The Silent Army (24 page)

Desh nodded. “Picture it. Thousands and thousands of soldiers jogging to keep up with us. They’ll get winded rather quickly I imagine.” He raised his glass in salute to the imaginary troops.

“Fifty thousand? I thought for certain we’d have more there by now.”

“We do, Majesty. They are waiting already. There is a vast army of the Sa’ba Taalor coming from our direction with plans to get there before us. There are more of them coming from the south, moving upriver along the Parmahar River. The sorcerers have done an excellent job of informing us of their motions.”

“Do they outnumber our troops?”

“Not at all. There are some still coming from the west, but we killed a good number of them. The ones from the south seem to have a number of captured people with them. It’s hard to say for certain, but a lot of the population of the small towns is now moving with them. I think they intend to use them as shields.”

“As shields?”

“Yes, it’s been done in the past but not for many years. The notion is they would put these citizens of Fellein in front of their own troops to work as a living barrier between the soldiers and themselves.”

“And that works?” Nachia stared at him as if he’d grown another eye.

“Well, not often, really. That’s why it isn’t done much any more. I believe the god Kanheer declared it a sin some time back and as a result no generals were willing to use it any more.”

“Kanheer?”

“One of the war gods,” Desh provided. “Always seemed a rather odd thing for a war god to do, forbid a method of defense.”

“It is rather cowardly.”

“Well, yes, but every shield has a use doesn’t it, Merros?”

“You haven’t answered my last question.” Nachia looked from one to the other again. “Where is there under the city for the Sa’ba Taalor to hide?”

Desh responded first. “My dear, I couldn’t hope to tell you. There are over a thousand years’ worth of history in this city. Buildings have risen and fallen.”

“Do you suppose our escaped assassin is down there too?” Nachia was not at all pleased that they had lost their one captured gray-skin.

Merros answered, “Who can say, Nachia? This weather hides any number of sins.”

Desh scratched at his neck. “There were those tunnels the Sisters found. They could lead to almost anywhere and many of them are large enough for a man to climb through.”

“And nothing was done?”

“To be fair, Nachia, we are over eleven thousand feet off the ground. There aren’t many who have a way to gain access.”

“Just anything that could have waited at the tops of the mountains.”

“I could hardly send troops over the sides on ropes, Majesty. On this one we have to trust the Silent Army to keep watch.”

“Which I suppose they would if the Sa’ba Taalor climbed over the Mid Wall.”

“Well, yes, but I don’t suppose they’d be that nice about it.”

“They are not nice, Merros. They are annoying and dangerous and sneakier than a band of thieves.”

Merros nodded. He had no solutions to her dilemma.

“Are there tunnels under us, Desh? Can they be filled with water?”

“Well, I suppose they could, Nachia. But where would the water come from?”

“You’re the First Advisor and you have sorcerers at your disposal. Can you not manage a waterfall of some sort?”

Desh stared at her long and hard, his jaw working. “If we were still surrounded by water I could redirect it, but I can’t just summon water from nowhere. Well, I can, which is why you have drinking water, but I cannot produce that sort of quantity. Magic always has a price.”

He paced a moment, his jaw still working furiously as he tried to find the right words.

“It’s not that I like not being able to help, Nachia. I mean that, but I can’t just make an ocean. There has to be an ocean first.”

Nachia stared coldly at him.

“Snow.”

“I beg pardon?”

“Snow. There are mountains of the stuff here. Can you and yours not use that to flood whatever is under us?”

“I suppose so. Can’t you just have your cooks brew it up in large pots?”

“You are a very rude man, Desh.”

“You are a very demanding ruler, Majesty.”

Far to the north of Canhoon the volcano erupted. It was violent and impossible to miss. For hundreds of miles around the air shook and the light was enough to startle sleeping animals into flight. Wrommish ripped free of the earth and shattered the closest mountain in the process.

Great gouts of flame and smoke stroked the air and spread across the sky, claiming all that had been peaceful in the name of war.

Far to the west the people of Fellein who had managed to avoid being crushed by the Sa’ba Taalor trembled. They had seen too much of volcanoes and what followed their eruptions.

To the far east the people stared in wonder at the lights and puzzled over the sounds. Those in the southern regions had already dealt with the birth of a mountain but closer to this source the people had little notion of what was happening, only that it was vast and powerful.

Along the jagged line of the mountain range the snow and ice reflected the fire until the night was nearly day, and the people in Canhoon woke to the sounds that might well have meant the end of them all. For those who had survived Tyrne and Roathes the sounds were too familiar and a cold dread seized them and would not let go easily. The world, it seemed, was ending, no matter how far they tried to go to escape that fact.

For some of the refugees it signified an end. For others it signified a time to do things differently. There had been a few who gathered their weapons and attempted to change their world by force. They had grabbed those they thought the cause of their sorrows and they had beaten or killed them, until the Silent Army handled the affair. Many once again took up weapons, but this time they approached the barracks of the Imperial Army and offered their axes and swords to the Empress.

While some were drawn to war, others did their best to find comfort in the temples of the gods. Some were not so easily comforted; the gods had offered little that they could see – and of those little could be said, save that the miracle of the Silent Army did not seem a blessing in their eyes – but they tried just the same. The Sa’ba Taalor had faith, but for the Fellein that commodity seemed very rare.

As the heat came and melted snow into water, the Silent Army moved. Some went about their courses, looking over the city and making certain that no one chose to fight against the laws of the Empress. Others chose a different route.

There were many catacombs in the City of Wonders. Some were lost to time, unknown to any living being, but the Silent Army was not quite living in the usual sense.

Whether guided by memories from the past or by the gods themselves, three hundred of the Silent Army moved down into the catacombs beneath the city. They did not try to move quietly. They marched, and their tread filled chamber after chamber with the sounds of their feet striking the ground.

By the time they reached the spot where most of the Sa’ba Taalor were waiting, the gray-skins and their mounts were ready. The vast cistern was filled with a few inches of water, but nothing more. In the darkness of the massive chamber the warriors gathered what weapons they had and the mounts waited on the sidelines, prepared to attack when they were allowed that privilege.

The Silent Army came from all four openings into the chamber, treading steadily and wielding their short swords and their shields. They marched down the long stone stairs to reach their enemies below.

The Sa’ba Taalor did not wait for an invitation. They attacked.

Born and bred for war, the Sa’ba Taalor were nightmares of bloodshed. The Fellein had learned that the hard way, losing hundreds for every individual member of the Sa’ba Taalor that fell. Soldiers and civilians, men and women and children: all were the enemy in the eyes of the Sa’ba Taalor. Whatever weapon was needed was used. Whatever advantage could be taken was seized. A thousand years or more the Daxar Taalor had prepared their soldiers for the Great Tide.

The Silent Army did not care.

The first of the Sa’ba Taalor to strike was a man named Marro. He had served with Tuskandru and was chosen by Stastha as one of the most able among the King in Onyx’s forces.

He struck the first of the stone soldiers with a hammer he had forged himself in the fires of Durhallem. The blow he delivered was powerful and sent the Silent Soldier to its knees. The skin of the stone man cracked along the shoulder.

Marro did not have time to celebrate. The soldier swung its shield in a hard arc and knocked him back four feet even as it stood up and came forward. His hammer did not dent the shield when it struck, but instead skimmed along the slightly rounded surface.

The warrior was made of stone. Marro could see that. He could not deny what he saw with his own eyes and so he reversed the hammer, using the pick-like edge normally reserved for punching through hard armor to deal his next blow. The point drove into the shield and left a break in the soldier’s defenses. The soldier drove forward again, bashing at Marro with the shield, knocking him backward. Marro was a powerful figure and grunted in surprise. The first time the stone man hit him he might have been taken off guard. The second time he was braced for the assault, but it did not matter. He was hurled backward several feet. The shield came again and Marro ducked around it, moving as quickly as his opponent. He pushed himself in against the stone man and grunted again as the soldier held its place. Just the same he brought his hammer around and struck the stone soldier a solid blow that staggered the heavy form.

The short sword of his enemy came down in a hard arc and sliced through Marro’s neck, his chest and his guts.

Marro looked up at his enemy as he died, knowing that even in death he had served his gods faithfully and that he would be rewarded.

By the time Marro fell dead, the nameless soldier had moved on, sweeping his arms in separate directions. His shield arm drove back a man with a sword. His sword arm knocked aside a woman attempting to grapple him.

In ancient times, when the Silent Army had first awoken, their very visage had driven half of their enemies into retreat. Statues should not move, or strike, or kill.

The Sa’ba Taalor did not care. Statue or flesh, the enemies of their gods were their enemies as well and they would destroy them by any means necessary. The woman cast aside was not foolish. Her tactics were best used against flesh. She was strong and she knew it. She had once broken the jaw and hind leg of a Pra-Moresh with her body as her only weapon. She could not shatter stone, but she could use physics to her advantage. As the stone soldier took a step forward she drove the heel of her foot into the back of the knee supporting all of the demon’s weight.

Then she rolled fast to get out of the way.

The knee moved forward and the stone monster lost balance and fell back.

By the time it had landed on the ground she had gathered Marro’s great hammer and prepared herself. Her fellow Sa’ba Taalor, the one with the sword, took advantage of the situation as best he could and tried gutting the stone man. His blade was well made, but the stone was unyielding and the sound of the two clashing was monstrous.

The stone man brought around his shield and drove the edge into the swordsman’s midriff, pushing him back and likely breaking a rib or two.

And while he was doing that, she drove the pointy end of the hammer into the stone soldier’s face. The blow was perfect and shattered a part of that face, breaking it completely away from the head.

There was no blood beneath that hard surface, merely more stone. The stone soldier stood up and what remained of the face snarled silently at her.

She retreated quickly and called to the mounts, “To us! Defend!” It is not a sign of cowardice to acknowledge a need for help. On the contrary, it is a sign of foolishness to deny that fact.

The mounts were not made of stone, but they were powerful nonetheless.

The first of the mounts lasted two minutes in combat with the stone soldier. That is longer in a fight than most will ever realize. Two minutes of constant straining, biting and clawing managed little but to knock the stone man around and leave the mount winded and shaking. Adrenaline only lasts a short time and despite the armor worn effortlessly by the mount, the stone sword and shield delivered hellish blows. Bones were broken and meat was cut and slashed and bruised. Teeth cracked against stone flesh, and claws tore free from their housings.

For two full minutes the mount roared and fought and bled before dying. For two minutes the mount felt alive again in the purest sense.

Sometimes the gods are kind.

Axes did some harm. Swords a little less. Hammers worked nicely enough. The trouble was that all of those were in short supply. Most of the Sa’ba Taalor chosen for the climb had little or no weapons worth noting save their hand-to-hand skills. Those skills were impressive in all cases, but one can only punch a stone so many times. Stones may break, but few will shatter before flesh is pulped or bones crushed to dust.

A few hundred of the Sa’ba Taalor ran. Most did not. Those who fled did so because their gods demanded it. It is possible that the Daxar Taalor spoke to many, but who can say what is in the hearts of the gods?

Those who stayed behind were killed. There were no prisoners taken this time. The Silent Army did not give second warnings.

The waters of the cistern were bloody and littered with corpses.

Nine of the Silent Army were shattered and useless by the time the fight was over. That was nine more than had ever been defeated before.

The stone soldiers were stronger than any human being. They worked fast and did what they had to do. Then they left their grisly tasks behind and headed for the surface.

There was one more challenge and they took care of that as well before once more going about their appointed tasks.

At first light a few of the people screamed. More of them cheered. War, it is said, is a harsh business, a bloody business that requires bloodthirsty souls.