All Darkness Met (32 page)

“Nepanthe, pretend we’re not here. They must be coming for you. They’ll want their prize counter safe. Get by the window. Make them come to you. Michael, Aral, we’ll hit them from behind.”

Dantice was a street fighter. He understood. But Michael protested.

“We’re here to win, Michael, not get killed honorably.”

Ragnarson concealed himself just in time. The door creaked inward. Six soldiers entered, followed by the Fadema.

“Well, Madam,” said the woman, “your friends are more perceptive and less cautious than we anticipated. They’re here.”

“Who?” Nepanthe asked, cowering against the window frame.

“That bloody troublesome Marshall. He’s attacked Argon. What gall!” She laughed. It was forced.

Things must be going good, Bragi thought.

“You stay away,” Nepanthe told the soldiers. “I’ll jump.”

“Don’t be a fool!” the Fadema snapped. “Come. We have to move you. The tower is threatened.”

“I will jump.”

“Grab her.”

Four soldiers advanced.

“Now,” Ragnarson said. Leaping, he took out a man who had remained with the Fadema.

Dantice went for the man on her far side instead of the four. Trebilcock got another, but quickly found himself in trouble.

Ragnarson smacked the Queen to shut her up, turned to help Michael.

Somebody hit him from behind.

He turned as he fell, looked up into a golden mask.

The Tervola had hit him with a wooden statuary stand. “Finish them!” he ordered. “This’s the man we want. The Marshall himself.”

Trebilcock was fencing a man who was good. Dantice rolled across the floor with one of the others. The third soldier pranced around looking for a chance to strike a telling blow.

Ragnarson kicked the Tervola’s legs from beneath him, dragged him nearer. The stand rolled away.

The Tervola had the combat training of every soldier of Shinsan. And he had staying power, though Ragnarson was stronger. They rolled and kicked and gouged, and Bragi bit. He kept trying to yank the man’s mask off so he could go for his eyes.

That usually put a superior opponent on the defensive. And this Tervola was a better fighter than he.

The extra soldier almost got Dantice. But Nepanthe stabbed him from behind, turned on Aral’s antagonist, stabbed him too. Aral muttered, “We’re even, lady,” recovered his sword, took a wild chop at the head of Michael’s opponent.

Meanwhile, the Fadema recovered and fled.

Ragnarson got a thumb under the golden mask. By then he was sure he was dead. The Tervola had a hold of his neck and he was losing consciousness.

Dantice and Trebilcock closed in. The Tervola saw them. The Power was dead. There was nothing he could do. He threw himself after the Fadema. His mask remained in Bragi’s hand.

Dantice helped Ragnarson up. “That was close. Mike, better make sure of those guys.”

“But....”

“Never mind. I’ll do it.” While Nepanthe and Trebilcock supported Ragnarson, he cut throats. “I don’t understand you, Mike. It ain’t beer and skittles. It ain’t no chess game. You want to come out alive, you got to be meaner than the other guy. And you don’t leave him alive behind you.”

Ragnarson groaned. Nepanthe massaged his neck. “See if any of our people are outside. We’ll have half an army on us in a minute.”

Dantice leaned out the window. “Nope. They’re all down the street.”

“You and Michael pile stuff in front of the door. No. Let me go! I’m okay. I’ll make something to lower Nepanthe down.”

“Wait!” she protested. “What about Ethrian?”

Bragi hurt. It made him cranky. “What do you want me to do? We’ve got to get out of here first. Then we’ll worry about Ethrian.”

She kept arguing. He ignored her. There was a racket in the hall already.

A party of Marena Dimura came up the street as he dropped his rope of torn blankets. “You men. Hold up. It’s me. The Marshall. Aral, hand me that lamp.” He illuminated his face. “Hang onto the end of that down there, and stand by.”

Several Wesson bowmen joined the Marena Dimura. They stood around watching.

“Nepanthe, come here.”

Still complaining, she obeyed. He turned his back. “Put your arms around my neck and hang on.”

“You’d better let me do that,” Dantice offered.

“I can handle it. I’m not all the way over the hill.” He did leave his sword belt, though, remembering what a hazard it had been coming up.

Going down was a pain too. He hadn’t made it halfway before he wished his pride had let him yield to Dantice.

“Hurry up,” said Trebilcock. “The door’s giving.”

Dantice started down the instant Bragi’s feet hit pavement. He came like a monkey.

“Boy, you’d make a good burglar.”

“I am a good burglar.” They watched Trebilcock lever himself over the window sill.

Someone yelled inside. Michael stared, then threw himself aside, barely managing to cling to the ledge.

Men appeared in the window.

“Bowmen,” said Ragnarson. “Cover him.”

Arrows streaked through the window. The Argonese withdrew, cursing. Ragnarson asked the Marena Dimura captain, “Where’s Colonel Ahring?”

The man shrugged. “Around.”

“Yeah. Michael, hurry up.” Trebilcock had reached the lower ledge. Someone upstairs was throwing things out the window. A vase smashed at Bragi’s feet.

Trebilcock kicked away from the wail and dropped the last fifteen feet, grunting as he hit cobblestones. “Damn. I twisted my ankle.”

“Teach you to show off,” Aral growled.

“Come on,” said Ragnarson. “Back to the wall. You men. Go on wherever you were going.”

Ahring had left. His men had penetrated the Fadem deeply in several directions. Runners said some defenders were fleeing the fortress for the city.

Haaken had arrived. He was directing operations now.

“What’s happening?” Ragnarson asked.

“They’re running. All our people are in now. But we’ve got a problem. Most of those Necremnens are heading out. We’ll be in big trouble if we don’t win this.”

“Michael, where’s the nearest causeway?”

Trebilcock leaned over the battlements. “Upriver a quarter-mile.”

“Haaken, scare up some men and grab it. Michael. Is there a causeway Reskird could use?”

“Inside his area. Shouldn’t be any problem.”

Ragnarson stared northward. The entire apex of the island seemed to be burning. The rain had let up. Nothing held the flames in check.

“Getting bad up there,” he observed. “Could be as rough for Reskird as the Argonese.”

“Bragi.” Haaken had unrolled a crude map atop a merlon. He shaded an area with charcoal. “This’s what we’ve taken. Half.” Dark salients stuck out like greedy fingers. There were white islands throughout the area already captured.

“How’re they fighting?”

“Us or them?”

“Both.”

“Our guys are having fun. Theirs.... Depends on the unit. The officers, I guess. Some are tromping each other trying to get away. Some won’t budge. I’d say our chances of carrying it are better than even. But then we’ll have to hold off counterattacks while we mop up.”

“Keep after them. Any Necremnens have balls enough to stick?” He leaned over the wall. A dozen smaller boats rocked against the base of the wall.

“Why?”

“I want to go get Reskird. Watch Nepanthe. And keep an eye out for Ethrian. They’ve got him here somewhere.”

TWENTY-SIX: Battle for the Fadem

Reskird had an overachievement problem. “Bragi, I’ve got them whipped. I could clean up on them. Only I can’t get to them. Damned fire....”

A curtain of flame thwarted Kildragon’s advance. It spanned the base of an acute isosceles triangle. Whole blocks were infernos, drawing a strong breeze. Neither side could get close enough to combat the blaze.

“I can’t leave you here while it burns itself out. Might be days.”

The devastation was stunning. Even during the El Murid Wars Ragnarson had seen nothing to equal it. “Jarl and Haaken need help.”

“Those damned Necremnens took off like rabbits afraid of a fox.”

“You taken that causeway there yet?”

“The gatehouse guards won’t give up. But we’ll get it. It’s all we’ve got to work on anymore.”

“Michael. Does it hook up to the same island as the one by the Fadem?”

“I think so.”

“You see?” Bragi asked Kildragon.

Reskird’s sandy hair flew as he nodded.

Bragi laughed.

“What?”

“Look at us. Me, you, Haaken. We’ve gotten civilized. We never cut our hair short before we came to Kavelin. And we didn’t shave, except you.”

“It’s a strange country. I’d better go get things moving before it’s light enough for them to see what we’re up to.”

They didn’t join Haaken before dawn. The causeways didn’tconnect to the same island. They had to cross three. There were skirmishes. And then the right causeway turned out to still be in Argonese hands.

Haaken hadn’t had a chance to grab it. The garrison had counterattacked.

Bragi’s old veterans carried the bridge in a short, brisk battle, only to find Argonese troops forming up beyond. The melee lasted several hours. Haaken’s bowmen, when they could, plinked from the Fadem. Ragnarson advanced till he screened the Fadem’s main gate, which remained in enemy hands.

“Who’s got who trapped?” he wondered aloud. “How long before the whole city turns on us?”

Tactically, it was going magnificently. Yet the strategic situation looked worse and worse.

Kildragon considered the houses and shops facing the fortress-palace. “A lot of wood in those places. Maybe another fire....”

“Go to it.”

Kildragon’s fire masked their flank. Bragi had men climb the wall where Blackfang and Ahring were already established. They took the main gate from behind.

Weary, he joined Haaken at another merlon. The map now showed only a few white islands.

“The gate completes the circuit,” said Blackfang. “The whole wall is ours.”

“Think that’s smart?” Ragnarson asked. “They’ll fight harder if they can’t get away.”

“If they could, the Fadema might get out. Shouldn’t we get a hold of her?”

“She’d be a good bargaining counter if things got hairy. You found Ethrian yet?”

“No. Else I’d say let’s get out now.”

“Another reason to get our hands on the lady. They’ll chase us all the way home if we don’t.”

“Those wizards want to see you.”

“They come up with something?”

“I don’t know. They’ve been everywhere, getting in the way.”

“How are the men? Any problems?”

“Not yet. Still think they can lick the world as long as you’re in charge. But it’s daytime now. They’ve seen how big the place is. I’m scared they’ll start thinking about it.”

The western soldier was flighty, and totally unpredictable. One day he might, if inspired, stand against impossible odds and fight to the death. Another day some trivial occurrence might spook an entire army.

“Keep them too busy to think. These pockets. What are they?”

“Citadels within the citadel. They’ve locked themselves in. Don’t look like it’ll be easy digging them out.”

“Where’s the Queen? Keep the others from sallying. Go after her. On the cheap.”

“Been doing that. Lying about Pthothor’s intentions. Got more prisoners than I can handle. Reskird showed up just in time. We’ll need men on the wall.”

“Keep the fires going. What about casualties?”

“Not bad. Mostly new men, the way you’d expect. Enough to be a problem if we have to fight our way out.”

“Where’re those wizards?”

Haaken was skirting the question of leaving the wounded. Ragnarson didn’t want to think about it, let alone verbalize it. It always gnawed at his guts, but sometimes it had to be done.

“Wherever you find them. Just prowl around till one bites your ankle.”

He did. Trebilcock and Dantice followed, playing their bodyguard role to the hilt.

Ragnarson found a courtyard where a thousand prisoners sat in tight ranks on the cobblestones, heads bowed, thoroughly whipped. I n a second courtyard he found his dead and wounded, in neat rows on mattresses looted from a barracks room. The dead and mortally wounded were pleasingly few.

On one mattress lay the innkeeper met during the ride to Baxendala.

“Hey, old man, what’re you doing here? You should be home minding the tavern.”

“Old? I’m younger than ye are, sir.”

“My job. I get paid for being here.”

“My job, too, sir. It’s my country, ye see. My sons, Robbie and Tal, have ye seen them, sir? Are they all right, do you think?”

“Of course. And heroes, too. Be taking home a double share of loot.” He hadn’t the faintest idea where they were. But the innkeeper hadn’t many hours left. “When it lets up a little, I’ll send them down.”

“Good, sir. Thank ye, sir.”

“Get better, innkeeper. We’ll need you again before this’s done.”

“Be up and around in a day or two, sir. These Argonese can’t cut ye bad when they’re showing their backs.”

Ragnarson moved on before his tears broke loose. Again and again he saw familiar faces, men who had followed him so long they were almost family. The same men were always at the forefront, always where the killing was worst.

He couldn’t help himself. More than once he shed a tear for an old comrade.

Three wizards handled the doctoring. The Thing With Many Eyes, strange though he appeared, was a sympathetic, empathetic soul. He hated watching pain. He, Kierle the Ancient, and Stojan Dusan, were performing surgery on an assembly line. With the Power they would have defeated Death and pain more often.

“Michael, our species is a paradox,” Ragnarson observed as they departed. “All sentience is paradoxical.”

“Sir?” The hospital court hadn’t fazed Trebilcock. Dantice, though, had grown pale.

“Those wizards. They get mad, they can rip up a city, wipe out twenty thousand people, and never bat an eye. But look at them now. They’re killing themselves for men they don’t even know.”

“That’s part of being human. We’re all that way, a little. I saw you weep in there. Yet you’d destroy Shinsan to the last babe in arms. Or reduce Argon to ashes.”

“Yes. Is a conundrum, as my fat brown friend would say. What’s the difference between the innkeeper and the man I killed last night? Each did his duty.... No. Enough. Let’s find Varthlokkur.”