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  “Great gods, what happened to you? I thought you were lost!”

  “We were just a bit late,” Marina said soberly. “Magic isn’t perfect, you know. You don’t always go where or when you want to be.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” he said.

  “Please do.”

  “I’m very glad to see you,” Ridley said.

  “And I’m… quite pleased to see you.”

  “You’ve got a little soot on your nose.”

  “You’ve got a lot.”

  “And I’m going to be the only one standing here alive,” said a familiar voice at his back, “if you two don’t stop doing that.”

  Ridley reluctantly freed himself and grinned. “I’d be willing to hug an elf. Are you people into that?”

  Norda nocked an arrow into her bow. “Not with humans, no.” She raised one hand to her chin and gave him a curious look “What happened? Something happened to you, but I can’t tell what.”

  “I’ve been busy. There’s a war on, you know.”

  “Yes, I do, but—” Norda’s eyes went wide. “Damodar! It’s Damodar, isn’t it?”

  “What?” Marina looked confused.

  “We had a little quarrel. Well, a big quarrel, I guess. I won, he lost.”

  Marina’s mouth dropped open. “You—Are you all right? Ridley—”

  “He’s all right,” Norda said, looking at him in a way she had never quite looked at him before. “If you’re going after Profion, my friend, you’re going to need some help.”

  Ridley didn’t waste time asking just how she knew that.

  “I’m going to need more than I’ve got,” he admitted. “If we could pull Elwood away from his friends…”

  “Oh, I can do that.”

  Ridley and Marina exchanged a look. Norda couldn’t see Elwood from where she stood, but she didn’t seem concerned about that. An arrow left her bow, sailed in a high, silent arc, then dropped out of sight.

  Ridley heard a great bellow, a string of dwarf curses, another bellow and a roar.

  Marina looked appalled. “You shot him, Norda?”

  “Of course I didn’t shoot him. I got his attention is all.”

  Ridley turned as a shout, a scream, half a dozen shrieks, and a yell erupted from the crimson-clad troops. An instant later, Elwood emerged from the rapidly dwindling crowd, swinging his great axe through the air.

  “I should’ve known!” the dwarf raged, turning his bloodshot eyes on Norda. “My old daddy, Black Hackwater, told me once if he tol’ me a thousand times, don’t ever turn your back on an elf. You do, and you’ll live to regret it, only more’n likely you won’t.”

  “My father told me the very same thing about dwarves,” Norda said.

  “Huh! Look at that,” Elwood said, holding up his axe. “If your arrow hadn’t struck the haft, it’d be stuck in me.”

  “If I’d aimed at you, dwarf, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “All right, enough,” Ridley said. “We’d better shut up and get out of here. Those louts have got their hands full with the Empress’ troops, but that isn’t going to last long, not if those red monsters keep setting everybody on fire.”

  Marina gave him a hard, penetrating glance. He’d seen that challenge in her eyes before.

  “We are not going to lose, Ridley. We simply can’t, all right?”

  “All right, then we won’t.”

  “I agree,” Norda said.

  “I got nothing else to do,” Elwood said, “except I’d like to find lunch somewhere.”

  “Hang around,” Ridley said, “and lunch’ll find you.”

  It seemed, for a moment, that indeed the crimson uglies had turned away, their harsh cries of victory a terrible din as they rushed to finish the Empress’ harried men. Then, as if the mage himself had sensed the thoughts of Ridley and his friends, a horde of soldiers in armor and garish red appeared to block the way.

  Ridley’s heart sank. There were too many of them, no way to stop them all. His sword was too heavy, his hands so numb he could scarcely grasp the hilt.

  “We can,” Marina whispered. “We can.”

  “We can surely try,” Norda said.

  “What we can do is stand and die,” Elwood said.

  Ridley didn’t answer. He drew a ragged breath of the thick and choking air, looked at Marina, and decided he would very much miss that lovely mouth and those river-blue eyes.

  Here we go, Snails. Let’s do it, friend.

  CHAPTER

  40

  One was all right. Two, Ridley didn’t mind. Three, four, five at a time… that didn’t seem fair.

  Clearly, the crimson uglies didn’t care. They came in swinging, iron blades flashing, a wall of red armor, hard-bossed leather, breastplates, helms, and brazen shields.

  Ridley took the left, Elwood the right. Norda stood behind the pair, her bow dropping foes on either side. If a soldier got careless and tried to come in from behind, Marina downed them with her club.

  Ridley was no longer aware of the dying, of the smell of blood. It seemed as if he wasn’t even there, as if some mare of the night had snatched him up and cast him down into a dreadful afterlife.

  There was always a face there before him—a hideous smile and merciless eyes, always there, always past the next man in line, a tall and powerful mage with a scarlet cape that billowed in his wake, that alien instrument clutched in his metal-gloved hand, drawing red death from the skies….

  “Ridley, lad! To your left!”

  Ridley turned at Elwood’s cry, slashed a soldier across his armored chest and brought him down—but not before a blade sliced down his thigh.

  “Stop that!” Marina shouted. “You leave him alone!”

  With that, she knocked Ridley’s assailant senseless, her club ringing soundly against the soldier’s iron-clad head.

  A man jabbed a pike at Elwood and earned an arrow in the eye. The dwarf was in front of Ridley now, clearing a bloody path. The soldiers who faced him backed away, making little effort to bring him down. They had joined the Crimson Brigade to kill tamer foes, not sawed-off madmen like this.

  Ridley heard her scream. He turned, saw her, and his belly tightened up. A lion-helmed soldier had Marina and was tugging her by the hair, dragging her off toward the building’s edge. Norda was down on her hands and knees, clutching her bow in her hand.

  “Get to the lass!” Elwood bellowed. “I’ll keep ’em here!”

  Ridley wasted an agonizing moment till the dwarf backed up and Norda was safely in his care.

  When he looked at Marina, his heart nearly stopped. There were three of them now, two covering the man who had her. A dagger was in the lion-helmed man’s hand, pressed against her heart. Ridley met the first one, felt the heavy blade meet his own, drove him quickly back, let the other come, and cut him in the shins.

  The man went down, cursing Ridley and grabbing at his legs. Ridley moved, half a second late. The second man’s blade painted a bloody line across his arm from elbow to wrist. Ridley dropped his sword and staggered back to retrieve it with his other hand. The soldier laughed, raised his blade, and brought it swiftly down at Ridley’s head—

  The swordsman stopped, loosed a frightful howl, and Ridley stared as an arrow pierced the warrior’s brow.

  Marinas captor had a second and a half to stand and gawk, the color draining from his face. He dropped the dagger, tossed Marina from him, turned, and ran. The arrow caught him in the bare, unprotected spot between his throat and his chin.

  Ridley glanced back at Norda. She was on her knees now. She waved her bow and showed him a weary smile.

  Ridley clutched his bleeding arm and stumbled to Marina’s side. The wound in his thigh hadn’t bothered him before, but it burned like fire now.

  “Are you all right,” Marina asked. “Are you badly hurt?”

  Ridley forced a painful grin. “You’re always asking me that. No, I think I’m just fine. How about you?”

  “Abso
lutely scared out of my wits.”

  “To him now,” Ridley said. “Profion. That’s what I came for. I’m not finished here yet.”

  “But you can’t. You’re hurt.”

  “Everybody up here’s hurt or dead, Marina. Elwood, over here!”

  The dwarf was backing toward him, Norda slung limply over his shoulder. A pair of uglies watched him but decided they wanted to make it through the day. Sheathing their swords, they turned and ran.

  “Norda—is she all right?” Marina bent down anxiously over her friend. Elwood had let her down easily behind a rubble wall, out of sight of soldiers fighting the Empress’ gallant men.

  “I figured an elf d be light as a butterfly. This one’s a whole lot heavier than you’d think.”

  “I am not.” Norda opened her eyes and smiled at the dwarf.

  “Thank you, Elwood. That was a very brave thing to do.”

  “It was, truly,” Marina said.

  “Just don’t tell anybody I was carryin’ an elf around. If my friends was to ever find out…”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” Norda sat up, her keen senses tuned to the chaos just beyond the wall. “We’re losing, I’m afraid. It’s not going well.”

  Marina squinted at the sky. “The Empress is still alive,” she said. “As long as she’s here, there’s hope, Norda.”

  Norda glanced past her at the sight far above. The sky was alive with red dragons. There were few golds left at all, and the Empress was nowhere in sight. Norda looked back at Marina, then turned to Ridley again.

  “There’s time,” Norda said. “It’s not over yet.”

  “Elf time, maybe,” Elwood said. “Dwarves don’t live forever, you know. We can’t squat and chant up in a tree.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to try.”

  “All right,” Ridley said, “cut it. We don’t have time for a lot of talk.”

  For the moment, he decided, they were nearly out of sight behind the scattered rubble. He spotted Profion on the far edge of the roof, surrounded by crimson uniforms, shouting and waving his magic rod about.

  The rod, Ridley thought, the one that snake-face lackey of yours stole from me. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a thief without a speck of honor, a plain amateur with no respect for his craft at all.

  “There’s not much happening on the east side of the roof,” he told the others. “If I can get close to the battlements there, I think I can get to Profion before those red-clad louts know I’m there.”

  “You and what army?” Elwood looked pained. “What am I supposed to do, while you’re out playing hero, friend?”

  “I thought perhaps you’d distract them for a while.”

  “Uh-huh? Doin’ what?”

  “What dwarves do. You know, sort of run amok.”

  “Act like I’m crazy? Scream and rush about? Maybe foam a little at the mouth?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “All right.” Elwood gave a feral smile. “I can handle that.”

  “Good. I knew I could count on you.”

  Norda nocked an arrow in her bow. “I’ll do some real damage while Elwood gives himself a stroke.”

  The dwarf’s smile turned nasty. “Why don’t the rest of us sit back and wait, lest we get in your way?”

  Ridley risked a look over the top of the rubble. “Marina, you have a couple of spells left in that pretty bracelet of yours?”

  “It’s not a bracelet, Ridley. I’ve told you that before. A bracelet is ornamental jewelry. This is an accumulator. It gathers power from the infinite source.”

  “And where might that be?”

  Marina sniffed. “That’s a really foolish question. Where do you think it might be?”

  “You’re the magician. You tell me.”

  “If you folks are done,” Elwood said, “I’ll start runnin’ amok. It takes a while to get all worked up.”

  “All right. What I’d like you to do is—”

  Ridley’s words were lost as the dwarf filled his lungs and loosed a ragged war cry that shook the stone beneath them. His face turned an apoplectic red, his gaudy horned helmet trembled on his head. Ridley ducked as the sawed-off warrior swung his axe in a wide, killing arc, leaped atop the rubble, and raced like a madman toward the fray.

  Ridley let out a breath. “I didn’t tell him about my plan.”

  “He’s a dwarf,” Norda said. “A dwarf won’t listen to a plan. It muddles their heads.”

  “Yeah, well…” Ridley drew his weapon and ran his finger across the blade. He was amazed to find the elven blade was no more dulled from use than if it had never met steel.

  “Spread out,” he said, “and follow me.”

  “Great plan,” Marina said. “Sorry the dwarf missed that.”

  CHAPTER

  41

  Ridley had little time to curse Elwood. The dwarf’s berserker charge was anything but a distraction. Instead, it drew crimson uglies like flies to dead meat. Everyone in armor with a snout or a muzzle on their helm rushed in to hack Elwood down, and, since the dwarf had run directly toward the big battlement instead of the other way, Ridley and the others were right in the thick of it again.

  “Thanks a lot!” he shouted, slashing his way through two husky soldiers with faces like rabid iron pigs. “Just what I needed!”

  “You’re as welcome as you can be!” Elwood yelled back, certain Ridley was tossing a compliment. “Any time, friend!”

  For a moment, Ridley could see the blur of Elwood’s axe as he cut down defenders like a scythe through a field of bloody wheat. Then, Crimson Brigade uglies cut him off, and he fought to stay alive.

  One man down, then another after that. The third, a man twice as big as the other two, came a hair from separating Ridley from his head. Ridley stumbled, caught himself, and the big warrior came at him again. It was clear he had the energy to slash and hack about all day.

  Ridley took the flat of a blade on his hilt, twisted, and turned it away. His foe stepped aside, feinted high, and struck low. Ridley sucked in his belly, stepped back, and fell over enemy number two.

  He could hear the man laugh beneath his hideous mask. Bracing himself on one arm, Ridley lashed out in desperation to keep the fellow off, but the soldier was still on his feet, and Ridley was on the ground. He saw the blow coming, tried to scoot away, and knew he didn’t have a chance. The blade was a blur coming right at his face, and he could see the pale eyes of his foe behind the iron mask.

  The first arrow struck the man directly in his ear, the barb going through the thick armor and out the other side. The soldier turned drunkenly, the blade still clutched in his hand. The second arrow found its mark in his throat, the third in his heart. Ridley could have sworn that all three arrows arrived at once.

  Ridley rolled and came up on his feet. A pair of warriors spotted him at once. Before the two could blink, each wore an arrow through the eye. Ridley couldn’t see the elf through the raging crowd, but he knew she was there. None but an elven arrow could pierce a steel helm as if it were a paper hat. From the corner of his eye, he caught a brief flash of green light, and he knew Marinas accumulator was taking an enemy down.

  Ridley hacked and slashed his way forward, each downed warrior bringing him closer to Profion. A soldier fell before his blade. Another cried out, grabbed his arm, and staggered away.

  He felt as if he were not in his body anymore, that he was watching from somewhere safe and apart, away from the blood and the chaos and the pain, away from the men with iron blades and cruel helms.

  After a while, he no longer saw the crimson-dad warriors as men, but only as phantoms that stood in his way, creatures that kept him from his goal.

  Red dragons screamed overhead, rival armies clashed on every side, brave men and cowards met and died…

  And, of a sudden, there the mage stood, a madman driven by his pride—Profion, looming bigger than life, casting ancient spells, raving at the sky.

  Armored men blocked his path, but R
idley slashed through them, sent them fleeing, sent the dying to the ground—another, and another after that, until not one stood in his way.

  Ridley could scarcely see—every breath was a blade that pierced his lungs, every step the last that he could bear. He leaped a burning catapult, stumbled, fell, and stared in a dead man’s eyes. Ridley picked himself up and threw himself at the vague, indistinct figure, the shadow-black creature framed against the greater dark.

  “You can run, your ladyship,” Profion was shouting to the skies, “but you’ll never run far enough from me!”

  His great, hollow voice seemed to shake the very earth itself. He raised the great Rod of Savrille and swept it across the thickened clouds above.

  “Let the gold dragons die! Let their blood rain from the sky!”

  In that instant, Ridley came in low, thrust his shoulder into the seer and drove him to the ground, reaching for the rod clutched tightly in the mage’s hand. Profion shouted in pain and surprise. The mage glared at his foe, swept him roughly aside, and knocked the weapon from his grasp. Ridley drew a painful breath, came to his feet, and searched for his sword, which had vanished.

  Profion rose quickly, swinging his staff about. He stared in disbelief then threw back his head and laughed.

  “By all the dark gods, I’m sick to death of common trash. Your presence is offensive to me, boy. You’ll pay dearly for that!”

  Ridley struggled to find his weapon, tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes. “You don’t know how—” he gasped, struggling for breath—“how mean we commoners can be… once you get us… stirred up.”

  “Really?” Profion raised a brow. “Are you truly so deluded to think you can take what is mine, steal what the Fates have destined for me? I’ve got a new destiny for you, thief, a destiny full of pain and new senses to feel it with!”

  “Not if I… not if I kill you first, mage.”

  “And how do you even imagine you might accomplish that?”

  “Same question snake-face asked. Come and find out.”

  For an instant, Profion looked surprised, then he laughed aloud and came at Ridley in a blur, in a motion so swift Ridley was sure there was magic as well as power behind the mage’s charge.