“There must be thousands of them,” Jenus heard someone say. At least four thousand I’d wager. And if that weren’t bad enough, the savages, if savages they really were, had shed their primitive weapons and armor. One and all, they wore spiked iron plate and carried gleaming steel blades and hammers. Worse yet, Jenus saw several hundred of the deadly bows they had faced before. They all stood in ordered ranks, ready to send every last man and woman of Sacral to the afterlife. There can be no winning this fight. Not with every soldier and mage in Sacral.
One of the monsters stepped through the ranks on the left flank. Unlike its fellows, this one still had a bestial look to it. It wore leather robes, and its dyed red mane was thickly knotted with charms and fetishes, what looked like shrunken heads among them, their own hair braided with the Gling’Ar’s.
“People of Sacral!” it called out in a surprisingly clear voice. “We were content to kill only the priests and those others among you who have allowed themselves to become tainted by their ways. But now you have turned over command of your entire force to a pawn of the White Mother. Moreover, you have drawn too close to our homeland and desecrated a forest where no tree had ever been cut down. Give us the priests. Allow us to purge the unclean from among your ranks and the rest of you will be spared. We can let none of you leave this place, but you do not have to die.”
Vegard’s voice pealed out in answer. “Mages! Destroy him! Soldiers! Form ranks and prepare to repel charge!”
The Gling’Ar shook his head. “Would you all throw your lives away for this fool? Your mages are no match for me. I have been content to stop you from contacting your home, and your priests from calling to their twisted goddess. But this will not continue if you try my patience.”
Blue fire swept out from the Sacral line only to fade away to nothing when it came close to the Gling’Ar. In response, he raised one hand toward the Sacral mages. Dark flames exploded around them. People screamed. A cart caught fire, and the animals that had been tethered to it brayed in panic. Just as easily as that, Mage Asar was reduced to a smoking corpse. Never before had Jenus felt so helpless, so useless. Then he noticed the people around him were looking up at him with hope. Hope that their champion would be able to save them. He jumped off the cart and ran to the head of the column. Vegard was shouting at everyone around him, as was Serim, their orders often contradicting each other.
Serim waved Vegard to silence. “We need to make a charge back out the way we came. The Warchosen can break through!”
Jenus ran straight up to them. “Are you mad? An attack like that would just see the jaws of the trap close on the rest of the army. Even if the Chosen make it out, everyone else here would die.”
“Throw down your weapons, men of Sacral. I will not ask again.” The Gling’Ar’s voice cut through their argument.
Serim looked near panic. “The priesthood must be protected at all costs!” Much to Jenus’s surprise, Vegard agreed. “Jenus, we need you for this. Use the Lightbringer. Punch out. The priests will follow in your wake. I’ll lead the rest of the Warchosen behind to cover our escape.” Serim was nodding his head vigorously in agreement.
“And leave our whole army to be butchered?” Jenus asked, incredulous. Serim threw him a venomous look.
“And what would you have us do? Champion? Our mages have been defeated by a single spell. We are cut off from our own powers. We have no other options.”
“Then take those who would follow you and try to escape. I will not abandon these people. I will remain with them.”
Vergard and Serim looked at each other. “With me, warriors of Sacral!” shouted Vegard, moving back to the end of the line.
Jenus saw that few were those who were joining Vegard. Everyone else looked to Jenus to save them. He took a deep breath and started to walk toward the Gling’Ar mage. He kept his hands out from his sides, his palms up to show he held no weapon. When he was about halfway to the enemy lines, he turned around and addressed his own troops.
“My brave people. Follow my lead this one last time. The Gling’Ar could have destroyed us at any time. They chose not to for a reason. Hold to that, for it is our only hope of survival.” He saw the looks many of the soldiers were throwing him. Fear mixed with anger and disbelief.
“Know that none doubt your courage, but throwing your lives away here will avail you nothing. Live!” With those words he unclasped his sword belt and gently placed the sacred blade on the ground, before turning back to the Gling’Ar mage. “Gling’Ar! We surrender!”
Behind him, Jenus heard nothing for a moment. He held his breath hoping that the army would follow him again now that their new leader had abandoned them. A few seconds passed before he heard the clang of a weapon falling against the roots. A moment later another followed. Then many more. Screams broke out briefly to the east. Vegard’s retreat was failing as Jenus had expected. Many of the Sacral warriors who were hesitating clutched their weapons tight again, thinking they had been betrayed. Jenus could do nothing but lead by example now. And hope they wouldn’t do anything stupid and get themselves killed.
The Gling’Ar clashed with the last of the fleeing priests and their self-appointed guards. The results were much what Jenus had expected. The line of Gling’Ar boxed them in and held fast as the hopelessly outclassed humans slammed into them like an overripe fruit against a stone wall. With primitive armor and equipment, the Gling’Ar had been more than a match for any of the humans. Now, the Sacral soldiers were little more than pests. Only the Warchosen among them seemed to be able to stand toe to toe with one of the giants, but they were badly outnumbered and even they didn’t last long. Silence returned to the forest as the last of the priests was cut down. True to form, Serim died cursing everyone around him, calling on his goddess to smite them all, Gling’Ar and human alike. Jenus winced hearing divine wrath being called down so venomously by a senior priest, but no power answered his call.
The Gling’Ar army moved efficiently among the humans, collecting weapons and ensuring that all their captives were disarmed and had their wrists firmly bound behind their backs.
CHAPTER 11
The first day of travel was grueling for Salt. He didn’t sleep well the night before; nerves and excitement kept him awake far too late. Not to mention that he had long since become accustomed to working through most of the night and sleeping late into the day. They rose early and set off just before dawn. The Dreth ambassador was waiting for them outside the palace gates. Without a word he moved up to join the group of Bialtans and settled in to a position at the front of the group. Salt wasn’t the only Night Guard who stared at the Dreth’s mount. The cream-white creature had certainly looked like a horse at first glance, but it was strange in a way that nagged at Salt and kept him staring at the back of the creature. It has no fur, he realized. And its legs are weird. The Dreth’s mount had a thick white hide that was totally hairless. Its legs also ended in long three-toed feet tipped with sharp claws rather than hooves.
It wasn’t until they stopped for a midday meal that Salt got a better look at the creature. He walked over to where Ben Akyum was busy sorting through a saddlebag. The creature looked up at Salt with whiteless milky-blue eyes. When he moved closer, it pulled back its lips and showed him a very unhorselike set of teeth that would have put a wolf to shame. Salt stopped and backed up. The ambassador seemed totally unconcerned. He made little or no effort to communicate with the Bialtans. Back on their mounts, Ben Akyum set a punishing pace that none of them could follow. He gradually pulled away from them until he was forced to stop and wait for them with obvious frustration. The pattern was repeated over and over all day, with the Dreth never speaking a word to the Bialtans except to answer a direct question.
After his first day in the saddle, Salt nearly fell off the horse. The crash course in riding he’d received before they set out for Dreth hadn’t prepared him for the stiffness and saddle sores.
“Gods, someone just kill me already. I’d rather run the whole way
than ride that demon-spawned beast for another minute.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Salty,” said Min, shaking her head at him. “The stable master gave you the gentlest mare in the stables. The princess learned to ride on that horse, and she was only seven at the time.”
Salt ignored her and walked around with a pained look on his face. “I swear I’ll never walk properly again. I may not even be able to father children after another day of this.”
“I’m sure you’ve fathered enough bastards with the dock-front whores already. They’ll probably be glad of the change,” she said.
“Don’t understand why we can’t take a ship, anyway. Dreth is close to the coast, isn’t it?”
“A ship wouldn’t get us all the way there. Dreth doesn’t have a port, and there are no safe harbors anywhere close short of sailing all the way around to one of the Free Cities. Besides, there is nothing in this world that could make me get on a leaky pile of wood and leave sight of the shore. You, on the other hand, gave in to riding the whole way pretty fast.”
Salt grumbled under his breath but wisely decided not to say anything.
The journey out of Bialta took thirteen days. Thirteen days of pain and stiffness for Salt who practically fell off his horse at the end of every day. They made the best of the various inns and taverns they found along the way. Salt had been entrusted with a pouch of coins to pay for anything they might need on their journey. He was only too happy to spend the king’s gold on comfortable beds and hot food. When they finally reached the border, Min and Brolt insisted they buy a couple pack animals and load up on provisions. Brolt pointed into the foothills of the Icespine Mountains: “There’s a traders’ camp just the other side of the official border. We’ll get everything we need at a good price there.”
“Most of the caravans from Bialta pass through there,” Min said. “It’ll take us a few days to cross the hills and then we’ll be in the desert. There are a few spots on the way where we’ll be able to pick up fresh water and supplies, but we’d best carry as much as we can.”
Days later, Salt pulled up his horse and squinted into the blazing sun. The trip wasn’t getting any easier. If the pain and frustration of riding all day was lessening, the discomfort and heat caused by the desert more than made up for it. Salt was as badly sunburned as he had ever been in his life. The sun seemed to hammer down on the desert sands like nowhere else he had ever seen. It was two hours after dawn, and already the heat was so intense it made his head spin. And this after nearly freezing all night. Time to stop for the day. Salt called to the others to set up camp. The heat would soon be more than any of them could stand to be out in. Not that it was easier to sleep in the suffocating tents they had brought along, but at least it got them out of the sun. He reached up and rubbed his dry, flaking skin. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not sweating when I’m hot. Brolt had warned him to drink a lot even if he didn’t notice he was sweating. The desert would pull the moisture right out of a man, his sweat drying off into the air before it could wet his brow. This place just doesn’t make sense. I can see the ocean and we’ve crossed two rivers. How can it be that dry? Neither Min nor Brolt had an answer for him, and Ben Akyum didn’t volunteer any information. Resigned, Salt gave up asking questions. Everyone’s mood was sour after putting up with the desert for eight days. It wasn’t worth pushing to get an answer. The Great Desert was as it was; why question it? Salt’s eyes settled on the horizon where a dark shadow hinted at an approaching storm. With my luck it’ll probably snow. . . .
On the morning of the ninth day, the sun rose from behind the walls of the colossal city of Dreth and Salt couldn’t tell himself that it was a storm cloud anymore. He sat in his saddle in slack-jawed awe.
Brolt snickered. “It is a sight to see, isn’t it?” His good humor was restored by the sight. The wall was immense and stretched across the horizon.
“I-i-it’s huge!” Salt stammered.
“Thank you for stating the incredibly obvious, Salty. . . . I see now why Gurt chose you to lead this expedition. Keen observational skills and all that,” Brolt said.
“Gurt has an eye for talent. What can I say?” Salt said. Brolt snorted, and Altog laughed his strange laugh.
“Better you than us, anyway. I don’t ever want to see what’s behind that wall. The Dreth are . . . Well, they’re not normal.” He said the last in a whisper despite the fact that Ben Akyum had ridden so far ahead that he was barely visible.
“Says the man with the tattooed eyelids,” Salt said. The others nodded their agreement.
“Brolt’s right, Salty. We’ll be waiting outside the city for you. Maybe do a little shopping,” said Min. “I’ve always wanted a real Dreth-forged sword, and they’re cheaper to buy directly from the skinny bastards. I never had enough coin to even think about buying one when I was here before.”
“With the luck you’ve been having at dice? I can’t imagine you have much left.”
“Those coppers I lost? Salty, you hit your head or something? I’ve got nearly three months’ pay here.” She shook her pack to emphasize the point. It clinked with the dull sound of gold.
“We get paid?” Salt blurted. His three companions looked at one another and burst out laughing. Salt’s horse was surprised by the sudden sound and started tossing about. It took Salt several minutes to calm the beast, which only made the others laugh more.
“Well, you’ve proved my point that the most important requirement to become an officer is to not have a brain.”
“No wonder Gurt likes you, Salty,” said Altog.
“Six months. . . . That’s got to be a record,” said Brolt.
Min nodded. “Most recruits ask within the first month. I asked before I signed up so I guess I’m too smart to ever get promoted.”
As their banter went on, they continued to draw closer to the massive wall. They could make out more details of the fortifications now. Tall figures in dark armor walked the tops of the walls or stood on crenellated balconies halfway up. Their tabards and cloaks were as colorful and jarring to the eye as the ambassador’s clothes, and each of them carried a long black staff.
“Are those Firespears?” asked Salt.
“So they say. No one’s seen them used in ages. But then no one’s been stupid enough to test them.”
Eventually they were close enough to see the market that had sprung up outside Dreth’s main gate. Some of the stands looked permanent, while others were little more than tents or even carts with pieces of canvas draped over them for shade. Ben Akyum seemed to have disappeared into the mass of people.
“Those men over there look Noroshi!” exclaimed Salt. “That’s a good four months’ sailing. Add that to however long it took them to travel here from the nearest port. . . .”
“There are all sorts here, always are. You might even see the odd bunch come up from the Fingen Islands,” said Brolt.
Min chimed in. “Making a run to Dreth can easily make a merchant’s fortune. If they can manage the journey and they’re lucky enough to bring something the Dreth actually want, that is.”
Brolt nodded. “I’ve seen a fair number of Bialtans here just living off the failures. By the time they make it here, most of those who traveled far are pretty desperate. Desperation always brings out the sharks.” He lapsed into silence after that, and the others followed suit. They dismounted and led their horses between the stalls, looking curiously at the strange and exotic wares for sale.
A couple of Dreth walked through the marketplace. The merchants all fawned over them, offering free samples, food, wine, a place to sit, anything to bring the Dreth over to their stalls. Salt even heard one man offering the company of one of his daughters to the strange blue-skinned men. The Dreth themselves seemed well used to the chaos and looked over various stands without paying any visible attention to their owners’ prattle.
“They walk out here without guards?” Salt asked, surprised. “This place looks like it could turn ugly fast.”
> Min nodded. “It can. I’ve seen it happen a couple times. Most of the merchants out here do their damnedest to help the Dreth when that happens though. Not that they really need the help. They’re a lot stronger than they look. I saw one throw a man clear across the road once.” Salt looked at her in disbelief.
“It’s true!”
“Look, I’m willing to believe they’re fast or they have magic or something, but you really expect me to buy that they’re as strong as Gling’Ar?”
“Fine. Go see if one of them will arm wrestle you, but don’t come whining when he snaps your arm off.”
A commotion started to spread out from the city through the market. Everyone who wasn’t in the immediate vicinity of a Dreth dropped whatever they were doing and moved to the road to get a better view. Shouts and cheers broke out from various parts of the crowd when they heard a loud booming sound and the giant gates started to open outward.
Brolt looked shocked. “Someone must have made a really big deal with the blueskins. I’ve never heard of them opening the gates. They always use the smaller door at the base of it.”
Ranks of soldiers emerged from the featureless darkness behind the gates. Crap, that wall must be really thick, Salt thought. The soldiers were dressed like those patrolling the walls—blackened steel and garish cloth. Each soldier carried a long spear and a teardrop-shaped shield emblazoned with the flame crest of Dreth. As they marched out, the crowd parted in front of them, most falling over one another to get out of the soldiers’ way as quickly as they could. Seemingly endless, the troops continued to emerge from the shadows. They marched with perfect precision, twenty ranks wide. Dozens became hundreds, hundreds became thousands. Salt and his companions started to move aside with everyone else, when the procession came to an abrupt stop a few paces away from them.
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 22
