Wrath of Kings

by Glen Cook

  “We’ll go to the map room,” Shih-ka’i said. “We’ll organize from the heart outward.” He scanned the east wall. The men were holding their posts. Good. There would be an attack when the Deliverer believed he had created enough confusion.

  They had to cross a court to reach the building where the map room lay. Raiders caught them there.

  They came out of the darkness, in total silence. Shih-ka’i was uncertain how many there were. One skullface, for sure, and at least six of the pudgy warriors. They flung themselves forward as if recognizing him. He blasted two with a small spell. Pan ku separated another from his head. Then blades were flashing in Shih-ka’i’s face, and for the first time in a long life, he was wielding a sword in his own defense.

  He had drilled a thousand times, as training demanded, and had performed well, but had always wondered how he would do against a deadly opponent. He was not sure he could kill a man.

  The training took over: He did not think, he acted. His blade became a spider weaving a web of protection. The shortsword in his left hand darted like a serpent’s tongue, making the deadly strikes from dangerous angles. Pan ku guarded his back for the few seconds it took to even the odds.

  Then Shih-ka’i faced no one but the skullface. Bodies lay scattered about them. Would he have the stomach to dismember them? He couldn’t leave them lie….

  The dragon rider bore a sword in keeping with its size. It was a good six feet long. The creature swung it in great screaming arcs. Shih-ka’i reeled each time he turned a stroke. Fear knotted his stomach.

  There was an astonishingly loud clang. The skullface staggered forward, fell to one knee. Shih-ka’i found its eye with his shortsword, then followed with a vicious overhand chop with his longsword. Pan ku struck another two-handed blow.

  And the damned monster tried to rise!

  They hacked away till it surrendered its unnatural life.

  Panting, Shih-ka’i and Pan ku considered one another over the body. Pan ku grinned. “He was a tough one, Lord.”

  “That he was. Let’s get them carved up. We’ve wasted too much time already.”

  Shih-ka’i had seen any number of corpses dismembered, but there was a difference between observing and doing. His gorge threatened to rise. He wondered if that happened to the men. The world saw them as battalions of heartless torturers… They were men. Mere men, superbly trained and superbly in command of themselves. They had pride….

  I have to be as strong as that centurion Mo-Jo, he told himself. I am the leader. I have to be the toughest and best.

  “Finished, Lord,” Pan ku said.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Grim work, eh?”

  “Indeed. I had less stomach for it than I expected.”

  “This will be a grisly campaign, won’t it, Lord?”

  “We’ve never seen its like, Pan ku.”

  As they entered the map room from one end, a doorway at the other exploded. The planks of it flew about like autumn leaves in a gale. A dozen dead warriors burst through, spearheaded by three skullfaces.

  Tasi-feng met them with a burst of power which flung the smaller warriors round like ragdolls in the jaws of mastiffs. The skullfaces were unaffected. The other Tervola hit them with as many killing spells as there were spellcasters. Noxious clouds boiled off the collapsing bodies. For a time it was difficult to breathe.

  Shih-ka’i joined Chang Sheng over a map of the fortress and its environs. Sheng said, “They’re attacking here and here, into the joints between the encampments and the fortress.”

  The palisades and trenches surrounding the camps were puny compared to the defenses of the fortress itself. Sheng continued, “Their assault hasn’t developed sufficiently to betray their intent. Their logical course would be to encircle and reduce the encampments. But they’re concentrating their dragons and wizardry on us.”

  “Trying to keep us pinned down.”

  A Tervola approached. Shih-ka’i remembered him from the deep probe into the desert. “Yes, Ou-yan?”

  “Message from Lord Shih-mihn, Lord. They’ve launched human wave assaults.

  They’ve broken through in three places. He thinks they want to force a melee.”

  “There’s your main thrust, Lord Chang. North camp. Melee. We can’t permit that.”

  The price would be defeat. Should the enemy break Shih-ka’i’s formations and force his men to fight individually, few would have time to salvage legion dead or destroy enemy fallen. Those would keep coming back into the fray. They would grow more numerous, rather than fewer.

  “Lord Chang?”

  “Doesn’t sound good, Lord. But I suggest we wait before we jump. The men won’t fold.”

  Sheng was right. The defense stiffened under pressure, Shih-ka’i mounted an observation tower to study the north camp.

  Huge, stinking fires burned there. His soldiers flung ever more bodies upon them.

  The dragons continued to drop warriors into the fortress. The garrison was dealing with them now. Many flyers never left. Their riders were cut down as their feet touched the ground.

  Shih-ka’i was pleased.

  “Lord.” Pan ku pointed. Squinting, Shih-ka’i found the two dragons circling high overhead.

  “The white one is their sorceress. Lord Lun-yu says the other commands the dead.”

  The woman suddenly glowed a brilliant blue. A blue egg formed between her outstretched hands. It tumbled toward the earth. It was a yard thick when it ploughed into the roof of a barracks.

  That roof caught fire, though it was made of clay tile.

  More eggs fell. Soon there were a dozen witchfires burning. How long would their witchery keep them going?

  That didn’t matter. The woman could drop more.

  She threw a score into the northern camp, where they did more damage.

  His Tervola had to stop her. He rushed to the map room… The place was a shambles. Fighting continued in one corner, where a pair of skullfaces exchanged minor sorceries with Tasi-feng’s underlings.

  “What happened?” Shih-ka’i demanded. “Never mind. I can see. Get some men in to clean up before these bodies reanimate.”

  Tasi-feng said, “Lord, some of our dead weren’t properly disposed. They’re roaming the fortress. The men can’t tell friend from foe.”

  “You can, can’t you?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “We all can.” Shih-ka’i clipped a quick series of orders. “Let’s get out there. We’re useless here now, anyway. Give the witch all the attention you can. Throw up a shaft barrage. That southern attack looks like a feint.”

  Two hours passed. They left Shih-ka’i perplexed. The witch had been driven from the sky, yet the situation had worsened. A stream of blue balls sailed out of the desert, into the north camp. The camp’s defenses had been breached in a dozen places. The dreaded melee threatened.

  At least the flyers and skullfaces had been beaten away from the fortress.

  Shih-ka’i assembled his officers. “We’re going to lose the north camp,” he told them. “They’re reanimating too many of their men, and we haven’t provided an adequate defense against the woman’s witchery. Let’s review their dispositions.”

  Shih-ka’i was convinced the enemy was concentrating on the one camp, betting the defense would collapse suddenly, giving him an opportunity to recoup his losses. He would then aim the tireless dead at the south camp, then the fortress.

  “We’ll give them a surprise,” Shih-ka’i said. “Tell Lord Shih-mihn he has to hold till dawn.”

  In the bloody, smoky dawn troops from the south camp cut through the screen surrounding them and attacked the enemy army. The Tervola harried the witch from one hiding place to another. The dead fought stubbornly. Not till noon was the north camp finally relieved. Shih-ka’i immediately ordered the troops outside to withdraw to the Tusghus River.

  “We surprised them this time,” he said. “We won’t again.” Then, “The fortress can stand alone.” He surveyed the cabl
es and nets being rigged over areas where flyers might land.

  “Suppose they pursue, Lord?” Tasi-feng asked.

  “I wish they would. I’d bring up Northern Army and play hammer and anvil.”

  The Deliverer disappointed Shih-ka’i. For three days he attacked the fortress, scoring only local successes. Stubborn Shih-ka’i always overcame. Undying pyres burned in the drillyards, day and night.

  That third day Lord Shih-mihn sent a message saying he was embattled with a horde of natives. Young, old, women, children, armed and unarmed, dead and living. They had swarmed out of the forests screaming, “Deliverer!” The legionnaires were destroying large numbers, but could not continue their withdrawal while the battle lasted.

  Shih-ka’i stared out at the ragged thousands surrounding the fortress. “This Deliverer can’t be everywhere at once.” The enemy stood frozen, in ranks of motionless, slowly corrupting flesh. Something had been lost in the transfer of power. The Deliverer’s host was rotting slowly. The stench of corruption had joined that of burning flesh. Before long the Deliverer would need a whole new army. He could not make skeletons walk. “Lord Lun-yu. Take a brigade and sortie. They won’t put up much of a fight.”

  Tasi-feng destroyed thousands of listless besiegers before the air suddenly became angry and the rest returned to life. He withdrew. Shih-mihn reported that the horde attacking him had collapsed.

  “Gentlemen,” Shih-ka’i said to his Tervola, “if this Deliverer makes one more mistake, we’ll destroy him.”

  No one asked what he meant. He told them without being asked. “One, he could expose himself to injury. Two, he could let us get his witch. Three, he could get too eager and stop recruiting savages. Or let us stop him from recruiting.”

  Still no response.

  “Anyone want to be a hero?”

  There was another message from Shih-mihn. His attackers had fled into the forest. He was moving toward the Tusghus again.

  “Shall I sortie again, Lord?” Tasi-feng asked.

  “No. He’ll bring those poor creatures here now, to finish us. We taught him a lesson today. Now he knows he can’t bypass us.”

  The assault began during the night, spearheaded by children and women. It never let up. More natives came out of the wilderness, some having walked a thousand miles. Shih-ka’i cursed them for not having had the sense to stay under the empire’s protection. And congratulated himself for having had the foresight to get the majority moved.

  Shih-ka’i destroyed them by the tens of thousands, and still they came. And the transfers kept sending casualties to Lioantung. Sections of fortress fell. The courts and cellars and barracks filled with dismembered corpses awaiting destruction. The stench was as wearing as the interminable attack.

  “Lord Lun-yu, what kind of monster is this Deliverer? What mad creature depopulates half a million square miles to take one fortress? Is he some demon who’s slipped his master’s leash?”

  “He’s just a boy, Lord. Seventeen or eighteen. Normal in most respects. With a big grudge against the empire.”

  “A grudge!”

  “Live prisoners say he’s vowed to destroy us.”

  “You think he will?”

  “No, Lord.”

  “He’s made an impressive start, hasn’t he? How long can we hold out?”

  “Two days, surely. He’s short of draftees.”

  “I’ll leave it with you. Keep buying time. We bought enough for Northern Army. Now I’m afraid we’re buying it for Lioantung.”

  Tasi-feng sighed and stared at the floor. “As you command, Lord. Lord… maybe you can contact Lord Kuo now.”

  “Lord Kuo? I thought he was being retired.”

  Tasi-feng shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he has been. We haven’t been in touch.”

  Shih-ka’i made a last inspection of the fortress. It was in abominable shape. The witch still lobbed in the occasional blue egg. He suspected Tasi-feng was too optimistic, claiming they could hold two more days.

  He and Pan ku went down to the deep cellar where the portals were massed. As always, casualties were passing through. “At least they’ll get out,” he observed. “This is the last place the Deliverer will reach. The men won’t have to make a pointless last stand.”

  Pan ku replied, “I hope not, Lord. I’d feel bad if we lost them. The Seventeenth is a good legion.”

  TEN: YEAR 1016 AFE

  FIRE IN THE EAST

  Nepanthe sat at her window, staring without seeing. The extreme end of pregnancy had worsened all her tendencies toward alienation, introversion, and brooding. She cried a lot. She snapped at people for no good reason. She considered the gross swollenness of her belly and loathed herself for being ugly, hated herself for bringing another child into a pitiless world. There were irrational moments when she hated the little parasite growing inside her. She spent much of her time feeling sorry for herself, or, gradually, adding to her obsession with her lost son.

  She had little spirit or volition now. She did what her husband told her, what her maids asked. Her great initiatives consisted of starting the occasional conversation.

  She had been listless, most of the time, since her first husband’s death, not long after they had lost their son. She’d always been susceptible to mood swings, into this grey state and out. Since Mocker’s death the downs had grown longer every year. She had tried to fake the highs and had failed. She now just stayed out of the way and tried not to complicate her second husband’s life.

  Varthlokkur had pursued a hundred wild goose trails in his efforts to quicken her soul. She was aware of his attempts, and only wished he wouldn’t bother. She didn’t think she was worth the trouble.

  The most potent draughts and magicks worked only for a short time. Varthlokkur had concluded that only that supreme medicine, time, would cure her. He now left her to haunt her inner landscapes as she would.

  She sensed that he had come to stand behind her. She turned. “You look tired, dear.”

  “I was up all night. Michael Trebilcock was away on a mission and ran into trouble. I had to send Radeachar to get him out. He’s safely home now.”

  “Michael? Isn’t he the one who took Valther’s place?” Thus far had she slipped. Sometimes she couldn’t remember.

  “Yes.”

  She resumed staring out the window, no longer interested. She had lost six brothers as well as her husband and son. Well, five. Luxos was alive, living in the Kratchnodian Mountains like some crazy old hermit. Crazy like me, she thought. We both might as well be dead.

  The world had taken everything. Everything but Varthlokkur and this child as yet unborn.

  She could not care about them. She didn’t dare. Fate would punish her if she did. They would be taken too.

  “Varth?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I really do feel Ethrian sometimes. I still don’t know what it means. Can’t you find out for sure?”

  Varthlokkur sighed. “I’ve tried, dear. There’s just nothing there. I’m sorry. I truly wish there were. It’s just your heart trying to turn back the sands of time.”

  He’s probably right, she thought. He’s so seldom wrong. But… there was some doubt. No one had ever actually seen Ethrian dead…. “It’s not imagination, Varth. It can’t be. He’s there. I know it.”

  “Then why can’t I find him? Why can’t I find one shred of evidence that he survived? Why do I find so much that says he’s not? Stop tormenting yourself. Please. It’s not healthy.”

  True concern edged his words. She sensed it and shied away. “It’s not false hope!” Emotion began to flavor her voice. It grew stronger as she shouted, “He’s alive and I know it! Why are you lying to me?”

  “I’m not.” He spoke gently, as if to an injured, retarded child. “You’re lying to yourself. Please don’t. It’s not healthy.”

  “Not healthy! Not healthy! Stop it!” She surged out of her chair. “It’s because he’s Mocker’s son, isn’t it? That’s why you want me to forget
him.” Her reasoning was insane and she knew it, but the words just would not stop. She wanted to hurt someone, to give some of the pain away.

  Agony tightened his features. He calmed himself before responding, “That isn’t so. And you know it. He was my grandson. My only. I loved him too. I would have done anything for him. But he’s gone now, Nepanthe. It’s time to accept that. Please. This is starting to tear us apart.” He took her into his arms.

  She pounded fists against his chest, the irrational words exploding forth. “You’re lying! He’s alive. I know he’s alive. He’s in trouble, and you won’t help him.”

  “Dear, this isn’t good for the baby.”

  She kept hitting, weeping. Finally, she sagged against him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know… Oh!”

  “What? What happened?”

  “I think my water broke. That shouldn’t happen yet… Oh! Yes. It did. I can feel it.” Her mind became very clear. Not here! Not now! Please… Everything else fled. “Get a doctor. Wachtel if he’s still Royal Physician. Help me to the bed.”

  Her voice had changed dramatically, had become all business.

  Varthlokkur guided her across the room, turned her so he could help her lie down.

  “No. Undress me first. This was an expensive dress. Mustn’t ruin it. Then find Mary and Margo. Tell them to get everything ready.”

  “Shouldn’t I get the doctor first?”

  “I don’t need him right this minute. Ethrian was twelve hours coming. Elana said he was easy. We’ve got time. Just warn him that it’s coming.”

  “It’s too early.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I figured it wrong. Nothing we can do about it now.” She was half undressed. She saw how nervous he was. “Let me finish this. You get the maids, tell Wachtel, then come back and get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? How could I sleep?”

  “You’d better. You won’t be any help at all if you don’t. You’re too tired to think straight now.” She was amazed at herself. She seemed to have changed personalities like changing shoes. The whiner had vanished the instant she found herself faced by a situation wherein she had some control.

  “Okay. Sure you’ll be okay if I leave?”