The Cloven Land Trilogy

by Simon Kewin

  It occurred to her she was now the second person, after Ran, to climb to the top of the dragonriders' two towers: Caer L'dun in Andar and Caer D'nar in Angere. The second and probably the last person. The walls of Caer L'dun were high and strong, built from the remains of the ancient bridge she'd been told, but it seemed unlikely they could withstand the undain onslaught.

  Hugging her woollen clothes about her for what warmth they offered, she returned to gazing out of the window. There was no movement, no flow to the waters of the An, now. The river was finally frozen this far south, the light gleaming dully off its solid surface. They'd been there a week, waiting for the attack. It wouldn't be long.

  A lone bird, black against the white and grey, flapped toward them from the north. For a moment she thought it might be another chough like those of Caer D'nar, its beak bright red. But, no, this was a crow. It flew directly for the tower and Cait, touching the creature with her mind, saw what it really was.

  A minute later she stepped backward to allow the bird access to the tower. There was a swirl of movement, twirling wing-feathers becoming cloth and it was Hellen crouching there on the worn wooden floorboards. Cait's mother had done something similar outside the factory when Nox cornered them. It was a trick Cait really had to master.

  With Cait's arm for support, Hellen climbed to her knees, then her feet, brushing dust from her clothes. For the briefest moment, the beady black eyes of the crow looked back at Cait, looking weirdly like Menhroth's, and then Hellen was fully herself again.

  Barion, First of the gold dragonriders, marched over from his table and his maps to demand a report. He was a squat, powerful man, and completely bald. “Well, did you see? Are they close?”

  Hellen nodded as she smoothed her grey hair back into shape, pinning it into place with long needles. “I saw them. All the armies that crossed north of here have met up into a single force. They will throw everything at Caer L'dun. There is no reason for them not to.”

  “How many are they would you say?”

  “I told you I thought there might be a hundred thousand undain.”

  “You did,” said Barion. The room had gone completely silent as everyone stopped what they were doing to listen.

  “Well, I may have been a little out. On the other hand, we have managed to account for a few of them, especially with the river serpents. And I suspect there will be another column coming directly at us from the west, although I can't separate the smell of them from those remaining at the White City.”

  “How many?” asked Barion again, folding his arms across his chest.

  “It's hard to count with the brain of a bird, dragonrider, but I'd say eighty thousand of them. They spread across the land north of here like a flood, like spilled ink spreading across that map of yours.”

  “Moving toward us?” asked Barion.

  “Oh, yes, marching now. They'll be here by the end of the day.”

  Jenath, the young chief of the green dragonriders spoke up from the table. “Well, that's not so bad. It means only eighty undain for each wyrm lord rather than the hundred we feared. How can we lose?”

  Barion paid no attention to his Green Wing counterpart. Jenath's words were probably the closest the wyrm lords got to humour, and Barion clearly didn't do humour. He continued to quiz Hellen. “What formations were the soldiers in? Are there giants among them? Are there flying creatures? Tell me everything.”

  “I've no eye for such things,” said Hellen. “I can tell you they march in square ranks, some down the road, some along the An. Most are foot-soldiers, the normal ones that did most of the fighting at Guilden and Hyrn's Oak. There are giants among them, too, powerful beasts the size of two or three normal people. I saw the quick-moving, swarming ones, as well, the sort that could flood your defences in a wink. There are also packs of bestial undain running along on four legs.”

  “The carts bearing the tanks of Spirit?”

  “Trundling along safely behind, and very well guarded. Impossible to say how full or empty they are.”

  “And the flying undain?”

  “None in the air but they were there, also hauled along in carts.”

  Barion nodded thoughtfully, looking as if he were slotting this information into the plans he held in his mind. “The creatures they construct in mockery of the dragons are broken, clumsy horrors,” said Barion. “But they'll be unleashed when they are near. We'll have to fight them off, too.”

  “And will you be able to?”

  Barion scowled, making little attempt to restrain his irritation. “You clearly don't think we can.”

  Hellen's eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if she were studying Barion through her crow's eyes again. But her voice was calm when she replied. “No, truly, I think you're our only hope to slow their march southward.”

  “To slow but not to stop.”

  “I'd be delighted if you proved me wrong,” said Hellen.

  “What of your plans?” asked Axana, her red tattoos bright upon her cheeks and neck. She stood next to Jenath at the table, poring over maps of Caer L'dun and its surrounding areas. “Do you still see hope in the ancient book and the spells of the necromancer?”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Hellen. “I've spoken through the aether to those remaining at Islagray, and they are still working on the ancient text, trying to decipher it. They have no answers yet.”

  “Do they know when?”

  “No. Ashen simply asks for as much time as we can give him.”

  Barion snorted, the sound somewhere between amusement and disdain. “Then we will have to rely on the swords and spears of the dragonriders. We'll have to hope the high walls of Caer L'dun can withstand the undain, won't we?”

  “We will,” said Hellen.

  Thirty minutes later, Cait stood with Hellen, Danny and Ran behind the gates. Den, the First of the blue riders was there also, mounted on a gleaming black horse, saddle and bridle inlaid with swirling blue lines like Den's tattoos. Behind him, two hundred mounted riders waited in silence, horses snorting steam and raking the ground with their hooves.

  Borrn was adjusting the bridle of Den's mount while Hellen watched him work.

  “Horses make a poor substitute for dragons,” she said.

  Borrn nodded without looking at her. “The beasts are swift and intelligent but their ability to fly is somewhat limited. Still, the riders of old rode horses. A rider learned to fight on dragonback by first performing the moves on their horse.”

  “Makes sense. Less far to fall if things go badly wrong.” Hellen's tone was different when she talked to Borrn. She didn't order him around like she did everyone else.

  Cait let her gaze wander among the assembled troop behind Den. They were from all four wings: the best riders in each according to Barion. Their mission was desperate, possibly even hopeless. They would charge from the fortress before the undain army arrived, attempt to circle around and, before anyone knew what they were doing, attack the Spirit carts. It would have no immediate effect, but might restrict the army's options after a day or so. If any riders survived the attempt, they were to attempt to cut directly through the enemy lines back to the fortress. The undain ranks would be well armoured and defended at the front, but might be easier to split in two from the rear.

  Cait caught Den's gaze as he adjusted his leather gloves and the straps on his boots. She said nothing. Den was well aware his chances of returning were slim, but she could see no fear in him, his face as expressionless as Ran's always was. Den held his chin up in a way that suggested a fierce pride. At last he was riding out to face those who had shamed him and his people.

  Ran, beside her, watched with eyes narrowed as if he were imagining himself riding among Den's cavalry. But he'd been assigned to stay close to Cait, protect her in the battle to come. She was very glad of his presence. She and Hellen would play their part, working what magic they could when the attack came.

  Danny, Johnny and Merdoc had been instructed to hide within the centra
l tower and not show themselves. The riders will have enough to worry about without trying to protect you, Barion had said. Danny had looked worriedly at Cait as it was explained to him, but Johnny had been hugely relieved, as if he'd been afraid someone would hand him a sword and tell him to fight. He'd surely be more danger to the defenders or himself than the undain if he were given a blade to swing.

  The gates of Caer L'dun were hauled open by rattling chains. Den's cavalry clattered off, horses whinnying in their excitement, metal armour and weapons shining as the column cantered out. Half the horses had been shod with spiked ice shoes to circle west on the river. The others would move east and north, following woodland trails well known to the riders. If all went to plan they would meet again in two hours as they swooped on the undain rearguard.

  When the last horses had passed through, the gates were hurriedly closed. Reinforced wooden bars were lifted into place to secure them, further trunks angled against the gates to buttress them against any attack. Hellen, touching the wood with her outstretched fingers, worked some magic into the grain to further strengthen the doors.

  The onslaught began half an hour later. This time there was no feint, no attempt by the undain to measure the strength of the Andar defenders. Instead the army streamed forward, moving with its inhuman speed up the slopes of the rocky outcrop upon which Caer L'dun stood. The defenders could only unleash a single volley of arrows before the undain reached the foot of the walls. It was immediately clear that the riders were a different prospect to the watchmen of Guilden or the archers of Hyrn's Oak. The wyrm lords were highly-trained fighters, moving as one, a line of them ducking to reload while another fired over their heads.

  Cait watched with Hellen from one of the lower towers. A few surviving witches of Islagray, those that had managed the trek southward, were scattered around in the other towers. They were well above the fighting, but near enough to hear every piercing scream rising above the clatter of battle. Most of the cries were from the undain as a rider's arrow found its mark. The sounds surprised her. Were there, perhaps, living humans among the attackers? She swept her gaze across them with the seeing-stone but could see no sparks of life.

  She began to work what magic she could, flinging ice at the largest attackers she could see, trying to copy Hellen by whipping up whirlwinds to knock them backward. The effect was limited in the closely-pressed ranks of attackers.

  Their tower protruded from the line of the walls, allowing the defenders to shoot arrows across at any attackers. She watched as nimble, child-like undain, something like those they'd seen crossing the river at Hyrn's Oak, jumped onto the walls from the throng, managing to climb the sheer rock face with splayed hands and feet. The riders on the battlements and in the flanking towers rained down arrows and tipped over pots of molten oil in response. But the undain relied on their overwhelming numbers, and each time one of the climbing undain fell, another was there to take its place.

  Cait stopped attacking the army on the ground and turned her spellworking to the walls instead, sending a frosting of ice from her fingertips. It had the effect she'd hoped for. The climbing undain, unable to find grip, either fell backward or hung where they were to be picked off. The riders, seeing what she'd done, stopped tipping over the boiling oil for fear of melting the ice. Mustering her energy, Cait unleashed more cones of ice, trying to cover the whole width of the wall. It became harder and harder as the distance grew, each spell hurting her more. She stuck at it. It was better than being down on the battlements where the riders waited with their swords.

  Pausing to rub the tearing pain in her sides, she caught sight of Barion, watching over the whole battle from the turret of the tower opposite, his bald head unmistakable. He nodded his head as if in appreciation of her efforts, then turned to bellow out more orders.

  Back on the ground, a rank of the giant undain were lumbering forward, wading through the undain army as if it was water, not caring if their smaller brethren got out of their way. They carried ladders: long wooden poles with many crosspieces attached, like the spines of some impossibly tall creature. The ladders were long enough to reach to the battlements. As the undain swarmed up, the giants held shields aloft, protecting the climbers for the first part of their ascent.

  Again, the undain relied on sheer numbers to attempt to flood the defenders. They had more luck this time. For every ladder the wyrm lords managed to push from the walls with long wooden poles and send crashing back into the ranks on the ground, another admitted a stream of attackers onto the battlements.

  Each time, Barion's defenders were ready, rushing to meet the attack with a knot of dancing, sword-wielding defenders. Hellen, Cait and the other witches did what they could, but it was tricky to pick out undain from wyrm lord in the confined space of the battlements. Wyrm lords began to die, overwhelmed by attackers, hacked down by their swinging blades. The sight was sickening. She'd seen many of the undain destroyed in Angere, but this was much worse. Living men and women were falling, writhing in agony or flopping dead over the walls.

  The defenders beat back the attacks, but each time there were fewer of them left standing on the battlements. The overwhelming numbers of the attackers would soon be too much.

  From among the ranks of the undain on the ground, fizzing balls of fire began to fly at the defenders, jinking through the air as if they were alive and seeking out individuals. The undain had spellworkers of their own. Cait saw Barion go down as one of the flaming spheres slammed into him. Ran, beside her, sheathed his sword and lifted a shield with both hands, ready to bat away any fireballs coming for her.

  “Help me block them,” said Hellen. The old witch was summoning walls of fog once more. Cait did what she could. She lacked the skill for the spell but lent her strength to the effort, leaning against the castle wall for support as she grimaced. She could feel the other witches adding their voices to the magic. The fog, when it formed, was thin, misty, but it had the desired effect. Fireballs flew into it, lighting up streaks of red, but none passed through.

  In response, the undain threw even greater numbers at the walls, hauling up more ladders, trying to overwhelm the witches' ability to slick the walls with ice. Some of the giants even began to hurl small, snarling undain directly onto the battlements. Hand-to-hand fighting raged all the way across the fortress. The tide of undain showed no sign of abating.

  Then blaring, metallic horns sounded from the distance. In an instant the undain stopped fighting and fell back from the walls. The horns sounded again, calling a descending note, and the undain raced away like a receding tide, answering some urgent summons.

  Cait, badly out of breath, the stitches in her side making it hard to move, tried to make sense of it. Barion, scorched and cut but still alive, limped up. “Den. He has reached the carts. The undain rush to defend them.”

  Cait knew little about war and battles, but she remembered enough from history lessons to know armies had to maintain their supply lines. Without the reserves of Spirit the undain were doomed. The defenders slumped to the ground, exhausted, or else they tended to the wounded, winding bandages around tattooed arms and legs. Hellen added her magic to that, too, healing and soothing where she could. A strange silence washed across the walls, broken only by the grunts and cries of pain from the wounded. Everyone waited, staring over the An and the woods to see what would happen next.

  Cait, reaching out with her mind, felt Den and the other cavalry die. She saw glimpses of screaming, bucking horses, of riders falling to the ground, grimaces of pain, blood spraying from wounds. She saw, also, the cartloads of Spirit that the wyrm lords had managed to reach. More than one was overturned, sent smashing to the ground, their precious cargo soaking into the earth. Cait felt the surge of relief in the aether as the ground drank the spirits from each spillage.

  The sensation was repeated again and again as more of the carts were upheaved. The horns sounded once more, an angry buzzing. Cait caught more glimpses of desperate fighting, of horses crashing
wide-eyed to the ground. Then it stopped. She could sense no more living riders, no more horses. Den and his cavalry had been destroyed.

  The renewed attack came a moment later. The undain surged forward once more, streaming up the slopes of the hill. More ladders were laid against the walls while more undain climbed the walls. In a few moments, the screaming, crashing battle resumed with full intensity. Perhaps Den had achieved something and the undain were throwing everything at the fortress while they still could. If the wyrm lords could withstand the assault for a while longer, perhaps there was a chance.

  For another hour, or more, the onslaught continued. Wave after wave of the undain surged up the walls. Each time they were repulsed, but each time the line of defenders grew thinner and thinner. Barion, Jenath and Axana, the surviving Wing chiefs, walked among the riders, calling out encouragement, wading in with sword and dagger when the attacks came.

  The riders fought with calm, controlled discipline, attacking, defending, attacking. More than once, Cait thought they would succumb to the numbers of attackers. Each time, incredibly, they fought back. The violence and death went on and on, and it seemed there would never be an end to it.

  Then flying undain flapped through the tatters of Hellen's fog. They were ugly, ungainly creatures, their movements clumsy and halting, something like the Bone Harvester she'd seen in Angere. It seemed incredible the creatures could fly at all. Their bones were visible through their tattered flesh, as if the person creating them hadn't bothered to complete their work. Each bore three or four attackers on their backs, ferrying them to the walls.

  Fer had destroyed one of these sorcerous creatures, unleashing her secret magic to break it apart. Cait wished she could do the same, but she had no idea how. She tried to hit the creatures with ice, to freeze their joints from the inside as she'd done in Angere. At the same moment the riders' arrows and spears hit, pinging and skittering off the undain. One, a wing-joint mangled by a well-aimed spear, spiralled to the ground, the undain riders upon it falling onto the attacking hordes. But the other flying creatures lurched to the walls. They crashed rather than landed onto the battlements or fully inside the fortress.