She caught it, unsheathed it, checked its balance. "Not the best," she murmured.
"I'm sure you'll use it to its potential," Lonal said confidently.
When they had taken what they needed, Lonal and Shigmur dispatched the sentries. Being compelled to kill helpless opponents soured their mood. They didn't tarry over the bodies.
They mounted the wide stairs in slow, mouse-quiet strides. They keened their ears, but any activity in the world above was muffled by the stone walls and massive flooring over their heads. Only when they reached the door at the top could they hear the clunk of boots in the kitchen beyond. In the next moment, the door opened.
Lonal struck, mortally wounding two of the four soldiers in the kitchen almost before they knew they were under attack. The bodies obstructed Lonal's efforts to reach the rear pair. One of these hurriedly tried to draw his sword; the other turned to run. Elenya took out the first, Shigmur the second, both with demonblades.
Their dying gurgles were loud.
Elenya and Shigmur had just had time to retrieve their knives when two more of the garrison rounded a corner. They flung again. The lead soldier ducked behind the butchering table. The other sidestepped less successfully – the demonblade glanced off his ribs.
The wounded man ran out, shouting loudly. The other stood, kicked the demonblades behind him, and chose a position just beyond the narrow entryway to the inn's dining hall.
Lonal didn't hesitate. He plunged across the room. The soldier parried stoutly. The man was good. He had not tried to delay the three of them out of a suicidal impulse; he assumed he would be able to hold them the few moments needed for reinforcements to arrive. He would have stood a chance, Elenya decided, watching him. His Tiandra Block was classical, worthy of an academy instructor. An excellent, temporary defensive strategy. But he faced the war-leader of the T'lil.
Lonal thrust repeatedly, pulling his jabs short to gain speed. The soldier blocked the first two but from then on was always a fraction of a second too late. Lonal opened superficial cuts all over his opponent's torso, limbs, and face. In a few moments, the man was too disoriented to stop the killing blow to his heart.
Shigmur and Lonal pushed past the dying man as fast as they could, racing for the main entrance to the inn. Elenya stayed in the kitchen, succeeding in barring the exit there, as well as the one small window. The inn was meant to be defensible; they would turn that to their advantage if possible.
Lonal reached the doorway. A large party of men was bearing down on the entrance. He had no choice but to stand his ground and try to hold the portal, leaving Shigmur to try to secure the two windows.
Metal clashed. The foremost soldier was halted by the war-leader's weapon. The garrison ignored the windows for a bit too long. Shigmur managed to close off one and reach the other in time to harry the man stepping through.
The battle was furious. The Zyraii knew that they stood little chance if the inn were breached. For the moment, the enemy could only attack one at a time, but it would take only one suicidal charge to force them away from their position of strength. Shigmur's first antagonist had fallen dead across the sill, eliminating the possibility of easily closing the shutters.
It was a temporary stalemate. The garrison men were not the equal of either Lonal or Shigmur. Furthermore, many of them were sluggish with Mother's Breath. Intent on their jobs, Shigmur and Lonal didn't notice Elenya join them.
"The horn!" she cried.
Lonal ducked a slash and chopped off the man's sword hand. Elenya repeated her entreaty. This time it registered. During the lull while the crippled man got out of the way of his comrades, Elenya and Lonal traded places.
Once free, Lonal lifted to his lips the ram's horn that hung on a chain around his neck and blew a series of six notes.
Falol was on the battlements when he heard the horn blast, and he knew immediately what it meant. The call was repeated several times. It echoed off the mountainsides.
The vice-commander looked to the road. The Zyraii had stood and were mounting their animals. Another horn call rose from their center. Moments later, a far larger party of Zyraii appeared around the bend in the road.
"Archers!" Falol shouted. The alarm was passed. Men running to the fight at the inn turned and rushed to the walls. The guards at the gate house doubled their alertness.
Falol cursed. Only a handful of his soldiers were moving normally. Several others were trudging slowly to their positions, but most had simply not stirred at all. There should have been nearly one archer for each embrasure; instead, there was one for every ten.
The Zyraii were charging en masse, riders in the lead. In their wake ran foot warriors carrying ladders.
"Fire at will!" Falol growled, picking up his own bow. Almost at the same moment, an arrow whizzed past his nose.
The soldier next to him crumpled and fell, shot through the ear.
Falol ducked behind the merlon. Arrows were pouring over the battlements. He could see at least three of his men down. Most of the others, like him, had sought refuge. He peered out through the embrasure to his left. Zyraii warriors had risen from hiding places behind the rocks near the fortress and were applying covering fire.
Falol took aim, fired, and hid behind the merlon again. When he looked, the warrior he had shot at was limp across a boulder, a shaft protruding from his chest.
The Zyraii archers were more exposed than the men of Xurosh, but the nuisance they created was critical. The fortress bowmen now had to guard themselves and divide their offense between two sets of enemies. The riders were well within range now but were suffering minimal casualties. Within moments they would be at the walls.
Falol shot three more arrows, receiving one through the sleeve for his trouble. The scratch on his arm swelled his anger. There were Zyraii everywhere! The fortress was fighting back like a child.
The first ladder slammed into place nearby. He helped push it over before the climbers could start. The man next to him took a demonblade in the throat.
Screams rang out as a cauldron was tipped, drenching the Zyraii trying to ram the gate. Two of them went to their knees, clutching their scalded flesh. The others picked up the ram, stood in the sizzling puddles of oil, and resumed the effort.
The gate would hold, Falol knew. But the garrison, crippled as it was, would not be sufficient to keep the ladders away forever. Soon it would be time for swords, he thought, laying a sweaty palm on the pommel of his weapon.
He saw flickers in the sky. The barbarians were sending fire arrows over his head, into the wooden market stalls and awnings in the courtyard below.
Lonal, Shigmur, and Elenya knew as soon as the shuttered window of the inn burst that they couldn't hold the room. They back-pedalled into the kitchen, their enemies close behind, and reestablished themselves at its entrance. Lonal, the most rested, held the passage.
Shigmur and Elenya had only a brief respite. The door to the kitchen's side exit smashed inward, and solid blows were landing on the window. They moved to intercept the intruders. These three openings were the only inlets. If they all survived, they could hold the kitchen. Their next retreat would be the cellar door. That would put them in a disadvantageous position on the stairs.
Elenya felt blood trickling down her ribs. She couldn't feel the wound. She was aware only of the heat in her muscles, the steady pull in her lungs, and the burden of making a decision each second on which her life depended. She held the side door. A huge, burly man, seeing her slight form, tried to overrun her; he met his end that much faster. His body tripped the next man, who became fodder for her swordplay. The one behind him was sluggish, no doubt from the poison, and lasted only a few seconds.
Caught in battle fever, she lost all sense of the happenings around her. It was only when her opponents hesitated that she smelled the smoke.