The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [14]
Bastun studied the opening of the square even as Thaena and Syrolf advanced from behind. Calling the correct spells to mind he stepped toward Duras.
"Go!" he said, meeting the warrior's gaze with a quiet confidence he hoped would sway his old friend, then added, "Call the retreat again and keep Thaena and the others back. Trust me."
Hesitating, Duras nodded and blew the horn as he rushed to stop the others. An odd chill had filtered into the wind, and the scent of death filled Bastun's nostrils as he watched the warriors fall back against the Nar advance. Arcane words tumbled passed his lips, and from a pouch at his belt he pulled a pinch of sulfur. The sulfur hissed as it burned away, singeing the fingers of his glove. Hundreds of tiny glowing lights appeared all over the ground, silencing the arguments he could hear between Duras and Syrolf.
Gesturing at the Nar, Bastun watched the lights scurry away, leaving little trails through the snow. Weaving in between the legs of the Rashemi they crawled, glowing embers of living flame, to leap at the legs of the Nar. The ambushers fell back, trying to brush off the hundreds fiery spiders that bit and burned whatever they touched. The Rashemi obeyed the call to retreat, cries of surprise becoming screams of pain behind them as they rejoined the rest of the fang.
Everyone heard the moaning now-a chorus of wailing voices on a chilled breeze of decay. The dim torches on the ground guttered out, leaving only the tiny lights of the swarming spiders visible through the fog and growing darkness. Bastun backed toward the rest of the group as a deeper darkness crept along the edges of the barricade. Black forms distinguished themselves in the crawling shadow, twisted arms and malformed heads, incorporeal bodies that swam through a multitudinous wave of spirits.
"What evil have you summoned, vremyonni?" Syrolf whispered.
Bastun didn't answer. Reaching Thaena's side he waved her back.
"We have to go-now,"he said, trying to be silent, though he knew it didn't matter against the senses of the dead. The edges of the crawling cloud reached the panicking Nar, and a second set of voices joined the moaning, the screams of the Nar just as chilling as the winter wind. The nimbus of crawling light surrounding a few of the Nar moved through the fog toward Bastun and the fang, trying to escape the grim tide of death.
Chanting and spreading a fine dust over the snow, Thaena strode forward and slammed her staff into the ground. As she completed the spell, a shimmering barrier materialized between the buildings on the right and the wall of rubble on the left. Walking swiftly, she returned to the group and nodded to Duras.
"Now we go," she said coldly.
The fang moved quickly back the way they had come. No one turned to watch the fate of the Nar. Only Bastun looked to see them beating against the ethran's invisible wall as the dead engulfed them. Then Syrolf blocked his view, scowling with sword in hand to keep the vremyonni moving.
After a few blocks, losing themselves in the maze of Shandaular's streets, Duras broke the silence.
"What is happening, Thaena? How did Nar get into Shandaular?"
The ethran didn't answer right away, her steely gaze fixed on the road ahead. Similar questions were at the forefront of Bastun's thoughts as well, but he wondered not how the Nar got in, rather why they would come to such a place at all.
"We'll return to the second wall," Thaena answered. "I remember seeing an intact gatehouse. We shall tend to our wounded and discuss the situation there."
Duras nodded, apparently not wishing to press her further on the subject, and moved to direct the lead warriors toward the gatehouse.
Bastun noticed a trail of little spots appearing ahead of his every step-each one a bright scarlet, dripped from the wounds of the warriors. Some of them pressed against deep cuts,