Raveler: The Dark God Book 3

by John D. Brown

  Sugar looked for a good way through, but didn’t see any.

  Out on the field, Argoth turned his horse.

  She didn’t have time to move two hundred yards to the right or left and scout a new way through. She needed to get out on the field now. She found a gap between the reserve battles and steered Urban and the others that way.

  But before they’d come within thirty yards of the reserve battle, a Nilliamite captain blocked their way and accosted Urban.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re just looking for our cohorts,” Urban said. “We were scouting and got separated.”

  A number of the men of Nilliam in the rear battle turned to look at what was going on.

  “The Fir-Noy are in the rearguard,” said the captain.

  “Aye,” Urban said and turned the group to walk down the line. “We’ll just move off this way.”

  The captain looked at Sugar. “Is that a Koramite?”

  “Yes, Zu,” Urban said continuing to walk away. “We caught her snooping.”

  More of the Nilliam soldiers turned to look.

  The captain narrowed his eyes. “Show me your wrists,” he called after Urban.

  Urban held up his hand, but kept walking.

  “What is that?” the captain called. “You’re not a Newlander.”

  “I think I see our cohort,” Urban called back and put a little more speed into his walk. “This way, men.”

  “Come back here,” the captain called.

  “No, I found them. Thank you for your help. May the Six bless your Lady.”

  Then Urban steered the little group back into the trees.

  The Nilliamite captain watched them for a moment, then turned.

  Out on the field, Argoth began to ride back to the fort.

  “We’ve got to get through,” she said with the mouth of her flesh.

  “Tell me where,” Urban said under his breath.

  Sugar looked, the soldiers of Nilliam dark in their flesh, but there wasn’t any pathway through.

  * * *

  Berosus prepared to slit Shim’s throat, then stopped. If he killed him now, the soldiers in his army would reel in shock, then panic. They might bolt from the fort. They might alert Nilliam. The commotion, at the very least, would make them suspicious. It might force them to act before Berosus could warn Shaymash. They might even let Shim escape across the ford and ruin the harvest.

  Better to keep them pacified until everything was in place. Better to lull them than stir the hornet’s nest.

  Berosus released the hilt of his dagger and said, “I should be out there with those you sent to take the Skir Master. This was, after all, my idea.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Grandfather was right. It was my idea that led us into this mess. I should be the one to help fix it. I deserve at least that much.”

  “You’ll give away their position.”

  “I won’t. You left me out of the first attempt to deal with Mokad’s Skir Master. Don’t make the same mistake again.”

  Shim considered. “How will you get past the dogmen?”

  “Leave that to me,” Berosus said.

  “I don’t know,” said Shim.

  “Trust me,” Berosus said. “I know better than anyone here how Mokad’s Divines work.”

  “And what if we clear the way into the mountains?”

  “We’ll find you.”

  “Let’s see what Argoth has to say.”

  “No time for that. Besides, all eyes are on him now; it’s the perfect distraction to allow me to make my escape.”

  Shim hesitated.

  Berosus said. “If we’re to die, I want to do it with honor, striking out, as a man of the Hand should.”

  Shim nodded. “Go and murder them.”

  Berosus smiled. “By your command,” he said and bowed, and then he left Shim and made his way off the battlement.

  Eresh was still making a show of his heads over by the gate. Berosus called to him and gave him a thumbs-up. The heads would give Shim’s men hope, make them think they had a chance. Keep them docile a little while longer.

  He walked over to the wall by the canyon, then climbed up and found the spot where Eresh had gone over. The fort wall jagged here because of the terrain and made an alcove that couldn’t be seen from the field, which answered the question why the dogmen hadn’t seen Eresh leave the fort. He slipped over the side and dropped to the dry moat below.

  He’d be back. He would strike Argoth and Shim down before the old Kish’s eyes. Then he would take the Kish. There was a weave that would house his soul nicely.

  Berosus crouched and moved down a ravine that led to the river.

  * * *

  Argoth rode to the gates of the fort, dismounted, and handed his horse off to one of his men to lead across the maze of short trenches. Each was long enough for a fist of men to lie down in a line. In between the trenches were mounds of dirt and rock. Many of the trenches were now the requisite four feet deep, and the soldiers were filling and tying off their bags of earth. Here and there other groups of soldiers moved the stones that might be picked up by a wind and dumped them at the base of the wall.

  Argoth walked over the trenches and back up to the battlement to join Shim. Out on the river Mokad’s ships sailed upstream under skir power. The lead ship’s big sail was painted with the red eye of Mokad. More galleys sailed behind, some with the red eye on their sails, others with a stylized boar’s head, the five-petaled flower of Nilliam, and other shapes.

  On land, a long thin cloud of dust rose above the plain. At the head of it marched the vanguard of Mokad’s soldiers, the spear heads and helmets glinting in the sun. It took a lot of people and horses and wagons to scuff that much dirt into the sky. From the reports of the scouts and what he could see with his eyes, Argoth figured the bulk of Mokad’s army marched in that column. It was probably twenty-five thousand men, plus wagons. Such a column could easily stretch four or five miles long.

  Argoth thought about Shim’s six thousand.

  Without skir, it wasn’t going to be a fair fight. Not even close. With skir, it would be a slaughter.

  It was true Mokad would have left a good number of soldiers in Blue Towers to protect their supply ships. And others to protect the loyalist clans. And others to conduct raids into the lands loyal to Shim. But the bulk were on the plain. And there were already thousands of the troops of Nilliam and Urz forming up on the edge of the field.

  Argoth thought of Urban. His decision to leave had stoked the fires of Argoth’s anger. They had needed every loremaster in this, and he had left them. But it was now clear that Urban’s predictions had been correct.

  Eresh came back from his decorating efforts and then went off to see about the passage back into the mountain. The soldiers in the courtyard hurried to finish their trenches. A number of ravens started to gather to the cliffs behind and around the hoodoos with throaty cries, knowing there would soon be meat below. Out on the field, Mokad’s mounted soldiers began to arrive. He watched the ships sail up the river under a powerful skir wind that sent the colored leaves of the autumn trees along the river bank flying.

  The lead ship stopped at where he estimated the old moorings were, the top of its mast sticking up above the trees there. Argoth knew Varro would be watching, waiting for the right moment.

  Eresh returned from inspecting the passage and asked what was going on. Argoth told him. A few minutes later Mokaddian soldiers appeared on the road leading down to the river. A few minutes after that a larger contingent of guards walked up from the river and took positions at various points in the wooded area and out on the field. Argoth figured this would be the moment.

  But nothing happened.

  Then there was some barking farther down, but it sounded more like a s
crap between dogs. Moments later a dogman yelled and silenced the hounds.

  “What do you think?” Shim asked.

  In answer another group of soldiers crested the bank carrying a litter painted in red and gold. They carried it forth to a small rise at the edge of the field and set it down. A moment later the Skir Master stepped out.

  Shim sighed heavily. “Why didn’t they attack at the river’s edge?”

  “If I know Varro, they did,” Argoth said, his heart heavy.

  Eresh said, “That whoreson of the Hand. He didn’t go to help them. He left to save his own rotted hide. I told you not to trust him.”

  There was barking down by the river, shouts, and then nothing.

  Argoth’s heart fell. It was long past time for Varro and his men to attack. Which meant Varro’s attack had failed.

  Two more ships arrived, their colorful sails mixing with the leaves kicked up by the winds.

  “We’re not going to beat that wind,” Eresh said.

  “How are the Burundians doing on that pass back into the mountain?” Argoth asked.

  “It’s a tall face of rock that’s plugging the path,” Eresh reported. “They’ve now decided the quickest way over is to build ladders. They’ll lash together a scaffold of some sort if they can.”

  “Ladders will work.”

  “You know how long it will take to evacuate this army over a couple of ladders?”

  “Quicker than with no ladders,” Shim said. “I assume you told them to hurry.”

  “Aye,” Eresh said.

  At that moment, another man walked up from the river bank with a few dogmen in tow.

  A murmur rose up from the men on the walls.

  Shim narrowed his eyes.

  “What in Regret’s name?” Argoth asked.

  On the road to the river stood Flax, blond hair shining in the sun. Behind him were a number of dogmen pushing Varro and the others bound before them.

  “I knew it,” Eresh said. “Rot the Six! Rot their eyes! Rot their unmanly worms and their children! I should have skewered him the first day.” He looked at Argoth and Shim, his one good eye burning with fury. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to sense.”

  Then the warhorns of Mokad sounded at the edge of the field, and the first of their foot soldiers marched onto the clearing to form up their battles.

  24

  Stone Giants

  MOKAD CAME SINGING, their war song booming across the field, the dust of their march blowing in with them.

  “Tell the men to ready themselves,” Shim said.

  His hornsman blew the order. Down in the courtyard, the men hurried to finish filling the last of their bags. Others began to move back to take their positions in the caves or shelter of the hoodoos. The deer Argoth had first seen crowded in one corner by the horses.

  “I’ll check on the firelances,” Argoth said.

  “You do that,” Shim said, his voice filled with the gravel of anger and frustration.

  Eresh turned around. “What can they do to us?” he shouted at the soldiers in the courtyard below. “Fart on us with their wind? The skir winds will blow, but the maggots out on the ground will have to come meet us man to man. And we will slaughter them on the walls. We will slaughter them at the gates. Dreadmen! Put on your weaves of might and prepare yourselves! Today, Regret will swallow up the men of Mokad.”

  “Well spoken,” Shim said. “Now we have but one course. We need you back at the ladders, Master Kish. Open the way into the mountains.”

  “I would rather blood Mokad.”

  “Take this victory away from that vile traitor.”

  Eresh grimaced, then left the parapet and stormed across the courtyard to oversee things in the passageway.

  Argoth had no idea how long they’d have to hold, so he checked on the teams that would operate the firelances, making sure their gear was secure in the pits dug against the wall, and asking their leaders to drill the race to the top of the battlement when the winds left. He noticed Lord Hardy and Vance were ordering their own men. As they did, the army of Mokad arrayed itself on the field outside the fort.

  Men had been making their way to void their bowels in the remnants of the garderobes and over the sides of the walls. But with the dread falling upon them, more men were making their way. Soon the men would have to soil the ground where they stood, for there would be no time in battle to run to the jacks. Fighting also made the throat dry, and a group of men were hauling up water from the old well and filling goat skins.

  One group of men were igniting braids of cured godsweed and putting them in small clay pipes they hung from cords about their necks. Another bunch from Bain were chewing the weed, even though the juice could make a man violently ill, and smearing the masticated chew in stripes over their armor and faces and mixing it in their hair. There were other men with sendings of various sorts, and they began taking these out, muttering prayers and blowing their calls to the ancestors. There was a group of men in Vance’s ranks with ties back to the old country who were stomping out a war chant meant to invite the power of the old gods of their lands that they claimed to be descended from.

  Argoth had his own sending, but he refrained from blowing it because he did not want the men to think he’d given up hope. As he walked back, a fistman asked him how many men Mokad had brought.

  A number of the soldiers in the area turned to listen to the answer.

  Argoth raised his voice. “Not enough, the poor whoresons. They fear us. Don’t you forget that. They have brought a coalition because they fear us. They know they can’t beat us on their own.”

  “But what about the skir?” another man asked.

  “The earth will protect you from their skir,” he said. “Then it will be man against man. And there is nothing out there we cannot kill.”

  “But their numbers.”

  “You don’t have to fight them all at once. Only so many can approach the gates. And they only have so many ladders to scale the walls. You fight them one at a time. You knock down the man in front of you until there are no more men left to knock down.”

  The soldiers looked at each other a bit dubious.

  Argoth smiled broadly. “Years hence, warriors in foreign lands will talk of this day. Of this battle. The children of your grandchildren will tell your stories and how you beat back the army of the Devourers. They are ants. Squash them under your feet.”

  “I wish we had just a little ale to fortify us,” one of the men said.

  “Without the wagons, there was no room for ale,” Argoth said. “But we will have plenty of ale to drink every night throughout this winter. Fortify yourself with thoughts of your ancestors and of the sons and daughters who will call you blessed.”

  He could see a few of the men nodding.

  “Those who would eat your fathers and mothers and children are at the doors. Show them your anger. Show them your teeth. Show them what it means to fight mankind.”

  Many more in the area had turned to listen to his words, and he could see apprehensive fear. But in many more of their eyes was the angry resolve of men ready to kill to protect what was theirs.

  Argoth looked at their trenches. They were dug wide enough for a man to lie down in. They were deep enough to stand a shield up on its side. “Are your sacks all ready?”

  “Aye, Zu.”

  And they were. Each sack had handles on it. The men would lie down in their trenches next to their shields, their weapons with them. One heavy sack of earth would cover their legs, another their upper body. The sacks were about fifty or sixty pounds each, and only the strongest of winds could reach down into the trench to wrench the sack out of a man’s hands. Until that time the sack would protect them from the glass and stone teeth of the wind.

  “What about Flax?” a man said.

  “Flax was one man,” Argoth said
. “And it was not he who bested the champion of the dogmen. It was our own Kish. Flax will die with the rest of them.”

  Out on the field, the army of Mokad let out a cheer, thousands of voices strong, that sounded like the rushing of great waters.

  “They are ants!” Argoth shouted. “Today is our day! Today mankind rises.”

  Then he continued back to the battlement where Shim stood and saw the armies of Mokad upon the field. The battles of Nilliam and Urz formed up to the right. Mokad in the middle. And the river on the left. They were a terrible sight to behold, their colored banners waving lazily in the breeze. Behind them at the river, a number of ships had tied up to the moorings.

  “What were they hollering about?” Argoth asked.

  “Over there,” Shim said and pointed.

  Out on the field, a team of horses paraded a wagon in front of the troops. On its bed was a cage made with stout timbers and iron bars, a sleth cage. Inside the cage was a boy.

  “Legs,” Argoth said. “Is that Legs?”

  “I think so,” said Shim. “Who else would it be? He was seen last with Flax. You know what they’re doing, don’t you? It’s the lie they’re going to build. The sleth children who subverted Shim. The great masterminds. It’s all a show.”

  “I don’t see Sugar. Is there another wagon?”

  “Only the one.”

  “Maybe our spies were wrong,” Argoth said. “Maybe she wasn’t caught back at Blue Towers.”

  Eresh said, “Or maybe they’re parading her through the rest of the land. Building up a big anticipation for an execution. A public display to show the herds they were now safe from the predators thanks to their gracious Glory and his army.”

  A scout atop one of the hoodoos shouted. “Bone Faces!”

  Argoth looked out toward the sea. He could only just make out the sails.

  Shim cursed and said, “Coming to plunder under our noses while we’re tied up here. I swear to you that when we’ve chased Mokad from our shores, we are going to take the battle to the shores of the Bone Faces. We are going to march on their Kragows and blood their fields and burn their ships until there isn’t one of them left to turn a plow.”