The bodies of many men and ogres of the garrison had been blown to pieces by the explosion. Here and there lay a grotesque corpse-or a part of a corpse-but those, like everything else, were so coated with the ubiquitous gray dust that they resembled stone more than flesh. Coryn turned away from the sight of one apparently unmarked corpse, a dead Dark Knight pasted with so much fine powder that he looked like a skillfully rendered statue of a dead man.
“Over here,” Jaymes said, finding a channel in the debris. They passed between shattered walls rising like jagged cliffs to either side of them, and the emperor had to clasp a hand over his face just to keep the dust from choking him. He felt it coating his beard and skin, saw it on his leggings and tunic and boots.
Yet when he looked at the enchantress, her robe was as immaculately white as ever. He could only shake his head in amazement.
“We need to climb up into the tower, see who’s still alive up there, right?” he asked.
“Ankhar has been on the High Lookout many times every day,” Coryn reported. “I’m guessing he has quarters somewhere high up in the tower.”
“Yes,” Jaymes agreed. “Let’s go pay him a visit.”
He came to a section of broken stairway leading toward the top of one of the walls. The outer portions of the steps had been blasted away, but some remained. Clasping the railing with his left hand, he stepped carefully upward, kicking loose rubble out of the way. Coryn took his other hand and climbed behind him.
From the top of the wall, they could see the dwarves surging around the top of the curtain wall. Already they were halfway around the main tower, closing toward the north gatehouse. Dayr’s men were making good progress on the other half of the wall, and Jaymes had hopes that within another hour or so the entire perimeter of the great fortress would be in the hands of his men.
Of course, that still left the main tower, the mountainous structure that rose to its imposing height in the middle of the massive fortress. Sounds of battle rang from throughout that edifice as the two moved closer as fast as caution would allow.
They passed through a doorway where there had been heavy fighting. The bodies of three men of Palanthas were pulled to the side and arrayed in respectful repose, while a dozen dead Dark Knights sprawled just within the entry, just where they had fallen.
The pair started up the great central stairway, but after climbing fifty steps, they came up against the backs of a hundred of Weaver’s legionnaires, who were engaged in a furious clash with a company of ogres who had barricaded the way with benches, tables, and other furniture. The heart of the skirmish was about one floor above them, and they couldn’t see much, though they heard plenty of steel clashing, voices shouting and crying out in pain.
“We’ll flush ’em out with steel, Excellency,” a sergeant promised over his shoulder. “But it might take us an hour or two.”
“What about elsewhere in the tower? How goes the advance?”
“They’re blocking all the stairs now. We can beat ’em back one floor at a stretch-for as soon as we carry one stairway, we can outflank all the others on the same floor-but it’s a damn tall tower and it’ll take time, sir,” the man concluded awkwardly.
“Carry on,” Jaymes said, clapping him on the shoulder.
“There’s a way we can get around this,” Coryn said. “Come outside.”
She led Jaymes through a door onto one of the small parapets that dotted the outside of the massive tower. They stood side by side as she pulled a small bottle from within a pocket of her robe. “It’s a potion of flying,” she said. “I’ve been saving my magic, but I think we might as well head straight to the top now.”
“That’ll give us the advantage of surprise,” he agreed. Jaymes took the tiny bottle from her and quickly tossed back the bitter, burning liquid. The magic tingled through his limbs, and he merely had to will himself upward to rise from the parapet.
At the same time, Coryn cast a spell of flying on herself. Thirty heartbeats later, the wall of the tower slipped easily behind them as, like ascending birds, the magic-user and the emperor soared toward the High Lookout.
Ankhar held his spear in his right hand while clutching the waist of his ogress in his left. He could see the emperor’s army was going to take over the fortress. For all the talk of high walls and gatehouses, the defense had proved hopeless. Hundreds had been killed by the initial blast, and those left alive were dazed to the point where many could not even fight. As far away as he had been, Ankhar still felt the stunning effects of the explosion and had just begun to recover his senses. But the tower would fall.
Even so, the half-giant did not feel much disappointment. He was prepared to die there that day. He did experience a momentary tug of regret when he thought of the winter he might have spent there in a snug room with a fire and a large bed and Pond-Lily. But he shrugged away the thought. He was a warrior, and it was fitting he should die in battle.
Just then, Hoarst and the Nightmaster came through the door from the tower to join Ankhar and Pond-Lily on the lookout. The ogress and the half-giant, standing at the parapet while watching the battles rage below, turned at the approach of the two men.
“So, you’re alive,” the half-giant grunted at the sight of the black-masked priest. “I thought you probably blew up.” He gestured at the smoking crater where the gatehouse had stood.
“The Prince of Lies whispered a warning in my ear, and I teleported away an instant before the blast,” the Nightmaster said dispassionately.
“Hmm. You are favored by the Prince, indeed,” Ankhar said, impressed. He thought of du Chagne, and wondered if he should tell the priest what he had done. But he merely shrugged that thought away too. Dropping the man from those heights had been one of the most pleasurable things he had done in a very long time.
At the memory, Ankhar peered over the edge, hoping something blocked the sight of the man’s shattered body below. But something else-movement he did not expect to see-caught his eye.
“Oh, oh! Here comes the emperor and the White Witch!” the half-giant cried. Hoisting his spear over his head, the shook the weapon eagerly. “They fly like birds to us! Come here, birdies! At last-the birdies are bringing a fight to me, a fight for the Truth!”
In the next instant, the two humans, magically soaring, swept up and over the wall. Coryn paused in the air, hovering, while Jaymes stepped onto the platform, landing in a crouch and drawing his mighty sword. Ankhar raised his spear to greet the swordsman.
The Nightmaster, Pond-Lily, and the two wizards were all forgotten as the huge half-giant readied himself to meet his hated foe.
Then the Nightmaster cast a spell, and everything went dark.
Jaymes came to rest on the parapet and immediately charged toward Ankhar-until the darkness spell blinded him and he halted, spun, and dodged instinctively. He heard a clatter of stone against stone and realized the half-giant must have stabbed his huge spear into the ground, just missing him.
“Light!” roared the great brute. “I must see!”
“Use the darkness, fool!” the cleric’s voice hissed. “Strike about you!”
Air whooshed past Jaymes’s ear, and he knew Ankhar was taking the priest’s advice. The foe had a longer weapon, and he was too close already. The swordsman edged away, trying to keep away from the edge of the tower. Where was Coryn? Damn, he had to see!
“Burn!” Jaymes demanded, crouching and twisting in the magical darkness.
Giantsmiter erupted with crackling energy, limned with the searing blue flames. That fire pushed back the darkness in the man’s immediate vicinity. Ankhar stood right before him, and the half-giant reared back, retreating from the lunging attack, vanishing again into the murk of the priest’s cloaking spell.