Usso meant for reinforcements to get to the general rapidly if necessary, Vorr knew. A closed door would not stop magically armed commandos. "Fine," Vorr said, still storing papers. "I'll be on my way in a minute."

The wizened man bowed formally, though the general ignored him, and turned to walk back to the closed doors. "Call if you need me," Usso said as he left-but his voice had changed. It was now a very feminine one, seductive and young. After opening a door and motioning for Gargon to leave it ajar, Usso was gone.

Vorr had most of the paperwork put away in a wall safe behind his chair and was about to take the last of it with him when a loud thump came from the double doors. He turned around. The door that had been open was now closed. After a startled pause on the other side came the sounds of heavy, pounding fists, followed by regular body slams against the wood and steel.

A locking spell. That was quick, Vorr thought. He had no time left. He was on the wrong side of the desk and couldn't go for his weapon. Vorr dropped his papers and reached for the only two solid objects on the desktop: the steel globe and the red tarantula statuette. He spun, scanning the room.

An elf stood before him, having appeared out of nowhere just thirty feet away in front of the double doors. It was a female with silver hair and no armor, her staff sparkling with spell power. The coiled emblem of the massacred House of Spiral blazed from her fiery diadem.

General Vorr threw the steel globe in his right hand with all the force he could summon. The impact of the sphere against her upper chest flipped the elf completely over in the air, her staff spinning away. She struck the wall behind her, then fell in a crumpled heap, her wide blue eyes staring at the ceiling. More teleporting images came into view. A tall human in a coveted helm and plate armor appeared to his far left. Teeth bared, Vorr flung the forty-pound red spider with his other hand. Solid iron crashed into the knight's upraised shield, knocking the attacker into a dwarf who had appeared nearby. Both fell cursing into a heap.

Eyes of Dukagsh, Vorr thought, they must want me badly. The room was still filling with teleporting intruders. Out of nine attackers so far, six were still on their feet. All stood at least twenty-five feet from the general. Several were making spell-casting motions. He knew instantly what was coming and almost relaxed to enjoy it.

The spy reports from Usso!

Vorr turned and snatched the last stack of papers on his desk, flinging it at a short male elf in a glittering green cloak. The elf sidestepped the papers, which sailed out of harm's way. The elf pulled something small from his necklace-a golden bead, it looked like-then flung it at the general with a snap of his wrist. "For Spiral!" he shouted in the world's Elvish, his face filled with cold rage.

The tiny bead burst into a flaming yellow streak that struck the general's chest-and vanished with a sputtering hiss that a flame would make when doused by water. Almost immediately, Vorr saw a second fireball and a stream of shining magic missiles streak toward him from his right, where other wizards must have appeared, but these spells vanished with equal speed when they struck him.

The floor then exploded in a hurricane of fire beneath his boots, the concussion of the flames hammering his body as it took him by surprise. He instinctively stepped back and raised his arms to ward the fire away from his face, though he knew he was safe. The magical flames died away almost at once.

The air was filled with ash and smoke. His desk and the floor around him were now covered with black soot, and his once-comfortable chair and the tribal flags and banners on the wall behind him were engulfed in yellow flames.

Vorr, however, was unharmed and still on his feet. The attackers gasped when they saw him. The general used the seconds he gained to vault over his desktop. His left hand found the grip on the weapon under his desk, and he tore it free of its leather harness.

The human knight, now weaponless and on hands and knees, produced a small, golden object from a belt pouch and hurled it clumsily across the room. The other attackers held back. The object clanged on the floor just a dozen feet away from the general. It was a statuette of a lion. "Lord of Cats!" shouted the knight in a hoarse female voice. "Slay the humanoid!"

The golden figurine abruptly expanded and changed shape, growing a mane and numerous two-inch fangs within seconds. Its meowing cry turned into a full-throated roar. Vorr raised the metallic double-barrel device he'd tugged from under his desk, aimed from the hip, and pulled both triggers.

He never heard the blast, but he felt its punch; it was too close and too loud. While he had braced himself as best he could, the recoil slammed Vorr hard in the gut, and he staggered back a step before he caught himself. A deafening whine filled his head for a few moments before his hearing recovered. Through the sulfurous smoke, he saw the thrashing shape of an enormous lion with two three-foot-long spears of barbed steel sticking out from its shaggy mane. Bright gore splattered the floor around the beast as it writhed in agony and shivered, then collapsed and moved no more.

"Hammer time!" shouted a male human. "Then torch him!" The attackers were still holding back but were in the act of drawing more weapons-throwing weapons.

"No! He is fireproof!" an elven male called out in Elvish. "Strike Plan B! We must-"

The elf sounded like a leader. Vorr whipped the discharged harpoon-bombard overhand and let go. The weapon crossed the room in a whirling, circular blur and smacked the elf in the face, then went on to clang against the wall beyond, splattering red droplets across it. The elf fell backward when he was hit, his sword flying, one arm raised uselessly to ward off the blow.

As the elf fell, everyone else in the room stepped forward and threw weapons of their own at the general, who shielded his face with his foot-thick arms. A twisting, magical rope slapped around his legs, but fell limp to the floor. Something thumped against his chest, cracking a rib with a stab of pain. A hatchet blade punched through the banded armor near the base of his neck, leaving a tingling and burning sensation. Poison. Vorr had no time to strip off his armor and wipe the wound to keep it from hurting, but no matter what poison it was, he could afford to wait and withstand the pain.

Reaching for his belt, the general pulled out a three-pronged device like a black fork with a long central tine. He then lunged around the desk at the knight, the nearest of the attackers, who had drawn a gray long sword and was charging in for the kill.

The sword had begun its downward arc when Vorr's iron fork aught it, turned it aside with a fluid sweep, and jerked it out of the knight's grasp. Vorr spun in place, the butt of the fork coming around to slam the knight in the back and throw the human forward. The spin gave Vorr a chance to glance around the room. He then sidestepped and kicked at the axe-wielding dwarf who came at him next. The axe cut through Vorr's leg armor before it and its owner were knocked rolling more than a dozen feet away.

The fighting became a jumble of sharp, violent images. An elf thrust in with his sword, only to be caught and thrown into the desk, breaking his spine. The snarling dwarf came at him again with a broken nose and a bloodstained beard, long daggers in his red hands. Two chanting priests, human and elven, lost their attack spells when Vorr rushed and leaped up to body-slam them both. Glowing blades tore at his armor and flesh, licked out for his face, stabbed for his back, cut down for his neck. Streams of lightning and energy came at him and were snuffed out as they touched him. Shouts and screams filled the air. He lost track of all time in the madness of dodging and fighting, the crackling flames and smoke, and sprawled bodies and slippery blood.