It was Calmet's turn to be surprised. The archprelate lifted his own unholy symbol of Gruumsh and sounded the most infernal syllables that had ever come to Calmet's ears. The medallion melted in the hierarch's hand and dripped to the ground with a sizzling hiss. The ground shook and a prodigious wind rushed past Laud and over the corpses of the lost slaves. Calmet watched in stunned amazement as the unnatural wind forced its way into the mouths of the dead, who rose as an undead army. Their living comrades shrank away from them as far as possible within the confines of a working gang's chains and many simply sank to the ground in fear.
"See that they do a better job of building the tunnel this time," commanded Laud, "I can't do that again and I see no reason to chase after new slaves when there are plenty here."
"Yes, Your Potency," responded the priest.
"I realize you needed scrolls to get this far, but I'll expect to see you repeat this progress in the morning," Calmet's demanding superior continued.
The older priest turned and left the tunnel with a dramatic and forceful stride, leaving his last instructions to be an indistinguishable combination of threat and command.
Calmet grimaced against the putrefaction of his new zombie slaves and gave orders to keep the construction moving. Then, he retraced his steps to appeal to his new god for more spell power than he'd ever had before. He supposed that fear was the mother of innovation. He'd never thought of a stone shape spell as an aid to the tunneling operation before. It seemed far too mundane to use divine power for something slaves could do. It was only when he contemplated the tunnel as an entrance to Gruumsh's shrine and not as a simple mine that he thought of using the scroll. Then, when laud threatened him, it merely seemed natural to use the power to save his skin. Today, he used the power of a scroll. Tomorrow, he would petition Gruumsh for the spell itself.
14
Jozan hardly had time to step back out of the mud when he realized that the battle with the hydra had alerted not four or five orcs, but twice that many. The initial band was sloshing through the shallows of the swamp toward Alhandra. Another group of five was moving to flank the four heroes from the other side.
Jozan could immediately tell from the way Alhandra and Krusk were advancing that they only saw the first group, four warriors wearing masks made of bark and one with a mask adorned with bright plumage scavenged from birds that nested in the swamp. Jozan watched with some degree of envy as the paladin sidestepped to the left to give Krusk room to swing his mighty axe. Unlike Jozan, who had been somewhat unnerved by the battle with the hydra, Alhandra seemed to have gained confidence.
Jozan heard her cry out, "For valor and Heironeous!" and he prayed that her skill in fighting multiple enemies would prove ample in this battle, as well.
Of course, Jozan quickly realized that Alhandra's hurry to rush into melee wasn't the best opening gambit. He saw Krusk act on his combat experience and do what Alhandra should have done. Rather than waiting for the orcs to advance into melee range, the half-orc unleashed one of his arrows and watched the feathered shaft wing toward the closest orc warrior. The shaft flew true and punctured the orc's right eye, driving the warrior to his knees in agony.
Since orcs joining in a conspiracy on behalf of Gruumsh and the old religion usually sacrificed their left eyes as part of their devotion, it seemed reasonable to blind their good eyes and deal with them at a more leisurely pace. As the cleric watched the point orc frenetically trying to pull the arrow from his eye, he judged Krusk's tactical theory to be sound and decided to adopt it himself.
Jozan glanced briefly at the flanking group. They were still out of range, so he turned back to his friends just in time to see all of the remaining orcs, except for their leader, recklessly charging the paladin and half-orc. He saw Krusk drop his bow and grab his huge axe in one fluid motion. Alhandra deftly sliced her long sword between the first two orcs to reach her. The first blindingly fast slash crashed into her victim with so much speed that it appeared the paladin was using two swords instead of one.
Breathing easier as he saw his compatriots meeting the challenge, Jozan decided to invoke divine assistance before turning to face his own attackers. He lifted both hands toward the heavens and called for Pelor's blessing upon his companions. Immediately, sunlight seemed to penetrate the shadows of the swamp and outline the forms of his comrades. As the highlighted warriors hacked and hewed at the oncoming orcs, Jozan felt certain that his friends could hold off that threat. He turned again to the opposite flank.
Unfortunately for Jozan, the masked orcs who were running toward him mistook his clerical gesture as a symbol of helplessness and charged all the more confidently. Jozan had inten ded to invoke another spell before they reached him, but they were now so close he could do nothing but draw his mace. The first orc to reach him was fairly slavering with combat frenzy as Jozan smashed into its face hard enough for half the skull to collapse like brittle pottery. The orc tottered briefly before falling, just long enough to impede the next charging orc, causing it to stumble.
As a result, Jozan was able to step past the stumbling orc and bash his mace into the orc's chainmail with such force that some of the tiny, metal loops broke from the stress and began to tear the tunic below it. Quickly, Jozan twisted under the guard's retaliatory stroke and thrust upward so that the head of his mace broke the soldier's lower jaw. In reflex, the orc managed to hit Jozan with a half-swing, but Jozan twisted around once again and buried the blunt edge of the mace in the back of the orc's skull.
With each solid blow, Jozan's confidence soared. He swung his mace upward into one attacker's crotch, and he used a sidearm swing to power into another attacker's weapon arm. At one point, he sensed an orc attacking from behind and turned to bury the head of his weapon in the center of the orc's chest. At first, he thought his reflexes must have been lightning fast in order to get in the blow before his opponent could retaliate. Then, he realized that a pale, green light had struck the orc full in the face, just before the debilitating blow landed. He quickly looked back at Yddith, recognizing that she was the source of the flash, and nodded his thanks. Then he parried a blow from the next orc.
The cleric's peripheral vision confirmed that Alhandra, Krusk, and he were each faced with one remaining foe apiece. If he had not been locked in his own duel, Jozan would probably have noticed Alhandra's dented armor and limited agility. He might have sensed from her reduced movement that the bent armor formed a sharp edge inside that was already slicing through padding and skin seriously enough to cause her to wince with each movement.
As he tripped his foe and brought the mace down in a fatal closing to this duel, Jozan couldn't see Yddith touching her emerald pseudo-eye and wearing a confused expression on her face, as though she herself was wondering how she projected that green flash of light. Neither could he have seen the large eagle glide overhead and circle lazily back toward the combat.
None of the heroes heard the eagle's gentle landing in the soft earth behind Yddith. No one saw the feathers recede and the crouched body transform into human form. Muscles enlarged, bones cracked, and skin stretched quickly and magically as Hassq appeared behind the unsuspecting young woman. His hand was over her mouth and a bone blade pointed at her throat before she even realized the danger. The druid dragged her silently away, even as the battle boiled over for the remaining trio.
Jozan stepped away from the orc he had just slain. He moved toward Krusk in time to see the orc thrust at Krusk's chest and Krusk answer with a woodsman's stroke that could have felled his foe like a small tree if not for the orc's chain shirt. Jozan ran past the orc as Krusk ripped his blade from the torn armor and immediately plunged it right back into the red wound. Krusk obviously didn't need the cleric's help.