Rawl felt awful for him but had no authority to do anything. He was halfway to the stairs when he heard Bailus shout, “Cover.”
He was running too hard to hear the whine of the incoming stones but guessed it was some threat of inbound missiles. Clutching the bow to his chest, he took a running slide through the mud and slipped between the wheels of a wagon just as the first stones struck.
They made strange thwip-thump noises as they smashed into the mud about the wagon. Rawl heard the clatter of others striking the walls mixed with anguished cries. He was on his back, and as he lay looking up at the bottom of the wagon, a stone crashed through two planks of the wagon bed and lodged there, inches from his face. The whole barrage lasted only a few seconds, replaced by silence and soft groaning from the walls. As Rawl crawled out from under the wagon, he heard his brother shout, “Here they come.”
***
Paul had spent the barrage smashed between the corner of the battlement and Bailus. Bailus’s shield had been slung over his back so that the rocks glanced off of it like blows on a tortoise shell. As soon as the sound and feel of falling stones ceased, Bailus jumped to his feet, pulling Paul up with him. Paul’s first glimpse back over the parapet showed him the black creatures running full tilt at the walls. They were halfway across the meadow already. “Here they come,” he shouted.
His bow lay forgotten at his feet. He slipped his shield off his back and gripped his spear, and in that time the creatures were at the narrow cleared track of earth before the walls. They did not slow their pace as they reached the wall, and as they struck it they did one of two things. Some of them, with their weapons clenched in their beaks, sprang onto the walls and, gripping with hands and feet, shot up them like giant four-legged spiders. Had any member of Dane’s patrol been on the walls save Owen, they would have known what they had seen that night climbing sideways along the cliff face. The others kept their weapons in their hands and, reaching the foot of the wall, leapt upwards, gouged the wall with their sickles and swung up on them like a lever and in the next instant slung their flails so that the jointed midsection wedged between two logs at the top of the wall. With this hold and sheer momentum, they swung themselves over.
Kit Forsythe stood above the south gate. As the creatures broke from the trees and entered the cleared ribbon of earth on his side he hurled his javelin at the forerunner. Forsythe’s comrades had boasted he could knock a rising pheasant or wild turkey out of the air with his aim, but the creature swirled around the shaft like smoke as the metal tip buried itself in the earth. In the time it took Forsythe to recover from his shock and draw his knife, the thing had gained the summit of the wall. As it swung down onto the wall-walk, Forsythe struck it a slash that sent it spinning into the courtyard below. But even before Forsythe had a chance to shift his stance, a second creature landed behind him. The sickle flashed like a wicked smile as it came down on his neck. His head struck the battlement with a crack. For a whole second his body just stood there as though it no longer knew what to do. Then it collapsed in a heap.
Paul held onto his spear. As the first creature swung itself over the wall he positioned the shaft at a perpendicular to its body so that its whole weight and force fell on the blade. There was a horrible crunching-ripping noise and an even more horrible scream from the creature as the blade passed clear through the other side of its body. The death-writhing of the thing was so awful it tore the shaft from Paul’s hands and spear and creature tumbled off the wall together into the courtyard.
Even as the impaled creature fell from the wall, a second landed behind Paul. He held only his shield. If he’d taken time to think it through he doubtlessly would have been killed. But thinking things through was not something of which Paul was often guilty. He threw his weight against the creature, keeping his shield between them as he drove it against the wall. The thing’s ribs gave like a chicken’s that had been boiled all day for stock. Bird bones, Paul thought.
A third perched on the tip of the logs above him. Even as Paul crushed the life from the second, he saw, from the corner of his eye, the third raise its sickle above his bared back. Suddenly, a black blur struck the creature square in the chest. It gave a terrible croaking cry and tumbled backwards over the wall and out of sight. Paul turned to nod a breathless thanks to his rescuer, and that was when he saw his brother die.
***
Rawl had paused to load his crossbow when he heard his brother’s shouted warning, then he had sprinted for the steps. At the top of the steps, he had bounded over a prone figure which he knew by the shade of its cloak to be Owen. As he passed the lower cutouts in the walls, he could see, in flickering glimpses out of the corner of his eye, the black creatures charging out of the trees. He heard screams behind him as he ran. He saw Paul skewer the first enemy over the wall and smash the second. Then, when he was still 20 paces away, he saw the third crouch on the wall above his brother and draw its sickle from between its beak.
Rawl skidded to a stop on the slick boards. He knew he only had time for one shot, if that. He set his stance, took a deep breath, sighted down the bolt, and, as he let out his breath, he slowly squeezed the trigger. It was a perfect shot, but even as it hit home, Rawl felt more than saw a shriken come over the wall behind him. He spun. He deflected the sweep of the sickle with his crossbow but the flail struck him across the face so hard that his head spun around like an owl’s on his neck. He dropped from the wall like a stone.
When Paul saw Rawl’s body fall limply to the courtyard, he remembered his bow and forgot himself. He hurled his shield at his brother’s killer like a giant, iron-rimmed discus. The shriken sidestepped the spinning shield, stepped so far it almost fell of the wall-walk, staggered back, regained its footing and turned on Paul just in time to catch his first bolt through its throat.
Paul wasted no time with the steps. He leapt straight off the wall. Even as he dropped, a shriken fell beside him, landing between him and his brother. He shot at it wildly as he stumbled to regain his balance. The creature dodged and darted towards him. Paul stumbled backwards and, guided by providence or by sheer dumb luck, he walked into a narrow alley-like space. He had been standing above the woodworking shop. The narrow space he backed into now was formed by one wall of the workshop and the heavy boards that had been leaned against it in layers. He retreated until the outer wall was against his back. The shriken came after him. It had no room to dodge in here. He killed it easily.
When the shriken fell, Paul had a fleeting glimpse of the courtyard from his hiding place. He saw Tanlin Hall running for the door behind which Josie and the others hid. He saw two shriken pulling one of the doors of the southern gate open. He did not see any humans still standing about the gate. The flagpole above the gate had been hacked down and lay with its banner in the mud of the courtyard. Then the opening was blocked by the body of another enemy. Paul fired again, then again before the body hit the ground. As he reloaded (a difficult thing in that narrow space) a sickle shot in with the speed of a striking snake, hooked around one arm of his bow, and yanked bow and body into the open.
***
Josie stood in front of Elias’s bed. She was facing the door. She did not remember loading the bow or bringing it to her shoulder, but she realized now that she had. Outside were terrible noises. Some of them sounded like men fighting and some of them sounded like men dying and some of them did not sound like noises that could be torn from the throats of men at all. Part of her wished she had some view of what was going on out there and part of her was glad she did not. Then came the worst noise of all. It started with a pounding on the door. Josie tightened her grip on the bow-stock. The pounding continued but was joined by a new noise. “Lemme in, lemme in, lemme in.”
The boy buried himself against Molly Thatcher, who sat on the floor against the wall with her arms around him. The pleading at the door continued. Josie glanced from the door to Leech, who stood beside her. Leech nodded. He started towards the door. From outside there came a scre
am cut suddenly short and then silence.
***
When Paul was jerked from his hole, the shriken struck him a glancing blow with its flail that knocked him to the ground. The creature stood over him now, pinning him on his back with its foot pressed against his shoulder. It was so absurd. It was like a giant chicken foot. If Paul had not been about to die, and had his brother not been lying dead a few feet away, he might have laughed out loud. Instead he snaked his arm around the front of the leg, holding it fast, and drove his free shoulder against the knee. There was a popping crack and the creature lurched sideways and fell with a shriek that almost made Paul regret his actions. Before he could sit up, a second creature dealt him a blow with its flail that sent his whole left side tingling. It pinned him with its clawed foot at his throat. The dark eyes seemed to smile at him as the sickle rose high above his head.
Something that from Paul’s vantage point seemed the size of a young pine trunk hit the creature in the chest with a whizzing thud and threw it off of him. He rolled onto his stomach and saw, standing in the open gateway, two figures that he’d thought he’d never see again.
Dane and Mara had entered the battle.
But the battle was over. Something was happening to the creatures. They threw their heads back and screamed fit to shatter men’s skulls. Paul buried his ears beneath his hands and tried to roll his head up inside his body like a porcupine. But worse than the screaming was the voices he heard shrieking in his head: She knows. She knows. She knows.
The creatures inside the courtyard leapt back onto the wall and disappeared over it. The creatures that were still on the wall followed them. Dane held only his knife and Mara held no weapon, but the creatures did not rush them or try for the open gateway. In a few seconds there were no shriken left in the compound save the slain.
The men and women who still had breath in their lungs were too shocked and weary to cheer their victory. Paul pushed himself to his feet and staggered to his brother’s body. Rawl was lying on his back but his head was bent so that his face was pressed into the mud beneath him. Paul knelt beside him and pulled the lifeless body into his arms.
With crystal clarity he heard a door open and running footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see Josie standing a few feet from him. He turned back to his brother, but he was aware of others behind him now. Mara knelt beside him. At first he thought she was talking to him, but when he looked up he saw she was looking at Rawl.
“It is not yet your time,” she said. “Come back to us, Child.” She took Rawl’s head in her hands. She twisted suddenly and there was a wrenching pop that made Paul close his eyes to stave off nausea, but when he opened them, the clear blue eyes of his younger brother were looking up at him through a mask of mud. Paul almost let go of him in surprise. Then he hugged him tighter.
“I thought you were dead.”
Rawl laughed. “I think I was.”
Rawl leaned his head back and spotted Josie. His brother helped him to his feet.
“I’m fine, really,” he said to Paul.
Josie put her arms around him and kissed him in front of everyone. Mud and all.
There was a moment’s silence.
“What about the others?” Paul asked, looking at Mirela.
“I can only move where the energy is flowing,” she said. “I cannot bend it to my will.”
“Speaking of the others,” Leech said softly to Dane, “We’d better take a walk.”
The two friends walked back past the room Elias lay in and then circuited the wall-walk. Tanlin Hall was dead, his handless body laying face-down in the mud. Haley Stearn, a man Dane had hardly spoken to since landing on Haven, was dead. Kit Forsythe was dead. The bastards had impaled his body on the jagged stump of the flag pole. Dirk Ridder was dead. Fish, the cook, breathed his last with Dane kneeling over him and Leech holding his hand. Lane Townsby had a smashed hand. Leech said he would wrap it tightly with a splint. At this Lane asked if Leech could just bind his sword in place there.
At the end of their circuit, Dane and Leech came upon Owen Manies’s still form. He was lying face-down on the wall-walk and there was a large dent in the side of his helmet. His dog, Wink, lay beside him, dead a dozen times over. Leech stooped to turn Owen over but as he did the young man groaned and stirred. He rolled onto his back and moaned again, his hands going to his head. Leech helped him remove his helmet. He groaned. “Did I miss the whole thing?”
Dane and Leech helped him sit up and pivot so he could lean against the wall. Leech gave him some water. Owen flexed his legs. The movement caused him to screw up his face and groan.
“What’s wrong?” Leech asked.
“My foot,” Owen said. “My right foot. The ankle, I think.”
Leech gently helped him extend his leg and removed his boot. The ankle was already badly swollen.
“Is it broken?”
“Might be,” Leech said, pressing it gently between his fingers.
“That worthless foot,” Owen said. “Gives me nothing but trouble. Let’s just have it off at the knee, Doc.”
Leech smiled. “I’d say give it a month or so and you should be right as rain.”
“In that case, give me a crutch and have Bailus teach me to fight left-handed. Or get me a chair and a good spot on the wall and let me work them over with a crossbow.” Then he noticed Wink. He gave a little cry and turned his face away. “That damn dog,” he said. “Never could walk away from a fight.”
“He’s probably the reason you’re still alive,” Leech said.
Owen rolled onto his stomach and dragged himself on his elbows to where his dog lay. He buried his face in the bloody fur.
Dane and Leech left Owen in the care of Tipper and Dioji. Dioji and his master stood at a respectful distance, giving Owen space and time to mourn his fallen companion. As soon as they were alone, Dane turned to Leech. “Bax is out in the woods.”
Leech watched his face for a moment to be sure of his meaning and then nodded slowly.
“I think it should be the two of us. I mean, that go and get him.”
Leech nodded again.
Dane ordered the survivors to prepare the bodies for burial and to dig six graves.
When he and Leech returned from the woods, he found Mirela. “We’re going to bury Bax now,” he said. “No one expects you to be there, but I thought I should let you know.”
She only nodded.
She walked beside him out to the little cemetery in the meadow. They buried the dog first, then the men from youngest to oldest. This made Forsythe last and Bax the middle. In Elias’s absence, Dane felt compelled to say something about each man. When the funerals were finished the survivors slowly departed. Dane stood by Bax’s grave a long time. When none remained but Mirela, he knelt and whispered to the fresh-turned earth. “I’m sorry, Bax. I never understood. I never tried.”
He rose and held out his hand to her.
“I never loved Bax,” she said. “But I tried not to hate him either.”
She took his hand, and they walked back to the settlement.
Paul and Rawl were waiting for him in the gate. “Sir,” Paul said. “We have an idea.”
“Two ideas, actually,” said Rawl.
“Alright,” Dane said.
“We think they’re afraid of water, sir,” Rawl said.
Dane nodded. He remembered the shadowy form which had crept up to the stream in the dark that night but would go no further.
“So, we thought we could build a moat.”
“A moat?” Dane said.
“Yes, sir,” Rawl said. “We could dig a trench around the settlement and divert the stream into it.”
Dane nodded. “I’m afraid we’d all be dead-tired or just plain dead long before we finished.”
Rawl sighed. “We had another idea, too,” Paul said. “Fishing nets. We’d extend them on poles out from the top of the wall. Create an overhang, as it were. An overhang we could shoot through. I think it might give th
em some trouble.”
Dane did not know if this would work or not, but he agreed to it. For the rest of the day, after the shriken corpses had been dragged out and thrown in a heap to one side of the meadow, all able bodies who were not caring for the wounded worked to wedge and lash pointed poles between the logs near the top of the wall. These stuck out from the wall and upward at a slight angle. There were bundles of nets in one of the storage rooms and the men spread these over the poles, binding and nailing them in place.
There was still more to be done by the time darkness fell, but night brought a pause to their labor. Dane posted a double guard although he doubted there would be any attack until the following day.
At Leech’s urging he went to bed earlier than he yet had on the island. His rest was bittersweet. That night, he dreamed of Loshōn.
XXIII
Ambush
Dane’s dream was a nightmare made more of sound than sight. He could see things, but it was always as though he was looking at them from a long way off or watching them from under the water.
He heard the horn calling the men to arms. He heard Bailus’s voice booming. Then there was a silence full of doubt and expectation. He heard the snaps as the stone-throwers loosed their missiles, the whistle-whine of them incoming, and then the wrenching, tearing scream of splintered wood and twisted iron as the doors of the stronghold were smashed to matchwood. He heard Bailus give the order to open the rear gate and felt and heard the press of frightened people there: men, women, children, Avery; all ready to flee the doomed fortress and make for the hills.
He heard the screaming and crying as they ran. The sounds of confusion. And then it was as though he had a panorama of the disaster and saw everything as it happened all at once. He saw Bailus and the garrison standing in the ruined gateway, giving better than they got. He saw Torin Felcrist, frustrated and anxious, draw half his force away from the carnage at the gate and lead them, his horse foremost, against the figures which fled on foot.
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