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The last few dragonmen sank behind the shadow and vanished. For a time,
Melegaunt feared he truly had defeated the attack so easily. The warriors began
to reach his work site and check on their families. There were a handful of
anguished cries and panicked calls for missing children, but with Melegaunt's
help, the Vaasans had managed their retreat without losing many of their
number. Three warriors who were too badly injured to fight were given over to the
clan's healing witch, then
Bodvar and Idona arrived, breathing hard and supporting each other, but
both whole and sound.
"Well, Devil, it seems you have saved us again," Bodvar said. "Whether we
like it or not." Melegaunt spread his hands. "I live to serve." Bodvar scowled and
started to make a retort, then someone called, "Whitescales from the east!" and
someone else yelled, "And from the west! Thirty at least, coming in low over the
bog!"
Melegaunt rushed to the western edge of his work site and saw a long rank
of dragonmen approaching the island, their white scales shining like ivory against
the dark peat. Their line curved behind the island, and from the cries behind him,
it continued all the way around to the other side. The clan of the Moor Eagle was
surrounded. Struggling to bite back his smile, Melegaunt turned to find Bodvar
and Idona standing behind him.
"It seems your faith in me was misplaced," Melegaunt said. "My apologies,
Bodvar."
"None necessary. I'm the one who brought this on us," Bodvar said. He
fluttered his fingers in the direction of the approaching dragonmen. "Just do what
you can."
"I am afraid that will not be much, my friend." Melegaunt spoke loudly
enough to be sure that nearby warriors, already gathering to eavesdrop, would
be certain to overhear. "Even I have my limits." "Limits?" Bodvar growled.
"I did not expect this. My magic is all but exhausted." Bowstrings began to
thrum around the perimeter of the work site, but they were too few-and their
arrow points too soft-to turn back the dragonmen.
Melegaunt drew his black sword, stepped away from the edge, and said,
"But I can still give a good accounting of myself."
As he had hoped, the sight of his darksword proved an inspiration.
The black swords!" Idona cried, turning toward the rack. "Those will balance
the-"
"No." Calm though it was, Bodvar's voice was surprisingly masterful and
imposing. "Of all the women in the tribe, Idona, you should know better. A devil's
gift is no gift at all."
Idona looked as though she wanted to argue, but her respect for her
husband-and for her chieftain-was too strong. She bit her tongue and pointed at
the hidden shelter.
"Then we had better fall back," she said, "before there is nothing left to
defend."
Bodvar gave the order, and the dragonmen were on them, streaming onto
the work site from all sides. They flew headlong into battle, thrusting at their
overwhelmed enemies with iron-tipped spears and relying on their size and
speed to carry the attacks home. Half-a-dozen human voices wailed in pain in
the first three heartbeats alone, then the second wave came crashing down from
the island summit, and it grew clear that the Vaasans hadn't a chance. When
they were lucky enough to land a strike, their brittle weapons either bounced off
or broke like icicles against the dragonmen's thick scales.
Still, the Vaasans fought bravely and well, falling back toward the shelter
behind the sword racks in good order, defending each other and striking at eyes
and armpits and other vulnerable areas whenever the chance came. Within
moments, there were as many dragonmen lying on the stony ground as there
were humans.
And Melegaunt quickly added to the toll. Protected as he was by an aura of
impenetrable shadow and holding a sword that would cut through any armor
known on Faerun, he turned and whirled through the dragonman ranks, slashing
legs off here and behorned heads there, dancing past spear thrusts and
shrugging off claw strikes like a drow blademaster.
One of the huge saurians managed to clasp him from behind in a bear hug,
lifting him off the ground and trapping his arms so that it was impossible to wield
his sword. Perhaps thinking to take him out over the bog and drop him to his
death, the creature spread his wings and leaped into the air. Melegaunt slammed
the back of his head into his attacker's snout, smashing it flat and driving one of
the bony horns back into the thing's brain. When the wizard dropped back to his
work site, the other dragonmen fell over each other to find someone else to
attack.
Then it happened.
A trio of dragonmen spotted the hidden shelter, and battering a pair of
human defenders aside with their powerful wings, charged for the children. The
first warrior scrambled to his feet and rushed after them, shattering his brittle
sword against the back of a thick reptilian skull.
The other Vaasan grabbed one of Melegaunt's glass swords. He sliced one
dragonman's legs out from beneath him, then cleaved a second's spine on the
backstroke and ran the blade through the third one's heart from behind. As this
last saurian crashed to his knees, the warrior let out an anguished gasp. He
stumbled back clutching at his heart, and one of the women in the shelter wailed
in despair and cried out his name, but he did not fall. Instead, his hair and beard
went as white as snow. The swarthiness drained from his face and his skin
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