Brotherhood of the Wolf (81 page)

Then some reavers scuttled forward under cover while others lobbed huge boulders against the castle walls in a crude artillery barrage. One tower collapsed so that a flameweaver plunged to his death in the lake.

Fifteen minutes into the battle, Raj Ahten could see that he would lose Carris, for he fought not just the blade-bearers alone, but also the fell mage that drove them.

Six times she cast spells against the men who defended Carris. Her curses were commands, simple in nature, astonishing in effect.

“Be thou deaf and blind,” had been her first refrain. Three times a black wind had issued from her. But after three sweeps, she commanded, “Cower in fear.”

Six curses, at odd intervals. Raj Ahten was horrified by their effect. Even now, some brave men huddled in mindless terror a full ten minutes after the last curse had blown from the east.

Raj Ahten felt mystified by the spells. No chronicle ever told of reaver mages that uttered such curses.

Now, as Raj Ahten fought in the midst of battle, out on Bone Hill the reavers' fell mage raised her citrine staff to the sky and hissed, uttering a seventh curse. Her hiss was a violent sound that seemed to crawl away in all directions
as it echoed along the cloud ceiling between earth and sky. Men on the castle walls cringed or cried in terror.

Raj Ahten listened, but knew that the curse that issued from her could not be understood until he smelled the dark wind that roiled away from her. He could almost count the number of milliseconds it would take for the command to reach him, down here in the castle's bailey.

He led a charge into the reavers' front rank, blurring in his speed, bearing a battle-axe in each hand. With six endowments of metabolism to his credit, he could work fast, but needed to make every heartbeat count.

A reaver slid down toward Raj Ahten on the backs of the dead, glory hammer high overhead. It came with a rumbling roar, for its carapace ground over the dead with a sound like a huge log rolling down a hill.

As it slid to a halt, a frowth giant behind Raj Ahten roared and slammed its huge staff at the reaver's maw, thrusting upward, forcing the reaver to stop and fall back a pace.

The reaver had little time to choose its mode of attack. It raised its hammer overhead. Raj Ahten hesitated an eighth of a second while the frowth held the reaver back, then he lunged to strike. His first blow was a vicious uppercut that took the reaver behind the spur of its raised left arm. Raj Ahten's axe bit deep into the flesh, pried between the monster's joints, weakening the limb without severing it.

More importantly, the ganglia there in the elbow sent a numbing jolt that left the reaver hissing in fury, briefly stunned.

In that infinitesimal portion of a second, Raj Ahten's work began. He had to find a second target. If the monster roared, it would open its mouth wide enough so that he might leap in between its deadly teeth, strike up through the soft palate into the reaver's brain.

On the other hand, if the reaver backed away in panic, he'd get a blow between the thoracic plates at its soft underbelly, where he might disembowel the beast.

The monster did neither. The reaver lowered its head and struck blindly through its pain. It swung the glory hammer down viciously, lurching, trying to win past Raj Ahten.

Raj Ahten ducked aside as fifteen tons of monster surged overhead. Even with thousands of endowments of brawn, he could not afford to take a hit from a reaver, for though his endowments of brawn strengthened his muscle, they did nothing to strengthen bones. Even the most casual blow from a reaver would shatter his bones like kindling.

The reaver slammed down its glory hammer, cutting a vicious arc, putting all the power of its good right foreclaws into the blow. The frowth giant shoved harder on its great staff, trying to press the reaver back, and the frowth turned its head and blinked.

In that moment, Raj Ahten glanced up at his giant. The thing was spattered with the red blood of men and the inky blue-black blood of reavers, fouling its fur. It had taken a hit from a reaver's blade earlier, so that a rent showed in its chain mail, and the frowth's own blood added to the mix, matted and fly-covered in its golden fur.

Perhaps blood loss had weakened the frowth, for though the giants were normally tireless, this one saw the blow coming and did little to avoid it, merely shoving meekly with its staff and blinking its great silver eyes as it turned aside.

The glory hammer swiped down, smashing into the frowth's snout, shattering bones and teeth. Blood and gore rained upon Raj Ahten.

Enraged, Raj Ahten struck down with his battle-axe, taking off the two front toes of the reaver's left foreleg. As the reaver's head spun to snap at him, Raj Ahten leapt past its jaws into its mouth, rolled once over its raspy tongue, and aimed a savage blow up into the monster's soft palate.

His axe blade met flesh, scored deeply as it ran between two plates of bone, slicing a cut as long as a man's arm deep into the cleft above the jaw. As the blade cleared, Raj Ahten pulled it back up and in. The long spike on the reverse side of his axe scored deep into the monster's brain.

Raj Ahten was already diving from the reaver's mouth before the blood and brains began gushing from the wound. The monster would die, but so would Raj Ahten's giant.

The frowth reeled back from the battle, staggered into some warriors behind, and fell upon half a dozen men, crushing them.

Raj Ahten glanced about to see if his men needed help. Most of his men fought in teams—four or five men to a reaver. Dressed as they were in yellow surcoats, they looked to Raj Ahten like wasps trying to bring down larger prey with their multitude of stingers.

Now, on Bone Hill, the fell mage's snarling curse ended, and her dark command rolled toward the city. Raj Ahten wondered briefly if the fell mage merely toyed with him.

If she can force us to cower in fear, or strike us blind, why does she not kill us outright? It could not be harder to make a wind that would poison men than to utter these commands.

Raj Ahten could only wonder. It had been sixteen centuries since her kind last attacked. He imagined that she was enamored of her new spells, sought to learn which was most effective.

The fell mage's dark wind struck. Atop the walls, men cried out and covered their noses, and Raj Ahten could not immediately see any effect.

It was not until the scent hit him that he understood. His mouth went dry, and—as one—every pore in his skin began to exude sweat. Tears streamed from his eyes. He fought an overwhelming urge to urinate, and around him he saw weaker men lose control of their bladders.

He felt her command, even as he fought it: “Be thou dry as dust.”

A hundred yards behind Raj Ahten, Feykaald stood behind the battle lines on the steps of an inn and croaked, “O Great One, a word!”

Raj Ahten called to his Invincibles to close ranks and raced out of the battle, across the green, to the steps of the inn.

He glanced back. Reavers had crawled atop the mound of their dead, and now one prepared to slide into battle. Raj Ahten glanced at the walls, estimated that three quarters of his Invincibles had already died in this slaughter. He had fewer than four hundred left.

Atop the walls, reavers were battling men. Raj Ahten pulled out a file and began to sharpen his axe blade. He needed no oil for his file. Reaver's blood worked well enough.

“Speak,” Raj Ahten said to Feykaald.

The old counselor worked his mouth, as if fighting back a choking dust. A sheen of sweat dripped from him as he spoke furtively in Raj Ahten's ear. “Boat arrived. East shore … secure. Our men found reavers, but slew them.”

Raj Ahten wiped the sweat from his brow. It was pouring from him, making a sop of his tunic, slicking his hands. Rivulets threaded down his cheeks and into his beard. He drew the file over his axe blade, top to bottom, half a dozen times. As he worked, he studied his crumbling defenses on the walls.

His vassals fought in vain.

The rent in the wall was growing quickly. Half of his artillery outposts were gone. Reavers fought atop the wall. One flameweaver was dead, the others were dwindling from exhaustion despite the fact that Carris was in flames.

His tawny-furred giants fought savagely, but only thirty had survived the retreat from Longmot. They were dying fast. Even as he watched, a blow from a reaver's blade split the skull of one giant, caught another in the back above his stubby tail.

And as the reavers battered the walls of Carris, they widened the breach, so that Raj Ahten's forces were now spread too thin to effectively block the reavers' efforts. Few of Paldane's lords had enough endowments left to fight a reaver. They struggled beside Raj Ahten's men, but their feeble efforts availed little.

Carris would fall despite all that he could do. It was not a matter of hours—it was a matter of moments.

Commoners cried out as the black wind wrung tears and sweat from them. Some fainted.

Ten minutes of this might leave a man dead, Raj Ahten feared. In only one way had his luck held. A light wind was blowing from the east, across the lake, and it seemed to Raj Ahten to ameliorate the effects of the fell mage's spells.

Raj Ahten finished sharpening his axe. A reaver came barreling down, sliding over the slope of carnage. A frowth giant nearby bellowed as the reaver's greatsword struck through its neck. The giant lurched sideways and collapsed on a pair of Invincibles, and the reaver leapt into battle, the first swing of its blade striking through four men.

Raj Ahten made his grim choice. His men were dying. He had fewer than four hundred Invincibles left with which to fight, and fighting at all was in vain.

This battle would be lost, but he dared not lose the remnants of his army with it.

There would be other battles, other days.

It was not cowardice that drove him to the decision, but the cold certainty that he did what—in the long term—was best. He'd not sacrifice his men to save the lives of his enemies.

“Prepare the flotilla,” Raj Ahten told Feykaald. “My flameweavers and Invincibles will take the first boats, my archers next. Spread the word.”

Raj Ahten sprinted back into the fray.

53
THE EARTH'S PAIN

How can I save them all? Gaborn wondered for what seemed the hundredth time that afternoon as he rode for Carris. He galloped fast now. A cool drizzle fell from leaden skies. Few lords rode horses that were able to keep
pace: the wizard Binnesman, Queen Herin the Red, her daughter, Sir Langley, and two dozen others.

He felt the fist of doom closing upon the messengers he'd sent to Carris. The Earth warned Gaborn of danger not just for himself, but for everyone who rode to Carris.

The force horses had thundered across the green fields of Beldinook. Gaborn made excellent time—he'd traveled nearly three hundred miles in six hours. But not everyone was able to follow at Gaborn's pace. He'd ridden into Beldinook with hundreds of lords at his back. Now, many of them had dropped from the race. His troops were strung out for hundreds of miles behind. The few who remained close rode horses that were spent. Some mounts were dead on their feet, but Gaborn dared not slow. His own Days had fallen behind hours ago, and Gaborn wondered if the man's horse had wearied, or if he feared to travel where Gaborn was heading.

The overwhelming aura of death that surrounded so many of Gaborn's people was suffocating. Gaborn had ridden over the battlefield at Longmot a week ago, seen thousands of good men that Raj Ahten had killed. He'd smelled the charred corpses, the blood and bile. He'd found his own father dead, cold as the snow he'd clutched in his empty hands.

Yet he'd not
felt
those deaths waiting to happen. He'd not been aware of the final moments of those men in the way he now felt the final moments of those around him.

How can I save them all? he wondered.

He felt Borenson riding into danger now, and Gaborn spoke a warning for Borenson's ears. “Flee!”

As he rode fifteen miles north of Carris, the wizard Binnesman raced beside him and shouted, “A moment's rest, milord. It won't do us any good to reach Carris on mounts that cannot fight.”