Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [67]
The cultists were still outnumbered by nearly four to one. They should have been quickly overrun, but somehow they were holding their own. It only took a second for Corin to understand why. Attacking the professional fighting unit of the cult soldiers was a rag-tag, mismatched crew of humans, dwarves, goblins, ores, and kobolds.
Humans and dwarves were fine to fight beside, in Corin's opinion, the odd half-ore might even be tolerable but no warrior worth his salt wanted to have his army's fate resting on the shoulders of goblins, ores, and kobolds. Tactical warfare was beyond their ability to grasp. Once the blood flowed, their base instincts took over-blood-lust, cowardice, and greed. They charged without reason or purpose, they broke morale and fled at the worst possible times and they'd even turn their attention from the battle to loot the bodies of the dead, both foe and friend. When they fought, it wasn't battle, but pure carnage. An organized, sustained effort could easily have routed the cult, but instead they had regrouped and were actually pressing their disorganized attackers back.
At first Corin thought the young wizard might have been using his magic to keep the cultists in the battle, but when he picked the tall mage's bald head out from the melee he realized the wizard had problems of his own. Two other mages, a bearded man in blue and a woman in red, were attacking him with spells from either side. Defending against the constant barrage kept the cult spellcaster from aiding his soldiers. Without the mage to help them, it was only a matter of time until the cultists would succumb to the vast numerical advantage of the attacking rabble.
Through it all, the mysterious veiled woman stood still as stone, arms hanging limply by her side, seemingly oblivious to the events around her. She had not moved since the ambush struck.
Corin's mind processed all this information in mere seconds, storing it away for future use. Instant analysis of a battle was second nature to the warrior, it happened automatically, leaving his conscious mind free to scan the clearing for signs of Fhazail. Despite his bulk, the steward had an amazing ability to avoid being noticed, like a roach scuttling beneath the floorboards of a room when you went to crush it with your boot, but at last Corin found him, cowering well clear of the battle on the far edge of the clearing. The mob who had launched the surprise attack didn't bother with him-proof enough for Corin that Fhazail had been aware of the ambush all along. The cultists, not yet aware of his treachery, still thought he was one of their own and left him alone as well. That suited Corin just fine. With nobody paying attention to Fhazail, nobody would be close enough to save him from his fate.
The shortest route to the steward was directly across the clearing, right through the heart of the battle.
"Stay here," he said over his shoulder to Lhasha, who had just now managed to catch up with him again. Corin leaped into the fray.
He made a mad rush perpendicular to the flow of battle, ignoring anyone who was not directly in his way. On either side would-be opponents swung at him, but without any armor to encumber his movement he was able to easily duck and dodge his way across the field of battle, avoiding the hurried swipes at his unprotected form.
Most of the combatants were too busy with the enemy in front of them to bother chasing him down once he was beyond the range of their blades, but halfway across the clearing a dwarf decapitated his opponent with a vicious swipe of his battle-axe. The helmed head of the unfortunate cultist bounced twice and rolled just in front of Corin's boot, nearly tripping him up and drawing the attention of the dwarf who had dealt the fatal blow. The stocky warrior turned to meet the