Bareris realized he didn't dare spend any more time in the tunnels looking for anything. He had to get out now, so he clambered out the window feet first.
He was no expert climber, and fatigue and the flare of cold had stolen a measure of his strength, but fortunately, the ancient builders hadn't polished the walls of the shaft smooth, or if they had, time had come along behind them and roughened them again. There were hand- and footholds to be had, and refusing to look down at the gulf yawning beneath him, the bard hauled himself upward.
Finally he reached one of the spiraling staircases. He dragged himself onto the steps, lay on his belly for a moment panting and trembling, then forced himself to rise and skulk onward.
In time he spotted a pair of human guards at the top of the steps. As best he could judge, no one had alerted them that an intruder had penetrated the catacombs below, for they appeared more bored than vigilant and were looking outward, not down the stairs.
Trying to be silent, Bareris drew his sword from beneath his robe and held it behind his back. Then he crept on.
Despite his efforts at stealth, one of the sentries apparently heard him coming. The warrior turned, and reacting to the sight of a red robe, he began to salute with his spear as the orcs at the portal had.
Then, his eyes widening, he exclaimed, "What's this?" and leveled the weapon.
Bareris charged, knocked the lance out of line with his sword, and drove the blade into the warrior's chest. Where it stuck fast as the other spearman attacked. Bareris let go of the hilt, twisted to avoid his adversary's thrust, grabbed him, and shoved him off the edge of the landing. Shrieking, the warrior plummeted down the well.
His pulse hammering in his neck, Bareris peered about. He was on top of a mountain, with brown, jagged peaks rising on every side to stab the overcast sky, and except for the subterranean city he'd just exited and a well-trodden trail running down the rocky slopes from the lip of the shaft, no sign of human habitation anywhere. He still suspected he was in the Sunrise Mountains, but he'd never even seen them before, and he knew that in fact, he could be anywhere.
At least he had the dawn to give him his directions. He'd head west, south, and/or downward, depending on which was most practical at a given moment, and hope to find his way to the Pass of Thazar or one of the eastern tharchs. He saw little choice but to try. By all accounts, a lone man couldn't survive in these mountains for long.
To his disappointment, the dead warrior at his feet wasn't carrying any food, but he did have a leather water bottle. Bareris appropriated that, his spear, and his cloak. Spring had come to the lowlands, but up here the wind whistling out of the north was cold, and the night would be colder still.
Once he'd outfitted himself as well as he was able, he trotted down the trail. It was the best way to distance himself from the wizards' stronghold, the fastest, easiest way to travel, but he'd need to forsake the path in just a little while, because his foes would come after him, and his only hope of evading them was to vanish into the trackless crags and gorges.
CHAPTER TEN
4–5 Kythorn, the Year of Risen Elfkin
Aoth looked around the table at Nymia Focar, his fellow captains, and an assortment of high-ranking Burning Braziers and Red Wizards. Many of his comrades looked tired, and tight mouths and clenched jaws revealed the determination to participate in the council of war despite the ache of one's wounds. Yet everyone seemed happy as well, whether expansively or quietly, and the singing and whooping outside the hall mirrored the mood of satisfaction within.
It was the satisfaction that came with victory. Upon learning the undead had in fact assaulted the sizable town of Thazrumaros and overrun the eastern half of it, Nymia had hastily reunited the greater part of her army to attack the creatures in their turn, and though the battle had claimed the lives of a number of Thayan warriors, in the end, she'd prevailed.
Now the common soldiers were celebrating, drinking the town dry and bedding every woman who felt moved to so reward its saviors. Aoth wished he were reveling with them.
Leaning on a crutch, his leg splinted, an officer hobbled in and took the last available chair. The yellow lamplight gleaming on the rings in her ears and the stud in her nose, Nymia sat up straighter, tacitly signaling that she was ready to begin. The drone of casual conversation died.
"My good friends," Nymia said, "you scarcely need me to tell you what your valor has accomplished over the course of the past several days. I've just received a message from Milsantos Daramos, and he and his troops have been similarly successful, cleansing the southern part of Pyarados as we've cleansed the north."
Everyone exclaimed and applauded, and Aoth supposed he might as well clap with them. It was good news, as far as it went.
When they'd all had their fill of self-congratulation, Nymia continued. "It's plain that when we combine Thayan arms, Thayan wizardry, and Kossuth's holy fire, these ghouls and specters are no match for us, so I propose to finish destroying them as expeditiously as possible. It's time to join forces with Tharchion Daramos, drive up the Pass of Thazar, and retake the keep. I only need to know how soon your companies can be ready to march."
The war leaders began to discuss how many casualties they'd sustained, how much flour and salt pork and how many crossbow bolts remained in the supply wagons, and all the other factors that determined an army's ability to travel and fight. Maybe, thought Aoth, he should leave it at that.
For after all, every other face at the table was a long, fair-complexioned, indisputably Mulan visage. Every other captain had more experience as an officer. Every other wizard was a Red Wizard. Thus, it was unlikely that his opinion would weigh very heavily with anyone.
Still, he felt it was his duty to voice it.
He raised his hand to attract Nymia's attention. "Yes," she said, smiling, "Aoth, what is it?"
He found he needed to clear his throat before proceeding. "I'm concerned that when we talk about rushing up the pass as fast as we can, or of the enemy as if their final defeat were a certainty, that we aren't taking the threat seriously enough."
Nymia cocked her head. "I take it very seriously. That's why, after our initial setbacks, I recruited the help required to deal with it."
"I know, but there's still a lot we don't understand."
"Of course-exactly where the undead came from, and why they decided to descend on us now. Perhaps we'll find out in due course, but do we actually need to know to defeat them? Judging from our recent successes, I'd say no."
"With respect, Tharchion, it's more than that. I told you about the fall of Thazar Keep, and the priest who wielded so much power against the undead. None of the creatures should have been able to stand against him, yet something struck him down."
One of the senior Burning Braziers, a burly, middle-aged man with tattooed orange and yellow flames crawling up his neck, snorted. "Are you well-versed in the mysteries of faith, Captain?"
"No," said Aoth, "but I know overwhelming mystical force when I see it, whether the source is arcane or divine."
"What, specifically, was the source in this instance?" asked the fire priest. "Which god did this paragon serve?"
"Bane."
"Oh, well, Bane." The Burning Brazier's tone suggested that all deities other than his own were insignificant, and his fellow clerics chuckled.
Nymia looked at Aoth. She was still smiling, but with less warmth than before. "I understand why you're concerned, but we already knew the enemy has special ways of striking at our priests, and we've already taken special measures to protect them. Is there anything else?"