Fire And Ice (Book 1) (44 page)

             
“Because the only people allowed to dress as an Anagassi are Anagassi,” she replied pointedly.  “He basically said that you have been accepted as one of them, at least, honorarily.”              

             
Accepted as an Anagassi?  This was another thing to bring him more questions and no answers.  He rose to his feet while dropping the stick in the dirt.  “I am going to go and get some rest before tonight.”  He could feel her watching him as he headed towards his blankets.

              There was only the sliver of a moon visible in the star filled sky.  Under that weak light Coran ran low down the slope of the hill and stopped where the land flattened out at the bottom.  The city was a half mile distance across that open area.  The guards were even more foolish than he thought.  Lit torches marked where the gates would have been if there were any.  The men on duty would have lost their night vision.  They wouldn’t be able to see anything very far in the dark. 

             
The sound of Ruan’s six hunters following him came to a stop as they waited for him to once again take the lead.  Coran started out for the gates, unmistakable in the night.  He changed direction and stopped again with his back to the city’s wall.  He could see one of the guards just outside the gate about twenty yards away.  Coran edged his way closer, the guard turned, presenting his back to him.  The knife was in Coran’s hand as he took a step closer.  Reaching out to grab the guard from behind he stepped on a rock.  The scrape and click was loud enough for the guard to hear.  He spun around, his mouth opening into an ‘o’ of surprise.  Coran grabbed him by the back of his head and drove the knife into his gut up to the hilt.  The hunters were already around him and on the other guardsmen.  There were a few oaths cut short and a strangled cry that went unnoticed in the surrounding silence.

             
Coran scanned the buildings nearest the gate.  They were two stories of wood and some built of mud-brick.  No lights from lamps appeared in any windows.  He wasn’t really worried about that in this part of town.  The people living here would want to help if they knew what was happening.  Scanning the area of violence he noticed that there were only three bodies instead of the four expected, two with the short shafted arrows that the Karands preferred sticking out of their throats.  One of the hunters put out the torches, sending them and the bodies into darkness.  That was the signal to tell those waiting in the hills that the gate was taken.

             
“The fourth?” he whispered to the others, but they all shook their heads.  They hadn’t seen him.  There was no help for it.  They had to go on.  They couldn’t wait. 

             
Keeping to the shadows in the narrow, dirt streets was easy.  There was almost no light.  It was almost too dark, since he couldn’t see any obstacles that might be in front of him.  The going was slower than planned.  The first encounter came where two streets intersected.  Two torches bobbed closer in the darkness, betraying the men who carried them.  The green shirted men didn’t have a chance.  Shapes rose up out of the night to put hands over mouths as throats were cut.  So far, so good.  The bodies were dragged off to the deeper shadows alongside the street and dropped.

             
They proceeded onward trying to watch every way at once.  He froze at the sound of scurrying coming from his right, and let out the breath he was holding when he spotted the source of the noise.  A rat huddled in the dirt by the base of a building.  One of the hunters, an older man with a knowing smile, passed him on silent feet.  That was Karod, the acknowledged leader of the few hunters to have survived this long by evading Shiomi patrols while still bringing in sustenance to those who counted on him.  Coran grimaced and followed almost as quietly.  He knew how to fight and how to plan battles, but for being sneaky these men had few peers, and Karod was the best of them.  Coran knew some men who lived in the mountains above Tyelin who might be a match.              

An open square appeared beyond the last two buildings of the street.  Across the square loomed the stone walls of the inner complex.  On reaching the open area he spotted the gate of vertical iron bars.  Other shapes emerged from the street on the other side.  The two groups came together in the shadows.  

              “There is a gate house just inside and to the right.  I could see a lantern lit,” Soelidin informed him as the hunters grouped themselves around them.

             
Coran edged out into the square until he saw the light from the lantern coming from a small wooden building where Soelidin said it was.  “We slip over the wall and take out the guards.  Then open the gate.  Do you know if the rest of our army is almost here?”  Soelidin nodded and cupped his ear to listen.  Coran could just make out the trodding of feet, and they were coming closer.  “Tell them to stay in the streets until we can get the guards,” he ordered the hunters.  They hurried to comply.

              Apparently, that didn’t apply to everyone as two people came and squatted down beside them. 

             
“What now?” asked an excited Ruan.  By the look in his eyes the excitement might have been a cover for fear. 

             
It was the other person with the hood pulled down that took his attention.  “What are you doing here?” he whispered sharply.

             
Shirri calmly pushed back the hood to reveal her face and dark hair.  “I am a healer.  How can I heal anyone if I am so far away that they die before I can reach them?” she whispered back just as fiercely. 

             
He couldn’t argue with her logic, but it just seemed wrong.  He spoke to Soelidin while giving her an even stare.  “Let’s go.”              

             
They crossed the square and reached the walls without notice.  One of the hunters came too, and clasped his hands together and held them out.  Soelidin stepped onto the makeshift stirrup and grabbed the top of the wall.  He slipped over to the inside of the complex with ease.  Coran mimicked the Anagassi and landed against the interior wall with a slight thud. 

             
The ground on the inside of the compound was paved with uneven slabs of stone.  Two long, narrow buildings stood side by side before another two story dwelling which was where the leadership would be, a man named Tammaz.  Lamps were hung on poles outside the doors of the first two buildings which had to be the barracks.  They were only a hundred paces away. 

             
As he reached the gate Soelidin was already coming out of the small gate house.  He was tucking his knife away.  “Only one.  No keys.”  He pointed to a thick chain holding two sides of the gate closed.  Ruan approached from the outside with Shirri and the army in tow.  The young Karand pulled on the chain to check the strength.  It was obviously formidable. 

             
“Intruders!”  The shout came from the direction of the barracks and Coran had his sword out before the echo faded.  A green shirted Karand was shouting for help.  It did not go unheard.  Men poured out of their respective barracks with swords in their hands.  Some had green shirts pulled on roughly, others were bare-chested or without shoes.  A few wore nothing but a cloth wrapped around their waist. 

             
Coran took a moment to look at the gate again.  Ruan had a sword inserted between the chains and was trying to force it open. 

             
“Get over the wall,” Shirri pleaded.  She could see the guards approaching at his back. 

             
“No time,” Soelidin answered.  He had his own blade out, its wide curved surface reflecting the moonlight.              

Some of the Novelah outside the gate were shouting with worry.  “Help me,” Ruan called and several men came to add their strength to his.

              Coran turned away from their effort to face the countless numbers of determined men coming to kill him.  They were only twenty paces away now and slowing from the run across the yard.  They could see that the two of them were trapped. 

             
That was when the feeling came over him.  The sensation was not the fear or acceptance of what was to come as he expected, but was anger that these men thought they could kill him so easily.  It was determination that filled him, a determination not to die quietly in the night.  The feeling took hold and he knew what he was going to do.  It was insane, but he would do it anyway.  Raising his sword before him, Coran yelled at the top of his voice.  He roared his defiance and the men before him faltered in their advance.  Still yelling, he charged into the very center of that mass. 

             
Dark Karandi faces flinched away from his ferocious attack.  There was a feeling of letting himself go, of letting his instincts take over during a fight.  This time he surrendered to that feeling completely.  He didn’t think, just acted and reacted.  His blade whirled in his hands and he flowed among his adversaries in a dance with death.  He was a ghoul in the darkness, striking down all he encountered.  He was an avenging spirit for all who had suffered at their hands.  He was death.

             
To escape injury during such a melee was impossible, but those wounds he took could not be his.  Not now.  They belonged to someone else.  How long he fought or how many he killed he would never know. 

             
The Novelah Karands who had been kept from the battle by the iron gate appeared out of nowhere to fight their hated foes.  It was Coran’s hesitation at seeing them that allowed the unseen blade to reach his flesh.  There was a searing pain in his lower back that penetrated any defense to shut it out.  Everything around him became suddenly clearer, the darkness somehow brighter.  He saw clearly the faces of men as they fought for their lives on both sides.  He heard every clash of steel and every cry of pain.  At least, for one perfect moment, then everything started to fade. 

              So many men lying across the paving stones it was hard not to weep for the horror of it all.  Groans came from the wounded, but far too many lay silent.  The battle had moved on ahead and she could still see men she knew fighting, dying, and killing.  Shirri picked her way through the carnage, desperate to find him. 

             
She didn’t exactly lie to him about her motives for going with him to Summerhall.  What she said was true, but she left out the most important reason. 

             
She lashed out at him to hide her surprise at seeing him the first time they met, because she had seen him before.  If having only one vision made her a seer she didn’t know, but that vision had been of Coran, except that she didn’t know who he was at the time. 

             
She saw herself kneeling over him with her hand touching him.  She was healing him.  What she saw was blurred, as if there were more than one image of it.  She believed that she would have to be there to help him more than once and feared that the first time would be tonight. 

             
She forced herself to ignore the pleas coming from the wounded she passed.  She would help them when she could.  First he had to be found. 

             
When Coran had charged the enemy it put heart into those who came to follow him.  Her brother had abandoned the chain and led the assault on the gates themselves.  Against a flood of men the rusty hinges broke and they swarmed into the compound.  She had tried to keep her eyes on Coran, but could not through the numbers that surrounded him.  Now she needed to find him before it was too late. 

             
Spotting sandy colored clothing and a matching
kesu
wrapped around a head she rushed over to the body lying on its stomach.  The
kesu
was partially torn off to reveal his features.  She didn’t waste time checking to see if he was still alive, the wound that might be fatal was easy to see.  She ripped the tear in his short robe wider in order to touch the wound itself.  She placed her hand over the red, bleeding gash in his back.  She let herself feel the wound, the pain.  She thought about what it was supposed to be like, whole and unhurt.  Energy flowed out through her hand and into the wound.  When she removed it there was only a red line about two inches long where the wound had been.  She could see he was breathing and let out a sigh of relief.  The drain of energy from healing someone was felt keenly.  In her apprehensive state she had used more than she should have.  That was not good when there would be so many others that would need her talent tonight.

             
Someone came to stand over her, and she looked up into the wise face of Neheya.  The experienced healer spoke to people she did not see at first.  Shirri surveyed the corpse-filled yard.  There were men and a few boys carrying clubs and knives in their hands and hope on their faces.  Women were moving among the fallen, answering the calls of the injured.

             
“Start moving the wounded to the square outside the gates,” Neheya ordered.  “We need lots of blankets and water.  You two!”  She pointed a finger at two men who had stopped to listen.  “Help carry the wounded.  Start with him.”  She indicated Coran at her feet. 

             
The two came over and peered at the fallen man in the attire of an Anagassi.  The younger one with gaunt cheeks paused in the act of reaching down.  “A Midian?”