There suddenly came the sound of picks chipping away at ice, and Duncan looked over and was surprised to see his commanders, Anvin and Arthfael, appearing beside him, joined by dozens of others, all of them picking their way up the mountain despite the swarm of bats attacking them. They had all come, he realized, to save him.

The men swung wildly with their picks, dropping bats from the sky, the screeches rising up. They came close and shielded Duncan and Seavig with their bodies, slashing at the beasts to divert the ice bats’ attack. Duncan found himself momentarily relieved from the swarm as some of the bats shifted to attack the others—and he was overwhelmed by their loyalty: they’d all risked their lives for him.

Yet no sooner had they made headway when the bats regrouped, more and more arriving. He joined his men in swatting at them, but it did little good. His men, Duncan was horrified to see, were now also getting clawed and bitten to death. Duncan knew there wasn’t much time before they were all finished. He felt a bat bite his shoulder and he shrieked, as more and more landed on his back, the bats getting bolder as the sky turned white with their translucent bodies. His hands were shaking, and he felt himself losing his grip.

Suddenly, the bats let out a chorus of shrieks. It was not a shriek of victory—but one of agony, carrying a different pitch to it. As Duncan felt them begin to back away, he could not understand what was happening. And then, he realized: something was attacking them.

Duncan heard a whooshing noise beside him and felt a rush of wind and he looked up the mountain face, blinking into the snow, and was amazed at what he saw: high above were what dozens of soldiers, hardened warriors with long beards and fierce, square faces. They peered down over the mountaintop and tilted huge cauldrons, leaning them over the edge of the mountain face. As they did, a black liquid came gushing down the mountain like a waterfall, just far out enough so that it just missed Duncan—yet close enough to be able to douse the swarm of bats. Whatever was in that liquid must have hurt the bats, because many of them dropped limply, killed on the spot—and the ones that survived, screeched and flew off, the entire flock lifting, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.

Duncan breathed hard as he clung to the ice, scratched and bleeding, arms shaking, yet somehow still alive. He turned and looked for his men, taking stock, and was relieved to see they were still there. A sense of quiet and calm had finally descended over them, and despite his wounds, Duncan felt, for the first time, that he was going to make it. The men of Kos were in sight. He would have another chance at life. They would reach the top.