Using the Shaft of Hiddukel as a guide, he teleported himself through the ether, landing right by the side of the half-giant.
The gray wizard materialized on a wide plaza with a pristine lake nearby and mountain ridges flanking the horizons. Ankhar the Truth was there, and shockingly, he was engaged in a fight for his life.
A fight, by all appearances, the half-giant was about to lose.
A man Hoarst recognized as Jaymes Markham was standing over Ankhar, sword upraised, ready to strike the killing blow. The half-giant was sprawled on the ground, clawing for purchase, trying without success to evade the inevitable blow.
Hoarst wasted no time. He spat one word, pointing at the emperor, and released a stream of magic missiles from his fingertips. The first of the blazing bolts struck the man in his shoulder, knocking him back, breaking the line of the downward stab so the big sword not only missed the half-giant, but even missed the ground. Jaymes stumbled again, gasping with pain as the second bolt seared into his chest.
The emperor recovered quickly and used the blazing sword to knock away the next of the magic missiles… and the next. Parrying each, he kept the blasts from striking his body but was forced steadily backward, away from the half-giant who was gaping in amazement at his unbidden benefactor. Slowly, groggily, Ankhar pushed himself to his feet. By that time Jaymes had fallen back to the rank of dwarves ringing the plaza. The half-giant raised his spear and started toward the human.
“No!” Hoarst barked.
“Who are you to give me commands?” growled the half-giant.
“The one who would save your life-and your army!” snapped the Thorn Knight. “Now come with me!”
He tugged at the brutish commander’s wrist, and perhaps because he was still stunned and shocked, Ankhar let himself be pulled along. Hoarst and the half-giant retreated through the line of ogres standing on the lakeside edge of the plaza. It was not hard to see the ogres were in dire straits: surrounded on three sides by superior numbers with the deep, impassable body of water at the rear.
“I can get you out of here right now! We’ll carry the fight to a fortress in the emperor’s heartland! Will you come with me?” demanded the Thorn Knight.
Ankhar cast an anguished glance at the line of knights and dwarves, rallying around their wounded leader. The half-giant growled, an ominous rumble of sound that came from somewhere deep within him. The massive body trembled, and Hoarst momentarily feared the brute would be guided by his savage temper.
But somehow the mighty leader shook off the temptation, merely smacking his fist into his palm with a great thwack. “All right,” he said, glaring down at Hoarst. “How will you do this?”
“Form a line; have your troops hold out as long as possible while the enemy attacks. I am going to cast a spell that will create a door to safety. When you step through this door, it will take you to the fortress I spoke about. And you can bring as many of your ogres as are able to get away.”
“Let me see this door!” demanded the half-giant skeptically.
“Very well. But once the spell is cast, I cannot change it. The door will last for some length of time, maybe half an hour. You should go through first, but tell your ogres to keep following you.”
Ankhar glowered at Hoarst. “Why are you helping me?”
“You will help me if you come to this fortress,” the Thorn Knight said honestly. “I need warriors, and you need a place where you can make a stand. I believe we are helping each other.”
Once more the half-giant had to struggle against his own instincts to charge the enemy Solamnics and dwarves. Companies of humans were taking up positions on the flanks, other men and dwarves were bringing forward water, replacement weapons, and fresh horses. Clearly the respite in the battle would not last much longer.
“Cast your spell!” Ankhar ordered.
Hoarst nodded, ignoring the half-giant’s brusque tone; there would be time for that later. He went to the wall of one of the great charcoal factories, behind a shed where they were for the most part out of sight of the enemy troops. He took several small diamonds from his pouch and pressed the hard chips of stone into the wooden panels of the wall, outlining a rough rectangle some five feet wide and almost nine high. Closing his eyes, he began to chant.
Ankhar knew enough about spellcasting that he simply stood there and watched while Hoarst worked his magic. It was a complicated chant, full of barely-human sounds, augmented with many intricate gestures of the spellcaster’s hands. For sixty heartbeats, the Thorn Knight spoke, then for sixty more, barely drawing a breath. When he finished, the Thorn Knight staggered weakly, and only the half-giant’s reflexive catch prevented him from falling.
“Look!” grunted one of the ogres.
Hoarst shook off the fatigue and did, indeed, look. The area outlined by the diamonds was a shimmering surface of blue light, with arcs of power crackling across it and sparks trailing to the ground. It hummed with an otherworldly force, a thrumming they could not only hear but also feel in the pits of their stomachs.
“What is that?” demanded Ankhar.
“It is the door-the door between dimensions!” Hoarst snapped. “Now let’s go!”
“You go first,” the half-giant prodded.
“All right,” said the wizard. “I will. But you must come quickly with as many ogres as you can; I don’t know how long it will last.”
Ankhar nodded and quickly indicated some of his warriors-and one terrified, plump ogress-bringing them into a queue next to the wall. At the same time, the humans and dwarves shouted their war cries and commenced another rush across the plaza.
Hoarst took one last look, then stepped into the blue aura, allowing the magic to sweep him away.
At sunset scouts brought word that a brigade of troops was marching down the road from the High Clerist’s Pass, coming to cement the coup that replaced the emperor with the lord regent in Palanthas. Blayne went to the city gate to await the arrival of the brigade. The men of the city watch had already been informed by decree of the new order and the lord regent’s restored role. They willingly accepted Blayne’s presence at the watch command station.
If events were progressing according to plan, the men coming down the road ought to be troops of the Black Army, perhaps even Captain Blackgaard and the gray wizard Hoarst. As darkness fell, Blayne ordered the watchmen to light lanterns around the gate in the light posts set out along the road.
The men of the Legion of Steel had taken control of the palace and several key locations in the city. The city guards had caused no problem once the authority of the lord regent was invoked to support the coup. Sir Jorde, with two dozen of his men, waited in the courtyard below the gate tower where Blayne was watching for the troops. Sir Ballard was also due to arrive.
The waiting seemed interminable, but Blayne’s mood was lifted when the young nobleman felt a friendly clap on his shoulder and turned to see the first man he had met on his mission to Palanthas.
“Archer Billings!” Blayne cried, delighted to see the grinning guardsman. “It’s a great day today, is it not?”
“It is indeed, sir. It is indeed!” agreed the bowman, who wore his usual battered short sword in the scabbard at his waist. “I take it you had a hand in this, my lord?” he asked respectfully.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Blayne said. “The legion was ready to move, but they just needed a contact with the rebels outside of the city. You facilitated that.”
“The least I could do, m’lord,” Billings said modestly.
He stepped to the parapet of the watchtower, peering into the courtyard below. “My, they do look like they’ve waited a long time for this,” the archer said.