Chapter 73

Day 263:

“See ‘em how?” Dulgan pressed.

John’s hands motioned aimlessly.

“Like they’re really here. In this room with us right now. There. There, and there.” He pointed.

Dulgan walked over to one spot he’d indicated. Vafthundryr shifted, so they wouldn’t ‘collide’.

“Here?” The Dwimar asked.

“He moved.” John’s finger indicated.

Dulgan peered in the direction curiously. “I see nothin’. Wha’ do they loo’ like?”

John kept his finger indicating Vafthundryr. “A Frost Giant, Vafthundryr is wearing leather and fur armor. It’s a good thing the ceiling’s high in here.” He pointed at the second image. “Another Giant, the first one’s daughter, Aurbyda (the Tooth) is encased head to toe in heavy ... bone armor?” He met Veronyka’s interested gaze. “She and Sygraid could almost be twins. The resemblance is that strong.” Aurbyda grinned at his words.

John’s finger pointed at a third spot. Dulgan squinted even harder in the same direction.

“The last one’s a Dwarf. His armor looks exactly like one of the golems I saw at the Ruby Dragon’s lair. Got a build to match your half-brother, Dulgan.” The Dwimar grinned in response. “But he’s sporting a huge, braided beard. I’ve never seen a Dwarf with one so thick.”

Dulgan nodded. “Duin was famous fer bein’ a warrior, no’ a Maker.”

Duin’s image stroked his beard with care, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Then someone pounded on the door from the other side.

“Master Ironhand! Please hurry!” Mokul called.

Dulgan shook off the wonder decorating his face.

“Aye. Ya mus’ come wi’ me if’n ya wanna live.” He announced grimly. “Grab all yer stuff, ‘cause ya won’ be comin’ back.”

“Dulgan?” John cocked his head. “What’s going on? Why such a rush?”

“I’ll explain on th’ way. Hurry!”

The couple scrambled to get themselves in order. Mid-move, John realized something about the Dwarf’s phrasing.

“Dulgan, you’re staying here? Not coming with us?” He confirmed.

“Aye. Th’ Shademaster an’ I ‘ave come ta an accord.” He explained. “I cannae speak o’ th’ details, bu’ they’ll be a good choice fer protectin’ me. Ya were right ‘bout that; twill no’ be long b’fore wha’ I am’ll get out.”

“I’m going to miss you, my friend.” John clasped forearms with him.

Dulgan got his familiar ‘I-know-something’ look. He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, round, metal-backed mirror. Runes decorated the rim, and several adorned the back side. He offered it to John. The glass front was perfectly smooth, but the image reflected wasn’t John’s face in reverse. It was blank instead.

“What is this?”

Dulgan patted his robe. “Part o’ a pair. ‘Bout once e’ry five ta eight days ya’ll be able ta link wi’ me fer a short talk.”

“Wow.” John examined it. “Wish we’d had these a few days ago!”

Dulgan snorted. “Tis th’ work o’ a Master, an’ took most o’ a year ta Make. No’ common a’ all. Th’ Shademaster let me ‘ave it, ‘n exchange fer me Makin’ a set o’ more’n two. Took me ‘bout an hour.”

“Still,” John shook his head in wonder, “that’s fantastic, thanks!”

“Aye, ya’ll ‘ave ta bond wi’ it later. Noo come wi’ me, an’ stay close. I fear we ‘ave little time.”

Sygraid, Rhys and Ililyan bristled with questions for the Dwimar when they exited. In response, Dulgan gave a very short explanation, then chivvied them out the door.

The city streets were busier than John would’ve expected, given the extremely late hour. Or early, depending on how he wanted to view it. After only a few blocks, his paranoia was screaming. He wasn’t the only one either, the images of his equipment’s spirits were also indicating deep unease. Clusters of disreputable-looking Dwarves and armored squads wearing various clan colors made up the bulk of the pedestrians.

“Dulgan,” John leaned over to hiss, “I don’t like the look of this!”

“Aye.” The Dwimar sounded tense. “I dinnae wanna talk ‘bout it ‘n the Oakfall House, bu’ th’ Shademaster b’lieves both Clan Twilight an’ Clan Alpine have betrayed us. Th’ other Clans ‘r’ beginnin’ ta realize it, an’ getting’ prepared fer what’s commin’. If’n ya see Powry wearin’ white with black border, or Dvergyr in dark blue with black, those’re th’ Clans ta be wary of fer sure.”

“And you’re staying?” John was incredulous.

“Aye. Tis time ta stand fer somethin’ bigger’n my own self.” Dulgan replied, holding up his hand. “I have th’ tools ta make a real difference.”

“You know this city’s going to come apart at the seams, right?” John asked.

“Aye, tis likely. Bu’ most o’ th’ Clans ‘r’ no’ likely ta welcome th’ Mage King wi’ open arms. If’n he’s expectin’ an easy fight, twill be sorely disappointed.”

“He breaks a pledge that has stood for centuries.” Mokul jumped in. “If he wishes to fight without honor, the Wraithguard will show him the error of his thinking.”

They turned onto the last block before reaching the massive fortified edifice carved into the mountain at the city’s end. An armed brawl was already in progress. Wraithguard Dwarves of all three types they’d seen were battling with a mixed group of scuzzy-seeming and richly-attired Dvergyr. The bulk of the more well-to-do Dwarves did have blue-with-black clothing, or tabbards and capes with the same color scheme. The more run-down set sported armbands in the same hues. The scrum at the center was a hotbed of furious fighting, swords and daggers flashing in the city’s dim light.

John’s Sight caught a flash of magic he recognized right at the heart of everything.

“Syg! Hal’s in there!” He called.

She scowled, sliding her shield down and gripping her spear’s shaft more tightly.

“With me!” She announced, and launched herself down the street.

The rest of them followed in her wake, with Mokul and the other Wraithguard members announcing their allegiance for the combatants to hear. At the last moment, the Titan swerved to one side, where a cluster of blue/black arm-banded Dvergyr were attempting to flank the Wraithguard ‘line.’ Her steps shook the stone-paved street like an earthquake and frost coated the blade of her spear. An arctic blast of freezing air and ice sprayed out from the tip, followed immediately by her shield slamming into them like a hammer.

She barely even paused as she trampled several underfoot on her way to the middle while John, Ililyan and the rest were hard pressed to keep up. Mokul and the other brown-robed invisi-killers brought up the rear, finishing off those already downed by her assault.

Holding Sygraid’s left flank, John hacked down those too involved in their own combat to realize what was happening. The few who did, and turned to meet this new wave were quickly cut down by the Wraithguard now behind them. A few times, one of those cloaked combatants looked ready to attack John as well, but he motioned with his chin towards the rear guard and announced, “Allies!”

The Tooth hummed joyously in his mind, practically leaping from target to target. His feet and arms too felt like the motions were effortless as his weapon hewed down Dvergyr after Dvergyr. He never tripped, even with all the bodies clogging the stones, and the power behind each blow tore through armor and tissue alike. A few times he was hit by a lucky strike, but his armor held.

“Here!” Sygraid announced, straddling a bloodied form on the ground.

Hal looked like he’d been through a meat grinder, but even unconscious his illusory Dwarf image held. John would have to ask him how he did that, later. Later, when (not if!) the Cambion was safe and healed up.

John and Ililyan stood shield to shield with Sygraid, pushing the snarling throng back while Veronyka guarded their rear. Rhys knelt by their friend, his hands wiping blood away as they examined the extent of his injuries.

“You can heal?” Veronyka demanded, glancing back after a minute.

The Wraithguard who were already engaged recognized their Clan-mates signal that these were allies, so she had a little breathing room. Enough to see that Rhys was indeed performing healing magic on Hal.

“Of course I can heal.” Rhys answered absently. “Fey make very good healers.”

“But, but—weren’t you injured when we first met?” Veronyka stuttered.

Rhys sighed, pausing his work. “I was. Healing myself is much harder than others, so I waited until the fight was ended. Now, please let me work!”

His hands moved with assurance, leaving straightened limbs and unbroken skin behind. Bruises and blood remained, but their friend’s body was mostly whole within minutes.

Meanwhile, each scruffy and less-capably-armed Dvergyr was replaced by an armored and competent fighter when they fell. The skill level of the black-bordering-blue-clad warrior arc facing John, Sygraid and Ililyan jumped, and the trio quickly found themselves being pressured. All three of them had three opponents of their own. Luckily, the Wraithguard allies on either side kept them from being flanked. Sygraid’s ice-coated and Ililyan’s electric spears gave the two of them a decided reach advantage. None of their foes was pole-armed.

John on the other hand, was kicking himself for leaving the lance Dulgan had enchanted for him standing out in the desert. Several sword-armed and partly-armored, blue and black tabard-wearing Dvergyr converged on him with deadly intent. His shield stayed busy intercepting groin and chest thrusts while the Tooth sought exposed necks and heads for return strikes. A few times he hesitated, or thought too long about what action to take, but Duin and Aurbyda’s spirits shot sharp reminders when he did so.

Let it flow! Aurbyda snapped, when his body jerked the wrong way. Like meltwater carving out a channel beneath the snow. We can help.

He took a nasty cut to the forearm for that mistake.

Feel it? Duin asked, after he split one Dwarf’s skull open with an overhand smash. Blue flame licked the wound’s edges. Your mind senses our intent as part of its own. Let us aid your skill.

Is this because—o

Talk later! Fight now! Vafthundyr demanded.

Almost of its own accord, John’s shield smashed out to bloody the nose of split-skull’s replacement. Once his already calculating Warlord mind found and identified the incoming signals from his equipment spirits, he found his movement becoming more fluid. ‘Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast’ was one of the truisms of his old unit. While he couldn’t afford to slow down while fighting for his life, after a year of fairly regular melee combat he possessed a rudimentary (if mostly untrained) sense of what was truly effective versus what wasn’t. Now that he understood what was happening within himself, he could harness that assistance.

The fighting around them grew even more intense, as ones and twos joined each side. The brawl now filled the street from side to side, with the non-Wraithguard Dwarves pushing to cut them off from the rest of the city. Every time they did though, a group of Wraithguard would strike from the rear, opening a channel along one wall.

“Dulgan!” John shouted, as Rhys and Veronyka helped a still-woozy Hal to his feet. “This is getting worse!”

“Shon? Shon!” Hal exclaimed. “We are in danger! We—mu”

“Aye. Aye.” Dulgan interrupted him. “We know. Which way noo?” This last question was aimed at Mokul.

“Through here!” The Wraithguard urged.

Two Watchers were bracketing a now-opened hidden entrance where the street dead-ended against the ridge hillside. The Shademaster’s assistant intercepted several of the newest arrivals and pushed them into place right behind the shield-bearing trio. These Watchers and Nightwalkers bore spears, shields and wore armor. Dulgan grabbed Hal, Rhys and Veronyka in the meantime, dragging that group towards the opening. The Fey and Valkyrie supported the Cambion closely, while the Dwimar swung wide to intercept a lone enemy who’d slipped through the throng.

Dulgan’s target seemed not to even notice him until it was too late. Coming in from the side, Dulgan’s nunchuck-mace walloped the dirty Dvergyr foe’s head. Before the staggered Dwarf could recover, Dulgan followed up with a dagger plunged through his enemy’s eye. He yanked it out with a spray of gore and turned to follow the others once more.

“John! Time ta go!” Dulgan shouted.

John nodded. “Sygraid, give a spray! I’ll cover you!”

The Titan had worked out an incredibly effective technique. She would spray a target’s face with a flurry of ice, and if they were blinded instead of blocking with a shield, or withdrawing she followed up with a neck- or groin-strike using her icy spear. When fighting in the open, or against mobile forces she found it less useful. But in a melee battle, it allowed her to husband her magic use for longer, and kept the opposing line’s shields high. Which meant those flanking her could more easily hit their enemy’s lower torso and extremities. The pile of bodies currently hindering the enemy Dvergyr line was a grim testament to the technique’s efficacy.

Sygraid swung her spear in an arc, releasing a cone of icy slush across the entire group. Most of those facing them were wise to the trick now, and blocked. But that only gave the two Wardens more time to pull back and switch out with the heavily-armed Wraithguard Watchers to their rear.

“Go!” John ordered, keeping an eye on the enemy.

He knew what was coming. As soon as they saw the Titan retreating, the biggest, baddest opposing Dvergyr roared and leaped forward with a saber-like short sword held high. John stepped into the charge, taking the blow easily with his shield and burying the Tooth’s spike between the Dwarf’s eyes. He kicked out, knocking the still-upright corpse into the next most eager opponent. Both went down in a heap, and the line struggled to reform.

John roared, intending to scare the enemy and delay their recovery, but apparently the Wraithguard surrounding him took that as a signal to charge. Chagrined, he could only watch as they streamed around him to punch a deep salient into their opponents’ grouping.

A hand clamped down onto John’s shoulder.

“Come!” Sygraid ordered, right into his ear.

With a grin, he spun and followed her out of the tussling crowd. Dulgan and Ililyan were now bracketing the opening, and the Watchers from before were nowhere to be seen. The Dwimar and Warden waved for Sygraid and John to hurry as a massive roar reached a crescendo behind them. Looking over his shoulder, John was in time to see Legion Dwarves come streaming out of the mountain fortification’s main gate. The well-ordered ranks strode out like they were on parade, only instead of waving to the bystanders, they indiscriminately cut down anyone they saw.

The Wraithguard assault broke their enemy’s will just in time for the Legion to intercept the Clan Twilight Dwarves’ retreat. Caught between the two forces, the odd mix of ragged, scuzzy and well-appointed Dwarves were decimated. Even a few Wraithguard who got too close lost their lives also before someone organized an immediate retreat.

Then Sygraid and John were at the doorway.

“Go! Go! Go!” They both chanted, motioning like a third-base coach to a runner.

A few steps down the stairs they found inside, John realized neither Ililyan nor Dulgan were following.

“What are you doing?” John asked as the Warden took up a protective stance with Dulgan at his back.

The Dwimar was doing something John couldn’t see, and suddenly the opening was shrinking! Both sides moved towards the middle.

“Dulgan!” John repeated.

His friend met his eyes sadly.

“Mokul will guide you!” He called through the rapidly closing portal. “May you find great fortune, my friend!”