“They must have a pretty good idea of where we are with all that stuff,” he said to Per Sagenay. “Of course, the whole area is full of lakes and streams, but I think this was thought out more carefully. This is no baggage train, but something meant for quick assault. I want the information sent to Berain and the others at once. In fact, tell it to all units.”
M’reen, who had long since returned, came up with her two warriors. The grim faces of the Mantans were just behind.
We can hear the fighting, Hiero. Can you not do so? These two, the men with the dark souls, they can hear it too. They told us with signs.
“That’s right, Per,” Reyn admitted. “Them cats caught it first, but just listen yourself now.”
Hiero listened. There were calls from out on the lake, horns blowing, and the shuffle of moving feet behind him. Even a distant splash of oars from some guard boat came through. The he caught it. It was a hum, a buzzing in the distance. He listened harder. Now he could pick out higher and lower tones like the shrills of far-off insects. There came a very faint series of thuds, no more than vibratory disturbances of the air. It was enough.
“Take charge, Edard,” he said to Maluin. “Sagenay’s your second or what you choose. Remember what I said. No movement until the crucial time. This is going to be a close one.” He turned and looked speculatively at the twins, whose cold, set faces stared back.
“Can you two handle morses? If I can find any? Otherwise you’d be better off staying here.”
Geor spoke for both. “We can. We’ve ridden double, too, case there’s only one. Take us.”
“All right. We’re crossing the lake, down there on the left. I’ll walk Klootz until we get aboard a boat.” He signaled the catfolk to follow. He had no worries about their ability to keep up with mounted troops, and they would have been miserable away from him. He waved to the salutes of the staff and rode slowly down the twisting trail to the west, off the bluff and onto the path along the shore. The five others loped behind him.
In twenty minutes, they came to a tiny bay in which a small rowing barge lay concealed. He led the big morse aboard, and the others clambered after. At a word to the NCO in charge, the ten long sweeps began to move the clumsy vessel out into the lake on a long slant, north and west, to where the marsh and the cleaner fluid of the deep water began to mingle.
All the while, the sounds of the battle had been growing in their ears. Clanging noises of metal came now, and the metallic, piercing sounds of enemy trumpets mixed with the sonorous Metz horns. Screams came as well, and chorused cheering. Hiero knew the orders had been sent and he knew the defense was thickening on orders as the Abbey forces drew near the Lake of Weeping. Yet the sounds of conflict were raging closer at a tremendous rate. The Unclean must be piling in all their strength, heedless of casualties, in order to make such speed. He cocked one eye at the bright sun and consulted his built-in mental clock. It was near eleven, and the timetable had not quite allowed for this burst of enemy speed. He watched the oarsmen strain at the great sweeps as they passed under the lee of a small island. They were three-quarters of the way across now and in plain view of the elbow of the lake, the curve of the northern shore stretching out of sight in both directions.
The din grew as he watched, and he saw the first Metz troops break from the forest and reach the long lines of boats drawn, up on the shore. The skeleton crews who manned them began to help the wounded aboard. The movement was swift and disciplined, and he smiled. No panic here! As each boat pulled out, oar-propelled on this windless day, more men appeared and took their places in the next. He could see through the far-looker that no boat left the shore with an empty place or without orders.
Now he could begin to glimpse the fighting for himself. He saw a rank of veteran archers halt, fire a volley, then run easily back and turn for another. Men fell in their ranks as they fought, but the others closed up. As he watched intently, an eruption of the enemy burst from the forest wall, a small pack of the Plague Hounds, with Leemutes riders screaming on their bony backs. These were Hairy Howlers, apelike brutes, brandishing clubs and axes and hurling long javelins with devilish aim. The hideous dog mutants were man-high at the shoulder and had naked hides, blotched and mottled in shades of orange and red. Their ears drooped, and they had heavy jaws and gaping maws, filled with great teeth.
The archer troop slew more than half of them with one more volley, then dropped their bows as the survivors came on, unchecked. It was close-in fighting now, and the Plague Hounds raged in the Metz ranks, shaking men like so many jackstraws when they secured a grip. The Howlers fought like furies, seeking only to kill and not minding their own safety as they hacked and stabbed. Then it was suddenly over, and a sadly diminished troop fell back again from the heap of reeking corpses. They carried some wounded, but not many.
The battle was fierce all along the shore now, and many of the boats were not rowing, but lying off and giving covering fire. A sheet of arrows flew, and then another. The last Scouts of the defense were scrambling aboard, some having to fight as they did so. Now there were few left. The guard boats, with stocks of ready arrows, redoubled their fire. A pack of the great, scaly-tailed Manrats, caught in one such blast, went down in heaps.
The boats pulled away from the shore. Many places were empty in these, Hiero noted sadly. The thin metal notes of the Unclean trumpets sounded over and over, and their creatures began to draw back to the shelter of the wood. As they vanished, the guard boats ceased their fire and began slowly to follow the rear of those who had passed on through. Now there was a widening gap and an empty shore, full of dead and wounded.
Hiero realized that his own craft was touching the mud of the shore, and he scrambled aboard Klootz and ran him over the blunt bow. The mud here was a man’s thigh deep, but the big morse made nothing of it. His spreading hooves were designed for this element.
“Hold on to my stirrups,” he told the Mantans. “You’ll get a bit wet, but I can’t help that. You would come!”
The cat people had been wet before this. They didn’t like it, but it was no real problem. As they began to march inland through the tussocks of grass and the sloughs in which they grew, the warrior-priest looked back. The height given by his perch on the morse enabled him still to look down along the shore for some distance.
The Metz rear guard—what remained of it—was rowing away steadily, if slowly. A few other boats, not many, had come out from the chain of wooded islands and were helping the craft which either carried too many wounded or were hampered by lack of men to row. A couple of thin lines of soldiers were visible on the south shore. And a flag waved here and there, showing the green on white of the Republic.
But now the scene changed. The Unclean army, silent and intent once more, poured out of the trees on the north bank. This time they came prepared. Save for the officers, each man or Leemute carried either a small canoe or part of a larger one. Manrats took to the water like the natural swimmers they were, needing no transportation and carrying their weapons. This, too, was a disciplined move and showed long hours spent in practice, Hiero glimpsed a group of sinuous, brown shapes slide into the lake and remembered the great water weasels he had fought long ago. The Uncleans were indeed using everything they had. Would it be enough?
His view of the battle scene faded, obscured by trees and distance. His little troops were moving deeper into the shallow waters and much of the drowned land. There would be no help from using his mind. He had tried testing his ability continuously. The shields held by both the Unclean and the Abbeys were functioning too well for anything to break through. He could talk to his catpeople at close range, but that was all.
Ahead, he glimpsed a line of black things moving and whipped up the far-looker. This was what he had come to find. Klootz lifted his dripping muzzle and bawled a greeting. In a few more moments, he had reached a mound rising out of the grass and water, and Hiero could greet his new troops.
The two regiments of morse and riders
were in line, but loosely picketed. Hiero knew the two colonels, though both men were older. In fact, in the past he had even served under Colonel Saclare and been taught by Colonel Lejus at the Academy. They were typical Metz and could have passed for his own close relations; stocky, bronzed men in their forties riding with the ease of a lifetime in the saddle. With their aides behind, they reined up and saluted. Hiero acknowledged the salute and masked a feeling of some awkwardness.
Saclare disabused him promptly. “We axe delighted to have you in charge. Lejus and I know your past training.” One sardonic black eye drooped in what only those close by could have told was a wink. It was enough. All three broke into broad grins and gripped hands. Command was established and they were as one.
“Yes, I can find a couple of remounts, though we don’t have many,” Lejus said, staring at the Mantan twins with interest. “We all have heard of these two. Who hasn’t? Thought they always fought alone, though. I expect you’ll want to keep them with you. Heard of your cats, too, and what beauties they are. I gather they can look after themselves. But come along, sir. We’re rigging something over there you might want to use. Saclare thought of it.”
A little distance off on the mound, the place an ancient German would have called a Feldherrnhugel, or “general’s observation hill,” men and morses in harness were straining to raise a triangle of extremely long poles. As they locked into place, others lifted a long ladder and began with speed to lash down a rude platform. Ail the material had been precut and dragged through the wide marsh to this point.
Moments later, Hiero and the two colonels had a fresh view of the conflict and were glued to their far-lookers. They could see far along the northern shores, as well as across the Lake of Weeping, and they were barely in time to see another crux of the battle.
The Unclean troops, human and otherwise, still poured from the wood. At least a thousand boats, large and small, all of light weight, seemingly made of hide braced with wood stripping, were beating out in pursuit of the Metz rear guard. These, moving slowly, were still some distance from the southern bank and safety, though many seemed close. Hiero noted that those that were close seemed to contain the wounded, while those which were the most sluggish had none. So far so good, he thought, but, God above, how many of the enemy were still pouring from the forest to the attack! And they still produced more and more boats! The hideous, giant dogs were swimming out in packs also, some with Howler riders to guide the others. Most of the Howlers were in boats, but fresh swarms of the Manrats still rushed from under the trees and flung themselves into the lake. The water weasels showed here and there as they dived and porpoised in the front of the van. When would the signal be given?
“Put these on, sir,” Saclare said. He was holding a bundle of the laquered battle armor of the morse riders, surmounted by a bronze, visored helmet. He and all the others were already wearing theirs.
Hiero struggled absently with the cuirass, half-sleeves, and greaves, not even noting that the two colonels were lacing them on for him and that his helmet bore the white heron plume of a general. His gaze was locked on the water. The main body of the apparently endless Unclean horde was now at the level of the larger islands, whose tree branches drooped over the lake.
A sudden blare of echoing horn calls rang out over the cries and yelps of the Unclean hordes. Branches fell into the lake, and even some of the great trees were thrown down. Out from their hidden island anchorages swept a flock of ships, the five armored Metz steamboats in the van, belching clouds of smoke as they charged the enemy. Justus Berain was not a man to be hurried; he struck only when he felt the exact time had come! The gun ports of the steamers had been widened and lowered, allowing for point-blank fire. From the great muzzle-loaders burst not solid shot, but masses of broken ceramic tile, mixed with rock and metal scraps, causing instant havoc. Behind the steamers came a fleet of stout rowing barges, wooden mantlets and wicker screens protecting both the complement of archers and the rowers. Volley-fired only by or-ders, sheets of arrows swept over the enemy, adding to the carnage.
It was not all one-sided. Though blasted and torn, shredded by the crude langrage, the blasting rubble of the war steamers, and devastated by the arrow storm, the enemy fought back. Their metallic trumpets signaled anew from the forest, and fresh masses swept out and into the confusion on the waters.
Here and there in the swarming ranks of the foe, Hiero now caught glimpses of gray-cloaked figures hurrying from one point to the other. The Unclean adepts might be new to open warfare, he realized, but they had come in strength and were fast learners!
He tore his eyes away and looked down at what lay below the observation platform. It made him feel easier. Unconcerned by the uproar in the distance, just under four thousand troopers of the Metz cavalry waited by their mighty steeds, all in four broken lines, stretching across the marsh. The great lances were planted in line, one at the head of each morse, with the troopers lounging in place. The two Mantans, impassive as always, waited patiently at the ladder foot; the three Children of the Wind were beside them. Klootz stood, silent, next to the two morses requisitioned for the hunters.
“Won’t be much longer, gentlemen,” he said to the two colonels. “It looks good here. Downstream on the lower lake, it may be something else. We only have one steamer, the newest, there. But we have other surprises. We should know shortly.”
They all continued to watch the lake even as Hiero spoke. As far away as they could see, until the angle of the lake cut them off, the battle raged, the screams and cries of men and beasts mingling under the veils of smoke with the roar of the guns.
“By the Lord God, I think they are turning,” Saclare muttered. “Even they have had enough. I thought they were never going to stop coming out of the woods. But—look!”
They could all see it now, and Hiero sent a heartfelt prayer up to Heaven. The frightful slaughter had turned back the swimmers and the Unclean boats. The frail craft they had borne so many leagues were no match for the keen arrows and the great guns. The armored ships went where they would, spewing destruction on all sides and grinding any smaller vessels under their angled snouts. Repeatedly, the enemy swarms tried to board and close in, only to be beaten back with heavy losses. The arrow boats followed in the wake of the big five, and the guard boats, which had fled so slowly to the other shore, wheeled and re-entered the fight. Many others darted from the southern shore to join them.
Here and there, some of the great mink mutants sprang aboard a smaller boat or a load of Howlers tried to board. Manrats also tried the same tactic, but the wicker and plank screens kept most of them out, and the others were quickly slaughtered. The main body of Unclean human infantry was not one of great watermen, and the horrible dogs were completely helpless. There were so many bodies of all kinds floating on the waters of the lake that it almost seemed that one could walk across on them. The massed wreckage of the invasion boats made larger lumps here and there in the sea of corpses.
The Unclean trumpets back on shore rose to a screaming pitch, incessant and shrill. By boat and in the water, the enemy fled for the northern banks. They had begun to do so even before the signal to retreat had rung out. Beaten and demoralized, yet still in great numbers, they swam and paddled for their lives. Not one had come near to setting foot on the farther shore.
The war boats of the Republic moved in behind them, the terrible fire taking a continuous toll. Blasts from the guns swept the shore, and arrows flew through the smoke. Looking at the sun over the reeking clouds, Hiero realized that it was noon and that hardly an hour had passed since the enemy had launched its craft upon the lake. He wondered how the battle to the east was coming. The foe still mustered great strength and would fight hard if given a chance to rally. Would the interpretation of what came next be accurate?
“To your posts, gentlemen,” he said quietly, “I want this tower struck at once. The enemy could see it if they came now.”
They went down the long ladder like men pos
sessed. In moments, the tower was disassembled and the three ranking officers were riding slowly along the lines. Saclare dropped off to command the right flank, and Hiero halted in the center; Lejus went on to take over the left. Listening hard, Hiero could hear a slackening of the gunfire from the lake. He could think of no reason for it but one—lack of targets of opportunity. Now only an occasional rumble came from the smoke bank in the southeast.
He turned to the catfolk, who stood waiting by his saddle. I have a task of great danger for you, he sent. We must know if the enemy comes and how fast. Ch ‘uirsh, go to the left. Za ‘reekh, you go to the right Try to reach me with your minds, but come back if you cannot. Do not be seen if you can possibly help it. Kill none unless it is death not to do otherwise. I seek knowledge, not bodies. Will you go? M’reen, you will go to my front, but not as far as the others. You can perhaps relay their thoughts.
They did not even answer, but were gone like three marsh sprites, skimming grass clumps and knee-deep water as if they were not there.
“If this were dry ground, I’d send you two on a scout,” he said to the twins. “But I don’t want the enemy to see a single morse, and you can’t move in this muck like those three.” They nodded bleakly and settled themselves at rest in their saddles.
Waiting was not easy. Hiero tried to think about the future; when he found this too depressing, he narrowed it to the immediate future. He had two tasks before him, and they might come quickly, even together. One—break the enemy flank to pieces. Come and be broken, damn you! Two—find and kill S’duna. You ‘re out there, you filth, I know it. Too many of your dirty renegade humans, too many louse-bitten Leemutes. You threw everything you had into this one and you couldn’t stay behind on Manoon, polluting the sun with your amusements this time!
Behind his back, the long lines shifted and swayed. All the riders were mounted, simply waiting for a word. Where were the cats?
Hiero Desteen (Omnibus) Page 64
