Blood pooled in the sand under him, but Rych couldn't spare a glance to see whose it was as he parried the cleaver again.
"You've had this comin' a long time," the troll said as he lifted the cleaver.
While the troll was wasting time saying this, Rych stabbed the troll in the chest.
His foe falling to the sand as Rych removed the claymore, he turned to see that the blood was from both Hoban and Allyn, who lay dead in the sand, blood pouring from multiple wounds. An orc was charging toward the keep gates, blood dripping from his ax. Screaming, Rych ran for the orc and stabbed the greenskin in the back.
"'Ey! Human!"
Rych whirled around to see another orc.
"You killed Gorx!"
"Gorx killed my friends," Rych said with a snarl.
"Yeah, fought 'em, but you stabbed 'im inna back!"
Not seeing the big deal, Rych said again, "He killed my friends!"
Raising his greatsword, the orc said, "Well, now I'm gonna kill you!"
The greatsword was a lot bigger than Rych's claymore, but that meant it took the orc a lot longer to swing it, as he had to wind up to strike, which gave Rych plenty of time to either dodge or parry. An attempt at the latter resulted in an impact of blade on blade that sent convulsions through his entire body, leaving Rych to embrace the efficacy of the former.
Or so he thought—the fourth time he dodged the greatsword, he bumped into Private Nash. That caused Nash to turn around in surprise, leaving him open to an attack from an orc's pulverizer.
Anger got Rych's blood boiling. It wasn't enough that these orcs had to attack, now they were making him screw up his fellow soldiers. Screaming incoherently, he ran at the orc with his claymore.
The orc stepped aside to his left, holding out his greatsword, which cut through Rych's chest plate and stomach as he ran past. White—hot agony sliced through his torso, and his scream became even more incoherent. He flailed his claymore about with his right hand while clutching his injured chest with his left.
Suddenly, the claymore stopped short and wouldn't move. Wincing in searing pain even as he did so, Rych turned to his right to see that the claymore had impaled the orc's head.
"Serves you right," he managed to blurt out through clenched teeth.
He yanked the claymore out of the orc's skull, which shot a lot more pain through his chest. For some reason, the sounds of battle had dimmed, and all Rych could hear was a persistent roaring in his ears.
Using the family weapon as a makeshift walking stick, he stumbled forward in the sand, looking for more orcs to kill.
Twenty—Two
A moment ago, Aegwynn had been standing in Theramore.
A moment ago, Lorena had taken a very deep breath and looked apprehensive. Aegwynn remembered the colonel's words about how she hated magic—not to mention her nausea in response to teleporting last time. Briefly, Aegwynn wondered if it was such a good idea for Lorena to have eaten prior to this.
A moment ago, Jaina Proudmoore had looked determined.
Now, they stood at the mouth of a cave surrounded by a foul—smelling orange mist, leading Aegwynn to understand why Lorena had been so unenthusiastic about coming here. The orange miasma hung in the air like the worst kind of fog. Aegwynn almost felt weighed down by it.
Aegwynn had long since grown inured to the effects of teleportation, so the only disorientation she felt was related to the mist. She shot a glance at Lorena, who looked a bit pale, but was still holding her sword before her, ready for anything.
Jaina, however, looked as pale as Lorena, which was not a good sign.
However, Aegwynn said nothing. There was no going back now, and the last thing Jaina needed was someone acting like a mother hen. Aegwynn herself had certainly hated it when someone—usually Scavell, or, when they were sleeping together, Jonas, or one of the council—fussed over her when she was exhausted and still had to do battle, so she saw no reason to inflict that on Jaina now.
Still, there was cause for concern. Jaina had cast four teleport spells today that Aegwynn knew about—herself to Bladescar, the thunder lizards to Bladescar, the three of them back to Theramore, and the three of them to this cave—plus scrying Zmodlor's location, doing whatever she did to keep the thunder lizards under control, and inuring the three of them to whatever this mist did under normal circumstances. That much casting in one day alone would start to take its toll, and for all Aegwynn knew there was more besides.
As Jaina led the way through the mouth of the cave, Aegwynn wondered when she had stopped thinking of the golden—haired mage as "Lady Proudmoore"—or "that annoying little girl"—and had started thinking of her as "Jaina."
Aloud, she said, "Zmodlor's here, all right." She shuddered. "He's everywhere." The demon had obviously set up shop in this cave, and his essence was in the very rock. She hadn't been so overwhelmed by foulness since she confronted her son at Kharazan—though some of the feeling might have been due to the mist. It only added to the general unpleasantness of the dank cave. Jaina cast a light spell that allowed them to see, but all that served to do was make the mist brighter. Then again, Aegwynn had no interest in getting a better look at the damp walls, stalactites—the points of which threatened the top of her head—and uneven stone floor.
After they'd walked twenty paces into the cave, Aegwynn stiffened. "There's—"
"I've got it," Jaina said. She muttered a quick incantation.
Aegwynn nodded. Both she and Jaina had sensed the simple entrapment spell. A low—level spell that any first—year apprentice could cast successfully, it was probably designed mostly to stop any stray animals or people from wandering in unannounced. It was unlikely that someone would be walking about up in this nightmare, but Aegwynn had seen stranger in her time. It would be just like some wolf or a lunatic mountain—climbing dwarf to come up here and meander into the cavern just as Zmodlor and his minions were in the middle of casting something that required concentration. Best not to take chances.
However, dismantling the spell might well serve as an alarm. Aegwynn made sure to keep Lorena and her sword and Jaina and her magicks between herself and the rest of the cave at all times.
Moments later, Lorena cried, "Get down!"
Not being a fool, Aegwynn immediately dropped to the cold floor. Lorena did likewise.
Jaina, however, stood her ground and held up her hands. The fireball that roared toward her looked about to consume her—but it stopped an arm's—length before doing so, dissipating instantly.
Clambering to her feet, Aegwynn said, "I'd say they know we're here."
"Indeed." Jaina's voice was only a whisper.
Oh yes.
Aegwynn sighed. The voice seemed to come from everywhere—a popular demon trick. "Can the theatrics, Zmodlor. We're not your brainless minions, and we're not impressed."
Aegwynn! What a pleasant surprise. I had thought you had long since died at the hands of your son. How fortunate that I get to do it myself, instead. I owe you for what you did to me.
Even as the demon ranted, Aegwynn heard strange cackling noises.
"I know that laugh." Lorena sounded disgusted. "Grellkin."
Sure enough, a score of little demons, covered in fur that matched the color of the mist, scampered toward them.
Moving forward to protect Aegwynn and Jaina both, Lorena said, "I really really hate these guys." Then she charged ahead and attacked.
The fuzzy creatures were too much for one woman to handle; luckily, there were two women to do so. Jaina cast several spells that had various effects on the grellkin. Some had their fur catch fire. Others stopped breathing. Others were blown into the cave walls by sudden gale—force winds in the enclosed space. None of these were particularly impressive spells, but they were all minor enough that they allowed Jaina to conserve her power.