He scrambled to his feet, hoping to rush past his stunned adversary, but the plan was short-lived. Shaking his great head in a rustle of thick, matted mane, Grelthus rose to all fours and glowered at Halthak once more.
“You are a troublesome creature, Half-Ork,” Grelthus said, his eyes eerily luminous in the shifting glow of the Essence Fount. “You have more fire in you than I thought.”
“Keep your praise,” Halthak called back. “Leave me be, and I will trouble you no more.”
The Wyrgen’s only reply was a rumbling laugh, and he began to pace forward in a low crouch, his deep chest almost brushing the floor. The healer edged back from him.
“I will die before I yield to you, Grelthus. You must realize that by now.”
Grelthus gave a rolling shrug of his immense shoulders as he crept forward. “It is no matter. There are things your body can teach me, even in death. And I must admit that the baser part of my nature hungers to see your blood at the moment, healer.”
Halthak felt a chill at the creature’s hard, indifferent tone. He wondered if all Wyrgens were so cruel, or if Grelthus had been driven to this state by solitude and what he had witnessed. He stepped to his right as the Wyrgen circled to his left. Maybe he could keep the creature talking, keep him distracted.
“I-” he began, and then Grelthus sprang at him.
He twisted back and to one side, but to no avail. The Wyrgen’s weight slammed into him, tearing him from his feet and knocking the wind from him. Halthak writhed and thrashed, but he was clasped in thick, furry arms corded with muscle, and he might as well have been a flailing child for all the effect his struggles had on his captor. Grelthus wrenched him around and threw a mighty forearm across his chest, pinning him tight and facing away, and the other hand rose to clutch at Halthak’s throat with curved talons.
“Cease your struggles, Half-Ork,” Grelthus hissed in his ear. “Or I will rip out your throat.”
Halthak wheezed a laugh, and tightened the grip of his own hand upon the beast’s forearm to apprise the Wyrgen of its presence there. His magic swelled within him. “Best hope for a clean kill, Grelthus, or it will be your own throat you open.”
The Wyrgen froze. Hot, rank breath washed over the side of the Half-Ork’s face as Grelthus panted and considered.
Halthak considered as well, his mind racing. How quickly could he bring his magic to bear, particularly if affected by so grievous an injury? Halthak himself did not know, but he meant to try. Talons tightened on Halthak’s throat, and beads of scarlet slid down his neck. Grelthus grunted as his own throat dimpled in response, and tiny rivulets of blood slicked into his fur, but he did not loosen his hold. Halthak felt the Wyrgen’s forearm tense, and he braced himself for the release that would come in one form or another.
Suddenly a new voice intruded. “Release him, dog.”
Halthak strained his eyes to the side to see Amric and Valkarr stalking toward them along the terrace, bared steel in their fists. Behind them trailed Bellimar, holding Halthak’s staff in one pale hand, and Syth, the strange prisoner from the cage of blue flame. The latter wore polished black gauntlets now, clenched at his sides. His clothing rippled about him in fitful swirls, and he made no attempt to mask the burning hatred in the stare he leveled at Grelthus.
“How is your ailment, swordsman?” Grelthus sneered. “You should flee Stronghold before it claims you.”
“We have unfinished matters between us first,” Amric said, still striding forward. “And they start with our friend you are holding there.”
“Then your arrival is well-timed, as I was about to give him a look at his own insides. Keep your distance!”
Amric shook his head. “I think not, Grelthus. I am close enough to cut you down like the murderous jackal that you are, if you are foolish enough to make your strike. The healer’s life is the only thing protecting yours at the moment.”
“Your kind cannot match my speed,” the Wyrgen snarled, but Halthak could feel the great form tensing. Those dark eyes darted back and forth as Amric and Valkarr spread out to either side of him.
“We are prepared this time,” Valkarr said, his scaly tail lashing behind him as he crouched. The Sil’ath warrior’s gaze raked over them, from the blood soaking both of their clothing and fur to the fresh spatters on the flagstones beneath them. “And you are wounded now. Unsteady.”
Grelthus bared his fangs at Valkarr in a rumbling growl.
“And,” said Amric, “even if you can escape ‘our kind’, are you so confident you can escape your own?”
The growl sputtered and died, and Halthak felt the talons twitch at his throat. “What do you mean?”
“Your beloved people are scaling their way up the chamber’s levels to reach you as we speak. I would wager we have no more than a minute before they arrive. We cannot spare the time to fence with words.”
Even as Amric uttered the words, however, several hunched shapes darted onto the terrace from the lower stairs, back in the direction from which he and the others had come. Eerily silent, the corrupted Wyrgens cast about in a flurry of motion, their muzzles upturned to taste the air. Their glowing gazes fell upon the group across the arc of the balcony wall, a scant two hundred yards away, and they broke into triumphant, strident howls. The call was answered from the depths below as a sudden cacophony of savage cries filled the vast chamber.
More shapes spilled from that distant stairwell and over the stone railing to drop into crouches on the flagstones. The creatures lunged forward into loping runs, bounding toward them.
“You were right, Grelthus,” Amric said, his lips pressed into a grim line. “Your kind are indeed fast.”
A frantic whine escaped from between the Wyrgen’s clenched teeth. Gazing upon the thundering horde that approached, Halthak had to agree; he felt like whimpering himself.
“Release the healer,” Amric said. “We run or die, now.”
“You said it yourself, human,” Grelthus said, his frantic gaze flicking between the approaching Wyrgens and the warriors surrounding him with drawn steel. “The Half-Ork’s life is the only thing that ensures mine. Else you will surely cut me down.”
“Release him, and we can settle matters between us once we escape your people,” Amric commanded. “You cannot outpace them while wounded and carrying a captive. Release him, or we all die here.”
Grelthus hurled Halthak from him with a roar of fear and rage, then wheeled and bolted back in the direction from which he had come. The healer stumbled and was caught by Syth.
“Quickly, follow Grelthus!” Halthak shouted. “The glass wall is raised in the room we left, and we can shut out the creatures if we get there before he shuts us out as well!”
They raced after the Wyrgen. Ahead, more hulking lupine shapes were pouring onto the terrace beyond the stairs that led to the viewing chamber they had to reach. Behind, the savage tide hurtled after them.
Amric grimaced as he reached the foot of the narrow stairway. Like its twin on the other side, it led from the terrace to a landing atop a square bulkhead, which then opened onto the much wider steps before the viewing chamber. He had hoped to defend these narrow access points until the wall could be lowered, but he could see now that he needed a new strategy. Several of the beasts crowded up the narrow stairs on the other side, while still more hurled themselves at the bulkhead with prodigious leaps, catching at the edge to haul themselves over the side. One of the corrupted Wyrgens caught Grelthus on the broad upper steps, and the pair fell to grappling, snarling and thrashing back and forth as they tore at each other with claw and tooth.