"Impossible!" snapped the dark figure at the table.
When he didn't elaborate, Ariakas pressed, his tone hard. "Why is it impossible?"
"Your companion …" replied Tale Splintersteel. "His very presence is an affront to me and my people. He should have the decency to remove himself from my sight."
"Hey, you're no pretty boy yourself!" snapped Ferros Windchisel. "Talking about affronts-"
"Perhaps you could wait over there," Ariakas said softly provoking a sputter of indignation.
"I will grant you your interview, human," noted Tale Splintersteel, "if you will first grant me a small entertain shy;ment."
"I'm no harpist," growled Ariakas.
"Not that kind of entertainment-but something that falls well within your obvious skills."
"What do you have in mind?" Ariakas felt an ominous sense of suspicion.
"Kill the mountain dwarf. We shall discuss your busi shy;ness over his bleeding remains," suggested Tale Splinter-steel conversationally.
"Hey-get your hands off me!" demanded Ferros Windchisel. Ariakas whirled to see three or four Zhakar bearing the Hylar to the floor, though Ferros kicked and punched, throwing two of the Khalkist dwarves off.
In that split second, Ariakas made his decision. His hands grasped the sword hilt over his left shoulder, and with one whistling slice the white blade flew from the scabbard, whipped through the air, and cut a deep gouge in the shoulder of the Zhakar holding Ferros's arm. With a cry, the wounded dwarf dropped to the ground, and the entire bar exploded into uproar. Ferros cursed and drew a small axe from his belt, forcefully chopping his other captor.
"Kill them both!" howled Tale Splintersteel, leaping to his feet and gesturing his followers forward. Even in the confusion, Ariakas was surprised to note that the influ shy;ential Zhakar was little more than three feet tall-a foot shorter than Ferros Windchisel.
Then armed dwarves surged at them from all sides. "Back to back!" the warrior shouted, and the Hylar piv shy;oted to match his own maneuver. The two fighters fended off a press of Zhakar dwarves, Ariakas driving his white blade over and over into the crowd of shadowy figures.
"Hold, you fools!" Tale's voice rose to hysterical levels, and the chaotic crowd of attackers paused for a moment.
"Form ranks!"
"Quick-over here!" grunted Ferros, darting toward the wall of the large room. Ariakas followed, realizing that their slim chances improved if they could get solid cover at their backs.
"After them!" cried Tale Splintersteel. The horde of howling Zhakar must have numbered a hundred or more, and as Ariakas killed the first two it seemed that ten-twenty!-more leapt in to take their places. He grunted as a steel blade bit into his arm, and then cursed as another cut gouged his knee-even as both attackers fell dead from the lightning-fast back-and-forth of his counterblows.
"I'm down!" gasped Ferros Windchisel, collapsing back against the wall, pierced by a Zhakar sword.
Ariakas stepped to the side, straddling the body of his friend as the rabid dwarves lunged closer, driven to fury by the prospect of victory. The slashing of that white blade couldn't hold them at bay for long. His weapon seemed to be the only brightness in the place, gleaming like ivory as it rose and fell. What was it about that sword?
Call on her name in a cause that pleases her, and the great fury of her vengeance will be revealed in your hand.
"Well, Queen," he muttered. "If ever I've had a dire need, this is it!" He brandished the sword, not sure what to expect. A sneaking Zhakar hacked a deep cut into his thigh, and he shouted in pain. Blood trickled down his leg, and Ariakas wanted to slump back to the wall. Only the knowledge of Ferros Windchisel's inevitable fate kept him on his feet.
Snarling his frustration, Ariakas swung the weapon hard enough to decapitate the Zhakar who had wounded him. "Please, Mistress!" he cried, in real desperation. "In the name of Takhisis, all-powerful Queen of Darkness, please come to my aid!"
The hilt trembled in his hand, groaning with a sound reminiscent of the crushing avalanches he had heard throughout the winter. A deep rumbling shook the very foundations of the inn. Even the Zhakar sensed the dis shy;turbance, ceasing their attacks and falling silent in suspi shy;cion and fear.
Abruptly, a blast of cold air slashed him in the face, and a noise like a howling blizzard shrieked through the Fungus Mug. Wind eddied and swirled, driving stinging needles of ice against Ariakas-but that was nothing compared to the fate of those who stood at the other end of his sword. An explosive cone of murderous frost swept outward, freezing flesh and blood, slaying dozens of shocked, terrified Zhakar in the instant of its assault. Whirlwinds gusted through the room, sweeping over tables and chairs, frosting clothing and skin into brittle sheets of ice. Across the room, shutters erupted outward, and the howling of wind rose.
In panic, the surviving Zhakar ran screaming away from this nightmarish warrior and his deadly weapon. Ariakas looked for Tale Splintersteel in the crush, but he could see no sign of the dwarven merchant-lord. Their business was not concluded yet.
As a wide circle opened around him, Ariakas seized Ferros under one shoulder and roughly lifted the Hylar to his feet. Supporting his injured companion in one hand and brandishing the blade in the other, the man slowly dragged them both from the Fungus Mug. Dur shy;ing his deliberate advance to the door, none of the Zhakar made a move against him, perhaps because fully a quarter of the bar was filled with frozen dwarf statues, mute reminders of the price of resistance. The rest had been frozen by fear.
Finally, the pair tumbled across the threshold and into the alleyway beyond. A crowd had gathered, but these humans and Zhakar quickly parted as Ariakas, growling as he breathed, half carried Ferros away from the Fungus Mug. He stopped for a moment, realizing that he still bore his sword. As he moved to resheath the weapon, Ariakas looked at his sword and nearly dropped the dwarf in his astonishment.
The gleaming blade, once pure white, had changed to an absolutely unblemished sheen of darkest, inky black.
Chapter 13
The Way of the Temple
Ariakas supported Ferros as they stumbled down the alley, but the dwarf quickly slumped, a dead weight. The human lost his balance, and the pair tumbled into the wet gutter, blood from their wounds mingling with the effluence of the street.
"Thanks, warrior," grunted the dwarf, each word pushed forth with audible effort.
"Shut up," Ariakas groaned back. "Save your strength -I'm not gonna have you die after I went to all that trouble on your behalf."
" 'Fraid you're outta luck-that bastard stuck me pretty good." Ferros lifted his hands from his belly. Both palms were smeared with dark, sticky blood.
"Hang on," Ariakas commanded him. Pushing him shy;self upward with his hands he reached his knees, and then laboriously climbed to his feet. His left leg and both arms throbbed from nasty wounds, though the bleeding had subsided somewhat.
Reaching for the dwarf, he hoisted Ferros to a sitting position. "Hold that wound tight," he instructed.
"What d'you think yer doing?" demanded Ferros, with spirit.
"Shut up," Ariakas repeated. Kneeling, he grasped the dwarf and hoisted him over his back. Ferros grunted in irritated surprise, but kept his hands tightly pressed to the hole in his belly.
Stumbling like a drunkard, Ariakas struggled to retain his balance. He knew that if he were to fall he would never get up again-at least, not with Ferros on his back. Slowly at first, then with greater steadiness and delibera shy;tion, the human carried the dwarf to the end of the alley and turned onto Bridge Road. He didn't make for his house, however. Instead, his steps carried him up the long, climbing road to the temple of Luerkhisis.