She had to find Wynn and that light.
Wynn gripped her staff with both hands. She stood in the darkness, hidden now near the edge of the battle. Chap was still and silent beside her, likely at equal loss for what to do.
There was no place else they could go.
Running to some other vantage point would have only made it harder to close in when needed. They could only hope they wouldn’t be spotted by anything in that chaos before they had to act.
Magiere had to be in there somewhere.
Wynn couldn’t tell one thing from another in the dark amid those black silhouettes setting upon one another. She heard the packs of majay-hì, but they were not going to last long against so many.
“Where is she?” Wynn whispered.
Chap didn’t answer, but something broke out of the masses in the dark. One form seemed to run toward them, and Wynn snatched the glasses dangling about her neck.
Whether that was Magiere or not, she would have to light her staff again. In spite of that weapon, she couldn’t stop the fear.
—Think only of the staff’s light ... and be ready—
Chap’s words were no comfort.
Wynn saw more night-shadow figures break from the battle and chase after that first one. When that one came even closer, she thought she was prepared. The first glimpse of a pale face, wild black hair and fully black eyes, and a hauberk darkened with stains made her sick and horrified.
Magiere slowed at the sight of Wynn and turned to face what followed her.
Wynn fought the urge to run to Magiere and raised the staff’s crystal high.
And still, Chap didn’t give the command.
More figures came rushing toward Magiere. All she did was raise up the falchion, gripping it in both hands, and stand there. Filthy hair and feral faces became clear to Wynn’s eyes. She heard them now—their snarls, shrieks, or shouts—over the battle’s noise as they raced toward that one lone figure standing in their path.
Magiere raised her blade higher.
Wynn pressed the glasses with their dark lenses over her eyes, not wanting to see what would happen, and ...
—Now—
Chap bolted, putting some distance between himself and the impending light.
The words tore out of her mouth instead of flashing through her thoughts.
“Mên Rúhk el-När ... mênajil il’Núr’u mên’Hkâ’ät!”
White light erupted from the staff’s crystal and burned away the night above and around Wynn.
Light exploded behind Magiere. It felt like fire all over her exposed flesh, and yet it did not affect her otherwise. It did not even slow her down.
The closest one coming at her was a ghul.
It was instantly swallowed in smoke exploding from its own flesh. Amid wails rising to almost human screams, it fell and began thrashing, trying to burrow into the hardened ground. Two pale-faced figures rounded it, and then staggered as flame sprouted to dance over their exposed hands and faces.
The frenzied terror of so many screams, shrieks, and wails smothered all sounds of battle left behind. Those farther back and too far to see scattered.
Magiere’s self-control broke again.
She rushed into the smoke, taking off a charred head, and before it hit the ground, she’d already fixed on her next prey.
Leesil braced for the charge of the last locatha—or the only one on its feet that he could see. He rolled and flopped aside as it tried to stomp on him. When he tried to push up to all fours, its immense tail came around at his head, and he had to drop again. His right hand was empty. The stiletto was gone, but he still held a winged blade in his left hand.
That scaled appendage whipped across his hair in passing too close.
There was no chance to look for Brot’an or the second guard that he hoped he’d put down. He shoved off, sliding backward, and rolled over to gain his feet.
Leesil pulled his second punching blade, and that thing was still coming.
At a sudden scraping thud, it buckled forward in a lurched stop ... and turned.
Leesil saw Chane right behind the third locatha with his longsword drawn and double gripped. He—and hopefully Ore-Locks—must have arrived inside the passage and run toward the fight.
Chane’s eyes widened in shock as the huge guard spun on him. Leesil didn’t see a mark on its back from Chane’s strike, and then he spotted Ghassan stepping out of the darkness from beneath the overhang—as if he had gone inside the entrance.
Leesil had forgotten the domin was even with them, but what was Ghassan doing in there?
Another movement pulled his gaze.
Brot’an pushed up off the ground, the first guard lying still at his feet, its face covered in blackish red blood. The second locatha lay still as well. Leesil’s stiletto must have driven in deep enough. And just as Leesil quickly looked back to the last guard ...
Brot’an stumbled.
Leesil flinched at the sight. For Brot’an never stumbled. Then his gaze met Chane’s for an instant. Chane’s shock vanished, and he raised his sword in a step to strike again. Leesil knew what Chane was doing. Ore-Locks then charged out of the dark and past Ghassan, his broader blade already drawn.
Their weapons weren’t going to put that thing down, but they would keep its attention.
Leesil fixed on the locatha’s thick, whipping tail. As Chane lunged just before Ore-Locks closed, Leesil knew the creature was still aware of him behind it. He wasn’t in a good way, judging by the pain in his side, but when he heard Chane’s blade scrape off the scaled hide, he charged.
Everything depended on Chane—and Ore-Locks—so that thing didn’t have a chance to turn around. Leesil waited until Ore-Locks swung the heavy blade. He heard it hit, saw the locatha recoil, and he leaped.
His left foot struck the base of its tail. He pushed up and wrapped his left arm, winged blade and all, around its neck below its jaws. Its large hand instantly clamped on his forearm, and even with the winged blade biting its palm, that grip crushed down. Ignoring the pain, Leesil rammed the point of his other winged blade into the side of its right eye.
He almost lost his hold when its head thrashed back.
He had to lean aside or be hit in the face, and he rammed the blade again, this time into the base of its jaw. He didn’t even know if Chane or Ore-Locks was still hacking at it until it began to teeter backward. All he could do was throw himself off it.
His side hurt even more when he slammed down and had to thrash over out of the way before it fell on him. When he rolled over, he saw something he’d never expected.
Ore-Locks dropped on top of that thing, or right beside it, and sank into the rocky surface. And as he did so, he wrapped one arm over its bloodied head and pulled the head down—straight through the stone.
The whole scaled body convulsed, limbs thrashing, and then it lay still.
Leesil just stared, not blinking, until Ore-Locks resurfaced partly, but he didn’t come fully out of the ground. By torchlight, he looked utterly strained and weakly reached up with one arm. Leesil tried to scramble toward him.
Chane’s sword clattered on stone as he dropped it, grabbed Ore-Locks’s arm with both hands, and had to heave to pull the dwarf out atop the stone slope. Ore-Locks half lay there, and Chane snatched up his sword again, raised it, and turned to make certain neither of the other two guards moved at all.
Everything seemed so quiet for so long.
Leesil didn’t even hear the distant sounds of battle over his own labored breaths.
Another flash of light below the mountain made everyone turn. Leesil stared down the mountain. The light did not go out this time, but it remained like a beacon in the distance.