The Dark-Eyes War bots-3

by DAVID B. COE

  When they finished, though, they all heaved the bloody mixture they held in their hands toward the sept. He never would have believed that they could throw the dark mud so far, and as soon as the stuff left their hands, it appeared to transform itself into fine golden sand, which should have billowed like smoke in the wind and fallen uselessly to the grass. But it didn't.

  It seemed to be propelled by some unseen force, which, Enly realized, it had been: magic. It soared through the air, shimmering faintly as it went, and spread over the settlement before seeming to sprinkle down on the shelters like a light rain. At first nothing happened. Soon, though, a few of the shelters that hadn't yet vanished within the Qirsi mist began to glow faintly.

  No one from the army said a word. The marshals and most of the captains standing up front stared open-mouthed at the sept. Thinking this, Enly realized that his own mouth was open.

  "That was remarkable, Eldest," Jenoe finally said.

  "It was a difficult spell," she said, as if answering a question no one had asked. "Twelve parts, which is a lot for any Mettai. We needed to make it so in order to reveal not only magic, but Weaver magic. And also to make it reach the settlement from here."

  Jenoe nodded. "Well, I apologize for doubting you."

  She shrugged and licked her blade clean. The other Mettai cleaned the blood from their knives the same way. Tirnya looked away, frowning slightly.

  Noticing Tirnya's expression, Fayonne said, "The Mettai never waste blood." She turned back to Jenoe. "The Weavers will have a yellow glow. All the others will be white."

  Enly scanned the mist that had now enveloped the settlement. He could see several places that seemed to gleam faintly with a pale light, but he saw no yellow.

  Jenoe turned to the captains. "Tell the archers to aim for those light areas when we're close enough."

  "What about the fire magic?" Gries asked Fayonne. "And those wolves you spoke of?"

  "For those we should wait until we're closer."

  "All right, then," the marshal said.

  He pulled his sword free and held it aloft so that all in his army could see. Then he waved it forward twice, and once again the army began to march. They still saw no sign of any Qirsi other than those pale areas of light within the mist. Nor did they hear any voices.

  "This is all very odd," Enly muttered. "We're marching on a Fal'Borna village, and all we've had to face so far is a mist and some agitated horses."

  Jenoe nodded. "I agree. Call the archers forward now. I want them ready as soon as we're within range."

  The captains turned and called to their lead riders, who in turn called for their archers to advance. The bowmen ran forward even as the rest of the army continued their march. Soon three broad lines of archers took positions at the front of the army, spreading to the left and right so that they could launch their arrows from a variety of angles.

  As soon as they were close enough, Jenoe shouted an order, making the army halt. He raised his sword again and this time waved it sideways. Those in command of the bowmen barked their commands, hundreds of bows thrummed, and a volley of arrows leaped into the sky, arcing high over the plain and then descending into that magical mist.

  Screams went up from the sept. Some of them sounded like the death cries of men, but many others seemed to come from women or perhaps even children.

  An instant later, a pale yellow light appeared in the fog, like a candle on a misty night.

  "There!" Jenoe called. "Aim for that yellow light!" He looked at the Mettai. "The rest of your magic! Now!"

  Again Enly heard the dull thud of the bows, and a second volley climbed toward the clouds.

  "Not the fire," Fayonne said. "Flames in that mist will make you lose track of the Weaver."

  "The wolves then! Hurry!"

  Once more the Mettai gathered handfuls of earth, cut themselves, mixed the blood and soil, and began to speak their spells. As before, Enly couldn't understand much of what they said. But he could make out a bit more of it. There seemed to be a pattern, linkages between the phrases: "Life to power, power to thought, thought to…" He lost track after that.

  And then the sorcerers threw their clumps of blood and earth, and Enly stopped caring what they had said.

  Watching that golden powder fly toward the settlement had been as remarkable as anything he had ever seen. But what they conjured this time stole his breath, and left him frightened as well as awed. As soon as the mud left the Mettai's hands it began to change and grow. It happened so quickly that the shapes he saw appeared to be writhing. And by the time they hit the ground, the balls of mud had taken the form of great wolves. They landed lightly, gracefully, as if rather than being created by magic they had jumped down from some unseen crag. They were a good deal larger than wolves Enly had seen while hunting with his father in the Aelean Highlands. Their heads came almost to his shoulder. Their fur was black, with just a streak of silver-grey on their snouts or foreheads, and their eyes were bright yellow. Several of them bared their teeth and snarled at the Eandi soldiers. But then one of them turned and started loping toward the sept, and the others followed. In moments, they had broken into a full run, as if they had caught the scent of their prey.

  The archers released another swarm of arrows, which curved across the sky toward that yellow glow of the Fal'Borna Weaver. Enly felt a wind rise out of the west, and knew immediately that the arrows would fall short. But the mist summoned by the Qirsi had started to grow thin. He could make out some shelters once again, and he wondered if this meant that the magic of the Weaver was failing.

  Jenoe shouted with some urgency for the bowmen to loose their darts again. As soon as they did, Enly understood what the marshal hoped to do. The arrows reached their zenith and began to descend, just as the Mettai's black wolves splashed through the stream that fronted the sept. They would reach the Weaver just moments after the arrows did. The Fal'Borna had to choose which threat to combat with his magic.

  The mist was vanishing, and now Enly felt the wind die away as well. He heard several of the leading wolves yelp in pain, and saw them collapse a short distance in front of the man. Shaping power, no doubt. But the others leaped over the fallen animals and converged on him. The arrows struck, several of them burying themselves in the Weaver's chest and shoulders. And as he went down, the wolves pounced.

  A cheer went up from Stelpana's army.

  "Advance!" Jenoe cried.

  The Eandi swordsmen let out a deafening war cry and started forward past the bowmen, who held their ground. The archers launched one last salvo at the village, but from what Enly could see, few sorcerers remained alive.

  A small number of Fal'Borna warriors emerged from the shelters, all of them glowing white, some bearing blades, others spears.

  Many of the wolves seemed intent on devouring the Weaver, but more than a dozen of them broke off from the pack and began to advance on the sorcerers who remained. Enly thought it likely that the battle would be won before he and the other swordsmen crossed the stream.

  He looked over at Tirnya and found that she was already gazing his way. She looked pleased, her cheeks flushed. Enly couldn't blame her. It was just as she had predicted back in Qalsyn when she first proposed that they attack the Qirsi and attempt to retake D'Raqor. These Fal'Borna had been weakened by the plague that had ravaged their land, as Tirnya had foreseen. Fayonne and the other Mettai had proven themselves formidable allies, as Tirnya had said they would. Amazingly, they had conquered a Fal'Borna settlement without shedding any Eandi blood.

  The first battle was theirs.

  And then it all began to go horribly wrong.

  Chapter 8

  Realizing that the battle was theirs, that her efforts to persuade her father and Enly and the lord governor to go ahead with this invasion had been vindicated, Tirnya knew a moment of pure and profound relief. She would never have admitted it to anyone, but she had spent the last turn doubting that this day would ever come. She didn't need Enly to tell her how
strange these Mettai were, nor did she need her father to tell her how difficult it would be to defeat the Fal'Borna if it turned out they hadn't been weakened by this so-called white-hair plague. She had spent day and night afraid that in her rush to reclaim Deraqor, her family's ancestral home, she was leading thousands of soldiers to their doom.

  Now, though, seeing how easily they had conquered this first Fal'Borna settlement, her worries vanished. It seemed that a terrible burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She strode toward the sept beside her father, struggling to keep a satisfied grin from spreading across her face. This was warfare. Even now, with the last few Fal'Borna warriors scattering before the onslaught of Fayonne's wolves, it would have been wrong of her to take too much pleasure in their victory. Her father would have told her so if he had known how pleased she was. He would have warned her that this was just one battle in what still promised to be a difficult and dangerous war. And of course he would have been right.

  But wasn't she allowed a few moments to enjoy this feeling? Could she be faulted for wanting to gloat just a little the next time she found herself alone with Enly? Thinking this, she looked over at the lord governor's son. A second later, he turned to face her, almost as if he felt her gaze upon him. They shared a quick look. Then Enly looked away.

  "All right, Eldest," Jenoe said as they continued to advance on the settlement. "You can call back your wolves now. The day is ours."

  As he said this, three of the wolves were closing in on a Fal'Borna woman who was backing away from the creatures, gripping a spear with both hands. As Tirnya watched, fire appeared to burst from the ground just in front of the middle wolf, but the animal leaped over the flames and charged the woman.

  At the same time, its two companions attacked her from either side. The woman managed to impale one of them with her spear, but she could do nothing about the other two. One of them clamped onto her arm with its mighty jaws. She screamed. The other wolf tore at her leg. Tirnya saw her go down, but looked away rather than watch what followed. The woman continued to howl for several seconds. Then she fell silent, which was even worse.

  "Eldest!" Jenoe said, sounding frantic.

  "There's nothing I can do, Marshal. I have no way of calling them back."

  "What? You created them! You have to be able to stop them!"

  Another pair of wolves had begun to stalk a young man. He held a spear in one hand and a blade in the other. But rather than fight the creatures, he turned and ran. This proved no better than facing them. The wolves raced after the man, quickly closing on him. They took him down from behind, as if he were a rilda.

  "They're wild creatures," Fayonne said, clearly unnerved by what she was seeing. "They may be born of magic, but they're alive now. I can't control them any more than I can control you."

  "Can't you use some other magic against them?"

  She glanced at her son. "We can try. But I'd suggest you have your archers take aim at them. That may be our best hope."

  Jenoe nodded once. He turned to one of his soldiers and ordered the man to hurry back and bring the bowmen forward.

  A moment later, though, matters turned far, far worse. The large pack of wolves that attacked the Fal'Borna Weaver had moved on, leaving little more than a bloody carcass where the man had been. They made their way through the settlement, snarling at any movement, snapping their jaws. Several broke off in pairs and threesomes to pursue stray warriors. But the bulk of the pack seemed headed for the horse paddock.

  Before they reached it, two large groups of Fal'Borna children, who apparently had been hiding in shelters near the far end of the sept, burst into the open. There were at least thirty of them in all. Several of them looked nearly old enough to be warriors, but most were far younger. As soon as they appeared, the wolves turned and started after them.

  "Gods!" Jenoe whispered. "They'll be slaughtered!"

  "We have to do something, Father," Tirnya said, finally finding her voice. He nodded. "To the wolves!" he shouted, raising his sword and breaking into a run. "Kill the wolves!"

  The rest of the army raised their blades as well and followed. But Tirnya knew that they wouldn't get there nearly in time. The wolves closed in on the children even faster than they had on the fleeing warriors. She saw the great animals drag down several of the young Fal'Borna. They didn't even bother hunting in teams; the children were easy prey. She heard snarls and the horrible shrieks of the children. She felt her stomach heave and clamped her teeth shut to keep from being ill.

  Along with her father and the other captains, she was among the first to wade through the frigid waters of the stream and enter the settlement. Tirnya could see the beasts clearly now. Many of them had blood on their snouts; others were feeding on the bodies of children, and still others were closing in on those children who had escaped their first attack. The Eandi army was still too far from them to help, and the archers couldn't aim a salvo at the wolves without killing the young Fal'Borna as well. Jenoe shouted at the wolves and waved his arms over his head, trying to draw the beasts' attention, but most of the animals barely took notice. A few broke off and turned to face the advancing soldiers, but the others remained intent on the children.

  "Ideas?" Jenoe asked, slowing to a walk and then stopping.

  No one spoke. Tirnya didn't know what to suggest. She stopped beside Jenoe, knowing that he couldn't fight the wolves alone. The other captains halted as well. Eight of the great animals stood before them. It almost seemed that they'd been chosen to fight the soldiers and thus give their brethren time to hunt the children.

  The creatures started forward slowly, growling, their ears laid back, their teeth bared. Tirnya and her father crouched low and readied their blades. Other captains and soldiers on either side of them did the same.

  Tirnya heard a cry go up behind her. Glancing back quickly she saw something soaring toward them. She squinted. Whatever it was looked like a series of small, thin clouds. It took her a moment to realize that they resembled the odd, sparkling powder sent forth by the Mettai when they cast their spell against the Fal'Borna. Was this more magic? She wasn't sure whether to rejoice or shudder. She watched it pass overhead and then rain down upon the wolves and children at the far end of the settlement.

  But she had no time to see what this newest spell had done.

  As if responding to some silent signal, all eight wolves suddenly charged the soldiers. Tirnya had never seen a normal wolf in the wild, though she'd once seen a captive one that came to Qalsyn with a traveling festival. But that animal had been timid and gentle. These magical creatures were something else entirely. Not only were they large and unnaturally swift, they were also canny. They didn't fight like wild dogs; they fought like warriors.

  The one in front of Tirnya and Jenoe broke off its charge at the last moment, darted to the side so that it had a clearer path to Tirnya, and then sprang at her. She tried to stab the creature with her sword, but it managed to evade her thrust with a twist of its body. Its snapping jaws just narrowly missed her shoulder. The animal landed behind her, turned with blurring speed, and attacked again, this time leaping for her neck. Tirnya slashed at it with her blade and was certain that she drew blood. But the wolf crashed into her, knocking her to the ground. She landed on her back, losing her grip on her weapon.

  The wolf struggled to get to its feet again, its claws scraping her chest and neck. An instant later its face was just next to hers, its hot breath stinking of blood. Tirnya gagged.

  She heard her father shout something, and then felt the full weight of the beast sag onto her body. Its blood, slick and warm, soaked into her coat of mail. She tried to push the beast off of her, but couldn't. After a moment, though, it rolled away.

  Her father stood over her, his sword stained red, his chest rising and falling.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Tirnya nodded, and struggled to her feet. She bent to retrieve her sword, and as soon as she straightened again, she swayed. Her father put out a ha
nd to steady her. Looking at the carnage around her, she saw that the other seven wolves were also dead. Five men, including one of her father's captains, had been wounded.

  Her father, though, had his head turned away from the wolves and injured men. Following the direction of his gaze, Tirnya saw that he was looking toward the Fal'Borna children. She'd forgotten momentarily, but it all came back to her now, and she hurried toward them. After only a few steps, she halted. From what she could see, all of the children appeared to be dead, as did all the wolves.

  Tears streamed down her face and once more she feared that she'd be ill. "What did you do?" she screamed, turning to look for the Mettai. "What did you do to them?"

  Fayonne was just emerging from the stream, her son and the other Mettai with her.

  "We put them to sleep," she answered, striding purposefully in Tirnya's direction. "It was all we could think to do."

  "To sleep?" Tirnya turned again and looked a second time at the children and magical beasts. She took a tentative step forward, and then another. Clearly many of the children were dead. Some had been mauled so violently that it was hard to say where one body's blood ended and the next began. There were at least a dozen like this. But beyond them, scattered among the prone bodies of perhaps twenty wolves, were many more young Fal'Borna. All of them appeared whole and unhurt, save for the fact that they were unconscious.

  "They put them to sleep," she whispered. She faced Fayonne again. "How long?"

  The eldest had stopped next to Jenoe. She shook her head. "I don't know. Not long. Especially for the wolves. They're bigger; the magic will have less effect on them."

  Right. Tirnya still held her sword in her hand, and now she walked to the first of the sleeping wolves. Once more she was amazed by how large the creatures were. This wolf's paws were as large as her hand; its jaws appeared capable of biting through the limbs of an oak. In other ways, though-the glossy black fur, the peaceful rise and fall of its flanks with each breath-the animal looked for the moment like any domesticated dog. That is, except for the smear of blood on its muzzle.