The masked witches

Recognizing that she had him under her spell, Grontaix leered, gripped a little sculpted pear tree, and, with astonishing strength, twisted it and ripped it up from the floor. Aoth saw that the makeshift club would make it easier for her to strike at him without coming in contact with his spi

Suddenly Zyl darted past Aoth and up the fomorian s bloody leg. He paused for an instant to bite and scratch at the gash the spear had opened, then scurried onward. He vanished under the hem of her gown.

Grontaix roared and pounded with her fist at the moving lump under the fabric. Somehow, she missed, and only managed to thump herself. Zyl scrambled from her front to her back, where she d have trouble reaching, and where, Aoth assumed, he clung gnawing at her flesh.

Still roaring, the fomorian heaved the stone tree over her head and thrust it repeatedly downward like a huge, unwieldy back scratcher. Shaken loose, silver pears fell clanking and rolled clattering across the floor.

Meanwhile, a cyclops at the periphery of Aoth s vision swung his sword at the flying mace of golden light that was assailing him in turn. By keeping the giant occupied, the conjured weapon freed up Cera to try to help Aoth. With her voice shrill but still as controlled as spellcasting required she rattled off a prayer.

It set him free. Suddenly, though the floating, shifting pattern was still beautiful, its hold on him ended. For an instant, he felt a belated horror at having been so helpless, but he shook it off.

By that time, the scraping stone branches had ripped Grontaix s gown from her body. The garment hung from the tree like a tattered flag on a pole. She rammed her weapon downward yet again, and it finally brushed Zyl from his perch and dashed him to the floor. She lurched around, exposing the hump that, crisscrossed with welts, cuts, and bite marks, looked like someone had flogged her, and glared down at the rat. He thrashed like he was in the throes of a seizure. She swung the tree over her head.

Aoth cast a fan-shaped flare of flame from his spear, and it splashed across her crooked, bloody back. She howled and staggered.

I m still here, Ugly! he bellowed.

Finish with me before you start killing rats!

She turned back around like he wanted her to. The force of her glare was like a hammer slamming into his face. He staggered and cried out, and, as fast as her wounded leg would allow, she rushed him.

By the time Aoth had recovered his balance, the stone tree was whirling at him in a horizontal arc. He leaped back, and it missed his body but caught the end of his spear. The force of the blow tore the weapon from his grasp and stabbed pain up his arm. He suspected it was nearly broken or dislocated.

Aoth snatched out the short, heavy sword he carried as a backup. He wasn t as adept with it, nor had he painstakingly infused it with as many enchantments as he had the longer weapon, but it would have to do.

He would have to get close to the fomorian and stay there, so the blade could reach her. She would have a more awkward time of it attacking him from the shorter distance. He scrambled toward her just as she followed up with a backhand swing.

Aoth strained to spring forward even faster and just made it inside the giant s reach. Her arms were above him, and the branches of the stone tree scraped, banged, and snapped, sweeping across the patch of floor at his back. The wheel of blades sliced a deep gash across Grontaix s unwounded leg before the magic blinked out of existence. With a final stride, Aoth closed the distance, charged his sword with destructive force, and slashed a second cut above the other.

The sword bit deep, but the giantess still wouldn t fall down. Though the wound must have hurt her, she repeatedly tried to stamp on Aoth, and to stab the top of the stone tree down on his head. She alternated those tactics with an attempt to scramble far enough away so that his sword couldn t reach her, while at the same time sweeping him away by swinging her makeshift weapon. He dodged, pursuing doggedly whenever she tried to open up the distance, and cutting at her whenever she gave him a chance.

Meanwhile, something started pounding on the other side of one of the arches that Jhesrhi had sealed with her wizardry. So far, Aoth and his comrades had held their own, but it seemed unlikely that even the elementalist s mastery of earth and stone could keep the rest of the giants out for long.

Which meant they had to end the fight quickly. Aoth had to, for he d taken the critical task upon himself. Everyone else was essentially just keeping the cyclopes from swarming on him.

Grontaix tried another retreat, and pursuing more slowly, trying to look fatigued it shouldn t be difficult he let her open up the distance. She screamed and whirled the stone tree the silver pears all fallen away, many of the branches snapped off short in another sweeping horizontal stroke.

Aoth didn t try to dodge. He d let her open up the distance precisely so she could attempt another of those arcing blows they took longer to travel to the target. With luck, they even afforded the time for a spell. He rattled off words of power as the stone tree spun at him, and he slashed in its direction with his sword.

A shaft of green light blazed from the blade and struck the onrushing makeshift weapon. The whole tree glowed emerald for an instant and then simply disappeared.

The sudden absence of its weight threw the fomorian off balance. Aoth charged and cut at her nearest leg like a mad logger frantic to fell a tree.

He slashed repeatedly, inflicting new wounds on a limb that, like its mate, was already a gory, tattered mess. Blood spurted. Grontaix roared, stumbled, and fell headlong. When she slammed down, it jolted the floor, and Aoth nearly lost his balance, too.

He sprinted toward her head, grabbed the edge of an ear, and pressed the point of his sword against a pulsing artery in the side of her neck. Don t move! he gasped. Tell the cyclopes to stand down! Now, or you re dead!

She hesitated for a moment, then cried, Everyone, stop! It gave him a vague sort of satisfaction that she sounded as winded as he did.

When he felt confident that she really had stopped fighting, he risked a quick glance around. To his relief, all of his allies appeared to be all right. In fact, they d killed two more cyclopes: one that Jhesrhi had apparently burned to death and another that looked like it had succumbed to a combination of sword cuts and bites from large fanged jaws. The bites didn t look like the results of any spell that Jhesrhi or Cera used, and Aoth could only assume that some magic Zyl commanded was responsible. The surviving retainers were lowering their weapons and backing away from their opponents.

Suddenly the stone plugging one of the arches flew apart with a flash of silvery light and an echoing boom, and more cyclops warriors scrambled through the breach. Fortunately, they faltered when they saw Aoth s blade at Grontaix s throat.

Good, he told the giantess. Now, everyone s going to stay calm, you re going to answer some questions, and then you re going to escort my friends and me safely out of here.

That ll be a good trick, she gritted, considering that I m bleeding out.

He realized that might actually be true. Cera, if you have any power left, keep her alive, he said.

All right, the priestess replied. She stanched the rhythmic arterial spurting with a prayer and a gleaming touch of her hand.

There, said Aoth. You see, this doesn t need to turn ugly. Well, uglier.

Who are you people? the fomorian growled.

Agents of the Iron Lord and the Wychlaran, Aoth replied.