by David Mason
There was a clamor, and men came running toward him.
“Lord Daniel!”
It was a river man, painted for war, feathers in his hair, and behind him others of the river people, shouting Daniel’s name. And among them, Galta and Lali, and Banar!
“We have been traveling for months!” Banar cried out, grasping Daniel’s shoulders. “The sea folk… we spoke with them, and they told us the city was besieged. We went that way, and met some of those slave-catchers.”
“They were between us and the city,” Galta said. “But there were only a few of them in the troop we met. We let one live because he knew you were not in the city, and told us so. Then we came this way, till we met others who knew of you.”
“We couldn’t bring an army,” Banar said apologetically. “Only a few would come so far, but these are the best warriors we have.”
“Where’s Ammi?” Lali asked suddenly. Looking at Daniel’s expression, she knew, and her face went white. “In… Numith?”
“Yes,” Daniel said. He turned. “Come with me. There’s no time for talk. I’ve found a half dozen sheepherders who know of paths that will lead men through the salt marshes. We can cut the armies of Iskarth in two, driving between them… to Numith!” He strode quickly toward the tent where the others chiefs waited.
All night horsemen and feet moved in single-file lines, following guides through the salt marsh. Splashing through the mud, a few fell, but most managed to make the shores, at a dozen places. The watch on the other side was badly kept, and when swords suddenly clanged in the predawn darkness, the posts fell swiftly. More and more men swarmed across now, while those who were already across mounted again and made ready to ride.
They saw the main body of Iskarth men, an hour after dawn. Word had reached the enemy by that time; the northern army of Iskarth was moving toward the threat. But the men of Iskarth were not to be given time to choose their battleground, though their numbers were twice those of Daniel’s force.
He had no chariots, yet they still waited beyond the marsh. So, when he found the right terrain, he brought his men to a halt, and waited, as more came. It was a low ridge, masked by trees, and beyond, a wide grassy meadow sloped up. Men ran hastily into the meadow, dragging caltrops of wooden stakes, tied in cross-shapes and wickedly sharpened. Others rode ahead toward the distant spot where the dust of movement could be seen. There, the riders showed themselves, discharged a few arrows and insulting yells, and turned again. The Iskarth men followed, shouting.
Their chariots charged and the caltrops caught some; others crashed into the pits dug in front of the trees, and arrows sang in clouds. Then, the melee of riders exploded into the meadow. Daniel discovered that he was in the grip of an insane drunkenness, a red rage that drove his arm and sword up, and down, slashing and thrusting.
He was splashed with blood, cut, though only slightly. The gaudy red cloak was in ribbons. And men were shouting, a wordless animal roar, swords lifted, a bellow of joy. Under the thunderous yell of victory, there were shrieks and howls as the last wounded men died. Daniel was dizzy and sickened, but he gripped his saddle bow and stared across the carnage, tight-mouthed.
They were primitives, he thought, and he had no right to apply civilized standards to them. Then a voice asked, sardonically, “Primitives? They don’t bother with prisoners… but did you live with so much more honor, in your time?”
Daniel closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to curse himself. Then he regained control, and rode back through the cheering men.
Now that these were beaten, the road to the northern side of the Salt River was open, and the chariots came. The army moved west, toward Numith, meeting more of the men of Iskarth as it went, and beating them down.
For three days they fought, again and again. The men of Iskarth knew, by now, what had happened in their own lands, and it took heart out of them. Many, apparently, had already fled. But those who were left fought hard, and Daniel’s men paid for each victory.
On the third day, the first riders came in sight of the wall, and Daniel rode with them. They saw none of the enemy in the lowlands at the wall’s foot, and they rode till they could see clearly. Ahead, Numith bulked against the afternoon sun, and the straight-edged line of the wall beyond; to their right, a road twisted upward, leading to the beginning of the causeway.
But a thick smoke hung over the city, and the stench came even as far as the little group of riders. Numith burned, and as they galloped closer, the sharp-eyed could see that the southern gate stood wide open.
Behind them, more of the army poured toward Numith and up the roads toward the causeway. But Daniel rode well ahead, Eshtak beside him, and others who had left friends and kin in the city spurring hard close at his heels. They rode up the road, their horses gasping and flecked with foam. As they came to the level, a horse staggered and fell; its rider leaped free and ran with them.
The huge statues of the ancient rulers lay, grotesque and broken, across the road, and the two towers were burned shells. Ahead, Daniel saw Iskarthans in a hurrying group, on foot, running toward him from the direction of the city. They carried sacks and other objects, obviously loot. When they saw the riders ahead, they stopped, in confusion; some turned to flee, some drew swords. Daniel drew his own sword and his heels dug into his weary mount’s ribs.
“Take one alive!” Daniel roared at Eshtak as they thundered down on the looters, swinging wildly.
The city was burned, filled with dead in every street. The harbor was a nearly solid mass of entangled ships and sinking hulks, and the air was foul with the stench of death. But the ancient citadel at the center was still holding out, though it could not have done so for another day.
Daniel’s army found few of the enemy anywhere, which puzzled them, till the story was wrung out of those who could still talk. Word had come, and the men of Esmare had been the first to begin to leave. Then there had been quarreling, and some of Iskarth’s men had fought with the men of the ships, even as they battled their way into burning Numith. At last, many of the survivors of both armies were embarked on the fleet, with whatever they could take. But because there were so many there had been not enough room for loot, another cause for quarreling, and the reason many had stayed behind.
The invaders were a mob, scattered in all directions and fleeing from vengeance. Only those who had taken ships were temporarily safe.
But Daniel had heard enough from the first man captured. He rode at a gallop through the wrecked gates, through the rubble-choked streets to the house of Zadosh.
A great grey shape lay, blocking the narrow street; an elephant, arrows standing in its huge body. Dead men lay around it and under it. Daniel, leaping down from his panting horse, paused and stared, a great lump in his throat.
“Sunflower,” he said softly. He had seen other haruths, many dead and lying before their houses. They had fought to the end, each one of them. Daniel’s eyes stung with tears.
But he was driven to know the rest, though he was afraid, too. He squeezed around the grey bulk and found the doorway; it was broken.
Within, the house of Zadosh was a ruin. No one answered Daniel’s shout, and he moved from room to room, his skin cold with terror, finding nothing. Then he found the gate to the garden, pushed it open and entered.
Zadosh lay on his back, a spear in his throat, a sword still clutched in his hand. Half a dozen dead warriors of Iskarth lay in the flowerbeds and across the path, and blood was everywhere. But then Daniel saw that three of the dead men wore arrows, thrusting up from their bodies. He did not need to look more closely to know those arrows; they were Ammi’s.
He sat down heavily on a bench and put his face in his hands.
Some of the ships were typical galleys of Esmare, long and narrow-beamed, with broad square sails. Others were broad merchant craft, slow and tubby, taken from the harbor of Numith. And there were smaller fishing boats, also captured craft, and a few of the clumsy vessels hastily assembled on the western sho
re. They were crowded, and badly handled sometimes; there were fewer of the skilled seamen of Esmare left.
There was no choice for the fleet. They would have to sail far to the south and around to return to Esmare; every man aboard knew the tale of Esmare’s destruction by now. Many talked of revenge, but the wiser ones knew that it would be long before their land could be brought back to its old condition. Some murmured against the king, and it was said that the former king would not have brought them to this. But it was not said loudly. King Ulff might be drunk… he usually was. But he had his spies, and he was not a forgiving ruler.
From time to time, the ships beached and the motley hordes flocked ashore to hunt and to seek water for the next leg of the trip. Each time, many slipped away into the forests.
Ulff had chosen his most trusted warriors, and the fastest galley, a lean craft with greyhound lines. It was heavily loaded with the loot of Numith, which slowed it somewhat; but it kept well ahead of the fleet, nevertheless. He spent most of his time in the great cabin, sodden with wine. It helped to keep his mind from too close a consideration of many things, including the woman. She was locked below, with great care; he had already experienced her skill at escape.
There were two women with her, since she was clearly about to have a child at any moment. Ulff, lying on the silken couch, stared out through the ports at the rolling grey ocean, and considered the matter of the child. It was one more weight in the balance, he thought. Two, instead of one, to be a price. It had been Rorin’s idea, of course. He would miss Rorin and his clever mind. But he had ridden too close to the arrow rain, in the end, and the clever words were stilled forever.
But it was definitely a fine notion. It would do all that he had set out to do, and then, in the end, Esmare would win, though so many had died. Esmare might be a ruin, Ulff thought, but the Great One had promised his servants rule over all that he gave them on land. Ulff chuckled and poured another cup.
The sky was grey and the sea a darker grey, slick, oily and heaving unsteadily. Astern, the masts of other ships showed for a moment on the misty horizon, swaying, then vanishing again. There’d be sick ones, aboard those tubs, Ulff thought, and guffawed aloud. He got to his feet and rolled with the ship, making his way to the hatchway and up onto the deck.
The oars were inboard; the sails bellied in a good wind. Ulff studied them a moment and belched. The steersmen, behind him, watched him uneasily. There was no telling what mood the king might be in, today.
“Mind that helm, you,” Ulff said over his shoulder. “You see the coast, yonder. It’s not a friendly place to run in.” He chuckled, staring at the distant line of shore.
Then he squinted harder. The wine, he thought; it made a strangeness in his vision.
A moment later the lookout called out, a cry of alarm. Feet pounded on the deck, and Ulff peered, with a curious chilled feeling. He had seen such long, straight ripplemarks before, he remembered now.
A tentacular arm curled up from the sea, close to the prow, snatching, and missed. Suddenly, the wine was gone from Ulff’s body, as if by a miracle. He clawed down an axe from the rail hooks and bellowed, “Out oars! Row!”
Another arm slid over the port rail and the galley lurched wildly as Ulff hacked at the arm. Now oars were thrusting out and men pulled with mad energy. Others swarmed to the rails, hacking and cutting as octopoid arms reached up.
Forward, a man screamed insanely, and there was a curious rattling sound. Ulff turned to see clawed shapes, each half as big as a man, scrambling up over the bulwarks ahead. Crabs, each a shining dark green, bubbling and hissing as they swarmed across the decks; each man they met was dragged down and vanished horribly.
The oars were splintering and rowers were hurled away like toys as the heavy shafts swung. A thing as large as the ship’s sail swept down the row of oars, breaking them as it struck; a giant triangular shape of blackness, like a great bird under the water. The manta returned, striking the hull hard, and the galley lurched again.
Then, strangely, they were gone, all the beings that had surrounded the galley. The ship rolled heavily, the sail alone driving it on. The crabs were leaving, dropping swiftly over the side; though the deck bore ghastly reminders of their presence.
For a moment there were scattered shouts and cheers from the shaken survivors. Then Ulff saw that they had been spared only by an accident, and their respite would last only a short time. Behind them, the sea boiled with combat, and farther away, a galley’s mast swung farther and farther over till it vanished. The creatures were attacking the main part of the fleet, but they were also being attacked, by others of their kind.
He did not seek to understand the mystery; he only knew that speed alone might save them, and that a fair beach lay not far ahead. “Pull, if you’ve an oar, damn you all!” he roared. “Get out spare oars, and pull for your lives!”
To starboard, an octopus surfaced, its arms wrapped around a violently twisting torpedo shape, an enormous shark. Bubbles came to the surface, a sign of more combat below, as the two fighters sank again. “Pull!” Ulff howled again, gripping the rail.
The beach was nearer now. Then the galley shook from stem to stern, as though something had struck it a heavy blow. It reeled, but the oars beat on, though water spouted through broken planking. On either side, foam rose, and huge dark shapes rolled helplessly; dead dolphins, Ulff saw in terror. Another shock struck the ship and a fountain of water rose, astern.
They use magic, the evil magic of the ancients, Ulff thought, his mind frozen with terror. He was like most of his folk, not as close to the Sea People as they had once been; his mind was full of fables and ancient tales. Now, the ghostly stories rose in his thoughts, and he gibbered in terror.
But the keel was grating on the sand, and men leaped for the shore, howling. The galley lurched as the surf struck it, and its keel drove deeper into the sand; then the overburdened mast, still rigged with the sail, gave way with a crash and fell across the deck.
For days, Daniel searched through the ruined streets of Numith, sleeplessly. He came to those places where a few prisoners were held, and questioned them in a cold voice, his face like stone. He searched out survivors who came crawling from the cellars, and questioned them with the same relentless voice. Eshtak stayed with him constantly, and Galta came, too. But there were no answers. No one had seen what had happened, nor was Ammi’s body to be found.
He collapsed at last, his body driven beyond endurance, and slept in his quarters in the citadel. Few of the Council were left alive, but the city was slowly recovering some semblance of its life.
When Daniel began to recover, he seemed a stranger to Eshtak and to the others who had known him. He did not show his grief, and he asked no more questions; he seemed to have accepted the fact of Ammi’s death, though there was no proof. He moved silently about the citadel, and often disappeared for hours into the lower levels. Sarak, the oldest Councilor, who had somehow survived the storm, went with him at times, and at others he went alone.
When Messengers came, in great excitement, to find Daniel in the citadel, he was once again deep in the lower rooms. Eshtak went down the steep stairways with a torch, seeking him. He found Daniel in a room lit with oil lamps, before a long table on which scrolls were scattered.
He looked up with the same strange look he had worn for the dreadful days that had passed.
“There are sea folk in the harbor,” Eshtak said excitedly. “The fleet of Esmare is destroyed, they say. And they want you to come to them.”
Daniel stood up slowly and followed Eshtak out. As they mounted the stairs, Eshtak said quietly, “You destroy yourself, Daniel.”
The man ahead shrugged, and, after a moment, spoke.
“Not yet, Eshtak. First, I’ve something else to do.”
“The lady Ammi may still live,” Eshtak said. They came out into the light, among the towering walls, and Eshtak put out the torch. “If she does not, there’s sorrow,” Eshtak went on. He put his big hand
on Daniel’s shoulder and squeezed. “Sorrow comes to all men. Sometimes even to women, though I wonder about that at times.” He tried a dry chuckle, but Daniel did not speak.
They went out toward the harbor, along the empty streets. As they walked, Daniel stared ahead; then he spoke.
“You’re a good man to have for a friend, Eshtak. No, wait. You mistook me, I think. I… think she is dead, yes, and there’s a great pain, because of it.” He was silent for a moment. “But I’ll recover from that pain, in time. Do you know, that’s a strange thing, Eshtak? What hurts me is that I know I’ll forget the hurt.” He laughed harshly as they came down the steps to the quay.
Men were crowding around the stone jetty, where half a dozen dolphins swam slowly, surfacing occasionally. The crowd parted to let Daniel pass and stand at the water’s edge.
A dolphin reared, and spoke in deep boom, oddly tinged with pain.
“There has been a great evil, man,” it said. “We who were brothers fought, under the sea. Many died. The ancient peace has been broken.”
Daniel stood, looking down, knowing the dark meaning of what the sea beast said. It did not really matter who had won, or that the wall still stood; the peace had returned, even under the sea, but the evil remained, indelibly.
“I am sorry,” he said. The words sounded incredibly silly, somehow.
“Those who served the lost one came against us,” the dolphin said. “But the ships of Esmare are sunk or driven ashore. It is ended. But the Morra-ayar send to you, to tell you. You must still come to the place of deciding; the time has not yet come.”
It slid silently below the water.
Time passed. Daniel began, very slowly, to return to a kind of health, almost in spite of himself. It hurt to consider that Ammi must be dead, and as he had thought, it was painful to discover that he could absorb the fact, and that the scar could heal. He worked hard; there was much to do. Now he was regarded as a hero, of sorts, and there were times when he began to enjoy that, a little. But it helped to be so regarded when it was necessary to bring life back to the wounded land.