The witch flourished her cape. Bones tore loose from it and battered Aoth like sling stones. Crying out at the pain, he charged his spear with destructive power and thrust.
The head of the weapon flared blue as it drove deep into the witch s chest. With a thunderous boom, force blasted out from the point of penetration and tore her body to shreds.
Jet whirled to confront the shadow wolves again. As he did so, Aoth glimpsed Cera hurling a shaft of light from the spherical head of her mace. Meanwhile, a second mace seemingly made of radiance and wielded by an invisible hand bashed a werewolf and held it away from her. Jhesrhi, standing straight and tall, had wrapped herself in blue and yellow flame from head to toe and was engaging the undead witches in a duel of spells.
Aoth located his remaining opponent just as the tattooed lines leaped from her flesh in a flying tangle. The leading edge of the spell s effect lashed him like whips before settling on him like a wire net.
The strands slithered around him and started to draw tight. He snarled words of power, and, straining against the constriction, sought to drag his hand through the proper mystic figure. The undead creature raised her hands high, her rotting skin hanging in rags freeing the tattoos that had all but flayed her. As she lashed her hands down, they blurred into the hands of a troll, too large for her arms, with greenish hide and long claws.
The hathran screamed and sprang over Jet s head. But at that instant, Aoth completed his counterspell. The animated mesh sizzled out of existence.
He snapped his spear into line and impaled the witch. He sent power surging through the weapon and blasted her apart.
He felt an instant of savage satisfaction. But the feeling crashed into dismay as Jet collapsed beneath him, and a feeling of cold, numb weakness flooded across their psychic link.
Aoth had to get out of the saddle lest he end up pinned under the griffon s body. He willed the straps holding him in place to unbuckle themselves, heaved himself clear, and slammed down into the snow.
At once, a hathran in a fanged, slant-eyed mask loomed over him, but Vandar rushed at her and distracted her. Aoth floundered to his feet and, furious at what the creatures had done to Jet, leveled his spear at the shadow wolves that were still tearing at the griffon.
The beasts rounded on Aoth and charged. He infused the head of his spear with blazing, crackling lightning and met the first with a thrust to the chest that burned the creature from existence.
The other lunged inside his reach and tried to snap its fangs shut on his arm. But although mere steel links couldn t have kept them out of his flesh, the enchantments bound in the metal did. Aoth dropped the spear, growled a word that concentrated stinging power in his fist, and hammered it down on the phantom creature s head. The creature withered away to nothing.
Aoth automatically cast about, making sure no new foe was advancing to attack him, then touched Jet s mind with his own. The familiar was alive but unconscious, and in urgent need of care.
Cera could provide it, but she, Jhesrhi, and Vandar were still fighting. Aoth pivoted and snarled incantations, scarcely pausing between one and the next, as he hurled darts of light and booming thunderbolts until every last hathran, werewolf, and shadow beast was gone.
Gasping and stumbling, Cera hurried to Jet s side. Vandar and Jhesrhi followed. The Rashemi looked shaky and spent with his rage having run its course, and he was finally feeling the effects of the superficial but bloody cuts in his scalp and forearm. Only Jhesrhi appeared untouched by all that had transpired as she snuffed her aura of flame.
What happened? Cera asked. She dropped to her knees beside the griffon that, even crumpled in the snow, made her look as small as a child by comparison.
The shadow wolves, Aoth said.
Will he be all right? Vandar asked.
You d better hope he will be, said Aoth.
Why in the name of the Black Hand did you attack before I gave the signal?
I don t take orders from you! Vandar snapped, before taking a breath. But understand, the fury is a gift of the spirits, and sometimes it takes us when they will it. I think maybe the oak telthor raised it in me because he couldn t have lasted much longer.
Aoth realized he d forgotten all about the ghostly giant. He glanced in the direction of the blighted tree and discovered the apparition had disappeared. I don t care about your stinking spirit, he said.
Enough! Cera said. Both of you, be quiet and let me work.
She whispered a prayer, and her hands glowed as she laid them on Jet s flank. She moved them to his neck specifically, to another spot where a shadow beast had bitten the griffon, Aoth surmised, although he didn t know how she could tell and did the same thing there. Then she infused the tip of a wing with Amaunator s healing light.
Gradually, the magic did its work. Aoth could feel the change in Jet as the oblivion of near-death gave way to ordinary sleep.
Aoth took a deep breath, then let it out again. You did it, he said. He s going to be all right.
I know, Cera replied, stroking Jet s head. Grunting, she tried to stand. Aoth helped her. She looked at Vandar and said, I have a little power left. Enough to tend you, too.
Do that, said Aoth. Then the two of you stay with Jet. Jhesrhi and I are going to go and check on something.
As he led her into the trees, the wizard said, I m glad Jet s going to live.
He s too cantankerous to die, Aoth replied. Do you ever wonder why no matter where we go anymore, we end up fighting the undead?
The bare hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Jhesrhi s mouth for a moment, then vanished. I take it we re going to see if they crawled out of the tomb you and Cera found, she said. Or if we can figure out where else they came from.
Yes, Aoth replied. Once again, some footprints would be helpful.
Jhesrhi shrugged. Undead, even the ones that still have a physical form, tend to be good at sneaking around, she said.
Werewolves, too, I imagine. They may not even have needed a spell to avoid making tracks.
That still doesn t explain why, if they came from outside the grove, Jet and I didn t see them when we were flying around above the treetops. Aoth said.
They reached the spot where the hole led into the tomb. Aoth crawled in, the gnarled roots catching on his clothing and in the links of his mail. Jhesrhi followed and set the head of her brass staff burning like a torch. They stalked on down the stairs, only to find the same vacant, echoing passages he and Cera had explored before.
And as before, he and his companion ended up in the hub by the sarcophagus when their search was done. He resisted a childish impulse to kick it.
Uramar studied the stocky, tattooed war mage with the luminous blue eyes and the tall, golden-haired elementalist with the fiery staff. It wasn t difficult. As people commonly reckoned distance, they were only a couple of paces away. In another, equally valid sense, they and their frustration occupied a completely different world.
From their remarks to one another, Uramar gathered that the frustration stemmed partly from the fact that the tattooed man was accustomed to seeing whatever existed to be seen. But at the moment, it was his misfortune to be looking for something invisible to any form of vision, even truesight.
Uramar s invisibility gave him an advantage. He could spring forth and strike by surprise. As his hands clenched on the hilt of his greatsword, an assortment of his broken souls whispered to him.