Assail

by Ian C. Esslemont

  *

  A jolt awoke her to the utter blackness of a deeply overcast night. Except in one direction: bright mage-fire flickering in greens and blues far off. She was being carried over steep ground while lying flat in some sort of litter. Distant thunder rumbled and murmured and she thought it odd that a storm should be rising – perhaps it was all these clouds. She closed her eyes.

  When she woke again it was day, or a fog-choked attempt at one in any case. Branches of conifers passed overhead. The ground was rough. Four T’lan Imass carried her. Again distant rumblings and eruptions rolled over them in sharp distinct blasts; were they moving into a thunderstorm?

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, rather groggily.

  Kilava’s head appeared in her vision. Black flakes of dried blood marked where her nose must have bled. ‘You are with us still – good. They were of course quite worried.’

  ‘Worried that I had fallen apart?’

  The Bonecaster nodded her agreement. ‘Something like that.’

  She rubbed her forehead where it seemed as if a spike had been driven between her eyes. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We are privileged,’ the Bonecaster remarked with something like very dry humour.

  She blinked, not certain she understood. ‘Privileged?’

  ‘To witness something thought long gone from the world. The birth … well, the rebirth of a Jaghut ice barrier. The T’lan are understandably rather … angered.

  She’d like to see that – an angry T’lan Imass. How would one know?

  ‘What of the Kerluhm?’

  ‘They travel north as well. The, ah, disagreement has been set aside until we have dealt with this new threat.’

  Silverfox allowed her throbbing head to fall back to rest upon the cloth of the litter. ‘Good.’

  Kilava, however, appeared not to share her relief. She walked along, one hand on one of the wooden poles of the litter, and brushed aside branches that rained cold droplets. Nearby, rocks clattered and crashed in a slide. ‘Do not be glad, child, nor think those survivors safe. The rejuvenated ice barrier will grind them to splinters of bone if they do not flee.’

  ‘They will retreat.’

  ‘Let us hope so.’

  She rubbed her head, astonished to find no wound upon it. The impact must have been sorcerous alone. A wave of Omtose Phellack colliding with Tellann. Fraying it with its intensity. She and Kilava, both alive, both Bonecasters, felt the punishment of this dismembering. The T’lan, being undying, remained immune. Thus the ritual of Tellann.

  ‘So we travel to it, then,’ she murmured, and winced as the litter jerked in the hands of its bearers.

  Kilava’s darkly tanned features took on an odd look, almost pained. ‘Well … the truth is, it is coming to us.’

  The constant low rumblings took on an awful new meaning in Silverfox’s awareness. She raised her head to try to see, but all she could make out was an army of mist-shrouded trees on a steep rocky slope. Somewhere, though, stones shifted and hissed, punctuated by the crash of a tree falling. Like an enormous beast arising from the black depths, the awareness of what coming clarified in her thoughts and she eased her head down in wonder. Gods. They really went and did it. And we drove them to it. I hope the damned Kerluhm are happy now! And perhaps they are. Perhaps this was what they wanted all along: proof of the Jaghut’s threat. And now it’s a threat that would swallow us all.

  * * *

  K’azz, Shimmer and Blues led the way up the wide course of the ice-tongue. To either side naked ridges of rock rose like knife-edged barriers. It was snowing now, and above, through brief gaps in the massed storm clouds, the white expanse of the ice-field glittered in a hard cerulean light. They prodded the ice ahead with trimmed branches they had collected, searching for hidden crevasses in the creaking and groaning surface beneath their feet. Indeed, this course of ice, this frost-serpent, struck her as nearly a river in truth as she imagined it bucking and writhing under her boots. She had the unnerving sensation that they were actually moving backwards and making no progress at all.

  Yet they struggled on. All without a spoken word. More than ever now was she determined to see this thing to its utter end. They had come too far; too many had fallen. She could never face the Brethren if the day came and she had no answer for them. So she planted one tattered leather boot before the other and leaned upon the long branch, prodding and probing as she went.

  Something, however, seemed to be resisting her. Some force pressed down upon her, dimming her awareness. Each footfall felt like an eternity. At times she had trouble lifting her boots as the ice seemed to grip and pull at them. Once or twice she found herself on her knees; these spells she shook off and lurched to her feet once more.

  A hand tugged at her mail armour and she turned, blinking. It was the Myrni girl, Siguna. ‘I have been calling,’ she shouted, looking oddly panicked.

  Shimmer frowned. Calling? Whatever could she mean?

  ‘Your friends! They have fallen behind! One won’t rise. Another is missing!’

  Shimmer had to force herself to concentrate upon the words and their meaning. Missing? Fallen? Understanding finally reached her and she nodded her thanks, pointed to where she’d last seen Blues through the swirling fat flakes of snow. ‘Get Blues.’

  The girl gave a quick nod and ran off.

  For a moment Shimmer watched her go, wondering at her energy and lightness of foot over the snow. Whatever was weighing upon her didn’t seem to be affecting the girl at all. Then she shook her head and began tramping back to find the rest of the column.

  A knot of figures, no more than dark outlines amid the brushing curtains of blowing snow, waited below. She found Gwynn, Bars, Black the Lesser and Turgal with the two Heels, Baran and Erta. They stood around a figure keeling in snow up to her waist. Lean.

  Gwynn greeted her, gestured to Lean. ‘She will not get up.’

  Shimmer knelt before her friend, gripped her chin and lifted it to study her. The woman’s face was slack, her eyes unfocused. ‘Come to me, Lean,’ she called.

  Lean blinked. The eyes searched, found Shimmer’s face. ‘Let me sleep,’ she mumbled through lips nearly frozen shut.

  ‘No. Time to move out. We’re waiting.’

  ‘I’m too Togg-blasted tired.’

  Blues joined them, followed by K’azz. Shimmer looked up. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘Where is Keel?’

  Bars’ dark hair hung in an unkempt mess; he was growing a thick black beard. He winced and gestured down behind them. ‘I’m sorry … I should’ve noticed.’

  ‘None of us did,’ Gwynn said.

  K’azz raised a hand to end the matter. ‘You four will go back – take Lean with you. Find Keel. Cross to a rock ridge. Get off the ice. Wait there.’

  Bars’ face revealed his shocked disbelief. ‘You can’t send us back!’

  K’azz’s voice softened. ‘Not back, Bars. Off the ice. It is dangerous for you.’

  ‘But not for you, or Shimmer, or Blues?’

  ‘We … seem able to fight its effects better. Now, pick her up and go.’ He gestured Gwynn to him: ‘Make sure they all make it off.’

  Gwynn, his long staff in his hands, nodded grimly. ‘Yes, K’azz. We will await you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He turned to find Blues and Shimmer planted directly in his path. ‘And what of us?’ Blues said.

  Their commander offered a lift of his bird-like bony shoulders beneath his torn leather jerkin. ‘You wished to find your answers … they await above.’

  ‘And Cal-Brinn?’ Shimmer demanded. ‘It is he we are really here for.’

  K’azz nodded. ‘He is near. The same … difficulty … is affecting him. If we do not find him above, then we shall search for him.’

  Shimmer stood aside. ‘Very well. But we had better find him.’

  K’azz closed his eyes in tired agreement. ‘We will, Shimmer. I swear.’

  The man appeared exhausted, his eyes sunken, his cheeks hollow. A
nd clearly the strange spell of general lassitude pulled upon him as well, but she thought there was something more weighing him down: he was sad. So very regretful. What was it that affected him so? Whatever the answers were, they seemed to be breaking his heart.

  At that moment she was almost ready to agree that they ought to simply find Cal-Brinn and go. If whatever lay above was so distressing to K’azz, perhaps it was best left alone. Yet to have come so far … and they were so near … She shook her head. Whatever it was, perhaps it would weigh less heavily upon him if they all shared it. It seemed almost near to breaking him even as she watched.

  Yes, that was it. He need not bear this all by himself. She turned to the rest of the Guard gathering to retreat. Bars, she saw, was steadily returning her gaze. It was a good few moments before a voice spoke in her thoughts: what are you waiting for? You should go to him. She did so, and a strange relief flickered across his face. She stood close, peering up at him, and raised an arm to slip it behind his neck.

  ‘You have been distant of late,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘We must get to the bottom of that.’

  ‘Yes, we will. When I return.’

  ‘Very well. When you return.’ He bent to kiss her and jerked away, shock on his face: ‘You are so cold!’

  ‘Is that a complaint?’

  ‘I mean it. Here, take this,’ and he moved to slip off his woollen cloak.

  She closed her hand on his. ‘Keep it. I do not feel the cold.’ He frowned, troubled. ‘Do not worry. I will return.’

  Something of his old manner slipped through as he growled, ‘See that you do.’

  She turned to where K’azz and Blues waited, then gestured, inviting them, Baran, Erta and Siguna onward. She turned for one last wave farewell, wondering again: what is wrong with me?

  * * *

  Marshal Teal stood at a brazier in his command tent high in the upper vales of the southern slopes of the Salt range. He warmed his hands over the charcoal and considered his next course of action. Scouting parties would have to be sent, of course, to determine whether the last renegades had chosen to hang about. His orders from Luthal had been explicit; his future position depended upon his thoroughness.

  Still, he was confident. This was, after all, a mere mopping up. He was eager to return to clean out Mantle. Once their grip was secure upon this north coast of the Sea of Gold, they could consider their next move. Consolidation of the south coast, most likely. Then onward to the Bone Peninsula.

  All funded by their war-chest of gold dust.

  Thunder rumbled beyond the hide tent walls. A storm was on its way. Good. Perhaps the renegades would die of exposure and save them any further expenditure. Still, he would like to get his hands on that white blade. It would bring a fortune in Lether, or Darujhistan. He could name his price.

  The thunder intensified into a constant deep ongoing roar that Teal thought he could feel through his feet. Then the ground moved. The brazier would have fallen had he not steadied it and singed his fingers. Panicked shouts sounded without. He threw open the tent flap, demanded of a guard: ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Earthquake, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I know that!’ He waved to indicate the men rushing about bearing torches. ‘What is everyone upset about?’

  The guard swallowed hard. ‘Well, sir. Most of these lads have never experienced one. They say … well, talk is, the northern gods are angry at us.’

  ‘What a load of bullshit. You get out there and you calm them down!’

  The guard saluted crisply. ‘Yes sir!’ He ran off, waving for others to accompany him.

  Teal drew in a deep breath of the cold clean air. Gods give him patience! What could he possibly be expected to accomplish with these pathetic recruits! Give him drilled and trained regulars over these amateur foreigners any day.

  He crossed his arms, hugged himself for warmth against the fiercely cold wind and peered into the low clouds to the north. It looked as if something was moving there behind the swirling banners of mist. He took a few hesitant steps, squinting. It was almost as if the entire slope above them was slowly shifting. Was it a rockslide triggered by the earthquake?

  The ground beneath his feet began to vibrate. Not in the rolling of any earthquake he’d ever experienced, but as a constant low drumming vibration. A distant avalanche, perhaps?

  The swirling clouds parted then, as if thrust aside by some broad front of wind. Through the dimness of the overcast night he saw that the slope above was much steeper and closer than he remembered. And it was moving – roiling and churning as it came. Even as he watched, entire swaths of tall spruce and fir fell before its advance, only to be sucked beneath the leading edge of tumbling rock and soil.

  True panicked yells sounded now about the camp, all nearly drowned by the roar of the coming cataclysm. Teal stood transfixed. In his experience this was unanswerable. How could anyone respond to such an onslaught? There was simply nothing to be done.

  Lieutenants came, shouting to be heard, but he merely waved to them to flee. ‘Save yourselves,’ he mouthed. And they fled. He chose not to. There was something inexorable, almost magisterial, in what he was witnessing. Running might gain one a few more minutes of life, but why fall in an undignified mad scramble?

  He preferred to meet what was coming. And he did – just before the end.

  The screen of conifers above the camp was the last layer of trees still standing before the mountain of churned-up soil and rock tumbling its way down upon him. The ground now juddered as if in agony; he could barely keep his feet. The avalanche roar was so loud it deafened him.

  And he glimpsed, above the mounded-up tons of loose soil and talus, something glowing with an inner cobalt-blue light. A broad and low wall descending out of the heights, pulverizing rock, and growling an immensely deep basso rumble that was shaking the ground, and his breath left him in awe.

  How beautiful, and how terrible …

  * * *

  ‘You must all flee.’

  They were in conference within the stone tower at Mantle. Lady Orosenn stood with the aid of Jute’s shoulder – he winced whenever her full weight threatened to bow him – and he with one arm bandaged and bound across his chest. They stood together with the new king, Voti, and Malle at his side. Cartheron was there, gritting his bristled jowls, and Tyvar, dabbing a cloth to the cut above his temple that would not stop bleeding.

  The young king continued to shake his head. ‘This is our home. We will not leave.’

  Lady Orosenn shifted her entreating gaze to Malle, whose black skirting was now slashed and spattered with dried blood. Having seen her fighting upon the wall Jute felt even more terrified of the woman: she threw slim knife blades, then hatchets that had snapped back the heads of more than one Imass. Now, though, she merely pursed her thin colourless lips as if to say: there is nothing I can do …

  Orosenn shifted one awkward step backwards, signalling that she would go. ‘But reconsider while there is still time.’ Jute helped her turn round. Cartheron and Tyvar followed them out. ‘Stubborn fools,’ she complained as they went.

  ‘We cannot force them to go,’ Tyvar observed as he refolded the bloodied cloth.

  The Jaghut sorceress, for that was what everyone now knew her to be, studied the Blue Shield commander for a time. ‘No. But there is something you can do. The task that perhaps you were truly sent here for.’ She headed off, limping, for the eastern curtain wall. ‘Come with me.’

  Jute helped her up the ramp to the catwalk. She gestured over the wall to the ragtag encampment the invaders had set up along the shore east of the fortress. Smoke from countless camp fires hung over it before gusting southward over the sea, driven by the fierce frigid winds blowing down from the heights. Jute put their numbers at close to six thousand.

  However, he was far more interested in the five vessels anchored a safe distance off the coast. Through it was foggy, he would recognize the Dawn anywhere. With it lay the Rags
topper, the Resolute, the Supplicant, and that Genabackan pirate’s galley.

  Seeing the direction of his gaze, Tyvar said, ‘They are wise to stay off shore.’

  Jute nodded. ‘Aye. They’d be swamped immediately.’

  ‘You see these people?’ Orosenn asked Tyvar, who stroked his beard, a touch mystified. ‘In less than two days they will all be dead if they do not move south.’

  The mercenary commander narrowed his gaze. ‘You are certain?’

  The sorceress let out a hard breath. ‘I know what is coming.’

  ‘What, then, would you have us do?’

  ‘Tyvar Gendarian, you said Togg gave you one last geas – to save innocent lives. Well, there lie thousands. I believe that is truly what our god had in mind. Not battle. Saving lives! You are the Blue Shields, are you not? Escort them south! Organize the evacuation of the women and children on to the vessels, then guide the rest down the Bone Peninsula. Guard them. Ward them. See them safe. There is a true challenge!’

  The commander studied the rambling camp and his brows tightened. ‘We are fewer than one hundred now,’ he murmured.

  ‘Work with that woman who was organizing their defence – she lives still.’ Her eyes rose to the heights, where some sort of lightning storm flickered and glowed behind the dense cloud cover. Jute could hear the rumblings of the thunder even from this distance. She returned her gaze to Tyvar, fierce. ‘This is my request of you, Tyvar. See them safe. I’m sure Togg would approve.’

  He had been stroking his beard. His eyes now glittered with renewed passion. He bowed his head in assent. ‘Saving innocents,’ he answered. ‘Yes. Togg would approve. Thank you for reminding me of my purpose, my lady. We will go at once.’ He jogged down the ramp, shouting for his lieutenants.

  ‘And what of us?’ Jute asked. ‘Will we be safe here?’