Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Across the embankment, another iron door stood open. If they could reach it and close it behind them, they would be safe from the statues—though with that strange, perpetual thumping noise ringing off the walls, who knew what lay on the other side? Kestrel heard the first dwarf catching up to them, and a swing from one of the other statues had just narrowly missed Corran’s head. It was a chance they would have to take.
“There are too many statues!” she shouted, hoping the others would hear her over the sounds of combat. “We have to outrun them!” The sorcerers were launching their magical volleys from a distance. They should have no trouble dropping their attack to flee. Corran and Faeril, on the other hand, might require aid to disengage from combat.
“I’ve never retreated from a battle,” Corran declared, parrying another blow. Kestrel was surprised his warhammer hadn’t snapped under the force of the statue’s strike.
Anger welled within her. Would Corran rather die than listen to her? Durwyn nearly jerked her off her feet as an axe whistled past her ear—the first dwarf had caught up to them. The blow struck a granite fountain, sending huge chunks of rock scudding across the ground.
“Abandon this one!” Durwyn called out. He pushed her forward, turning around to guard their backs. “Go, Kestrel! Lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”
Would the others follow? She had no time to speculate. With a quick survey and a split-second decision, she darted across the ward.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Durwyn shadowed her steps. He paused, however, to pick up a large chunk of granite, which he launched at the legs of Faeril’s opponent. The statue tottered, ceasing its offensive just long enough for the cleric to break free of combat and join the retreat. Ghleanna and Jarial also followed.
They had to dodge the blows of several already-animated statues before reaching terrain where no guardians yet stirred. Kestrel steered as far as possible from statues that had not yet awakened, hoping to minimize the number of attackers. The likenesses were positioned, however, so that no intruder could bypass them all. Every hundred paces or so they awakened another one.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum. The thumping grew louder as they traversed the ward. Whatever was making that noise, they were running toward it.
At last, they reached the second iron door. As they ducked inside, Kestrel quickly scanned the interior for the source of the thumping sound. Spotting nothing, she turned around to see whether Corran had joined them.
“Damn him!” She could have spat nails. The paladin remained behind, stubbornly trying to hold his ground. Before she could stop him, Durwyn headed back to aid Corran. “Durwyn! No!”
The fighter could not return the way they had come, for by now the statues Kestrel’s party had awakened were fully animated. He was forced to chose a less direct path, rousing new guardians in the process. He reached the beleaguered paladin just in time to block a strike that would have hit Corran from behind.
Damn Corran D’Arcey to the Abyss! His arrogance now endangered Durwyn as well. The statues were closing in on them—and those that weren’t headed toward the door where Kestrel and the others stood watching.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Durwyn shouted at his comrade, but the distance, the everpresent heartbeat, and the sounds of the stone dwarves’ laborious movements prevented Kestrel from making out the words. Whatever he said, however, seemed to sink through Corran’s thick skull. The two began to retreat, Durwyn leading them along a circuitous route past the last of the sleeping statues. A dozen stone dwarves approached from all sides.
Ghleanna muttered something. Kestrel, her attention divided between Durwyn’s plight and the half-dozen statues marching her own way, missed what she said and asked her to repeat it. When she glanced at the sorceress, however, she realized Ghleanna was casting a spell.
A huge mass of sticky strands suddenly draped itself over most of the dwarves chasing Durwyn and Corran. The enormous spider web gummed up the statues’ movements, impeding their pursuit. At the same time Jarial uttered a command of his own at the dwarves approaching the door. Their advance instantly slowed to a rate that would have looked comic had the danger they posed not been so great.
The two fighters still had to dodge the blows of four unaffected statues that blocked their path. As they darted past, one of the dwarves landed a strike on Durwyn’s left arm, nearly severing the limb. The warrior cried out and gripped his arm to his side, but kept moving.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum.
Kestrel forced herself to watch their final approach but could not look at Durwyn’s face. The agony she’d seen flash across it had been so intense it left her own knees weak. Blood streamed down his side.
Anger at Corran battled fear for her friend. Her friend. She hadn’t thought of Durwyn that way until this moment, but she’d probably be dead right now if he hadn’t stayed behind in the courtyard waiting for her. He’d been a faithful companion to her, to them all—which was why he was now injured. She regretted every unkind or impatient thought she’d ever had toward him.
The two made it to the door just as Jarial’s spell wore off the nearest dwarves. Kestrel, Jarial, and Ghleanna swung shut the heavy door while Faeril immediately attended Durwyn. “Sit down,” she said calmly, helping him to the ground.
Pa-pum. Pa-pum. With the door closed, the thumping echoed louder. Kestrel tried to block it from her mind as she knelt beside the injured warrior. Durwyn’s face was pale—he’d already lost a lot of blood. His eyes held the steely look of someone trying to mask suffering.
She’d never felt this scared for someone else, not since Quinn had died. Instinctively, she reached for his good hand and forced herself to give him a wobbly smile. “We’re lucky Faeril is with us. You’re going to be fine.” Eyes never leaving his face, she said to Faeril, “Tell me how to help you.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” the elf said gently, beginning her prayer of healing.
Behind her, Kestrel heard Corran approach. He cleared his throat. “May I assist?”
She looked up at him, her face hot. “I think you’ve done quite enough already.” She had much more to say, but she didn’t want to make a scene in front of Durwyn.
Remorse flickered across the paladin’s features. “Perhaps I have,” he said more to himself than to her. She wished he would just go away, but he remained, watching Faeril’s ministrations.
Kestrel talked to Durwyn quietly while the cleric tended to him. The warrior was weak but lucid. “Thank you for watching my back earlier, in the courtyard,” she said.
“I—” He paused as if choosing his words. “I know that I’m not the smartest guy in the world. I’m good with an axe, but I’m not so good at figuring things out. So when I find people smarter than me, I trust them to do most of the thinking. You’ve been right about a lot of things so far, Kestrel. When you said there was a trap, I believed you.”
Durwyn’s words heartened her. She hadn’t been shouting into the wind this whole time, struggling in vain to be heard. Someone had been paying attention.
When Faeril finished, Durwyn’s arm was fully healed. He rested awhile on the floor as the remainder of the party assessed their surroundings. They stood inside the main building of the fortress, in a great hall with numerous wooden tables, benches, and other furnishings all still in excellent condition. Even the tapestries on the walls, colorful depictions of dwarven artisans engaged in their crafts, seemed unaffected by age.
At the opposite end of the hall, two staircases led to the second floor. The periodic thumping sound, louder in Kestrel’s ears now that Durwyn was out of danger, resonated off the stone walls. It repeated every minute or so, like the heartbeat of a man who refused to die. The noise seemed to come from above.