Tal motioned, and the first group moved up the narrow stairway. He peered through the door and saw that the corridor was empty. He pushed it open and held it aside as the first twenty men raced up the stairs, ten going to the right and ten to the left. They were ordered to hurry to the far end of the hall and hold until a full company was in place.
After the first score of mercenaries were in place, the others came up like a steady stream, one man after another, and when a full fifty were in position Tal signaled. Both companies hurried off to their specified destinations. Each band had one mission: to find a particular place in the lower citadel and hold it. They would barricade the intersections between halls—using tables, chairs or anything else they could find—then hold those positions using longbows and crossbows until Tal had reached his objective. They would be protecting the flanks of those fighters sent into the lair of the magician.
Tal motioned for those behind him to move as silently as possible. He had hand-picked twenty-five of the toughest men in the army, led by the huge murderer, Masterson, who still carried the massive ax he had taken from the Fortress of Despair. Tal knew that if need be, he could chop through an oak door with it in moments.
Tal turned the corner, headed down a short corridor, then up a flight of stairs. At the top he was confronted by stairs leading back down again, while two other flights went up on either side. Companies following his own would head up those stairs with orders to attack any units of Kaspar’s men they sighted. Tal led his twenty-five men down the central set of stairs toward Leso Varen’s quarters.
He hurried down the corridor that led into the wizard’s first room, and as he neared the door, he felt the hair on his arms and neck stand up. He halted and without hesitation shouted, “Back!”
Those behind him hesitated for a moment, then the retreat began, just as a shrieking sound of unbearable volume split the air. Men covered their ears and howled in pain. Tal, who was closest to the door, suffered the worst. His legs wobbled and threatened to buckle as he staggered backward.
When he reached the far end of the corridor, the sound stopped. Tal shook his head to clear his vision. Without a word, he signaled to Masterson to tear down the door. Masterson nodded, rage etched upon his face, and charged the door.
If Varen had expected Tal and the others to have fled or to be lying stunned in the hallway, he was mistaken. Masterson’s massive ax struck the wood to the center of the hasp and shattered it, sending splinters flying. He struck it three more times and the planks fell away. With a kick of one huge foot, he smashed the wood between hinges and lock plate, and the door fell open. He charged in with Tal only steps behind him.
Twenty-five men entered the room with Tal. At the far end the magician, Leso Varen, stood alone. The slender magic-user looked more annoyed than fearful, and all he said was, “This really is just too much.”
Then he waved his hand, and abruptly Tal was engulfed in pain. He could barely stand, and his sword fell from fingers that refused to obey him. Other men writhed on the floor or fell to their hands and knees, vomiting.
Tal saw men falling unconscious on all sides. Only Masterson seemed able to keep his feet, and the large man staggered with each step. Seeing that the huge fighter was somehow resisting his magic, Varen sighed as if he was out of patience. He picked up what looked to be a slender wand of dark wood, pointed it at the ax-wielding man, and spoke a few words.
Flames surrounded Masterson’s head and shoulders, and he howled in agony, letting the ax fall. He went to his knees slapping uselessly at the flames, which were tinged an evil green color, and which filled the room with an oily smoke and the stench of burning flesh.
Tal struggled to move forward, although every one of his muscles tried to contract in spasm. He could not will his fingers to close around his sword where it lay near his open hand. In a desperate act of will he drew the dagger from his belt, mustered his remaining strength, and hurled it at the magician.
It flew true, but Varen merely stood still and the blade halted inches from him, falling to the floor with a clatter as if hitting an invisible wall. Then he walked to stand over Tal and looked down on him.