Within a few minutes she sat up, and when he helped her to her feet, she stood alone, steadily. The sparkling determination returned to her eyes, and the pale cast of her skin was the only visible reminder of her weakened condition.
"The little beggars are inventive-I'll give them that," noted Ferros Windchisel, indicating the dwarves across the stream.
Ariakas saw that the Zhakar had formed a chain of laborers, passing large rocks from one to the next. The last dwarf in the chain stood at the bank of the stream, pitching the rocks into the water as they reached him. Slowly the line of boulders extended into the water, forming an impromptu jetty, with gaps to allow the water to flow through. Within a few minutes the rudi shy;mentary bridge extended most of the way across the stream.
"We'd better get going," Tale Splintersteel urged, his voice tense and agitated. "They'll be after us!"
"You three go on ahead," suggested Ariakas, the beginnings of a plan taking root in his mind. He studied the Zhakar who gathered at the streambank waiting for the completion of the bridge. "I'll stay back-see if I can't give them a little something to remember us by."
Gently carrying the sword with the crimson blade, Ariakas started back down the slope, taking care to remain out of bow range. Several of the cloaked dwarves saw his descent, shouting and jabbering excitedly, point shy;ing toward the warrior and brandishing their weapons in fury.
With a few crashes and splashes, the bridge was fin shy;ished, and the Zhakar began to pour across, leaping the narrow gaps where water continued to flow. The crowd shy;ing was so frantic that several of them stumbled from the irregular surface, splashing into the liquid they had tried so hard to avoid. Nevertheless, at least fifty of the runty dwarves surged forward in a mass, infused with blood-lust.
As the tightly packed horde raced toward him, Aria-kas slipped and slid farther down the incline until he had almost reached the level of the valley floor. The near shy;est Zhakar raised their weapons, no doubt wondering at the folly of this human who accepted such an unequal battle.
The warrior lifted his sword toward the front of the pack, murmuring a plea to his goddess. As before, Takhi-sis heard, and granted him her favor. The blade began to glow, so brightly that the leading dwarves faltered slightly in their charge, uncertain what would happen next.
They never had time to realize what did. Without a sound, the sword suddenly spit out a searing, brilliant tongue of flame. The fire embraced the leading Zhakar with greedy fingers, devouring flesh and torching robes. Before they could open their mouths or utter any cries of pain, a dozen dwarves had died, blackened to crisp, charred corpses scattered along the valley floor.
Ariakas hefted the blade slightly, allowing the billow shy;ing cloud of fire to expand outward and upward. Now the sound of roaring flames rumbled around him, mixed with the pathetic shrieks of Zhakar dwarves who saw death approaching and could do nothing to avoid it. Flames licked across shriveling dwarven skin, and bod shy;ies wrapped in fire fell to the ground and writhed, smok shy;ing bundles of agony. Billows and sheets of oily flame hissed from one dwarf to the next, seeking, killing.
Those dwarves on the fringes of the assault turned and fled back across the bridge, starkly proving the depth of their water abhorrence. Even in blind flight, the Zhakar crowded onto their impromptu bridge. None of the wretched creatures plunged into the stream, even as the scalding fireball drifted closer.
Finally the swordsman turned the full brunt of the attack against those dwarves who tried to get onto the bridge. The mass of Zhakar disappeared in a howling, smoking inferno, and even when the gouts of fire ceased to belch from the sword, the pile of corpses burned, sending a cloud of black smoke billowing upward into the sky.
Ariakas looked across the valley bottom. He saw a dozen or more Zhakar, still alive, desperately scrambling away from him. Good, he thought. He wanted survivors so that the tale of his might and his brutality would reach the ears of the Zhakar king. Instilling fear within that monarch was a major part of the warrior's plan.
Only then did he look down at the blade. A chill of portent ran through his body as he saw it. When the fires had died and the weapon had performed its deadly work, the steel surface had faded from red, as he had known it would. Now, however, it became a deep, rich blue.
Chapter 20
The Walls of Zhakar
They rested for a full day after the battle, making their camp in a niche on the leeward side of the tall ridge. There they recovered from the exertion and tended their many wounds-all of which, save Lyrelee's, proved to be minor. Though the priestess had been near death during the fight, the regenerative power of Ariakas's healing magic proved astonishingly effective. By the second night there was no sign that her skin had been punc shy;tured.
During this period of rest and recovery, the compan shy;ions kept a careful watch for attackers. The Zhakar knew where they were, they reasoned, since it would have been impossible for them to effectively hide in the open terrain. Still, they saw not a single sign of the stunted dwarves.
"Did we scare them that well?" Ariakas wondered as the sun set that night.
"It's that sword," Tale Splintersteel offered, pointing to the now-azure blade. "I told you-my people know good weapons, and that is one of the best."
"Know them, sure. But do they really fear this sword that much?" The idea that the weapon was all that deterred another attack seemed just a little unsettling to Ariakas. After all, now that the blade had turned blue he was not about to use it for a routine battle demonstra shy;tion. The Dark Queen's prophecy still resounded through his mind, and he vowed not to employ the power until he understood what she meant.
"In the heart of the world, it will set fire to the sky." he murmured, pondering the gleaming weapon.
"What was that?" asked Lyrelee, reclining near the low fire Ferros had built out of dried brush.
"Nothing-just my mind wandering," Ariakas replied hastily.
She looked at him quickly, a glance that seemed to penetrate right through his lie. Still, she settled back onto her rocky pillow and closed her eyes, apparently uncon shy;cerned.
"Keep sharp lookout, tonight," Tale Splintersteel sug shy;gested from his bedroll as Ariakas rose to take the first shift of guard duty. "Zhakar eyes are keen in the dark- and my country folk often favor the early morning hours for an attack."
"I'll keep that in mind," Ariakas retorted scornfully. Just the same, he held his blade out of the scabbard as he climbed to a rocky perch above their camp. From here he could see the slope to all sides of them, as well as the val shy;ley floor stretching to the right and left and the face of the ridge rising opposite them beyond.
The Zhakar made no appearance even through the darkest hours of the night, and when dawn found Ferros Windchisel in the watch seat, there had been not the slightest disturbance or intrusion. They ate a cold break shy;fast and finally returned to the trail, resuming the steep climb that had been interrupted two days before.
Ariakas watched Lyrelee carefully. Though she wore a pack nearly as heavy as his, her steps were firm, her breathing strong. She climbed without speaking, and seemed to show no sign of the nearly fatal wounds she had suffered in the attack.
They crossed three ridges on this day of vigorous marching, and late afternoon found them on a narrow trail that circled the waist of volcanic, looming Mount Horn. Tale Splintersteel had explained that not only did this mountain mark the border of Zhakar's inner realm, it held a watch post garrisoned with a company of dwar-ven guards.