The coldness in his voice was heard by all, being more for the fang's benefit than that of Duras. He kept his eyes on the floor, feeling the change in the air as Duras regarded him with sudden shock and anger. Syrolf squared his shoulders and glowered at the vremyonni.
"Watch your tongue, exile," he said. He looked as if he were about to say something else when Bastun whipped around, ignoring him as a deep and ominous sound echoed through the hall. The mask carried the noise to his ears alone at first, but soon that sorcery was no longer needed. Something big voiced its displeasure in a disjointed growl that seemed constructed of several dozen beastly throats singing as one.
"Syrolf! With me!" Duras's sword leaped into his hand as he swiftly took command. He pointed at the berserkers. "Keep at that door! Do not stop until we return!"
Syrolf clapped two of the fang on the shoulders, and they fell in behind him. Two of the sellswords also followed as Bastun stood and followed Duras's long-legged run through the maze of bodies. The Rashemi and the sellswords alike stared after them a moment, then redoubled their efforts at freeing the doors.
They jumped over bodies and climbed over icy hills of the fallen army. Visages frozen in horror passed beneath Bastun's boots as he summoned his axe blade, imagining a myriad of unholy beasts rising amid the piles. A massive silhouette shifted just beyond the next pile of bodies and burst into view, a charging blur of pale flesh and bones.
Duras cursed and dodged as the thing hurtled past. Syrolf was thrown aside like a rag doll, and Bastun fell as the shape turned and snarled. Raising his axe, he began chanting, repulsed as the beast entered the light. The wolflike head flinched at the illumination at first, then fixed on it.
The head was as long as a man was tall and more than half as wide. Odd knots and malformed protrusions revealed a patchwork construction of various bodies and parts. Arms and elbows formed the angry brow. Fingers gripped bone along a jaw made of broken ribcages, the ribs sharpened into vicious fangs. Legs, torsos, and faces rippled and writhed through the neck, flanks, and limbs of the creature which had no body of its own save those that made up its macabre anatomy. Ice clung to its white, hairless flesh as it bared a maw of jagged yellow fangs and prowled toward him.
A red flash of energy left Bastun's palm and sizzled across the thing's snout. Flames sprouted and guttered, steaming as ice melted and rotten flesh burned. As it shook away the offending fire, Bastun scrambled back to his feet, eyes scanning the area for any sign of the durthan or Thaena.
As he summoned another spell, berserker blades hacked at the hound's frost-rimed flanks, but to no apparent effect. It swiped and clawed, batting them away and snapping at those that got too close. Growls emanated from a collection of mouths along the beast's neck, humanoid faces twisted in torment as the hound scattered its attackers, separating them from one another. Arcs of lightning leapt from Bastun's fingertips, sizzling among the conjoined corpses and causing each to spasm and steam. The whole of the monster shuddered, and it wobbled on its legs, but only for a moment as it pinned a screaming sellsword beneath a heavy paw.
The other sellsword, a vicious dark-skinned easterner wielding twin axes, hacked at the beast's snout, and it reared back. Bastun circled, chanting softly and still searching for sign of Anilya or Thaena. A female voice rang out from behind and he turned, energy crackling at his fingertips as Thaena appeared atop a pile of corpses and ice. He ceased his spell as a brilliant white light shot from her staff and pierced the hound with a blazing heat.
It howled in pain from a score of hideous throats, trembling as the searing hole in its side grew and blackened to ash. The myriad of its tortured faces moaned in unison as they twisted to get a view of the ethran. Legs slipping on the icy stone, it thrashed, an aimless paw crushing the fallen sellsword as it snapped at the easterner. The man was taken screaming into the air. Razor-sharp rib-fangs pierced through armor and furs, gnashing in an awkward imitation of feeding.
Horrified by the spectacle, Bastun stopped as the screams ceased and the body slid down the throat. Bits of armor, chewed and slashed, fell from in between clasped arms and broken legs. Fur cloak and boots sloughed away as well, discarded as the new body took its place in the mass. In moments the gaping wound in its side had shrunk. The wolflike head rose, focused on Thaena.
Duras rushed forward, placing himself in the hound's path. Bastun stepped back a pace, magic sliding down his arms as the beast crouched to pounce. Then his world dissolved into white wind and ice.
He could hear the clash of steel on bone, the thunderous crash of the creature landing atop ancient bodies, and the chanting voice of Thaena. He fell to his side, thrown across the floor, tumbling against the dead. Chill caressed his skin for the briefest of moments before heat began surging through him. The fever burned like fire in his blood. Snow and ice melted, his long braids were matted to his head and draped across his mask, steaming as he pushed himself up. Heat churned in his gut like a pit of coals, and he cried out, turning with murderous intent to find Anilya.
Eyes wide behind her mask, the durthan stared, a slender, pale wand still glowing in her hand.
Bastun raised his axe and started toward her, turning the curse on his lips into eager words of magic. The sounds of battle echoed behind him, and he only just heard the sound of approaching footfalls crashing ever closer. Reluctantly turning, he swung as the hound bore down on him. The force of the blow cracked against the beast's lower jaw, sending Bastun falling to the right.
He rolled out of the way as more bolts of burning light charred the hound's back, distracting the descending jaws. Pulling himself up a drift of bodies, Bastun found the durthan gone, catching a fleeting glimpse of her figure as she ran for the western exit. Wavering, he looked between the escaping Anilya and the battle below.
Cursing, he noted with alarm the long-dead body captured in the beast's fangs. Throwing its head back it devoured the corpse, healing more of its wounds even as they were made. The battleground all around became more than just an unworthy graveyard-a feast of hundreds filled the inner wall.
"Now, damn all the luck, is my chance," he whispered, taking heart in Thaena's continued casting, Duras's war song, and the cries of pain as the beast was injured. He made after the durthan, eager to return the favor of her betrayal.
Several Rashemi surrounded the open door. Neither Anilya nor her sellswords were anywhere to be seen. The Ice Wolves seemed eager for battle and the sight of him would do little to calm this instinct. He had no time to stop and explain himself. He whispered a quick spell just before entering the light of their torches. His form shifted and rippled, becoming translucent and shadowlike. Staying on the move, he barely made a sound as he slid by them, little more than a disturbance on the air.
The stairwell to the top of the tower was intact, and he swiftly followed the footsteps he could hear above. Not quite shadow and not quite solid, he was able to see the thick darkness gathering in pools below him. Quiet sobs and whispered insanities rose as shadowy tendrils grasped at the bottom step. Ignoring the child spirits, he gained on the durthan and climbed the last few steps just behind her sellsword guards, who could not see or hear him.
Eyeing the walls and heavy doors, Anilya strode into the room ahead of him. Shouts and curses echoed from the bottom of the tower. Her men turned to look over the railing just as she spun around, seeming to notice his odd shimmer in the air. The haft of his axe slammed into her raised arm as she attempted to defend herself. His blade whistled past her mask and she fell backward, landing on her hands. As he raised the axe to swing again, the durthan pointed a ringed finger and hissed an arcane syllable. The blade disappeared from the staff and would move no closer to her no matter how he strained to bring it to bear.