From Hirad's direction HotRain fell on the Dordovans, flaring on shields and blowing on to the ruined warehouses nearby. It was Denser's work but largely ineffective this time. The horsemen turned and charged.
“Be ready,” said The Unknown, his sword blade tapping.
“You know it,” said Hirad. The hooves clashed off the stone, the fires behind him lit the blades of the attackers in stark relief. Hirad roared to clear his head and looked for his first target.
Xye watched the crush of opposing forces with the detached analysis afforded a Protector through the sifting of every stimulus by the entire brethren in the Soul Tank. It allowed him to assess immediately, act with supreme confidence and authority, and minimise the chances of damage to any Protector or Given. He had the unfailing support of every brother and his courage was eternally undimmed.
He stood in the centre of the line, his back eight paces from those of Sol and Aeb, looking back toward the fires that had engulfed the fish market, the inn, and the timber yard and now threatened the foundry and warehousing nearby. The fires denied the night and shed a garish glare over the entire dockside, lighting the charging horses and their riders in the colours of hell.
Xye considered the enemy had taken an ill-conceived gamble based on panic, not tactics. The mixed Dordovan and Lysternan forces drove hard along the dockside, the latter unsure, the former desperate to destroy the line threatening their comrades. But behind them, the mages had dropped their barricades and the Given mages launched FlameOrbs, HotRain and IceWind across the cavalries as the Protectors, unhindered by ForceCones, surged after them.
And into the mêlée came more that Xye couldn't place. Men on foot, directed by a single man on horseback; and through the maelstrom of thoughts and pulses, Xye picked up a thread that warned of the howling of wolves. Animals to be spared.
Strength and courage. Fracture the charge. Help comes from behind. We are one.
Xye knew the brethren could not lose.
“Head up, Hirad,” said The Unknown, his sword point still tapping the slick stone at his feet. “Go centre, go low. I'll take the rider.”
“Got you.”
The Unknown took the short blade in both hands now and watched the Dordovans as they came. It was not a full charge. Both horses and riders were nervous at the enemy they faced, their usual confidence undermined by the lack of fear in their foe.
“Ilkar, how're you doing.”
“Debating offence,” came the reply.
“When they hit us, not before.”
“Any moment now, then.”
The Unknown heard the grim humour in Ilkar's tone. This was not a good situation. The front rank of the cavalry was on them, formation wide enough to allow weapons a clear path. The thunder of hooves, the shouts of the men and the snorts of the horses clamoured all around, in front and behind, counterpointed by the total lack of movement or sound from the Protectors.
The Unknown ceased tapping his blade, paced forward, raised it high and crashed it into the centre rider, seeing from the corner of his eye, Hirad dropping to a crouch to power up under the horse's neck. The rider was ready but it wasn't enough; his one-handed block hadn't the strength to counter The Unknown's massive swing. His blade was knocked aside, leaving his chest and neck open to the Raven man's blade which sliced through exposed flesh and screamed across his chain mail chest guard. Blood fountained into the air and as his horse collapsed from Hirad's strike the man toppled lifeless from his saddle.
Turning to face his next opponent, The Unknown was struck in the back of the shoulder. He half turned, guard up but there was no threat, just the head of a Dordovan bouncing to the floor.
The second rank of cavalry bulldozed through where the first had failed, forcing back Protector and Raven alike. The Unknown fielded blows on his blade from left and right, feeling the press of horseflesh around him and craning his neck to look for an opening. He heard Hirad curse, and saw the flash of a blade. A horse screamed. The Unknown struck right, biting into a rider's armour. Winded, the man turned to wheel away, but his dying mount wouldn't respond and he merely lurched in the saddle. The Unknown snatched his foot from its stirrup and pitched him to the ground for Hirad to finish.
“Ilkar! Now's a good time for something.”
The mage didn't respond immediately, then.
“Shield down. Crouch, Raven.”
The Unknown complied and Ilkar's spell thudded over his head, a ForceCone which smashed into the remnants of the front rank, driving back horses into those behind and stripping riders from saddles.
A loose horse, caught as it reared, flailed its hooves, catching The Unknown a glancing blow on his shoulder and on to his chin. He sprawled over the wet stone, seeing stars, sword knocked from his grasp and gasping from the sudden pain. Rolling immediately on to his left-hand side, he saw the Dordovans regrouping and heard Hirad shouting his name. He was in front of the line and vulnerable, his sword a couple of paces away. He dragged himself to a crouch, pain spearing through his shoulder and up into his neck. He crawled forward quickly and grabbed the blade, standing ready to back up.
“Unknown, left. Left!” Hirad's desperate shout cut through him. He swung left, raising his sword instinctively in his right hand.
The horse had come from nowhere, riding across the line, and as he made to jump right to avoid it, the Dordovan cavalryman leaned out and swung his axe hard and low, smashing it into The Unknown's unprotected hip.
He felt the agony, knew he was falling and he felt the smack of stone on his face.
The pack bunched in terror as explosions thundered around them. Nearby, one of the human buildings was engulfed in flame and sounds like trees falling, the screams of men and the howling, evil wind fractured their collective spirit. They ran.
Thraun could see where they were going, to shadow and quiet, but knew it was the wrong way. No answers there, nor safety. That was only to be found with man-packbrother. But it was long before he could stop the pack, let alone make them obey him.
He barked and half howled, urging them to slow their blind run and, one by one, they did, drawing into the shelter of a narrow passageway between the high human-built walls. Here, the sounds of destruction were muted and the scents of burning, blood and death were overpowered by those of rotting vegetation and stagnant mud churned up by the rains.
What filled Thraun's ears now were the harsh pants of the pack and what filled his eyes were their lolling tongues, their eyes white and wide and their ears flat against their heads. He knew they shouldn't be here, in the centre of the world of men. He understood their fear of the fire that fell around them, of the stench of burning and the screams of men dying and buildings falling, but knew he couldn't allow it to dominate them.
So he stood while they crouched in surrender. He watched while their breathing returned to an even pace and depth and he waited until all of them looked to him for support and the whines in their throats disappeared. And all the while the noises he made in his mouth and chest soothed them and gave them strength.
Part of him wanted to take them back out to the forests and the surviving pups and bitches but they were so close now. Man-packbrother and the others would find the woman and the answers would be there for them. He yearned for the forest but more than that, he yearned to stand with man-packbrother. To help the humans. It was not a feeling that was easy to accept but it was there and could not be denied.
It was something he wished he could express to the pack but there were no sounds or expressions to convey it. He knew they didn't understand why they were here, just that their pack leader was and they trusted him to be right. And so they would follow him again, back to the fires, the pain and the bad scent that covered everything. But they would return by another route and try to avoid the worst of the burning wood, to where man-packbrother had run with the strange humans whose faces were wood and who had nothing where their souls should be. He feared these humans. They were blank.
Thraun nuzzled each
one of the pack in turn, feeling their soaking fur against his muzzle and easing their remaining fear. He would be with them. He would protect them. Now was the time to act. Yet they were so reluctant to go, cowering still in the dark, their eyes fearful. But he needed them with him, to give him strength.
He made to move back out into the horror but they wouldn't follow him. He padded back to them, standing above them where they crouched, heads low to the ground. They couldn't stay here and he struggled to make them understand that. Hiding in the dark was not the way of the wolf. The pack hunted, the pack ran free.
He growled, demanding they get up, requiring their obedience. He was the dominant male and they had to obey him. And slowly, their respect and fear of him overcame the need to escape what lay beyond the dark alleyway. Heads still hung, limbs still shivering, they rose.
The pack were ready again and he led them out of the dark place and back into the firelight and noise, the scent of the evil gale assailing his nostrils, the sounds of clashing metal and the cries of humans becoming loud again in his ears.
Howling to give them strength, he ran in front of them, searching the air for the scent of man-packbrother. Thraun knew where he had run to and as they closed on the place where the land met the water once again, he knew he would turn away from the terror the pack had suffered.
But the conflict had moved.
All along the waterside, the human dwellings burned, their heat crackling the air and making the rain steam as it fell, fizzing in the sky. He couldn't see man-packbrother but knew he was there. What he could see were prey and the humans that rode them.
With a bark, he led the pack to attack, leaping and closing his fangs around the throat of a prey, feeling the warm gush of blood and its anguished movements as it sought to shake him off. The rider called out and swung his sharp which stung as it bounced from Thraun's impervious hide.
Thraun dropped from the neck of the prey and, in the same move, sprang to take the human, giant paws thumping into his chest and bearing him to the ground where the weak creature fought uselessly while Thraun tore at his throat.
The mingled blood tasted good but there was no time to feast on prey and human flesh was not to his liking. He lifted his head and saw the pack surrounding their prey, which reared, pawing the empty air while its rider clung to stay on. He watched as one circled to a flank and drove into the rear legs. The beast collapsed, its cry of pain loud, its rider tumbling to the ground, momentarily and fatally helpless.
With the human dead, Thraun barked them to him and looked for the next target. The riders and prey were aware of them now, and more turned to fend them off while the clashing and shouting continued behind them.
Thraun's heart froze as he saw a man with mist over his soul staring at them. He had no sharp and was all the more terrible for it. Thraun made to dart forward but was blocked by one of the pack. Barking to scatter them, he ran at the man, leaping as globes of fire erupted from his hands, sailed over Thraun's head and landed behind him. With his jaws clamped on the man's face and his paws raking his chest, he heard the awful yelps and whines of the pack.
He bit down to finish the human, turned and ran, pulling up short when he saw them. They hadn't scattered as he had asked, the proximity of prey and blood had been too much. And now three were down and one staggering. All were ablaze, all in agony, all dying. Thraun looked on helplessly as the unnatural fires ate at their fur and flesh, stole their voices and stopped their bodies. At the last, one found Thraun's eyes and as the wolf's gaze dimmed, he read the message in them.
Betrayal, wrong death.
Thraun sat by the burning carcasses and howled, heedless of the enemy around him and not caring whether he was attacked or not. He had let them down. The pack were gone and it was his instincts that had cost them their lives. He had failed them just as he had failed—
A stab of long buried memory flashed through his desperate mind. Of a small human. Another man-packbrother, covered in white, his eyes closed, his chest not moving.
Confused, Thraun had neither the strength for revenge nor flight. So he lay where he was, last guardian of the dead pack, and watched the prey and riders flow around him as if through eyes that saw slowly.
And with every heartbeat a word, a word, gained in intensity and dominion. Deep inside, he knew he could not ignore it.
Remember.
Arlen turned this way and that in his saddle as he sought some way to enforce order. He and his men had spilled on to the dockside past raging fires and collapsed buildings to encounter a battle in full flow. College cavalry were set against Protectors, the violence of the fighting shocking as it flowed over the cobbles of his docks. Men roared, horses screamed, and spells crashed on all sides, flaring over shields or pouring their might over helpless victims.
The eye-watering odours of scorched wood and flesh filled the air through the pouring rain. Swords clashed together or against armour, the ringing echoing in all directions, and in the firelight great slicks of rain-diluted blood ran toward the sea, men and horses splashing through them as they engaged their enemies.
In the harbour, the Ocean Elm was sailing clear, sails full, driving her on to the lake while to his left, another battle near the Calaian Sun was taking place in front of tumbled and splintered warehouses and the flames that swept a hundred feet into the night sky. The noise was deafening, the sight appalling and Arlen had no idea how to stop it.
Around him, his townspeople had faltered, their energy draining away as they saw death surround them. Some of them had run away and Arlen couldn't blame them for doing so. Only his guards had formed up in proper defence and they had been attacked on two sides, some falling prey to Protectors beating a path back to the centre of the town, others by Dordovans determined to stop them. Eventually, he had withdrawn and now the survivors looked to him for help.
One of the men he'd sent to assess the spread of fighting through the town sprinted up to him, gasping for breath.
“Report,” said Arlen.
“It's everywhere,” said the youngster, not more than twenty years of age and scared half to death. “There're fires burning right through to the jail and into the Salt Quarter. One side of Centenary Square is ablaze with fire carried on the wind and there's fighting in a dozen pockets.” He stopped, breathing hard. “Protectors are marauding all through the town and the Dordovan mages are casting at them from rooftops and windows. Our people are on the run. There are hundreds heading north to the castle but I don't think they'll stop there. It's like the whole place is falling down. What will we do, my Lord?”
The young man looked at him, pleading.
Arlen wanted to yell at him that he didn't know. That nothing they did could stop the fight which raged out of control, as did the fires that ate the buildings. There were too many of them. Hundreds fought on the docks and through the town and he had less than thirty scared men at his disposal. There was nothing they could do but he had to force them into some sort of action. They had to be doing something.
“Listen men!” he shouted. “Get off the docks. We'll set up a safe zone in the square. Give somewhere for our people to run, then stage them back to the castle. Forget these bastards, let them kill themselves. Let's save our own. Go!”
He turned his horse and led his men away, guilt lying like a lead weight across his shoulders. He'd saved a few for now but the awful realisation was that he'd lost control of his town. He wondered how many of them would realise it too when the relief of escape from the dock wore off. If the Protectors and Dordovans wanted to destroy Arlen, there was nothing he could do to stop them.
“Unknown!” roared Hirad. “No!”
He launched himself at the cavalryman who had struck down his friend. Five paces and a jump that gave him the perfect angle to strike. The Dordovan was wheeling his horse and presented his body as a target. Hirad was in the air as he brought his sword through right to left, cleaving the man's head from his neck, his body toppling back, blood spraying into the
rain-drenched sky.
Hirad ignored the horse and dashed to stand astride The Unknown's body, not daring to look down in case he saw the big man was dead. He had already seen it once before and twice would be too much.
“Aeb! Protectors!” he shouted. “Help me!”
But they already were, pouring into a frontal attack while those behind stayed the rear advance. Dual weapons scorching through the air, the Protectors stormed into the cavalry, axes carving into horse flesh, swords blocking desperate swings before savaging into the riders.
Dordovans came at Hirad, hoping for an easy target; a man relatively defenceless as he attempted to help a downed friend. The first lost his left leg as Hirad swayed under a roundhouse blow, the second had his horse killed under him. After that, the Protectors were with him, Aeb to his left, forming a circle of steel that gave The Unknown sanctuary.
“Ilkar, check him!” he called as he blocked a sword thrust aside, caught the rider's arm and pulled him from his horse, where Aeb crashed his axe through the unprotected stomach.
“Right behind you, Hirad. Keep going,” said Ilkar Hirad's heart was thudding wildly as he fought to keep perspective. Every sinew begged him to dive into the cavalry headlong, let his blood instinct take over and see how many he could bring down before they killed him. But he denied the urge, forcing himself to remember the man he was defending.
“He's still alive but it's bad. I need Denser, Hirad. Quickly.”
“Leave it to me,” said Hirad, his body awash with sudden vital energy. “Aeb, we have to break them now. Front and rear.”
“Yes, I understand. We will move with you.”
Hirad nodded, looked up and saw the Dordovans organising for another run. Twenty bodies were scattered on the ground and, forming more barriers, horses, dead and in distress, lay on the dock. It would be a broken charge and Hirad determined to use that to his advantage.
Along the line, the Protectors waited, silent and unmoving. Their casualties were light but couldn't be ignored. The time was now.
Nightchild Page 33
