The half-elf would have cast a second spell, but Roberc stumbled backward from an ogre blow, almost knocking Taen over. The fighter cursed with obvious frustration. Luckily for the him, the halfling had caught part of the attack on his shield-which now hung uselessly on his arm, bent backward beyond hope.
Seeing his master falter, Cavan leaped forward, forestalling the ogre's follow-up attack. The war-dog danced neatly out of the path of the ogre's club and bit the beast on its thigh. Seeing an opportunity, Taen drew his own sword without thinking and cut downward as the monster lifted both arms to crush the animal worrying at its legs. His elven sword cut a long swath into the ogre's belly; blood, guts, and other effluvia came spilling out as the beast fell backward.
"My thanks," Roberc said as he finished unstrapping his ruined shield and jumped once more into the fray.
Taen had no time to acknowledge the halfling. Three crossbow bolts hissed past his head, and a fourth would have pierced his leg if he hadn't seen it hurtling out of the shadow at the last moment. He flung himself sideways, twisting his hips so that his legs spun over the missile in mid air. It was a defensive move he hadn't used in quite some time, and the half-elf's body protested as it landed back on the ground. There was no time to falter, however, as Taen's ogre opponent reached out a meaty hand grab him. Long fingers latched on to his shoulder with the strength of steel; he could feel his bone quiver beneath the excruciating pressure of the beast's grip.
Unable to bring his sword to bear, Taen beat his fist against the ogre's arm, trying to break the hold. It didn't work. Slowly, inexorably, the half-elf felt himself being drawn toward the ogre's chest. Once there, the beast would envelop him in a crushing hug that would grind his bones to dust.
The words to a spell fluttered in his mind. Taen shouted them out loud, but the pain of the ogre's grapple distracted him, and the spell's energy dissipated harmlessly into the air. The half-elf knew that he had only moments in which to free himself.
Suddenly the ogre pitched sideways, releasing his iron grip. Taen fell backward, his left shoulder nearly numb. Marissa stood beside him, the tip of her staff glowing faintly. The monster roared at the sight of the staff and dived forward, trying to rip the artifact from her hands. Taen called out a warning, but he soon saw that it wasn't necessary. Marissa quickly retracted the staff. Overbalanced, the ogre tripped and stumbled forward. The druid stepped to the side deftly, planted the staff against the ogre, and pushed.
The beast tumbled sideways, rolling over the lip of the bridge and plunging into the darkness below.
Taen rolled to his feet and returned to the battle, relief at Marissa's safety flooding through his body, combating some of the fatigue that threatened to slow down each parry and swing of his sword. The soaring melody of the Song accompanied him into the fray with a strength that he had not experienced since his days as a tael. He settled into the Song, wanting to abandon himself to it completely, but he kept waiting for that dreadful moment when it would drag at the core of his being like a blood-hungry vampire, so he fought his enemies under an uneasy truce with the Song building within him.
Behind him he could hear the druid shouting words to another spell.
Marissa watched the intricate dance of Taenaran's swordplay and marveled, not for the first time, at the half-elf's fluid style, the lithe interplay of body and steel, moving and weaving with an almost unearthly grace. Where Borovazk and Roberc met the ogres' powerful attacks with an almost equal ferocity, the half-elf seemed to flow with his opponent's energy, blending with it instead of meeting it head-on.
To an unschooled observer, it would look like nothing more than a playful dance, a choreographed piece of theater with no application to the real world, but Marissa saw within Taenaran's flowing movements the deadly art of the bladesinger. She'd seen the half-elf use his training in battle before but never like this. Marissa knew the shame that he carried within him, knew that such a burden often caused the young half-elf to fight his trained battle instincts. The result was usually a stilted attack, something that resembled the art she had seen a few times before in her life-like a pseudo-dragon resembles a full-grown wyvern-but never quite matched its purity.
Something had clearly changed for the half-elf-had been changing ever since they started off on this journey, if Marissa was honest. In combat, at least, he seemed no longer to be two persons-a gifted acolyte of an ancient and revered art, and a dishonored exile struggling to find peace-inhabiting the same skin. The druid saw in his uninhibited sword work what he must have been before tragedy and guilt had crippled him. The vision made her smile-not for the destruction Taenaran wreaked, but for the healing that so obviously had taken place.
A furtive movement off to her side caught Marissa's attention. She spun to face it just as a swarm of giant spiders dropped down onto the bridge from the darkness above. The druid cursed as the fat-bodied arachnids scuttled forward on long, spindly legs. She had been too busy focusing on the battle in front of her, not paying attention to any danger which might present itself from above.
She called out a warning as the bloated spiders attacked. One of the monsters leaped toward her, attempting to knock her down with its thick body, which looked to be nearly three feet in diameter. Marissa spun out of the creature's path and brought her staff down on its head. Blood and gore sprayed the bridge as her mystic weapon struck the spider with a meaty thump. The wounded monster let out a horrifying screech and scuttled backward, spinning madly in pain.
Another arachnid darted forward quickly, nearly tripping the druid. She dodged wildly out of the way, breathing a quick sigh of relief as it bit nothing but the air, mandibles clacking together harshly. Marissa's celebration was short lived, however. Two more spiders crawled over the side of the bridge. The druid managed to call fire down upon one of them. It shrieked and died almost instantly, its long legs curling inward as its body smoked and smoldered on the bridge. Its companion, however, scurried around the corpse, finally interposing the bulk of its body between her and her companions. Before she could react, three more of the creatures followed suit. She called out once more to her friends, but the press of the remaining ogres and goblins pinned them to their own defensive ground.
As one, the spiders attacked.
Two of the creatures scuttled forward and caught the druid's staff in their barbed mandibles. Desperately, she tried to shake them off, but their arachnoid strength was too much for her. The remaining two leaped forward. This time, the druid could not avoid them. One of the spiders bit down hard on the flesh of her neck. She screamed once in pain and felt the beast's deadly toxins flow, mixing with her blood. Fire burned within her breast.
Immediately, her vision swam. Horrified, she could feel the poison sapping her strength, sending shuddering spasms like shockwaves through her muscles. Dimly, she recalled the words to a spell that would burn the toxin from her system. Marissa called out the words to the spell just as another spider bit down hard upon her thigh. The fragments of her spell blew away like a candle snuffed by the wind.