There were wooden steps set into the side of the little ship and Hondo leaped for them, scuttling up and in like a cat. Taeshin followed him and Deeds returned fire to keep the heads down of those pricking shots at him in the dark. He jumped then, and missed, plunging into the river.
Hondo heard the splash, but there was no time to turn back, not with the walls of the city coming at them. Barely forty yards remained before the fireship would drift between the stone pillars. The last one had been well timed, Hondo thought, as he ran the length of the ship. His life hung in a balance he could not see.
The tiller had been tied in place. He slashed the ropes cleanly with Taeshin’s sword, then threw his weight against the wooden bar, pushing it over. Both the current and the forward motion of three or four hundred tons of ship fought the rudder. Hondo struggled with the weight until Taeshin joined him and heaved. Together, they shoved the bar right to its stop and the two-master began to turn, groaning, presenting its side to the city. Hondo had a moment of sick apprehension when he thought it would continue on and wedge right in the river gate. Yet the turn continued, though flames showed through the planking under his feet.
Hondo shouted in pleasure as the boat ran aground in the soft bank, the prow crumpling as it dug into mud and rose up. Without needing to say another word, both he and Taeshin ran for the prow and jumped off it into the deeper darkness of the river bank. They did not stop when they hit and rolled but tore into the night, images of dead men on the wall flashing into their imaginations. They made it into a wheat field before an explosion made them stagger for the second time in the evening.
Hondo turned on his back and shielded his face with his sleeve as a blast of air and splinters whined past. He found he was panting and began to laugh in giddy relief as he sat up.
Ahead and to the left of him, a section of the wall groaned as if in pain. As Hondo watched, a huge part suddenly slumped, like a man giving up on life, then slid with a roar into the river. There would be no more fireships passing into the city, but the wall itself was open and Darien lay unprotected.
Hondo came to his feet and dusted himself off. He became aware of the night moving around him and drew the Ling sword before he understood the nature of the threat.
In the darkness, the black figures were almost invisible, silent as they’d crept up on his position. Hondo bowed to Taeshin and took up first position, readying himself. He knew the ferocity of the enemy well enough to know this was his last day, but no fear or weariness showed in his face, though every joint and muscle ached.
‘Master Taeshin, you are dismissed from service,’ Hondo said. ‘By my authority. Make your way back to the wall. That is an order.’
Taeshin blinked as he raised his sword with both hands on the hilt. He thought of Marias and the Fool and he cursed. He had come a long way to die in a foreign city. Though it would be a rare honour to fall at the side of a sword saint, to be mentioned in the great tales, he could not shake the desire to live. He remembered facing death once before and the sense of calm that had descended upon him. Yet he had been spared and it had taught him to value the hours of life.
He closed his eyes for a second, bidding Marias goodbye. The Fool would protect her. He wanted to live, yes, but he would not leave the sword saint of Shiang to be brought down by creatures of darkness. He would not. They creaked as they moved, he realised. It sounded almost like speech.
‘I believe I will stay, Master Hondo,’ Taeshin said.
The black figures seemed to writhe in the darkness and he swallowed a knot of fear as he prepared to take some of them into death, whatever they were.
‘You are disobedient,’ Hondo said.
Taeshin shrugged, dropping into a ready stance, in perfect balance.
‘There are no slaves in Darien,’ he said.
Something crunched over the rubble of the wall, sending another pile of stones crashing down. It was a distraction and Hondo glanced quickly back to the broken river gate and froze. He knew the Sallet Green armour known as Patchwork. He knew the man within, as well.
Bosin came bounding in with a steel sword in one hand and a green blade in the other. He crossed the distance between the wall and the Black Guards almost as a blur, crashing into them as they drew their own weapons and attacked.
24
Tellius
Tellius stood before the northern city gate, listening to the thump and crack of iron balls hitting. The sounds were different, depending on whether they struck metal or stone. Metal rang out, while stone had no give in it. The walls were like a fat man getting hit in the gut, with each blow causing pain deep inside. The surprise was how well they were holding up under the barrage. His first fear had proved false and the slow thump, thump, crack, thump had settled into a rhythm, though the end would come all the same.
He had not been idle. When he’d confirmed they would concentrate fire on the gates and thanked the Goddess for the sheer weight of the iron beams and the mechanism that kept them shut, Tellius had put out a call for builders and masons in the militias, ordering them to fetch their tools and materials, to build an internal wall.
As he watched, the thing went up, layer on layer inside the gate. Mortar and stone was slathered together and the road for a mile around would be back to mud, just about. Every paving slab or doorstep they could find had been brought to that place, over the protestations of shop- and house-owners alike. The men had told him the mortar would never set in time, but Tellius had Nancy there to warm the stones. Perhaps even then it would not be as solid as it would have been after a few nights of drying. He thought it would do well enough.
If the gates were broken down, the soldiers who rushed in would find themselves in a narrow passage between massive curving bulwarks of stone, the height of a man and at least as deep, as they blocked the road for twenty paces. Tellius had wanted to close off the end, but one of his captains had pointed out the Féal gunners would just settle back then, hammering the same spot until the inner wall fell. It would be better to leave a funnel for them to get through – and have gun regiments ready for them.
Tellius smiled at that thought, though he jerked at another booming blow, exactly where he was staring at the gates. The sound was a bell tolling. He’d already seen the iron spheres littering the ground before the city, half-sunk into the turf under their own weight. Yet each hour of the night that passed was a thumb in the eye of the king of Féal, Tellius could feel it. To arrive at sunset and then attack was a mark of colossal arrogance. If that sun rose again and the city still stood defiant, the king would have lost face in front of his entire army. Such things mattered.
Each move the man made showed more of who he was. Tellius had begun to see defence, not as a passive, waiting thing, but as a chance to humiliate a king who thought he could just arrive and command the walls to fall. King Jean Brieland thought they could not stand against him. Every hour they did proved him wrong.
As Tellius watched, a string of carts appeared along the ring road, their owners whipping tired old nags who would have preferred to spend the night in a warm stable. They brought oak beams and piled stone slabs that looked suspiciously like gravestones. Tellius thought he should probably leave them to it before he found out where they had come from.
He walked back to the steps and groaned at the sight of the messenger coming down. Donny was a good lad on the whole, but he had a sort of twisted delight in bad news. Tellius saw it in his face as he reached the yard below.
‘There’s those black armour things coming, boss. In a rush.’
Tellius stood still for a moment. He was tempted to shrug. The walls and the gate still stood. What did it matter … His stomach swooped away from him. He’d heard the reports. The things could leap. The things could climb.
‘Nancy! To me now!’ he called to her. ‘I need you on the wall!’
She stood with awed builders around her, like the Goddess herself brought to life, as she placed her palms on mortar and stone and warmed them. He sa
w her nod and he was off, climbing the stairs to the crest of the wall once more.
‘What about these walls?’ one of the workmen called.
Tellius looked down on them as he reached the top. They carried trowels and iron spikes with string wound about them. At the side were the swords and guns and pikes they had laid down. He was proud of them all and he chuckled.
‘Build higher! You are clever men,’ he roared down to them. ‘We are a clever city. Build!’
Vic Deeds was afraid. He understood fear well enough to know it, to welcome it even, in the right place. In more normal times, it sharpened a man. It kept him focused when his life was on the line, so it wasn’t always a bad thing, at least not for him. Being dropped into a river in complete darkness, with a gleaming fireship passing overhead, had introduced him to a different sort of terror, where he could hardly move for a sense of doom rushing down on him. Ruining his cartridges, so that his guns were barely better than clubs, was also part of it.
He was unarmed, in the middle of an enemy army rushing towards a breach in the walls of Darien. Only their focus on that breach and the darkness kept him alive as he went reluctantly with them, squelching with every step. Deeds had lived most of his life in expectation of the hand on his shoulder, the voice calling him out. Yet he didn’t want them to spot him. He didn’t want to die there, not that night.
Ahead, he saw the black-armoured creatures, clambering over one another to get to … yes, Hondo was there. The sword saint had survived the blast. Deeds found he was running towards Hondo in a line of hostile soldiers, all unaware of his presence in their midst. He tried to slow his pace. He had seen Hondo move in the deep forest and in the enemy camp. Deeds had no desire to be mistaken for one of them.
He was looking for somewhere, anywhere, to throw himself down when Bosin came bounding out of the city wearing the Sallet Green suit they called Patchwork. It gleamed deep jade as the big man crashed into the Féal beetles. Deeds felt his line slow further and he flung himself flat as if he’d been shot, lying still as those behind rushed on past. More than one trampled him deeper into the mud, making him wish for dry ammunition as he tried not to yell out. It was still better than running into range of the maniac in Patchwork, Deeds told himself. For an age, he was battered and kicked and sworn at as an obstacle, unseen in the dark.
The Sallet Green suit was huge in comparison to the beetles. They hung on Bosin’s arms and he spun them round like a father with his children at the harvest festival. Then he flung them down with huge force, plunging swords green and steel into black joints, hacking limbs and pieces away. More leaped at him, making him stagger. If the creatures had just run past, Bosin could not have stopped them all. Yet they seemed to see only him, as if his presence was an ancestral challenge they could not ignore.
Hondo and Taeshin stood on either side, letting Bosin have the centre. The big man’s face was hidden by the armour, though Hondo thought he could hear Bosin laughing as he tore the creatures apart and crushed them underfoot. He did not know if that was a good sign.
The charging line of Féal soldiers reached them, howling. They saw only two men and edged away from the whirling monster in the centre, draped all around by black-armoured things.
Yet they could not pass the swordsmen. The first casual shield strikes were knocked aside, their owners killed. Both Shiang men then picked up fallen shields when pistol fire crackled in angry disorder. The night lit in flashes and they were never there when men of Féal adjusted their aim. Bosin’s armour flashed and sparked as they fired at him, but he did not fall.
Step by step, the three defenders were forced back rather than allow the enemy to get round and into the city. The gap in the wall was barely six paces across, though another column of stone looked as if it might fall at any moment, widening it.
‘Back, Master Bosin,’ Hondo called to the green-armoured figure.
Bosin had torn through the black creatures. He was a master swordsman of Shiang, in a suit that magnified his strength and speed. Hondo knew he would be in agony the following day, if he lived. Yet he and Taeshin could not have stood alone against the beetles of Féal. Bosin had saved them. At least for a time.
Up on the walls, Hondo heard orders called. He had no idea how long he’d been out in the dark, but someone had clearly reinforced the gate position.
‘Be ready to retreat to the wall!’ Hondo called. He tried not to flinch when the order to fire sounded. Surely they would see him, or if not him, Bosin?
The range was short as gun companies opened fire. They had assembled in the breach itself, as well as high along the walls. Bullets whined past and Hondo ducked, knowing how easy it was to be hit when frightened men poured fire into the night.
He found himself edging towards Bosin and the big man widened his arms to shelter Hondo and Taeshin as he walked backwards, still with two swords outstretched. The last of the black creatures vanished back into the night at last, leaving a dozen or so in pieces on the ground. Hondo did not think he imagined the baleful quality in the stares they turned on Bosin. He could feel their hate, he was certain of it.
The ranks of Féal broke under those massed volleys, fired from higher ground. The darkness was just too comforting and they turned and ran, knowing they could not be seen. Hondo was left panting, facing a field of the dead. One of them rose suddenly and ran towards him, so black with mud it looked like one of the creatures. Hondo reached over and tapped Bosin on the chest-plate as he raised a blade. The panel flickered grey in response.
‘That is Deeds, Bosin. He lives.’
‘Hold your fire!’ Deeds yelled as he ran. ‘Darien man coming back in. Don’t shoot your heroes, you bastards!’
The men on the rubble actually cheered, patting Deeds like a lucky charm as he and the others clambered inside the boundary of the city. Hondo saw the river was well and truly blocked. There were men running everywhere to make a barricade across the breach, with still more examining the broken walls to see if they should pull down part of it or work to make it safe. The walls were a hive of activity and Hondo smiled as Bosin turned and looked down on him. The cold expression of the green armour reminded him of the man Bosin had been, a little. Yet Hondo could hear him chuckling inside.
‘I was pleased to see you,’ Hondo said.
Bosin clapped him on the back and sent him staggering.
The river was dark beyond the city. No more fireships drifted in to the walls. Hondo saw massive wooden beams coming to cover the breach, and as he looked up, the streets beyond were filled with militia regiments, gun and sword. The entire city had turned out to face the threat and he did not think the enemy would get through them, not there.
Deeds had found Basker and been given new pistols and cartridge belts. He was reloading, with relief clear on his face. He had begun to shiver in his wet clothes, so that the bullets rattled against metal in his hands.
‘This was more than a diversion,’ Hondo said. ‘There were, what … two, three thousand? Twenty or so of those beetles? And the fireships. They wanted to force a breach here.’
He watched as beams were hammered into place. New stone blocks had been procured from some store and were already being lifted by rope teams and straining men. The officers had cleared the bodies of the dead without ceremony, leaving decencies such as funerals until they’d survived the night.
‘I’m happy to stay here,’ Deeds said. ‘We’ve done enough.’ He was bone-weary and he could see the Shiang madmen were just itching to get back to the fight.
‘No, son,’ Basker said. ‘Not yet.’
They stood in a rough ring. Taeshin, Hondo and Bosin faced Basker and Deeds. It was a moment of silent communication that none of them could quite have put into words. Yet Deeds dipped his head, accepting.
‘Fine. But no more water. No damned rivers. I like the way they cheered me then. But if I am to be a hero, I want to get onto the wall. And after that, the next person to cross my path gets a bullet in the face.’
&
nbsp; Tellius arrived at the top of the steps, panting. He was in time to see the first of the black beetles clamber over the wall and leap amongst the defenders. They were fast and vicious, like crickets with black blades. Some of the dozen regiments along that section tried to shoot them as they climbed, but in that, they resembled spiders, gripping and flinging themselves upward. They arrived then like scythes in the midst of packed soldiers. It was carnage. He heard shock in the cries and shouts of dying men, while all along the wall, others pressed forward to attack. Their courage was a kind of madness, but they could not just stand aside. They could not let such things down into the city.
‘Nancy, you’re up,’ Tellius said.
She slid open the box and slipped the green Sallet Stone into her hand. He watched open-mouthed as her hair darkened and writhed with life. Her eyes seemed to gleam and then she went past him. Men dived for cover as she spilled white threads into the night, drawing power from the stone.
The creatures she reached began to die, crumpling back in grey husks and falling inert, or tumbling back to the ground far below. Yet there were so many of them! Tellius felt the stones shudder again as the heavy fire intensified. He could hear the tramp of marching, armoured men coming closer. This was the great push then, the surge that King Jean Brieland expected would bring the walls tumbling. He cursed the man. If they could just hang on till dawn, they would have won something. They could wear his damned pride like a pendant then. Or his balls.
Nancy had become the focus for the beetle creatures as they clambered over. He saw her cry out in warning as two of them leaped high. Her life hung in the balance and yet she was brimful of the stone’s power and she could not halt her own reaction. The ball of light and heat cracked out around her, incinerating the two beetles as well as a dozen men who could not get far enough away.
Tellius winced and swore, but there was nothing they could do. Neither swords nor guns seemed any use against the things climbing and whirling against them. He needed artefacts.
The Sword Saint Page 28
