Page 268 of Dragon Avenger (Age of Fire 2)

And so she called over the lines of dwarves until she spotted Lord Lobok, standing with a few nobles and commanders on a prominence behind the wall at arrow-shot.

“Oh, Dhssol!” Wistala mourned as she landed. “I have seen it. There are too many! All is lost, see how they approach. You must fall back to the city, we are surely defeated on these slopes.”

“Terrible thought,” Lobok said, wringing his hands as a few ineffective arrows flew over the wall and landed near them in the rocks. “It goes badly for us, Battle Commander! These dwarves are the Wheel of Fire’s last hope.”

“Who needs a last hope when there’s a battle being won? Your imagination has you counting each one thrice,” the commander said. “Step back and let veterans command the fight. The closer they come, the more we kill, see? Our losses are but few.”

But some of the troops had been unnerved by Wistala’s cries, and were running for the barges.

“Hold hard there,” the battle commander shouted through a speaking trumpet. “Groundholders, get those skulkers back in line. To the line!”

“Nothing can stop them, Oh, Dhssol!” Wistala said, as a mass of barbarians came up the hill. Many to the front fell as the dwarves fired, but others behind came on. . . .

“Shut up!” the Battle Commander insisted. “Someone muzzle this fool lizard.”

“The Oracle is right,” Lord Lobok shouted, lifting his own speaking trumpet. “They cannot be held here! Back to the barges, dwarves—we must fall back to the city!” He set an example to his soldiers by hitching up his robes and running toward the barges as fast as his legs would carry him.

The dwarves, many untested in battle, agreed with the sentiment, and the lines fell away like laundry carried off by a strong wind. Dwarves of all descriptions ran, even as the more experienced ones at the war-machines shouted and gesticulated at them.

The battle commander reached for his ax, and Wistala thought it best to take wing. Pebbles flew up into the eyes of the commanders and nobles as she took off.

They, too, ran for the barges as the barbarians leaped up the wall with wild cries.

The battle paused for a moment as the barges pulled away, firing crossbows at the barbarians, who fell back from the water to the wall and continued to hoot.

Wistala flew down to Ragwrist’s gargants. She saw Lord Hammar there, in a thick fur coat that hung to his bootheels, helping with the blasting kegs being handed down from gargant back.

“Place them to either side of the spillway, and on those two supporting columns, right where they join the dam,” Wistala said.

“I hope this works, Wistala,” Ragwrist said as the circus dwarves and riggers went forward with climbing poles and lines. “These casks weren’t cheap.”

“And good morning to you, too,” Wistala said. “Would you rather have King Fangbreaker hunting you up and down the Inland Ocean?”

“The risks I run for my circus.”

“Stop running risks then. I give Mossbell to you, if Hammar agrees.”>She looked at the sheer walls of Thul’s Hardhold. Many were the balconies that hung black banners, mourning their losses.

Djaybee joined her at the thin window slits.

“I think you should know, there’s a dozen of the king’s guard at the base of the tower. They don’t want you to leave,” Djaybee said. Yellowteeth hung about the passage down, as if fearing a rush of footsteps, but what he could do other than slicken the steps with shovelfuls of dragon waste she did not know. “Hard words passed between us, and I was cautioned against keeping counsel with you. I fear another night of knives is coming.”

“Night of knives?”

“As there was when our noble king, a curse be upon his name, claimed all power. Those who opposed him never woke again, but were found dead behind their bedcurtains.”

“We’d best take turns keeping watch,” Wistala said.

Her sleep was uneasy that night, and the tower went cold, for Yellowteeth was too terrified to descend the stairs to get more coal. Wistala finally let him sleep in the corner farthest from the door while she and Djaybee took turns at the stairs.

She awoke to a tickle behind her chin, dreaming that Jizara was poking her with her tail-tip. She opened her eye and froze.

Yellowteeth stood next to her neck, his shovel handle somehow transformed into a spear pressing against the interstices between her scales above her neck heart.

“Greetings from the Assassins’ Guild,” Yellowteeth said, his Parl-pigdin markedly reduced. “The king has a message for you as you die: Where is the crown of Masmodon, Oracle? Where is my crown?”

Chapter 28

Wistala smelled blood in the tower room.

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