Havenstar (61 page)

‘Pass the
word,’ he said to his son, ‘to hold arrow release until you’re sure
you can hit the target, then loose at will.’ As the words went down
the line of defenders, he wondered just how it was he had ended up
giving orders. He had a sneaking suspicion his officer status had a
lot to do with his towering height. He knew damned little about
arms and fighting a war, nor was he ley-lit and primed with ley
like most of the officers, but he was rather imposing to look at.
Damn it.

‘Holy taint,
Pa,’ his son said, his eyes fixed on the advancing lines, ‘have we
any hope at all against that lot?’

‘Steady, lad.
Remember, arrows have a better range than ley. And those bastards
are so used to hiding behind their pets and their ley, they’ll have
forgotten a well-aimed shaft can feather you before you say
midden-heap. And then again, their ley doesn’t last forever. They
have to renew it. We have a hope,’ he concluded.
A hope, but not
much else
.

His son eyed
the advance, raised his bow, notched the first arrow…

And the battle
began.

~~~~~~~

‘Minions
behind us!’ Scow shouted. ‘Ride!’

Automatically
Keris kicked Tousson into a gallop without glancing behind. When
someone shouted in the kind of voice Scow used, you acted first and
looked afterwards. She grabbed the pommel when she did turn, and it
was just as well because what she saw jolted her with shock. There
was a flood of Minions and their pets pouring out of a side valley
and they rode as if they were intent on obliterating the three of
them beneath the thundering of their countless hooves.

Beside her
Quirk swore. ‘That looks like every Minion that’s ever been
corrupted in the past three hundred years.’ He ducked his head low,
a scared expression on his face, and clung to the saddle as he rode
at her side.

She hunkered
down, her cheek brushing Tousson’s mane, and a dozen random
thoughts crowded her mind. This was the threatened invasion at
last. She was going to die soon, probably today. Did it matter
anyway, with Davron gone? Dear heaven, was it only this morning
he’d vanished? He was probably already performing his task for
Carasma. When the Chaos was Meldor going to start burning trompleri
maps and fry these corrupted sods to cinders?
Chaosdamn, what
will happen to us if he does it now?

She glanced
across at Scow. He was concentrating on chivvying the two horses to
run faster. Whenever one of them began to flag he brought Stockwood
up on its flank; one glimpse of the swinging horns on the tainted
beast was enough to frighten any horse to renewed effort.

The border to
Havenstar lay half an hour ahead. If they were lucky they would get
there before the Minions caught up. She looked back again, and
decided they were unlikely to be lucky. Although the Minions on
horses were not gaining, those who rode tainted beasts were
steadily overhauling their quarry, while several low slung pets
with loping legs had outstripped their masters and were coming up
even faster. She moaned. A shaft of ley slamming into her back
might not have been a bad death, but she dreaded the idea of being
torn to pieces by a beast that had teeth like axe blades and claws
like curved upholstery needles.

As the lopers
approached she gestured to Quirk and Scow to go ahead. Quirk did
not need a second invitation. Scow hesitated momentarily, but then
realised what she was going to do and nodded. He made a kinesis in
her direction, forefinger and thumb held in a circle against his
cheek.
Victory to the Maker.
She guessed it was his way of
wishing her good luck, and she returned the gesture.

Assessing the
half dozen lopers approaching, she waited until the last possible
moment before letting her ley free, ripping it out of her fingers,
feeling it slip through the spaces of her body to flow wild and
free in a coloured blast. The ley hit the first of the lopers and
sent it spinning away into the second. They were downed in a tangle
of legs and torn flesh. The third received the ley in the eye, and
curled up, screaming, into a ball. The rest dropped back a little,
more circumspect now.

She urged her
horse on. Ahead of her, Quirk—unarmed and deciding discretion and
speed were better than any heroic gestures that would help no
one—was still racing for the Writhe. Scow, on the other hand, had
swung Stockwood back to face her. He sent a couple of arrows into
the lopers, causing more confusion. She raced past him and he
wheeled his mount again to follow her.

‘Good work!’
he shouted. ‘That gave ’em something to think about!’

But she’d seen
the host behind her and there was no way she could tackle them all.
Minion after Minion on their tainted beasts, still more pets.
Worse, the Unmaker’s servants also had ley and undoubtedly more
experience with its use. The thoughts that directed the ley would
be more malicious, increasing its destructive power. They were a
bare few minutes behind, and gaining all the time.

She heard a
bellow ahead and turned her attention that way, to see Quirk waving
with such enthusiasm that he endangered his seat on his horse. She
looked to the left and saw a patrol riding in: Haveners. Nine or
ten of them, all armed. They had seen the chase and were cutting
across to intercept. Still not enough, of course, but it would mean
they could make a fight of it…

Tousson raced
on, neck to neck with Stockwood.

And then the
two of them were in the midst of friends, ploughing through them,
wheeling back to shoot arrows and ley at oncoming pets. Confusion
all around her. She strove to obtain an overall view of what was
happening, but just heard screams, animal yaps and yelps of rage
and pain, saw her own blasts of colour in showers of sparks,
smelled the horror of burning flesh. People milled around, the
first of the Minions arriving, Haveners burning, bloodied,
screaming. More ley, Haveners with pikes, Minions with ley.
Not
a fair fight, surely, we are so outnumbered
…

And suddenly
there were more arrows than ley, more Minions falling then
Haveners.

She looked
around to see that they had been reinforced by Havenguards from
across the bridge over the Writhe, tens of them, and at least two
officers, who’d also evidently imbibed ley. Relieved, she
disengaged and rode on towards the bridge, now only ten minutes
away. Drained of ley, she was exhausted. Her bow was still on her
back, untouched, but the palms of her hands were raw and aching.
Her whole body ached, reacting against the sudden emptiness within.
She scorned the bridge, and dismounted to walk instead into the ley
line, drinking in the ley to restore herself, absorbing it the way
Davron had taught her, replenishing it. It felt good,
refreshing.

A drug,
Keris. You can never live without it now
. Maker only knows what
harm it did her.

Then, still
tired but more in control, she led her horse up on to the bridge.
Quirk was there and together they surveyed what was happening. The
Minions were pulling back, while the Haveners were collecting their
dead and wounded and withdrawing as well. A skirmish rather than an
invasion, but a nasty one.
There will be homes in mourning
tonight because of this.

‘Sorry I rode
off and left you,’ Quirk said. He sounded only mildly contrite.

‘Just good
sense. I never did think a dead hero was much use to anyone.’

‘Just as well,
because I’ll never be a hero, and I intend to take good care that
I’m not a dead anything. Are you all right?’

‘Fine. Here
comes Scow—’

The Unbound
man seemed in one piece, his large face lit with a grin like a
happy mastiff. ‘Nice bit of battle, that,’ he said. ‘If this is
what war is like, I think I might find I have a taste for it.’ He
wiped his axe casually across his boot and hooked it on to his
belt.

Speaking to
the Havenguards a few minutes later, they discovered the officers
had kept a close watch on the trompleri map in the guardhouse and
as soon as they’d seen three people riding for the border pursued
by what looked like a horde of animals, they’d sent men to the
rescue. Ten minutes later, an order from the Margrave had arrived,
forbidding anyone to cross the border. Scow grinned when he heard
that.

‘Why,
Keris—you saved yourself with one of your own maps!’ The thought
appealed to his sense of humour: his tongue lolled out in
appreciation.

Keris,
remembering the lopers, was less amused, if just as appreciative of
the result. ‘Only just, it seems. Let’s get some fresh mounts,’ she
said, her weariness coming through in her voice. ‘We still have to
get our news to Meldor.’

Briefly she
closed her eyes, but the painful knot in her chest refused to
dissipate.
Oh Davron, love, where are you now?

~~~~~~~

And it shall
be said of them that they had courage beyond the usual.

—the later
writings of Meldor the Blind

Early that
afternoon the Margrave stood in the hall that was now a maproom,
felt the weight of his responsibilities pressing in on him, and
curbed a useless urge to curse his blindness. ‘Go on,’ he said
calmly.

‘On all
fronts,’ Nablon the Ant said, trying to subdue his clacking as he
and Zeferil studied the maps in front of them. ‘On all fronts. The
numbers along the Channel are frightening. The barrage of our
arrows is continuing to keep them at bay and has inflicted heavy
losses, but—’ He clacked desperately.

Impatient,
Zeferil took over and gave a more concise picture as he saw it in
the maps. He included the latest casualty figures and an updated
estimate of the numbers involved in the various sectors.

‘Would you say
that there is a maximum amount of the attackers within sight of our
borders?’ Meldor asked.

Zeferil was
puzzled. ‘Pardon?’

Meldor was
patient. ‘Later today—will there be more Minions?’

‘No, I don’t
think so. They’ve been arriving all morning, as I told you earlier,
but I think this is about it. As far as we can tell from the maps,
anyway.’

Meldor nodded,
and made up his mind. ‘Nablon, would you be so good as to give me
that file of maps I asked for—the duplicates of the Havenstar
borders?’ As the Ant went off to find the folder, Meldor added to
Zeferil, ‘Carasma must have dragged every old Minion out of his ley
mire to get those sort of numbers,’ he said, ‘All the old
half-crazy men and women.’

‘Old?’

‘Yes, old.
Don’t doubt it. Minions may approximate to immortal where illness
and ageing are concerned, but just as they can be slain, so can
they grow old and tired in mind. Many of them will just be stuffed
targets for our archers, rather than fighters.’

‘They
outnumber us at least ten to one. And every single one of them has
a pet. We can’t hold them off indefinitely. The dark is the
Minion’s world. There is no way we will last the night.’

‘We will, with
the Maker’s grace. What about the other approaching forces?’

‘Hard to say
how many there are, because we only see those that happen to cross
one of the trompleri-mapped areas. I’ve seen the standards of the
Sixth, Seventh and Eighth Stabilities, though, and an impressive
number of domain symbols. It looks as if Chantry has sent the
entire Defender forces from all three stabs.’

Meldor gave
the faintest of ironical smiles. ‘We should be complimented,
Zeferil. The Sanhedrin holds our strength in considerable esteem if
they feel so many are needed to bring us down. When will they reach
us?’

‘My estimation
is they’ll camp two hours out tonight. Margraf, what will they do
when they see us under siege?’

‘You mean:
which is greater—Chantry’s hatred of Rule-breakers, or their hatred
of Minions?’
Rugriss’s hatred of me or his hatred of
Carasma?
‘I don’t know. I have gambled on the latter. Maker
help us all if I am wrong. No word of Davron yet?’

The commander
shook his head.

Meldor raised
an eyebrow. ‘There are many things I can do, Zeferil, but tell the
difference between a nod and a shake of the head is not one of
them.’

‘Oh. Sorry,
Margraf. No, Davron’s not back yet and we’ve been unable to see him
on any of the maps. The mapmaker Kaylen and Scow have been spotted
though. They crossed the border some time ago. They should be here
about nightfall.’

Meldor took a
deep breath. Good news, and bad. He’d gambled everything, and soon
he’d know whether he’d also lost everything. ‘I’m going to meditate
for a while. I wish to be alone.’ Through his ley, he felt the
man’s surprise. And no wonder. Havenstar was under attack, and he
was talking of meditation? He hid a smile.

Nablon
returned with the folder of maps he’d asked for. ‘You have checked
them personally?’ he asked.

‘Yes. All the
border maps are there.’

‘And none show
the ley lines or the Havenstar side of the ley lines?’

‘No,
Margraf.’

He nodded his
thanks, and with a surety of long familiarity, he made his way—not
to his room—but up to the flat roof of the Hall. For a moment he
stood, enjoying the cool freshness of the air, the scent of water
drifting in from the lake. Then he walked to the centre of the roof
where a large open brazier was filled with wood and coals ready for
burning. Carefully he rolled up the first of the maps and pushed it
deep into the piled wood, taking care not to crumple it. Then,
sheet by sheet, he did the same with every other map in the folder.
When he’d finished, he stepped back away from the brazier. He
hesitated the barest of moments, breathed deeply to catch the scent
of old wood-smoke and fresh cut-wood, then sent out a line of ley
unerringly towards it.