Two hundred paces ahead of the quail, a pair of moon foxes darted across a stream, herding four young kits along between them. There was something out there, slinking into the eastern end of the Blazevale-the broad, sand-scoured valley that separated the Sharaedim from the Greycloak Hills to the north. Though curious, Aubric resisted the temptation to augment his keen elf sight with magic. Not two hours before, sentries had sent the Swords scrambling for cover with news of an approaching company. Aubric had to settle for staring out across the plain with his naked eye, waiting patiently for the next hint of the creature's presence.
Soon enough, he noticed a narrow riffle in the grass. The disturbance was advancing steadily toward a high, bowl-shaped outcrop known as Rocnest, a natural citadel that had housed elf garrisons for nearly a thousand years during the Crown Wars. Though the fortress had been abandoned after the fall of Aryvandaar, its location between Evereska and the Greycloak Hills had lately prompted talk of reclaiming it as a watch post.
Aubric's heart began to pound faster. The riffle was easily half a mile front to back, too long to be caused by an animal and far too straight. It advanced steadily toward the natural fortress, pausing neither to search for prey or check for predators. There was only one creature that traveled so efficiently, so confidently in the open plain. Aubric flipped the top off his spider hole and turned up the hill, flashing the signal to prepare for battle.
Rhydwych Bourmays, the company artmaster, poked her sable-tressed head out of the next hole. "You cannot be thinking to attack!" she hissed. 'Ten thornbacks is too many- especially with illithids and beholders to back them up."
'Tell your wands to prepare themselves," Aubric said, sidestepping the argument. "There is help for Evereska out there, and I won't stand idle while the phaerimm ambush it."
Rhydwych arched her thin eyebrows and looked across the plain. "Invisible is good." She studied the line a few seconds longer, then said, "And fast, I'll give them that. But help is an exaggeration. There can't be two hundred riders in the column."
"We don't know who those two hundred are, Artmaster- or what they intend." His tone was sharper than he intended, perhaps because of the disappointment Rhydwych's question had engendered in his own heart. By the Swords' best estimate-an estimate they had been unable to communicate to Evereska or anyone else-there were two hundred phaerimm in the Sharaedim. "Will you signal your wands, or must I?"
"No need to get nasty, Lord Nihmedu," snipped Rhydwych. "I know the ladder of authority-though you may be sure the House of Swords will review it if matters go badly." "If matters go badly, they will have no need."
He shooed Rhydwych off with a wave, then turned to find a watchman bounding down the shoulder of the hill. Aubric signaled his Noble Blades to hold steady, then began to tighten his armor. By the time he finished, the sentry was beside him, and a hundred Swords stood scattered across the hill.
"The phaerimm weren't hunting us, Aubric." As a superior noble, it would have been beneath the Gold elf to address Aubric by his title. "They're on the move." "Down the Blazevale, Lord Dureth?" Dureth nodded. "How-"
"Someone is trying to reach Rocnest." Aubric pointed toward the grass riffle. "It may be help."
The elf looked in the direction indicated. "If it is, it's not much." Dureth narrowed his eyes, then said, "Unless…" "Your thoughts do me no good unless you speak them."
"I'm wondering about the Rocnest," explained Dureth. "Why trap yourself there-" "Unless you'll be able to fight your way out-"
"But you need to defend yourself until you can," finished Dureth. "Could they be erecting a gate?" Aubric nodded. "It's all that makes sense."
Dureth pointed toward the hill's western shoulder, which descended gently to the plain near the mouth of the Blaze-vale. "We'd better hurry. They'll be closing on the Deadwall."
Aubric signaled the Swords to follow Dureth. "Lead the way-and quickly."
The Noble Blade started forward at a steady jog, and Aubric hurried after him. The Deadwall was the intangible barrier the phaerimm had erected around the Sharaedim and Greycloak Hills. It had earned its name not because it killed everything that tried to walk or fly through it-though it did-but because it blocked all magical communication and travel with the outside world. Rhydwych and her mages spent every spare hour trying to defeat the barrier, but had yet to succeed.
The Swords bounded up the slope in utter silence. At the top of the ridge, Dureth, Aubric, and Rhydwych crawled to the crest and peered into the Blazevale.
They found themselves a few hundred paces above the phaerimm, who were advancing toward Rocnest. In addition to the ten thornbacks, there were a dozen illithids, a like number of beholders, and two hundred mindslaves. The slaves were a mixed bunch, mostly humans and bugbears, but with an alarming number of elves as well. A fair number of elves wore the elaborate, beast-head helmets favored by Evereskan nobles. It filled Aubric with despair to recognize a gilt hawk and two stylish lions as the helms of Noble Blades.
Leaving Dureth to skulk along behind the crest and watch the enemy, Aubric and Rhydwych slipped down the slope and led the Swords along a parallel course. Soon enough, the ridge fell to a bare seven feet, and the enemy company streamed out beyond the shoulder to the line of decomposing birds and rabbits that marked the Deadwall. Aubric signaled his company to wait.
On the plain, the ruffle had closed to within four hundred paces of Rocnest. Though it was impossible to tell whether the invisible newcomers had seen the enemy, the phaerimm were making no secret of their presence. They stopped at the Deadwall only long enough for one of their number to run his four hands through a spell, creating a shimmering half-disk of greenish light.
"Four hands! No wonder we couldn't find the spell!" whispered Rhydwych.
The first two phaerimm pressed themselves to the shimmering doorway and melted through it, their bodies spreading across one side, then oozing out the other. Aubric grimaced. The slow process precluded a mad dash to take the enemy from behind. They would have to fight for the doorway and hold it, like an army claiming a crucial bridge.
The other phaerimm floated through the portal one after the other, leaving the illithids and beholders to herd the mindslaves through. Arrogant as always in their power within the Sharaedim, they were not even worried about being attacked from behind-an unfortunate testament, Aubric realized, to how little damage the Swords had truly inflicted on their enemies.
By the time the last phaerimm had crossed the barrier, the fast-moving newcomers had reached the base of Rocnest-or at least their riffle had. In front of the tor, a steady progression of birds began to take wing as invisible warriors fanned out to set up an advanced defense line.
The phaerimm huddled together arguing, filling the air with strange whistles and angry gestures. After a few wasted moments, they returned to the Deadwall and created nine more shimmering portals. The beholders and illithids began to shove mindslaves through en masse, while the thornbacks worked frantically to arrange them into battle ranks. Aubric could not help smiling. It was the first time he had seen anyone disrupt a phaerimm plan. The newcomers seemed eager to press. A dozen golden meteors arced away from Rocnest, landing short of the phaerimm lines, but exploding into huge curtains of amber fire. "That's Vhoorflame!" hissed Rhydwych.