by Ian Irvine
‘What is it?’ he said quietly, climbing up onto the right-hand wall.
‘Mifly heard rock crack on rock, down the track,’ said Flangers.
‘Could they be ready to attack again so quickly?’
‘It’s been five hours since the avalanche.’
‘Really?’ Nish felt as though he’d slept for ten minutes. He peered over. ‘I don’t see any lights.’
‘This fog is thicker than mud. Besides, the enemy might have a way of seeing in the dark, just as you do with clear-sight.’
‘If they can see in the dark, it’s a lot better than my clear-sight,’ Nish muttered.
‘It showed you the flaw in the ice.’ Flangers told the guards to be ready, not that they needed orders. ‘Runner, stand by to wake our reinforcements when I say so.’
Huwld was standing by. ‘I could run up to the tents now, surr.’ Though the Gendrigoreans called Nish by name, they always deferred to Flangers.
‘Let them sleep. They need it.’
Clack. ‘There it is again,’ said Flangers. ‘And not far down. The enemy must be sneaking up, hoping to catch us asleep. As if my men would ever sleep on duty.’
Nish smiled thinly. Almost any man might sleep on duty, if sufficiently exhausted. He had done it himself, once or twice. But not Flangers, evidently. ‘Duty can be the breaking of a man, if it’s too onerous.’
‘And the making of another,’ said Flangers. ‘I’ve often found it to be a crutch when my courage was faltering.’ He moved to the edge of the wall, which here, founded on top of a rock buttress, was a good three spans above the slope.
‘They’re close,’ he said to the defenders. ‘And remember that they need not be men – the enemy has all kinds of beasts, both savage native ones and fell creatures flesh-formed to suit Jal-Nish’s vicious purposes. We must be prepared for anything. Are the torches ready?’
‘They’re ready,’ a woman said, from the darkness below. ‘Shall I light them?’
‘Yes, and hold them high so we can see our attackers. But don’t expose yourselves to enemy fire.’
Light flared behind the wall and Nish caught a pleasantly pungent whiff of burning pine resin. Resin-coated torches, bound to spears, were carried up onto the left and right walls, and raised high. Nish and Flangers crouched down and peered through arrow slits in the outer wall. The flaring light reflected off the drifting mist, and Nish caught only occasional glimpses of the track.
‘I saw something moving, about fifty paces down,’ whispered a guard. ‘It’s huge, but low to the ground. Want me to put a spear into it, lieutenant?’
‘Let’s see what it is first,’ said Flangers. ‘When dealing with beasts, you should always know what they are before you attack.’
‘It’s hard to see through this cursed mist,’ said another. ‘Looks like a bear, creeping on its belly.’
‘Bears can take too much punishment, and they climb too well,’ muttered Flangers. ‘If Klarm has a squad of bears, they’ll snatch this pass in no time.’
‘Raise the torches a bit,’ said Nish, standing up to look over the outer wall, heedless of the risk of being taken by an arrow. He could just make out a low, bear-like shape, mounded in the middle, humping along the ground.
‘That’s no bear. It’s a man,’ he muttered. ‘Hold your fire! It’s a wounded man.’
‘We should finish him off,’ said the guard on the left. ‘That’s what they’d do to us.’
‘Don’t fire!’ bellowed Nish, feeling the hairs rising on the backs of his hands, for he had just had an outrageous thought. He scrambled down the steps at the back of the barrier, ignoring the pain in his legs, and ran around to the slot. ‘Out of the way. Let me through.’
He pushed between the guards, scrambled over the rock wall blocking the lower half of the slot, and moved down, slowly now. Could it possibly be him? Tears sprang to his eyes and he could barely swallow for the lump in his throat. Yes, he’d know that enormous shaggy mop anywhere.
‘It’s Clech! Get a stretcher.’
Clech was forcing himself up the steep slope on his back, using just his mighty arms. His legs trailed below him and each movement raised him only a couple of ells. A little mound rested on his belly, on its side. Aimee’s body. And then it moved! She moved, and groaned.
Nish felt the hair rise on the top of his head. He swallowed painfully. It was impossible, but they were alive! But in bad shape.
‘Clech?’ said Nish, as two men came scrambling down, bearing a stretcher made from tent canvas bound to a pair of spears. ‘What happened?’
‘Bloody fool broke both legs,’ said Aimee in the barest whisper. ‘I told him to land on his big fat head, but he took no notice.’
‘Had to hold you like a baby,’ Clech croaked. ‘Had to look after those little sparrow ribs of yours.’
‘Sparrow ribs!’ she whispered in outrage.
They continued bickering as they were loaded on the stretcher, still locked in each other’s arms, and Nish called another two men down to lift the weight.
‘I thought you were dead,’ said Nish. ‘How did you survive?’
‘We expected to die,’ said Aimee quietly. ‘But the bowl was full of snow and wet ice, smashed into powder, and we went down a span or two before it broke our fall. We nearly suffocated getting free.’
‘Why didn’t you call for help once you were out?’ said Flangers.
‘Silly lunkhead slipped and knocked his head on a rock. Took him ages to come to, and I didn’t have the breath to yell.’
‘I’m not surprised, with broken ribs,’ said Flangers. ‘Still, the healers know how to deal with those. Let’s get you into shelter, in case the enemy are about.’
Nish embraced them both, not bothering to hide his tears, and left them to the healers. Their survival was a little beacon of hope in the darkness that had surrounded Santhenar for so long, and the best possible ending to such a desperate day.
SIXTEEN
Surr,’ Flangers shook Nish by the shoulder. ‘Wake up.’
He felt as though he had been submerged in treacle. His body clung to sleep; his exhausted mind yearned for it and had to be prised awake.
‘Is something wrong?’ he said groggily.
‘They’re attacking again, from both sides, and they mean to finish us off.’
Nish sat up, rubbing his eyes, and glanced out through the tent entrance, into darkness. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just before dawn. The enemy troops are throwing themselves at the defences. I – I’ve never seen anything like it; they’re taking suicidal risks. Klarm must have upped the reward, made it so high that they’ll do anything to get it. Things are getting a bit desperate.’
Nish snapped awake, for Flangers never exaggerated and if he was worried, it must be really bad. Nish pulled on his boots and crawled out, the sabre’s sheath dragging on the ground, for he’d been too exhausted to take it off. He brought the serpent staff as well, though he had no idea if it could be used for offensive purposes.
Outside, the sky had cleared and the stars were visible. He hadn’t often seen them in Gendrigore. ‘Where do you need me, Lieutenant?’
‘The western pass. There are a lot of torches down the track; the enemy could have five hundred men down there.’
‘Has Klarm marched more reinforcements across Liver-Leech?’
‘I assume so.’
‘Then they must have left before the avalanche.’
‘No doubt of it.’
Nish rubbed his bristly jawline. ‘In that case, they may not know that a good part of his army has been destroyed.’
‘Klarm’s scriers would know, surely?’
‘I’m not sure they can talk to him from a distance, up here,’ Nish said. ‘When Klarm attacked us in the clearing the other day, he kept flying back and forth as if he didn’t know what was going on.’
‘He may not be as expert with the tears as Jal-Nish,’ Flangers speculated.
‘And maybe his wisp-watchers and
the like can’t talk to the tears in this rugged country. Therefore, if the air-sled isn’t working …’ or Flydd has nicked off with it, Nish thought blackly, ‘Klarm will be as much in the dark as we are.’
‘That must mean this attack was planned yesterday, before the avalanche. And he had to go ahead with it, because he had no way of telling the force he sent over Liver-Leech about the avalanche.’
Nish felt a brief flare of hope. ‘Yes. How big is the attacking force in the east?’
‘At least a hundred that I could see through the mist. Though I dare say there are massive reinforcements further down.’
The hope died. ‘Undoubtedly.’
‘Still, while we live, anything is possible,’ said Flangers, rather cheerily for a man facing imminent death. But then, he would die with a clear conscience. He’d atoned for the crime he’d been ordered to commit by a long-dead superior, and had never failed in his duty since. No man could have done more.
‘If you think the main attack is going to be on the west, should we move the healers’ tent?’
‘Why?’
‘To protect the injured. If the enemy break through, they’ll put them to the sword.’
‘They won’t go after the helpless while there are armed militiamen to deal with. I’ll go down to the eastern pass.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I’ll take command of the west,’ said Nish, not feeling the least bit cheery. They’d done so much, come so far, wrought miracle after miracle, yet it was never enough; it never seemed to gain them more than a day.
‘What’s the matter with the weather?’ Nish grumbled when they were taking a brief respite from the fighting, hours later. ‘It hasn’t rained in half a day, and I’d swear I’ve never seen that glowing orb in the sky before.’
Bright sunshine had always been a rarity in rainy Gendrigore, but a cloudless day was almost unprecedented. The sun was beating down into the pass, shining on their backs, and Nish was a sweltering, sweat-sodden mess. He moved into a small patch of shade and put his back against the cool rock wall.
‘It means the really wet season is almost upon us,’ said Hoshi quietly.
‘Is that so?’
‘The sun comes out, the skies clear for a day, sometimes even a week, then the winds change and it rains like you’ve never seen it rain before.’
‘I’ve seen it before,’ said Nish. ‘It rained like that the other day, just before the flood that washed the enemy away.’
‘Only for an hour. In the really wet season it can pour like that for weeks at a time.’
‘Our plan was to hold back the enemy until the really wet season was on the way,’ said Nish. ‘Then, with every creek flooded, there would be no way for them to get into Gendrigore.’
‘And we’ve succeeded,’ said Hoshi gloomily, for he was still grieving for Gi and nothing could cheer him up. ‘They’ll never get in now – or out!’
‘Or out?’ said Nish.
‘Every river, creek and gully on both sides of the Range of Ruin is impassable in the really wet season. The rest of Klarm’s army will be trapped here and they’ll starve to death. Even if they’ve killed us all, you will have done what you set out to do.’
‘Klarm must know that the really wet season is close, so why has he kept going?’ Nish said to himself. ‘Because he’s in so deep he can’t pull out. He’s going to lose an army but he can still win the prize – me.’
‘It won’t do him any good,’ said Hoshi. ‘He’ll die like all the others.’
‘Not Klarm,’ said Nish. ‘He’s far too cunning.’ He heard someone running, calling his name. ‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s Huwld,’ said Hoshi, rising wearily.
Nish rose as well, knowing that he was needed before the messenger boy spoke.
‘They’re coming again,’ the boy gasped as he lurched up the hill. ‘We need reinforcements bad.’
Nish got up, weary in body and mind, and staggered back to take his place at the western gate of Blisterbone. Huwld went with him, red-faced and silent. He’d been a lively little joker once, but all the humour had gone out of him as well, and how could it be otherwise after the bloodshed he’d witnessed in the past days?
At least two hundred troops had massed below, waiting their turn to scramble up the narrow and precipitous path and attack the defenders at the gate. After making a forced march through the night over Liver-Leech Pass, Klarm’s troops were almost out on their feet, yet they had the numbers, and they were after a mighty prize.
For every man who fell, ten ran to take his place; they were practically fighting each other to get to the front, and their chance at a reward that would make them as rich as princes.
A good three hundred now lay dead below the western entrance to the pass, but the enemy could afford those casualties more easily than Nish could the seven men and one woman he’d lost here. All his troops were exhausted, and the end was very close now, for the enemy must soon force the entrance.
Could he and the survivors run across to the eastern side and join with Flangers’s forces? Without a rear-guard they were likely to be cut down from behind, but if they made it they might counterattack the attackers at the eastern slot and break through – assuming there were only a few of them, which was unlikely.
There are too many ifs, he thought despairingly, so tired that he could barely think straight. He just wanted to lie down, close his eyes and see an end to it. What was the point in fighting on when the result was no longer in doubt? They had done their best; they had saved Gendrigore and could do no more; there were simply too many of the enemy.
But Nish remembered the duty he owed to his dead, and all the friends he’d lost, and especially Maelys. She would not give in; she never did, and neither could he after all they’d been through; not when the cost of surrender was an ignominious death for all his friends. Far better to die an heroic death in battle; at least their tale would live on to inspire other rebels.
The enemy were moving up the slope, slowly and purposefully, and their leaders had just come up against the defenders at the entrance when there was an outcry from the crest of the pass, an almighty crash, and shortly he heard the staggering footsteps of exhausted men. Nish whirled and headed up the slope, fearing the worst.
‘They’ve broken through,’ a haggard militiaman gasped, the first of three to top the rise. He was drenched in blood, though he did not appear to be injured badly.
Nish ran towards them. They still bore their weapons, so it wasn’t a rout. ‘Are you the only survivors?’
The bloody man shook his head. ‘There are others. Our lieutenant had a surprise rigged up for them. When –’ He bent over, gasping, caught his breath and said, ‘When he knew they were going to break through the slot, Flangers brought the right-hand wall down on them; buried at least ten of the devils.’
‘Then how did they get in …?’
‘Collapse made a ramp over the defences. A dozen men can cross it at a time now, and we can’t defend it. The next wave of the enemy are just below the bowl. In a couple of minutes they’ll be through.’
Nish looked around. ‘Hide behind the healers’ tent and keep watch over our wounded, but don’t show yourself unless the enemy go for them.’
He continued to the top of the pass, where he encountered Flangers and the last thirteen of the militia from the eastern side, ten men and three women.
‘I knew collapsing the wall was a risk,’ Flangers said, ‘but they were about to break through. This way, it’s gained us a few more minutes.’
‘Not enough,’ said Nish.
‘While we’re alive, anything can happen. How are things here?’
‘I don’t see how we can keep them out this time.’
‘Then let’s put our backs together and make a last stand.’
They plodded down to the western entrance and, during the first respite, took their places behind the rock wall. Flangers still carried the heavy Whelm jag-sword, Nish his sabre.
He would
have preferred a proper two-edged blade in this situation, but the sabre did suit his hand and, though it had belonged to an enemy, he felt lucky when he carried it. Sometimes it seemed to know better where to strike than he did, which wasn’t the blessing that it seemed.
‘How come you kept the jag-sword?’ said Nish.
‘It only ever takes one blow to bring the enemy down,’ said Flangers.
A pair of soldiers were scrambling up the steep slope, short lances out. They looked young enough to be Nish’s sons, and alike enough to be brothers, or even twins, but Nish and Flangers had worked out a defence for every kind of attack long ago, and they did not hesitate.
The two soldiers began to scrabble up the steep rubble wall. Partly shielded behind it, Flangers stepped left, dropped down and swung the jag-sword in an almost horizontal circle, striking the lance underneath and driving the point up.
The blade of the jag-sword skidded along the underside of the lance, tearing through the young man’s knuckles, and when he flinched Flangers cut him down with a single spearing blow to the upper chest. It wasn’t pretty, but it was quick; he was dead when he hit the ground.
Nish waited until the last second. Exhausted from charging all that way uphill, his opponent stumbled, and Nish turned side-on to evade the point of the lance and thrust his sabre out. The soldier could not stop in time, drove himself onto the point and his momentum did the rest. Nish, quite gently, pushed him off the blade. The body rolled down the slope to join the hundreds already lying there.
And so it went on. Some soldiers died easily, others hard, and some fought all the way to Nish’s throat before he finally finished them, but they all fell in the end, being at such a disadvantage.
The bodies continued to accumulate until they formed a low barrier; about twenty of the enemy took shelter behind it to catch their breath. Nish’s men had exhausted their arrows long ago, else they would have cut the enemy down before they came close. They hurled rocks and the enemy’s spears back at them once they came within range, but to little effect.