Siege of Stone

by Terry Goodkind

  Thorn, Genda, Ricia, and the other morazeth women fought in a cluster, selecting targets to strike and destroy. The ancient warriors were powerful, but their stony bodies made them sluggish, while the more nimble morazeth struck, retreated, and struck again, like angry vipers. The women ranged ahead, setting an example for all the arena warriors they had trained.

  The morazeth were whirlwinds, and Lila glanced over her shoulder as she sprinted ahead. “Follow closely, boy! I’ll damage them, and you finish them off.”

  “I’m trying.” Bannon swung the heavy club in his left hand, breaking the face of an ancient warrior. His sword arm already ached from hammering enemy soldiers, smashing their armor, damaging their skin.

  Jed and Brock fought clumsily nearby, shoulder-to-shoulder. Their silk cloaks offered some protection as enemy soldiers pummeled them, but the bright colors made them targets. The two men battled defensively, not seeking targets, just trying to survive.

  On the other hand, Timothy was exhilarated. The young yaxen herder had trained with a sword in practice sessions, but now seemed much happier with his club, which he swung with reckless glee. The enemy soldiers were startled to encounter such a wild fighter who also had a chalky, hard complexion like theirs.

  Leading the more organized city guard, High Captain Stuart bellowed orders. One of his guards blew a golden horn, rallying the uniformed soldiers into a singular attack against the forward contingent of the enemy. The crash of the Ildakaran guard against ancient soldiers resounded like a thunderclap.

  In the loud, violent frenzy, Bannon couldn’t keep up with Lila and the morazeth. He spent all his time defending himself against oncoming warriors, thousands of them. His sword cut into the breastplate of a bearded soldier, but that did not deflect the enemy’s charge. As the bearded opponent swung his scimitar for a killing blow, young Timothy sprang in and hammered the man on the back of the helmet. The enemy soldier grunted and crashed to his knees. Timothy made a “be my guest” gesture to Bannon, who swung his sword to chop the soldier’s neck.

  The fighting grew more frenetic on the battlefield, the sounds deafening. Riding ahead on horseback, Nicci and the wizards of Ildakar unleashed magic in volleys of rock-hard wind and slashes of lightning. In a different part of the battle, Nathan and Elsa hurled fireballs, intentionally setting the dry, grassy hills ablaze with strategic fires.

  Then Bannon saw a tan blur out of the corner of his eye as Mrra darted in. The powerful sand panther crashed into an ancient warrior, mauled his hardened skin, then sprang away to attack another, dodging blows from enemy swords. Mrra raked the prey with her claws, tearing their armor and doing some damage to their hardened skin. Her golden feline eyes met Bannon’s for an instant, and then she streaked off.

  Jed and Brock fought back-to-back, their faces tense and terrified.

  Timothy ran in, challenging two large warriors. Foolishly thinking himself invincible, he struck right and left with his iron clubs until the two hardened soldiers turned on him. They swung their heavy swords and sent Timothy reeling. The cocky grin on his face faltered.

  “Watch out!” Bannon yelled. “Get away from them.”

  Instead, Timothy swung his clubs even harder. “For Ildakar!” He smashed the arm of one of his opponents. The other soldier struck the yaxen herder from the side, spinning him around. Because his half-petrified skin made him resistant to the damage, Timothy recovered, but his enemies had the same protection. From behind him, a third warrior struck the boy hard with the flat of his blade, stunning him.

  Bannon fought an enemy of his own. Slashing and pounding, he tried to dispatch the man quickly so he could help the young scamp, but his opponent was more skilled than he expected. Bannon needed all of his concentration just to stay alive.

  Timothy flailed his clubs and kept the three enemies at bay for a moment, until a fourth soldier joined them. They all pressed around the boy, raising swords and clubs. One carried a massive mace. In a concerted, horrifying effort they pummeled Timothy, and his defenses faltered. A heavy blow from the mace shattered his arm. Even though it was half stone, the bone broke, as did the skin.

  The ancient soldiers took turns: one hammered Timothy, then stepped back while a second dealt another blow, and a third drove him to the ground. The yaxen herder was broken, his shoulder smashed, red and white, like a bleeding statue. He sobbed, “For Ildakar!”

  Bannon finally killed his enemy. His lungs burned and his arms trembled from the effort, but he lurched after the trapped boy. “Timothy!”

  On his knees, the young yaxen herder could no longer hold his clubs. The four enemies kept hammering their victim into the bloody mud of the battleground.

  Bannon arrived too late. More burly soldiers trapped him. In desperation, he looked ahead and saw that Lila and the other morazeth had pulled out of reach, fighting wildly and slaying countless opponents. He shouted for Lila, but the clamor drowned out his words.

  Jed and Brock were also surrounded, fighting for their lives. As clashes continued around them, hundreds of one-on-one duels, he saw that many enemy warriors had fallen, but it seemed that half of the Ildakarans lay dead as well.

  General Utros had roused his army, responding with a vicious counteroffensive. Thousands of reinforcements came from the other side of the valley. The Ildakaran attackers were driven back as the enemy numbers flooded in.

  Bannon backed closer to Jed and Brock, forced to fight alongside them. He feared they didn’t stand a chance. He pushed away the ache and exhaustion and understood that this would be his last fight.

  Remembering Timothy’s defiance in the face of despair, Bannon yelled, “For Ildakar!” He looked at Jed and Brock. They were sweating, terrified, flailing their iron-tipped clubs—the same weapons they had used to bash motionless statues as a prank. The two young men didn’t echo his battle cry.

  Feeling his blood boil with the battle rage that sometimes came upon him, Bannon prepared to fight to the last. He yelled again, this time without words as the enemy warriors closed in, and he lost himself in the combat.

  CHAPTER 37

  The grass fires set by Nathan and Elsa burned out of control. As Nicci attacked with her own lightning and aggressive storm winds, she watched the flames leap from the tall grasses to gnarled live oaks in the hills. The burn line hooked down toward the rear of General Utros’s camp, spreading faster than any man could run. The reawakened army had a few hundred tents scattered among the dispersed companies of soldiers. Nicci watched the brush fire catch on the tents, setting them ablaze.

  The legendary general emerged from his headquarters, bellowing orders as the grass fires spread and became a greater threat than the Ildakaran attack. He commanded thousands of his soldiers to fight the blaze, which threatened to engulf the entire valley. The ancient army had plenty of men to spare, though, so the firefighting efforts didn’t ease the pressure on the Ildakaran defenders.

  Nicci, feeling drained after drawing on so much of her magic, nevertheless summoned another wall of lightning. The jagged bolts blasted the ground, hurling several hundred enemy warriors away, trapping them between the fire line and the lightning. Most of the hardened soldiers chose to face the blazing grass, staggering about with their armor and bodies smoking.

  Nicci unleashed more lightning. She could see that the Ildakaran army was indeed having a destructive effect on the segment of the camp they had targeted. The duma members reveled in the mayhem, but for her it was a bittersweet victory. She knew Utros could recover from whatever damage the Ildakarans did here tonight.

  The city guard and arena warriors, who fought with conventional weapons, were being slaughtered by the hundreds. Utros’s army could lose fighters all day and suffer no great harm, but these initial Ildakar forces had only a few thousand in the first place.

  Nicci’s bay charger whinnied, unnerved by the carnage and noise, but she gripped the reins to steady her mount. Riding next to her, Oron lifted his chin in a haughty gesture. “How much longer can we sustain
this attack? Our people are dying everywhere.”

  Nicci conjured a whirlwind that spun like a rampaging monster, ripping up ranks of enemy soldiers before she grew too exhausted to sustain it. “I think we’ve made our point.”

  Following her example, Oron called a storm, icy wind and rain that tumbled across the vast camp. Nearby, Quentin and Damon conjured similar storms, disrupting the forward charge of five hundred enemy warriors. Olgya sparked fire and drew strands of lightning through the air.

  The sortie had gone on for nearly two hours, and General Utros and his soldiers had begun to form a full-fledged defense. Massive reinforcements were coming in from outside the targeted ranks. The duma’s surprise attack had concentrated on the northern end of the valley, but after the calls to arms, the bulk of General Utros’s army was converging on the main fight. Ildakar’s defenders would have to withdraw soon, or they would be overwhelmed.

  Also hardened with lingering stone, the sorceress Lani strode into the fray. She wore no armor, just her pale blue robes. The enemy soldiers recognized her as a powerful, gifted opponent, and four of them ran toward her, shouting, their curved swords raised. Lani paid them no heed as she prepared her own attack. Nicci destroyed a group of the oncoming warriors with a blast of lightning to give Lani more time, and the other sorceress didn’t even flinch. Instead, she knelt on the ground, alone, and raised both pale, hard fists. Chanting unintelligible words, she brought her fists down like a blacksmith hammering an anvil.

  Bright light splashed around her hands, dazzling Nicci, and the resounding impact sent a shock wave through the ground. The battlefield lurched like a bucking horse. Lani remained on her knees at the center point of her quake, while charging troops were flung to the ground all around her. A jagged fissure split the earth, tearing the ground apart.

  As the shock wave died away, Nicci held on to her horse, impressed by what Lani had just unleashed, though it had only pushed the hordes back temporarily. Still, a delay was all they needed right now, to give the Ildakaran army a chance to return to safety behind the walls. Though she longed to keep fighting, Nicci recognized the great losses they were suffering.

  “Wizards, duma members!” She amplified her voice with the gift. “We’ve done all we can. Back to the city walls!” Fanfares sounded from the remnants of the city guard, and High Captain Stuart shouted to his troops. The morazeth continued to fight as they withdrew, while blood-spattered arena warriors dispatched a few more opponents as they fell back.

  Nicci watched Mrra leap in among the enemy soldiers, wreaking havoc. The big panther was still full of energy, but Nicci saw several wounds in her rune-marked pelt. She sent a thought to her sister panther, not sure she would get through in the heat of a killing frenzy, but she urged Mrra to retreat, to flee from the spreading grass fires and find a place in the forest where the cat could be safe.

  Fearing the Ildakarans might slip through their fingers, Utros’s army shouted an eerie battle cry. More soldiers arrived just in time to reinforce the damaged front ranks. Nicci saw the enemy ranks grow stronger by the minute and knew the Ildakarans had little time to get away. She wheeled her horse about and shouted to Oron, Damon, Olgya, and Quentin. “All of you, use your gift to push them back. We need to buy time for the retreating army.”

  Not far away, the city of Ildakar was bright in the moonlight. Torches and braziers burned on the top of the high wall from which a crew of sentries watched the battle below. The gifted duma members called their magic again. Oron summoned a hailstorm that pelted the hardened warriors. Nathan and Elsa hurled fireballs against the swelling hordes of enemy fighters.

  General Utros was too far away to join the actual fight himself, but Nicci saw him ordering his soldiers to form a tight line to protect his headquarters and a large supply wagon from the encroaching grass fires. His twin sorceresses, pale and beautiful in the firelight, conjured their own magic, manipulating winds to divert the fire. Ancient soldiers lined up to form a human barricade, physically blocking the flames from reaching the headquarters, the wagon, and a set of large barrels. The warriors screamed as the flames rushed upon them, but they stood firm and endured, deflecting the blaze.

  “Once more, Lani! Shake the ground!” Nicci cried.

  The half-stone sorceress dropped to her knees again, focused her gift, and produced an impact that knocked back the enemy army.

  Taking advantage of any respite, the Ildakaran army retreated toward the city. They had decimated the enemy ranks they had targeted, and they had to escape before they, too, were killed. Nathan and Elsa joined them, flinging more fire for good measure. Nicci still found the energy to summon her own wizard’s fire, which she exploded into the nearest line of relentless soldiers.

  Utros’s army continued to close in.

  Nathan and Elsa were running, but couldn’t keep up. Nicci rode close on her charger. “Wizard, take my hand! Join me on horseback.”

  “Not without Elsa!”

  “I can’t carry both of you,” Nicci said.

  Then Damon rode up. “Ride with me, Elsa. You did well tonight. All the duma members did.”

  “Well, then I accept your offer,” Nathan said, swinging up onto the bay charger behind Nicci.

  She yelled a retreat again, but the Ildakaran fighters needed no further encouragement. “We’ve made our mark on them tonight, and Utros will know that we can hurt him.” She allowed herself a hard, personal smile. “We’ll make an even grander plan for our next attack.”

  With Nathan situating himself in the saddle behind her, pressing against her back, Nicci drove her horse at a gallop. Elsa mounted behind Damon, and they rode after. The weary and battered soldiers raced toward the giant open gates. With some relief, Nicci sensed that Mrra had loped away into the wilderness, fleeing the fire and escaping safely.

  But even with the apparent success of their mission, there were far too few of the original fighters returning to Ildakar. Far too few.

  The enemy army pursued them, giving the survivors a surge of energy. Crowds flooded through the high gates, and Nicci glanced behind her, wondering how many Ildakaran soldiers would be trapped outside. She didn’t like to abandon the fighters who had followed the duma’s plan and offered to fight for their city, but very few were still out there battling the ancient army. Most of those left behind had already fallen in combat. These hundreds rushing through the gates were all that remained.

  Nathan leaned close as they galloped through the high gates. When most of the soldiers had stumbled through, the sentries inside worked the huge wheels, cranking the thick ropes to pull the enormous gates shut. As the gap closed, a few stragglers scrambled in, tripping and sprawling to the cobbled streets. One young man, bleeding profusely from an arm wound, picked up a woman who had stumbled, and they limped off to the side and collapsed together. The last of the party careered through the closing gap.

  The immense gate ground shut with a thunderous boom. Shouting workers shifted crossbars the size of trees into place just in time as the ponderous Utros army slammed into the walls. The half-petrified soldiers began their implacable pounding again, like constant thunder.

  From her mount, Nicci surveyed the exhausted and chattering fighters. Some were jubilant, others moaning in pain, still others shuddering with long-delayed terror. Behind her, Nathan said, “Dear spirits, what a battle that was!”

  Nicci let out a long breath. “Yes, but we tested them, and we tested ourselves. Ildakar proved its mettle, and we damaged Utros.”

  She was surprised to see Lila alone. The morazeth looked bedraggled, covered with soot and blood, her spiky hair damp with perspiration.

  Nathan’s breathing hitched. “They hurt us as well, Sorceress. We’ll be a long time counting our losses.” He paused to look around, and his eyes fixed on Lila, who seemed forlorn. His voice cracked as he pointed out what Nicci should have realized immediately. “And Bannon is gone.”

  CHAPTER 38

  When he saw only three ships from Captain Kor’s
raiding party return to the Norukai islands, King Grieve saw no cause for rejoicing. He’d intended to host a celebratory feast, possibly even serving some of the delicious yaxen meat to the victorious captains.

  Instead, he felt anger rise within him. Something had gone terribly wrong.

  In the previous raid of Renda Bay, the villagers had found new ways to fight, even using a powerful sorceress. The previous captain had been foolish and overconfident. Chalk had never liked the man, which meant that King Grieve never liked him, and he returned from Renda Bay with excuses for his failure. Any Norukai should know not to come back alive from such defeat. Without remorse, Grieve had fed the captain to the serpent god.

  Kor’s raid, though, with twice as many ships and fighters, should have avenged that ignominious loss.

  Now, the cylindrical iron bells tolled a mournful clamor, which the king could hear even up in the Bastion. Grieve snapped his extended jaws open, feeling the scar tissue along his cut lips. He gnashed his teeth, as if he meant to tear out Kor’s throat and grind his spine into dust. Bunching his fists, he clacked the iron plates in his knuckles together.

  Chalk squatted in front of the fireplace to warm himself by the flames, hunching forward on the hearth. When the bells rang out, the shaman sprang to his feet. “A sad mission, a terrible mission, my king. Renda Bay!”

  With growing anger, Grieve left his throne room and climbed the steps to the Bastion’s high rooftop so he could watch. Chalk scampered after him.

  At the second landing above, a door opened and a slave emerged carrying a stack of folded blankets. She took one look at King Grieve’s expression and fled back into the corridors. Grieve would remember her. He had seen her face, and he would punish her later. For now, though, Captain Kor would be the one to receive the brunt of his anger.