“Empress! Commanders Cawutt! A band of Ka’ull are heading this way!”
Chapter 92
It Comes to This
W ing threw back the blanket covering he and Carly as Nien and SiQQiy came rushing down from upstairs.
“How close?” Wing asked. “How many?”
“Not quite half the distance between here and the castle.” The Hettha runner took a breath. “And…all of them.”
There was a moment of shock. And then, as suddenly as silence breaks at the tip of a whip, all were on their feet and moving.
Tossing pieces of leather and metal armor across the room to each other, Wing, Carly, Nien, Pree K, SiQQiy and her guards dressed. Sliding swords into sheathes, Wing took in the children.
“Ready?” he asked.
They nodded to him. They were. They’d practiced getting their things together, clothes, shoes, so many times they were as prepared for their part as were SiQQiy’s men.
“All right.” Wing stood. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the entire camp was in motion. Throwing blankets and saddles onto horses and swinging up, the men were forming up behind their commanders.
Wing and Nien and Carly went into the barn with the children, En’t, and Jhock. He watched them lower themselves down into the hole.
Kneeling at the edge of the hole, Wing said, “You know what to do. Stay in the barn until it’s quiet and safe.” He looked at Jhock. “If we fail, get them to Legran. Stop by Lucin’s den on the way; he’ll be an asset to you on the trip.”
Jhock nodded.
Their faces tore at Wing’s heart.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Wing said. He hadn’t lied to them before so he wasn’t sure why he felt so confident in saying so now.
He laid a swift hand on Lily’s head, and chucked Hagen under the chin. With a nod to Jhock and En’t, he stood. He, Carly, and Nien looked down into the upturned faces of the children. En’t and Jhock’s faces were hard as stone. This was a role they were all too familiar with.
The barn doors opened again and Wing glanced back to see Pree K. He ran across the barn and stepped up to the side of the hole.
“Be good,” he said to the children. “Mind En’t and Jhock.”
Lily, Hagen, and Fe nodded.
“All right, watch your heads,” Wing said, and he and Nien dragged the plank-board hatch over the hole, scattering it with straw.
It was with pounding hearts that they turned from the stall, Jhei in the next one over, watching them with big, watery eyes, and hurried out, closing the barn doors behind them.
Before he’d come into the barn, Pree K had already gathered their horses.
Wing swung up, tightening a wrist guard as the rest continued to gather.
What were they going to do? he wondered; the other valleys had not yet arrived.
He cinched tight his sword belt. It didn’t matter. There would be no more waiting now. They could run or they could fight with what they had.
Looking about him, it was clear. They were going to fight.
The Granj units began to move out. Wing, Nien, Carly, and Pree K starting ahead of them.
Rounding the right side of the house, SiQQiy’s men fell in behind them and their commanders in two waves. From either side of the house, they spilled out into the valley, struggling to keep their mounts in check as they drew up as one, taking a moment to see what lay before them.
Coming up over the horizon, the Ka’ull were there, and so great was their number that the length of fields between them and Melant was like a moving sea of dark robes and glinting chainmail.
His horse dancing beneath him, Wing and the rest took in the moment before battle, where the heart raced but the mind finally fell still, unable to process what it was about to face, a future that could only be met invincibly for to think otherwise meant death. Beneath the rough edges of the Ka’ull's dark cloaks shone long curved blades as well as quicker flashes of light off shorter, stockier blades. Many rode with long whips, shining bits of metal at their tips. Wing could see the hot breath from their galloping steeds.
And then Wing gave the signal and they moved out.
Starting at a walk, the company moved quickly into a trot. As Wing gave his horse its head and the force jumped into a gallop behind him, the collective energy produced by so many drew the pace of each individual into a speed that would have been impossible by a single rider alone. By the time they’d reached full tilt the valley was shaking in both directions with the thundering of hooves. Eaten away beneath their feet, the ground flew up before them, bringing the Ka’ull into awesome proximity. The ringing of swords being pulled from metal sheaths filled the air. And then all thought went out of the world as the two sides met and there was only motion, concussive and brutal, fantastical and all too real. It took mere moments for the screams of wounded horses, the ringing of blades, and the cries of men to fill the air. The mountains echoed with it. The sky spun about sickeningly as bodies and blades flashed around and through each other, every man conscious only of his weapon and the stinging vibrations each strike sent through his body.
Wing was quickly separated from Nien, Carly, and Pree K. He did not feel the sword sing in his hand nor did he feel the fear he’d felt upon riding out. The number of Ka’ull versus Quienans was overwhelming. Impossible. But as he’d raced out with the rest to meet them, a new sight had taken over. He saw not only men of flesh, but also the light of other spirits — the already dead as well as the not yet born. Among them were those who had never lived as either but had come from other planes of existence entirely. He could see all of them, and not just with his mind’s eye but with his mortal eyes as well…
But that was not the oddest thing. Stranger still was that they were all looking at him and Wing realized it was as the Ancient Writings had said: Merehr would have the power to call down armies from the heavens. Except this army was of spirit. They did not yield swords. They did not take hits. Were they here then, merely, to witness? And though they were beings, primarily, of light, there were a great many of whom Wing could still distinguish as Preak, Quienan, Rieevan, or even Ka’ull.
As those in the flesh continued to battle, unaware of the Presence of the Ancients, Wing realized that many of them were the same who had come to join Wing and Nien that day in the Mietan…
Welcome, Wing said to them.
Alongside the mortals, they began to fill Rieeve, Quienan spirits taking up the sides of Ka’ullans. Ka’ull spirits coming to ride along beside SiQQiy’s men.
Across the field, Wing spotted Nien and, on either side of him, two huge spirits. Both were Preak but, by their dress, Wing saw that one had grown up as Preak, the other as Quienan. Ancestors of Nien’s blood parents, Wing knew. Beings that Nien would never meet in this life.
His sight then carried him to where Pree K fought, still on his horse, engaging a Ka’ull warrior who’d lost his robe and helm. Wing’s throat tightened as he saw Commander Lant at Pree K’s flank.
Lant!
The Commander looked remarkable, and wonderful, and the glint in his eye was more than Wing could have ever imagined…
But Wing had no more time than that as he glanced to his right and saw his own great ancestor, Lyrik, appear at his side just as he had when he’d prevented Wing from entering Castle Viyer that fateful night.
Though they were still horribly out numbered in the flesh, Wing felt buoyed — until he almost lost his head in the world of the mortal as a sword made a very near miss. Wing felt the wind of the blade on his cheek and jerked his head back. He rejoined instantly and blocked the Ka’ull’s next strike, noticing as he did that the Ka’ull warrior’s sword was ripped with blood. He also saw the warrior’s grandfather standing at his grandson’s left shoulder. It no longer mattered how Wing knew who the spirits were, what their relationships were to the living, he just knew, and it became very hard to imagine killing the man. Batting the Ka’ull’s sword aside instead, he caught the blade by the pommel and flung it
far out of reach. Shocked, the Ka’ull drew up, eyes flashing with the expectant horror of Wing’s killing stroke. But when Wing did not move, the man wheeled his horse about and raced to retrieve his sword.
All around Wing, spirits paused in a surreal, otherworldly way, as they raced by, catching his eye in recognition. It was then Wing realized that he had begun to function in both worlds at the same time and how much easier it made the physical world; he’d simply follow the movement of spirit and light, maneuvering the weight of his blade with no more effort than it would take to swat at leaves with a stick and with far greater accuracy. He found we was able to anticipate strikes well before they fell, from the front as well as from behind. In small shifts, as unconscious as blinking, the world had become impossibly fluid, providing Wing with otherwise unfathomable amounts of information effortlessly.
Like five others had before, another Ka’ull drew in upon Wing, brandishing his sword. Wing observed the length of sword come near him and pass by, as if the blade were spun of pure light. He then watched the bright blade drop to the ground and its bearer vanish into the panorama of moving colour traversing the valley in ghostly streaks from end to end.
Looking up, two Ka’ull on horseback were riding in on him.
Bringing his sword around, Wing waited…
He could feel the ground throb like the pounding of a great heart beneath his feet, matching the strike of the horse’s hooves.
Wing watched the two war horses break, sweeping to his left and right like yellow phantoms of light moving through water. Still, he waited, and then, with a knowing far beyond his conscious mind, turned his body sideways as the two glowing beasts swam by. There was an exchange of energy as one man tumbled to the ground and the other, growling within the confines of his helmet, went to rein his horse about. But Wing had grabbed onto the pommel of that horse’s saddle and swung up behind the warrior. With a grunt of dismay, the Ka’ull attempted to knock Wing off only to find that he was already too far off balance himself. He hit the ground hard as Wing moved up into the saddle and, wheeling the horse around, sped back into the fray.
On the sunrising edge of the expanse between their home and what used to be the Village, Nien fought alongside SiQQiy’s soldiers — but it was a losing battle. Even though they had managed to stop them, there was no winning. Nien did not see how it was possible. Like a sea churned from beneath by some invisible subterranean quake, the battle heaved to and fro, profound chaos moving in concert, pushing and retreating until Nien wondered if it were all a dream and at any moment he might wake up at SiQQiy’s side in Legran, relieved to be beside her, thankful that those he loved were safe and warm…
But Nien had been here before, and he knew it was no dream. In the dark belly of an ancient castle he had fought this same battle —
And lost.
For a breath Nien’s will flagged and he stumbled, tripping over the body of a dead member of the Granj.
Behind him another of SiQQiy’s Granj blocked a sword and engaged a Ka’ull whose intent had been to slay Nien from behind.
Shaking himself, Nien turned in time to see the Ka’ull fall. SiQQiy’s soldier nodded at him and moved ahead.
Adrenaline shoving his mind back into action, a new feeling came into Nien: No! he told himself, this battle was not the same.
Ducking beneath a sword, Nien dispatched a Ka’ull with a backward thrust, turned to make sure his strike had been true, and then moved ahead. He had friends now. Men from another valley were fighting alongside him. And somewhere in the tumult was his brother.
Briefly, he touched upon that space inside of him, the one he shared with Wing.
And the answer came —
“All is well.”
Let’s finish this, brother, he sent back, and looked ahead to see another Ka’ull awaiting his challenge.
At the southingmost point of the battle, Wing had been thrown from the charger he’d acquired. The horse had been mortally wounded and Wing had only just had time to dispatch it before being drawn into the next confrontation.
His sword nicked and bloodied, Wing parried the strike of a large, thickly built Ka’ull, managed to wound him badly enough in the sword arm to change his mind, and as the man turned about, trying and failing to maintain his grip on his sword, Wing saw another, smaller built Ka’ull, come in behind him. This one looked ill suited to his work, terrified in fact. Wing waited a beat for him to take the first strike. When he did, he was clumsy with the sword and Wing easily clapped it from his hand, snapping the blade in two and, inadvertently, knocking the Ka’ull’s helmet from his head. As the broken end of the sword toppled to the ground along with the warrior’s helmet, time stopped.
Wing blinked. He knew this man. Lifetimes, he’d known him.
As the Ka’ull breathed hard, staring back at Wing in near panic and gripping the hilt of his broken sword, Wing said, “What is your name?”
With the heat of their breath brushing the chilled Ime air, the Ka’ull gaped back at him.
“My name?” he stammered.
Wing nodded.
“Tem’a.”
“You’re here,” Wing said, only then noticing that he’d understood and replied in the Ka’ull’s own language.
The Ka’ull warrior, Tem’a, looked back at him, his face a canvas of confusion and disbelief. Still, he answered Wing: “I…I don’t want to be here,” he said. “Never wanted to. But I had nowhere else to go.”
Wing could see and feel the energy moving between them, a pattern that had sought its completion for both of their lives, like so many patterns Wing was now aware of.
“Such great hurt,” Wing said. “I am sorry. For you, for what your people have suffered.” Time was drawing in on them. “Tem’a, you may not want to be here but you were meant to be here.”
The man’s eyes widened.
And then, from the space between spaces, Wing spoke directly to Tem’a’s mind —
Tem’a. Be the key.
Tem’a blinked. What was happening? He’d been forced from the castle with all the rest of the men who were not there to fight but as support for those who were — those in letters and supply, the engineers, cooks, armour workers and clothiers. That hadn’t mattered. Everyone in residence at the castle had had a sword shoved into their hands and pressed out of the castle and into battle. And when the stables had been emptied of available horses, they’d been told to run. Tem’a had been drenched in a nervous — horrified — sweat, and that had been before they’d met the force riding at them from the southing side of the valley.
How he’d survived so far, he had no idea. Pure luck, no doubt. And now, here he was, talking with a tall Quienan warrior…
No, he amended. A Rieevan. Though how Tem’a knew that, he didn’t know. He had no idea what the Rieevans looked like, but even if he had, the man before him could not be one for they had been wiped out before Tem’a had arrived in the valley.
Amidst the tumult all around them, he had become aware of how suddenly far away it all seemed, as if the space in which he stood existed on another plane.
But even as Tem’a tried to comprehend, he found himself back again, standing, gripping the half of his sword, looking up into the tall Rieevan’s face. The Rieevan was speaking in Tem’a’s own language but that was the last strange thing Tem’a took note of. The beauty, the utter familiarity of the man’s face, managed to drown out all else.
And then, from over the Rieevan’s left shoulder, a fellow warrior appeared. It was Gren’tel. The tall Rieevan had wounded him in the sword arm just moments before Tem’a, himself, had faced him. The last time Tem’a had spoken to Gren’tel had been by the castle gates the day the Northing Sub-Commander had arrived in camp.
Spirits of earth, Tem’a moaned inside his head. What do I do?
But it seemed the Rieevan already knew. There was a look in his green eyes of peace and resolution. He began to turn about.
No! Tem’a cried.
He raised a hand but
couldn’t open his mouth as the Rieevan turned directly into the path of Gren’tel’s weapon. Gren’tel was wielding the sword with his left hand. Still, it was enough. The sword drove deep between the Rieevan’s ribs.
The Rieevan’s sword raised high as he was driven through. He staggered forward a little as the sword went in, his feet catching in the upheaval of snow and mud. And then his body twisted, and as he began to fall, Gren’tel’s blade slid free.
Tem’a stood, awe-struck and disbelieving.
The Rieevan sagged forward and fell.
For an instant and an eternity everything stopped. Tem’a, his mouth agape, could only stand, staring. The collapse of the tall, black-haired Rieevan made it feel as if the world had fallen with him.
Still holding his broken sword, Tem’a watched as Gren’tel, whose sword was covered to the hilt guard in the Rieevan’s blood, stepped around the Rieevan’s body, cast it a look filled with revulsion and satisfaction, and began to run.
Dazed, Tem’a bent low and took up his helmet.
He glanced back again, for only a moment, as the Rieevan’s body shook briefly, and fell still.
And then Tem’a, too, was running.
From behind the main body of the conflict, riding in hard from the southing, spilled a deluge of men and horses. As the sound of their arrival reached the battlefield, a shout went up: “The forces from Preak!”
Fresh for battle, fighters from the Valley of Preak charged in.
Believing the battle to have been all but won, the Ka’ull forces drew up in shock, and then rapidly rejoined. With a fresh cry, they began to race through the bodies of the fallen soldiers from Quieness back at the oncoming forces from Preak.
From the sunsetting side of the battle, Nien looked over to see Lead Netalf riding hard. Nien had been near blinded with fear and rage as the battle had reached back to SiQQiy. By the time he’d made it to her side, there was already blood on her armor and her horse’s right flank. He’d decided that if he could not get her to retreat to safety he would at least make sure nothing else got through to her. He was still with her, taking a moment to hunt the battlefield for sight of Wing, Carly, or Pree K, when Netalf arrived.
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