"Request approved."
FIFTY-FOUR
Stretched out prone, Ulor crept forward to sneak a look around the burned out steel beetle. "I think they've learned not to get too close, my lord king."
Sitting flat on his buttocks as he leaned against the still warm metal side of the smashed vehicle, Mar said, "I hope so."
They had managed to hold their ground here, about forty paces up the stone encased ramp that climbed to the head of the bridge. The sides of the ramp were almost three manheight above the steep, wooded slope that ran down to the river, giving them unassailable flanks. The waist high guard walls, the destroyed war machine, and the two others like it farther down the ramp provided considerable protection from the Phaelle'n flux lances. During the night, the Shrikes had withdrawn out of range of Quaestor Eishtren's unerring bow.
Mar raised a slightly shaking hand to rub his forehead to combat a strident headache. He had never used magic as continuously and as strenuously as he had in the last day and a half and his skull felt as if it were going to split open. Though the others had taken turns napping, he had slept none at all through the night. Moreover, his back and -- and incidentally all three of his stumps -- hurt abominably. Late the previous afternoon, a volley from one of the steel beetles had caught him from behind, shattering both artificial legs, and he had had to discard them and rely solely on his brigandine. He had not realized how much he had come to depend upon the wooden limbs until they had been taken from him.
"We might better try to make a break for the other side before it gets too light," Scahll suggested.
Mar and the others had encountered Scahll, Bear and Taelmhon half a league from the bridge ramp. Mar had thought to berate them for venturing into the teeth of the Phaelle'n attack, but had recalled that by definition brave men did dangerous things. After setting the other legionnaires and marines from Number One to assist the wounded and struggling armsmen of the decimated I Corps, the trio had taken it upon themselves to try to find out what had become of the royal flagship. They had reported that I Corps had moved away from the river in a southeasterly direction into the low hills beyond the western bank and had also brought the unwelcome news that Knight-Commander Dhrasnoaeghs had been killed by a strafing Shrike the day before.
With fire, wind, and luck, for all of the previous day and night, Mar had held the Phaelle'n at a bay, giving ground continually but slowing their advance to a crawl. Still, for each steel beetle that he had destroyed, a dozen had appeared to replace it.
The Shrikes had stayed away, but Quaestor Eishtren had kept his bow busy. Though the archer's flux arrows did not cause the steel beetles to explode, the invisible bolts easily punched through their armor. He had become uncannily adroit at firing at the occupants and had driven away uncounted attempts to try to run the retreating group down.
Not answering Scahll right away, Mar turned his eyes back across the bridge. He had not paid much attention to it when he had flown Number One across the river and it had been too dark -- and he had been too busy with the Phaelle'n -- to consider it during the night, but now the day had brightened enough to see all of it.
Built using the rustic stonework characteristic of the architecture of the late Empire, it was, by some accounts, the longest standing bridge in all of the domains of the Principate. The Sand River was almost nine hundred armlengths wide at this point and the bridge, including the long eastern ramp, the twenty-eight segmental arches of the structure, and the abutments of the western approach, was almost eleven hundred armlengths in total length. Thirteen armlengths wide from one guard wall to the other, the roadbed was easily wide enough for two of the steel beetles to travel abreast. There were no gatehouses to guard the approaches, but the central pillar supported an open triumphal arch that rose up three manheight.
To stop the steel beetles, he would not have to take down the entire bridge, which was probably not a practical possibility given that the monks would sweep up the bridge ramp as soon as he and the others pulled back, just open a gap that was broad enough to prevent a quick wooden repair. All of the arches were thirty armlengths wide save for the central two, which were close to fifty. If he infused blocks at the center of one of those, including the keystones and the adjacent voussoirs of the arch, the magical detonation should completely collapse the arch. He knew that there would likely be iron staples linking the ashlars at major stress points, but felt certain that the size of the blast he planned would carry away those as well.
"I need to infuse and detonate the center of the bridge," Mar said, looking around at the circle of weary men that crouched or sat around him. "That will keep the beetles from crossing here. The rest of you get a head start. I'll follow."
Ulor scooted back and sat up. "It's my duty to stay with you, my lord king."
"You will need my bow to keep the Shrikes away," Quaestor Eishtren said.
"And my eyes to see them coming," Kyamhyn added.
"Kyamhyn can't look everywhere at once," Dhem asserted.
"Taelmhon, Bear, and me, we all started with the quaestor back in Mhajhkaei," Scahll hazarded, "we'd better stay with him."
The other two men nodded in quick agreement.
Aelwyrd, stupefied from lack of sleep, put a determined expression on his face, but did not actually seem to know what was going on.
Mar allowed a sad smile. "We'll all stay together then. Make ready. We'll head for the triumphal arch, staying as low as possible. As soon as I've infused the span, we'll race for the other side. Quaestor Eishtren, I want you to set off the detonation with your bow when we're all in the clear."
"Yes, my lord king."
Mar looked at Aelwyrd again. "Dhem, make sure that Aelwyrd keeps up with the rest of us. I'll do what I can with my magic to help us along."
The young legionnaire grinned. "I'll take care of the boy, my lord king."
Making sure that he stayed behind the shelter of the wrecked beetle, Mar rose to a standing height and the others straightaway climbed to their feet. Except for their swords and the still full quivers that Aelwyrd had refused to discard, they had no gear to carry. They had also had nothing to eat and only the water in their canteens, but the stress of the battle had made that only a minor concern.
After taking a fast look around to make sure that there was no immediate threat, Mar led them forward. "Let's go."
After only five paces, Kyamhyn raised his head and stared at the cloud sprinkled sky to the south. "Shrikes, my lord king!"
"Run for the arch!" Mar commanded.
Light flashed and a rectangle of a shadowed interior appeared on the center of the roadway a dozen paces in front of them. Tattooed monks in black leather and chainmail began to run from the rectangle, raising devices gripped in their right hands.
Mar deflected the majority of the flux lances that hurled from the weapons, but he could not impede the entire fusillade.
In the midst of reaching for his sword, Ulor spun about, a gaping hole in his chest, and fell.
Quaestor Eishtren's bow fired six times and six of the Black Monks dropped lifeless. Bear, Scahll, Kyamhyn, and Taelmhon charged to engage another four who presented drawn swords rather than magical weapons.
Mar rushed up to join them and quickly delved the doorway as swords rang together around him. The base sound-color of the doorway was a droning-apple and he lashed at it with every clashing sound-color that he could create. Hitting upon an aggravated squealing-orange that neutralized the droning-apple, he destabilized the portal and it abruptly closed upon a swordsman that was halfway through, with both monk and opening disintegrating in a shower of pulsating yellow light. As quickly as he could, he spun to infuse the leather of the surviving monks, snatched them up one by one, and catapulted them out into the river.
The diving Shrike caught him off guard. Black cylinders stitched across the roadway, chipping out hollows in the stone, hit Bear and Scahll to his left with battering force, and then Mar felt sledgehammer blows strike his torso. His brigand
ine kept him upright, but he lost a moment or two and came back at the tail end of a string of echoing explosions.
"... king's still alive," Dhem was saying.
"Drag him to the arch," Quaestor Eishtren ordered. "Aelwyrd, help Dhem."
Mar blinked his eyes, saw Dhem grab a shoulder strap of his brigandine. When he felt a grip on his right forearm, he lolled his unresponsive head around to stare at Aelwyrd's distraught young face.
A great weakness overcame Mar and he coughed raggedly, tasting his own blood. Looking down, he saw a bright red flow pouring freely from a hole in his abdomen and another on the right side of his chest. Knowing that he would be dead in moments, he focused inward, using what magic he could summon to seal his wounds.
He lost more time. When he blinked his eyes open again, he was in the shade of the arch, pushed up against the northern pillar. Facing back to the east, Dhem and Aelwyrd stood in front of him.
Quaestor Eishtren stood out in the open in the obscenely bright sunshine, firing up at the sky. Shrikes exploded one after another, the flares casting dancing shadows.
After a moment, Mar found enough energy to ask in a course whisper, "Ulor, Scahll, Bear?"
Dhem turned his head, his expression dark and a shake in his chin. "Dead, my lord king. Kyamhyn and Taelmhon too."
Mar head an odd sound, turned to look at Aelwyrd, and saw that the youth was weeping.
A screech of dragging metal and the splintering sounds of breaking wood made Mar look beyond Eishtren. A steel beetle was nosing the blockading hulk aside. As soon as it had opened the way, it accelerated across the bridge toward them. Behind it, a long line of armored vehicles rushed to follow.
FIFTY-FIVE
It was raining again, but then, it always rained here at the spire. Except when it snowed.
"It is ghoulish to watch the slaughter," Waleck grumbled. "Turn aside and sit by the fire."
The sorcerer used a cloth to wipe condensation from the tablet. "I have to watch. This is the culmination of all my efforts."
"You could have been his friend."
"Mar would never have had the courage to do what is necessary to restore magic to the world."
"You mean that he would have eventually grown too strong for you to control."
"As he will soon be dead, this discussion has no relevance."
The sorcerer picked up the cloth again and wiped it across the glistening stone.
FIFTY-SIX
143rd Year of the Reign of the City
Tenthday, Waning, 3rd Springmoon, 1645 After the Founding of the Empire
Crash site of the Empress Telriy
Forty-eight men, many severely wounded, survived the crash of the skyships. Captain Thylbr and Third Officer Keiarh were not among them. Mhiskva left a file of legionnaires under the command of a fugleman to dig and fill forty-three graves and care for the injured, and then ordered his war band to move out.
"The Imperial Highway must be only a couple of leagues to the north and we can reach it in two hours," he told his gathered officers. "Whenever possible, we will travel under the cover of trees, but I expect that most of the vales will harbor pastures or fields. When we have to move through the open, each section and quarter-troop will maintain a wide interval between it and the next. Once we reach the highway, we reform into two loose columns that will proceed along opposite flanks of the highway toward the bridge on the Sand River. The marines will take the south and the legionnaires the north. Legate Awer, your section will lead the northern march as a scout in force. Subaltern Pwintle, your quarter-troop will do the same on the south. We move out in five minutes."
After the junior officers had dispersed, Lord Hhrahld suggested, "Wilhm and I could forge ahead. At a dead run, the two of us could reach the bridge in under fifteen minutes."
Mhiskva frowned, shaking his head. "No, I think it would be an error to separate. As you said, the three of us must remain together."
"You sense this now as well?"
"No, but I do know that dividing our forces in the face of the enemy is risky."
"True, but we have no idea what waits ahead of us. We should perhaps scout before we lead these armsmen into a difficult situation."
"That is my intention, but I want to wait until we are within a third of a league of the river. That way, the marines and legionnaires will not be left too far adrift."
Lord Hhrahld bobbed his head. "They are our responsibility, I suppose."
For all their caution, they saw no more of the enemy skyships and the tramp to the highway was uneventful. A few of the inhabitants watched them from farm yards, plowed fields, or sheepfolds, but most simply went about their normal business. It would have been surprising if the news of the Phaelle'n attack had reached these rural farmers and herdsmen in only a couple of days.
It was closer to two and a half hours before they reached the highway and Mhiskva put the war band to rest while he stepped clear of the forest to survey the grazed right of way. No refugees cluttered the straight and level roadway, but a few discarded items littering the shoulders indicated that it had not been long since a good number of people had passed.
"With war at Lhinstord, I had thought that the highway would be clogged," Lord Hhrahld mused. "Perhaps the siege closed quickly and trapped most of the people of the city."
Mhiskva looked east. The long dead Imperial engineers had cut through the clay hills to keep the highway running straight as much as possible and he could see almost half a league before the roadway turned a bit to the south in a gradual curve.
"These were from the lands between the river and Lhinstord," he said.
"An army marching through would not normally have dislodged yeoman and tennants," Lord Hhrahld countered. "They would have just stayed out of its way."
"But the sight of Lhinstord burning would have."
Lord Hhrahld looked bleak. "Aye, that is true."
Mhiskva chose his own line of march along the south shoulder of the highway, a position from which he could see both the marines across the roadway and the legionnaires nearby on his right.
Automatically, Lord Hhrahld and Wilhm moved without comment to follow a similar path on the north shoulder.
Within moments, the first sounds of distant explosions reached them. Mhiskva heard and then saw Shrikes diving from the clouds ahead at a point that must be above the river. He called out orders to make a fast pace and began to trot, restraining his long strides so that he would not outrun the marines and legionnaires.
The armsmen ran two-thirds of a league in half an hour and Mhiskva ordered a halt when he gained the top of a rise whose forward slope led down into the sparsely wooded floodplain.
Smoke and flame were visible on the far bank and on the bridge itself a fire ball rose up as he watched.
Lord Hhrahld and Wilhm sprinted across the highway to rejoin him.
"Someone is holding the bridge against an assault." the Prince-Protector declared.
"It's the Quaestor," Wilhm said.
"You can see him?" Mhiskva asked.
"Yes. The king is there too, but he isn't doing much."
Mhiskva waved at the nearby legionnaires and the marines across the way. "Take cover! Hold the line of the ridge!"
Then he began running down the center of the highway. Lord Hhrahld and Wilhm matched his speed exactly.
He reached the approach to the bridge in seconds, and without slowing saw the king, missing his artificial legs and covered in his own blood, behind the north pillar of an arch the rose in the center of the bridge. One of the legionnaires from Number One, D’hem’nh’siahshm, and the boy Aelwyrd stood with him, apparently trying to shield the king with their own bodies from the fire from the Shrikes that continued to rain down. Beyond the three, Quaestor Eishtren stood, shooting at a blazing speed at both the enemy skyships and the armored conveyances that were pushing across from the eastern side. Though several of the crashed conveyances littered the roadway, the oncoming vehicles were undeterred and would reac
h the archer in no more than seconds.
Mhiskva was under the arch in another second and slowed just long enough to order D’hem’nh’siahshm, "Get the king to the western bank!"
Lord Hhrahld and Wilhm did not pause, flashing by Quaestor Eishtren and leaping onto the roof of the leading vehicle. Longer than a manheight, the greatswords of the two began to rip through steel and timbers as if through paper and twigs. Both Lord Hhrahld's jewel and silver bedecked masterpiece and Wilhm's utilitarian blade flashed with an unnatural golden light.
Raising his axe in guard, Mhiskva took a stand in front of Eishtren and then, with an agility that he had never before possessed, began to deflect the projectiles spitting from the front of the war machines.
The first conveyance fell to pieces around its slaughtered occupants and the pair of giants sprang onto the following and proceeded to rend it as well.
A diving Shrike screeched and a line of dust and rock splinters puffed across the roadway and tracked over Wilhm. Pierced in a score of places, the young giant staggered and fell, sliding off the machine to the roadway.
Lord Hhrahld roared in grief and anger and hurled himself at the next conveyance. Another machine rushed alongside and fire poured from broadside portholes. Huge gouts of flesh and blood burst from the old pirate's body, but still his sword did not slow. He leapt onto the attacking machine and destroyed it, the charged another. One after another, he smashed the armored conveyances as they came within reach, sweeping some carelessly over the guard walls into the river. The rest piled up around him. Some of the monks escaped, running back from wrecks or diving into the river, but not many. Five of the conveyances were destroyed, then eight, then ten, then more but finally the magic of the white-maned pirate's rage bled away and he collapsed to his knees, his sword falling from his lifeless hands, and after a moment Lord Hhrahld finally toppled.
At least a score of the steel beasts lay smashed, but still dozens more were speeding up the ramp with unswerving determination, knocking aside the corpses of their fellows.
Warrior (The Key to Magic) Page 27