Raging Swords

by Robert Ryan

The lòhren cast his gaze out over the wall at the charging enemy. “I don’t know, but it’s so. That much we can both feel.”

  There was no more time for talk. The great mass of the enemy drew near the Cardurleth. The sound of so many tramping boots, of wild yells and the incessant pounding of drums from within the main host rose in a menacing din that seemed to shake the very stone of the wall. But those who held it did not flinch.

  The men hefted spears, drew bows and grasped rocks. The arrows sped forth first, swift-flighted darts that hissed through the air and struck death from afar. The elugs wore armor, though many only had leather jerkins. The great bows of Cardoroth were strong, and hardened leather offered little protection even from a distance. Many fell, tripping and hindering their fellows. But the mad rush continued and none slowed, for to slow was to become a target for the bowmen.

  On the dark ranks raced. Arrows sang among them, but now also the spears were hurled. They were heavy, and sharp tipped, and they rained a deadly hail upon the enemy. Yet still the elugs came, trampling over their dead or wounded, screaming in rage or fear and especially for the sheer madness that the elùgroths had instilled in them during the night by sorcerous chanting.

  The rocks came next. Some were thrown like balls. Others, so large that two men had to heave them, dropped over the wall. Just as the elugs reached the Cardurleth this latest defense assaulted them, but they had reached some measure of safety now, being so close to the wall where arrows and spears were of less use.

  The elugs threw up the ladders they carried. They were rickety constructions of light timber, held together by twine and hope. But they also had climbing ropes with steel barbed hooks at the end. All were thrown against the wall. And the enemy that yet lived, which was still the greater part of them, commenced to climb.

  The men of Cardoroth worked speedily now, but with calm and efficiency. Gilhain gave no orders, nor did the captains along the wall. The soldiers knew what needed doing, and when, and they acted accordingly.

  They used long poles to dislodge the ladders, sending the elugs screaming to death or broken bones below. Axes cut at ropes, though some of these were wound with wire also and that slowed their severing. Yet hundreds of the enemy hurtled to grim deaths, for it was a long climb.

  Yet climb the enemy did, swarming up the wall until the forerunners clambered through some of the gaps at the top of the crenellated battlement.

  The elugs slipped through, or jumped or leaped or rolled, but they came to their feet and wielded their curved blades with ferocity and desperation. For though they had attained the battlement, the greatest risk was now upon them. Many were cut and stabbed by sword as they reached the top. Those who survived this deadly greeting were few, and the mass of men atop the battlement pressed against them with grim determination.

  But the elugs fought on. A trickle of their fellows joined them. There were now more elugs atop the wall than there had ever been before, and the enemy took hope from this. If they could but hold on a little while until more of their kind came, the wall might yet fall. And should that happen the city would swiftly follow.

  The elugs fought with crazed desperation. The men hacked and slew with quiet determination. Blood slicked the stone. Screams rang out. The stench of death hung heavy over the walls. In the distance crows flapped on their perches in tall trees, croaking and sharpening their beaks. High overhead the Red Kites of Cardoroth, which lived off vermin and refuse, circled the airs.

  In the enemy camp the war drums rose in sudden frenzy, and the whole host beat swords on shields and stamped their-iron shod boots. The din was maddening, and fear throbbed through the air.

  Gilhain stepped forward and gave a signal. His standard-bearer lifted high his flag and the great carnyx horn sounded again. For just a moment every eye that could turned toward him.

  The king drew his sword. It was the sword of his father, and his father’s father. It leaped like a white flame from its sheath, but bright red sparks shimmered from its gem-encrusted pommel.

  “The Cardurleth has never fallen,” he cried. “Nor will it! Not while brave men hold its length. And you are as brave as any that defended the city during our long history. Teach these elugs what all their kind before them have learned: we do not yield!”

  The men drove against the elugs with all their might. The elugs fought back, panic lending them ferocity, for should they fail to take the wall every one of them was dead.

  For several long breaths Gilhain watched. He could not tell who would prevail, and he was ready to step forth and fight himself, for that would hearten the defenders. Yet if he did that now it would have less effect at some time in the future when the defenders might need it more.

  He waited. Men died. Elugs died. The battlements roiled with the finely balanced potentials of victory and defeat.

  Gilhain glanced at Aranloth. The lòhren stood, transfixed by the battle, his hands gripping his oaken staff, his eyes seeming to follow every slash and cut of a thousand blades. But he gave no sign of what he thought.

  The decision was Gilhain’s. He moved his right foot, preparing to step forward, but instinct told him to wait, and he listened to it.

  The elugs pressed forward. They took the battlement inch by inch, but they did so in only a few places. In others, the men of Cardoroth held their own. New elugs scrambled up the ladders and climbing ropes, but many of these devices had been cut or destroyed the first time they were dislodged. There were much less now, and the newcomers were therefore fewer, and within a minute the men of Cardoroth pressed back. Soon no new elugs reached the battlement, for there was no way for them to pass through the ranks of their brethren, pushed right back against the stonework.

  The men of Cardoroth were tired. Their sword strokes were slower, less powerful, and the elugs fought with the knowledge that this might be their last few moments walking in the world.

  But the men outnumbered them, and though slowed by exhaustion, determination kept them on their feet. They continued to press their enemy, and in moments the tide turned. The elugs knew they had now lost and the fight went out of them. Resigned to death, they fell swiftly, their dark bodies littering the stone floor of the battlement, those that were not lifted and cast over the wall.

  The last elug fell. A hush descended. The war drums came to a rumbling stop.

  “We survive yet again,” whispered Gilhain.

  Aranloth let out a sigh beside him. “So it seems, though that was closer than I would have liked.” His keen-eyed glance fell upon Gilhain. “You have nerves of ice. Few others in your position would have waited so long. But your own blade will yet be needed. Whether today, or tomorrow, or in a month. Keep it sharp!”

  Gilhain grunted. “The blade is sharp, but the arm that wields it has lost its strength of old.”

  ‘Maybe so, but the mind that guides it is still strong and sure.”

  Gilhain watched as the men went to work. They moved quickly, for no one knew how long it would take for the next assault to come. But for the moment, the enemy remained subdued, and no sign of a further attack seemed imminent.

  The wounded were removed first, taken below into the city to the care of the healers. Not that all of them would live. Many might though, and still have productive lives though maimed in body and mind. The dead were removed next. Elugs were tumbled over the wall, the men of Cardoroth taken away with solemnity. Then came the buckets of water to wash away the gore, and swiftly after that sawdust to soak up any moisture. The battlement was no place for a slippery surface where men could fall.

  Gilhain kept his gaze on the enemy. He wanted to read what they would do next, for most of what he did as commander relied on discerning the intentions of the enemy. Yet he was perplexed at the moment. The opposing host had suffered a defeat, perhaps a great one, for they had worked themselves into a frenzy all night in order to try to win the fight today. They had lost, and yet now was also the time to attack. The defenders on the wall were weary. Their spirits might be high, b
ut if the enemy could not take the walls in a single assault they must show that they had the numbers to keep on coming back, even after a defeat. That would be the most demoralizing message of all, and yet no attack came.

  “What are they doing?” Gilhain asked the lòhren.

  Aranloth followed his gaze. “The unexpected,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look to the center of the host. There is movement there.”

  Gilhain did so. “All I can see are a few figures coming forward. It’s not an attack.”

  “Not of arms,” Aranloth answered.

  “Then what? Sorcery? I see now that the figures are black-cloaked elùgroths.”

  “Perhaps,” Aranloth said slowly. “I don’t rule that out, but I think this is something else. We shall see soon.”

  They watched as the figures came to the front of the host. There were three elùgroths and three men of the Azan race.

  The elùgroths clutched their wych-wood staffs, and the Azan stood meekly behind them. Yet what the purpose of the enemy was, no one knew.

  The men on the walls watched keenly, and Gilhain kept an eye on the soldiers’ reaction also, for so far the sorcerers had stayed back and let the elugs attack. The men were familiar with the chanting at night, the words of power that rolled through the enemy host intended to uplift the dark horde and at the same time weaken the determination of the defenders. They knew that a sorcerous attempt had been made on his life, but they must wonder even as did he, what would be next?

  But of that, Gilhain could not even guess, and it disturbed him. Whatever it was, as Aranloth had said, it would be unexpected.

  13. A Token of Death

  Gilhain watched nervously, but he did not allow any of his inner feelings to show. He stood casually, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he surveyed nothing more than the scenery on a morning walk.

  The elùgroths left the ranks of the host and came forward. Their strides were long and confident. The one in the middle held his wych-wood staff loosely in his left hand. Something small caught the sun in his right.

  Gilhain stepped to the edge of the wall and leaned against it. Aranloth followed.

  “What do they want?” Gilhain asked.

  “They do not want anything. They come to tell us something, and it will not be good. Prepare yourself.”

  Gilhain did not move, but his heart sunk and his stomach churned.

  The elùgroths drew closer, the three Azan that served them following close behind.

  “The one in the middle is Khamdar,” Aranloth said. “He is the leader of the elùgroths gathered here.”

  Gilhain studied him. He was very tall, and he strode with confidence, or perhaps arrogance. He showed no doubt and no fear at approaching the wall so closely. Gilhain considered ordering a hail of arrows, but that was not just, for these men had come to parley, however evil they were. More than that, he doubted they were vulnerable to arrow attack, or else they would not venture so close in the first place, and seeing such an attack fail would dishearten the men and rally the elugs. He waited, unmoving and patient.

  The elùgroths came beneath the shadow of the wall, and there they stopped.

  “Be wary,” Aranloth hissed. “Khamdar is dangerous. Everywhere he goes he leaves death and woe behind him as other men leave trails in the snow.”

  Gilhain did not answer. There was nothing he could say.

  In the shadow of the Cardurleth the sorcerers stirred. Khamdar muttered something to those beside him, and then he looked up.

  Even from the ground below, Gilhain felt the force of his stare. The man’s head was cowled, which shadowed his face, and though no eyes were visible, yet still Gilhain sensed their probing. And it was more than probing; it was a wave of malice that smote the wall and those upon it as a physical blow.

  Some of the men took a step back. Some gripped their swords in trembling hands. Gilhain stood still and waited.

  Khamdar raised his wych-wood staff. The dark wood was dull in the shadows, but the long-fingered hand that held it, pallid and blue-veined, was clearly visible. Gilhain reminded himself that the sorcerer was a man, whatever his age or powers – however he looked and acted. He was still a man.

  “I come not to offer hope,” Khamdar said.

  His voice was slow and deep. It welled up to the battlement like a rising tide, and by some art of sorcery it carried far along the wall to either side.

  “I come to take it away. Today, there will be no granting of mercy. We will not promise to let you live if you surrender. We will not depart, though you try to buy freedom with a hundred wagons laden with heavy gold.”

  Gilhain finally moved. He gave a nonchalant shrug.

  “Tell us something new,” he said, and by the power of Aranloth his words were also carried far across the wall and even to the enemy host.

  “Since when do elug armies grant mercy? Since when did elùgroths become noble leaders? Try to kill us with blades or sorcery if you must, but don’t be so stupid as to think that words will purchase what only blood and courage can buy.”

  There was a sharp hiss from one of the Azan men below, but the elùgroths showed no reaction.

  Khamdar laughed into the sudden silence. It was a fell sound, like a wolf’s howl born on a midnight wind, and Gilhain’s blood ran cold. He wondered if his enemy was a man after all.

  “So brave!” Khamdar cried. “Well, bravery is for those who possess hope. But the hopeless fall away and die. You shall see that my words are true, but first I would speak with the old man beside you. To him would I bring tidings of events beyond this wall.”

  Aranloth did not move, but his voice rang out.

  “Speak then, Khamdar, lòhren that was. But we shall judge the truth of your words.”

  “Truth?” Khamdar answered. “You do not recognize truth when you see it. Through the ages you have blindly fought the long defeat. For there is no stopping my kind, or the power that we serve. Still, you try. And that is a noble, if foolish, thing. Yet nobler would it have been for you to die in one of the many battles that you have seen. But no, you endure while others fight and die, giving their lives for your cause. Is that not so?”

  Aranloth remained still. “It is not, but speak on. I do not have all day to exchange insults with a renegade that deserted his friends. But tell me this – was it worth it? You betrayed the lòhrens in search of power. Have you found it? Or have you found only servitude instead?”

  Khamdar snarled. “Betrayed! It was you who held me back!”

  A wave of malice drove against the wall, and the anger in the sorcerer’s voice throbbed through the air.

  Khamdar was silent a moment, as though gathering scattered thoughts that he had lost.

  “Ever you know how to use words to twist things,” he said at length. “Was it not so with Brand?”

  He paused, and Gilhain leaned closer against the wall.

  “Ah,” the elùgroth said, looking at him. “I see that the name is not unknown to you. Nor to me. For I have met Brand.”

  Khamdar turned to Aranloth again.

  “Would you like to know, O mighty lòhren, what his last words were?”

  Aranloth gripped tight his staff.

  “You will speak, whether I will or no, so get to it.”

  “Very well. I have no wish to prolong your pain. I will tell you, but first, I think that perhaps all the men who so valiantly protect both king and lòhren should know what the last hope of Cardoroth was, how the city leaders devised it, and who they sent in their stead for its accomplishment. Who, in fact, faced dangers beyond them so that cowards might live a little while longer.”

  A hush fell over the wall, and Khamdar paused. His words were dripping with poison. They could fester among the men, and Gilhain knew he should say something. But he was overwhelmed. The enemy knew of Brand. They said he was dead, and that wrenched at him even more than he feared it would, but he straightened and took heart. Words were often easy to say – pro
of was harder.

  Khamdar spoke again. His voice was slow and assured.

  “We elùgroths possess great power,” he said. “But there is an object that we use to enhance it. Your leaders,” and here he pointed at Gilhain and Aranloth with his staff, “sought to break that power. They sent Brand, your precious Durlindrath, on a quest to do so. They sent him alone. One man against an army. That was so … brave … of them, was it not? But Brand is now dead, though he lived a long time, despite torture and torment. Yet with his dying breath he cursed both lòhren and king.”

  He turned again to Aranloth.

  “Does that surprise you? It should not. You sent someone to complete a task that you dared not attempt yourself, and he died in your stead. What else did you expect?”

  Aranloth gave no answer, but he leaned on his staff and bowed his head.

  Gilhain spoke. “You have much to say, but I see no evidence that your words are anything more than dust on the wind.”

  Khamdar laughed again. “Dust on the wind? Then let the air bring you the proof you want!”

  He drew back his arm, and though the wall was high, and Gilhain stood more than fifty feet above him, the elùgroth hurled an object with speed and accuracy. It flashed through the air, spinning and glittering as it wheeled.

  It would have struck Gilhain even though he tried to leap back, but Aranloth was quicker than he looked, or perhaps had anticipated such a move. Either way, his staff struck the object down to clatter on the stone flagging at their feet. The lòhren bent down quickly to pick it up.

  From the ramparts several archers loosed arrows. But no shaft reached the target below. With a dismissive wave of the wych-wood staff the arrows shattered in flight and fell whining in smoke and ruin.

  “Halt!” cried Gilhain, holding up his hand to stop any further attack. “Don’t fire.”

  The men fitted new arrows to their strings, but did not draw.

  “This is a parley,” Gilhain said, moving back to the edge of the wall. “But I suppose I shouldn’t expect elùgroths to hold to the rules of civilization.”