “A kordrion! Only the cry of a kordrion can split rocks, it says in the books. Nothing can hold it back if it escapes.”
Furgas scuffed. “And there isn’t anyone to hold it back, Sirka.” He pointed to Lot-Ionan. “Your last hope lies there. The old man has failed.”
The hand of the magus moved. Assumed dead, he still managed to direct a dark green beam at Furgas.
It swept the technical genius off his feet and sent him flying up toward the hub until suspended exactly above it. Then the wizard broke off the ray and Furgas sank down. At the last moment he put out a hand to grab one of the reinforcements.
The woman took a shot at Lot-Ionan but the arrow never made it. Magic forced it to hang in the air. Lot-Ionan had been prepared for the attack.
“Great! The stone is up there now. It’s just got to get into the setting.” Ireheart ran to confront the archer-woman, Goda at his heels. “I’ll take her, Scholar. You find a way to get Lot-Ionan up to the diamond.”
Tungdil and Sirka helped the magus to his feet.
Lot-Ionan drew the arrow out of his flesh and discarded it. “It’s not so easy to kill a magus,” he said with a peculiar smile. “Evil will not prevail.” He grasped the iron rings to start the climb.
A bolt of lightning struck from the center of the artifact, sending the wizard sailing through the air to land four paces away. He lay groaning as smoke poured out of his body.
“Lot-Ionan!” Tungdil ran to his side. The wizard’s hand was badly burned and the skin was flaking off onto the ground. Blood seeped out of the blackened flesh. His eyes had turned back in his head and he was convulsing.
Sirka stared. “It’s because his soul is not true,” she realized with horror. She watched the battle rage. “What now?”
Their army was holding their ground on nearly all sides, but a few of the creatures had broken through the defense line. And it was these misbegotten beings that were now heading toward the artifact. They were well aware what had held them prisoner for so long in their black ravine. They were desperate to destroy it.
“I don’t know,” Tungdil replied quietly. Raising Bloodthirster he mounted his befun and rode to confront the monsters. “I’ll keep them busy. Then we’ll have to see. Look after the magus.”
I reheart had reached the archer and smashed her bow just as she was notching her next arrow. It fell harmlessly to the ground and she leaped back in fury, drawing her sword.
His eyes flashed. “So, you cowardly murderess. Let us see what battle skills you have now that I’ve broken your favorite toy.” He dealt her a blow with his crow’s beak.
She sidestepped deftly and launched a kick but he was able to ward it off with the handle of his ax. He drove the jagged point, where the spike had broken off, deep into her flank, tearing a gaping wound. She fell back, gasping.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet, you crafty bitch,” he crowed and, whirling his ax, was about to strike when she threw her sword.
It missed him and he heard Goda cry out.
Up until recently there would have been nothing that could have distracted him in combat, but his concern for Goda did so now. He turned.
The archer’s sword was stuck deep in Goha’s arm, and the impact had forced her backwards-right up against the rings of the artifact.
“Vraccas! No!” yelled Boindil, thinking of what Flagur had said. In his mind’s eye he saw Goda transformed to ashes, torn by lightning bolts, consumed by flames…
But nothing happened.
Before he could realize how surprised he was, he felt a sharp pain in his side. It had a hellish kick. Turning, he faced the flying fist of the archer-woman.
“Not so fast!” he exclaimed and hit at her hand with the flat of his battleax. There was a loud crack on contact and the finger bones crunched. Without waiting to see what she was doing, he dealt her an uppercut with the jagged edge, shattering her chin.
She fell to the ground but still slashed out with her dagger.
Ireheart sprang to one side and the glistening knife-tip missed him. “My turn,” he laughed, lifting his weapon high over his head to slam it down with all his strength. “What does a skull do when it bursts?”
The woman had no answer. Under the blow from his ax her head demonstrated the solution to his riddle.
From far above Furgas shouted. He had found his footing on one of the cross-bars and sat there, condemned to watch and wait, which was what he had demanded the others should do.
“We’ll deal with you in a minute,” Ireheart called up. He raced to Goda’s side. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was careful, master.” Laying his hand on the sword handle he pulled it out of her arm. Goda gave a quiet moan. He showed her the sword. “Never throw your weapon unless you have a second one,” he reminded her. “She still had her little toothpick.”
Goda noticed the blood trickling out of his side. “I can see.”
“That? Only a scratch.” He inspected her back for any scorch marks on the armor. Nothing. A slight giddiness forced him to plant his feet firmly on the ground.
“Goda, Ireheart!” called Sirka. “Come over here. The magus has something to say.”
It was only now that the two dwarves saw Lot-Ionan stretched out on the ground next to Rodario. “Oh no! Did he fall?” asked Boindil somberly. “Now we’ll need a catapult to get him up there.”
They ran to the magus. His breath was short and he was obviously in great pain. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “I didn’t fall. The artifact rejected me,” he explained.
Ireheart looked up at Furgas. “Fine artifact this one is. Why doesn’t it grill him instead of you?”
Lot-Ionan turned his pale blue gaze on Goda. “You must go and complete the task.”
“Me?” The dwarf-maiden raised her night star as if in excuse. “I’m a warrior and-”
“The rune master knew and I saw it with my own eyes, too,” he interrupted, speaking hoarsely. “Goda, you bear within you the gift to use magic. And unlike mine your soul will be pure and innocent.”
“Innocent?” Rodario scoffed. “It’s a good thing the artifact does not have ears, after what I heard in Pendleburg.”
Goda blushed. Ireheart looked sternly at Rodario. “We were doing wrestling drills, actor. She is still untouched.”
Lot-Ionan gazed steadily into Goda’s brown eyes. “I don’t know how-perhaps from the magic source, or perhaps you’ve had it from birth.”
“Is that what you and the rune master were talking about at the campfire that night?” Rodario remembered the evening he had shared the strange spice with Flagur and seen the two men talking.
“Yes. I did not want to tell Goda until we had completed our mission. You might have been my famula.” He shut his eyes, and his teeth were chattering. “Climb up, Goda.” His words could hardly be heard now. “Kill Furgas, put the diamond in the setting and save Girdlegard.”