“Jacobs.”
“Renden.”
“Jonsen.”
“Pattersen.”
One by one, men called out their names in the darkness until Niklas had counted eight other men trapped in the new collapse.
“Can’t move my legs, Cap’n,” a man called back. “Can’t feel them, neither.”
“I can move, I think,” another soldier answered. “But I’m wedged in and I’m scared I’ll bring the rest down on me.”
“Sit tight,” Niklas responded. “Ayers and the others know we’re here. They’ll come after us.”
Rubble blocked out wind and light, and Niklas lost track of time. Overhead, he could hear rocks grinding and falling. The air beneath grew warm and stale, and Niklas’s body cramped. Even if he could shift, he was afraid it would worsen the collapse. Fatigue eventually won out and allowed him restless sleep.
He woke with a start, and fought down panic. It was too quiet. Niklas wondered whether the others were sleeping, dead, or unconscious. Lying amid the rubble, Niklas let dreams take him. Memories of his boyhood at Arengarte seemed as fresh as if they had happened yesterday.
“Got a shovel, got a pick,” distant voices sang out.
“Dig in deep and make it stick,” other voices answered.
“Gonna get the captain free,” the first voices responded.
“Pour some grog and one for me,” came the reply.
The impromptu verses shook Niklas out of slumber. “Wake up!” he called, his voice a dry croak. “Did you hear that? They’re digging for us!”
“I think we’ve lost Jonsen, Cap,” Renden said. “When I gave him a shake, he’s cold and he didn’t say nothin’.”
“Let them know we’re down here,” Niklas said. “Give a shout!” They called out as loudly as they could, coughing and gagging in the dust.
“They’re alive down there!” Ayers’s voice carried, muffled through the rock and debris. “Pick up the speed, boys. Let’s get them out.”
Metal scraped on rock as the rescuers pried the rubble loose. Niklas ducked at a shower of small stones and dust that tumbled down from overhead. Please don’t let them get us crushed, he thought. Not when they’re this close.
Fresh, cold air rushed into the space where Niklas and his men were trapped, and they greeted it with weary cheers. Every stone the rescuers removed sent a shudder through the precarious support that held up the timbers over Niklas’s head. He tried to wriggle forward, but the pain made him gasp. Night had fallen.
“Be careful. If those timbers shift, we die,” Niklas rasped.
“Don’t worry, Captain. We’re working on it.” Niklas recognized the voice. It was Liam, one of the talishte soldiers.
“Hold still,” Liam said, carefully wriggling through the hole the others had cleared. He maneuvered so that he had his back against the timbers that angled over Niklas’s head. “All right,” Liam called to the rescuers. “Go ahead. I can hold this.”
Stone by stone, the opening grew larger until Niklas could make out the shadowy shapes of men in the torchlight.
“There were eight of us when the roof came down,” Niklas told Liam. “Take the worst-off first.”
Liam shook his head. “We’ve got to take you out in the order we come to you, Captain. The mages are helping hold this pile up, but it’s been shifting, and the storm hasn’t helped. They’re going to have to start nearest the entrance and work their way back.”
Even as Liam spoke, Niklas saw two figures carefully lift a man’s body and carry it out through the hole the rescuers had made in the debris.
“Watch the arm! I think it’s pinned,” Renden cautioned as the figures returned for him. Niklas heard the sound of rocks grinding against each other, and the timbers groaned ominously as the rescuers tried to free Renden.
“It’s crushed. I can get you out, but I can’t move the rock without bringing everything down on our heads,” one of the rescuers cautioned.
“Do it,” Renden replied. His voice trembled. “Just do it.”
A moment later, Niklas heard the dull thud of steel on bone and a man’s raw scream. Soldiers carried Renden out, the bleeding stump of his arm soaking his dust-caked shirt. Patterson crawled out, followed by Jacobs.
“Time to go,” Liam said.
“There were eight of us,” Niklas said.
“Only five alive,” Liam replied. “Sorry.”
Two talishte soldiers crawled through the cramped space to get to Niklas. “When we take you out and Liam lets go of those timbers, this whole place is likely to come down,” one of the soldiers said. “We’ve got to be fast, so we might not be gentle.”
“Understood,” Niklas said, bracing himself.
Pain shot through his body as strong hands pulled him free. Niklas cried out. The hands tightened their grip, and then he was moving fast, supported by powerful arms, as the rubble roared down behind them.
In the next heartbeat, Niklas lay in the corridor on the hard stone floor, staring up at the ceiling. He was shaking from pain and cold, but he was alive. Ordel knelt next to him. Down the corridor, Niklas could hear the voices of the other battle healers. Ordel put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t move. I’m trying to figure out what you’ve done to your back. If you stay still, you might get to walk again.”
“How are the others?” Niklas could taste rock dust and blood in his mouth.
Ordel’s expression was grim. “We lost Jonsen. The rock opened up a gash in his leg and he bled dry. Renden lost part of his arm, but I think he’ll be all right.” He grimaced. “Except for the arm.”
“And the others?”
“Don’t you think you should be worrying about yourself right now?” Ordel said.
“Not until I know. What about the others?” Niklas argued.
Ordel sighed. “We got five of you out alive. The other three might have been alive after the cave-in, but they didn’t make it long enough for us to get to them. I’m sorry.”
“Damn.” Niklas paused. “How did the talishte soldiers get here?”
“Dolan woke when our men went into the tunnels. We’re lucky he looks before he strikes,” Ordel added with a grimace. “Ayers explained what happened, and as soon as the sun set, Dolan sent the talishte to help.”
“I owe him. Ayers was right. We were running out of time.”
Ordel nodded. “The mages told Ayers none of you would make it out alive if we kept digging without the talishte.”
Niklas shivered. “Even so, it was too close.”
Niklas fell silent as Ordel worked on him, struggling with himself to ask the question he most feared. “What about my back?” he asked finally.
Ordel nodded. “You took a hard wallop. You’re purple from your waist to your ass. Everything’s bruised to a pulp, but you didn’t break your back and your spine’s not damaged.” He shook his head in amazement. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
“Is the storm over?”
“Pretty much,” Ordel replied, bandaging a deep gash on Niklas’s leg. “The worst of the storm ended about a candlemark after the wall fell.”
Niklas listened, trying to make sense of what he heard. Wind no longer howled past the chimneys and the vents. But instead of silence, the air was filled with the shouts of men and the clang of swords. He tried again to sit up, and once more, Ordel pressed him back.
“What’s going on?” Niklas demanded.
Ordel swore under his breath. “Damn Tingur. Carr must not have spotted them all. They were waiting for us when the storm ended. Don’t ask me where they sat out the wind. That’s all I know.”
Niklas cursed. “I should be out there.”
Ordel fixed him with a glare. “You should be thanking the gods that you’re alive and still able to walk. The Tingur are a dangerous nuisance. Trust your men to do what you’ve taught them to do.”
“I should still be out there with them,” Niklas growled.
“You’re bruised enough,” Ordel
observed, sitting back on his haunches. He took a flask from his belt and helped Niklas sit up long enough to take a drink. It burned down Niklas’s throat.
“Let me give you something for the pain—something stronger than this,” Ordel said, gesturing with the flask. “It’ll let you sleep, and you’ll heal faster.”
“I want to see what’s going on,” Niklas insisted. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to a seated position, then gasped at the pain. Still, he waved away Ordel’s restraining hand. “I may not be able to fight, but I want to be where my men can see me.”
Ordel let out a long, frustrated breath. “The only way you’re going to get up those stairs today is if someone carries you. You’re in no condition for crutches. I’ve been working on you for two candlemarks, and you could undo everything. For what?”
“My men are up there. I should be with them,” Niklas said. He tried to stand, and fell back with a curse.
Ordel glared at him. “You’ve made your point. Sit down. I’ll get someone to help you, if you don’t mind bruising your dignity along with your ass.” He strode down the corridor and returned a few minutes later with a soldier and Walker, one of the healers.
“Take the Captain up where he can see what’s going on outside,” Ordel ordered. “Make sure he stays under cover. He shouldn’t be on his feet, let alone fighting.” He looked at Walker. “If he tries to join the battle, knock him out. I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t make it too comfortable for him. He needs to be down here resting.” He fixed Niklas with a glare. “The longer you stay up there, the longer it’ll be before you’re actually healed enough to be any good to anyone. Your choice.” With that, Ordel turned and walked away, snapping orders at the other healers.
“I’m going to need some help,” Niklas admitted. The pain nearly made him pass out as the men lifted him to his feet.
“Sir? Do you want to sit back down? You’ve gone pale,” Walker asked worriedly.
“Just get me up there,” Niklas muttered between gritted teeth. It took all his concentration not to black out. Every step hurt, and his ribs ached from the strain of being supported by the two men. They made their way to the outside and stood in the cover provided by the ruins of the barn. Whether the winds had flattened part of the stockade wall that surrounded the camp, or whether the Tingur had brought it down while the camp was undefended, Niklas had no way to know, but through that break in their defenses streamed dozens of ragged, wild-eyed men.
Above the fray, Niklas could hear Ayers shouting orders. “I need a better view,” Niklas growled, frustrated by the ruined wall that both protected them and blocked their line of sight.
“Ordel was very clear—”
“I heard what Ordel said,” Niklas snapped. “But I’m your captain, and I want to see what in Raka is going on!”
“Yes, sir.” Walker helped Niklas shift position. The soldier who had accompanied them was standing guard.
“How many of them do you figure there are?” Niklas muttered.
Walker’s eyes narrowed as he counted. “Hard to tell, but at least a few dozen that we can see, probably more.”
Niklas cursed under his breath. “Can’t you bring them down with dysentery or make them break out in boils or something?”
Walker looked horrified. “Maybe some healers can, sir. I’m not that powerful. And we’re not supposed—”
“I know you’re not supposed to use your magic to make people sick,” Niklas snapped. “But making the enemy sick stops them from making our boys dead. Is there something you can do?”
“I’ve never tried to do anything like that before, sir,” Walker replied.
“Just try,” Niklas replied. “And you can tell Ordel that I ordered you to do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Walker stared at the breach in the wall where the fighting was most vicious. His face grew taut with concentration, and his eyes took on a glassy look. “The magic’s not good,” he murmured. “It’s flickering. I’m having trouble holding on to it.”
“Try.”
Ayers was near the forefront of the fighting, shouting insults at the attackers and orders to his own men. The Tingur were armed with farm tools and clubs, but what they lacked in proper weapons they made up for in rage. They fought like wild men, shouting their devotion to Torven, caught up in ecstatic fury.
Walker raised one hand, his eyes still fixed on the break in the wall, and began to chant. The cords in his neck grew visible with the strain, and his chant grew faster. One of the Tingur screamed and collapsed. Another, and then another dropped to the ground, writhing and vomiting blood. Niklas’s soldiers gave a shout and pressed forward. Niklas glimpsed Carr at the forefront of the fight, stepping over the bloody bodies of the fallen Tingur to give chase.
If he comes back alive, I’m going to kill him, Niklas thought, watching as Carr ran bellowing after the retreating Tingur.
Ayers and the soldiers surged forward as the Tingur forces fell to their knees in surrender or ran in disarray. Even as they turned and ran, some of the Tingur collapsed as Walker’s magic found them. They dropped to the ground, flopping like gigged fish, blood fountaining from their mouths, streaming from ears, eyes, and noses.
“They’re gone,” Niklas said, too exhausted and in too much pain to feel exultant about the victory.
He turned to Walker, who stood stock-still, arm upraised, unmoving. Tears streamed down Walker’s face, and he had gone pale. His voice was rough as he continued his chant.
“You can stop now—they’re gone,” Niklas said, worry beginning to prickle at the back of his neck. “You did it. You turned the battle for us. We won.”
Walker’s chant rumbled on, reaching a crescendo as if he had not heard a word Niklas had said. He wrested his outstretched hand closed in a fist in a sudden, violent movement, and gasped. His head fell forward, chin to chest, and his arm lowered, but otherwise, Walker was motionless except for heavy, labored breathing.
Niklas watched Walker carefully. “Walker?”
Walker lifted his head slowly, and his expression was baleful. “I did what you ordered, Captain. Only because the magic isn’t right, the working went wrong. I meant to make them ill. But that’s not what happened.”
Niklas felt a growing cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He glimpsed horrors in Walker’s eyes. “What did you do?” Niklas asked quietly.
“The magic ruptured their bellies and ripped their entrails apart,” Walker replied, his voice tight with his struggle to hold on to his sanity. “I ripped them apart,” he added, loathing clear in his voice. He was breathing shallowly, trembling.
“So at the end—” Niklas started. Walker cut him off.
“At the end I finished what I started,” Walker said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own. “They were suffering. They could have lain there for candlemarks, dying in agony. So I snuffed out their light.”
Walker’s eyes had the wide-pupil, glazed look of someone in shock. He had not heard Ordel come up behind Niklas. He glanced at Walker, who appeared more unhinged with every passing moment, then to Niklas, then beyond them to the dozens of bloody corpses that littered the camp near the break in the wall. He shot an icy glare at Niklas, and approached Walker carefully.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Ordel said gently. “Let’s get you down below.” He reached for Walker’s arm, but Walker wrenched it away and backed up a few steps.
“Don’t you understand? I didn’t mean to kill them,” Walker said pleadingly. “I only wanted to bring them down. It wasn’t supposed to work like that.” He swallowed hard, his voice ragged. “I didn’t even know that could happen until I felt them tearing apart.”
Ordel nodded. “It’s not your fault,” he soothed. “The magic is unpredictable. There’s no way you could have known. Please, come below. I can help you forget.”
Walker was shuddering uncontrollably, his breath coming in sobs. “I don’
t deserve to forget,” he snapped. “I should be out there burying those bodies myself. I did that to them. I’m supposed to be a healer, and I ripped those men to shreds.”
“I take responsibility,” Niklas said. “I gave the order. I forced you to do it. And you saved lives—you saved our soldiers.”
“I felt them die,” Walker whispered. “I felt the first one die, and I didn’t stop. Torven take my soul, I didn’t stop and I knew what was happening.” He wavered on his feet as if he might collapse. Ordel had moved several steps closer. He grabbed Walker’s arm.
“Sleep,” Ordel commanded. Walker’s eyes rolled up toward the back of his head and his body fell to the ground.
“What in the name of Torven did you make him do?” Ordel snapped.
Niklas was leaning against the ruined wall, trying to remain on his feet. He stared at the fallen healer, and let out a deep breath. “I ordered him to slow down the Tingur,” he replied. “I didn’t expect him to kill them. I just wanted him to make them sick.” His legs were shaking so badly from the strain of standing despite his injuries that he let himself slide down the wall to sit, and even that brought a gasp of pain.
Ordel knelt next to Walker. “He’s a healer,” he said reprovingly. “He wasn’t even an army healer. He’s never seen action before.”
“I was trying to save our men,” Niklas said, and the pain, weariness, and self-reproach came out as anger. “I didn’t know. And he did save lives on our side. First blood is always the hardest.” Sweet Esthrane, I sound hard and bitter, Niklas thought.
Ordel picked Walker up in his arms like a wounded child. “I’ll see what I can do for him, blur the memories, try to make sure he wakes up in better shape.” His feelings about the subject were clear in his face. “I’ll send someone back up for you.”
Ayers came around the side of the wall just as Ordel disappeared in the cellars. “Glad you’re alive, Captain,” he said. “But you don’t look so good.”
Niklas let out a deep breath, and tried to ignore the lancing pain. “How did it go?”
Ayers grimaced. “I don’t have a count yet. Fewer dead than wounded—on our side, at least. The Tingur come at us like wildcats just let out of the bag, but they’re lousy hand-to-hand. I think they get most of their hits in because they’re so damn unpredictable.”
War of Shadows: Book Three of the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga Page 31