Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

“Why?” Mith Barak asked sharply. “Because of what you saw in her mind? She could spin lies to ensnare you too. Be careful with your compassion.”

“Not just because of what was in her thoughts,” Icelin said. “I saw it in her eyes, the same shadow I saw over Joya-and in me,” she added softly. “I know what it’s like to grieve the loss of your goddess, whether by death, betrayal, or simply never knowing her at all.” She met Zollgarza’s feverish gaze. “The drow betrays her people because she herself has been betrayed.”

The king considered Zollgarza. The lines around Mith Barak’s face had deepened, and he moved more slowly than he had before, but Joya was right. A new fire kindled in his eyes. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “So be it, then. We’ll have a hell of a fight, and you’ll have your freedom. Dorla!” he cried. “Prepare the doors, and sound a call to march.”

“You’re opening the doors?” Icelin said.

“Aye,” Mith Barak said, smiling wickedly. “We have guests, so it’s only right that we surge out the doors at full strength to meet them. With a bit of luck, we’ll be able to circle around and flank the dark elf forces at the western wall. Numbers mean less when you’re surrounded, trapped like rats in a tiny hole.”

“You’ll leave the city open to invasion,” Ruen said.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mith Barak said. “Too bad we haven’t got flyers poised above the city,” he waved at the stone beasts hovering overhead, “or a thousand more dwarves hiding in the homes and temples all along the river.”

“You have more soldiers than those assembled here?” Icelin said. “But your numbers-”

“The drow aren’t the only ones able to deceive,” Mith Barak said. “They use illusions to make us think their numbers are overwhelming. I told every one of my warriors that if they were captured and interrogated, to say that Iltkazar’s numbers were less than a third of what they actually are. Oh, we’re still outnumbered and probably outmatched, too, but we’ll give them a surprise or two that might give us the edge we need to win.” He looked at Icelin. “I’ll be defending the city as well.”

Icelin’s eyes widened. He truly was going to reveal himself. Gods, they might win the battle yet.

In the distance, a horn blared, a loud, ominous sound that drew the attention of the assembled army. The soldiers around Icelin raised their weapons and pounded fists once against their chests.

“It’s started,” Mith Barak said. “The drow are here.” He gestured impatiently to Zollgarza. “You’re with me. The rest of you know your stations.” He nodded to Icelin briefly. “Go,” he said, “be safe, and fight with the Blackhorns.” Then he was gone.

Icelin and Ruen hastily mounted the stone flyer again as one by one the doors to the city opened, and the army marched to meet the drow.

Ruen had the passing thought that, years later, they would call this the Battle of the Nine Doors. King Mith Barak’s forces flowed out the doors in rivers of glittering mithral, darksteel, and hizagkuur . Mith Barak’s plan carried much risk, but he won his first victory when half the dwarf soldiers circled around the perimeter of the city and flanked the drow army burrowing at the western wall.

Scouts brought back word that the magical defenses had triggered at the drow dig sites. Gaping stone mouths opened in the walls to attack and swallow the diggers, while waves of magical force blasted the army back, crushing dozens of drow soldiers and slaves in the tunnels.

Into this chaos, Iltkazar’s forces attacked, and the echo of Dwarvish battle cries passed through each of the nine doors to the ears of the defenders within. The cry strengthened them, and they would need that strength, Ruen thought, for once the drow forces realized Mith Barak had thrown open the doors, they’d launched a massive assault on the city.

Drow poured into caverns and engaged the city defenders at the River Dhalnadar and the Deepflood. The water slowed their progress, but the fighting had become one bloody snarl between the rivers and the doors. Reinforcements trickled in from either side, but neither had gained significant ground after hours of fighting.

Ruen and Icelin flew over the battlefield on their stone flyer, along with the other aerial cavalry units. From the skies, they were able to pick out drow targets, but they had to be extremely careful not to hit their own soldiers.

Icelin held the Arcane Script Sphere in a white-knuckled hand. “Go left,” she told him, “angle toward the back of the cavern.”

“I can’t,” Ruen said. “There’s too many cavalry already picking out targets.”

Icelin cursed.

“Not very ladylike,” he remarked. Then he added, “Be patient. I’ll find you a suitable spot to hurl down death and destruction.” He dug his knees into the flyer’s stone sides, and the beast flew higher, making a tight circle that had Ruen gripping the reins and Icelin clutching his waist in a death grip. “Sorry,” he tossed back over his shoulder. Though he’d gotten more adept at guiding and controlling the beast over the past few hours, he suspected his knees were going to be covered in bruises from digging them into stone flanks. “Are you sure you can control the Silver Fire?” he asked.

“No,” Icelin admitted. “That’s why I want to find a spot as far away from the dwarves as possible. Then it won’t matter if the Silver Fire goes out of control.”

“And you?” Ruen asked, feeling a clench in his gut. “What will happen to you?”

He felt her press her forehead against his upper back. “I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.”

“That’s all I ask.” Ruen murmured a prayer for protection to whatever gods happened to be listening. “There,” he said, pointing, “in that alcove.”

“I see them-perfect,” Icelin said. She readied the sphere. “Wait for my signal.”

Ruen brought the flyer in on a level course that would pass right over a portion of the drow force regrouping at the back of the cavern. When they got close, Icelin clutched his arm, giving the signal. Ruen fell forward, wrapping his arms around the flyer’s neck, and sent it into a dive. It gave Icelin a clear line of sight ahead and below them. She raised the sphere, and the cavern erupted in Silver Fire.

The silver radiance raced through the air to strike the drow. It bounced from one drow to another, knocking them to the ground. Harsh screams and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Behind him, Ruen heard Icelin gag, but she kept a firm grip on the sphere and on the Silver Fire, as far as he could tell. She brought the sphere up and held it in both hands above her head.

Sheets of silver poured forth, this time shielding them as the drow on the fringes of the spell saw them and aimed their hand crossbows. The black quarrels burned away to nothing when they struck the silver barrier.

They approached the cavern wall. At the last moment, Ruen pulled up on the reins, and the stone flyer struck its clawed feet on the wall and turned, wings pumping furiously to get them out of their dive and back to a safe height.

Icelin shifted the shield around to protect their backs as more quarrels poured in. They leveled out at the same moment a ball of fire streaked past Ruen’s left ear. He flinched away from the heat of the orange mass, and the flyer staggered in midair.

“He’s getting tired,” Ruen said. “We have to land.”

“Can we make one more pass?” Icelin asked.

Ruen shook his head. “Even if he had the energy to keep going, they’ve seen we’re a threat. They’ll be looking to blow us out of the sky.”

“Gods, look at that!” Icelin cried. She pointed at a spot below them, where the Dhalnadar and the Deepflood joined.