Eldicar Manushan strode out from the group and climbed to a jutting rock. The mist swept on. The magicker raised his right arm and held it aloft, palm extended towards the mist. Then he began to chant, his voice ringing out. The mist slowed. Kysumu stepped alongside Way-lander, his shining sword extended. Waylander glanced down at him. The man seemed utterly calm. The priest Chardyn eased himself behind the two men.
‘Shouldn’t you be praying?’ asked Waylander.
Chardyn forced a smile. ‘Somehow this does not feel like a day for hypocrites,’ he said.
The temperature began to drop as the mist came closer. Eldicar Manushan continued to chant, his voice ringing with confidence and great power. Lord Aric had also drawn his sword now and was standing alongside the Duke and his swordsmen. The surviving archers had notched arrows to their bows and were waiting tensely.
The mist slowed to a halt immediately before the magicker, but flowed on past him on both sides. Still his voice continued to chant. Then he jerked suddenly and almost lost his balance on the stone. The chant died away. Instantly the mist swept over him. Just as it did so Waylander saw a massive form descend on the magicker, a taloned arm sweeping out, ripping through Eldicar Manushan’s chest. Waylander saw the magicker’s right arm slashed in two and ripped from his body, just as the mist closed over him.
‘So much for magic,’ he said.
Kysumu leapt towards the mist. His gleaming blade touched it, and blue lightning crackled and flashed. A huge white form towered over the little Rajnee, Waylander sent a bolt into its eye. The massive head jerked backwards. Kysumu slashed a vicious cut through the beast’s chest, then spun on his heel to flash a reverse slice through its neck as it fell.
Ice was forming on the stones now. The mist swept on. Waylander and Chardyn moved in behind Kysumu. The sounds of screaming men and crunching bone came from all around now as the ice beasts fell upon the soldiers of Kydor.
A white serpent reared up from the ground at Waylander’s feet. His sword slashed down, barely breaking the skin above the flat skull. Kysumu’s blade sliced through the neck. As it did so it glanced from the blade of Waylander’s weapon. Instantly blue fire flowed along Waylander’s sword, and the mist retreated. For a moment only, Waylander stood staring at the shining blade. ‘The magic can be transferred,’ he said. ‘Now we have a chance!’ He glanced at Kysumu. ‘We must get to the Duke!’ Kysumu understood instantly and the two men, followed by the priest, charged into the mist towards the sounds of battle. Kysumu cut down another of the huge creatures, then clambered over a low rock wall. The Duke and several heavily armoured swordsmen were battling bravely. Kysumu leapt in, touching his blade to the Duke’s longsword. Instantly the Duke’s sword blazed bright. The mist fell back a little, and the Chiatze moved from warrior to warrior, charging their blades with blue magic.
The voice of Eldicar Manushan came faintly through the mist, once more chanting. Louder and louder came the chant. The mist began to shrink, pulling back from the survivors, growing smaller and smaller until it was no more than the size of a large stone.
Eldicar Manushan strode from the rocks, still maintaining his chant. He held out his right hand and the small globe of mist floated up to it. He tossed it into the air. There was a sudden clap of thunder and a brilliant white light.
And the mist was gone.
Waylander sheathed his blade and looked hard at the magicker. There was no sign of a serious wound upon him, though his right sleeve was shorn away and his tunic slashed open. There was no blood upon the ruined cloth.
The Duke stepped forward, pulling his ice-covered helm from his head and dropping it to the ground. ‘Well done, magicker,’ he said. ‘I thought you had been killed.’
‘Merely knocked from my feet, my lord.’
‘Are they destroyed?’
‘They will not return to this place. I have closed the portal.’
‘We owe you a great debt, Eldicar,’ said the Duke, clapping the man on the shoulder. He gazed around at the sprawled bodies. Thirty men had been killed, twelve others wounded. ‘Damn, but it was close,’ he said. The shining sword in his hands began to fade until it gleamed only as steel in the moonlight. ‘My thanks to you, Chiatze,’ he told Kysumu, ‘though it would have been good to have known about this trick a little earlier.’