Gali’s cry of pain hissed through his punctured throat, bubbling the dark blood that poured from the wound. He rolled backward, clawing at the rapier, but Mordan kept a firm grip on the hilt, pulling the sword out of his brother’s neck and plunging it into his heart. Gali fell backward, gripping the blade with bloody hands as he struggled to pull it out of his chest. Using the momentum of his brother’s fall to supplement his own fading strength, Mordan rolled to his feet, forcing the blade deeper and twisting it in the wound. Gali clawed feebly at his legs, and then his limbs went slack.
“No …” he rasped, blood bubbling from his throat. “You … worm …” Then his head fell back, and his white eyes rolled up sightlessly.
Mordan leaned on the rapier for a moment and then pulled it from his brother’s chest. He looked down at the body, as if trying to think of something to say. Then he turned, took half a step away, and fell down on his face.
As if uncertain what to do, attackers and defenders stared at the prone figures that lay in the space between them.
Then a blazing point of red light shot from the ranks of the defenders, blossoming into flame in the midst of the undead lancers. A shout went up, and the surviving defenders surged forward. At their head was a red-haired vampire woman who tore into the opposing ranks with unstoppable ferocity.
The counterattack flowed over and around Mordan’s fallen body, and Haldin ran forward to kneel over him. Reaching into a belt-pouch, he sprinkled a bright, glittering dust over the young Karrn, muttering a prayer as he did so. The dust gleamed briefly with a blue-green light, then disappeared; Mordan’s eyes flickered briefly, but he did not move. Placing the blue dragon statuette on Mordan’s chest, Haldin bowed his head and began a low chant, which he repeated over and over with urgent intensity. A pale luminescence grew in the heart of the dragon, flaring briefly before going out. At the same time, Mordan struggled to sit up.
“What happened?” he asked, a little dazed. “Did I … ?”
Haldin nodded. “Come on,” he said, shouting above the din of battle, handing the young Karrn his rapier. “Let’s finish this!”
He gestured to the fighting. The defenders of Fort Zombie were locked in combat with the remaining wights. In addition to the surviving Vedykar Lancers, they now included several defenders who had been killed and risen as wight spawn.
Mordan put a hand on the gnome’s shoulder.
“That thing with the light,” he yelled, “can you do it again?”
“No,” yelled Haldin, “but I can do something almost as good!” He trotted to within a few paces of the fighting and raised the blue dragon statuette over his head again, howling an incantation. The carving glowed briefly, and a half-dozen of the wights simply crumbled to dust, leaving their mortal opponents staring in disbelief. He grinned at Mordan and unslung his crossbow from his back.
Mordan vaulted into the saddle of a riderless undead horse, wrapping the reins around his left arm and kicking the beast in the ribs. It lurched forward through a gap in the defenders’ line, riding down one wight as he plunged his rapier into the chest of another, lifting it off the ground and hurling it back. Seeing him recovered from his duel, the defenders nearest him cheered and redoubled their efforts. From the corner of his eye he saw Brey cutting a swath of destruction through the attackers, breaking backs and tearing off heads in a frenzy. An undead steed reared, as if to trample her—but like a zombie in northern Cyre three years ago, she caught its hooves in her hands and twisted, throwing it aside with inhuman strength. Its rider tried to leap clear, but she slammed into the wight in mid-air, landing with its chest between her feet and the hard ground of the courtyard. There was a crunch, and it stopped moving.
Tarrel made his way to the parapet, to give him a better view of the battle and enable him to place the fireballs from his wand without harming any of his allies. Intent on the struggle below, he didn’t hear stealthy feet behind him. A searing cold stabbed through his chest; turning in pain and surprise, he saw a robed elf standing just a few paces away. Without thinking, the half-elf raised his wand and loosed a fireball at his attacker, lighting up the whole parapet in a welter of flame.
A crossbow bolt slammed into the elf’s chest, interrupting the casting of his next spell. The half-elf raised his wand for another fireball. Pulling the bolt from his ribs, the necromancer launched himself backward over the parapet; the fireball missed him, exploding harmlessly more than a hundred yards away.
Tarrel saw the elf pull a feather from his belt as he fell, howling a magical phrase; an invisible force buoyed him up before he hit the ground, and he sped off through the air, back to the dark wood.
