The Maelstrom

by Henry H. Neff

  Swallowing his loathing, Max wheeled YaYa away and rode south. Once back at Old College, the ki-rin set a slow, steady pace as she wove through the mass of soldiers and civilians. Passing the Manse, Max rode toward the cliffs so that he could see what might be happening at sea.

  The waters of Rowan Harbor were choppy as those assigned to the beaches and cliffs were busy preparing their defenses. Far to the north, Max could make out a few points of light hugging the coast, probably warships with witch-fires burning at their prow. The night sky had been clear, but the weather was changing. Most apparent was the wind, which was now howling in off the ocean as Rowan’s Mystics summoned and gathered it to them.

  Max and YaYa rode north along the cliffs, past Maggie and Old Tom, past the refugee camps and over the windswept tussocks until he reached the massive Northgate archway. The archway was forty feet from cobble to keystone and still dwarfed by the walls, which rose a hundred feet above even the tallest trees. Max could see hundreds of figures hurrying to man the towers and anchored trebuchets that could rain heavy projectiles upon an approaching enemy.

  YaYa cantered through the arch, her shadow huge upon curving walls that tunneled through eighty feet of solid stone. It was teeming with soldiers and carts bringing supplies out to the trenches and outposts that would sorely need them. The crowds cheered when they caught sight of YaYa and made a lane so that she and her rider could pass.

  They exited the other side, over the moat’s causeway and into the dark, open country that lay between the citadel that sheltered Old College and the outer curtain that protected outlying farms.

  Torches were moving urgently about the countryside, carried by messengers on errands to the trenches or outer defenses. Above Old Tom’s ringing, Max heard the low boom of signal drums and saw a distant flare arc like a tiny red star.

  YaYa made for a cluster of fires burning at intervals along Trench Nineteen. There, at the base of their fluttering standard, the Trench Rats were gathering and grouping into their platoons. Some grinned as Max rode up, but most looked frightened. Many were frantically putting on pieces of armor or rummaging through packs whose contents had been gathered in haste. Scanning the group, Max saw that only a third of the battalion had already reported. There was not yet any sign of Lucia or Cynthia or many of the officers who had presumably been at Crofter’s Hill when the alarm was raised. Ajax was there, however, sitting astride a heavy bay stallion and berating several boys who had cracked a water barrel while unloading a supply cart.

  Max called him over. “Assemble the companies and keep them here,” he said over the wind and distant horns. “Don’t let them rush or forget something they need. Once we’re settled in, we won’t be moving, so send riders to fetch anything that’s missing—food, medicine. They won’t close Northgate unless the Enemy advances within a mile. I’m riding to the outer walls to see what’s happening.”

  As Ajax turned to carry out his orders, Max saw Scathach ride up on a spotted Appaloosa. She was in Umbra’s guise but now wore a shirt of silver chain and carried a small round shield strapped to her back. Her hair was tossing wildly in the wind as she slowed the horse to a walk and gazed at Max.

  “I’m going to the wall,” he said. “Come with me.”

  She nodded, spurring her mount ahead. The two rode alongside one another, covering the distance as swiftly as YaYa could manage in her lumbering trot. The outer walls rose before them, less massive than those that surrounded Old College but still a formidable defense. Eighty feet high and half as thick, with guard towers twice as tall that commanded a wide view of the lands beyond.

  They reached the battlements by riding up the broad ramps that doubled back and again until they arrived at the top. Hundreds of people were busily engaged—Mystics gathering atop casting towers, refugees heating iron shot and cauldrons of pitch, archers setting up their quivers behind stone merlons. Dismounting, Max and Scathach walked up a short staircase to a platform that would permit a glimpse of Prusias’s forces.

  At this distance, the approaching army resembled a forest fire, an eerie, distant flickering light that was closing upon Rowan. Max guessed that the outriders were three, maybe four miles away. Peering through his spyglass, he could clearly make out war galleons sailing down the shoreline as the army approached over land. “Can you guess their numbers?” asked Max, surveying the distant lights. Even now, he could hear the faint sounds of distant drums and horns. They reminded him sharply of his escape from Piter’s Folly on Madam Petra’s balloon. He had heard these drums before and witnessed the awful devastation that accompanied them.

  Frowning, Scathach scanned the horizon. “Impossible to say,” she muttered. “But many, many thousands. There are no breaks in those torches. They’ll reach these walls in three hours … maybe two.”

  Max was about to reply when he heard cheers go up from a host of archers, who were pointing beyond the wall to the countryside where moonlit runes and sigils were forming on the hills like luminescent brands.

  “What are those?” asked Scathach, peering out at them.

  “Glyphs, signs of protection,” Max explained. “They’re being cast by the spiritwracks.” He pointed to one of the tall octagonal towers where the specialized Mystics could be seen linking hands in an open chamber at the top.

  Just then, a hurricane-force gale came screaming in out of the east. It tore through the forests beyond the wall like a wailing spirit, bending the trees in a sweeping arc before doubling back and dissipating out over the ocean.

  “Aeromancers,” said Max, pointing to another tower, where Mystics were summoning the wild winds from the sea and directing them like orchestra conductors. “Prusias is going to find that there’s more than arrows and pikes waiting for him here.”

  Scathach was impressed. “Perhaps we won’t be needed.”

  But even as she said this, hundreds of horns blared in the distance, followed by the louder, deeper boom, boom, boom of kettledrums. The pace of the drumming increased and her smile faded.

  “We should ride back,” she reflected. “Your soldiers will want to see their commander.”

  Max nodded and the two left the wall, descending the ramps to the rutted road that led back to Trench Nineteen. As Max settled into YaYa’s gait, he gazed across a vast landscape of shadowy blues and grays, a backdrop of dark farmland and sparse forests in which thousands of torches were flickering as battalions and companies took up position along the trenches. The citadel walls and fortifications protecting Old College loomed behind them, white and gleaming beneath the moon. They reminded Max of castles he’d seen in the Sidh.

  Most of the Trench Rats had assembled by the time they’d returned. They stood at attention, some unsteadily from interrupted celebrations, but the majority appeared clear-eyed and anxious. Max found his friends among them. While Lucia and Cynthia were wearing Mystics robes, Sarah was dressed for combat. Like the other company commanders, she rode a charger and was armored in gleaming half-plate with the Rowan crest chased in silver upon the cuirass. She carried the naginata she favored, along with the battalion’s horn that would signal an advance, cease-fire, or retreat back to the Northgate. Standing behind Cynthia was Bob, cradling his great helm and leaning upon his cudgel. Calling out to the lieutenants, Max had them bring the troops closer so that they could hear him as he shouted over the wind.

  “The Enemy is marching upon us,” he announced. “Umbra and I have seen them from the outer curtain. In a few hours they’ll reach those walls. We’re going to take up our positions now and settle in. We might be here for days.”

  He scanned the faces, many still dirty and dusty from their review. They were trying to pay attention, but many could not keep from gaping about as signal flares screamed overhead like shooting stars. Drills and training were well and good, but they were still a far cry from taking a real field against a real opponent. Max’s gaze fell upon one face in the crowd, a young pikeman named Joshua. The boy was shivering, standing on tiptoe to follow a troop
of centaurs as they galloped toward the outer wall.

  “I know you’re frightened,” said Max, his eyes moving from Joshua to the multitudes surrounding him. “Every good soldier is frightened before a battle. Those who deny it are liars or fools. Even Bob is afraid.”

  Necks craned to glimpse the ogre, who smiled and nodded.

  “Don’t fight your fear—embrace it,” Max urged them. “Let it sharpen you and give you strength. Most of you have never fought in a battle like this. But when the call was sounded, you answered. You have the courage and will to overcome your fear and do what’s required. There isn’t a person here who hasn’t cheated Death to make it to Rowan.”

  Max paused as grim nods passed among the many refugees.

  “You’re survivors. In the past, many of you had to do it alone. But you are not alone anymore. I am with you. Everyone you see, everyone in this battalion, from Ajax to Umbra, is with you. War is big. Make it small. It’s not your job to defeat Prusias. Let others worry about that. Your only job is to defend those on either side of you. You do that and they cannot break us. Nothing passes Trench Nineteen!”

  A wild cheer went up from the battalion. Some embraced while others shouted angry oaths at Prusias or demons or whatever else they fancied. Those who were closest to YaYa touched the ki-rin’s broken horn for luck. At Sarah’s signal, the troops spread out along the trench, marching behind their lieutenants and company commanders until they reached the fluttering pennants that marked their assignments. Behind them, ballistae were being wheeled into place, healing tents had been pitched, cooking fires were lit, and soldiers were filling their canteens from the water barrels.

  Max heard a harrumph from below and gazed down to see Tweedy looking up at him.

  “All the arrangements have been made,” he reported. “There’s more water on its way, Chloe recruited another moomenhoven to tend the wounded, and Jack’s fellows are seeing to the cooking fires. Where should I take up position?”

  “Tweedy, we talked about this,” said Max. “You don’t have to stay out here. Once everything’s situated, you can go back inside the citadel. It will be safer there.”

  “And I told you, Max McDaniels, that I’m a member of this battalion and won’t be sent off for milk and cookies like a puling wee one. So where shall I go?”

  “By Bob,” Max sighed, figuring that if anyone could keep the hare safe, it would be the battalion’s ogre and his iron-banded cudgel. “But don’t talk his ear off, Tweedy. Bob gets quiet at times like this. Leave him be.”

  Turning to Cynthia and Lucia, Max sent them off to their posts—Lucia to support the right flank nearest the cliffs while Cynthia held the middle. It was an emotional moment. Even Lucia had tears, embracing Cynthia like a sister before hurrying off toward the cliffs and the roar of the churning surf below. Only Scathach remained, sitting easily on the Appaloosa with her spear laid across the saddle.

  “Your father would be proud,” she said, her eyes glittering.

  “Which one?”

  “You know the one I mean,” she replied. “Command comes naturally to you.”

  “Where will you take up position?” asked Max. He’d given Scathach the freedom to go wherever she thought she was needed.

  “For now, I’ll stay by you,” she replied. “The Atropos care nothing for this war; their only concern is you. That assassin is still lurking.”

  Max held up his hand so she could see the silver shining on his finger. “I’ll know if he’s close.”

  “If Prusias storms the outer walls, these lands will be riddled with demonkind,” she replied. “That ring will scald whether he’s close or not. You must not trust it.”

  “Then I’ll have to trust you,” said Max, smiling.

  “As you should.”

  Even as she spoke, her features shifted and Umbra’s guise fell away to reveal the proud, beautiful face of the warrior maiden. Her expression was solemn as she took his hand. “No one knows what battle may bring,” she said, gazing at his brooch and then at him. “Not even Lugh or the Morrígan or any of the Tuatha Dé Danaan can say where the spears and arrows may fall. In this hour, I would have you see me as I am.”

  From the north, a thunderclap sounded, a shuddering peal that shook the ground and rolled across the open country like a shock wave. The blare of horns carried to them on the wind, thousands of horns blown in unison. Beyond the outer wall, the dark sky was taking on an orange-red cast.

  Boom boom boom

  Even at such a distance, the drums drowned out the sound of wind and horses and soldiers settling into position. At the outer walls, Rowan’s horns answered in a blaring call as hundreds of catapults were loosed. The shots rose like meteors, tracing fiery arcs high into the night sky until they disappeared from sight.

  The battle had begun.

  An hour passed. Then two. Max found their position maddening. He could make out very little of what was happening at the front. The walls were now obscured by a haze of ashy smoke that settled over the land like a pall. Intermittent bursts of light crackled across the sky, illuminating the farms and forests like a flashbulb before the land settled back into shadow. Now and again, the earth shook or there was a cheer as horns rose above the din.

  Max was trembling as he walked YaYa back and forth along Trench Nineteen, gazing out at the wall. Already, the Old Magic was stirring within him, its awakening as steady and ominous as the terrible drums from beyond the wall. Even sheathed, the gae bolga knew that blood was being spilled. The spear hummed, its shaft glowing a dull red as though it had been pulled from a bed of hot coals.

  “I should be out there,” he muttered, shifting anxiously in his saddle.

  “Your place is with your soldiers,” Scathach reminded Max, calming her horse as it snorted and shied away from him.

  Scathach’s horse was not the only one that sensed a change coming over Max. As the pair rode past the platoons and companies, many of the troops ceased their hushed conversations to watch them. Some were obviously curious about Scathach and the fact that an apparent newcomer was wearing Umbra’s armor and carrying her fearsome spear. But most gazed uneasily at Max as though he were the stranger in their midst. When they passed by Tam, the girl who could perceive auras, she abruptly hushed her friend Jack and stood at attention.

  “What’s the matter, soldier?” asked Scathach.

  “His shine, lady,” said Tam, staring at Max. “It’s changing!”

  Max said nothing but looked at Jack, who had apparently been crying. There was vomit by his boots. Glancing at her friend, Tam spoke up on his behalf.

  “He okay,” she explained. “Just getting jitters. I told him to stick by me and he’ll be safe. Ain’t that right, Jack?”

  The boy nodded, blew his nose on his sleeve, and stood at attention.

  “Listen to Tam,” said Max, gazing down at the boy. “Stick by her and do what she says. Do you understand me?”

  Jack nodded, glanced appreciatively at Tam, and sniffled.

  “I’ll see you after,” said Max, riding on.

  The explosion occurred just before dawn, a pluming fireball in the northwest that shone through the haze, rising hundreds of feet into the air. The earth shook once again and there came a distant cry of horns.

  “They’re breached,” said Scathach, standing up in her stirrups.

  A foul wind blew in from the north, a brimstone reek that brought clouds of dust rolling down over the hills to settle upon the soldiers in their trenches. Another explosion, this time directly north along the section of wall that Max and Scathach had visited. Black smoke billowed up into the sky, oily and heavy as though from a factory or smokestack. It crested over the wall like a wave, spilling onto the lands beyond.

  Huge flares raced overhead from the citadel, screaming past like crimson comets to burst over the outer walls and signal that those forces should pull back. More explosions sent tremors shivering through the ground. The nearby earthworks trembled, spilling dirt and pebbles onto the hud
dled Trench Rats. The Enemy was already advancing. Gazing out, Max could just make out Stygian crows circling above the walls. At this distance, they looked like thousands of black midges buzzing round a bonfire.

  Twenty minutes passed before the first of the retreating forces reached the trenches. They hurried over the open country in glinting streams of armor and weaponry. There was some semblance of order to the retreat, but not much. Many of the troops were clearly exhausted, panting and sweating as they headed for the safety of Northgate. Some were grievously wounded, helped along or even carried by their comrades. Others were anxious to continue the battle and fell in with the trench battalions. Max welcomed them into Trench Nineteen, offering encouragement but also telling Sarah to ride down the line and remind the lieutenants to maintain their existing groups and formations. The reinforcements were most welcome, but they must fit in between the platoons, not among them. Otherwise all the Trench Rats’ careful training and practice would be for naught.

  The retreating forces thinned. Max heard a gruff voice barking orders, Ajax telling the troops to check their weapons and have a swallow of water. Wheeling YaYa about, Max rode along the trench one last time.

  Some of the Trench Rats were praying, alone or in little groups. Others were eating, wolfing down three days’ worth of rations as though they were having their last meal. One grizzled veteran was obsessively checking his gear while his neighbor smeared mud across his face like it was war paint. People had their own way of preparing for what was to come, but most simply stared ahead, gazing mutely at the band of flickering orange that was approaching through the miasma of black smoke. The very air seemed to vibrate as the drums grew louder.

  Boom boom boom boom …

  With each drumbeat, YaYa trembled and began to chuff from somewhere deep in her throat. She was trotting more easily, her limp less pronounced as she headed along the broad trench. Heat was rising off her like morning mist off a lake. She walked to the narrow gap between the Trench Rats and the neighboring battalion as Prusias’s soldiers came into clearer view.