The arrow took him full on the side of the head, in the temple, punching through bone and spinning the boy round, legs sliding out onto a side of the boulder, then, with a limp roll, Steth fell to the ground.
Aystar began screaming, a piercing cry that rang up and down the fissure, as Onrack shoved her behind him and said, 'Run. Back, stay along a wall. Run.'
More arrows hissed down the length of the crevasse, two of them thudding into Onrack with puffs of dust. He pulled them loose and dropped them to the floor, striding forward and taking his sword into both hands.
****
Minala's face looked old, drawn with days and nights of fear and worry, the relentless pressure of waiting, of looking upon her adopted children, rank on rank, and seeing naught but soldiers, who had learned to kill, who had learned to watch their comrades die. All to defend a vacant throne.
Trull Sengar could comprehend the mocking absurdity of this stand. A ghost had claimed the First Throne, a thing of shadows so faded from this world even the undead T'lan Imass looked bloated with excess beside it. A ghost, a god, a gauze-thin web-tracing of desire, possessiveness and nefarious designs — this is what had claimed the seat of power, over all the T'lan Imass, and would now see it held, blocked against intruders.
There were broken T'lan Imass out there, somewhere, who sought to usurp the First Throne, to take its power and gift it to the Crippled God — to the force that now chained all of the Tiste Edur. The Crippled God, who had given Rhulad a sword riven with a terrible curse. Yet, for that fallen creature, an army of Edur was not enough. An army of Letherii was not enough. No, it wanted the T'lan Imass.
And we would stop him, this Crippled God. This pathetic little army of ours.
Onrack had promised anger, with the battle that would, inevitably, come at last. But Trull knew that anger would not be enough, nor what he himself felt: desperation. Nor Minala's harsh terror, nor, he now believed, the stolid insensibility of Monok Ochem and Ibra Gholan — that too, was doomed to fail. What a menagerie we are.
He pulled his gaze from Minala, glanced over to where stood Monok Ochem, motionless before the arched entranceway leading into the throne room. The bonecaster had not moved in at least three cycles of sleeping and waking. The silver-tipped fur on his shoulders shimmered vaguely in the lantern light. Then, as Trull studied the figure, he saw the head cock slightly.
Well—
A child's shrieking, echoing from up the passage, brought Trull Sengar to his feet. His spear leaned against a wall — snatching it in one hand he rushed towards the cries.
Aystar suddenly appeared, arms outflung, her face a blur of white — 'Steth's dead! He's been killed! He's dead—'
And then Minala was in the child's path, wrapping her in a fierce hug then twisting round. 'Panek! Gather the soldiers!'
The second line of defence, halfway between Onrack's position and the main encampment, was held by Ibra Gholan, and this T'lan Imass turned as Trull Sengar approached.
'Onrack battles,' Ibra Gholan said. 'To slow their advance. There are many Tiste Edur this time. And humans. A shaman is among them, an Edur, wielding chaotic power. This time, Trull Sengar, they mean to take the First Throne.'
He could hear sounds of fighting now. Onrack, alone against a mass of Trull's own kin. And a damned warlock. 'Get Monok Ochem up here, then! If that warlock decides to unleash a wave of sorcery, we're finished.'
'Perhaps you are—'
'You don't understand, you sack of bones! Chaotic sorcery! We need to kill that bastard!' And Trull moved forward, leaving Ibra Gholan behind.
****
Ahlrada Ahn watched three of his warriors fall to the T'lan Imass's huge stone sword — the undead bastard had yet to take a step back from the narrow choke-point in the passage. Ahlrada Ahn turned to Sathbaro Rangar. 'We need to drive that thing back! It won't tire — it can hold that position for ever!'
Taralack Veed pushed into view. 'Send Icarium against it!'
'The Jhag is empty,' the warlock said dismissively. 'Withdraw your warriors, Ahlrada Ahn. And get those Letherii to cease with their arrows — I do not want an errant shaft in the back.' Sathbaro Rangar then moved forward.
And Ahlrada Ahn saw a figure coming up behind the T'lan Imass, a figure wielding a spear — tall, hidden in shadows, yet... a familiar silhouette, the fluid movement — he saw an arrow hiss past the undead's shoulder, then saw that spear shaft flick it aside.
No. This cannot be. I am mistaken. 'Sathbaro!'
The T'lan Imass suddenly yielded its position, stepping back into darkness, and then it and the other figure moved away, up the passage—
Sathbaro Rangar hobbled closer to the choke-point, power building round him, a silver-etched rising wave, flickering argent. The damp stone of the fissure's walls began snapping, a strange percussive sound as water burst into steam. A large sheet of rock near the narrowed portal suddenly exfoliated, crashing down to shatter on the floor.
The sorcery lifted higher, fuller, spreading out to the sides, then over Sathbaro's head, a standing wave of power that crackled and hissed like a thousand serpents.
Ahlrada Ahn moved forward. 'Sathbaro! Wait!'
But the warlock ignored him, and with a roar the seething wave of magic plunged into the choke-point, blistering a path up the channel—
—where it suddenly shattered.
The concussion pushed Ahlrada Ahn back three steps, a wave of heat striking him like a fist.
Sathbaro Rangar screamed.
As something huge appeared in the choke-point, humped shoulders pushing through the aperture. Gaunt with undeath, its skin a mottled map of grey and black, silver-tipped fur on the neck and reaching along the shoulders like hackles, the creature emerged from the choke-point and rushed on its knuckles and hand-like hind feet — straight for Sathbaro Rangar.
Ahlrada Ahn shouted out a warning—
—too late, for the beast reached out and closed enormous hands on the warlock, lifted him into the air, tore off one arm, then the other, blood gouting as the apparition then twisted the shrieking Sathbaro round and bit into the back of the Edur's neck, huge canines sinking deep. As the jaws clenched, the undead demon's head snapped back — and ripped half the neck away — Sathbaro's spine racing out like an anchor-chain, whipping bloody in the air—
The beast then flung the corpse aside, and advanced on Ahlrada Ahn.
****
Icarium stood over the corpse of a child, stared down at the fluids leaking from the broken skull, at the glazed eyes and half-open mouth. The Jhag stood as if rooted, trembling.
Taralack Veed was before him. 'Now, Slayer. Now is the time!'
'No need,' Icarium muttered. 'No need for this.'
'Listen to me—'
'Be silent. I will not kill children. I will have none of this—'
A detonation of sorcery ahead, the concussion rolling back, rocking them both. Shouts, then screams. And a bestial snarl. Shrieks, cries of horror from the Letherii and Edur, then the sound of fear.
'Icarium! A demon is upon us! A demon! No child, no children — do you see? You must act — now! Show them! Show the Edur what is within you!'
Taralack was dragging at his arm. Frowning, Icarium allowed himself to be pulled forward, through a mass of cowering Edur. No, I do not want this — yet he could feel the pounding of his hearts, rising like war drums with songs of fire —
The stench of spilled blood and waste, and both warriors arrived to witness the savage death of Sathbaro Rangar.
And the Soletaken then surged into a charge — and Ahlrada Ahn — the brave warrior, seeking to protect his soldiers — stepped into the creature's path.
Icarium found his single-edged sword in his right hand —he did not recall unsheathing it — and he was moving forward, every motion seeming improbably slow, disjointed, as he reached out, grasping the Tiste Edur and throwing him back as if he weighed little more than a cloth hanging; and then the Jhag advanced to meet the undead ape.
Another step forward, as a strange humming filled Icarium's skull, and the beast backed further away, into the choke-point, then beyond, where it whirled round and fled up the passage.
Icarium staggered, gasped, threw one hand up against one edge of the narrowed portal — felt its brittle surface beneath his palm. The eerie song in his mind faded—
And then Edur were plunging past him, rushing through the breach. And once more, ahead, the sounds of battle. Hard iron clashing, all scent of sorcery gone—
****
Beyond the choke-point, Ahlrada Ahn saw before him a widening of the fissure, and there, in a ragged line at least three deep, stood soldiers of some kind, weapons wavering, pale smudged faces beneath helms — Sisters take me, they are so young! What is this? Children face us!
And then he saw the two T'lan Imass, and between them a tall, grey-skinned figure — no. No, it cannot be — we left him, we—
A savage war-cry from Kholb Harat, echoed almost immediately by Saur Bathrada. 'Trull Sengar! The traitor is before us!'
'You are mine!'
Despite Saur's bold claim, both he and Kholb lunged together, closing on Trull Sengar.
Then the remaining Edur were spreading out, rushing the line of armoured children, and the two forces collided in a cacophony of ringing weapons and shields. Screams of pain and rage rebounded off the battered stone walls.
And Ahlrada Ahn stood, frozen in place, watching, disbelieving.
Trull Sengar fought a frantic defence with his spear, as weapons slashed and thrust at him from both Saur and Kholb. They were forcing him back — and Ahlrada Ahn could see, could understand — Trull was seeking to protect these children — the ones behind him—
Edur screams — the two T'lan Imass were pushing forward in counter-attack, one to either side, and it seemed nothing could stop them.
Yet still he stood, and then, with a brutal, hoarse cry, he sprang forward.
****
Trull Sengar knew these two warriors. He could see the hatred in their eyes, felt their fury in the weight of their blows as they sought to batter through his guard — he could not hold them much longer. And when he fell, he knew the pitifully young soldiers behind would come face to face with these Edur killers.
Where was Apt? Why was Minala holding the demon back — what more could assail them?
Someone else was shouting his name now, from among the packed Edur. A name voiced, not in rage, but in anguish — but Trull had no time to look, no time even to wonder — Kholb had laid a blade along his left wrist, opening the flesh wide, and blood was streaming along the underneath of that forearm, seeping into the hand's grip on the shaft.
Not much longer. They've improved, the both of them—
He then saw a Merude cutlass slash inward from behind Kholb, taking the warrior solidly in the neck, through —and Kholb Harat's head rolled on its side, tumbled down. The body wavered a moment, then crumpled.
A snarling curse from Saur Bathrada, who spun round, stabbing low, his sword digging deep into the newcomer's right thigh—
And Trull lunged, sinking the point of his spear into Saur's forehead, just beneath the rim of the helmet. And saw, with horror, both of the warrior's eyes leap from their sockets as if on strings as the head pitched back.
Trull dragged his weapon free as an Edur staggered into him, gasping, 'Trull! Trull Sengar!'
'Ahlrada?'
The warrior twisted round, raising both cutlasses. 'I fight at your side, Trull! Amends — please, I beg you!'
Amends? 'I don't understand — but I do not doubt. Welcome—'
A sound was building in Trull's head, seeming to assail him from every direction. He saw a child clamp hands to ears off to his left, then another one—
'Trull Sengar! It is the Jhag! Sisters take us, he is coming!'
Who? What?
What is that sound?
****
Onrack the Broken saw the Jhag, felt the power growing in the figure that staggered forward as if drunk, and the T'lan Imass moved into his path. Is this their leader? Jaghut blood, yes. Oh, how the old bitterness and fury rises again—
The Jhag suddenly straightened, raising his sword, and the high-pitched moaning burgeoned with physical force, pummelling Onrack back a step, and the T'lan Imass saw, at last, the Jhag's eyes.
Flat, lifeless, then seeming to light, all at once, with a dreadful rage.
The tall, olive-hued warrior surged at him, weapon flashing with blinding speed.
Onrack caught that blade on his sword, slashed high in riposte, intending to take off the Jhag's head — and, impossibly, that sword was there to meet his own, with a force that rocked the T'lan Imass. A hand punched outward, caught the undead warrior on the chest, lifting him clear from the rock floor—
A heavy crash against a wall, ribs splintering. Sliding down, Onrack landed on his feet, crouching to gather himself, then he launched himself forward once more—
The Jhag was moving past, straight for Minala's front line of young soldiers, the keening sound now deafening—
Onrack collided with the half-blood, indurate bone and the weight of a mule behind the force hammering into the Jhag's midsection.
And the T'lan Imass was thrown back, thumping hard to the floor.
His target had been staggered as well, and Onrack saw its bared teeth as it whirled and, shimmering fast, closed on the undead warrior — before he could even rise — that free hand snapping down, fingers pushing through thick, desiccated hide, wrapping round his sternum, lifting Onrack into the air, then flinging the T'lan Imass away —into the wall once again, this time with a force that shattered both bone and the stone flank of the fissure.
Onrack crumpled in a heap, amidst shards of rock, and did not move.
But the Jhag had been turned round by the effort, and now faced a mass of Tiste Edur and Letherii.
****
Trull Sengar saw the green-skinned monstrosity — who had crushed Onrack against a wall as if he had been a sack of melons — suddenly plunge among the Edur crowded behind him, and begin a terrible slaughter.
The keening sound rose yet higher, bringing with it a swirling, cavorting wind of raw power. Building — flailing the flesh from those Edur and Letherii closest to him — a nightmare had arrived, roaring a promise of obliteration. Trull stared, disbelieving, as blood blossomed in the air in a dreadful mist, as bodies fell — two, three at a time, then four, five — the warriors seemed to melt away, toppling, spun round by savage impacts—
A stained hand grasped his left forearm, drew him round. And, through the terrible keening: 'Trull — we shall die now, all of us — but, I have found you. Trull Sengar, I am sorry — for the Shorning, for all... all the rest—'
Minala stumbled close. 'Where is Monok Ochem?' she demanded, spitting blood — a spear had thrust into her chest, just beneath the right clavicle, and her face was deathly white. 'Where is the bonecaster?'
Trull pointed, back towards the entranceway to the throne room. 'He went through there — like a knife-stuck dog—' And then he stared, for Ibra Gholan now stood in that archway, as if waiting.
All at once words were impossible, and they were pushed back by a raging wind, spinning, buffeting, so strong it lifted dead children into the air, whirled them round, limbs flailing about. The Jhag stood, twenty paces away, amidst heaps of corpses — and beyond him, Trull could see now, shimmered a gate; wavering as if jarred loose, unanchored to the rock floor, it appeared to be edging ever closer, as if pulled forward by the storm of power. Beyond it was a tunnel, seeming to spin, revealing flashes of a vast killing field, then, at the centre and impossibly distant, something like a rocking ship on rough seas.
Minala had staggered past, edging round Ibra Gholan and vanishing into the throne room—
The Jhag, silver light blazing from his eyes, then turned round—
And, leaning forward, with stilted overlong strides — as if his
own flesh and bone had become impediments to the rage within him — he marched closer.
Spirits bless me — Trull launched himself to meet the apparition.
The sword seemed to come at him from everywhere at once. Trull had no opportunity for counter-attack, the shaft of the spear ringing, jumping in his hands with every blow he desperately shunted aside—
And then Ahlrada Ahn attacked from the Jhag's right —two lightning clashes as the lone single-edged sword batted aside both Merude cutlasses, then licked out, and blood exploded from Ahlrada Ahn's chest, an impact hard enough to fling the warrior from the ground, legs wheeling over his head, the body then sailing, wind-tossed and loosing sheets of crimson, through the air.
The Jhag redoubled his attack on Trull, the keening sound bursting from his mouth in a wail of outrage. Blurring sword, bone-jarring blocks, one after another —and still the Jhag could not get past.
****
Mostly buried beneath leaking corpses, Varat Taun lad motionless, one eye fixed on the battle between the two figures, Icarium and a Tiste Edur — it could not last, against the Jhag no-one could, yet that spear-wielder held on, defiant, displaying a skill so profound, so absolute, that the Letherii found himself unable to even draw breath.
Behind the Tiste Edur, children were retreating towards a rough-carved doorway at the apex of the chasm tunnel.
The storm was a whirlwind now, circling the two battling figures — gods, they moved faster than Varat's eye could follow, but now, finally, that spear began to splinter amidst the frenzy of parries—
Varat Taun heard weeping, closer to hand, and he shifted his gaze a fraction, to see Taralack Veed huddled against a wall, curled up and sobbing in terror. He had been clawing at the stone, as if seeking to dig his way out, and bloody streaks glistened on the latticed rock. You wanted this, you bastard. Now live with it.
Another splintering sound brought his gaze round once more, and he saw that the spear had shattered — the Edur flung himself backward, somehow avoiding a lateral slash of the sword that would have decapitated him. Roaring, Icarium advanced to finish off his foe, then suddenly ducked, twisted and threw himself to one side—
The Bonehunters Page 112