A strand of silk appeared in Aubric's hand of its own accord. He flung it at a dozen charging mindslaves and called three arcane syllables. A golden web engulfed their legs and brought their charge to a halt Pounding feet sounded to his left. He dropped to a whirling crouch and swept his attacker's legs with an extended foot, then knocked the woman senseless with a heel kick to the head. The smell of musk saturated the air, and he launched himself backward, somersaulting into the legs of an astonished bugbear, thrusting his blade up through its guts, rolling free before the gore came showering down. He sprang up and heard a pair of light feet approaching from his wounded side.
Aubric lowered his sword, then seeing no more mind-slaves to attack, stooped down to clean the blade on a human's tunic.
"Impressive," said Rhydwych. She thrust a healing potion into his hands. "But you might want to leave the bladesinging to younger nobles."
"Old habits die hard." Aubric allowed himself a wince, then drank the potion down. Its healing warmth coursed through his weary body, but there remained a chill deep in his wounded side. "Damn, that's one youngblade I wish I hadn't taught so well." Rhydwych cocked her brow. "If you are too badly hurt-"
"When I am in too much pain to defend Evereska, you will know it by the pieces on the ground."
Aubric glanced over his shoulder and found the rest of the company assembling. They had lost perhaps twenty Noble Blades, but still had all twelve Wands. He waved his sword toward Rocnest and started after the phaerimm. "For Evereska!" "For Evereska!"
If the reply was weaker and softer than Aubric would have liked, so was his own voice. The pain was spreading, filling his abdomen with cramping fire. The blade had pierced something vital, but there was nothing to do about it. Both of the company's healers had long since been killed, so he could either fight through to Evereska's allies and hope they had a good healer, or he could sit down and die.
Aubric closed off all awareness of the pain, calling on his old bladesinger talents to draw strength from the Weave and lead the charge across the charred plain. As they drew closer to Rocnest, he was astonished at the newcomers' losses. Elves and humans alike lay scattered by the dozens, most motionless and quiet, some writhing and groaning. He saw at least seventy or eighty casualties himself, and guessed the total could easily be twice that number. He assigned half a dozen of his own walking wounded to do what they could for the injured, though everyone knew that would be all too little.
Seventy paces from the enemy, a tremendous crack echoed across the plain. The newcomers' blue dome flickered and dimmed, then flashed out of existence. The phaerimm started forward again, only to be met by a volley of arrows and spears from Rocnest. The dark shafts struck in a clattering cloud, many ricocheting harmlessly off the thorn-backs' scales, but a few finding soft seams. One monster dropped to the ground with the butt of an elven spear in its mouth, and two more trilled in anguish, but most showed no reaction at all to the sticks bristling in their bodies.
A hundred warriors appeared atop Rocnest, visible now that they had attacked and turning to scramble down behind the jagged lip. They made it only a step before the rim erupted into curtains of golden fire and showers of fuming black rain. There was a cacophony of crackling flame and anguished screaming, then another sound-four roaring voices booming out the same intricate spell, complementing each other, working jointly to twine together separate strands of the Weave in one creation.
"It's a Circle!" Rhydwych said, coming to Aubric's side. "The high mages are trying to open the gate!" "How long?" Aubric asked.
'Too long." Rhydwych pointed at the surviving phaerimm, who were plucking the last of the arrows from their bodies and rising toward Rocnest. 'Ten minutes, at least."
Aubric's heart sank. The whole battle so far had taken only fifteen minutes, and the newcomers had done well to delay the phaerimm that long. He thrust his arm into the air, extending his thumb and smallest finger in the "bow" signal.
"Arrows!" He turned to Rhydwych. "How many of us can you magic up there?"
"None, if you expect us to put up a fight," she said. "There's a moment of confusion after any translocational spell-and a moment would be all the phaerimm need."
Aubric nodded, then closed his fist and lowered his arm, calling the Swords to a halt "Dying that way would do no good, but we must buy them time. Take your Lordly Wands and do whatever you can. The Blades will follow as we can." Rhydwych's face paled, but she nodded. "For Evereska."
"For Evereska-and all the elves remaining to Faerun." Aubric's stomach turned hollow and queasy. It was one thing to lead the charge into peril, quite another to order a dozen brave elves to their certain deaths. "May the Harp Archer watch over you."
"And you as well, Lord Nihmedu." Rhydwych gave him a weak smile, then kissed his cheek. "Don't let them make a mindslave of me." "Nor you of me," answered Aubric.
Rhydwych drew a pair of battle wands, then closed her eyes and used her magic to mindspeak with her fellow wizards.
Aubric looked toward Rocnest again, where five healthy phaerimm were already halfway to the rim. The other two remained closer to the ground, wobbling about on their tails as they tried to recover their wits. "Loose and advance!" Aubric yelled.
A volley of arrows darkened the sky, a dozen flying toward each phaerimm. Perhaps a quarter of the shafts directed against the injured creatures struck home, lodging themselves deep between their scales or in the pulpy rim of the mouth. One thornback dropped writhing and flopped like a trout out of water. The second vanished in the glimmer of teleport magic. The other flights streaked to within a few inches of their targets, then struck some invisible shield and bounced harmlessly away.
By the time the arrows tumbled to the ground, Rhydwych and her Wands were in the air, streaking after the phaerimm like sparrows after hawks. Aubric started to raise a hand to call a ground charge, then saw a dark-bearded human step onto a jagged spur atop Rocnest. He held a black mage's staff and wore heavy winter robes, and Aubric felt certain he was the same man whose silver flames had destroyed the first phaerimm.
Hit them again, my friend, and this time your arrows will strike home. On my signal.
Aubric did not question how the voice came to his head, nor hesitate to implement its command. He raised his thumb and little finger in the "bow" signal and called a halt. "Nock and aim!" he yelled. "Choose your targets well."
Even as he yelled this, the phaerimm unleashed a tempest of magic at the figure atop the rock. There were fireballs and ice storms, swirling clouds of vapor and black bolts of death, lightning forks and even a great disembodied hand. The human stood through it all, his arms spread wide, his black staff raised high above his head, its body surrounded by a purple aura as it drew attack after attack down into its shaft.
The figure could only be Khelben Arunsun. Aubric's spirits rose at once, for with one of the Chosen fighting in Evereska's defense, surely it could only be a matter of time before the phaerimm were driven from the Sharaedim. He waited patiently for the promised signal, all the while watching his Wands draw closer to the phaerimm, and the phaerimm closer to Rocnest, until he began to worry about distance and accuracy, and to fear that his archer's shafts might strike the Swords' own wizards.