by J. L. Doty
Tulellcoe turned away from the window and said, “Cort’s with the horses now, holding them ready. We figured you’d be in a hurry. I’ve already paid for our room, and the lamp, so we’re set to go.”
They extinguished the lamp, retrieved Tulellcoe’s cloak from the back of the chair, met Cort down in the street, and rode south. Morgin led them to the forest south of the city, and as they rode he outlined his plan to them. They were politely supportive, but clearly didn’t believe he could do it.
When Haleen had helped him escape from the Decouix dungeons, she’d brought him to this forest in a carriage, and left him here. Tall pines grew sparsely, with little undergrowth between them, and a carpet of pine needles blanketing the dirt. It was a perfect place to conceal an army—six armies—and with the tall pines casting shadows everywhere, perfect for what he needed.
They hurriedly set up a small camp. He couldn’t use the natural shadows of the trees, for they’d change with the movement of the sun and disappear when it set. In the shadows of a cluster of pines they lit the lamp and placed it on the ground. They hung Tulellcoe’s cloak from a tree branch, and positioned it so it cast a tall, wide shadow.
Morgin said, “Keep this shadow here tonight and through tomorrow morning.”
He stepped into the shadow, then stepped out of the shadow on the north side of the boulder.
Mortiss neighed, We don’t have much time.
Morgin expected there to be delays in gathering up the Benesh’ere and not missing a single soul, but when he rode into their camp near the Lake of Sorrows he found it deserted. There were no tents, and the only thing that moved were swirls of steam and smoke rising from hundreds of quenched campfires. He turned Mortiss east and headed for the God’s Road.
Seven thousand people walking or riding, with an untold number of heavily packed chakarras, left plenty of signs of their passage. The dirt of the road had been churned up by boots and hooves, and the wild grasses on either side had been trampled out of existence.
Just south of Gilguard’s Ford the tribe had bivouacked along the sides of the road, sitting or lying wherever they found a comfortable spot, leaving a narrow passage up the middle of the ancient highway. As Morgin rode through them no one greeted him, called out or cheered. No one tried to question him; they simply rose up as he passed by and stood in mute anticipation. Angerah, Jerst, Harriok, Branaugh, Jack and all the other Benesh’ere he’d grown close to were waiting just south of the ford.
He reined Mortiss to a stop and said, “We ride east.”
Blesset scowled openly and several of them frowned, but no one questioned him. Those with horses mounted up, while the rest followed on foot. They traveled through lightly wooded forest, which after about a league opened up into open grassland. He spotted the ridge he’d pointed out to the three witches from the top of the cliff, the ridge he’d seen when retrieving Jack the Greater’s body after the poor fellow had tried to cross the ford. Morgin led the Benesh’ere up to its crest. He continued east for another league, with the banks of the Ulbb on his left, and on his right the ancient riverbed through which it had flowed centuries ago.
As Morgin rode, his gut tightened with fear. Olivia, AnnaRail and NickoLot might fail, in which case his whiteface friends would be sorely disappointed, and Morgin would not have the army he needed to breach the walls of Durin. But the greatest danger was that the three witches would succeed, and Morgin would learn that he’d misinterpreted the riddle of the seventh wrong. In that case he’d have to watch seven thousand men, women and children bleed out through their eyes, ears, noses and mouths. If that happened, he swore he’d stay until the last of them died; he owed them that much.
He had them stop and cluster on the crest of the ridge. He rode around the tribe slowly, making sure that everyone stood on raised ground between the riverbed of old, and that of the present. Then he rode to the top of the crest and stopped in their midst. In the distance the black, basalt cliff loomed above them.
AnnaRail had prepared a little charm for him, a small silver trinket connected by her arcane magics to one she carried. He retrieved it from a pocket, looked at it for a moment, then touched it to his tongue, activating it with a bit of saliva. She would know they were ready.
He started counting heartbeats, was going to count to a hundred, but only made it to ten when he saw a massive piece of the cliff slump away from it. A few heartbeats later he heard a rumble like distant thunder. The sound grew, and as it became a roar many of the whitefaces covered their ears with their hands. Then the ground shook, the horses panicked, and for many it had been a mistake to remain in the saddle. Some were unhorsed as the ground beneath them became unstable, but the shaking reached a peak, then subsided, and silence returned.
Morgin closed his eyes and waited. The Benesh’ere waited silently with him. He counted a hundred heartbeats, then another hundred, and another. Someone nearby coughed, Blesset harrumphed, someone else cleared his throat. A word was spoken here, a question there, and slowly the crest of the hill filled with the sound of fear, disappointment, and regret. But beneath the sounds of seven thousand people Morgin listened to the sound of the river. Facing west, his right ear picked up the sounds of its flow, the soft crackle of water breaking over a rock, or splitting around a large root. And little-by-little those sounds died, until his right ear heard nothing. Then his left ear picked up the sound of a wave of water flowing over dry land, a strange sort of popping sound.
He opened his eyes and looked south at the ancient dry riverbed, and the wave of water washing down through it. He looked down at his whiteface friends, waiting to see if he’d been wrong, to see the pain and blood and death, but none came. Morgin recalled the ancient riddle: the Benesh’ere will not be free until they stand north of the Ulbb, but the Benesh’ere cannot cross the Ulbb until they are free.
Jerst said it. “I did not cross the Ulbb, but I stand north of the Ulbb, a free man.”
••••
Blesset had tears in her eyes as she drew her sword, raised it high and shouted, “We ride on Durin, now.”
“No,” Morgin said, and even Jerst and Angerah showed their impatience by looking askance at him.
Morgin said, “That’s at least a four-day forced march, with children. Separate out the warriors and I’ll have them there much quicker than that.”
Angerah frowned and said, “Did you learn nothing during your time with us, Elhiyne?”
Jerst said, “On the March, did you not see even the smallest child carrying a weapon against the Kulls?”
Morgin lowered his head and said, “Forgive me. I forgot.” He looked up, locked eyes with Blesset, smiled and said, “But I can still get you there tonight.”
She actually smiled, something Morgin had never seen.
To Jerst he said, “Line up your people into a single-file line. All riders should lead their mounts on foot.”
As Jerst issued orders and got the tribe organized, Morgin looked at Blesset and said, “Would you like to go first?”
She smiled again. He thought it would be nice if she did so more often.
Morgin cleared a space about four paces wide, then cast a shadow there large enough for a horse to walk through. He raised his voice and shouted, “Spread the word. We’re going to a forest about five leagues south of Durin. When each of you gets there, spread out and make camp among the trees.”
Holding her horse’s reins, Blesset faced the shadow and said, “I’m ready.”
Morgin stood beside her, put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Walk forward with me.”
They stepped forward into the shadow, and their second step took them out of the shadow cast by the lamp and cloak. Tulellcoe started, and Morgin said, “Disperse them as I bring them through.”
He turned around and stepped back through the shadow.
It was slow work, walking each whiteface through the shadow one-by-one. He took them alone, or with a horse or chakarra. After he’d walked about a hundred through, he fo
und that he didn’t need to go all the way through himself. He stood half-in and half-out of the shadow on the crest of the hill north of the new course of the Ulbb, and all he needed to do was place his hand on the shoulder of a whiteface or horse or chakarra, and keep the hand on them as they passed into the shadow. By midnight he stood alone on the crest of the hill, so he stepped through the shadow into the forest south of Durin.
Cort said, “Amazing!”
In the night he saw hundreds of small camp fires dotting the landscape of the forest.
“What next?” Tulellcoe asked.
Morgin said, “Get some sleep, then be ready with this shadow at dawn. Time to get another army . . . or two.”
He turned and stepped back into the shadow.
••••
Riding Mortiss through the nether ways, Morgin returned to the top of the cliff to retrieve AnnaRail, Olivia and NickoLot. He found the three of them huddled about a small camp fire, the hellhounds resting on their haunches nearby.
Warming her hands at the fire, NickoLot said, “I’m hungry. Got any food?”
Morgin looked at the three women, then at the hellhounds. No rider in the clans would venture even a short distance from home without a minimum of trail rations in his kit. But in their haste, none of them had considered that the hellhounds didn’t carry saddle or kit. He rummaged through Mortiss’ saddle bags, retrieved what trail rations he had and split them four ways. They ate quickly, then mounted up and returned to the nether ways.
Morgin had come to realize that the deeper Mortiss took him into the netherworld, the faster she and the hellhounds could travel. They had to meet the Elhiyne and Penda armies in the shadow of Attunhigh at sunrise, and with only a few hours remaining before dawn, she had to go deep indeed to get them east of the Worshipers in time.
As he feared, the beast he’d encountered in the netherworld hammered at his protective cage even more forcefully, and each blow rattled his soul. He had a vision, saw again the being who’d sat upon the third throne in Kathbeyanne, a monster with the head of a goat, and blood-red eyes. But when he’d visited Kathbeyanne the creature had been no more than a memory clinging to the rubble of the great city. Now it felt all too real as it assaulted him, and hurt him . . .
“Morgin, wake up.”
At the sound of AnnaRail’s voice Morgin opened his eyes. He sat in the saddle, slumped forward on Mortiss back, the three witches standing beside the nether horse, his face sticky with tears. False dawn lit the landscape, though the sun had yet to rise. He sat up, wiped the tears from his face with his hand, looked at his hand and saw only blood.
AnnaRail put a hand on his knee. “You’re bleeding from the eyes. I sensed that the Dark God was close as we traveled the nether ways, but I couldn’t help you.”
He looked about. To the east Attunhigh loomed over them, and to the west the two armies marched their way.
Olivia said, “Wylow, PaulStaff and BlakeDown will be here shortly. They mustn’t see you looking like that.”
Feeling like an old man Morgin climbed down out of the saddle. He retrieved his water skin, AnnaRail poured water into his cupped hands and he scrubbed the blood from his face.
“How do I look?” he asked.
NickoLot said, “You look fine.”
Olivia shook her head. “She’s being nice. You look like netherhell, though there’s no blood visible, so that’ll have to do.”
A group of four scouts from the approaching armies rode up to them. “Thank the gods we’ve found you,” their leader said. He dismounted and bowed deeply to the three witches. “Lord BlakeDown feared you would not return.”
Olivia said, “Lord BlakeDown complained the entire way, I’d wager, and was hoping we’d give him an excuse to turn back to his castle.”
The scout leader lowered his eyes. He glanced at Morgin, but looked away and said, “He tried to go west, but the dreams stopped him.”
He sent two of his men back to the army to report that they’d found Morgin and the three witches, and that they were all well. The two scouts rode away at a gallop. A few heartbeats after they reached the army, a large contingent of mounted riders broke away from it and rode toward them. BlakeDown rode in the lead, and he reined his horse in a few paces from Morgin. “Blast your damn dreams! We can’t assault Durin with this army. It’s too small.”
Morgin nodded his agreement and said, “You’re right.” That made them all pause. He continued, “The entire Benesh’ere tribe is waiting for us in a forest five leagues south of Durin. We’re going to join them.”
BlakeDown spluttered, “But the Benesh’ere can’t— They can’t just—”
“They can now,” Morgin said. He turned his back on the Penda leader, walked ten paces east and looked at the approaching army. The sun was just beginning to break over the Worshippers, and it turned the wan light of the false dawn into a patchwork of shadows and brightly lit countryside. Morgin felt the enormous shadow of Attunhigh wash over him; it stretched for leagues.
He stepped from that shadow into the shadow in the forest south of Durin. Tulellcoe and Cort were seated at a small fire, and they both stood as he stepped out of the shadow. “Tell the Benesh’ere to break camp. We’ll be coming through shortly, so have everyone form up in the open land north of this forest.” He turned around and stepped back into the shadow of Attunhigh.
With Attunhigh’s enormous shadow enveloping the entire army, Morgin simply walked among them, touching them and sending them through to Tulellcoe and Cort. Only a few hours after dawn he’d moved the last of them to the forest south of Durin, so he and Mortiss stepped through to join them.
34
Ancient Friends
Rhianne’s Kullish guards escorted her down to the ground floor of the castle, then out into the castle yard to a carriage. The Kull lieutenant opened the carriage door and said, “Get in.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll find out when we get there. Now get in.”
She stepped up into the carriage and sat down. The Kull closed the door, leaving her alone in the dark interior. The door had a simple window through which she saw the Kulls mount horses, then the driver snapped his whip and the carriage lurched forward. A few heartbeats later the carriage raced through the gates of the outer bailey and into the city.
She hadn’t been allowed outside the walls of the castle since returning to Durin with Salula, which meant something was happening to make today different. As they passed pedestrians in the streets she looked into their faces, hoping to see some indication of an unusual event, but all seemed normal, just another day in the sprawling city.
The carriage pulled to a stop, the Kull lieutenant opened the door and said, “Get out.”
She ducked her head, stepped through the door and onto the cobbles of a wide square at least a hundred paces across. Something about it struck a chord of memory, but she couldn’t place it. Only when the Kull led her around the carriage did she realize they’d taken her to the main gates in the outer wall of the city. She turned back and looked again at the wide square, recalled that when she’d returned to the city it had been an open market, filled with stalls and vendors hawking their wares. And now it had been cleared, for some reason.
“Don’t delay,” the Kull lieutenant said.
She turned back to the wall and craned her neck to look up, saw smoke rising into the sky from fires outside the wall. The Kull pointed to a doorless archway in the wall to one side of the gates. It was filled with dark shadow.
“That way,” he said.
Inside the archway she found a spiral staircase of stone steps worn by centuries of use. She climbed upward step-by-step, wondering what she would find at the top, circled four times before reaching the top of the wall. She stepped out of an archway onto a wide parapet behind Valso, Carsaris and Magwa, who stood looking at something outside the wall, pointing and gesturing. Carsaris said something about “. . . the Benesh’ere . . .”
The K
ull lieutenant stepped out of the archway behind her and said, “Your Majesty.”
Valso turned toward them and his eyes brightened. “Rhianne, my lovely Rhianne.” He crossed the space between them and kissed her hand with a flourish.
When he looked up she saw the madness in his eyes quite clearly.
Valso threw his head back and laughed. He leaned close and hissed in her ear, “I can see the awe and wonder in your eyes. You see the god within my soul, don’t you?”
He took her arm and marched her to the embrasures on the wall, and swept an arm outward. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
A flat plain extended outside the city for a thousand paces, though just outside the walls lay a swath of ash and smoldering wood about three hundred paces wide. She had to think back to recall that there had been a bustling market of ramshackle stalls there.
“We burned the outer market,” Valso said. “Can’t have them in the way when the city’s under siege.”
Siege, he’d said. For the first time she took note of the wave of people and horses emerging from the forest in the distance. They had spread out across the no-man’s-land and were slowly approaching the city. She leaned out and looked down to the ground, only now realized that the walls of the city stood more than twice as high as the walls of any castle she’d seen.
Carsaris said, “It appears he’s freed the Benesh’ere.”
“Still,” Magwa barked, “There can’t be more than twelve thousand, and I’m counting the children among them.”
Carsaris said, “Do not discount the Benesh’ere young.”
“He’s right,” Valso said. “My halfmen can tell you the spawn of those crazy desert men have separated more than a few of them from their demon counterpart. But Magwa is right in her own way. It doesn’t matter, even if it were twelve thousand fully-blooded warriors, that’s nothing against these walls.”
Rhianne had to admit that, while she was not trained in the science of war, even she could see that Morgin’s army was too small to breach the walls of Durin.