by Ian Irvine
Should she return to Zile and come back tonight? No, too risky—both her departure and return could be detected. She would have to wait it out.
By dawn the hunger was unbearable. She would have expected it to be far less apparent in spirit form but her stomach ached constantly. Should she go down to the shore, materialise and try to find food?
But materialisation also created traces that the triplets could detect, and it was so exhausting that she might lapse into unconsciousness. She had to conserve her remaining energy for tonight. Karan lay down at the back of the cave. She did not need to, being weightless, but taking up the usual position would make it easier to get to sleep. If she slept the day away the trickle of energy flowing from her body might be enough to keep her going until 1.30 tomorrow morning.
She did not sleep well; she kept jerking awake with her heart pounding and sweat prickling all over her at the thought that the fleet was lost, Llian dead, and the mission already a failure.
That afternoon she heard the echo of voices far below her. A heavily armed party of ten Merdrun, accompanied by an acolyte, was moving purposefully across the rocky shore below the cliff as if searching for something. Chills spiralled down her back.
Not something, someone. Her.
53
FIND GERGRIG AND KILL HIM
The acolyte looked up at the cliff. If anything aroused her suspicions the Merdrun would soon hunt Karan down.
Finally they moved off to the east and she lost sight of them, but an hour later she saw another search party to the west. The enemy were on high alert; had they got wind of the attack? If they had it could not succeed. Should she contact Malien and tell her not to open the gate? But that would doom everyone on the sky ships.
The sun set; the eternal day dragged on and she felt weaker than ever, but she had to stay until 1.30 a.m., the next rendezvous. Then, if the squadron had not arrived she must return to Zile. If the spirit link broke, she would die.
By 1.30 she could barely hold up the weightless night glass. She propped it on a rock and directed it along the south-western horizon, which was completely empty. What to do? She would risk another quarter of an hour.
Another minute passed. Two. Five. Then fifteen.
Just a few minutes more, she thought desperately. Just five minutes.
She scanned the horizon one final time, hopelessly. Nothing, nothing, noth—
Were those tiny spots specks before her eyes, or was it the squadron? Her heart thumped and she struggled to her feet and focused the night glass. The spots were in one place, clustered together a little west of south.
As she watched they resolved into pairs of round dots, heading directly for Gwine. The squadron had made it after all. At least, part of it. Karan only counted sixteen sky ships. She checked the horizon east and west, then the sky above, but there were no more.
Sixteen out of twenty-eight. Had the rest turned back or had they been lost? As they crept on, keeping low over the water, she saw strips of fabric fluttering behind the leading ship. The other vessels also looked battered, as if they been through a terrible storm.
If nearly half had been lost, she thought with a stabbing pang, the chances were high that Llian was dead. She doubled over, keening softly. But he could also be on one of the surviving craft, and they were waiting for her signal.
She reversed the night glass, aimed its smaller end at the leading craft and pressed the little yellow hump to turn it into a signalling torch. The signal that meant she was in place and everything was ready was two long flashes, four short, a pause then two more long flashes. If it did not come the squadron would know that something had gone wrong, but would they turn back or attack on their own?
They did not signal back; they could not do so without the flashes being seen by the Merdrun’s lookouts. Then suddenly the sky ships blurred and disappeared. The Faellem on board, all master illusionists, had hidden the fleet, though the enemy’s mancers might be able to see through the illusions.
Karan felt extraordinarily weak now, but her most important job was still to be done. It was 1.50 a.m., twenty minutes later than the rendezvous time. She reached deep into her mind to Sulien’s link and released the block.
Mummy, what’s going on? Are you all right? Mummy, what about Daddy? Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!
I’m all right, Karan gasped, then, Now!
But before she could re-block the link a blinding pain flowered in the centre of her head and raced to the top of her skull. The triplets had detected the link and were attacking through it. Sulien screamed. Karan fought the attack, re-blocked the link, and the scream cut off. The pain in her head died away though the top of her skull felt hot and blistered.
Was Sulien all right? Had she got the message to Malien to open the gate? If she had not the sky ships were doomed, but Karan dared not reopen the link to find out. The triplets would attack instantly and they might be able to get to Malien as well.
And they could have located Karan, so she had to act fast. She stuffed the night glass into her pack and dived out of the cave, down the cliff and along the wave-washed rocks for as far as she could go, a quarter of a mile. She settled to the ground and triggered the materialisation spell that would bring her body all the way here from Zile and unite it with her spirit.
It was excruciating and took all the strength she had left. Karan collapsed on her back on the sharp rocks. She could smell the sea, hear the waves crashing on the broken shore, feel the salt spray raining down on her and taste it on her dry lips, but she could not move.
After a few minutes enough strength returned for her to sit up. She crawled along the wet rocks towards the water’s edge, feeling for anything to eat. Her fingers identified seaweed, the kind like a string of beads. She tore off a few strands and stuffed them in her mouth, but they were chewy and flavourless, and would not give her the energy she needed.
Karan cut a fingertip on a sharp oyster shell. With the point of her knife she levered it open, scooped the oyster out and swallowed it whole. Though it was a small one, it did her more good than half a bucket of seaweed would have. She groped along the rocks to a patch with dozens of oysters and ate until her belly was taut and the desperate hunger had been replaced by a throbbing ache.
The squadron was still concealed by illusion though soon it would be close enough for the rotors to be heard, and when the sky ships passed overhead no illusion would be able to conceal them from the Merdrun’s guards.
Karan scrambled across the rocks and headed inland to a path that ran up the side of the hill; there a ridge offered an easy climb to the top. As she got there, with a hissing of wind through cables and the beating of its twin rotors, the leading sky ship passed overhead.
It raced across the mile and a half towards the Merdrun’s camp, closely followed by three more craft, passed over the southern wall and dropped abruptly. Had they shot it down? Karan climbed onto a boulder that offered a better view. No, it had disgorged its troops inside the mile-long camp and shot up like a cork from a bottle. The three craft behind it hurtled in as well, then more. The attack was on.
Karan turned away. Now her orders were to go after Gergrig, which meant returning to the disembodied state, and it was going to hurt a lot more the second time.
Her stomach was churning. Had one of the oysters been bad? She climbed thirty feet up a tree to a three-way fork where she would not be visible from the ground and where, she hoped, no local predator would find her, then tied herself on. She hoped the sickness would go away when she dematerialised. It was all she could do to stop herself from throwing up.
The pain of returning to spirit form made the churning in her stomach worse. As she floated towards the camp, sick with terror that Llian was dead and the magiz’s attack had killed or injured Sulien, Karan knew she had never been less ready to take on the most powerful man on Santhenar.
Where was Malien’s gate? A good dozen minutes had passed since the sky ships had landed, yet there was no sign of the gate. The un
supported troops must be dying by the hundred. Was there anything she could do to help them?
Only find Gergrig and kill him.
54
LUCKY TO LAST TEN MINUTES
Tarstang Dunt, despite his great height and confident manner, was little more than a boy, full of romantic notions about becoming a great hero and routing the evil Merdrun. But his stomach proved sensitive to motion sickness, and when the great storm struck, hurling Yggur’s sky ship up and down and across the heavens, Tarstang had spewed on the floor until he brought up blood.
Almost out of his wits and desperate for fresh air, he staggered to the cabin door.
“Leave that alone!” Yggur roared, struggling to control the craft in the wild winds.
But Tarstang opened the door. He was clinging to the rail, gasping, when another lurch tossed him out. He caught the rungs of the ladder and clung there in the pouring rain and flashing lightning, desperation written across his young face.
Llian was hauling himself towards the open door, praying he could save the lad, when Yggur bellowed, “Sit … down … now!”
After an agonised hesitation Llian retreated. Tarstang, with almost superhuman strength, hauled himself up until his white face appeared in the doorway, but as he tried to take hold of the rail a vicious downblast tore his other hand free and he fell into the night.
Llian looked around at the silent, staring troops, shocked as he was at the suddenness of Tarstang’s death. The lad had been popular; his naïve enthusiasm had helped them overcome their own fears. No one spoke for several minutes while Yggur fought the controls. When the sky ship was steady again he pointed a finger at the door and it slammed.
“He didn’t suffer,” said Yggur softly. “Impact with the water would have killed him instantly.”
“But it’s such a waste,” said Llian.
“Few know more about how war wastes lives than I do.”
That reminded Llian of two stories about Yggur from a dozen years ago, when he had waged war on Iagador and captured it. Yggur had been a hard and remorseless man in those days; he had once decimated an army for failing him. Another time he had lost an entire army when Faelamor’s incomparable illusions led a thousand men over a cliff in the fog. That disaster, that failure, had shaken Yggur to the core, and he had not been the same man since.
Llian expected to die a dozen times that night, and more the following day as the sky ship fought the endless storms. His only consolation was that Karan and Sulien were safe in Zile.
Two days later, when they finally cleared the seven-hundred-mile-wide band of storms and rotored into clear skies only an hour south-west of Gwine, the sky ship stank of piss and vomit, and groaning soldiers, some with broken bones and one with a cracked skull, lay everywhere. Even Yggur, whose toughness and stoicism were legendary, was swaying in his seat, his sunken eyes black-rimmed and his skin a waxen grey.
During the ghastly six-day flight he had barely managed as many hours of sleep, and his arms had cramped so badly that Llian, less affected by airsickness than most of the troops, had been forced to massage Yggur’s forearms for hours on end so he could keep the craft in the air.
“That was a storm,” Yggur murmured. “If it hadn’t been for you, Llian …”
“Or you,” Llian said quietly. “I don’t know how you brought us through it.”
He had gained a new respect for Yggur, a mancer he had known for a dozen years and cordially disliked for most of that time. He was a complex, brilliant, difficult man, hard to like, but without him they would have been dead a dozen times.
“I don’t see how any lesser pilot could have done it,” Llian said wearily. “Are we the only ones …?”
“We were well ahead of the others. They may have been able to go around the storm front.” He rubbed his eyes and peered to the west. “I can see them—at least, some of them. How many ships are there? Can you count them?”
“Nine,” said Llian grimly. He was exhausted too, though he had managed to sleep every night but the last one. “Only nine. No, there’s another one. Does that mean we’ve lost—”
“Doesn’t mean anything yet,” said Yggur. “Let’s give them another hour before we write anyone off. What’s the damage here?”
“Two men with broken arms, three with broken or sprained wrists and one with a broken leg—caught it behind a stay just before that last vicious updraught and it snapped like a carrot. Plus various other injuries, including smashed teeth and broken noses. And Thurn with the cracked skull, of course. Healer says he won’t be any use for days.”
“How many fit to fight?”
“If I’m honest, none. Half of them have been throwing up for the past two days, and no one has had enough sleep. But since we have to fight—those of us who can stand up—I’d say thirty-one of the forty we took on board.”
“Don’t forget Tarstang.”
“I never will,” said Llian.
Shortly Yggur was circling over a small sandy island inside the western arc of a large teardrop-shaped coral reef. Five sky ships had beaten them there and were lined up on a dazzlingly white beach, their troops and crew scattered along the beach or swimming in the water. Llian wished he was; in the tropical heat the cabin was stifling and the reek unbearable.
“That makes sixteen,” he said. “Out of twenty-eight.”
Yggur scanned the sky in every direction but saw no more. “And given we’re so late, I wouldn’t expect any more. I fear the other twelve ships are lost.”
“Along with the five hundred people they were carrying,” Llian said bleakly.
It was 3.30 p.m. when Yggur set the sky ship down on the sand, ten hours until the second rendezvous on Gwine. The other sky ships settled further along the beach and the troops exploded out of the cabins, staggered into the water, then lay on the sand in whatever shade they could find.
Llian could not blame them. He helped Yggur and Healer Lukey wash the vomit out of the door. Llian found his own shady spot and, despite his overwhelming fear of what was to come tonight and how unequipped he was to deal with it, fell asleep and did not wake until he heard the officers calling their troops to order eight hours later.
They gathered on the sand at midnight. He expected that the sealed orders would be opened and they would be told their mission, but they were ordered aboard in silence. No one was in any doubt about their destination, but there was considerable speculation about what they would face when they got there. Most of the soldiers thought, as Llian did, that they were on a suicide mission.
An hour and a half later, soon after they sighted the Isle of Gwine, a small light blinked in the distance.
“That’s Karan’s signal,” Yggur said quietly. “All is ready.”
It was a blow right over Llian’s heart. “Karan’s there?” he cried. “On Gwine, all alone?”
“There was no other way to synchronise the attacks,” said Yggur.
Llian sat in the dark, fear alternating with fury. It made things a hundred times worse. Every time Karan had spied on the Merdrun they had detected her; the triplets would be hunting her with all their terrible power, and when they caught her they would torture her until she revealed everything, then force her to link to Sulien and kill them both.
He could not focus on anything save Karan, only miles away yet beyond reach, beyond helping. He was staring blindly out the window when everything went out of focus. The soldiers cried out.
“Yggur, what’s happening?” Llian hissed. “Are the triplets—”
“Don’t panic,” Yggur said calmly. “Our mancers have worked a mass illusion to hide us.” He tore the seal off his envelope and scanned the contents. “As we fly over the southern wall of the Merdrun’s camp the illusion will fade. Fix the layout of the camp in your minds.”
He handed the square-headed Captain Cubbers, whom everyone now called Cubo, a copy of the sketch map Karan had made after her spying mission.
“Timdey’s squad will attack the enemy in their tents with fire
and alchemical smoke blasters,” said Cubo. “The Faellem and Hingis will create illusions to further confuse the enemy. My squad will secure the camp gates in case the enemy have reinforcements outside. Everyone else, do your best to create chaos so the troops who come through Malien’s gate can carry out their appointed tasks.”
Yggur turned to Llian. “I assume you know the layout of the camp?”
“I’ve seen Karan’s map.”
“Good. Janck thought you should fight ‘like any proper man’—” Yggur grimaced. “—but I’m giving you a job more suited to your talents. Wilm’s black sword may be some protection to you on the battlefield, but don’t rely on it.”
Llian nodded absently, unable to focus on anything but Karan being hunted by the triplets.
“You’re to sneak away to the slave camp, find a way in and use your teller’s voice to incite the slaves to rebellion.”
They might have taken Karan already, might be torturing her right now …
“Llian!” Yggur said sharply. “Did you hear me?”
“Sneak away to the slave camp,” Llian recited in a dead voice. “Find a way in and use your teller’s voice to incite the slaves to rebellion.”
“A slave revolt could mean the difference between some of the attack force surviving, and none.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said dully.
“Don’t do anything foolhardy.”
The next ten minutes passed swiftly. Suddenly they were over the island, then swooping low over the massive southern wall of the enemy camp. It was lit by blazing columns, and Llian saw shocked guards on the wall dive to right and left as the sky ships burst out of the Faellem’s mass illusion only yards above their heads.
The vessel to the right of Yggur’s hurtled in even lower, accidentally impaling one of the wall guards on its left skid. It carried him, open-mouthed and thrashing, for twenty yards before he slipped off and fell out of sight.
Yggur’s ship swooped low over rows of tents, then landed on a flat area with a crash that rattled Llian’s teeth. Another sky ship landed on the left and a third on the right, and more beside them. Yggur pointed at the door and it popped open.