Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  evidence of the power Eejakrat commands. Not a sign of it at

  work."

  "Maybe he can't manipulate it properly. Maybe it's beyond

  his control."

  " 'Maybes' kill more individuals than swords, my boy."

  "What kind of magic are you looking for?"

  "I don't know." The wizard gazed skyward. "The clouds

  are innocent of storm. Nothing hints at lightning. The earth is

  silent, and we've naught to fear from tremorings. The ether

  flows silently. I feel no discord in any of the levels of magic.

  It worries me. I fear what I cannot sense."

  "There's a possible storm cloud," said Jon-Tom, pointing.

  "Boiling over the far southern ridge."

  Clothahump peered in the indicated direction. Yes,'there

  was a dark mass back there, which had materialized suddenly.

  It was blacker than any of the scattered cumulo-nimbus that

  hung in the afternoon sky like winter waifs. The cloud

  foamed down the face of the ridge, rushing toward the Pass.

  "That's not a cloud," said Caz, seeking with eyes sharper

  than those of other creatures. "Plated Folk."

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  "What kind?" asked Clothahump, already confident of the

  reply.

  "Dragonflies, a few large beetles. All with subsidiary

  mounted troops, I fear. Many other large beetles behind

  them."

  "They should be no trouble," murmured Clothahump.

  "But I wonder."

  Aveticus crossed the Gate and joined them.

  "What do you make of this, sir?"

  "It appears to be the usual aerial assault."

  Aveticus nodded, glanced back toward the plain. "If so,

  they will fare no better in the air than they have on the

  ground. Still..."

  "Something troubling you then?" said Clothahump.

  The marten eyed the approaching cloud confusedly. "It is

  strange, the way they are grouped. Still, it would be peculiar

  if they did not at least once try something different."

  Yells sounded from behind the Gate. The warmlanders own

  aerial forces were massing in a great spiral over the camp.

  They were of every size and description. Their kilts formed a

  brilliant quiltwork in the sky.

  Then the spiral began to unwind as the line of bats and

  birds flew over the Gate to meet the coming threat. They

  intercepted the Plated Folk fliers near the line of combat.

  As soon as contact was made, the Plated Folk forces split.

  Half moved to meet the attack. The second half, consisting

  primarily of powerful but ponderous beetles, dipped below

  the fight. With them went a large number of the more agile

  dragonflies with their single riders.

  "Look there," said Mudge. "Wot are the bleedin' buggerers

  up to?"

  "They're attacking ground troops!" said Aveticus, outraged.

  "It is not done. Those in the sky do not do battle with those

  on the ground. They fight only others of their own kind."

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  "Well, somebody's changed the rules," said Jen-Tom,

  watching a tall amazonian figure moving across the wall

  toward them.

  Confusion began to grip the advance ranks of warmlanders.

  They were not used to fighting attack from above. Most of

  the outnumbered birds and bats were too busy with their own

  opponents to render any assistance to those below.

  "This is Eejakrat's work," muttered Clothahump. "I can

  sense it.'It is magic, but of a most subtle sort."

  "Air-ground support," said the newly arrived Flor. She

  was staring tight-lipped at the carnage the insect fliers were

  wreaking on the startled warmlander infantry.

  "What kind of magic is this?" asked Aveticus grimly.

  "It's called tactics," said Jon-Tom.

  The marten turned to Clothahump. "Wizard, can you not

  counter this kind of magic?"

  "I would try," said Clothahump, "save that I do not know

  how to begin. I can counter lightning and dissipate fog, but I

  do not know how to assist the minds of our soldiers. That is

  what is endangered now."

  While bird and dragonfly tangled in the air above the Pass

  and other insect fliers swooped again and again on the ranks

  of puzzled warmlanders, the sky began to rain a different sort

  of death.

  The massive cluster of large beetles remained high out of

  arrowshot and began to disgorge hundreds, thousands of tiny

  pale puffs on the rear of the warmlander forces. Arrows fell

  Aom the puff shapes as they descended.

  Jon-Tom recognized the familiar round cups. So did Flor.

  But Clothahump could only shake his head in disbelief.

  "Impossible! No spell is strong enough to lift so many into

  the air at once."

  "I'm afraid this one is," Jon-Tom told him.

  "What is this frightening spell called?"

  "Parachuting."

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  The wannlander troops were as confused by the sight as by

  the substance of this assault on their rear ranks. At the same

  time there was a chilling roar from the retreating Plated Folk

  infantry. Those who'd abandoned their weapons suddenly

  scrambled for the nearest canyon wall.

  From the hidden core of the horde came several hundred of

  the largest beetles anyone had ever seen. These huge scara-

  baeids and their cousins stampeded through the gap created

  by their own troops. The startled wolverines were trampled

  underfoot. Massive chitin horns pierced soldier after soldier.

  Each beetle had half a dozen bowmen on its back. From there

  they picked off those wannlanders who tried to cut at the

  beetle's legs.

  Now it was the wannlanders who broke, whirling and

  scrambling in panic for the safety of the distant Gate. They

  pressed insistently on those behind them. But terror already

  ruled their supposed reinforcements. Instead of friendly faces

  those pursued by the relentless beetles found thousands of

  Plated Folk soldiers who had literally dropped from the sky.

  The birds and their riders, mostly small squirrels and then-

  relatives, fought valiantly to break through the aerial Plated

  Folk. But by the time they had made any headway against the

  dragonfly forces confronting them the great, lumbering flying

  beetles had already dropped their cargo. Now they were

  flying back down the Pass, to gather a second load of

  impatient insect parachutists.

  Glee turned to dismay on the wall as badly demoralized

  troops streamed back through the open Gate. Behind them

  was sand and gravel-covered ground so choked with corpses

  that it was hard to move. The dead actually did more to save

  the wannlander forces from annihilation than the living.

  When the last survivor had limped inside, the great Gate

  was swung shut. An insectoid wave crested against the

  barrier.

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  Now the force of scarabaeids who'd broken the wannlander

  front turned and retreated. They could not scale the wall and

  would only hinder its capture.

/>   • Strong-armed soldiers carrying dozens, hundreds of ladders

  took their places. The ladders were thrown up against the wall

  in such profusion that several defenders, while trying to spear

  those Plated Folk raising one ladder, were struck and killed

  by another. The ladders were so close together they some-

  | times overlapped rungs. A dark tide began to swarm up the

  | wall.

  | Having no facility with a bow, Jon-Tom was heaving spears

  I as fast as the armsbearers could supply them. Next to him

  | Flor was firing a large longbow with deadly accuracy. Mudge

  I stood next to her, occasionally pausing in his own firing to

  | compliment the giantess on a good shot.

  I The wall was now crowded with reinforcements. Every

  II time a wannlander fell another took his place. But despite the

  number of ladders pushed back and broken, the number of

  climbers killed, the seemingly endless stream of Plated Folk

  : came on.

  ; It was Caz who pulled Jon-Tom aside and directed his

  attention far, far up the canyon. "Can you see them, my

  friend? They are there, watching."

  ! "Where?"

  "There... can't you see the dark spots on that butte that

  juts out slightly into the Pass?"

  Jon-Tom could barely make out the butte. He could not

  discern individuals standing on it. But he did not doubt Caz's

  observation.

  "I'll take your word for it. Can you see who 'they' are?"

  S "Eejakrat I recognize from our sojourn in Cugluch. The

  | giant next to him must be, from the richness of attire and

  'servility of attendants, the Empress Skrritch."

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  "Can you see what Eejakrat is doing?" inquired a worried

  Clothahump.

  "He looks behind him at something I cannot see."

  "The dead mind!" Clothahump gazed helplessly at his

  sheaf of formulae. "It is responsible for this new method of

  fighting, these 'tactics' and 'parachutes' and such. It is telling

  the Plated Folk how to fight. It means they have found a new

  way to attack the wall."

  "It means rather more than that," said Aveticus quietly.

  Everyone turned to look at the marten. "It means they no

  longer have to breach the Jo-Troom Gate...."

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  "Is it not clear?" he told them when no one responded.

  "These 'parachute' things will enable them to drop thousands

  of soldiers behind the Gate." He looked grim and turned to a

  subordinate.

  "Assemble Elasmin, Toer, and Sleastic. Tell them they

  must gather a large body of mobile troops. No matter how

  bad the situation here grows these soldiers must remain ready

  behind the Gate, watching for more of these falling troops.

  They must watch only the sky, for, if we are not prepared,

  these monsters will fall all over our own camp and all will be

  lost."

  The officer rushed away to convey that warning to the

  warmlander general staff. Overhead, birds and riders were

  holding their own against the dragonfly folk. But they were

  fully occupied. If the beetles returned with more airborne

  Plated Folk troops, the warmlander arboreals would be unable

  to prevent them from falling on the underdefended camp.

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  Attacked from the front and from behind, the Jo-Troom Gate

  would change from impregnable barrier to mass grave.

  Once out on the open plains the Plated Folk army would be

  able to engulf the remnants of the warmlander defenders. In

  addition to superior numbers, which they'd always possessed,

  the attackers now had the use of superior tactics. Eejakrat had

  discovered the flexibility and imagination dozens of their

  earlier assaults had lacked.

  Not that it would matter soon, for the inexorable pressure

  on the Gate's defenders was beginning to tell. Now an

  occasional Plated Folk warrior managed to surmount the

  ramparts. Isolated pockets of fighting were beginning to

  appear on the wall itself.

  " 'Ere now, wot d'you make o' that, mate?" Mudge had

  hold of Jon-Tom's arm and was pointing northward.

  On the plain below the foothills of Zaryt's Teeth a thin dark

  line was snaking rapidly toward the Gate.

  Then a familiar form was scuttling through the nulling

  soldiers. It wore light chain-mail top and bottom and a

  strange helmet that left room for multiple eyes. Despite the

  armor both otter and man identified the wearer instantly.

  "Ananthos!" said Jon-Tom.

  "yes." The spider put four limbs on the wall and looked

  outward. He ducked as a tiny club glanced off his cephalothorax.

  "i hope sincerely we are not too late."

  Flor put aside her bow, exhausted. "I never thought I'd

  ever be glad to greet a spider. Or that to my dying day I'd

  ever be doing this, compadre." She walked over and gave the

  uncertain arachnid a brisk hug.

  Disdaining the wall, the modest force of Weavers divided.

  Then, utilizing multiple limbs, incredible agility, and built-in

  climbing equipment, they scrambled up the sheer sides of the

  Pass flanking the Gate. They suspended themselves there, out

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  of arrow range, and began firing down on the Plated Folk

  clustered before the Gate.

  This additional -firepower enabled the warmlanders on the

  wall to concentrate on the ladders. Nets were spun and

  dropped. Sticky, unbreakable silk cables entangled scores of

  insect fighters.

  Dragonflies and riders broke from the aerial combat to

  swoop toward the new arrivals clinging to the bare rock. The

  Weavers spun balls of sticky silk. These were whirled lariatlike

  over their heads and flung at the diving fliers with incredible

  accuracy. They glued themselves to wings or legs, and the

  startled insects found themselves yanked right out of the sky.

  Now the birds and bats began to make some progress

  against their depleted aerial foe. There was a real hope that

  they could now prevent any returning beetles from dropping

  troops behind the Gate.

  While that specific danger was thus greatly reduced, the

  most important result of the arrival of the Weaver force was

  the effect it had on the morale of the Plated Folk. Until now

  all their new strategies and plans had worked perfectly. The

  abrupt and utterly unexpected appearance of their solitary

  ancient enemies and their obvious rapport with the warmlanders

  was a devastating shock. The Weavers were the last people

  the Plated Folk expected to find defending the Jo-Troom

  Gate.

  Directing the Weavers' actions from a position on the wall

  by relaying orders and information, via tiny sprinting spiders

  colored bright red, yellow and blue, was a bulbous black

  form. The Grand Webmistress Oil was decked out in silver

  armor and hundreds of feet of crimson and orange silk.

  Once she waved a limb briskly toward Jon-Tom and his

  companions. Perhaps she saw them, possibly she was
only

  giving a command.

  The warmlanders, buoyed by the arrival of a once feared

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  but now welcomed new ally, fought with renewed strength.

  The Plated Folk forces faltered, then redoubled their attack.

  Weaver archers and retiarii wrought terrible destruction among

  them, and the warmlander bowmen had easy targets helplessly

  ensnared in sticky nets.

  A new problem arose. There was a danger that the growing

  mountain of corpses before the wall would soon be high

  enough to eliminate the need for ladders.

  All that night the battle continued by torchlight, with

  fatigue-laden warmlanders and Weavers holding off the still

  endless waves of Plated Folk. The insects fought until they

  died and were walked on emotionlessly by their replacements.

  It was after midnight when Caz woke Jen-Tom from an

  uneasy sleep.

  "Another cloud, my friend," said the rabbit. His clothing

  was torn and one ear was bleeding despite a thick bandage.

  Wearily Jon-Tom gathered up his staff and a handful of

  small spears and trotted alongside Caz toward the wall. "So

  they're going to try dropping troops behind us at night? I

  wonder if our aerials have enough strength left to hold them

  back."

  "I don't know," said Caz with concern. "That's why I was

  sent to get you. They want every strong spear thrower on the

  wall to try and pick off any low fliers."

  In truth, the ranks of kilted fighters were badly thinned,

  while the strength of their dragonfly opponents seemed nearly

  the same as before. Only the presence of the Weavers kept the

  arboreal battle equal.

  But it was not a swarm of lumbering Plated Folk that flew

  out of the moon. It was a sea of sulfurous yellow eyes. They

  fell on the insect fliers with terrible force. Great claws

  shredded membranous wings, beaks nipped away antennae

  and skulls, while tiny swords cut with incredible skill.

  It took a moment for Jon-Tom and his friends to identify

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  the new combatants, cloaked as they were by the concealing

  night. It was the size of the great glowing eyes that soon gave

  the answer.

  "The Ironclouders," Caz finally announced. "Bless my

  soul but I never thought to see the like. Look at them wheel

  and bank, will you? It's no contest."

  The word was passed up and down the ranks. So entranced

  were the warmlanders by the sight of these fighting legends