so it was something Druids usually used as a last resort.  But Tarrin's body was immune to the effects of age, so it would be safe for him to use, at least for a few moments.  He hoped that a few moments would be all it took.
	Tarrin blazed through the men and came face to face with the Demoness.  She moved much faster than the men around her, but she was still very slow to him as he engaged her without any warning or challenges.  The surprised look on her face was very apparent to him, but he concentrated on keeping those six swords away from his body.  He moved like lightning, but he was using a single weapon against six, and found himself parrying blow after blow, coming from above, below, in front, the sides, and every angle in between.  The Demoness used the six swords in complete, total harmony, and Tarrin was hard pressed to do anything but defend against her, despite the fact that he could move more than twice as quickly as she.  He barely managed to parry a stunningly complicated and fast series of slashes that came in from every angle at once, and he hissed in pain when one of the edges of those weapons slice across his waist, leaving a bleeding slash wound nearly five fingers long in his side.
	Tarrin backed off, realizing that he was using the wrong weapon.  He traded his sword into the elsewhere for his staff, a single weapon whose two ends and middle would give him a great deal more versatility and options against this dangerous foe.  He came right back at her fearlessly, holding the staff in the center-grip, and she again unleashed a stunning series of interwoven slashes and thrusts that would have killed three men in seconds.  But Tarrin used the entire staff to slap those attacks away, spinning it in his paws so quickly it whistled through the air with every movement, and it forced the snake-bodied Demoness to stop advancing forward as he turned and attacked her, knocking wide two weapons on her left side, parrying a third from the right, then turning the staff and driving it point first into her belly, just above where the mottled scales of her snake body began, jamming the staff's butt right into her navel.  She actually slithered back a few spans, giving up the ground she had won as she struggled to take a breath, but Tarrin waded right into her, literally right into the wedge formation she headed, keeping the Demoness off balance and not giving her the chance to recover.
	Tarrin's stand gave the defenders a chance to regroup themselves, and they fell on their smaller or more lightly armored foes with a renewed fury.  They smashed into the wedge formation, crushing its left side and bending back its right as the Vendari and Knights drove the wedge back into itself.  The Demoness hissed sibilantly at Tarrin, but then he sensed something on the edge of his awareness, and realized that the Demoness was communicating telepathically with her troops.  They began to pull back, retreat as the Knights and Vendari threatened to encircle them and cut them off from the troops still coming over the fence and through the ditch, to reform their lines and attempt another breakout.  Tarrin killed a few of the ki'zadun that tried to block him away from the Demoness, and then re-engaged her as the rest of her troops retreated behind her.  She fought with a renewed vigor, moving faster than she was before as she took him very seriously, and he could see the look of intense concentration on her face as she sought to cut off his paws with her swords, attacking not his body, but the staff and the paws holding it.  Tarrin spun the weapon precisely before him, parrying those attacks on his paws and fingers, but she got closer and closer with every new slice.  They traded furious blows as Tarrin tried to disarm her even as she tried to disarm him, a dazzling display of weapon handling as two masters of their respective weapons wove intricate designs before them in a contest not of strength, but one of delicate nuance and skill, a contest where a miscalculation of a mere finger's width could spell the difference between victory and defeat.
	They broke in a stalemate, and then Tarrin felt his heart suddenly begin to race wildly.  The spell was starting to do damage to his body, and he knew that he'd have to break it any moment.  His heart hammered in his chest as he rushed forward, understanding that if he didn't defeat the Demoness right then and there, he was going to have to retreat from her, and she'd be free to head up another wedge to break through their lines.  He attacked her like a cyclone, pushing her into a defensive position as his staff blurred before him, seeking to hit her in some vital area, but he saw that she was making no attempt to fight back, only parrying the furious series of blows he levelled against her.  She must have realized that he couldn't maintain his speed much longer, and now she was stalling!  He redoubled his efforts to penetrate her defenses, but her six swords flowed with utter grace and complete harmony, proving that she could protect herself as effectively as she could attack.
	Tarrin felt his blood begin to burn.  He had to end the spell, and do it now!
	He dropped back a pace as the battle continued to rage around them, and ended the spell.  Everything around him sped back up, but his blood continued to burn and he felt very winded and a little dizzy.  The Demoness grinned wickedly at him, raising her six swords and preparing to slide forward and battle him while he was trying to recover.
	But then Thalia was between them.  She rose her sword and gave an undulating cry not unlike the one the Selani used, then attacked the marilith without fear.  The marilith seemed much more wary of Thalia than she had been of him, and seemed unsure of what to do as the Alu was turned away, then took one step back and stopped moving.  The marilith did the same, and that confused Tarrin.  What were they doing?  Staring at one another?  But then sensed something else going on, another battle taking place on another level, and he realized tht the two telepathic beings were battling with one another with their telepathic powers.  Thalia must have feigned a physical attack to either confuse the marilith or make her think that she wasn't capable of such a mental assault.
	It only lasted a moment, little more than two heartbeats, but then it was over.  Her wings drooping, Thalia simply collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap.  It was obvious that the marlith had won that confrontation.
	But those two hearbeats were enough.  Tarrin had felt the amulet around his neck become suddenly heavy, reminding him of its presence, and he again realized that he never had to fight the Demoness in the first place.  It was on the Tower grounds, close to his Goddess!  He could banish it the same way he banished the others!  He was such a fool!
	He took the amulet in his paw and remembered the words he had used before.  They were words of power, a spell created with words instead of weaving, and he began to repeat them exactly.  His voice rose in power by degrees with each word that escaped his lips, and the Demoness suddenly looked at him in total shock, seemingly taken aback by what she was hearing.  She recovered quickly and surged forward with all six swords leading, seeking to kill him before he could complete the chant of the spell, but some unknown Knight suddenly interposed himself between Tarrin and the Demoness, sword and shield at the ready, prepared to stop her at any cost.  The Knight had literally come out of nowhere, and the Demoness slashed at him at her full speed to knock the mortal out of the way--
	--but all of her attacks were smoothly either parried or blocked.  The nameless Knight remained in her path, forced her to stop, gave Tarrin that critical moment he needed to complete the spell.  The marilith looked down at her foe in fury, raising one sword to cleave his head in half as another darted in to strike at his shield, as a third clashed with the Knight's broadsword, and then a fourth plunged just inside his shield to drive through his armor and burst his heart, the sword's tip erupting out of the back of the armor.
	The sword had no blood on it.
	The sword that was high struck the visored helmet, but failed to penetrate it.  It did knock the helmet off, however, revealing the man inside the armor.  But it was no man.
	It was Faalken!
	There was no doubt, it was Faalken!  The cherubic Knight's head was somewhat hazy, almost opaque, and Tarrin realized that the man within was nothing but a ghost, a shade, a spectre without form.  The armor and weapons were real enough, but the Demoness could do no harm to the force giving them mobility.  Tarrin nearly forgot the next word of the spell as the shock of seeing Faalken again hit him, and his voice stumbled slightly.  But he kept chanting, not losing the spell, and then finally felt it reach its climax.  He held up the amulet for the Demoness to see, presenting the holy symbol of his Goddess as an instrument through which she would deliver her might, and his voice thundered across the grounds.  "In the name of Niami, Goddess of magic, I abjure ye, creature of darkness!  Begone to the pit that spawned ye, or face the wrath of the Goddess!"
	The Demoness screamed then, a scream of fury, rage, pain, and bitter frustration.  "This is not over, Were-cat!" she screamed at him.  "Your soul is mine!  Mine, do you hear!  I'll return to take it from you!" she promised, spitting the curse at him, and then her body simply evaporated into a hazy black mist, which itself vanished a second later.
	There was a stunned silence on the field, which suddenly became a collective groan from the forces of the ki'zadun.  It intensified when Camara Tal's reinforcments arrived and joined the lines, doubling the numbers of defenders they would have to defeat to break through.  They just lost their general and their greatest weapon, and all of them had suddenly lost the will to battle with the deadly Knights and Vendari.  But Tarrin didn't hear them, didn't see them cringe, didn't see the defenders give a great rallying cry and surge forward with renewed vigor.  Tarrin's eyes were locked on Faalken, who just grinned that grin at him, gave him a wave of salute, and then vanished into nothingness just as the Demoness had vanished, leaving the armor and sword behind to clatter to the ground.
	Just like that, he was gone.  Faalken had saved him, protected him long enough to complete the spell.  Even from the grave, Faalken continued to make his presence known, continued to aid his old friend.
	Tarrin sank to one knee, feeling totally exhausted, and released the Weave to allow magic to flow again.  He didn't know whether to feel happy or sad to see Faalken, and at the moment he was too tired to care about it.  He crawled over to Thalia as the Knights and Vendari pushed the ki'zadun up against the breastworks, pinning them in place and then proceeding to slaughter them, but he didn't take notice.  He rolled the Alu over onto her back as gently as he could, a hard job because of her wings, but he gave up being gentle when he looked into her glassy, blank eyes.
	Thalia was dead.
	She had sacrificed herself to protect him, just as Faalken had done for Dolanna.  Despite being half Demon, she had given her life for the noblest of reasons, to protect someone else, and he felt a strange, towering pride for her.  She had saved him, and in her own way, she had turned the tide of battle by giving him the time he needed to banish the Demoness.  He said a silent prayer for Thalia, a humble beseechment of the Goddess that she look over the soul of Thalia and guide her to an afterlife deserving of her heroic actions.  The shock of seeing Faalken again, of knowing that yet another had died because of him, it was a little too much.  Tears formed in his eyes as he reached down to close her dark eyes, prepared to carry her back to her mother and apologize for what happened.
	Then, to his absolute shock, Thalia took in a ragged breath.  Those glassy eyes blinked, then she looked up at him in confusion.  "What's going on?" she asked.
	"I thought you were dead!" he gasped.
	"It's possible to kill through the mind, but it's not easy," she said to him with a sudden grin.  "It just took me a while to shake off the defeat, that's all.  I guess I must have looked dead."  Her grin faded as she realized that he was weeping.  "Tears, for me?  I'm very touched, Were-cat," she said gently.  "But a little misplaced.  I took on the marilith through the mind, knowing that she wouldn't be able to kill me with her swords.  And I knew someone would come along behind me and keep her from finishing me off," she winked.  "You know, the desperate defense of the fallen sacrificial lamb, and that sort of thing."
	Tarrin laughed helplessly.  Goddess, but Demons were cunning little things!  "Thalia, you're just like your mother."
	"Thank the pit.  At least that means that I was paying attention when she taught me."
	Tarrin laughed again, and then they struggled to help each other up.  Tarrin was exhausted, totally drained, both physically and emotionally, after everything that had happened, but the result did seep through that as he saw the fruits of their labor and preparation.  The enemy forces had been destroyed on their side of the fence, and the survivors were fleeing back into the city, leaving their screaming comrades still trapped on the fence behind.  The loss of the marilith had crushed the will to fight out of them, and now they were running away in a full rout.
	At least on their front, the battle had been won.
	Now it fell to Kang and Darvon to win their battles, and the war would be over.

	The battle at the breach in the fence was pitched and furious.
	The remaining Wizards for the enemy were all concentrated there, and they used their magic liberally to burn at the palisade, to force the defenders away from the breastwork long enough for the soldiers crawling across the ditch to gain a foothold on that side of the ditch.  The Sorcerers were taken aback by the flurry of magic, but then formed a Circle with  Sevren leading and choked off the Wizards' powers, eliminating their advantage.  It turned into a bloody stalemate as ki'zadun and the defenders exchanged blows over the palisade, neither side able to gain enough of an advantage to either push the attackers back or breach the lines of the defenders.
	But that changed when Shiika and her lone Cambisi daughter entered the fray. Safe from Wizard spells, they waded over the palisade and attacked the ki'zadun with swords, and proved to be as devastating to the ki'zadun as the marilith had been against the Knights and Vendari.  Neither of them even bothered to defend themselves, they hacked wildly at the men before them.  They were invulnerable to the weapons of their enemies, and that protection proved fatal for the men facing the two Demonesses.  They cut a huge swath through their opponents, pushing the ki'zadun back to the ditch where they were fighting.  It went on like that for long moments, until the two of them pulled back to the defender's side of the palisade and took a short break to rest.
	The stalemate raged even as the bodies began to pile up on both sides of the palisade.  Kang engaged the enemy personally at the center of the lines, taking his own turn at the forefront of the breastwork to keep the enemy on the other side of it.  The short Arakite proved to be a deadly warrior, a master of his longsword and the doom of every man who came up against him.  Kang was a fencer, using his sword in light, delicate movements to brush aside the opposing weapon and deliver a lethal stab to the throat or chest, or a killing slash over the head, neck, or upper belly.  The ground on the other side of the palisade from Kang began to pile up with the bodies of his opponents, and with his help, the line remained strong and unbroken.
	About that time, one Wizard appeared to be up to something.  It was a tall, emaciated man that looked like a walking cadaver, wearing black robes and carrying a black steel rod.  He rose it up and began to chant in a strong voice, and it was apparent from the shocked looks on the faces of the Sorcerers that this was magic they couldn't counter.  When the realization that this was the one that rose all the undead that Darvon's men were currently fighting reached through the lines, there was a sudden tension on their side.  But the Knights and Vendari were too seasoned, too well trained to run away.  They simply prepared themselves to face a newly populated force with plenty of undead.  But when they realized that the dead on their side had been carried off the field, behind the lines, there was a sudden panicked call to decapitate all the dead before they woke up to attack them from behind.
	Kang swore.  If they raised all the dead, his forces would be surrounded!
	For several seconds, it hung there, dead silence except for the chanting of the thin Wizard.  But then a strangled cry issued forth from beyond the fence, then another, and then another, and the thin Wizard suddenly stopped chanting, and it was apparent that he didn't do it because the spell was over.  A figure exploded from the ranks of the men around the thin man, a man wearing armor that was polished so much that it shone brilliantly in the noontime sun, almost like polished silver.  The Wizard seemed to recoil from the armored warrior in the worst way, looking to be in total terror of the man, and then he turned to run from him.  But the armored warrior moved with blazing speed, was upon him in five steps, and slashed that sword down the back of the Wizard.  The Wizard shrieked in agony, fell to the ground and writhed in intense pain, trying to reach behind him to the wound.  A wound that, Kang saw when he climbed atop the palisade and watched, bled with such profusion that it had to be unnatural.  The armored figure stood over him, cackling in glee, then sliced him again on the side, then again on the arm, then again on the leg, light wounds, little more than scratches, that bled so liberally that it looked like the blood was fountaining out of the man like a geyser.  Absolute silence swept over the field, except for the cackling of the man and the screams of the Wizard.
	"Jegojah, he knew the Sorcerers would block yer magic, yes," the armored man hissed in delight.  "Does it hurt, Kravon?  Promised ye, Jegojah did, that Jegojah would bleed ye and watch ye die.  Oh, and promised, Jegojah did, to cut ye for the Were-cat."  He put a boot on the Wizard's neck to stop his thrashing, then dropped the tip of his sword down and, quite deliberately, raked it across the eyes of the Wizard, putting them out.  "Now then, Jegojah hopes that ye don't die too quickly.  Too long has Jegojah waited to avenge himself against ye, yes.  Entertain Jegojah, Wizard, before we both go on to our final reward."
	The wizard thrashed on the ground with his hands over his face, blood spewing from between his fingers like a crimson waterfall.  As they all watched, Vendari, Knight, ki'zadun, Sorcerer, and Wizard alike, the thrashing and convulsions of the man on the ground grew weaker and weaker as a pool of red formed around him, soaking into the cobblestones of the street.  The man's pale skin became pale white, and he moved with only the feeblest jerks, whimpering incoherently.  And then he moved no more.  The blood stopped flowing, flesh turning gray, and Kang realized with some reserve that somehow, every drop of blood had been leeched out of the man's body.
	There was only the cackling laughter of the armored man, and that abruptly stopped.  The man saluted the defenders with his sword and called to them.  "Tell the Were-cat that Jegojah got their man," he said to them. "Tell him that Jegojah, he wishes him good luck and Gods' speed on his journey.  Tell him that Jegojah bids farewell."
	And then the man simply collapsed.
	They watched his body crumple to the ground, and nobody did anything for a very long moment.  And then, like a sudden tide, all the Wizards on the far side of the field turned and began to run away.  Seeing their Wizards break, the footsoldiers turned and fled back over the ditch, back out of the breached fence, running without formation or discipline out into the city.  It was a rout.
	The strange armored man had somehow broke the spirit of their enemies!  That must have been one of their leaders!
	The defenders gave out a great cry of victory, but Kang knew that it wasn't over yet.  He quickly ordered his troops to chase the fleeing enemies, to make sure they didn't regroup and attempt another assault.
	But that was only the finishing touches on what had been a long, intense battle, the battle the likes of of which Kang had never thought to be a part.  A battle for the history books.
	A battle they had won.

	The enthusiasm didn't exist at the Fountain of the Swans.
	Anchored by a warehouse on one side and a large inn on the other, the Arakites formed an anchor to which the rest of the defenders clung, forming a shield wall to hold back the terrifying masses of undead warriors as they strove to break through.  The undead fought with and without weapons, those without seeking to drag men out of the lines and into their numbers, where they would be torn apart.  The defenders fought furiously to hold the lines and prevent themselves from being dragged out to their doom, as the mindless undead pressed up against the interlocked shields of the Arakite Legions as men behind pushed them away with pikes and spears, trying to drive them through the heads of their enemies
	Darvon was in the middle of it, using a pike to push away undead pulling at the shields of the Arakites, men literally being held in place by the Ungardt and Centaurs to prevent the undead from grabbing the edges of the shields and drag the men out to where they could be rent apart.  Things could have been alot worse, if Jenna hadn't killed at least a thousand of them with magic that cut through them like a scythe, decapitating a mess of them at once.  The Ward that contained the others made their numbers at least managable, but that had been all that Jenna could muster.  She was sitting unceremonoiusly on the ground about twenty spans behind the lines along with the Keeper and the other Sorcerers, who were all completely drained.  There would be no more magical assistance from them, but they had already done more than enough to give them a fighting chance.  Darvon returned to the grim task of pushing back undead, many of them wearing the uniforms of the Arakites and the Sulasians, bodies hijacked to fight for the other side.
	There was a scream to his left, and one of the Arakites was pulled into the writhing mass of undead, his screams cut brutally short as he was torn to pieces.  Undead suddenly surged into the hole the man had occupied, and for a terrifying moment, Darvon thought that they were going to break the line.  The Arakites struggled to close the hole, but too many of their undead enemies had taken up the space he'd occupied.  One brave Ungardt bodily slammed into the undead, using his great height and size to bull them out of the hole, but paid for it when the undead grabbed hold of him and dragged him past the Arakites.  Darvon saw that the man had saved them from having the line breached, but he was about to pay for it with his life.
	But something odd happened.  All the undead seemed to shudder, all at once...and then they all fell to the ground.
	The Ungardt that had saved the line stood out there, all by himself, about a span in front of the startled lines, looking around in confusion.  But all the undead had fallen to the ground, and none of them were moving.
	Darvon blinked.  Had the magic that created them expired?  One of the Arakites jabbed at the corpse of a Dargu with his spear, but it didn't move.  None of them moved.
	The defenders held the line, wary that they would all get up again, but it didn't happen.  They stayed in formation, muttering amongst themselves in a nervous kind of anticipation for long moments, ready if the bodies moved again.
	But they didn't.
	An Aeradalla landed behind the lines, and was quickly rushed over to Darvon. The winged woman saluted him sharply, out of breath and obviously excited.  "The troops at the Tower have repulsed the humans trying to break in!" she announced. "They killed the enemy commanders and captured the magical device that made all the bodies move, Lord General Darvon. The enemy troops are running away!"
	There was a sudden roar of relief and joy from the assembled armies of the defenders, and Selani and Arakite exchanged congratulations as Ungardt pounded Centaurs on the back, and Sulasians clapped hands with Wikuni and Were-kin.
	"General Kang requests that you dispatch troops to catch all the fleeing enemies, Lord General," the Aeradalla said happily.  "They're in a full rout!"
	Darvon blew out his breath, saying fervent prayers of thanks to Karas.  That had come literally in the nick of time.  If those undead had had five more minutes--he didn't even want to think about it.  "Alright then, let's break up and capture all the enemies running away!" he boomed.  "When that's done, it'll be time to celebrate!  Lieutenants, take your squads out into the city and capture any enemies you encounter!  My dear, if you would be so kind as to go up and tell all your friends to circle over the enemy soldiers, we'd appreciate it.  They'll be much easier to find with your help."
	"Of course, my Lord General," she smiled sweetly at him, then turned and vaulted into the sky.
	"All right then, why are we standing around here?" he called in good-natured ribbing.  "We have orders to carry out!  Let's go, let's go!  A little more, and then we feast and celebrate our victory!"
	There was a sudden booming roar from the defending armies just before they broke up and began scouring the streets for the routed enemy, for they all knew that for all intents and purposes, the battle was over.
	They had won.
 
Chapter 37

	It was a celebration.
	It took all the rest of the day and half the night to carry out the bodies of the slain and give them proper burial a few longspans to the south of the city, where no farming was carried out.  But after that was done, a task that civilian and soldier alike were committed to accomplishing before the bodies became a health risk to the city, the celebrating began.  Every festhall, inn, and tavern was packed with revellers as they celebrated victory over the enemy, celebrated an end to the fighting, or celebrated the memory of the brave men who had fallen protecting Suld.  Though many had died--more than they'd expected--the victory made it impossible to feel too somber for the lost, for the intoxicating wine of victory had flushed the survivors.  There was a surprisingly small number of fights, most of them being the Ungardt, and they usually only fought one another when they were drunk, so the revelling taking place out in the city was a generally peaceful one.
	Of course, not everyone was celebrating.  There had been no civilian casualties, but there had been some damage to the eastern quarter of the city, and those who had had homes or businesses damaged during the fighting were not in a partying mood.  That problem had been exascerbated after the rout began, as desperate ki'zadun soldiers broke into the empty buildings and tried to hide.  The men that went in after them usually weren't very careful about the building, so alot of internal damage was done to the buildings standing as the soldiers fought to drag the prisoners out of their holes.  Though they were grateful that the enemy had been repulsed, those unfortunates who had suffered loss in property were still a bit put out with the whole thing, and rightfully so.
	But all in all, given the situation they had found themselves in, everyone agreed that it could have been much worse.  They had managed to repel the ki'zadun, defeating a force almost twice as large as the defending force, doing it with magic, fortifications, strategy, and not more than a little luck.  Stories had already begun to be recanted about the battle, about how the katzh-dashi of Suld rose up and showed the world the power they kept hidden, the power that had made the other orders of magic so fearful of them.  Jenna and Tarrin especially became very highly mentioned in those stories, the Were-cat already being somewhat notorious, but the small, young, dark-haired girl, such a pretty and incredibly brave girl, rose up to prove she was the equal of the menacing, infamous Were-cat.  She caught the attention and the hearts of many who had seen her fight.  Minstrels and bards had already began composing songs about Jenna and her stand against the dark Wizards of the ki'zadun, and they got more and more outrageous with each draft.  Several proposals of marriage had been delivered to the Tower gates as well, though most of them had probably been tendered while the hopeful groom was drunk and flushed with the thrill of their victory.
	Inside the Tower there was celebration as well, but it was a bit muted.  The Tower had lost fifty-three katzh-dashi in the battle, fifty-three out of five hundred and nine.  That was one out of ten, killed in the battle.  The cost to the katzh-dashi had been very high, but it had been a price they willingly paid, given the alternative.  The Council had survived, but Jinna Brent, the Water seat, and Darrian Goldaxe, the Earth seat, had both been wounded in the fight.  They were in their rooms, recuperating from the ordeal of being healed, and so were not present at the grand feast held in honor of their victory.  The feast was attended by all the kazth-dashi, as well as the visitors and generals that had called the Tower home since arriving to help repel the ki'zadun.  Many of the Arakite military command structure was present, as well as all the surviving Aeradalla.  A large complement of Selani were present, as well as the new leader of the Centaurs, after their former one was killed during the fighting.  Sathon was present, wearing a splendid white robe, as was Audrey the Were-wolf.
	But all of them stared at the large table of empty seats near the table of the Council.  That was where the Were-cats were to sit, as well as the core of the people close to Tarrin.  Those seats were empty, and nobody had seen any of them since they had returned to the Tower.
	But they were in the Tower.  The Were-cats were gathered in Tr