Noonshade

by James Barclay

  He turned and the four of them stumbled backward, scared words tumbling from their mouths combined with frantic pointing with their arms at where one had struck him. Thraun crouched, yellow eyes smouldering contempt for their helplessness, jaws dripping the blood of their companion, his body tensed.

  The men backed away further but they could not escape, not all of them. Thraun sprang again, paws thumping into the chest of his prey, snout firing hot breath over his face. His jaws snapped together, ripping the flesh off one cheek. The man screamed. His companions struck and pulled at Thraun who stepped back, lashed a claw into the prey to silence him then begin to circle, tongue lolling.

  One of the prey turned and ran, shouting as he went. Thraun watched him briefly but let him go. The other two stood knowing they could neither fight to win nor both outrun the wolf. At a word, they split and ran in opposite directions but Thraun had already chosen his victim. He loped after him, through a narrow way with sheer stone walls rising either side, and ended his whimpering life far from the light of the fire.

  And later, sated in mind and body, the passing of man-packbrother avenged, he cleaned his paws, muzzle and chest and trotted back to where Will lay, the lust clearing from his mind where one word pulsed at him.

  Remember.

  Ilkar feared for a time that the tumult wouldn't subside. The grain store was packed with men, women and children of all ages and their automatic move away from the sundered doors was reversed immediately they saw it was not Wesmen framed in the opening.

  It sounded as if all of them were talking, crying or shouting at once and he worried briefly that they would be crushed in a stampede for the open air. He shouted for calm, his voice joined by Hirad's and The Unknown's, all three Raven men now with swords sheathed, aware that Denser would alert them to any approaching danger.

  Inside, the grain store was gloomy but not dark. Half a dozen low-wicked lanterns lit its cavernous stone-arched space and, to his left and right, Ilkar could see areas set aside for food and washing. And though the smell of sweat and stale air within was strong and pervasive, the lack of raw stench told him that at least they were not forced to urinate or defecate where they stood and slept.

  At the front of the crowd, younger men stared back at him, their faces tired and angry, their voices lost in the morass of sound. In the centre, Ilkar recognised the unmistakable aura of a mage and strode forward to speak with him. His movement caused a ripple through the crowd which swayed back instinctively and Ilkar could only guess at the treatment they had sometimes received at the hands of the Wesmen. And their fears were based in ignorance. Every day, some of their number were taken from the store and never returned. Ilkar knew where they lay and the realisation that these people, his people, did not, twisted his stomach and reignited his anger at the plight of Julatsa.

  But the bodies lying outside the College were something he couldn't ignore and they represented a real risk to the rescue if the subject wasn't handled correctly.

  The mage, late middle-aged and puny, tufted red hair sprouting from a narrow head, bore an expression of enormous relief but Ilkar didn't let him speak, beckoning him forward. They met and shook hands a pace in front of the crowd.

  “Your name?” asked Ilkar.

  “Dewer,” replied the mage.

  “Good. Dewer, I am Ilkar and this is The Raven. We're here to get you out of this. All of you. But we don't have much time.”

  Dewer gaped. “The Raven?” There were tears in his eyes.

  “Yes. Look, I must have quiet. The Wesmen are close and we have to leave now. Who's in charge?”

  “I'll pass the word for quiet,” said Dewer. “Speak to Lallan while I hush everyone.” He pointed at a tall slim man in his late fifties. He wore fine deep green clothing and a burgundy shirt, dirty and torn now but the quality still shone through. His face was drawn and tired yet proud and he stood tall, refusing to be bowed by the abrupt change in his circumstances. Ilkar walked quickly over to him where he stood a little further along the line, beckoning The Unknown and Hirad to join him.

  “Lallan,” said Ilkar. The two shook hands briefly. “I'm Ilkar, and these are Hirad and The Unknown Warrior.”

  Lallan nodded. “I recognised you as you came in.”

  “It is very important that your people listen to us and follow our instructions. If not, there could be a slaughter,” said Ilkar.

  “How many of you are there here?” asked Hirad.

  “Three thousand four hundred and seventy-eight,” said Lallan without pause. “We started with more but the Wesmen have been taking away the very old, very young and some women.”

  “I know, and that is something we have to deal with now.” Around Ilkar, a ripple of excited conversation was followed by a wave of hushing sounds and then almost complete silence.

  “Impressive,” said The Unknown.

  “We decided early that discipline was important,” said Lallan. “I'll speak first, then I'll introduce you, Ilkar. They'll listen if I ask it.”

  The four men stepped away from the crowd and toward the door. Denser chose the same moment to sweep down to the doorway, release Erienne from his arms, kiss her and step back into the sky. Erienne ran in, breaking the silence of the crowd, their murmur a vocalisation of their anxiety.

  “Erienne?” asked Hirad.

  “We're in trouble,” she said. “The main force of Wesmen from the west of the city has changed direction and are heading this way. Denser thinks they are under the control of the commander and he's guessed what's going on. They'll be here very soon. We've established the corridor back to the College but it's under attack in a dozen places, street to street. This isn't what Kard needs. His men are dying out here and he needs them on the walls.”

  “Right,” said The Unknown. “Lallan, get talking. Now.”

  Lallan nodded and faced the crowd who quietened on his first word.

  “My friends,” he said, his arms aloft, palms outward. “The Raven are here to organise rescue. It is hazardous and I beseech you, listen to what Ilkar has to say and let no doubt cloud your mind. Wesmen warriors are coming this way and we have to act decisively. This is our only chance. Ilkar.”

  The Raven mage stepped forward. “Outside it is dark, with only wood and spell fires lighting the sky. The Wesmen are running Julatsa but we have this one opportunity to get you out of their immediate clutches. What we want you to do is this. On Lallan's word, leave here and run as hard as you can through the southern market and, by the main streets, to the College. Don't stop until you are well inside the walls. Anyone who can fight and finds a weapon on a dead Wesmen, take it; you might need it. The streets are, for now, secured by soldiers and men from Julatsa but they are under attack. Anyone who delays in the run is risking their lives.

  “There are two things I must tell you. First, you will be running into a College that will be under siege. It isn't freedom, not yet, but if you are there, you can do your part to help us regain our city. Any who feel their chances are better elsewhere, are very welcome to choose another direction in which to run. But I should mention that The Raven will be standing on the College walls where the best chance lies.

  “Second, as you approach the College, you will see a terrible sight. The bodies of all of those taken from this grain store ring the walls, murdered by the Wesmen in an attempt to force surrender. They gave their lives to give you a chance. Don't pause to mourn until you are inside or their deaths might end up being in vain. Lallan.”

  Lallan addressed the crowd again, their silence broken by the odd shouted question and the murmur of shocked sob and sorrow. He raised his voice to quell the spread of the noise.

  “My friends, we don't have time for questions. We have to run, as fast as we can, and pray the Gods and our soldiers will protect us. The strong must help the weak and carry the very young. We will run in our rotas, ‘A’ through to ‘L,’ and I hardly need to say that any mages should shield their comrades. Divide and organise now, I want ‘A’ thro
ugh to ‘E’ in front of these doors immediately. Go.”

  He clapped his hands and the hall dissolved into the noise of action. The drum of thousands of feet on the stone-flagged floor, the shouts and calls to organise and the clatter of timber as tables were shoved aside to create space by the main doors. Ilkar couldn't keep a smile from his face and he turned to Hirad and The Unknown, both of whom were nodding their appreciation. The discipline of the Julatsans gave them a chance.

  Denser landed again at the doors, his voice urgent. “Come on. They're almost on the store, they'll enter through the western entrance. We have to move now or they'll overwhelm us.” He held out his arms for Erienne and she ran into them. “HotRain, I think.” She nodded and they took off.

  The first of the rota letters were ready. Lallan, under the shadow of The Unknown Warrior, did not hesitate.

  “Go, go, go! Through the southern market, follow the corridor of soldiers. Take weapons where you find them. Run!” His last was lost in the thunder of feet and the calls of encouragement that rang out and echoed in the grain store. The Wesmen's Julatsan prisoners ran free, ran hard and ran straight.

  Ilkar was joined to the left of the doors by The Unknown and Hirad, and the three Raven watched the Julatsans as they made their bid for brief freedom. Above them, and moving in a lazy arc while they watched the advancing Wesmen, were Denser and Erienne. Julatsa was alive with fighting, the clash of swords, the detonation of spells and the shouts and calls to action coming at them from all directions.

  “We had no right to expect this to go so well,” said Ilkar.

  “I'm not so sure that it is,” said The Unknown. “They're moving too slowly. And look at Denser now.”

  Ilkar could see what he meant. Despite the selective murder of the young and very old by the Wesmen, there were still a sizeable number still alive and the pace of the column of city people was slow, scared and stumbling, the elderly supported by and slowing the younger and quicker. Behind them, in the store, Lallan's voice could be heard above the general hubbub, urging them on, exhorting them to greater effort and greater speed.

  And now, moving determinedly west, Denser was tracking the Wesmen force as it neared the square.

  Above the rooftops, Denser, his sight augmented, surveyed Julatsa and, more particularly, the immediate threat to The Raven. Along the secure corridor, the Julatsans were coming under increasing pressure from the waking, angry Wesmen. Pockets of fighting were continuing along its whole length as the occupying warriors directed themselves against the College defenders. Nowhere yet was the situation critical but east and west Denser could see Wesmen streaming in from their billets and camps, emerging from houses, offices and inns, belting on their weapons and hurrying to the fight, alarm bells sounding out across the city.

  The weak points of the corridor were at either end and in the southern market where buildings gave way to cobbles and access to the defensive line was broader. Fortunately, the Wesmen hadn't reached those points yet, halted by fierce flank defence in critical streets and the judicious use of fire as a barricade. The Julatsans were making their knowledge of the city streets work hard for them and, so far, neither grain store nor College was assailed.

  But to the south and west of the grain store, the clearly organised fast march of well over three thousand Wesmen was nearing the square and would soon engulf The Raven and their charges. Too soon.

  Below Denser, the freed Julatsans continued to stream out of the doors to the grain store, urged on by the gesturing arms of Hirad, The Unknown and Ilkar, the sound of their voices rising clear into the slowly lightening sky. Denser swooped down again, hovering over the moving line, apologising as some of those below him flinched or stumbled.

  “Hirad, any time now this square will be crawling with Wesmen bent on unpicking your entrails. They are barely a street away from the south and west entrances and we aren't enough to stop them on open ground.”

  Hirad shrugged and pointed at Erienne who rested in his arms, eyes closed, deep in concentration.

  “Delay them for us, then,” he said. “We aren't leaving until this hall is empty.” He glanced back inside. “There are only a few hundred to go.”

  “Gods, you're pushing it close,” said Denser.

  “Too close if you don't start laying down some fire,” said Hirad. “So go and make yourself useful.”

  Denser glowered and swept back into the sky, heading southwest.

  “Come on, hurry!” Ilkar shouted, frustration edging his tone. There were only a couple of hundred left in the store and Hirad had to smile though he could hear the barking shouts of the approaching enemy.

  “Calm down, Ilks. We'll be fine.”

  “Calm down? A Wesmen army is about to slaughter us as we stand at the back of a slow-moving line of infants and ancients and all you can do is stick the only man who can slow them up with little barbs from that great barbarian mouth of yours. Don't tell me to calm down.”

  “Ilkar.” The Unknown's tone was admonishing. “Your talk will incite panic. More haste is good, blind flight is bad.” The Unknown helped a frail-looking man on his way with a friendly pat. “That's it, keep up the pace. Time is running out. That's it.” He leant into Ilkar again. “Don't forget, we're The Raven. While we remain calm, so will they.”

  “I just think we're cutting this very fine, just like Denser says,” said Ilkar.

  “And you are both right,” said The Unknown quietly. “But like Hirad says, we aren't leaving anyone behind.”

  The store was all but empty. A man jogged past with a child on his shoulders and a babe in his arms, followed by two young women armchairing a tiny old lady who appeared in a dead faint.

  “How are we doing, Lallan?” called Ilkar.

  “Fine. Almost there.”

  Sudden illumination from behind them threw stark shards of shadow flashing across the stone-flagged square. Hirad swung round. Drops of fire fell like heavy rain from the sky, concentrating in a tight area to the south. Above the spell, the dark shape of Denser carrying Erienne flitted upward, pursued by the black shafts of arrows. None hit, so far as Hirad could see, but the clatter of wood on stone as the arrows dropped to the earth, was lost in the tumult of noise as Erienne's HotRain struck home.

  Horns sounded behind the buildings, men shouted, some crying out in shock, pain or surprise. The rumbling of running feet could be clearly heard and, where the HotRain took a hold, flames licked at wood and caressed the night from the sky, augmenting the dawn.

  As Hirad watched, Denser and Erienne wheeled and dived in again, fast. A long, narrow line of HotRain flared beneath them, dropping quickly. More wasted arrows flicked into the sky, tracking far too slowly to catch the speeding mage pair, who swung back toward the grain store.

  Landing in a flurry of dust as the last of the Julatsans ran from the doors with Lallan's urging voice behind them, Denser set Erienne down and shook some life back into his arms.

  “We're slowing them but we aren't stopping them, I—”

  With a howl, the first of the Wesmen entered the square. Like a flash flood bursting into a valley they came, filling the space with the weight of their numbers and the very air with the deafening sound of their voices as they saw their quarry at last.

  The released Julatsan prisoners panicked and ran, their screams tearing at the ear, any semblance of order in those at the rear of the line dissolving into terrified chaos, stumbling, tripping, pushing and forcing their way toward the northern exit of the square.

  “Move quickly but calmly. Help your friends, don't shove them aside!” Lallan's voice rose above the barrage of noise but was completely ignored. The Unknown turned to him.

  “Get yourself out of here,” he said. “Don't look back. Hirad, time to act.”

  Hirad gauged the pace of the Wesmen approach, guessing they might just reach the street before the enemy.

  “All right you three, we need some rubble to slow them down. Sorry Ilkar but some of your buildings will have to come dow
n.” He pointed at the city administration offices and barracks that ran around the northern edge of the square around the grain store.

  “No problem,” said Ilkar. “C'mon you two.” The Julatsan ran around the thinning crowd, Erienne and Denser, wings now dispersed, hard on his heels.

  “All right Big Man, that leaves you and me for the rear guard.”

  The Unknown nodded. “I gathered. Let's go.” The two men turned and hurried after the fleeing Julatsans, shepherding them toward the exit from the square which was under heavy guard.

  “Keep it going. No need for panic, we're at your backs.” Hirad's voice urged and cajoled frightened men, women and children. To his left, The Unknown scooped a fallen child under one arm and sprinted forward, planting the crying girl on the shoulders of a young woman. He turned back to the onrushing Wesmen, caught Hirad's eye and yelled.

  “Duck!”

  Arrows coursed over Hirad's head, plunging into the defenceless civilians. A dozen fell and the line disintegrated, people running in all directions to avoid the killing shafts.

  “No!” shouted Hirad. “Forward. Keep going forward.” But his voice was lost. Behind him, the Wesmen roar increased, and the pounding of their feet could be felt through the cobbles of the square. “Ilkar!” His voice now a bellow, Hirad saw Ilkar turn his way. “HardShield! HardShield! Protect the exit.”

  An arrow whistled past Hirad's right ear, burying itself in the shoulder of an old man. He fell and others paused to help. Hirad made a hurrying motion with his arms as he hurdled the body. “Don't stop. You can't help him, he's gone already. Run on.”

  With The Unknown again at his shoulder, Hirad urged and pushed the Julatsans out of the square, at every step expecting an arrow to thud into one or both of their bodies. The shafts still fell but they were arced to fall into the main body of the crowd in an attempt to incite more panic. But those who hadn't broken away as the first arrows fell had clearly decided to run headlong and trust to luck, for which Hirad was eternally grateful.