The Warrior's Tale by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch Page A

low stone dais. I went to it, stepped up, and again touched the amulet to the stones. For further strength, I pressed it against one of the tapestries against the wall.
    Again I sniffed. Again, came the odour, but now very strong, very heavy. I fought back a reflexive gag. Now I had a direction. I turned to gesture to Ismet and, of course, she was just where she should have been, three paces behind, three to the side, sword ready, paying no attention to my doings but eyes scanning the darkness for an attacker.
    We went out of the chamber at a dogtrot. Our path led up four floors, but we didn't use the stairs we'd come down. Now we trod wide, stone-balustraded ramps that were richly carpeted. I stopped every now and then, but the amulet guided me onward and the stench grew stronger.
    Outside I heard shouts, screams and the clash of steel. Battle was joined. I wondered how far my Guardswomen had got before being discovered. The castle was coming alive as soldiers were bellowed awake and to battle. I heard cries of 'Betrayal!', 'They're inside!' and screams of panicked women and children.
    The corridor opened onto a balcony and I could see the courtyard. It was huge. An entire army could've marched in review across were it not for the guard-towers and newly improvised breastworks. This was where the Archons held their monstrous sacrifices, where a victim first chose and then slowly butchered himself, spell-tied by their magic. Here was where they sought my brother, but another counterspell saved him. But now it was a battle ground. Torches flared as Lycanthian soldiers ran out, buckling on armour and brandishing their arms. Far across that courtyard I heard the shouts of my women fighting. I could barely hold back a cheer as I saw the knot of struggling warriors. My Guardswomen had nearly reached their goal. They were fighting just before the castle's great gates. If they could but fight on and unbar them, our army could pour in.
    But they'd been discovered at the most perilous stage. Naturally the Lycanthians had their strongest defence at the weakest point. The outer gates were protected by an inner, open passageway, the tops of its high walls fitted with fighting decks. The inner gate had been burst open by my Guardswomen, but before they could pour down the passageway, the counter-attack had been mounted. Now they fought for their lives just outside the passage's entrance - soldiers blocking their way and others waiting atop those passageway walls to send spearshowers and arrowflights down. My Guardswomen were between that anvil of the gatehouse and the onrushing hammer that was the reinforcing soldiers.
    Still worse, I heard from just above a loud hiss - like a giant serpent awakening. Across the parade-ground two cyclones spun up - black against the torch flare and three or four times taller than a man. They whirled into the melee and Lycanthians and Guardswomen alike were picked up and smashed into the stone walls. My amulet gave off a last wave of scent - the stench of Archons' magic - and I turned and raced up another ramp towards the chamber above, Ismet close at my heels. I couldn't help by standing and watching. Either my Guards-women could hold back the physical threat or they would die. I had to strike against the greater jeopardy now building.
    This was my secret purpose. I'd made two plans. The first called for my Guardswomen. The second was for myself - and now for Sergeant Ismet. My intent - and I realize it sounds insane - was to attack personally the Archons. I'd told no one because they would've refused me, damning my plan as that of an eager fool. I believed otherwise, knowing very well just how great an effect a determined warrior, who's willing to make the last sacrifice, can have. But, of course, in these modern times when men talk of great battalions and scores of Evocators and battles that stretch on for leagues and days, such an idea is romantic nonsense. Nonsense it may have been, but I'd commended my