The masked witches

I take it that s the end of the conversation? Nyevarra asked. The vampire witch seemed vibrant with impatience. Uramar suspected it was less because her allies had lost the first fight than because the sunlight had kept her from participating and drinking the blood of those who fell victim to her powers.

Yes, Falconer said. He dropped the imp s bones into the puddle of rot at his feet.

It s just as well, said Pevkalondra, sneering. A lustrous, eyeball-sized pearl was set in the left orbit of her shriveled face; and tiny silver scorpions crawled like lice in the folds of her faded blue velvet robe. Since there were only a handful of Raumvirans in the fortress, she arguably didn t enjoy quite the same status as Falconer and Nyevarra and needn t have been included in a council of war. But some of Uramar s shrewder voices had maintained it was politic to summon her to the keep s shadowy, ruinous great hall along with the other two.

Falconer pivoted to fix the ghoul with his double stare. And why is that? he asked.

Because anyone could hear the treachery in that oh-so-unctuous voice, Pevkalondra said. I would have thought even a Nar would notice. But perhaps

Don t start! Uramar said. Please. We re all brothers and sisters now, united by the creed of Lod. And even if we weren t, this would hardly be the time to renew old quarrels among ourselves.

I realized the Shou probably couldn t help us, Falconer said through gritted teeth. But it did no harm to communicate with him, and there s no reason to think he s playing us false. He said he chiseled the marks in the tombs under the Iron Lord s castle, and if so

Uramar raised his hand with its crooked, mismatched fingers, ridged scars, and piebald skin. You don t have to justify yourself, he said. I thought it was worth talking to him myself. Now we need to consider the question he asked us. Are we in serious difficulty?

Nyevarra made a spitting sound. Of course not! she said. I m not the only durthan who couldn t venture outside into the daylight. In the tu

I agree, Falconer said. My folk have demons we haven t used yet.

Pevkalondra nodded. And mine, constructs, she added.

Uramar smiled. Good, he replied. I knew I could count on your fighting spirit. Now, it seems to me that the best way to crush the intruders is to target their spellcasters. They only have a few, and their side can t win without them.

Again, I agree, Falconer said. And no one needs to coax me to focus my efforts on Fezim and the sunlady. I have a score to settle.

While I, Nyevarra purred, would take considerable satisfaction in bringing the Stag King low. What sort of dark fey sides with hathrans?

Then we have our strategy, Uramar said. Except that there s one more point to consider. What if, in spite of everything, the enemy gains the upper hand again?

Pevkalondra snorted. I plan for victory, not defeat, she said.

One of Uramar s more glib voices advised him how to answer. But with all respect, lady, he said, it s one of the strengths of the Eminence that we plan for every contingency. We figure out how to make even defeat serve our purposes. That s why no one can stop us from establishing our empire.

How nice, Falconer said. But what s the contingency plan now?

Simply this, Uramar said. If we smash our enemies, excellent. But if the battle goes against us, the more rational undead will retreat to safety along the deathways. Meanwhile, we ll leave zombies in fine armor and durthans masks and robes behind to perish with our goblins and such. Some will carry documents to create the impression that by taking this one fortress, our foes have crushed our entire enterprise.

Even as he articulated the scheme, he felt a pang of guilt; because all undead, even those with the dimmest minds, deserved better. But it was likewise true that any commander sometimes had to sacrifice troops to achieve his objectives.

Nyevarra nodded. I like it, she said.

Good, Uramar said. Now, let s talk specifics. Falconer, you know the fortress better than the rest of us. What s the best way to harry the mortals as they advance? Where are the best places to make a stand?

The winter sun had nearly sunk behind the battlements. Jhesrhi knew the next phase of the siege would begin soon, so even though she wasn t hungry, she made herself take a couple of bites from a hunk of pungent white Rashemi cheese.

She was rewrapping what was left in a threadbare old kerchief when Cera and Aoth approached her. The Iron Lord of Rashemen has griffons for sale, the war mage said, smiling a crooked smile.

We should go buy them.

It should all be straightforward enough, Cera said, quoting him as he d just quoted himself. The three of us can handle it.

Well, Jhesrhi said, the three of us are handling it. Give or take.

True, Aoth said. But be careful inside. Especially down in the vaults, which I m sure is where we ll find the hardest fighting.

She frowned. It wasn t like him to deliver such vague, useless cautions to a seasoned veteran and trusted comrade like herself.

Cera apparently thought the same. Are you worried? she asked. Did you have a vision?

Aoth snorted. You and your thirst for revelations, he said. No, thank the Firelord. I just wish we were doing this with the Brotherhood. But wishing won t make it so, so let s get on with it.

The berserkers and stag men had already heard the plan, so it didn t take long for them to form up in a rough horseshoe shape around the tall double doors in the center of the keep. Jhesrhi stood inside the arc and fixed her eyes and her will on the ironbound panels before her.

Pointing her staff at the doors, she recited a counterspell to dissolve the enchantments that buttressed them. Then she spoke to the mundane mechanisms that likewise secured them, commanding pins to lift and bars to slide.

Nothing happened.

But that was all right. The spells she d just attempted were the least of her magic. Next, she tried to breach the stone to the left of the doors as she d shifted the cavern walls in Grontaix s subterranean palace. Chanting, she swung her staff in a horizontal pass to indicate where and how she wanted it to split.

Warded like the entryway by the magic of the ancient Nars, the sandstone blocks ignored her.

It was going to take fire. Somehow, she d imagined that it would.

Sweeping her staff up and down in a pass that suggested leaping flame, she recited a rhyme in one of the hissing, crackling languages of the Undying Pyre. The fire that was a part of her sprang forth to cloak her.

But that blaze was a feeble guttering candle compared to the heat, or the potential for heat, concentrating in her hands and her staff. When she d gathered all she could hold, she raised the brass rod over her head and swung it at the doors like an axeman cleaving a foe from the scalp down.

A torrent of flame poured from the head of the staff. Neither the heat nor the brightness troubled Jhesrhi, but her allies cried out and recoiled.

For a heartbeat or two, the doors withstood even such an assault. Then the wood caught all at once, burning away to nothing in an instant. Half melted and deformed, the door s ironwork dropped, clanking onto the threshold.

Something as big as an ogre, with the head of a cat and a whipping tail as scaly as a dragon s, sprang out of empty air. Jhesrhi realized the gaunt form was a demon the Nars had bound in the entryway as the linchpin of their defensive magic. It was the fiend s strength she d been contending against, and, paradoxically, by overcoming it, she d set her adversary free.

The demon stretched out its clawed hands and lunged at a berserker. Aoth pointed his spear and pierced the creature with darts of blue light. The tanar ri staggered, and that gave Vandar enough time to rush it and slash open its belly with the red sword. Loops of guts came sliding out, and the creature collapsed. A second cut split its skull and spilled its brains.