Regretting the loss of his heater, Medrash kept hold of the lance with one hand and drew his sword with the other. Maybe he could land a killing stroke before his foe maimed either him or his steed, although it didn’t seem likely.

Then a second lance punched into the creature’s body from the flank. The brute threw back its head, screamed, thrashed madly for one more moment, then collapsed, pulling the ends of the two embedded weapons down with it.

The rider who’d finished off the winged beast gave Medrash a wild, fang-baring grin. “I like fighting on horseback!” he said.

“Good,” replied Medrash, meanwhile thinking that it had taken a lot of magic just to kill the one creature. Torm’s might was limitless, but his servants’ capacity to channel the Power wasn’t. If he had to use his gifts against every one of the conjured beasts-

But when he glanced around, that didn’t appear to be the case. He didn’t know how many creatures Shangbok had initially conjured, nor-amid the frenzied confusion of battle, with huts blocking some of his view-could he be sure how many still posed a threat. But he only saw two.

One dived at a rider. A second warrior urged his horse up beside the dragonborn the glider threatened, and then there were two lances poised to catch the creature. Medrash judged that it would have a difficult time evading both.

The other reptilian beast was stuck on the ground, a bloody, broken wing furled awkwardly against its torso. Lunging and spinning, it used the undamaged wing to lash at the five dismounted dragonborn surrounding it. Whatever had become of their steeds, they didn’t seem to need them at the moment. They harried the creature from behind, then leaped back to safety when it wheeled to face them, just as Khouryn had taught them.

Still other dragonborn appeared to be holding their own against the surviving ash giants.

Suddenly a cloud of embers appeared around a rider. No doubt startled and stung by the sparks, the dragonborn faltered and his horse reared. Taking advantage of their distraction, their ash giant foe shifted into striking distance, swung his axe, and nearly beheaded the steed.

The magical attack meant Shangbok was still alive and might still be capable of winning the fight for the raiders. As he tugged in a futile effort to free his lance from the glider’s carcass, Medrash glanced around for the adept.

For an instant he couldn’t find him amid all the snarling, shrieking, pounding confusion, because Shangbok wasn’t peering out of the doorway anymore. At some point and for some reason-better visibility, perhaps-he must have crawled out into the open. But where had-

Medrash abruptly perceived that Shangbok was still right in front of him. The giant was crouching behind the hut, using it for cover in the same way a dragonborn might use a low wall or a boulder.

Medrash dropped the useless lance, drew his sword, bellowed a war cry, and rode at Shangbok. He veered right to circle the rustic home widdershins. The shaman scuttled in the same direction, staying ahead of him while growling words that alternately sounded like rocks grinding together and ash whispering on the wind.

A huge spear appeared floating above the thatched roof of the hut. It glowed red and looked like somebody had made it by fusing hot coals together. It stabbed down at the head of Medrash’s horse. Medrash swung his sword and parried with all his strength. The impact stung his arm and just barely sufficed to knock the enormous weapon out of line.

The spear leaped back up into the air and thrust at Medrash. He ducked, and then, to his momentary relief, the conjured implement faded away. But, glaring across the roof with his dead black eyes, Shangbok was already reciting another charm.

Medrash suspected it would be unwise to stay where he was and trade ranged mystical attacks. Shangbok might well be his master in that regard. But he couldn’t close with the shaman by chasing him around and around the hut. The giant’s legs were too long, and a horse couldn’t negotiate the corners quickly enough.

Medrash reached out and seized all the divine Power he could hold. He sent it surging down his sword arm into his blade, then cut down at the barrier in front of him. For an instant he seemed to glimpse a much larger sword, forged of light and too big for even an ash giant to wield, surrounding his own weapon and making the identical attack.

When his blade sheared into the wattle, the hut flew apart in a flash of light, one half of it tumbling and crashing to the right and the other to the left. Suddenly deprived of his cover, Shangbok gaped in surprise.

For his part, Medrash felt a kind of hollow ache inside. It meant that for the time being he’d exhausted the ability to channel the might of Torm and henceforth would have to engage Shangbok using only mundane tactics. Well, so be it. He urged his horse forward over the rush-covered earthen floor the destruction of the hut had left behind.

Shangbok retreated and resumed chanting. Medrash had hoped that, startled, the adept had hesitated long enough to lose the cadence of his incantation. But manifestly not, because the giant thrust out his big gray hand, and embers blasted from his fingertips.

Medrash lowered his head and squinched his eyes shut. He couldn’t do anything to protect his poor horse, but the animal endured the blistering barrage and kept surging forward.

Shangbok reached for the axe hanging at his hip but failed to unlimber it in time to contend with Medrash’s first attack. The dragonborn slashed the shaman’s neck and rode on by.

When Medrash wheeled his mount around, Shangbok was on his knees. He was clutching his neck, but blood still spurted between his fingers. He groped in his sack and brought out the green egg. His mouth moved, and shadow squirmed inside the crystal.

No, thought Medrash. We’ve seen enough of your lizard friends. He rode at the giant and drove his point into the shaman’s chest.

Shangbok collapsed, and the egg rolled from his hand. Then, all at once, it shattered into glittering dust. Medrash realized the giant hadn’t been trying to create more minions after all. He’d used the last of his strength to destroy the talisman.

Off to the right, people started to cheer. Medrash looked around and saw that he and his comrades had eradicated their foes.

He tried to share in the other riders’ jubilation. It seemed reasonable that he should, for after all they’d won a victory. In so doing, they’d validated Khouryn’s training and proved that a warrior didn’t have to be a wyrm-lover to stand a chance against the giants.

But his instincts told him the egg had been important. What might they have learned from it if they’d captured it intact?

28 MIRTUL -3 KYTHORN THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)

Wings beating, Eider climbed into the cool night air, attaining the altitude necessary to protect her from bowshots from the ground. She couldn’t find an updraft to carry her, and gave a querulous little rasp at the effort involved.

“Lazy beast,” Gaedynn said. “Do as you’re told, or it’s off to the knackers with you.” He gave the griffon an affectionate, rustling scratch amid the feathers on her neck.

When he judged they were high enough, he flew her over the city walls and the enemy camp beyond. The Threskelans’ yellow fires flickered, just barely revealing the nearest soldiers and tents. No one called the alarm as Gaedynn soared overhead, and he inwardly conceded that Eider might have had a point. Maybe it hadn’t been necessary to rise so high. Maybe the night was shield enough. But also maybe not. Kobolds, orcs, and some of the other beings in the Great Bone Wyrm’s employ saw pretty well in the dark.

Gaedynn flew some distance beyond the force encircling Soolabax, then set down behind a stand of oaks. If he’d been in command of Alasklerbanbastos’s army, he would have stationed a picket or two among the trees. But he hadn’t spotted any when he’d flown over in the daylight.