“It will play merry havoc with our archers,” Kannon considered, “but the benefit will be well worth it. We need to utilize every advantage this brings. This will be quite a surprise to them. Becknam, I want your men on the downwind side, ready to close as the monsters arrive.”
Shianan nodded. “Yes, sir.” They would be fighting into the wind, but their odds had significantly improved. Orkanstorms brought ferocious winds, even whirlwinds, which would disable their archers and half-blind their soldiers—but the Ryuven would be thrown from the sky.
The meeting was intense but brief, and they scattered to adapt their deployment. Shianan could feel the stirring of air as the storm approached, though they were yet shielded by the gentle sweep of the hill. If they had to face the Ryuven, conditions could not be more ideal. He grinned savagely and shifted his belt.
ARIANA LET HER HEAD fall forward onto the table, cradled against her forearm. She was utterly empty. She had nothing left.
Beside her sat a full bushel of precious dall sweetbud, a full bushel of dried leaves—a lord’s ransom at least in her own world, surely, and it had been gifted to her by the Ryuven who tended it in the hope she would use it to end the fighting and supply them with food.
And here she sat with a basket of wealth and peace, and she could not use it.
It was not that she had not tried—she had. She had begged Nori’bel, but the Ryuven healer was not strong enough to carry a human across the between-worlds. She had gone to petition Oniwe’aru, but he was closeted with other Ryuven for the battle and his guards had turned her away at the door, emphasizing their denial with slight movements of the ceremonial flanged maces they held. Ariana had angrily considered forcing her way into the aru’s chamber, but Ryuven entrusted with guarding Oniwe would be formidable opponents, and even if she could overcome the Ryuven, violent demands could not lead to success in peace. The aru beyond would find her no challenge, and Oniwe’aru might be glad of the excuse to slay her.
She pressed her dry, burning eyes into her forearm. There would be a battle, an enormous battle, and she could stop it—if only she could go there.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
SHIANAN ADJUSTED HIS broad helmet so that he could see more easily through the upward-facing slits at the front crest. The rising wind whistled against the wide wedge spreading over his cheek guards and part of his shoulders. Their gear for Ryuven was awkward and odd-looking, but necessary for fighting an airborne opponent. Ryuven struck from above or dropped missiles which needed deflecting, and any arrow which missed a Ryuven target would descend to pierce a human just as easily.
But the Ryuven would not be airborne for long. Shianan blinked and rubbed grit from his eye. The wind was already noticeably rising. It wasn’t a full orkanstorm, not yet, but it would aid them. He shifted the axe on his hip and set his spear into the ground, finding a firm place to brace it. Around him, two hundred soldiers did the same.
And then the nearest grey mage lifted his hand high. “They’re here!”
Shianan glanced at the pale soldier beside him, a young man who had seen little combat outside of training. He slapped the man’s back, leather palm against light steel, and grinned. “Don’t be greedy now. Leave a few for the rest of us.”
The man swallowed and nodded. “Kill the monsters.”
“Right.”
The air cracked open, thunder resounding with the splitting of atmosphere, and the sky was full of Ryuven. An instant later they spiraled away, grasping at their weapons and flailing with wings and arms as the wind took them. Some regained control and beat their way upward, others spun helplessly toward the bristling polearms.
Shianan sighted and adjusted forward, bracing the butt of his spear against the ground and his boot. A Ryuven struggled to catch the air but failed, thrashing onto Shianan’s spear and sliding to the cross shaft with a jolt. He shrieked and lashed his hammer toward Shianan.
Shianan released the spear and moved backward, and the hammer passed harmlessly through air. The Ryuven grunted as he hit the ground, the spear through his torso, and Shianan stepped on the hammer as he drew his axe.
Ryuven were strong in magic, but their physical strength paled beside that of humans, nor could they burden themselves with heavy armor and keep their advantage of flight. The light steel cap crumpled easily beneath Shianan’s axe.
Shianan braced his foot against the body and freed his spear. He glanced at the young soldier beside him, just completing a kill of his own. Shianan pushed him back from the dead Ryuven and snapped, “Take your spear! Now!” The soldier gulped and pulled it free, turning to reset himself for another Ryuven. Don’t give them time to think. If they take time to reflect on their first kill, they won’t live to make a second. Make them fight. Make them survive.
Another wave of Ryuven appeared, but these seemed to be coping better with the winds. One dropped stumbling to the ground before Shianan’s front line, righting himself and flinging magic as he straightened.
Shianan felt the impact through his chest, and his abdomen screamed in remembered agony. He heard himself grunt as he set his spear and charged, ducking his head. A second bolt struck him, but there was weight on the end of his weapon as he faltered. He recovered and drove himself forward. If he could secure the Ryuven on the shaft, it would buy precious seconds and a chance at—
Someone rushed from the side and struck at the Ryuven warrior. There was a brief exchange of blows—Ryuven successfully fighting the wind were more skilled and more powerful—but the Ryuven had a spear in his abdomen and little could compensate for that. He died beneath the axe, and the young soldier looked wide-eyed at Shianan.
Shianan grinned breathlessly. “Well done. Now where’s your spear? There are more of the monsters.”
“Right, sir!”
Over them, a band of Ryuven had overcome the winds and climbed into the sky, moving fast toward the rear of Shianan’s company. Suddenly they struck an invisible wall, flattening against it almost comically. Arrows showered through the sky, piercing the Ryuven as they struggled but bouncing away before reaching the mages holding the shield from below.
“Quarrels!” roared Shianan, and around him the men bunched together where they were not actively dispatching Ryuven, clustering shields to form larger shelters from the rain of arrows. Arrows and dying Ryuven fell, and the soldiers closed on the survivors.
They were faring well. They would hardly miss the Shard—after this massacre, there would not be enough Ryuven to seriously threaten them again for a long, long time. Shianan drove his axe into the neck of a Ryuven hammering a soldier’s shield.
“Torg!” he called. “Move east!” With the wind, no Ryuven could flee the line and circle around to try the sky again. They would entrap the grounded and force them to fight hand to hand.
And then something shook the air and men gasped with impact. Shianan whirled with the others and saw a dozen men staggering backward, clutching at chests or throats with magical attack. A single Ryuven swept into the air over them, compensating for the wind and no doubt magically assisting himself in it. A bright crimson sash marked him, but Shianan knew his face.
He seized his spear and rushed forward, but Tamaryl was already winging away, striking at another group. Other Ryuven attacked, stronger warriors who were coping uncomfortably with the winds. Soldiers screamed as the fresh wave of Ryuven drove into them.
Ryuven were on the ground now, abandoning the treacherous sky for direct fighting. Magic stunned or disabled soldiers who could then be beaten with hammers which crushed armor into their wounds. Spears thudded into Ryuven to immobilize them as soldiers scrambled to kill them before they could escape and heal.
Shianan fell into his fighting, stabbing and hacking through the Ryuven. As the battle thickened, he abandoned his spear and used his sword, blocking magics and blows with his agile shield. “Alanz! Close that gap! Don’t let them on your flanks!”
The orkanstorm worsened, sweeping the remaining Ryuven from the air
. Shianan did not see even the Pairvyn ni’Ai. The grass was trampled and stained where humans and Ryuven had fallen, and loose dirt, blood, sweat, entrails, dung were whipped together into a darkening cloud. Wind shrieked over the hill and through the fighters, hindering all equally as they squinted to see and leaned into the gale.
Breathless screams marked the path of a whirlwind which drew human and Ryuven into its vortex, spinning them violently before dropping them upon their comrades. All scrambled out of its path, abandoning their individual fights, until it veered away and jumped the ravine, leaving the battle behind.
There was no time to think on the storm. Thousands of Ryuven came on relentlessly.
Shianan’s arms were burning. He spun and caught a hammer’s shaft with the flat of his sword, immediately lunging forward to cut from the shaft into the attacking Ryuven. Beside him another soldier fell as magic scorched across him. Shianan snatched a spear from the ground and flung it at the Ryuven who had killed him. Another Ryuven buried his hammer in a soldier’s face.
Shianan repositioned his command several times, staying within the orders Kannan had given but adapting to the changing battle. How long had it been? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t risk searching for the clouded sun. Was the wind slowing? It seemed to be. Orkanstorms did not usually pass so quickly, but this one had not been particularly fierce, either. Perhaps they had felt only its edge as it swept over the plains. The Ryuven had recovered well from their disadvantage, and—
In the sky! Yes, the winds were definitely slackening, and the Ryuven had seized upon it. A winged shape dove at an angle, using the wind for additional speed, and struck a soldier from behind, crushing his neck and knocking him into the open ravine. Shianan shouted a warning, and another soldier tried to spear the next Ryuven, but the Ryuven used his hammer’s shaft to deflect the spear and sent the soldier after the first.
And then Pairvyn ni’Ai was there again, sweeping through the humans. Shianan started forward, panting for air. Where were the mages? They knew no common soldier could withstand the Ryuven champion—joined magecraft was necessary to withstand him, said all the old veterans. Where were the mages?
Soldiers scattered, falling or fleeing before the forming wedge of Ryuven. Shianan snatched up a spear.
But Tamaryl rose into the air and, with a final disabling blast to discourage ambitious archers, sped across the field. He had given his warriors a foothold and would wreak his havoc elsewhere. Shianan snarled in frustrated hate.
Abruptly the Ryuven wedge shifted and turned. There was a pocket of soldiers trapped now between the Ryuven and the ravine. They fell into position as trained, the front line locking their shields as the second set their spears. The Ryuven magic blast struck mostly shields, but a few men cried and stumbled. Two more Ryuven swept down from above, killing a man who was looking forward. The group was pushed toward the ravine, and three more soldiers died.
“Alanz!” Shianan called, started forward. “Alanz! Through their rear!” If they could strike at the back of the Ryuven, break their momentum, it would give the soldiers a chance to counter or escape.
And then a great shape came bounding across the field, charging into the side of the Ryuven wedge. Soren slashed from his horse, cleaving a wing and then a shoulder, and pushed on to the entrapped men. He wheeled the horse and plunged forward with the soldiers, who charged with their prince.
“No!” Shianan ran, no longer watching for Alanz or his men. He hit the Ryuven wedge where Soren had, cutting wings, boiled leather, arms. He pushed through fast, not pausing to face or finish any of them—that would be fatal. That would slow him. And he had to reach the prince—
Ryuven wings blocked out the light as Shianan swung his shield into an angry face. A flying pair dove toward the prince, who raised his sword to meet them. His horse flung its head and leapt aside wide-eyed as the winged monsters plunged toward it.
Shianan cut down a final opponent. Soren swung at the first Ryuven, who checked himself with a flip of wing and then caught Soren’s arm. Soren raised a small shield reflexively and struck the hammer from the Ryuven’s grasp. An instant later the shield cracked, failing beneath magical impact.
Soren spurred the frightened horse and twisted, wrenching himself and the Ryuven around as the soldiers swarmed about them. Someone jabbed a spear at the Ryuven, but the tip slid across leather armor. The panicked horse spun, knocking aside two soldiers, and leapt stiff-legged into the air. Soren, caught between horse and Ryuven, slid in the saddle.
Shianan shoved a human soldier out of his path.
The second Ryuven dove as the first lost his grip. He seized Soren’s free arm and dragged him from the horse. Soren dropped but did not hit the ground as the two Ryuven together started for the ravine. Soren twisted as they sagged beneath his weight and slashed wildly with the sword he still held, missing his assailants. Shianan was close enough now to see the prince clench his jaw as he drew himself up by the arm they held, reaching with the sword again—
One Ryuven cried and lost his hold. The second dropped with the weight and Soren hit the ground, missing his feet. The prince struck again, his legs dragging, and the Ryuven yelped. They faltered and landed at the edge of the ravine. Shianan sprinted—so close!—and the Ryuven kicked the prince over the precipice.
“No!” Shianan cut at the escaping Ryuven and leapt after Soren.
The ravine wall was steep, but it was not sheer. Shianan had peered into it when they had first arrived. He landed on his heels and fell backward, sliding on the backs of his boots and leaning hard on his shield. Rocks and soil tumbled around him as he slid toward the bodies below.
He landed a short distance from Soren, who was mostly upright at the base of the wall, just above the obviously broken form of another soldier. His head hung forward, staring at the ground or his cuirass, but he had not fallen.
Shianan sheathed his sword and dropped the shield as he ran. “My lord!”
The prince lifted his head and looked at Shianan, his pupils unnaturally dilated. “Help.” His voice sounded oddly flat.
Shianan slid on the rocky footing and came to a halt, staring. Soren had fallen down the wall and tumbled onto the waiting polearm of a dead soldier below. The spearhead had slid beneath the edge of his steel cuirass and stuck somewhere within.
Shianan drew a quick breath. “Sweet Holy One.”
“I can’t move,” Soren said. “I can’t—look out!”
Shianan whirled and drew his sword in one motion. A dozen paces from him stood Tamaryl, Pairvyn ni’Ai.
Shianan shifted in front of the prince, tipping his sword toward the Ryuven’s eyes. He had no defense against the magic which should have killed him once before, and he could not throw himself recklessly forward while he had the prince to guard, but if opportunity came, he would seize it.
“I had thought you dead.” The Ryuven’s voice was almost surprised. His eyes narrowed, regarding them with the lazy gaze of a cat that has crippled a mouse. “By the Essence of all... but I suppose they liked you well enough to heal you.” He swung a mace loosely from his right hand. “But there are no mages to heal you here.”
Shianan’s throat closed. “It’s me you want, Pairvyn. Tamaryl. I offered to meet you before. Leave him.”
Tamaryl’s eyes shifted from Shianan to the motionless prince and back. “Always trying to protect someone, Becknam, and always failing. After I kill you, what is to stop me from killing your prince? After so much killing, why not kill those who ordered it?”
“Ryl!” Another Ryuven dropped from the sky, catching himself smoothly on the dry ravine floor. It was Maru, Shianan recognized, with his wing healed.
“Stay back, Maru,” Tamaryl warned. “They say he is good with a weapon. One thing he does well, killing.”
“You have no footing to speak of such things,” snarled Shianan. He had to bait Tamaryl into using the mace instead of magic. Against magic of that strength, Shianan was nothing more than a temporary and useless shie
ld for Soren. Against a mace, he had a chance.
Tamaryl continued, “It is the rulers who bring us to this bloodshed. It is Oniwe’aru’s orders and King Jerome’s. Better to cut off the head of the serpent.”
“Ryl, stop.” Maru moved slowly, as if afraid of startling the Pairvyn. “Think—you can’t kill the prince.”
“Can’t I?”
“You can’t, or this war will never end. It’s only supplies, now—what will it be if you make it for royal blood? Think, Ryl. You don’t want this bloodshed. It infuriates you even now. You gave so many years of your life to end this war—don’t restart it now.”
“They would kill our aru, given the chance.”
“They would also leave us in peace, given the chance. But if you kill their prince, we’ll never reach accord. Ryl...”
Tamaryl’s eyes narrowed. “Fine! I’ll leave the prince. He’ll die shortly without my help, anyway.”
“Then let’s—”
“But Becknam has been so eager to face me. He offered to kick me off a parapet once, did you know? Even before our last meeting. He wants so to fight the Pairvyn, and I will oblige him.”
Shianan let his knees flex another half inch.
“No, Ryl,” Maru said softly. “Don’t.”
Tamaryl cupped his hand, and Shianan recognized the signs of forming magic. His pulse raced.
“Don’t.” This time Maru spoke to Shianan, as if warning him. Shianan stayed, though he could not explain why. Rushing Tamaryl would certainly kill him, but it might kill Tamaryl as well. If Shianan could destroy Pairvyn ni’Ai, he would have done all that he could have hoped. But Maru’s single word stopped him.
Tamaryl’s face hardened. “Maru...”
“If you kill him, she’ll hate you, Ryl.” Maru had one hand held low and partially extended, warning Shianan to keep his distance and wait. “Before, you struck in self-defense and in the heat of the moment. This will be thoughtful murder, Ryl, and she’ll hate you for it.” He hesitated, seemed to assess Tamaryl. He took a breath. “What if Daranai’rika killed Ariana’rika?”
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