“At least we’ve still got a little luck to spare,” the mul sighed, relieved that the templar’s magic had not been strong enough to entrap his legion. Rikus slipped down from the heap, then motioned for Gaanon to follow him toward Neeva’s company. “Maetan’s templars may have slowed us down, but they won’t save him.”
“Of course not,” the half-giant agreed. “But how are we to get at him with this wall in our way?”
“Go around it, of course.”
As he moved toward Neeva’s brigade, the mul ordered everyone he encountered to go in the opposite direction, toward Jaseela’s company. Soon, the legion was streaming toward the far end of the field, shouting dire threats over the obsidian barricade that protected the Urikites.
When Rikus reached Caelum’s dwarves, they were stubbornly hacking away at the obsidian barricade and refusing to flee. The mul grabbed the first one he came to, shoving him roughly toward Jaseela’s flank.
“Go!” he ordered. “You’ll just get yourself killed if you try to fight the Urikites through this wall.”
The dwarf picked up his warhammer and returned to the obsidian barricade. “Maetan is over there,” he grunted, hardly glancing at Rikus.
Caelum hurried to the mul’s side. “Why are you fleeing the battle?”
“I’m not running away. But we’re not going to win anything by concentrating on breaking down the-”
The mul stopped in midsentence as the distant voice of Maetan’s templar came to him. “In the name of Mighty Hamanu, the slopes of this mountain shall cascade down upon our enemies.”
Rikus heard a gentle slough high above, then felt the cinder-covered mountain shudder.
“Take the dwarves and run!” Rikus shoved Gaanon toward Jaseela’s company. He pointed up the slope, then yelled, “Maetan’s trying to bury us alive!”
Caelum looked in the direction the mul pointed, where a great swath of cinders was twinkling in the moonlight as it slid down the slope. “Do as he says!” Caelum ordered frantically, starting to lead his men after Gaanon.
Rikus caught the dwarf by the shoulder. “You come with me.”
The mul took Caelum and moved toward the base of the mountain, where they would not have to struggle against a tide of dwarves rushing southward. They had taken no more than a dozen steps when a terrible rumble rolled down from above. Rikus looked up and saw a wall of cinders crashing down the steep slope. Behind it came the whole mountainside, leaving nothing in its wake except a roiling cloud of soot.
The mul grabbed Caelum’s arm and sprinted, dragging the dwarf toward the northern flank of the line, where Neeva’s company would be trying to fight through to the mouth of the canyon Drewet’s troops guarded. Along the rim of the lava channel ran a line of white-crusted crags; these, Rikus hoped, would act like a shield to turn aside the cinder avalanche.
They had barely reached the shelter of this ridge when the avalanche rolled into the ash heaps at the base of the mountain. A tremendous thump pulsed through the air. The piles scattered, almost as if a great explosion had forced them into the air from below. Huge plumes of powdery soot rose skyward, masking the yellow light of the flaxen moons and spreading over the rocky delta in a choking fog.
In a gray pall, Rikus lost sight of his army. On the other side of the obsidian barricade, the Urikites were alternately coughing and cheering the templar who, they believed, had vanquished their enemy with a single spell. Rikus dared to hope their optimism was misplaced, for the Scourge brought to his ears the rasping, fear-stricken voices of men and dwarves yelling guidance to each other.
Both the cries of the Urikites and the Tyrians, however, seemed but a whisper compared to the roar of the avalanche as it continued to pour tons and tons of stone and cinder off the mountain.
“Can you still summon that river of fire?” Rikus said, turning his attention from the landslide to Caelum.
The dwarf did not look away from the avalanche. “If you had listened to me earlier-”
“Now is no time to lecture me, dwarf,” Rikus snapped. “I want to know if you can still use your magic.”
The cleric nodded. “I’ll have to climb high enough to see the flames of the crevice.”
“Go ahead and climb,” Rikus said, pointing toward the mouth of Drewet’s canyon. “Stay in those rocks-I don’t want you getting caught in the avalanche. And don’t cast your spell until I say the time has come.”
“How will I know when that is?” the dwarf asked.
“You’ll see Drewet’s company leaving the canyon,” Rikus answered. “Or I’ll send a messenger.”
“There’ll be no time for a messenger,” Caelum said, pulling a smooth, round rock from his pocket and handing it to the mul. “Throw that in the air when you’re ready.”
Rikus nearly dropped the stone, for it was scalding hot. “What is it?”
“A little surprise I prepared for Maetan,” Caelum answered. “It will also do as a signal.”
With that, the dwarf began scaling the ridge. Rikus slipped the hot stone into a belt pouch, then turned toward the mouth of Drewet’s canyon. Less than a dozen yards away, the Urikites were lined up many ranks deep, pressing the attack in an attempt to force Neeva’s company back toward the avalanche. The gladiators were standing firm, but if he was to save Drewet, Rikus needed them to do more than hold their lines.
The mul rushed into the fray. He picked his way around the ash-blurred forms of a dozen gladiators, then glimpsed the tip of a spear thrusting toward him. Rikus parried, severing the shaft, then brought his sword down over the top of the Urikite’s shield. The vorpal blade cleaved both shield and man, then the mul found himself standing within the first rank of the Urikite line.
“For Tyr!” he screamed, but his words were lost in the clash of blade against blade and the cries of the wounded and dying.
The battle went terribly. Within minutes, Rikus found himself standing where he had started, waist-deep in Urikite bodies and coated with the warm, sticky blood of his enemies. He was vaguely aware that Tyrians stood to each side of him, but there was no sign that his gladiators were even close to freeing Drewet’s company. All he could see ahead of him was an endless stream of shouting Urikites, marching out of the dark night and climbing over their dead fellows to continue the attack.
“I thought I’d find you at the center of this mess,” called a familiar voice. Neeva stepped to the mul’s side, and K’kriq to the other. She parried a spear thrust with her sword, then used the dagger in her other hand to slice open her attacker’s chest. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to reach the mouth of Drewet’s canyon,” Rikus answered, his breath coming in labored gasps. He was so tired that he could hardly raise his sword, and his legs ached so badly that he could barely lift them over the bodies piled around him. “I sent Caelum up the hill. We’re going to have to summon his river of fire.”
“No!” Neeva cried.
“Spoil hunt,” complained K’kriq.
A screaming Urikite clambered over the corpses ahead and jabbed a spearpoint at the thri-kreen’s eyes. K’kriq blocked with one arm, then lashed out with the other three, simultaneously ripping his attacker’s shield away and tearing out a man’s throat.
“You can’t do that to Drewet!” Neeva said. “She’ll never escape.”
“If I don’t, she’ll die anyway, and we’ll still lose the battle,” Rikus growled. “Half of our legion’s buried in that avalanche, and who knows what’s happened to the other half. It’s the only way.”
“The only way to save your legion or the best way to destroy Maetan?” Neeva demanded.
“The only way to survive!” Rikus shouted. “Besides, I haven’t given the order yet-”
His answer was cut short by the battle cries of a fresh rank of Urikites. As they came over the corpse pile, one soldier each attacked Neeva and K’kriq, but two thrust their spears at the mul. Rikus looped the point off one spear and tried to sidestep the other, but stumbled when a half-dead soldier clutched at his ankle. The spear took the mul in his sore shoulder. A wave of agony shot through his body, magnified ten-fold by the tenderness of the festering wound around the wraith’s gem.