The Talbokians avoided his gaze. They ducked their heads and shuffled. Each one looked to another, their hands clenching and unclenching.
Naatos strode toward the loose circle of men, searching their faces.
Amelia darted back to the Ayamin. She had no way of knowing whether she could save them, but she had to try. Perhaps Naatos could be convinced to show them mercy. And anything was better than standing by and letting them be fed to spiders or bleed out on the sun-and-blood-soaked stone. She tore off another strip of bandages and began wrapping it around the one soldier's bleeding calf. It looked as if a wolf had bitten him.
Naatos shook his head as he paced along the outer edge of the group. As he approached, the soldiers moved back. "Your recent incompetence and indiscretion astounds me," Naatos said. "And for you to be showing it repeatedly within the same day. Does no one take responsibility for this act? You were ordered to dispose of the bodies within the lower chambers. I assigned five of you with this task."
Amelia grabbed the nearest waterskin and gave the brown-haired Ayamin a quick drink before moving on to the next wounded soldier. His right hand was mangled, but he gripped his broken sword hilt in his left. Amelia motioned for him to give her his hand and bound it as best she could.
"What do you think you're going to accomplish?" the Ayamin murmured. He looked at her with bloodshot blue eyes. "We're all dead men anyway."
One of the Talbokians screamed.
Amelia twisted around, her chest tightening with fear. Naatos had seized one of the mercenaries behind the neck, light glowing in his hand. The man's face contorted in agony as he began to dissolve.
Amelia stared in horror. Within seconds, the soldier disintegrated into nothing more than a pile of grey dust. His blunt black chainmail, his black and green uniform, his green scarf, his weapons, and even his scuffed boots vanished along with him.
Naatos dusted his hands, shaking off the fine particles. He continued to glare at the mercenaries. "If the other four do not confess at once, then seven more of you will die."
"Get out of here, woman, before Naatos wastes you too," Traol whispered. He winced with pain as he tried to get up.
"He won't." Amelia grabbed a broken spear from the pile of dead bodies. She laid it against his leg and bound it up to form a crude brace.
Another pained scream shook the air. Naatos had selected yet his next victim.
The wasting left a scent like burning flesh. The wind that came from the north blew the last remains of the soldiers toward the gateway.
Amelia turned her face. She blocked out the screams and cries of the Talbokians, focusing her attention on the Ayamin. She had to move faster. As she wiped the blood from one man's face, she paused, startled to recognize him. "Perez…"
Perez shook his head. He tried to moisten his lips, but his motions were clumsy, his breaths labored. "It's too late for me," he said with effort. "Tend the others."
"Come on, commander." Traol edged closer, offering the waterskin. "Don't talk like that. Baril, give him a drink."
One of the Ayamin, a sandy-haired man with an eagle tattoo on his neck, took the waterskin and placed it against Perez's lips. His hands shook. His thin hair was plastered to his face with blood and mud.
Amelia gripped Perez's hand. Uncle Joe had always spoken highly of Perez. They had been good friends. He had fought at the palace when Naatos and his brothers attacked the first time. "I'll find a way." She lifted the baldric from his chest and began cleaning the large claw marks that cut across his breastbone.
Naatos had moved on to his fourth victim, a young mercenary with a broken nose. The soldier attempted to struggle, but as soon as Naatos grabbed him by the shoulder, the wasting began. The stench of burning flesh grew stronger and stronger.
A large falcon landed beside her. Amelia stiffened. WroOth. Even with her elmis bound, she recognized him. He tilted his head at her, his gaze disapproving and sharp.
Ignoring him, Amelia tore off another strip of cloth from the thick roll of bandages. She began to bind Perez's jaw and throat.
"I would suggest you get to your feet before Naatos notices," WroOth said softly. "In case you had any doubt, this most certainly counts as defying him."
All the Ayamin pulled back at the sound of the talking falcon, reaching for or gripping their weapons.
Amelia knotted the bandage. "These men are—"
"Dead." WroOth returned to his human form. In a single movement, he clutched Perez's neck and twisted sharply. The bones snapped, and his head struck the stone with a dull thud. "You'd do well to remember that, little sister." He stood and cracked his wrists. "All of these men were supposed to have died in the Trolnan. The fact that they yet breathe means nothing."
The last tendrils of emotion Perez had felt seeped through the coverings of her elmis like a distant cry.
Amelia sat there, stunned. He had just killed Perez.
White cold anger shot through her. She spun around on the ground and kicked WroOth in the back of the legs. Rolling back, she then sprang to her feet.
WroOth's balance wavered. He stumbled but caught himself. Turning, he faced her. "Oh, I would not do that, little sister," he said slowly. "It will not end well for you."
"I will not let you or Naatos kill these men. I may be tied to this family. I may not have much of a choice about what happens to me, but I have a choice about this, and I am making it. I won't stand by and let you commit these atrocities." Amelia balled her fists up. "So if you want to kill them, you have to go through me."
Heavy hands fell on Amelia's shoulders. "WroOth," Naatos said, pulling her back. "These men were to be ended and then fed to the spiders down below. Since they are already up here, these spiders might as well benefit. Given my wife's interference, don't bother to kill them before they are fed to the spiders. Make sure the Talbokians do as they were told."
"No, Naatos, don't." Amelia twisted around to face him.
Naatos grabbed her by the face, his fingers digging into her cheeks. "Challenge me again, Amelia, and I will make death by spider look like the kinder option."
Suddenly dozens of tiny darts shot through the air. They struck Naatos, WroOth, and the Talbokians.
Battle cries rose up from the wall as dozens and dozens of Machat appeared, brandishing blowguns, talts, and darts. Within Polfradon, a great commotion sprang up.
Someone ran to a window and shouted, "The guaras are loose! The guaras are attacking!"
The battle cries resounded even louder as the other captured Ayamin came racing out of the fortress, weapons high, and fierceness in their eyes.
43
A Machat Rescue
The familiar sound of the Ayamin battle cry and the war shouts of the Machat shocked Amelia and filled her heart with hope.
The Talbokians, eager to correct their shortcomings in Naatos's eyes, attacked with powerful vengeance of their own, not waiting for the orders. They brought out their swords, daggers, maces, and clubs, and leaped into the fray as the Ayamin attacked with their own assortment of seized weapons. All the while, the Machat rained down dozens of tiny brown and red-tipped darts.
Naatos lifted his hand to stop darts from striking his face. "Cursed Machat," he snarled. He pulled Amelia behind him, though none of the darts had struck her. "Where did they come from?"
WroOth's face darkened, twisting with hatred. "What does it matter?" He struck two darts from his cheek. Several more hit his forehead. Glowering, he swatted them away. "What is this, Machat?" he shouted, lifting his arms. "Is this the welcome you give your Para after all these years?"
The Machat said nothing in response. Few even looked at him. They scattered their darts among the enemy. Not a single one grazed Amelia or the Ayamin. The Machat on the gatehouse wore heavier leather armor, gloves, and masks over their faces, and they swung around and climbed under. They scrabbled along the underside of the stone and attacked the spiders with daggers and darts.
One large spider crashed to the ground, its legs twitching and s
pasming in death throes. Another spider seized a Machat by the arm, but three swift strikes from two of her companions freed her from its grasp. Whenever a Machat fell or was attacked by the spiders, the other Machat swarmed in, and two or three leaped down on elastic ropes to snatch the wounded up, drag them onto the walls, and then disappear from sight.
On the other side of Naatos, WroOth, and Amelia, nearly a dozen Machat leaped down on double coiled ropes and seized the wounded Ayamin. Their comrades above hoisted and hauled them up before anyone could respond.
Meanwhile, the freed Ayamin brought their weapons against the Talbokians, impaling, skewering, striking. All the Talbokians struck by the darts slowed and soon fell beneath the Ayamins' fearsome attacks. Inside Polfradon, the sounds of the guara attacks continued amid screams and shouts for help.
WroOth turned his face again as more darts descended. Rage knotted over his face. "Have you no answer?" he shouted. "Very well. Meet your Para!" Spreading his arms, he leaped into the air. He transformed into a large cobalt dragon with long glistening black spikes fanning out from his neck and tail. He spun up in the air, fire and smoke streaming along his sides.
Amelia dropped back, twisting her arm back and forth. Naatos's grip remained tight. "Did you wish to leave, Amelia?" he asked dryly, glancing at her. Several more darts struck his neck and forearm. Two sank into the hand that held her. He grimaced but did not let go. "I think you need to see what I'm capable of."
"I feel like I've got a good grasp on that." Amelia kicked him in the shin. That only annoyed him, but she kicked him again. "Let go."
"Very well."
Naatos dragged her to the wall. He smacked the darts from his wrist, tore a flat piece of stone from the courtyard floor, and thrust it over her hand. Amelia punched and kicked him, striking him in the back. Her blows landed repeatedly, but Naatos shoved her against the wall. Light flowed from his hand into the stone.
Amelia gasped. The stone held her hand in place, almost perfectly melded to the wall. "What did you do?" She tugged at her arm, but the rock didn't move.
"Let's see if you can follow orders this time. Stay. We'll discuss your behavior once this is resolved."
"If I'm still here," Amelia snapped.
"Oh, you had better be here," Naatos said. He cupped his hand along her cheek, lingering. "And in the meantime, watch your husband ply his trade, viskaro." He turned away. His shoulders and neck muscles tightened and strained, but his form did not change. Naatos shook his head, then closed his eyes. For a moment, he stood there, rigid, the muscles in his neck and forearms standing out and trembling.
Amelia frowned. What was wrong? She fought to free herself harder, now that Naatos wasn't paying attention to her.
The Ayamin continued their fight, swiftly overpowering the Talbokians.
Naatos roared.
He did not transform though his muscles remained tight. He seized his spear and lunged into the throng, thrusting it through the chests of two unfortunate soldiers. Naatos tore his spear free and attacked a third. The muscles in his forearms and neck ceased trembling.
He was horrifying in both skill and strength. Though dozens of Ayamin poured from the great arches and most of the Talbokians lay dead on the ground, Naatos remained unchecked. He dealt his blows with speed and skill, never once wavering.
For a moment, Amelia stared in horror. The blood ran red, pouring down the staircase and the courtyard stones, brighter than the rocks themselves. Death swept across the courtyard.
Amelia jerked on her arm, trying to loosen the stone. She scraped her fingers across its surface, but it did not move. There wasn't even a seam joining it to the fortress.
Some of the weapons from the Ayamin had fallen to the side. A war hammer lay close by. Dropping to the ground as best she could, Amelia strained to reach it.
Up above, WroOth continued to attack. He landed on one of the upper towers and clawed at the Machat, breathing out fire and smoke. But the Machat were practically dancing with him. Each time he landed, they ducked and disappeared. Then other Machat appeared at another point and resumed firing at him.
The Ayamin facing off against Naatos fared far worse. But that didn't stop them from coming in wave after wave. They tried to offset his focus by striking a single blow and feigning to the side or back, allowing another Ayamin to take his place and deliver a follow-up blow. Others attempted multiple attacks at the same time.
Amelia tried to keep from looking at the multiple fights around her. Emotion swelled within her, and nausea twisted in her stomach. Straining, she reached for the hammer.
Her fingertips brushed the edge of the handle. She couldn't quite reach it. Her arm ached with the tension. She pushed her back against the wall and then stretched her leg out. Her foot tapped the edge of the hammer's handle. Trying again, she managed to tip it and drag it a little closer. Snatching it up, Amelia stood.
The hammer weighed even more than it looked. Surely it would be enough to break the stone. She glanced at her covered hand. This was going to hurt if she missed. Gritting her teeth, she lifted the hammer and struck the rock alongside her wrist. The first blow jarred through. The second disintegrated the side. Bracing herself, Amelia hit it farther up, avoiding her fingers.
The rock broke on the third blow, crumbling to the ground. Amelia jerked her hand free and rubbed it hard. Little prickles ran through it as if it had fallen asleep.
"Get what you need, Neyeb!" a Machat woman shouted. When Amelia looked up, the Machat pointed toward the archways into Polfradon. "Go now."
They knew about the orb? Amelia shook her head. Of course they did. They were prophets.
Still gripping the hammer, Amelia raced up the broad stairs, under the arch, and into the hall. She turned the corner and bounded up the curved staircase.
A large guara dropped its head down from a higher level, its frills shooting out. It snarled. Amelia struck it in the head and kept running. The large salamander fell to the stone stairs and tumbled head over tail.
Amelia took the stairs two at a time. None of the Talbokians were alive up here, but another guara hissed at her from the second landing. Still, Amelia kept running.
Reaching the fifth floor, she stopped to orient herself. No guaras or soldiers were up here. At least none that she could see. But the red stone walls and the tapestries with their many depictions all blurred together in her mind. Which tapestry had she hidden the orb behind?
Amelia adjusted her grip on the war hammer, walking slowly through the hall. The scent of blood and smoke was not so strong up here, but down below she heard the sound of battle. People were dying. Think faster! Every second counted. The sooner she found the orb, the sooner the escape could be completed. She quickened her pace, scanning each of the tapestries. Faster, faster. Then she caught sight of the familiar tapestry and the wonderful door it hid.
Relief flooded through her. Setting the war hammer aside, Amelia pried the door open. The little orb still sat in the little nook up above. Breathing a prayer of thanks, Amelia scooped it up. She formed a crude bag with a piece of cloth and then fastened it to her belt.
A guttural hiss sounded behind her. Turning, Amelia saw one of the guaras. This one was far smaller with slightly paler scales. It crouched low to the ground, its crooked legs braced. Blood stained its mouth. So much for Naatos commanding them not to harm her. Unless this did count as one of those exceptions WroOth mentioned. "Not a good time." Amelia lifted the war hammer.
The guara flattened itself further against the ground. It lunged.
Amelia darted to the side and brought her hammer down on its head. The impact struck against the back of the creature's skull. She didn't wait to see if she had fully killed it. She ran back towards the staircase. More hisses sounded from the stairwell.
"Seriously!" Amelia exclaimed.
Several guaras clustered at the foot of the staircase. One nosed the body of the guara she'd knocked down earlier. When they saw her, they hissed, their frills extending.
The guaras' claws clicked and clacked behind her. Turning to the right, she saw a door. Amelia seized the handle and threw it open.
Sunlight flooded into the hall. A small platform with a stone railing jutted out from the doorway. Amelia ran onto it and slammed the door shut. A narrow staircase rose into the air on her left, leading to the flat roof of the fortress.
From up here, Amelia could see everything. Polfradon stretched all around her. The primary buildings stood in the center of the northern and southern courtyards. There was no way to the outer walls from here.
Down below, the Ayamin and Machat continued to battle Naatos and WroOth. All of the Talbokians appeared to have been defeated. WroOth, now perched on the gatehouse, snapped and bit at the Machat below. Naatos continued to fight in his human form. Amelia didn't understand why he hadn't transformed. It didn't seem like him to remain in his state of rest when he too could have become a dragon or a rathloth or a spertha or something equally fearsome. The Machat were trying to get the Ayamin to stop attacking Naatos, but their efforts appeared unsuccessful.
"Quite the different perspective from up here, isn't it?"
Amelia whirled about, raising the war hammer. An elderly Machat man with silver-white hair sat on the topmost stair. He lifted his hand in greeting. "Now that you're up here, we can start wrapping this up." He removed a multi-layered reed flute from the inside of his dark-brown jerkin and played a series of notes. The tune was sharp and fierce, cutting through the chaos.
WroOth's gaze snapped up toward Amelia and the strange Machat. His blue-green eyes narrowed, and the smoke from his nostrils darkened. His wings thrust out. He launched himself into the air. The wind rushed around him.
Two groups of Machat ran out on the lower ramparts. Each one carried a cannon with something crackling and sparking inside. They propped the wide-mouthed cannons against the stone, took aim, and lit the fuses. In double deafening bursts of sound, sparking nets shot out.
Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles Page 40