“My Lord, it should perhaps be pointed out that any magic worked here may not be fully in effect, as of yet. It is possible that the Lamia’s party has done something, yet given themselves enough time to escape the city before the full ramifications are felt.”
“I know that,” Balan muttered, clopping across the floor and ascending the stairs back up.
“It should also be noted that, in any event, it is not in your interest for Danavod or her creatures to learn more of what happened here. If the Great Dragon learns of your manipulations, surely her wrath will be great.”
Balan sighed. “If you are saying we should kill the monkeys, and the kitty cat too, I am already ahead of you. As usual. The problem is that our people are spread around every part of this city, beyond summoning distance. All I have in the palace at the moment is a few Bearded Devils and a flock of your brethren. And you can’t handle them.”
“Miss Uella, perhaps, has a friend nearby who might be more effective, Lord.”
Balan stopped. He turned around to look at the succubus, who had arisen on the dais and was sulkily rearranging her gown.
“Probably should have asked a favor before I knocked her on her ass,” Balan muttered, then cleared his throat and held out his hands.
“Honey-pot!” he called in his smarmiest tone. “I am so sorry…”
*
John Deskata took command as the party shook themselves off and ran for the footbridge back toward Vod’Adia’s streets, surprising Tilda more than anyone. She knew whatever he had tried to do to get the wizard Phinneas Phoarty to take him back to Miilark had failed, and she had seen the stark devastation on John’s face as his last hope of reaching home in time was lost. That look was gone now. Deskata’s green eyes burned and his booming voice was that of a Legion Centurion. He was in battle, and fully comfortable in the moment.
Nesha-tari’s lightning attack had tossed only a few hobgoblins limply into the air, but it was enough to slow the whole mass of them. A few shot arrows that fell short as the party clambered across the barren open area, trailing nine columns of gray dust as they ran. Deskata reached the footbridge first and turned to bark orders as the others ran past him and across, single file.
“Occupy the house as a fort! Archers upstairs. Heggenauer and Amatesu, you are on the front door. Magi take cover as a reserve. We are going to hold every doorway and stairwell, and thin the hobgoblin herd until we can cut a way out through them.”
“We will be surrounded in a house,” the Duchess Claudja said as she ran past John.
“We are surrounded in the whole city. We are going to make the hobs want to stop chasing us. Then we run.”
Tilda had stayed at the back of the line in case any of the hobgoblins came forward from the rest into bow range, but the creatures were advancing slowly in a line, spread out so that another lightning bolt would not hit so many of them. She and Shikashe were the last to the bridge and while John waved her past, he held out a hand to stop the samurai. John rapped the bottom of his shield on the stone floor of the arching bridge.
“Thin the herd?” he said, and Shikashe gave a nod.
Tilda stopped jogging across the bridge and turned. “John?”
“Go on, Tilda. Second floor. Shoot from the windows.”
Tilda looked toward the corner house where the party had begun the last night, which Heggenauer was just entering with his shield and mace at the ready. It was not far from the bridge but beyond what was likely to be useful range for her short bow. Zeb had stopped in the middle of the bridge to look back at Tilda. His crossbow probably had the range to reach from the windows, but from what Tilda had seen so far the man was a terrible shot.
John and Shikashe pushed Tilda ahead of them as they moved to the middle of the bridge, but she went no further.
“John, I am not going to leave you out here. Pull back to the house with the rest of us.”
A hobgoblin shot an arrow on a high arc, but it fell just short of the bridge. The mass of them crept closer.
“Do what you are told, Tilda.” John drew his sword and turned his back on her. Shikashe had knelt for a moment and was holding his white katana in front of him in both hands, eyes closed and speaking softly.
“Second floor,” John barked. “Go.”
Tilda spoke Miilarkian. “I will not abandon the leader of my House on the battlefield.”
John Deskata looked back at her, his eyes shining green in a face covered with grime and dust. He looked only for a moment before turning back, as an arrow hit the bridge just a few yards in front of his shield.
“Baj Nif,” John said. “Take her.”
Zeb was still waiting on the bridge as well. He raised an eyebrow at Tilda, but she gave him a hard look and he made no move.
“I don’t hear beating feet,” John said over his shoulder.
“I am not going anywhere,” Tilda repeated. An arrow crashed against John’s shield. Shikashe had finished his ritual and moved into a crouch behind John and the tower shield, now with his katana and wakizashi in either hand.
“Tilda,” Zeb said.
“You go, Zeb. Run.”
“I won’t,” the man from the Riven Kingdoms said. “Not this time. Not without you.”
Tilda stared at him. His typical grin was nowhere to be found, and without it his eyes did not have their look of laughing. For the first time, Zeb Baj Nif looked determined. And forceful.
“You people are crap for a good plan,” John said over his shoulder as a spent arrow whistled past him along the floor of the bridge.
Tilda swore and pushed past Zeb, running all-out for the house. He turned and followed her, ring mail jingling, but she easily outpaced him and flew through the front door where Heggenauer, Claudja, and Phin Phoarty were dragging over anything that might make a barricade. Amatesu had paused and was looking out the door toward the bridge with her mouth tight in a deep frown. Nesha-tari sat on the bottom of the stairs, looking tired and haggard and with perspiration standing on her brow, but she squeezed aside as Tilda pounded up the stairs to the second floor, ran to the front of the house, and threw open the shutters of a window facing the bridge.
The hobgoblins were still advancing carefully, four or five among the fifty shooting bows at the centurion and the samurai crouched in the center of the bridge behind John’s tower shield. Tilda drew her own bow to its fullest pull until her arm shook, composite layers of bone and horn creaking, and released a shot that made the string hum. The yellow-fletched arrow arced high through the gray sky, but struck in the ditch just short of the mass of hobgoblins. As though it had been a signal, a dozen of the largest hobs encased in heavy splint mail broke from the group and pounded at the bridge, hurling hand axes before they raised spiked morning stars.
John and Shikashe did not wait to receive them. The ex-legionnaire rose and charged behind his shield as the hobgoblins hit the bridge, stumbling and banging into each other as the twelve of them tried to fill the space that could barely accommodate two abreast. Deskata plowed into them and Shikashe rose behind him, his two swords flashing in the gray light.
Zeb had made it upstairs and he stumbled to the window next to Tilda’s. The two of them stared, just watching. Steel rang on steel as the hobgoblins closed into a dense mass, but John held the end of the bridge with his Legion short sword darting around either side of his tower shield like the tongue of a snake, sending hobgoblins reeling away to tangle with their fellows. Shikashe cleared room with a flashing slash that sent a helmet spinning into the air with a head still in it, and continued to hack and stab around John’s shoulders with both of his white-bladed swords humming in the air.
“Ayon’s flaming arse.” Zeb blasphemed. “Those two are going to run out of hobgoblins.”
The wild melee held at the front of the bridge, but the hobgoblins were not entirely stupid. Tilda saw several from the back of the pack break off and drop out of sight into the ditch the bridge spanned. If they got up the other side they would be behind John and Shikashe.