‘But if it hadn’t been for the life extension the blood gave you, you’d be an old man now. Or quite possibly dead. We would never have met.’
‘I’ve thought about the irony of that a lot, Serrah, believe me. I’ve also worried about the great age difference between us.’
‘Oh, don’t start that again, Reeth. It’s not a problem for me; it shouldn’t be for you either. Let’s just be grateful that fate brought us together, shall we?’
‘You’re right. But that’s kind of ironic too, isn’t it? Finding each other at a time when future prospects hardly look bright. Assuming we have any future prospects.’
Serrah looked at him meaningfully. ‘We have each other and we have the moment. That’s more than a lot of people get. Look, forget us for a minute and think about the bigger picture. What did you make of what Praltor said about the Founders surviving?’
‘It occurred to me to wonder if it was some kind of mistake, or if he was imagining it all.’
‘Reeth. I know it’s hard to take, but don’t go into denial over this. It wasn’t Praltor’s opinion, it was from the Source. He couldn’t fake that.’
‘I know. As you said, it’s not easy discovering certain things about yourself.’
‘Look on the bright side. It’s not every day you find out you’ve got such influential relatives.’
Caldason had to smile.
They kissed.
A chorus of shouts went up. The lookouts stationed on the battlements were sounding an alarm.
‘What is it?’ Serrah said.
‘Look.’ He pointed.
A wagon was heading for the redoubt, accompanied by a handful of riders. The group rode hell for leather.
Serrah had a spy tube. ‘Reeth! It’s Dulian and Quinn.’
They were being pursued. Several dozen mounted soldiers were after them, their horses huffing white clouds in the chill air.
One or two of the redoubt’s sentries began unleashing arrows. Serrah and Caldason ran for the stairs, and went down them in a breakneck clatter.
When they reached ground level they found the gates had already been opened. Defenders were roaring encouragement at the approaching wagon, and adding to the rain of arrows zeroing in on its pursuers. The latter had already slowed, cautious enough not to get too close to the fortress.
As the wagon and its smattering of outriders neared safety, there was another development. A body of soldiers emerged from the treeline, their uniforms grey against the night’s blackness.
‘How many, do you think?’ Caldason asked.
‘Forty or fifty, maybe more. Shit, Reeth, they’ve got to us already. The island must be overrun.’
‘Not necessarily. It’s a basic tactic to send in advance groups of shock troopers. These are probably pathfinders. Small in number but veterans.’
The wagon and riders thundered into the redoubt, to cheers. A mass of defenders put their shoulders to the gates and got them rapidly closed.
Karr and Disgleirio looked shaken but were unharmed. Several of the men with them had minor wounds.
‘We were lucky,’ Karr explained as they helped him down. ‘Which is more than can be said for some of our comrades, I’m afraid.’
‘What happened?’ Caldason asked.
‘We were simply overwhelmed,’ Disgleirio replied. ‘It was all we could do to get out.’
‘What about the fortress?’
‘Holding, and quite well, I’m pleased to say. But they only have to wait it out, of course.’
‘It’s a chaotic situation out there,’ Karr added. ‘Defenders are holding some parts of the island and invaders others. We’ve got pockets of our people cut off all over the place. It’s anarchy.’
‘Any idea where Darrok is?’
‘No.’
‘Is there any good news at all?’ Serrah wondered.
Before anyone could speak, the lookouts were in full voice again, bellowing warning.
‘And that’s unlikely to be any,’ Caldason reckoned, making for the wall.
Serrah and Disgleirio followed, along with scores of others. They crowded the grilles and arrow slits. What they saw was a lone rider heading their way, with a mob of invaders on its heels.
‘Looks like a straggler,’ Disgleirio said.
Serrah had her glamour tube. ‘Gods. It’s Pallidea.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘There’s no mistaking that red mane. Here, look for yourself.’ She handed him the tube.
The rider’s pure white horse swerved to avoid a line of invaders blocking the way, then took off in the direction of the half ruined fairground.
Serrah clutched Caldason’s arm. ‘We’ve got to help her, Reeth.’
‘Come on.’
They hurried back across the courtyard, to find that Phoenix and Goyter had joined Karr. Swiftly, they told him what they’d seen.
‘We can’t spare a sizeable number to go after her,’ Karr told them. ‘In fact, I can’t see that we’re in a position to send anybody, whoever needs rescuing.’ He looked genuinely pained. ‘I’m sorry, but defending this place has to come first.’
‘Of course,’ Serrah replied. ‘But you’ve no objection to us going?’
‘I have, actually. I don’t want to risk losing you both. But I know that what I say won’t make the slightest difference. Just promise me that if things look too hopeless you’ll abandon the idea and get back here.’
‘We will.’
Goyter waved in a groom leading a pair of horses. Across the saddle of each was a breastplate and helm.
‘I’m not wearing those,’ Caldason stated.
‘You need all the help you can get,’ Goyter insisted. ‘Both of you. And the armour’s surprisingly lightweight. Now hurry up and get into it.’
Caldason surrendered and hefted the breastplate. Serrah was already in hers. Several people clustered around to help tie their stays.
‘I’ve something else that might be useful,’ Phoenix said, showing them a small black cube on his palm.
‘What is it?’ Caldason asked.
‘A personal deflection shield. It’s got enough of a range to cover both of you, providing you stay together, and it’ll protect against most edged weapons or projectiles. Have either of you used one before?’
‘Never,’ Caldason said.
‘A few times,’ Serrah acknowledged. She was fastening the strap on her helmet.
‘Then it can be in your care,’ the magician decided, handing it to her. ‘But don’t forget that it’s short-lived.’
‘How short?’
‘About ten minutes.’
‘Can we get a move on?’ Caldason pleaded.
They mounted their horses and the gates were opened.
‘Gods speed!’ Karr shouted.
Caldason and Serrah galloped out. The gates closed behind them with a mellow thud.
The enemy foot soldiers kept their distance, contenting themselves with jeers and threatening gestures.
‘Looks like there isn’t too much in the way of cavalry about yet,’ Serrah said.
‘The few we saw seemed more interested in catching Pallidea. Come on, she went this way.’ He spurred his horse.
They rode further inland, towards a cluster of abandoned amusement houses and pleasure domes, remnants from the days when the Diamond Isle was at its height as a resort for the rich. At first, they saw nothing but semi-ruined buildings overgrown with weeds and creepers. Then there was movement in the clutter.
Serrah and Reeth spotted riders milling amongst the ruins, swords drawn, slashing at the undergrowth. As yet, they hadn’t been seen themselves.
‘What shall we do?’ Serrah mouthed.
Before he could answer, the decision was taken for them. There was a commotion ahead. A figure broke cover and dashed their way, her flowing red hair unmistakable.
‘Hang on, Reeth!’ Serrah yelled. She slapped the tiny black cube against her thigh, cracking it like a raw egg and casting the spell. As the near
invisible glamour spread to cloak them, a tingle ran through their flesh. ‘Remember, stay close!’
They took off towards Pallidea, and found themselves riding into a barrage of arrows. The bolts ricocheted off the protective shield, some snapping in two with the force of impact, as Caldason and Serrah raced on.
Pallidea’s horse had been downed and she was limping from the fall, yet she moved like an athlete. A pack of riders were behind her, and gaining fast.
Serrah and Caldason pounded in. He leaned from his saddle, arm outstretched. Pallidea grasped it, and with a mighty effort, Caldason heaved her up and onto his mount. All the while, both horses were describing an arc, so that as Pallidea was anchoring down, the two beasts had already turned and were heading back in the direction they’d come.
The manoeuvre gave the enemy a chance to narrow the gap. Now it was a chase, pure and simple, with arrows continuing to glance off the protective cloak. Serrah and Reeth spurred on their mounts, and started to gain a lead.
Then the glamour shield ran out.
They only knew because an arrow plunged into the back leg of Serrah’s horse. The animal whinnied, stumbled and went down. Serrah was pitched headlong and bounced across the frozen ground.
Caldason pulled up and slid from his horse, signalling Pallidea to stay put. Taking in Serrah, the injured horse and the charging pursuers, he made an instant decision.
‘Go!’ he yelled.
Pallidea was shocked. ‘No, Reeth! I couldn’t poss–’
‘Get to the redoubt! We’ll be fine! Go, go, go!’ He slapped her horse and it bolted away.
Serrah was on hands and knees, shaking her head to clear it.
‘You all right, love?’
‘I…yes.’
He hauled her to her feet. ‘Then get ready to move.’
The first of the empire riders were bearing down on them. Caldason plucked a snub-bladed knife from his belt and flung it. The blade struck the foremost cavalryman square in the chest. His fall caused a moment of chaos for those following. A rider was unhorsed. Several others had to swerve sharply.
Caldason’s gaze flicked towards the redoubt. Pallidea was well on her way to reaching its gates, and horsemen were charging out to defend her.
But Pallidea had been lucky. A number of enemy troopers were moving across the plain, cutting off Reeth and Serrah’s way to the redoubt.
‘This way!’ he bellowed, snatching her arm.
They headed for another cluster of ruins, dominated by a tower, weaving as they ran. At their rear, hooves thundered, and arrows, spears and even a hatchet were lobbed. A shaft clipped the side of Serrah’s breastplate and she felt the blow like a punch. Reeth tugged at her, keeping her moving.
The tower seemed to be the only halfway substantial building in their path. They made for it, praying its door would prove unfastened. Long moments later, gasping from the effort, they arrived at the tower’s base, and were relieved beyond measure to find the door ajar. They slammed it behind them practically in their pursuers’ faces, quickly securing it with an iron bar.
The place was a watchtower, part stone, part timber, but it hadn’t been built as a defence, or even for any overtly practical purpose. Like so much on the island, it was ornamental; a prop to enhance someone’s fantasy vacation. As such, it wouldn’t withstand a determined assault for long. Even now the door shook under a battering, and was unlikely to hold.
They looked around. There was nothing but rickety wooden stairs leading to the tower’s summit, and Serrah and Caldason began running up them. The stairs creaked and swayed, while below, the pounding at the door grew more violent.
As they reached the second flight, the door’s restraining bar buckled and splinters flew. They kept climbing, and by the time they clambered up the last flight, they were breathing heavily.
At the top of the tower was a belfry, where a frame supported an iron bell large enough for a buffalo to wallow in. It hung above an open trap. Waist-high stone walls enclosed the belfry’s four sides, and there was a wooden crown above, but otherwise it was open to the elements. A bitter wind cut through, bringing a smattering of snowflakes.
‘They’re going to have that door down any second,’ Serrah said.
‘I’ve been in worse defensive positions.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, not by much.’
The door was holed. Looking down, they could see the tips of spears, and probing hands searching for the bar.
‘What do we do?’
‘Stand well back,’ he told her.
One hand against the bell frame, he scaled the wobbly banister. Then he drew his broadsword. At a stretch, he swiped at the stout rope holding up the bell. The blow bit into the rope, but didn’t sever it, and he struck again, gouging deeper. Strands popped as the fibres grew taut.
There was a rise in the level of noise from downstairs. The last remnants of the door were kicked in.
Caldason was about to deliver a third stroke, but there was no need. The rope snapped and gravity took the bell, sucking it neatly through the open trap. From that point it fell less tidily. It hit a balustrade, shattering it, and crashed into the wall, dislodging masonry and emitting a sour note. Then it dropped true.
The bell struck with a tremendous, almost melodic crash, sending clouds of dust billowing. It came down at an angle, one edge of its lip driven into the ground, its dome wedged against the entrance.
The staircase shook violently. Barely keeping his balance, Caldason hopped lightly to the belfry floor and froze. He and Serrah stood motionless, listening to the bell’s echoing death knell and waiting for the stairs to collapse. After what seemed a very long time, Serrah whispered, ‘I think they’re staying up for now.’
Caldason crept to the edge and looked down. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw limbs sticking out from underneath the bell.
Serrah edged over to join him. ‘Seems awfully quiet down there.’
‘This was just a hitch. Don’t run away with the idea that we stopped them or anything.’
‘Let’s see.’ Moving low, she led him to the belfry wall.
For the first time, she noticed that an elaborately carved gargoyle stood at each corner, looking out across the island. She and Reeth huddled beneath one, then they took a peek. Almost immediately a roar went up from below, and arrows quickly followed. One hit the gargoyle’s head, chipping an unsightly ear. Reeth and Serrah ducked back down.
‘I made it twenty or more,’ she reported.
‘Me too. Add the ones we couldn’t see and–’
‘And we have a lot of murderous bastards who want to get in here.’
‘Of course, we’re just two people. They must have better things to do. Perhaps they’ll give up.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Not really.’
He removed his helmet, then began unlacing the breastplate. ‘I hate wearing this stuff.’
‘I’m grateful for it.’ Nevertheless, she was taking hers off, too, revealing a spreading bruise from the arrow strike. At the bruise’s core, the skin was broken.
‘You’re getting a good black eye as well,’ he told her. ‘But don’t worry, I like dark-eyed women.’
‘Ha, ha.’ She dabbed at the bruise with a cloth, and winced.
‘Give it here,’ he said. He produced a hip flask and dampened the cloth.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Brandy. Good stuff, too. Darrok gave it to me.’
‘Trust him to have the best. Ouch.’
‘That should stop any infection,’ he said, pressing the cloth to her wound.
‘Which might not be our greatest worry at the moment. I mean, infections need time to take hold, don’t they? And that could be something we haven’t got a lot of.’
Neither spoke for a moment. Then she added, ‘Do you think Pallidea got through?’
‘It looked like it. About that. I meant to say…’
‘What?’
‘Did I do t
he right thing? I kind of took the decision for you, didn’t I? Maybe you’re the one who should have had my horse.’
‘There was hardly time for a debate, Reeth. And yes, what you did was right. You usually do. It’s one of the things I like about you.’
‘Here’s some more irony for you. For decades I wanted nothing but to die. Now I’ve found you and I want to live, just when–’
She placed her fingers on his lips, quietening him. ‘Who said the gods haven’t got a sense of humour?’
‘The joke’s on us this time.’
‘No, Reeth. As long as we’re drawing breath, and as long as we’re together, there’s hope.’
‘And the longer we stay here, the larger their numbers are going to get.’
It was nearing dawn, and the snow had all but stopped, though it was colder than ever. They heard noises from below, and dared another peep over the wall’s edge. This time there were no jeers or streams of arrows; the invaders were too busy lugging wooden props, buckets, shovels and bundles of faggots towards the tower.
‘What’s the betting those buckets are full of oil and pig fat?’ Caldason said. ‘They’re going to undermine the walls with fire.’
‘I don’t much fancy the idea of being on top of a funeral pyre.’
‘You won’t be. The tower’s going to collapse long before that.’
‘Great. What are we going to do, Reeth?’
He hesitated, looking hard into her face. Then he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small grey pouch.
‘What’s that?’ Serrah asked. ‘A glamour? Some charm that’s going to blast us out of here or–?’
‘No.’ His expression was deadly serious. ‘It’s something else Darrok gave me.’
He spread the pouch’s neck and showed her the contents.
‘What the hell?’ she whispered, actually taking a step back. The colour was bleeding from her face.
‘Listen to me.’
‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’
‘It’s the only way we stand a chance of getting out of here.’
The Diamond Isle Page 32