Noonshade

by James Barclay

  Here in Understone, though, it was quite, quite different.

  Blackthorne Town had been destroyed but its natives had long since fled to the countryside or joined the Baron's army. The same choice had not been granted the inhabitants of Understone and their slaughter had been utterly deliberate.

  Darrick shook his head. It didn't add up. He knew Tessaya's mind and this wasn't his way. The Wesmen had fortified Understone considerably, if the scorched ruins were anything to go by. A stockade had all but encircled the town, studded with armoured watchtowers. Pits and trenches had been dug outside the wooden walls and strong points had been placed in tactically perfect defensive positions throughout the town itself. Tessaya had been planning for a long occupation.

  But something had radically and appallingly changed his thinking. Every building had been burned to its foundations, stone had been knocked from stone and all that the Wesmen themselves had built lay in splinters and ashen piles. And everywhere, everywhere were strewn the bodies. It had been a ritual massacre, each man taken to a particular place in the town after it had been burned, and murdered, throat cut, eyes put out and stomach split, the corpse spread-eagled toward the rising sun.

  There had to be more than three hundred of them. Understone garrison soldiers and those of the four-College force. Some, Darrick recognised; others he counted among respected colleagues. They had been dead for a day and the clouds of flies filled the air with an evil hum while the carrion birds and animals waited for the riders to leave them to their unexpected feast. The stench of putrefaction was rising.

  “What, by all the Gods watching us, has happened here?” Gresse's voice was a hoarse whisper. He slid from his horse to stand reverently on the ground. The rest of the riders followed suit.

  “It's a warning,” said one of the cavalry, echoing Darrick's own reaction. “They want us to fear them.”

  “No,” said Blackthorne. “And it is they who are scared.”

  “You've seen this sort of thing before?” asked Gresse, his expression disbelieving.

  Blackthorne shook his head. “It is documented in the Blackthorne library, or rather, was. Don't forget, we have been in the front line against the Wesmen before.”

  “So what drove Tessaya to do this?” asked Darrick.

  “The burning, I think, is just to stop anyone else benefiting from what he had built and I expect the pass to be very heavily defended now. The sacrifices, because that is what they are, are something else entirely.

  “When the Wesmen go into battle, their Shamen call upon their spirits to align behind them and bless them to give them strength. But when they fear an enemy is stronger than they are, they sacrifice enemies to ward off the evil they think is chasing them. These poor bastards are victims of a Shamen ritual and they are laid facing the rising sun because the Wesmen say the dawn brings sight to the eyes of the gods of their enemies and what they see will take their courage.” He shrugged.

  “They're scared of us?” Gresse frowned.

  “I don't think so, not us,” said Darrick. “Something has scared Tessaya very badly to cause him to abandon his plans. He is normally a very careful man. He must believe the invasion could fail and wherever he has gone, he must believe it critical to his campaign.”

  “And wherever he goes, his lackeys will follow,” said Gresse grimly.

  “Yes,” said Blackthorne. “It looks as if we now chase the lynch pin and not merely a strut.”

  Darrick pursed his lips. “But before that, all these men must be given the honour of a pyre.”

  “Time is of the essence,” said Blackthorne a little sharply. “These men would not thank us if their murderers eluded us while we burned their bodies.”

  Darrick regarded him bleakly. “And catch Tessaya we will. We have eight thousand men marching east. Join them and send back my cavalry. We will see these men are accorded the respect they deserve. We will catch you before nightfall.”

  “I apologise, General,” said Blackthorne. “My words were not intended to—”

  Darrick waved a hand. “I understand, Baron, and my respect for you is undimmed. But I cannot leave my men to fester where they lie in this grotesque slaughterhouse. You would feel the same.”

  Blackthorne raised a smile and remounted his horse. “I would indeed, General. You are a good man. Please, take your time.”

  “Time is something of which we have very little. But for us, at least, it has not run out.”

  The Raven, with their escorts and the Xeteskian contingent, left the Choul well before dawn. The mages had talked long into the night, Hirad hearing their low tones as he moved in and out of a strangely broken sleep. And when they had been woken by Jatha, he felt tired and irritable and saw his mood reflected in the eyes of all of his friends and Styliann.

  Though the sun had not breached the plain, which was still cast in shadow, there was enough light in the sky to see by and nothing but tall grass in every direction. Indeed the semidarkness was comforting in its way and Hirad experienced a feeling of safety that he knew to be false. Though they could hide themselves in the dark from other humans, neither Jatha's people, nor dragons, had any trouble piercing the gloom. All that travelling at night would do would be to put The Raven at a further disadvantage. He said as much to The Unknown who simply nodded as if he had suspected exactly that.

  The travellers’ formation was altered from the day before. While Jatha and his people still led the way, The Raven mages had fallen back to keep talking with Styliann, leaving the Protectors to guard the rear, and Hirad, The Unknown and Thraun looking after the flanks. Thraun looked no better. Locked in his own world of misery and self-guilt over Will's death, he functioned and would no doubt fight but that was about all. He ate what was put in front of him, slept and watched when asked and responded to questions about terrain and tracking. Otherwise, he had completely withdrawn.

  Midway through the morning, the land, previously flat and level, began to rise. Gently at first but then more steeply, and though the rises and falls were never more than twenty feet, they sapped the strength. The plains grass grew as before, its density undiminished, but now even Jatha, who forced the pace hard, flattened and broke stalks in his hurried passage.

  Hirad watched him for a little, noticing the way he glanced up continually toward the rip while his men, frowns on their faces, scoured the land either side.

  “Ever get the feeling all is not well?” asked Hirad, finding himself shoulder to shoulder with The Unknown.

  “Very much so,” said The Unknown. “We should consider the possibility of attack.” He tapped the as yet sheathed sword in his back-mounted scabbard.

  “Let me have a word with Jatha.” Hirad moved forward and tapped Jatha's shoulder. The Kaan servant looked around and forced a smile though his eyes betrayed his worry.

  “What's wrong?” asked Hirad. Jatha looked blank. “Danger?” Hirad pointed to the sky and gestured around him before flapping his arms as Jatha had done to indicate a dragon.

  Jatha nodded vigorously. “Sky battle coming,” he said. “Careful.” He pointed to his eyes and then to the area immediately surrounding them. “More battle.” He shrugged. Hirad nodded.

  “All right Raven,” he said, dropping back. “We might be getting company from the sky and the ground. Let's get prepared. Thraun, Unknown, left and right flanking positions, Ilkar the shield, Denser and Erienne, offence, please.” Up ahead, two pairs of Jatha's men left the main group, disappearing into the grass to either side, swords drawn. Jatha himself continued onward, upping the pace still further until he was almost at a trot. Hirad looked back briefly toward Styliann. “I presume I can leave it to you and yours to organise our rear defence?”

  Styliann nodded. “Nothing will get through from behind,” he said curtly.

  Up in the sky, the defence of the rip had strengthened. Hirad estimated seventy Kaan dragons now flew, their patterns close, their calls echoing down over the plain. It was a haunting sound that set him on edge. The b
rackish barks and muted growls were alien in his ears and he shifted his shoulders as the back of his neck tingled. Involuntarily, he looked behind him and it was then that he saw the shapes.

  At first they were a group of black dots, high in the sky, coming from beyond the forest valley they had travelled through the day before. But as they drew closer, he saw their shapes, long slim and fast. They numbered in excess of twenty and they flew in a single chevron, heading directly for the rip. The calls of the Kaan became more urgent and the defending dragons, half of them at least, switched from set patterns into attack groups of five or six, moving out to meet the enemy.

  It was Jatha's voice that made him realise that they had all stopped to look.

  “Go,” he was saying. “Careful.” He made to move off but a change in the movement in the sky caught his eye. Hirad followed his gaze to the attacking dragons. One had cut away from the main group and was angling downward across the plain and coming straight for them.

  “Raven, put up your swords and forget the spells. We're going to have to run. Protectors, likewise, believe me or die.” He pointed up to the shape barrelling toward them. It would be on them in no time.

  “Hirad!” Jatha was tugging at his arm, his voice distressed, his men agitated behind him. Hirad looked down to him. The little man spread the fingers of his hands wide then moved his arms apart. “Go,” he said, repeating the gesture. He shouted an order to his men who instantly scattered away into the grass, no two in the same direction.

  Hirad got the idea. “Raven!” he shouted. “Line abreast, three yard spacing. Raven with me!” Not waiting to see if Styliann was with them, Hirad ploughed off through the grass, sensing The Unknown and Ilkar flanking him. Glancing left and right, he could just about see them but couldn't make out the rest as they stumbled and fought their way through the tall thick grass that impeded their every step.

  They were running blind and it was all a game of chance. As he thrashed through the pliable stems, he imagined the dragon rushing down, laughing at the pitiable attempts to escape it could see as it chose its first victims. None of them had a chance. It could wield its fire at will and soon they would all be so much ash floating up into the sky.

  He felt anger that Sha-Kaan could leave them so unprotected and he called the Great Dragon's name in his mind, demanding assistance, pleading for rescue. Stumbling and almost falling, he choked back a cry, a stark realisation thumping through his skull. This was his nightmare made real. In Taranspike Castle he had dreamed that he was running on cracked earth and going nowhere but the result would be the same. He would be caught and the skin would be burned from his bones as he stood helpless.

  A wave of heat washed across the plain from away to his right accompanied by red light as flame scoured into the grass. No one screamed but then they wouldn't have had the time. Hirad prayed it wasn't Jatha and increased his pace. Crackling noises filled the air and a dense smoke flooded into the sky as the dry grass was enveloped by fire. Through a swirl in the smoke the dragon, something like seventy feet long and no more than forty yards away, peeled back into the sky to prepare for another run, its sleek blue body slipping easily through the air, its wings beating in graceful time. Its shadow was black on the ground, those huge wings snapping like sails as they dug at the air, pushing it aside with great sweeps, the noise like wind howling around buildings. With cold certainty, Hirad knew it was coming for them next time.

  He plunged on, shoulders hunched and arms up and protecting his face. No more than a dozen paces ahead, the ground fell away. It was their only chance.

  “Raven!” he roared over the noise of the fire, the shouts of other men and the calls of a hundred dragons. “Slope dead ahead. Let's get down it. Stay low!” He could sense the dragon wheeling behind them. He ran on, took his last pace at a half dive and plunged to roll down the slope, turning over and over, grass, earth and loose stones filling his sight as he went.

  It was a steeper slope than he had anticipated and he struggled to control his speed. A great scorch of flame lashed overhead, incinerating the grass at the top of the slope and sparking another fire that raged and consumed the vegetation all around. Heat washed down the slope, the shadow of the dragon passed over him, he splayed out his limbs to slow himself, hit the bottom of the slope and came to a sudden halt against The Unknown, dust filling the air and a run of dirt and broken stems sliding behind him.

  The two men helped each other to their feet. Ilkar lay a few yards away, shaking his head as he dragged himself to a sitting position, dust clouding around him, smoke fogging the air above. An acrid, burning smell filtered down and the noise of the dragon-induced fire was close.

  “Raven!” called Hirad. “Sound off if you can hear me. Be moving this way.”

  Denser and Erienne both called that they were all right. Thraun appeared at Hirad's side, nodding curtly.

  “Assessment,” said Hirad.

  “The smoke in the sky will obscure us but the fire will kill us if we hang around,” said The Unknown. “We need to move away and up the other side of this slope. The prevailing wind is blowing east to west, I suggest we push east.”

  Denser and Erienne came into view, the Dark Mage with an arm around Erienne's waist, she with blood running from a cut in her chin.

  “Not exactly the entrance recommended for a pregnant woman,” she said. Hirad's concern must have shown as she quickly smiled. “But it takes a lot more than a slide in the grass to hurt a mage child.”

  “Good,” said Hirad. “Come on, let's move away from the fire. Cover your mouths if you can.” He moved off, fetching a cloth from his pocket and tying it over his mouth and feeling instant relief from the smoke that smothered the sky overhead and was moving to fill the shallow cleft in which they were hiding. The fire burned on two sides of them, making its way steadily down the slope behind them and to their right as they trotted quickly along the base of the cleft.

  Angling slightly upslope in the direction of their travel, Hirad strained to hear the attacking dragon or some sign of other life from the sundered travelling party but couldn't. Worried by the sudden apparent withdrawal, he unsheathed his sword almost reflexively, turned to tell The Unknown to do the same, heard a whisper through the grass and was calling for Ilkar's HardShield before the short arrow struck Thraun in the left shoulder.

  “Shield up,” said Ilkar.

  “Raven, watch those flanks. Denser, I think your blade will be more use in here. Thraun how are you?” A second arrow bounced from the shield, then a third.

  “Flesh only. I'm bleeding but I can fight.” His flat-toned voice held no hint of the pain he had to be feeling.

  Hirad pushed onward, The Unknown two paces to his right, Denser coming to his left, leaving Thraun as rear guard behind the casting mages. He could hear Erienne muttering as she built the mana shape for a spell he prayed held no fire. Another three arrows bounced before shouts from in front of them preceded the cracking of grass and the running of feet.

  Hirad stopped and hacked the grass flat in front of him. “Here they come. Expect short swords; you know what Jatha was carrying.”

  Three shaven-headed men burst forward, all less than five feet tall and carrying stubby spiked clubs two-handed. As they charged, they shouted in a language Hirad couldn't understand, their faces suffused with hatred. Behind them, others were coming.

  Hirad swayed backward and caught a surprisingly powerful blow on his blade, moving it left to right and down, exposing his enemy's right side. He rebalanced swiftly and snapped his blade up to slice the ear of the man as he tried to dodge the blow. The man cried out in pain and Hirad brought his sword back down in a killing blow through his shoulder, crashing through bone.

  He stepped back again and waited, seeing Denser stabbing his victim through the chest while The Unknown had made even shorter work of his opponent. The chasing pack faltered. Where their companions had run on in a hate-lust, they stopped to look at those they faced, taking in their height, strength and the
size of the blades ranged against them.

  “Move up,” said Hirad. “Keep an eye on those flanks. Erienne, I think another demonstration if you're ready.” The enemy, perhaps a dozen of them, were backing off, Hirad watching them every step. He could see movement either side. “They're going to attack again. Not frontal. Erienne, ahead is yours.”

  Erienne stepped up to Hirad's shoulder, opened her palms and spoke a single command word. IceWind howled away into the grass, destroying man and vegetation over a twenty yard spread. The Raven warriors advanced quickly into the chill behind it. Shouts of pure terror erupted from all around and suddenly the sound was all of running feet as the enemy fighting men turned and fled.

  “Excellent,” said Hirad. He pushed on, trotting through the dead zone Erienne had created, poles of grass shattering at his passing, the bodies of half a dozen men, forever frozen in fear, scattered about him. Moving on up the slope, he could see the ground levelling out again. To his right, a pall of smoke covered the plain. The question was, where were Jatha and Styliann?

  He brought The Raven to a watchful halt. Immediately, Erienne turned to tend to Thraun's shoulder. He scanned the sky. Around the rip, a furious battle was in progress. Flame lit up the sky which was full of dragons swooping, diving and climbing. As he watched, a pair of what he thought were Kaan by their size, chased down a lone enemy. One breathed a long gout of flame over its wings while the other dived down to grab its neck, twisting violently before dropping the victim who plummeted from the sky.

  From three directions, more dragons were coming to join the fighting but of The Raven's assailant there was no sign. For a time, they all stared up at the sky, taking in the immense and raw animal power clashing overhead. So much force, speed and agility. It was a sight quite without equal and to Hirad it was a stark reminder of their stature in the conflict. They'd been lucky so far but, for the first time since they had faced the Wytch Lords, he felt their destiny was not in their hands. If a dragon wanted them dead, they would die.