by Angus Wells
Haldur bellowed orders and men went running out into the chaos. I dripped water between Shara’s bloodless lips and prayed to the gods I now hoped existed and listened to me.
“I cannot find her.” Nestor frowned, pacing the chamber like some restless cat unwilling to let go a mouse. “There’s magic abroad still …”
“Then you must know where she is.” Talan stroked nervously at his splendid helmet. “Strike there.”
“I did!” Nestor snapped. “She was beyond the fog, but now she’s gone. She left some magic there, that I believed her still in place. But now …”
“Now what?”
“She’s gone. Likely coming here.”
“Then you’ll be able to find her, no?” Talan picked up the helmet, wondering if he should latch it in place. He could see half his army slain and scattered, and hear the remainder fighting in the streets. It seemed, from the vantage point of the palace, as if all Chorym rose against him. He gasped as he saw a cavalryman swing a curved sword against a woman who held up a brass cookpot in defense. The blade smashed the pot away and cut into the woman’s shoulder. He could not hear her scream, but from the blood that gouted, she must be slain. But then three more women and an old man armed with a kitchen knife clustered around the rearing horse, all careless of the hooves, and dragged the rider from his saddle. Talan watched as pots and rolling pins and knives descended.
“Does she use magic,” Nestor said, and smiled.
“You find this amusing?”
“I find it pointless.” The Vachyn shrugged. “Shara’s slain. Does Ellyn employ her talent, I can find her and slay her. How can we lose?”
“How?” Talan gasped. “By all the gods, all Chorym rises against me! The gates are open, and …”
An officer, his armor dented, blood on his face, came in. He offered a cursory salute. “The South Gate’s down, and Hel’s Town pirates enter. There are Highlanders through the others. They fill the streets.”
Talan cursed long and loud.
The officer said, “It shall be hard to hold, my king. This place is a maze, and with General Dival’s force lost, it might be better we withdraw.”
“To where?” Talan clutched his helmet to his armored chest, wishing there were servants left to pour him wine. “Back to Danant?”
“To the palace.” The officer wiped blood from his cut face. “This is a citadel, my lord. Do we group here, we can hold.”
“And I can sweep the streets,” Nestor said. “Call in your men and I’ll cleanse Chorym of this rabble.”
“And can you not,” Talan snarled, “I shall be trapped here. As Ryadne was.”
“I gave you this city,” the Vachyn returned. “I gave you Andur’s head, and Ryadne’s death. I’ve slain Shara. I gave you Chorym—and I can give it back to you.”
“Your word?” Talan asked.
“My word.” Nestor ducked his head. “Call in your men and I’ll send such magicks against these invaders as shall sweep them away like rats in a flood.”
“And the city?” Talan stared at the fighting in the streets.
“Much will be destroyed.” Nestor shrugged carelessly. “But when I’m done, there shall be none dare argue your rule, nor any willing left alive, and then you can rebuild.”
“Or go home to Danant,” Talan sighed. Then turned to the waiting officer: “Regroup on the citadel.” And to Nestor: “Do as you will to win me this war.”
Ellyn rode in through the East Gate to the acclaim of the clansmen holding the portal. She winced at the signs of carnage. The flagstones were slick with blood, so thick in places that her horse slipped, and whinnied its distaste. There were bodies scattered all around, too many wearing the clan plaids, but more in Danant’s armor; and as she progressed inward, she saw Chorym folk—men and women, both—sprawled over the stained cobbles. But those who lived hailed her as if she alone were responsible for the rebellion.
Then Roark was beside her, helping her dismount. His helm was dented and there was blood splattered across his breastplate. His buckler carried the stumps of arrows, and the sword he sheathed as he came to her was encarmined from tip to cup, but he smiled hugely as he saw her, as if they were participants in some vast and amusing game. El-lyn decided then that she did not enjoy warfare.
And then he held her shoulders and she looked into his laughing eyes and ignored the blood that decorated his hands as he brushed her cheek with his lips and said, “We hold the gates, and Chorym rises in your support.”
“And you’re not hurt?”
“No.” He chuckled, wiping a smear of blood from his face that revealed a cut. “Only scratches.”
She wondered at that. He seemed to wear, on closer inspection, more blood than suggested by only scratches. But he lived, and she had greater concerns—now that she knew he survived. “And Gailard? Shara?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I got word the other gates … exploded. Your grandfather’s brought the Dur in, and Jaime’s come through the North Gate. The Hel’s Town pirates enter the South. But Shara and Gailard … ?” He shrugged. “I’ve no word of them. It would seem they go with old soldiers—Chorym folk—but I’ve not heard in a while.”
“And Vachyn magic?”
“None so far.”
“I must find Shara,” she said.
Roark said, “I can set men to seeking her, but …”
Ellyn turned as he drew his sword, his buckler lofting in automatic defense as a man ran toward them. He was dressed in mail, and carried a short sword in his left hand. Ellyn frowned as she saw that his right ended in a sewn stump where the hand had been chopped.
“Friend! Put up your blade.” He halted, panting noisily. “I am Haldur—Gailard’s friend”
“Then welcome,” Ellyn said. “What news?”
“Shara needs you. The Vachyn’s magicks have laid her low; Gailard sent me to find you. She needs you.”
“What’s happened?” Ellyn felt her skin grow cold.
“I don’t know.” Haldur sheathed his bloody sword. “She opened the South Gate and … something. She fell down, and Gailard fears she’s dying. I’ve sent men to find healers, but …”
Ellyn gasped as fear filled her, then she nodded and swung back astride her horse. The chestnut could force a way through better than a woman afoot. Though she was not sure what she could do; Shara had taught her more of defense and attack than healing spells. But even so … She motioned for Haldur to mount behind her.
Roark said, “I’ll come with you.”
And she said, “No, stay here. Do as Gailard told you—hold the gate and sweep the streets clean. I’ll find you again when I can.”
Then she dug heels into the chestnut’s flanks and dared not look back as Haldur shouted directions in her ear and she rode through the clamorous streets to where Shara—No! It could not be; it must not be!—lay dying.
I looked up as Ellyn came into the tavern. She pushed past Haldur’s men and came to stand beside me. Her face grew pale as Shara’s as she stared at my love’s body.
I asked, “Can you heal her?”
She did not answer for a while, but only looked and ran her hands in slow movements over the … I did not want to acknowledge the word, but it was “corpse” that came to mind.
The healers Haldur’s men had found had done what they could and admitted defeat. It was no mortal wound, they said, but magic—and against that, they had no power. Ellyn was my only hope.
“Nestor did this,” she murmured. “We’d hoped … No matter; what’s done is done, and now I must undo it. Save …” She looked at me and I saw tears moistening her eyes. “Gailard, I’m not sure I can. I fear …”
“Do what you can,” I groaned. “Anything; only save her, eh?”
“Yes, of course. But …” She paused an instant. “Nestor shall find us then, and surely deliver his magicks against us again”
“Do it!” I clutched her hands. “Save her! Please?”
Ellyn nodded.
I gestured at Haldur and the others. “Go! Fight, and win Chorym back. But leave us now!”
They went, and Ellyn bent over Shara, listening to her heart’s fluttering beat, her irregular breaths as I waited with no less a fluttering heart. I do not think I had ever been so afraid.
Then Ellyn said. “I shall need blood.”
Almost, I laughed. She needed blood? The gods knew, but the streets were awash; there was blood aplenty to be found.
She said, “Yours. You love her, Gailard, and she loves you; and in the castle she taught me that blood calls to blood. Perhaps, with your blood, I can save her.”
I drew my knife. “How much? Where shall I make the cut?”
Ellyn passed her hands over Shara’s body, speaking softly. Then she said, “Your wrist, do I remember aright. How much I do not know.”
“No matter.”
It was a suicide’s cut; but could it give Shara back her life, I did not care. I slashed the blade over my wrist and saw bright crimson burst forth. Ellyn snatched it and held it so that the pouring splashed over Shara’s face, into her mouth. She spoke more soft words and I felt a changing in the air around us. I felt my head spin as my blood ran out. Then Ellyn touched my wrist and the wound healed. I saw the blood run toward Shara’s mouth and her drink it in.
Then her eyes opened and she breathed a gusty sigh. Her chest rose. I touched her face, and she smiled at me, albeit faintly.
Ellyn said, wonderingly, “I had not thought I could do that. The gods know, but she taught me better than I’d thought.”
And all the windows of the tavern burst inward in great sprays of shattering glass and woodwork, and fire roiled from the chimney breast in searching tongues of horrid flame, and the whole building took fire.
“Quick!”
I lifted Shara and ran to the door. Ellyn followed me as burning roof beams crashed down and jars of liquor exploded in fresh fragments of deadly glass. Fire filled the street outside and smoke clogged my throat. I was never so glad to see a man disobey an order as I was to see Haldur waiting to help me carry Shara away.
Even so, I wondered if we could survive. The tavern burned like some vast funeral pyre, and lightning walked the street like some stalking insect that sought us out and would destroy everything in its path. I saw stone walls explode, and wooden buildings erupt in flame. The air seared my throat and watered my eyes. Men and women screamed as they were torched and fell down like burning rag dolls. The dogs that still escorted Shara barked and died, and those that did not ran away in terror. Ellyn screamed as her tethered horse was reduced to ashes. Shara stirred fitfully in my arms, and had I felt afraid before, now I felt true terror. I doubted I could bear to see her resurrected only to have her die in this awful conflagration.
I followed Haldur as he led us into a narrow alley. Flame followed us in searching tongues. Casements took fire and windows melted behind us. Alley cats squealed as they were consumed, and birds fell from the blazing sky in sad bundles of scorched feathers. Haldur darted into a cross alley and the fire rolled by, then came back and found the entrance.
Haldur ducked into a building I thought must be a bakery, where folk crouched in terror as we passed, and brought us through to the rear door, which opened on a little courtyard where there was a pool in which fishes swam. We dived into it as the building erupted in a great column of flame and ash and bodies.
I thought that we could not survive Nestor’s attack—that he must find us, now that Ellyn had worked her magic to revive Shara and thus announced her presence, and that he would strike us all down and all be lost—but then …
“Come!” Ellyn rose dripping from the pool. “We must move fast.”
She gestured at the gate that sealed the little yard. I thought she’d use magic to open the bolts, but she only waved Haldur on and urged him to kick it free, which he did.
So I lifted Shara and ran after them into a street where Chorym’s folk fought alongside Hel’s Town pirates and clansmen, and Talan’s soldiers fell in bloody rows. Fire burst like some loosened dam and came rolling down the avenue in a great wave that ate up and roasted everything and everyone in its path.
“Back!” Ellyn shouted and we obeyed.
We went into a tanner’s yard that stank even over the smell of burning flesh and the awful heat that filled the air. We crouched beneath the malodorous vats as the fire went past, and then again as buildings exploded and fragments of brick and wood rained down, burning, all around us. I saw the hinges of the door melt and run down the torched wood of the gate. I held Shara tight against me, setting my body between hers and the detritus that rained from the sky.
I felt her arms clutch me close and her heart beat stronger, and she looked into my eyes and said, “What did you do? I feel a bonding.”
I said, “Nestor struck you down. I feared you were dead, but then Ellyn came and I gave you blood. But, surely, we were bonded before that.”
She said, “Yes, but even so I thank you. Now help me up.”
I set her on her feet and she leaned unsteadily against me as she stared at Ellyn.
“You’re far stronger than I believed, but hold off your magicks now, eh?”
Ellyn was moving her hands and mouthing soft words—shaping a spell to protect us by my guess, but she halted as Shara spoke.
“Best that Nestor believes us dead, no? Let him think that, and he’ll end this destruction. Cease all your magic for now.”
“He’s killing people!” Ellyn protested. “He slays the clansmen and Chorym’s citizens with his fire! He sweeps the streets with flame!”
“And many shall die before we can halt him,” Shara said in a voice husky with weakness and regret. “But save we reach him, and slay him, there shall be more who die in his search for us. Weave those spells I taught you, and he’ll find you—as he found me. And then all’s lost.”
Ellyn ceased her spellweaving.
Shara said, “This shall not be easy, but we must find Nestor and slay him before he destroys all of Chorym in his search for us.”
“And Talan,” I said. “I’ll not let Talan go unpunished.”
“No.” Shara ducked her head in agreement. “Best we teach all the rulers of the world a lesson.”
“Then what do we do?” Ellyn asked.
“We find Nestor,” Shara said. “He’ll be with Talan.” She looked to me. “Where would the rulers of Chorym hide?”
“They’d no need to hide before Talan came,” I said, “but now … the citadel. They’ll be in the palace.”
“Then we’ll find them there,” she said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Chorym burned and the fighting moved inward. It was as if a pool of evil dried in the sun, withdrawing from its edges towards its deep center—which was the citadel of the palace. Talan’s men fell back on that bastion—those not slain by Nestor’s indiscriminate magic, or in honest battle—and found the gates locked against them. The clans pressed on, scenting victory now, and many of the Danant soldiers, knowing themselves forsaken by their king, threw down their arms and begged for mercy. Many were slaughtered on the spot, for mercy was in short supply after Nestor’s depredations, but still others were granted clemency and sent weaponless and guarded to the outer perimeters of Chorym. The main part of the city was ours now—but we must still take the palace.
I came through streets and avenues ravaged by the Vachyn’s baleful magicks with Shara pale and coughing in my arms. She was weakened by Nestor’s attack, but she’d not rest or seek refuge, and I could not argue with her, for I knew that we must strike now or lose this war. Though with the gates of the palace locked against us, I could not see how we might gain our victory.
A pall of smoke hung over the city, rising from buildings that burned like torches from the Vachyn’s foul touch. I saw blazing shopfronts and smoldering mansions; gardens emptied of trees and shrubbery, where only charred stumps remained. I saw bodies crisp as roasted meat littering the streets—as many Danant’s men as Chorym�
�s citizens or my clansmen—and terrified folk running in panic, seeking some refuge they doubted they could find. The air stank, the charred smell of burning wood mingling with the horribly sweet odor of burning flesh.
Ellyn stared about with wide, outraged eyes that bled tears born of both the smoke and the chagrin she felt.
“How could he do this? This is …”
She shook her head, unable to find the words that could express her outrage. And Shara answered, “He’s Vachyn, and Talan listens to him. Nothing matters save winning.”
Ellyn coughed and spat, and wiped at her face, where ashes settled, and said, “Is this the price of victory? That Chorym die?”
Haldur said, “Give up now, my queen, and my old soldiers shall have nothing. Talan will hunt us down and slay us for our part in this.”
I said, “It’s all or nothing now. We’ve only victory or defeat ahead.”
Ellyn turned reddened eyes toward us and ducked her head.
We pressed on through the crowded, burning streets toward the citadel. The waves of fire were ended now. I supposed that Nestor believed both Shara and Ellyn dead, and thus ceased his magicks in reliance on the soldiers within the palace. I could not imagine how we might enter—save we break the gates with magic, which must surely tell the Vachyn that Shara and Ellyn survived, and bring his power against us again. And I wondered if Shara could live through that, or Ellyn; but I saw no other choice than to go on. Nestor and Talan must die.
I saw a horse come toward us. I heard it first, because it screamed as its hide burned. Its mane was blazing and it tossed its head in pain and panic. It wore the livery of Talan’s cavalry, and as it passed, Haldur thrust out his sword and chopped its throat. It fell down bloody, tumbling over scorched flagstones, colliding with the corpse of a burned child so that both entwined and went skidding in a welter of falling bones and blackened flesh into the wreckage of a garden where an ornamental fountain lay toppled, dribbling sad tears over dead flowers and blackened soil. Haldur looked at me and we exchanged a glance, and went on.
“The streets are clean now.” Nestor filled a goblet and passed it to Talan. “Swept with fire, eh? And the only gate’s sealed and held by your men. The walls are manned, and no barbarians shall enter here.”