War of Shadows (30 page)

“Watch me.” Niklas’s hands were white with rock dust and streaked dark with blood from dozens of places where the sharp stone had cut his skin.

“You’ve been at this for three candlemarks. Let someone else take a turn, and come back when you’ve rested. You’re no good to your men half-dead,” Ordel argued in a low voice.

Niklas gave him a sidelong glance that let Ordel know just what he thought of the advice. Niklas’s shoulders and back ached, as did his lower body from bending and lifting. His hands were a cut-up mess. “Just a little while longer,” Niklas said. “The men underneath—they don’t have much time left.”

“It may already be too late,” Ordel replied. “In which case, killing yourself won’t help.”

Niklas nodded, and shook a sodden lock of hair out of his eyes. “I know that. But we’re going to keep digging as long as there’s a chance we’ve got men alive in there.”

Ordel nodded. “We’ll patch up the other group and send them back in a candlemark or so,” he replied, heading back toward the tunnels.

“Watch out!” the man behind Niklas shouted. The pile of rubble shifted, and men scrambled back.

“We’re getting closer, Captain,” the soldier shouted. “Not much longer now!”

The men behind Niklas gave a weary roar of triumph. Niklas was bone tired and every muscle ached, but the thought that they might be close to success gave him a surge of energy. Behind him, the soldiers swung into a new chorus of the cadence.

“Get back!” Dagur’s voice barely carried above the rowdy chant. “Get back now, all of you!”

A loud boom sounded, and more of the damaged wall began to tumble toward them. Niklas gave the men behind him a shove with all his might. Chunks of stone rained down on them. Hoarse screams and shouting carried above the wind. The cold air was choked with dust.

“Move back!” Niklas shouted, ending in a fit of coughing as the rock dust filled his lungs. The dust was thick enough that it was almost impossible to see. Somewhere in the blinding grit and lashing winds, Niklas could hear men scrambling for safety, cursing and shouting. He stumbled blindly, and his feet caught on debris that might have been stones from overhead or the bodies of fallen comrades.

Something hard and heavy slammed into Niklas, catching him low in the back and sending him sprawling. He probed over his head with his fingertips, only to find two large timbers that both sheltered him from the worst of the collapse, and trapped him beneath it.

Niklas smelled blood and urine, and the pungent odor of entrails. He put a hand to his aching head, and his palm came away sticky with blood. Niklas carefully shifted, seeing how much room he had to move his legs. The effort sent pain arcing down his back intense enough to make him cry out. He gasped, then choked on the dust. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard men calling out for help.

“Can you hear me?” Niklas shouted. “Sound off if you hear me!”

“Jacobs.”

“Renden.”

“Jonsen.”

“Pattersen.”

One by one, men called out their names in the darkness until Niklas had counted eight other men trapped in the new collapse.

“Can’t move my legs, Cap’n,” a man called back. “Can’t feel them, neither.”

“I can move, I think,” another soldier answered. “But I’m wedged in and I’m scared I’ll bring the rest down on me.”

“Sit tight,” Niklas responded. “Ayers and the others know we’re here. They’ll come after us.”

Rubble blocked out wind and light, and Niklas lost track of time. Overhead, he could hear rocks grinding and falling. The air beneath grew warm and stale, and Niklas’s body cramped. Even if he could shift, he was afraid it would worsen the collapse. Fatigue eventually won out and allowed him restless sleep.

He woke with a start, and fought down panic. It was too quiet. Niklas wondered whether the others were sleeping, dead, or unconscious. Lying amid the rubble, Niklas let dreams take him. Memories of his boyhood at Arengarte seemed as fresh as if they had happened yesterday.

“Got a shovel, got a pick,” distant voices sang out.

“Dig in deep and make it stick,” other voices answered.

“Gonna get the captain free,” the first voices responded.

“Pour some grog and one for me,” came the reply.

The impromptu verses shook Niklas out of slumber. “Wake
up!” he called, his voice a dry croak. “Did you hear that? They’re digging for us!”

“I think we’ve lost Jonsen, Cap,” Renden said. “When I gave him a shake, he’s cold and he didn’t say nothin’.”

“Let them know we’re down here,” Niklas said. “Give a shout!” They called out as loudly as they could, coughing and gagging in the dust.

“They’re alive down there!” Ayers’s voice carried, muffled through the rock and debris. “Pick up the speed, boys. Let’s get them out.”

Metal scraped on rock as the rescuers pried the rubble loose. Niklas ducked at a shower of small stones and dust that tumbled down from overhead.
Please don’t let them get us crushed
, he thought.
Not when they’re this close
.

Fresh, cold air rushed into the space where Niklas and his men were trapped, and they greeted it with weary cheers. Every stone the rescuers removed sent a shudder through the precarious support that held up the timbers over Niklas’s head. He tried to wriggle forward, but the pain made him gasp. Night had fallen.

“Be careful. If those timbers shift, we die,” Niklas rasped.

“Don’t worry, Captain. We’re working on it.” Niklas recognized the voice. It was Liam, one of the
talishte
soldiers.

“Hold still,” Liam said, carefully wriggling through the hole the others had cleared. He maneuvered so that he had his back against the timbers that angled over Niklas’s head. “All right,” Liam called to the rescuers. “Go ahead. I can hold this.”

Stone by stone, the opening grew larger until Niklas could make out the shadowy shapes of men in the torchlight.

“There were eight of us when the roof came down,” Niklas told Liam. “Take the worst-off first.”

Liam shook his head. “We’ve got to take you out in the order
we come to you, Captain. The mages are helping hold this pile up, but it’s been shifting, and the storm hasn’t helped. They’re going to have to start nearest the entrance and work their way back.”

Even as Liam spoke, Niklas saw two figures carefully lift a man’s body and carry it out through the hole the rescuers had made in the debris.

“Watch the arm! I think it’s pinned,” Renden cautioned as the figures returned for him. Niklas heard the sound of rocks grinding against each other, and the timbers groaned ominously as the rescuers tried to free Renden.

“It’s crushed. I can get you out, but I can’t move the rock without bringing everything down on our heads,” one of the rescuers cautioned.

“Do it,” Renden replied. His voice trembled. “Just do it.”

A moment later, Niklas heard the dull thud of steel on bone and a man’s raw scream. Soldiers carried Renden out, the bleeding stump of his arm soaking his dust-caked shirt. Patterson crawled out, followed by Jacobs.

“Time to go,” Liam said.

“There were eight of us,” Niklas said.

“Only five alive,” Liam replied. “Sorry.”

Two
talishte
soldiers crawled through the cramped space to get to Niklas. “When we take you out and Liam lets go of those timbers, this whole place is likely to come down,” one of the soldiers said. “We’ve got to be fast, so we might not be gentle.”

“Understood,” Niklas said, bracing himself.

Pain shot through his body as strong hands pulled him free. Niklas cried out. The hands tightened their grip, and then he was moving fast, supported by powerful arms, as the rubble roared down behind them.

In the next heartbeat, Niklas lay in the corridor on the hard
stone floor, staring up at the ceiling. He was shaking from pain and cold, but he was alive. Ordel knelt next to him. Down the corridor, Niklas could hear the voices of the other battle healers. Ordel put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t move. I’m trying to figure out what you’ve done to your back. If you stay still, you might get to walk again.”

“How are the others?” Niklas could taste rock dust and blood in his mouth.

Ordel’s expression was grim. “We lost Jonsen. The rock opened up a gash in his leg and he bled dry. Renden lost part of his arm, but I think he’ll be all right.” He grimaced. “Except for the arm.”

“And the others?”

“Don’t you think you should be worrying about yourself right now?” Ordel said.

“Not until I know. What about the others?” Niklas argued.

Ordel sighed. “We got five of you out alive. The other three might have been alive after the cave-in, but they didn’t make it long enough for us to get to them. I’m sorry.”

“Damn.” Niklas paused. “How did the
talishte
soldiers get here?”

“Dolan woke when our men went into the tunnels. We’re lucky he looks before he strikes,” Ordel added with a grimace. “Ayers explained what happened, and as soon as the sun set, Dolan sent the
talishte
to help.”

“I owe him. Ayers was right. We were running out of time.”

Ordel nodded. “The mages told Ayers none of you would make it out alive if we kept digging without the
talishte
.”

Niklas shivered. “Even so, it was too close.”

Niklas fell silent as Ordel worked on him, struggling with himself to ask the question he most feared. “What about my back?” he asked finally.

Ordel nodded. “You took a hard wallop. You’re purple from your waist to your ass. Everything’s bruised to a pulp, but you didn’t break your back and your spine’s not damaged.” He shook his head in amazement. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

“Is the storm over?”

“Pretty much,” Ordel replied, bandaging a deep gash on Niklas’s leg. “The worst of the storm ended about a candlemark after the wall fell.”

Niklas listened, trying to make sense of what he heard. Wind no longer howled past the chimneys and the vents. But instead of silence, the air was filled with the shouts of men and the clang of swords. He tried again to sit up, and once more, Ordel pressed him back.

“What’s going on?” Niklas demanded.

Ordel swore under his breath. “Damn Tingur. Carr must not have spotted them all. They were waiting for us when the storm ended. Don’t ask me where they sat out the wind. That’s all I know.”

Niklas cursed. “I should be out there.”

Ordel fixed him with a glare. “You should be thanking the gods that you’re alive and still able to walk. The Tingur are a dangerous nuisance. Trust your men to do what you’ve taught them to do.”

“I should still be out there with them,” Niklas growled.

“You’re bruised enough,” Ordel observed, sitting back on his haunches. He took a flask from his belt and helped Niklas sit up long enough to take a drink. It burned down Niklas’s throat.

“Let me give you something for the pain—something stronger than this,” Ordel said, gesturing with the flask. “It’ll let you sleep, and you’ll heal faster.”

“I want to see what’s going on,” Niklas insisted. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to a seated position, then gasped
at the pain. Still, he waved away Ordel’s restraining hand. “I may not be able to fight, but I want to be where my men can see me.”

Ordel let out a long, frustrated breath. “The only way you’re going to get up those stairs today is if someone carries you. You’re in no condition for crutches. I’ve been working on you for two candlemarks, and you could undo everything. For what?”

“My men are up there. I should be with them,” Niklas said. He tried to stand, and fell back with a curse.

Ordel glared at him. “You’ve made your point. Sit down. I’ll get someone to help you, if you don’t mind bruising your dignity along with your ass.” He strode down the corridor and returned a few minutes later with a soldier and Walker, one of the healers.

“Take the Captain up where he can see what’s going on outside,” Ordel ordered. “Make sure he stays under cover. He shouldn’t be on his feet, let alone fighting.” He looked at Walker. “If he tries to join the battle, knock him out. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t make it too comfortable for him. He needs to be down here resting.” He fixed Niklas with a glare. “The longer you stay up there, the longer it’ll be before you’re actually healed enough to be any good to anyone. Your choice.” With that, Ordel turned and walked away, snapping orders at the other healers.

“I’m going to need some help,” Niklas admitted. The pain nearly made him pass out as the men lifted him to his feet.

“Sir? Do you want to sit back down? You’ve gone pale,” Walker asked worriedly.

“Just get me up there,” Niklas muttered between gritted teeth. It took all his concentration not to black out. Every step
hurt, and his ribs ached from the strain of being supported by the two men. They made their way to the outside and stood in the cover provided by the ruins of the barn. Whether the winds had flattened part of the stockade wall that surrounded the camp, or whether the Tingur had brought it down while the camp was undefended, Niklas had no way to know, but through that break in their defenses streamed dozens of ragged, wild-eyed men.

Above the fray, Niklas could hear Ayers shouting orders. “I need a better view,” Niklas growled, frustrated by the ruined wall that both protected them and blocked their line of sight.

“Ordel was very clear—”

“I heard what Ordel said,” Niklas snapped. “But I’m your captain, and I want to see what in Raka is going on!”

“Yes, sir.” Walker helped Niklas shift position. The soldier who had accompanied them was standing guard.

“How many of them do you figure there are?” Niklas muttered.

Walker’s eyes narrowed as he counted. “Hard to tell, but at least a few dozen that we can see, probably more.”

Niklas cursed under his breath. “Can’t you bring them down with dysentery or make them break out in boils or something?”

Walker looked horrified. “Maybe some healers can, sir. I’m not that powerful. And we’re not supposed—”

“I know you’re not supposed to use your magic to make people sick,” Niklas snapped. “But making the enemy sick stops them from making our boys dead. Is there something you can do?”