Sighing, he faced downhill and waited.
As they stared down the hill, Nikalys turned around, looked back at them, and gave them an encouraging smile. Like his sister, Nikalys was attempting to appear brave, but Nundle could see the mettle did not reach the boy’s eyes. Kenders offered a short wave back.
As Nikalys turned back around, Kenders muttered, “I’ve never seen him so afraid.”
Nundle stared up at her and frowned. For them to have a chance at surviving today, Kenders needed to be cool, collected, and focused. Fortifying his voice with grit he did not feel, he said, “Of course he’s afraid, dear. He’d be a fool to not be.”
She turned to look at him. “Pardon?” She sounded surprised.
Glaring hard at her, peering out from beneath the brim of his hat, he said over the din of the oligurt chants, “Dear, if you are waiting for me to tell you that everything is going to be perfectly all right, you shall be disappointed. Things will not be all right. Maeana will be busy today.”
Visibly startled by his directness, Kenders only stared at him, her lips slightly parted.
Pointing down the hill to the line of bowman, he said, “Many of those soldiers—perhaps all of them—will suffer a terrible death today. They know this, yet they are still willing to fight for you, your brother, and the hope you offer. They accept their fate, whatever it might be. You must accept it, as well.”
“I don’t want more people to die because of me.”
“Fate does not care what you want, dear."
Kenders lifted her head and stared at the line of soldiers before drifting to the mounted horsemen, then to where Jak and the others hid in the oak grove. Nundle had heard her pleading with him not to ride with the Sentinels.
“Everyone on this hill has made their decision,” said Nundle. “Everyone. Respect that. Honor that. And do your blasted best to help keep as many of them alive as possible.”
She peered back down at him. The nervous uncertainty that he had seen in her hazel eyes only moments ago was gone. By no means was fear absent, but it was at least no longer the dominant emotion.
“I understand, Nundle.” She reached over, patted his head, and said gratefully, “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” As her gentle tapping continued atop his wide-brimmed hat, he added gently, “Please stop. I am not a cat.”
She pulled her hand back as the corners of her mouth curled up into a tiny, wistful smile.
Nundle was about to ask the reason behind the slight grin when, suddenly, the oligurt chanting ceased. He and Kenders turned as one to stare down the hill.
A too-quiet moment later, Kenders muttered, “Why’d they stop?”
“I have no idea.”
After listening to the persistent, strident roar for so long, the instant silence was unsettling. The forest was too still.
In a voice just loud enough to be heard across the hill, Nathan called, “Everyone, remain quiet.”
A distant, low rumble of thunder rolled over their hill and slowly faded. The storm that had threatened earlier had never come, instead drifting south and leaving heavy gray skies behind. The air was so moist, so thick that Nundle felt as if he could reach out and grab a handful of it.
After a long, agonizing period of quiet, Broedi tilted his head and pointed to the northwestern set of fortifications. Nundle scanned the slope but did not see anything.
Nathan called in a quiet, calm voice, “Bows, arc twelve. Hold fire.”
All fifty soldiers of the line turned, facing the direction that Broedi had pointed while readying an arrow on their bowstring.
They waited.
The only things that broke the silence were the soft, wet squish of mud when someone shifted their weight. After a while, Nathan turned to stare at Broedi, eyebrows raised. The White Lion ignored him, his eyes never leaving the area he which had indicated.
Nundle leaned towards Kenders and whispered, “What do you think—?”
A muffled chittering suddenly surged from the area, reminding Nundle of the sound rocks made when grinding against one another.
Kenders whispered, “Gods, what is that?”
Nundle shook his head. “I don’t—” He cut off as the ground near where Broedi had pointed rose a bit, lifting like the thick skin atop a long-cooking stew when pressed with a bubble of air. A moment later, the ground came alive as dozens of creatures emerged from the ground, on this side of the first line of sticks and brush, flinging mud as they climbed from new holes. Sharp, pointed quills covered the monsters from head to toe.
Nundle muttered, “Razorfiends…”
The monsters in Zecus’ tale had been a variety of iridescent colors mixed with glossy black, but these were a matte brown, the mud coating them obscured any shine.
The fiends paused briefly to shake off muck and leaves before rushing toward the line of shocked soldiers, hissing and clicking as they ran, the quills on their feet digging into the slippery mud.
“Hold!” shouted Nathan. “Wait until they are closer!”
The soldiers fidgeted, clearly nervous, but followed their sergeant’s order nonetheless.
Nundle shot Kenders a quick glance. Her wide eyes were fixed on the shrieking fiends.
“Are you ready?”
Nodding quickly, she mumbled, “I am.”
“Just like we practiced,” said Nundle. “Keep calm.” He took a deep breath, reached for Strands of Air, and began to weave them together. Kenders, as went Broedi’s plan, did nothing. Her task was to wait.
The razorfiends rushed closer, brandishing their bladed arms like the weapons they were. When they were but a few dozen feet from the stacks of branches, Nathan’s voice boomed across the hilltop.
“Bows! Steady fire!”
Fifty arrows launched across the fortifications and into the charging razorfiends. Some shafts sunk deep into the softer, fleshy sections of the creatures: their stomachs, upper legs, and pinched faces. Yet any arrow that struck a quill simply bounced off and fell to the ground. The soldiers grabbed a second arrow and were able to get another volley off before the fiends reached the fortifications and leapt into the air, trying to jump the walls of brush.
Nundle directed the Weaves of Air he had crafted down the hill, grabbing a dozen razorfiends in midair and holding them in place. Broedi aided him in the effort, which was a blessing as Air was not one of Nundle’s strengths.
Throughout, Kenders remained motionless, her head tilted back as she stared into the sky.
The razorfiends suspended in midair met a quick death as soldiers stabbed them with hand-held arrows, piercing the fiends in their soft, vulnerable places. Not one of the creatures made it over the second row of fortifications.
As Nundle watched one of the longlegs rip a bloody arrow from a fiend’s stomach, he felt a massive surge of bright yellow crackling. He looked to Kenders and shouted, “Here it comes!”
A brilliant flash exploded overhead, paired with a deafening clap of thunder. A second, third, and fourth bolt of lightning chased the first in quick succession. None reached the ground however as the searing bolts came apart a few dozen feet above the treetops, exploding in dazzlingly bright, jagged, spider-webbed patterns. The worst part of the assault was the teeth-rattling boom that came with each flash.
Additional lightning attacks followed the first barrage, but every bolt was turned aside. After a handful more of the failed strikes, the lightning stopped. Nundle studied the sky, waiting, searching for more Strands of Charge, but he did not feel or see any. Smiling, he peered up at Kenders. He was ecstatic to see her completely alert.
“Wondrous job, dear.”
“Thank you,” she said while wearing a tiny, satisfied grin. “It’s much easier when I know what I’m doing.”
“Do not get overconfident. Broedi expected this from the oligurt mages. They will not remain predictable forever.”
From below them, Nikalys shouted, “Good job, sis!”
More than a few soldiers were star
ing back at her with expressions of open wonderment on their faces. Beyond the longlegs, on the other side of the brush wall, dozens of dead razorfiends littered the ground. As far as Nundle could tell, not a single Sentinel was injured. After doing a quick count of the dead or dying fiends, he muttered, “They lost forty of their force in that attack.
“And have nothing to show for it,” said Kenders.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “I don’t see how this could have started better.”
“Don’t get overconfident, Nundle.” He heard the smile in her voice.
“Oh, I’m not. Trust me, I’m not.”
He was well aware that the line between confidence and arrogance was thin.
Everyone remained alert, expecting an immediate follow-up attack. Soldiers held their bows by their side, arrows nocked. Nundle strained, searching for any flicker of gold, yellow, green, white, or black. There was nothing.
After a while, the company relaxed somewhat and resumed their patient waiting. The Sudashians were certainly not going to go away.
Kenders asked, “Why did they stop?”
“Perhaps they are reassessing the situation?”
“Not what I meant.” She pointed to the disturbed earth to the northeast. “The razorfiends. Why did they stop there? If they can burrow like that, why not go under all the defenses and come up behind us?”
A pensive frown spread over Nundle’s face.
“That’s a good question…”
Turning in a slow circle, he inspected the hilltop. There were certainly fewer trees here than in the forest below, but for the first time he noticed they were also shorter, their growth stunted for some reason. It reminded him of a ridge near his home in Deepwell, a small rise called Rockbump Hill. The reason for the name was obvious to anyone with a shovel who tried to dig more than a few inches into the soil.
Dropping his gaze to the mud at his feet, he pulled his dagger from his belt, bent to the ground, and sunk the tip into the ground. A few inches into the soft, wet earth, and he met resistance. He tapped the knife against what he had hit. Solid rock.
“Huh.”
He withdrew the dagger from the ground, moved to a spot a few paces away, squatted down, and repeated the probe with the dagger. Again, he met stone.
Kenders asked, “What is it?”
Looking up to her, he said, “Well, they may be able to burrow through dirt, but not stone. I think this entire hill is one giant rock.”
Kenders studied the hill a moment before saying, “It would explain the trees.”
“It certainly would.”
“Lucky for us.”
“Let’s hope Ketus can spare a little more.”
Standing from his crouched position, Nundle called his findings to the group below. Nathan repeated the ground-probing exercise with his own steel longsword. He, too, met resistance after a few inches. Soon, most of the soldiers were doing the same, all with the same results. They indeed stood on a small mount of stone.
A raucous, booming roar halted any further investigation as the oligurt chanting began again. Nundle hurried back to stand next to Kenders and looked down the hill, wondering what was coming next.
The voices quickly fell into a too familiar, steady rhythm. After a few anxious breaths, Nundle realized the sound was getting closer. He shot quick glance at Kenders.
“Felt anything?”
“Not since the lightning.”
“Good. Stay alert.”
Between the trunks of the ebonwoods and oaks, Nundle spotted flashes gray skin and dusty red, hairy hide tunics. Dozens of hulking figures emerged from the forest, stomping up the hillside, their line stretching across the hill, three rows deep. Nundle estimated nearly two hundred oligurts—no razorfiends—marching toward them, led by the demon-man.
The description that Zecus had given of Urazûd mostly held true—the spiral horns were terribly unsettling—yet the demon-man appeared to be at least as tall as the oligurts. According to Zecus, he had looked the demon-man eye-to-eye only weeks ago. Nundle was not sure exactly what happened when a demon soul inhabited a mortal’s body, but rapid growth seemed to be one of the effects. Urazûd wore a blood-red metal chest piece with matching greaves, and carried a long, curved sword that ended with a barbed, hooked point. Nundle cringed, thinking what that weapon would do if plunged into a person.
Nathan’s voice rang out and over the chanting of the oligurts. “Steady, men! We have the high ground!” The soldiers did not appear reassured by the meager tactical advantage. A moment later, he added, “And we are much better looking than that lot down there!”
Despite the gravity of the situation, Nundle smiled. He noticed he was not the only one, as longlegs up and down the line grinned.
The oligurts moved slowly, purposefully, up the hill, knowing their prey had nowhere to go. Each oligurt carried a simple club with wooden or metal spikes on the end. None had a shield or wore any sort of armor besides their tunic. Their strategy clear and lacking any sort of subtlety: march forward and hit hard.
The moment they were in range, Nathan called, “Bows! Steady fire!”
The first volley flew through the air.
As the hail of arrows struck the Sudashians, Nundle’s stomach dropped. If the shaft stuck the monster’s arm, leg, or chest, the oligurt would snap off the shaft or ignore it altogether. Only two fell, both from a lucky shot that had pierced their face. The Sentinels kept up a steady cycle of shooting: fire, pluck an arrow from the dirt, nock it, draw back the string, and fire again. They did not even take the time to aim, not that it was necessary. If they did not hit a tree, they were going to strike an oligurt.
Nundle watched the advance with growing unease. The repeated volleys were not slowing the Sudashians down. By his estimation, all but a couple dozen of the lumbering beasts would breach the first row of fortifications. When they reached the second line and the Sentinels, he guessed well over a hundred and fifty of the huge, incredibly strong beasts would still be standing.
“Nundle?” said Kenders. “I’d like to try something.”
He looked up at her, about to ask what when he realized she was informing him, not asking for permission. Her eyes were shut tight and her face a taut mask of concentration.
“Be careful! We cannot afford to have you faint.”
“I know. I’m only trying something small.” Her forehead creased as she frowned. “I hope.”
Worried, Nundle watched. Whatever she was doing, it did not involve Will, Charge, Life, Void, or Air. He sensed nothing.
Two new sets of bowstring twangs joined the first fifty soldiers as both groups of mounted soldiers began to fire now that the oligurts were in range. A thunderous voice bellowed over the chanting of the oligurts, trembling with unearthly power, as Urazûd urged the Sudashians to move faster.
Sensing movement behind him, Nundle spun around and found Sabine running forward with her bow, arrow nocked and drawn. Her eyes cold and fixed downhill, she loosed the shaft at the horde and immediately pulled another from her hip quiver. Nundle watched as she began to fire arrows at an incredible pace, faster than the soldiers were. One arrow had barely left the string before she was nocking the next.
Looking eastward, he spotted Helene’s tiny form huddled in a ball beside a tree trunk, her legs drawn to her chest, her head buried between her knees. As he stared at the frightened child, the ground shuddered. A massive chunk of soil exploded further up the slope, between him and Helene, forcing him to shut his eyes against the blast of dirt. When he reopened them a moment later, he found a hole the size of his horse in the earth. The smell of wet mud filled the air.
“What in the—?”
Behind him, down the slope, there was a solid, ground-shaking thud, accompanied by dozens of deep, guttural screams. Whipping around to face downhill, he spotted a muddy boulder in the middle of the Sudashian line with oligurts crushed beneath. The enemy’s advance slowed briefly before Urazûd bellowed at them to hurry. The line resumed its
steady march forward, only fifty paces from the first row of makeshift fortifications.
“Blast it,” said Kenders. “I thought that might work.”
Nundle glanced up, stunned. One of Sabine’s arrows zipped over his head.
“You did that?”
She nodded, frowning. “I did.”
He stared down the hill at the boulder, stunned. Accomplished Stone mages could do what she had done, but he would never have expected Kenders capable. Not yet, at least. Especially as neither he nor Broedi had taught her anything about the Strands of Stone. They could not. They were both deaf to that type. She must have relied on her gift.
As Sabine loosed another arrow, he peered back to Kenders. “How do you feel?”
“Fine, I suppose. A little tired. But not too bad.”
Another of Sabine’s shafts whistled downhill.
“Do you think you can do it again? Without passing out?”
Kenders peered down at him, hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I think I can remember the Weave and do it the right way.”
“Then do it.” He stared down the hill. Some of the oligurts had breached the first row of fortifications. “And hurry, please.”
As Sabine loosed another arrow, she asked, “Is this wise?”
Nundle stared up at her. “Perhaps not, but we have little choice. We either stop them or die.”
Sabine stopped shooting for a moment to glance at Kenders. “Do not pass out.”
Kenders did not respond, already staring in the empty air, her eyes focused on something only she could see: the ruddy brown Strands of Stone.
Moments later, another chunk of stone ripped forth from the ground, soared high into the air, over the Sentinel line, and came crashing back to earth with a sickening crunch, landing on more oligurts. The ground shook and the advance faltered. Again, Urazûd’s threatening shout drove the beasts forward.
Nundle caught Broedi’s warning eye and could guess what the hillman was thinking. Nikalys was staring up the slope, visibly concerned as well.
Sabine fired another arrow.
Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) Page 73