before him.
The young man tried to start away fast, but he nearly fell over with the first step on his torn leg. The wound was deeper than Rorick apparently believed.
Pikel was there to support him, though, and they rushed out behind Temberle. Hanaleisa was outside waiting, shaking her head.
“Too many,” she explained grimly. “There’s no winning ground, just retreat.”
“To the docks?” Temberle asked, looking at the flow of townsfolk in that direction and seeming none too pleased by that prospect. “We’re to put our backs to the water?”
Hanaleisa’s expression showed that she didn’t like that idea any more than he, but they had no choice. They joined the fleeing townsfolk and ran on.
They found some organized defense forming halfway to the docks and eagerly found positions among the ranks. Pikel offered an approving nod as he continued past with Rorick, toward a cluster of large buildings overlooking the boardwalk and wharves. Built on an old fort, it was where the ship captains had decided to make their stand.
“Fight well for mother and father,” Hanaleisa said to Temberle. “We will not dishonor their names.”
Temberle smiled back at her, feeling like a veteran already.
They got their chance soon enough, their line rushing up the street to support the last groups of townsfolk trying hard to get ahead of the monstrous pursuit. Fearlessly, Hanaleisa and Temberle charged among the undead, smashing and slashing with abandon.
Their efforts became all the more devastating when Uncle Pikel joined them, his bright cudgel destroying every monster that ventured near.
Despite their combined power, the trio and the rest of the squad fighting beside them were pushed back, moving inexorably in retreat. For every zombie or skeleton they destroyed, it seemed there were three more to take its place. Their own line thinned whenever a man or woman was pulled down under the raking and biting throng.
And those unfortunate victims soon enough stood up, fighting for the other side.
Horrified and weak with revulsion, their morale shattered as friends and family rose up in undeath to turn against them, the townsfolk gave ground.
They found support at the cluster of buildings, where they had no choice but to stand and fight. Eventually, even that defense began to crumble.
Hanaleisa looked to her brother, desperation and sadness in her rich brown eyes. They couldn’t retreat into the water, and the walls of the buildings wouldn’t hold back the horde for long. She was scared, and so was he.
“We have to find Rorick,” Temberle said to his dwarf uncle.
“Eh?” Pikel replied.
He didn’t understand that the twins only wanted to make sure that the three siblings were together when they died.
CHAPTER
THE POLITICS OF ENGAGEMENT
I t was the last thing Bruenor Battlehammer wanted to hear just then. “Obould’s angry,” Nanfoodle the gnome explained. “He thinks we’re to blame for the strange madness of magic, and the silence of his god.”
“Yeah, we’re always to blame in that one’s rock-head,” Bruenor grumbled back. He looked at the door leading to the corridor to Garumn’s Gorge and the Hall’s eastern exit, hoping to see Drizzt. Morning had done nothing to help Catti-brie or Regis. The halfling had thrashed himself to utter exhaustion and since languished in restless misery.
“Obould’s emissary—” Nanfoodle started to say.
“I got no time for him!” Bruenor shouted.
Across the way, several dwarves observed the uncharacteristic outburst. Among them was General Banak Brawnanvil, who watched from his chair. He’d lost the use of his lower body in the long-ago first battle with Obould’s emerging hordes.
“I got no time!” Bruenor yelled again, though somewhat apologetically. “Me girl’s got to go! And Rumblebelly, too!”
“I will accompany Drizzt,” Nanfoodle offered.
“The Nine Hells and a tenth for luck ye will!” Bruenor roared at him. “I ain’t for leaving me
The young man tried to start away fast, but he nearly fell over with the first step on his torn leg. The wound was deeper than Rorick apparently believed.
Pikel was there to support him, though, and they rushed out behind Temberle. Hanaleisa was outside waiting, shaking her head.
“Too many,” she explained grimly. “There’s no winning ground, just retreat.”
“To the docks?” Temberle asked, looking at the flow of townsfolk in that direction and seeming none too pleased by that prospect. “We’re to put our backs to the water?”
Hanaleisa’s expression showed that she didn’t like that idea any more than he, but they had no choice. They joined the fleeing townsfolk and ran on.
They found some organized defense forming halfway to the docks and eagerly found positions among the ranks. Pikel offered an approving nod as he continued past with Rorick, toward a cluster of large buildings overlooking the boardwalk and wharves. Built on an old fort, it was where the ship captains had decided to make their stand.
“Fight well for mother and father,” Hanaleisa said to Temberle. “We will not dishonor their names.”
Temberle smiled back at her, feeling like a veteran already.
They got their chance soon enough, their line rushing up the street to support the last groups of townsfolk trying hard to get ahead of the monstrous pursuit. Fearlessly, Hanaleisa and Temberle charged among the undead, smashing and slashing with abandon.
Their efforts became all the more devastating when Uncle Pikel joined them, his bright cudgel destroying every monster that ventured near.
Despite their combined power, the trio and the rest of the squad fighting beside them were pushed back, moving inexorably in retreat. For every zombie or skeleton they destroyed, it seemed there were three more to take its place. Their own line thinned whenever a man or woman was pulled down under the raking and biting throng.
And those unfortunate victims soon enough stood up, fighting for the other side.
Horrified and weak with revulsion, their morale shattered as friends and family rose up in undeath to turn against them, the townsfolk gave ground.
They found support at the cluster of buildings, where they had no choice but to stand and fight. Eventually, even that defense began to crumble.
Hanaleisa looked to her brother, desperation and sadness in her rich brown eyes. They couldn’t retreat into the water, and the walls of the buildings wouldn’t hold back the horde for long. She was scared, and so was he.
“We have to find Rorick,” Temberle said to his dwarf uncle.
“Eh?” Pikel replied.
He didn’t understand that the twins only wanted to make sure that the three siblings were together when they died.
CHAPTER
THE POLITICS OF ENGAGEMENT
I t was the last thing Bruenor Battlehammer wanted to hear just then. “Obould’s angry,” Nanfoodle the gnome explained. “He thinks we’re to blame for the strange madness of magic, and the silence of his god.”
“Yeah, we’re always to blame in that one’s rock-head,” Bruenor grumbled back. He looked at the door leading to the corridor to Garumn’s Gorge and the Hall’s eastern exit, hoping to see Drizzt. Morning had done nothing to help Catti-brie or Regis. The halfling had thrashed himself to utter exhaustion and since languished in restless misery.
“Obould’s emissary—” Nanfoodle started to say.
“I got no time for him!” Bruenor shouted.
Across the way, several dwarves observed the uncharacteristic outburst. Among them was General Banak Brawnanvil, who watched from his chair. He’d lost the use of his lower body in the long-ago first battle with Obould’s emerging hordes.
“I got no time!” Bruenor yelled again, though somewhat apologetically. “Me girl’s got to go! And Rumblebelly, too!”
“I will accompany Drizzt,” Nanfoodle offered.
“The Nine Hells and a tenth for luck ye will!” Bruenor roared at him. “I ain’t for leaving me
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