The opposite street was lost in dust and rubble, the enemy mage surely buried and dead, but it was too late—Hengin's cries had ceased. The vast behemoth, a cloud of grit settling on it, lay in the middle of the street, his skin sliced open by the many weapons of the Lord's Men.
Vell's blood boiled, his gentle behemoth form coming to life, fueled by his rage. Vell felt the rage rising in him but forced himself to hold it back. He needed to keep his senses, if anyone did. He had a mission to accomplish and could not leave self-control behind to stampede off on a haze of seething anger.
* * * * *
The contingents of Lord's Men guarding the behemoths in the Central Square watched in horror as the new arrivals, larger than the ones already held captive, marched into the heart of Llorkh. They seemed to be unstoppable, ripping the city apart where it stood. But one of the six had fallen. The Lord's Men hoped beyond hope that the animals would be torn down by spells or force before they could reach the square.
Three groups of soldiers guarded the Central Square, one at each of the streets leading into the city. Each had only about a dozen men, all looking in the direction of the west gate. Behind them, the behemoths moaned a dissonant chorus. They sang in high throaty tones, strange vocalizations that conveyed all of their sadness, grief, and despair.
From one of the streets sauntered a strange sight—a leather-clad woman with the dark skin tones of the southern Sword Coast. A sword hung at her belt. Surely, she must have been part of a merchant caravan.
"Milady," said one of the Lord's Men. "We recommend you leave the streets. This place is—" his voice trembled, "—is not safe."
"I should say not," she said, and opened her mouth wide. A sharp scream issued from her throat that rang and resounded in the Lord's Men's ears, shattering their concentration. Some of them fainted from the sonic assault; others were deafened, dropping their weapons to clap their hands over their ears. Immediately, a wiry young barbarian wielding a massive axe raced into view from the street. The woman drew her sword, and they leaped onto the Lord's Men.
Together, Kellin and Thluna made short work of the stunned soldiers, he cleaving them with the axe and she sinking her father's sword wherever she found exposed flesh. From across the Central Square, the other contingents of Lord's Men charged, roused from their positions by the battle. As they dashed across the square, past the magical post that kept the behemoths in bondage, the behemoths all raised their tethered feet at once, pulling the chains tight.
The sudden tension lifted the magical chains off the ground, catching many of the Lord's Men across their middles. They were sliced apart wherever the enchanted chains touched them, their gruesomely bisected bodies littering the Central Square. The few who were not snared went bobbing and weaving to avoid the deadly chains, dashing out of the square back to the streets. Then they fled altogether, into the chaotic alleyways of Llorkh.
"Clever beasts," Kellin said to Thluna. The creatures lowered their feet and the chains once again lay on the ground. "I only hope they know friend from foe."
Thluna clapped her on the shoulder, excited for their success. Looking up, he watched a lone crow fly a strange pattern far above, its beak pointed toward the Lord's Keep. "Good luck," he said to her before dashing into the streets, axe in hand.
Kellin carefully stepped into the square. Gingerly avoiding the chains, she reached the central post. It was a solemn gray marker anchoring a dozen chains which led to the rings on the behemoths' hind feet. Spreading her hands over the top of the post, she tried to dispel the magic that bound the chains. Geildarr's spell was strong and fiendish, and it took all of Kellin's concentration and energy to work at unlocking it. She did not hear the fast-moving feet behind her, or smell the sulfurous stink that filled the air. Not until a fiery blast caught her from behind was her concentration lost and her spell scuttled.
CHAPTER 21
Sungar and Hurd burst out of the dungeons of Llorkh with impassioned fury. The two guards at the entrance were startled to be attacked from behind. Sungar caught one on the shoulder with his sword, and Hurd slashed at the knees of the other, sending him tumbling to the ground. Hurd sank his sword into the guard's heart.
The two warriors dashed through the elegant hallways of the Lord's Keep, looking for a staircase to take them upward. They made no secret of their presence—Sungar freely shouted Uthgardt war cries—but wherever Lord's Men found them, the soldiers were swiftly slaughtered. One of the men, run through by Sungar's sword, lay dying against the wall. Hurd held his blade to his throat.
"What is happening in Llorkh?" Hurd demanded.
"Behemoths," he gasped out. "The great lizards. Some have come to attack the city."
"Friends of yours?" Hurd asked Sungar, sliding the sword home.
"I can only hope so," said Sungar.
They rushed through the ground floor. Sungar's rage was in full fervor. Clutching a weapon again, and feeling enemies fall under his blade, made him feel alive once more, reborn from the prison cell. He had feared that all of his Uthgardt instincts had atrophied and vanished, but was thrilled to find his faculties re-ignited.
Before the great iron doors that served as the entrance to the tower, they found a contingent of five Lord's Men. A massive, sickly painting of Lord Geildarr, clad in purple and surrounded by the adoring people of Llorkh, hung over their heads. The soldiers faced the entrance to the Lord's Keep, their attention on the large, sealed doors, ready for a threat from that direction. Sungar snatched up a vase that decorated the passage and tossed it across the hall into an opposite room. As it smashed, the guards turned to look.
In that moment, the barbarian and the dwarf assaulted them with full strength. Their swords found critical places, and they made short work of their foes. Puddles of blood collected on the red carpet.
"This is the way out," said Hurd, pointing to the large doors. "If you want to leave..."
"Why would I?" asked Sungar. "Most likely Geildarr's up there." He pointed to the wide stairway leading upward. Hurd bent over to pick up the head of a Lord's Man, hacked from his shoulders by Sungar's sword. He tossed it up at the painting and it bounced off, leaving a red smear across Geildarr's smiling face. He and Hurd ran up the stairs, leaving bloody footprints on the carpet.
Soon they found the narrow dining hall where Geildarr had met with Sungar to taunt him. Huge paintings hung on the walls, and white linen covered the long table. The chair at the end of the table had iron restraints built into it. All was lit by a magical white sphere floating in the center of the ceiling.
Standing on top of the table was a figure familiar to them both, lithe and slender, dressed in black and holding a leveled crossbow. Sungar knew her face from the night of the attack on his camp. She was the one who had captured him.
Hurd's lip curled into a smile. "We meet again," he said, brandishing his sword.
Ardeth returned his smile and raised her crossbow. Hurd dodged wildly, and the quarrel zipped past him. Sungar jumped onto the table, his feet skidding on the tablecloth. Almost losing his balance, he swung his sword horizontally at Ardeth. She deftly leaped into the air over the blade, flipping backward to land on the chair Geildarr had sat in when taunting Sungar. She leaped again just as Sungar's sword came down, digging deep into the chair's wooden back.