Song of the Risen God

by R. A. Salvatore

  Heartbeats later, the xoconai force charged past, sweeping the street of resistance, cutting down any who stood before them.

  * * *

  King Midalis, Duke Anders beside him, led the push out from St. Precious with a thunderous charge of mounted Allheart Knights. Behind them came the Palmaris garrison, supported by the Abellican monks, sweeping down the main streets of Palmaris and meeting, head-on, the same force that had tramped past Bahdlahn and the others.

  In the heaviest fighting of the day, the largest pitched battle of the war against these bright-faced invaders thus far, including any of the fights in Ursal, the Allheart Knights and the Abellican monks soon sent the xoconai running.

  “Keep pressing,” Midalis called. “Drive them into the river! Allhearts, to me!” He motioned to Duke Anders, who nodded and took his garrison running down a side street into the next large avenue.

  The knights rallied around Midalis with a grand “Huzzah!,” and the force charged off once more, lighter of monks now, as so many worked to save the wounded left in the street behind. If they could engage and hold the enemies long enough, Duke Anders would sweep in from the side with his thousands and break the enemy’s main force.

  But the walls behind Midalis and his Allhearts closed fast as a swarm of lizard riders appeared up above them, atop the roofs. Those enemies moved back the other way, past Midalis, and began raining spears on the monks left behind, cutting them down in short order.

  When Midalis turned his force around to support, the enemy force that had fled was fast regrouping ahead of them.

  “Ohwan! Abbot Havre!” King Midalis cried. “Strike them down with fire and lightning!”

  A few bolts did reach up at the enemy warriors. One building exploded in a fireball, the xoconai up above screaming, lizards shrieking horribly.

  But many were up there, and they found their soft targets for their javelins: the monks.

  Then came the main xoconai force, reversing their retreat into a second charge.

  “Where are you, Anders?” King Midalis quietly asked, turning about to face the returning enemy. When Julian came up beside him, he told the knight, “Find Anders. We need him. Go!”

  Off galloped the knight, down the side street. He had barely entered it, though, when a javelin flew past him. Up went his shield, just in time to deflect another javelin. As he reached the other end of the street, opening onto the large parallel boulevard, Julian pulled up short and whirled about.

  “The docks!” he yelled back to the Allhearts and the monks supporting them. “Duke Anders has run for the docks!”

  “Retreat!” Abbot Ohwan yelled in reply. “To the ships! To the ships!”

  King Midalis spun his horse about to see the abbot and the brothers all starting for the side street.

  “My king?” a knight beside Midalis asked.

  Midalis spun his mount again to face the approaching army. Dozens of javelins flew out at him and his knights, and the enemies roared as one and charged.

  He faced the attackers—and the starkest choice. They could not hope to win here without the support of Duke Anders and his garrison. Even with them, the battle before them appeared daunting.

  Behind him, Abbot Ohwan and the monks were fleeing. About him, the Allhearts bristled, closing ranks, dodging and blocking the missiles.

  “Run, King Midalis!” Abbot Ohwan yelled from the side, the man entering the connecting street, other brothers launching lightning at the edges of the roofs to chase away the spear throwers. “For the good of Honce! Run and sail away!”

  Perhaps he was right. Perhaps the best choice would be a fast retreat from this place and from Palmaris.

  King Midalis thought of his wife, his children, his responsibility to the whole of Honce-the-Bear.

  King Midalis thought of the folk here, the children he would leave behind, as he had left tens of thousands behind in Ursal.

  He lifted his sword and looked to the Allheart Knights to either side, all grim-faced, accepting, ready.

  As one, they charged—not down the side street but straight down the wide avenue, their powerful steeds crashing into the bright-faced invaders, shattering their defensive formations. On they charged, cutting lines deep into the ranks and chopping down enemies in a wild explosion of fury.

  “To me! To me!” King Midalis roared above it all. He saw Abbot Ohwan pause and take note. The man surely had heard him.

  Ohwan turned and fled, taking all the monks that were beside him.

  * * *

  Talmadge, Khotai, and Catriona crawled out from under the building, Catriona leading, scrambling desperately. She stood up and hopped all about, searching, searching, her gaze at last falling on a pile of bodies along the wall to the side of the building.

  She ran, stumbling, expecting to see Bahdlahn among them.

  And her guess was right, she saw, but her fears were not, for as she neared, one of those bodies rolled aside, shoved by Bahdlahn, who had buried himself beneath the dead to escape the spears of the rampaging xoconai. He pulled himself up, covered in blood that was not his own.

  Catriona wrapped him in a hug.

  “Where did they go?” Talmadge asked.

  “There is fighting all over the city,” Khotai remarked, as Bahdlahn pointed to the southwest.

  “Where we should go is the better question,” said Bahdlahn.

  “Anywhere the xoconai didn’t,” Talmadge answered. He motioned for the others to follow and started away at a swift pace. They moved helter-skelter along the streets, turning down alleys, sprinting along wider ways. Their only guidance was the sounds of fighting, which they avoided.

  They came into one quiet section—very quiet, and with no living people or xoconai to be seen. The structures were lower in this neighborhood, and so Khotai, with a single leap, drifted atop one house, taking in a wider view.

  “What do you see?” Catriona called up to her, Bahdlahn and Talmadge rushing to nearby intersections to better watch for enemies.

  “Boats,” she answered. “Sails and masts.” She crouched low and moved all about, looking every which way, gathering as much information about the layout of the area as possible before floating back down to the street to rejoin her three companions.

  A crackle of thunder, a tremendous report, jolted them all as Khotai touched down.

  “Boats,” Khotai said again. “They are fighting at the docks, and great ships are sailing out.”

  “Fleeing,” Talmadge remarked, more to himself than to the others, as they all tried to sort out their next moves.

  “The monks are there,” Khotai added, after a second rumble of magical thunder shook the street.

  “Then they’re all fleeing,” Talmadge reasoned. “The city is lost.” He scrambled about, starting one way, then turning back. “How?” he asked Khotai.

  She motioned for him and the others to follow, then started away, weaving still, but now heading decidedly east. They paused at one wide avenue, holding back at the corner of a building and peering around to the right to see a host of fleeing enemies with armored horsemen running them down and charging along.

  Talmadge, Khotai, and Catriona started across the avenue, but Bahdlahn held back, staring down the side street at the wounded and dead xoconai.

  “Bahdlahn! Come along!” Talmadge called to him.

  “How can we leave?” he replied, though he was moving again to join the others. “How can we just run away when so many will not escape? What of the family hiding under the house?”

  “What can we do?” Catriona argued. “The priests are fleeing. The warriors are fleeing.”

  “Not those warriors,” Bahdlahn pointed out.

  “Not yet, perhaps,” said Talmadge. “Or they are sacrificing themselves so that others might escape.” He shook his head and pushed Khotai ahead of him, moving on toward the docks with all speed.

  Around the next line of buildings, the foursome crested a hill, the river wide before them in the distance. Down below, at the en
d of the lane, they saw the tall masts of many ships and the full sails of others that had already slipped out into the open water. Flames roared high into the air to the left and the sounds of fighting echoed up the hill toward them.

  Down they ran, coming upon a frenetic scene of running people, scrambling and desperate, and lizard-riding enemies rushing all about, trying to get to those ships that hadn’t yet departed. One large ship slipped out of port, a hail of javelins lifting toward it. On the long wharf, the invaders raced about, running and riding, cutting down those who hadn’t managed to get aboard.

  Growling, Bahdlahn started for that wharf, but then he skidded to a stop, even fell over backwards in surprise, when a bolt of lightning flew from over the taffrail of a ship, shooting down the wharf, scorching flesh and wood.

  “This way!” Talmadge yelled, and Bahdlahn regained his footing and chased the others down to the right, all the way to the right, to the last wharf before a higher dock section supporting a large building.

  A ship there was trying to get out, but fighting covered the end of the wharf and the javelins that flew at the side of the ship had ropes attached. The xoconai were trying to hold the vessel in port.

  Onto the long wharf ran the friends, Talmadge leading, in between Bahdlahn and Catriona, with Khotai close behind, springing high and letting arrows fly with every leap.

  They cut through a trio of enemies who were too intent on the action before them to look behind. Bahdlahn threw a fourth xoconai from the dock into the dark water, then tipped a fifth in behind, along with the lizard the female warrior was riding.

  The powerful young man scooped up a fallen macana and ran ahead of his friends, swatting aside any who stood before him. He fought wildly, recklessly, taking hits in order to deliver hits, and with his thick muscles, every hit Bahdlahn scored tossed an enemy away.

  They passed the midpoint of the wharf. Bahdlahn missed a swing, and the error left him helpless against a xoconai who leaped up high, macana raised for a killing strike.

  Bahdlahn growled, thinking his life at an end, but the enemy seemed to hold up in the air just a bit too long … It took Bahdlahn a moment to see the arrow stuck deep into that one’s bright face. Down he dropped, already dead when he fell over Bahdlahn, who heaved him high and far over the side.

  They came up on the back of the ship, upon the enemies trying to hold it, and one by one those lines dropped, either from the four friends dispatching the xoconai holding it or because that enemy had turned to meet the charge.

  The ship slid out. Those few enemies still trying to halt it were being tugged along; a couple were even pulled into the water.

  Bahdlahn sprinted to the end of the wharf, the ship sliding past him. He grabbed a woman holding a child and hoisted both up the side of the vessel, where waiting hands grabbed them and pulled them aboard.

  Others ran by, stepping into Bahdlahn’s cupped hands, and with a great heave, the powerful man sent them flying up to the rail and safety.

  “Go! Go now!” said Talmadge, running past Bahdlahn and leaping high and far. He crashed hard against the side but caught some netting there and would not let go.

  Then came Catriona, and Bahdlahn caught her in her run and heaved her up to the back of the ship as it now slid fully past the dock. She caught the taffrail, many hands grabbing and securing her.

  “Bahdlahn!” she cried.

  He jumped back to get a running start. He glanced back for Khotai, who came down the wharf with great springs, turning back with each hop and letting fly an arrow.

  She had a javelin sticking from her side, though it seemed to be hanging in the folds of her dress rather than sticking into her flesh.

  “Bahdlahn!” Catriona yelled again.

  He glanced her way. The ship slid further from the dock, gaining speed.

  “Leap with Khotai! The magic!” yelled Catriona.

  Bahdlahn nodded, but only to silence her.

  Khotai bounced down beside him, offering him her arm. Instead, he caught her outside her grasp and then turned her past him and ran to the wharf’s edge, lifting her, throwing her, shoving her far and hard so that she could not grab him.

  She spun weirdly in that turn, floating with the magic of the belt and the force of the strong man’s throw, out, out from the dock, out from Bahdlahn, gliding over the high back of the departing ship, now twenty yards from the edge of the wharf.

  Bahdlahn nodded grimly to Catriona.

  He couldn’t leave. He knew that he could likely do nothing here to make any real difference, but when he looked around at the helpless innocents being cut down by the bright-faced invaders, none of that mattered.

  He had to try.

  17

  WHEN THE SIDHE CAME

  “Saint-Mere-Abelle is not like Ursal,” Father Abbot Braumin said to a large gathering in the monastery’s main courtyard. “There is no fortress—there is no place—anywhere in the world quite like it. Our power is in our faith, and that faith gives to us the sacred Ring Stones.”

  That brought a lot of nods about the gathering, but also more than a few stares turned Aoleyn’s way. She was keenly aware of them, and of the fact that the father abbot’s decision to give her back her jewelry had not been well received by many of the other monks.

  Aydrian put his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to regard him, so impressive in his splendid silver armor and with that beautiful sword hanging on one hip. He offered her a smile and a wink.

  He understood her discomfort, she knew, and he was likely feeling a thousand times the stares and intensity of those now coming at her.

  She turned back to the father abbot.

  “… every day,” he was saying. “Construction on Saint-Mere-Abelle happens every day. In the rain, in the snow, as it has been for almost nine hundred years, since the days of Saint Abelle himself. Always improving, always strengthening. This is our way. Look around you, my brethren.” He turned a circle with his arm out wide, inviting the view of the structures and high wall.

  “Is there a place in that wall that is not reinforced?” he asked. “Is there a finger’s breadth the length of the barrier that has not been hardened with magical citrine?

  “No, we are not Ursal, for all her might. Nor will we be caught unawares. Oh, King Midalis knew that an attack was coming, thanks to the warning brought to him by our own Brother Thaddius and Sister Elysant and these two guests.” He motioned down from the platform to Aydrian and Aoleyn, and again the woman felt the stares of many upon her.

  “But they in Ursal were still overwhelmed and surprised by the ferocity and suddenness and sheer size and skill of the enemy forces. Who could blame them? And I’ll not make light of the power of these invaders, these sidhe, who call themselves the xoconai. But take heart, my brethren, and hold faith, for unlike the king and his Allheart Knights in Ursal, the priests here at Saint-Mere-Abelle now know exactly what to expect. In spirit-walking, we have had seen the devastation of the throne city and the unfolding tragedy of Palmaris. We have watched the enemy’s approach.

  “It is they, the sidhe, who will find surprise on the fields before the unbreakable wall of Saint-Mere-Abelle!”

  Aoleyn started in surprise at the sudden cheering that erupted all about her. Strangely, she thought of Tay Aillig, the Usgar-laoch, the war leader of her tribe. He had given such speeches as this, though with more emotion, even rage, infecting every word.

  Tay Aillig was better at this than Father Abbot Braumin, she decided. For all the Usgar-laoch’s many faults, he could drive the Usgar warriors into a bloodlust that left them no room for fear or doubt.

  The morning gathering began to disband then, and Aoleyn was pleasantly surprised when Sister Elysant joined her and Aydrian.

  “They say the leading scout forces of the sidhe are less than ten miles to the west,” she said, as the three started off across the courtyard. “The brothers have already been sent out into their holes. Are you ready for a fight, King Aydrian?”

  “Ayd
rian. Just Aydrian,” he corrected.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ve witnessed them in combat,” Aydrian said. “Outside of a village called Fasach Crann. Do not underestimate them. These are not mere goblins.”

  “So I have been told.”

  “He ran from them,” Aoleyn said, drawing a surprised look from Aydrian and Elysant. “He ran because he knew that, if he stayed, he and all the others would have been slaughtered.”

  “Aoleyn has fought them with her magic. Twice,” said Aydrian.

  “That is what they will know here at Saint-Mere-Abelle,” Elysant agreed. “I am not proficient with the Ring Stones, so my role will be minimal—and better for all if I never have to raise this new stave in battle against the sidhe.”

  “Xoconai,” Aoleyn corrected, almost reflexively. She wondered why it mattered but knew deep inside that it did. Sidhe was a word associated with the goblins, she figured. And these beautiful, bright-faced, manlike creatures were certainly nothing at all like goblins—indeed, they were perhaps more removed from goblins than the humans were.

  That thought made her wince.

  “Yes, xoconai,” Elysant agreed. “Saint-Mere-Abelle is ready for them. Come, let me show you.”

  She led the way to a ladder, then up to a parapet not far from the monastery’s main gates.

  “You see?” she asked, motioning out over the wall to the long, sloping field before the great structure.

  “I see grass,” Aoleyn dryly replied.

  “Yes, but what might it hide?” Elysant teased.

  Aydrian chuckled. “Monks,” he said.

  Aoleyn moved to the wall and leaned out a bit, staring hard.

  “The monks know well their tricks,” Aydrian said to her.

  “They are out there, ready to fight?”

  “Oh yes,” said Elysant.

  “Why are you in here, then?” Aoleyn asked. “Thaddius says you are among the finest of the Abellican fighters.”

  “Because I fight with a staff,” she replied. “Out there?”