The Wolf's Call

by Anthony Ryan

  “Cut the ropes!” Vaelin shouted, kicking another Stahlhast loose from the wall and slashing his blade through the rope the woman had been climbing. A series of enraged shouts from below indicated at least a dozen others were now plummeting to the ground. More followed in quick succession as the Skulls obeyed his command, all ropes within reach cut through in the space of a few seconds, although some were dragged to their deaths by the final desperate grabs of the enemy.

  Robbed of their ability to scale the wall, the Stahlhast lingered at the base to assail those above with a hail of arrows from their strongbows, half a dozen Skulls reeling back with shafts embedded in face or neck.

  “Oil and rocks!” Vaelin called to Cho-ka, who quickly organised a party to cast their baskets of heavy stones over the wall, followed in short order by the contents of several large clay jars filled with boiling oil. Screams of rage and pain from below indicated the tactic’s success, and a brief glance over the edge revealed the sight of a hundred or more Stahlhast fleeing into the darkness, leaving behind twice the number of corpses and flailing wounded at the base of the wall.

  “The gate!” Juhkar appeared at Vaelin’s side, bow in hand. He pointed to the floor of the bastion. The entire structure was now almost entirely concealed in smoke as the phantom tigers continued to assail the battlements on either side. Vaelin could see no sign of Commander Deshai.

  “There’s more than one,” Juhkar added, making for the nearest stairwell. Vaelin shouted to Cho-ka to hold in place and followed with Ellese and Nortah close behind. The tall tunnel that led into the guts of the bastion was so filled with smoke that Vaelin found it impossible to discern what might be happening within. It also roiled with phantom tigers, a wall of snarling cats that few of the soldiers nearby showed any inclination to approach.

  He strained to hear the trundle of wheels that might indicate the approach of a battering ram sufficiently large to dislodge the gate, but instead heard only the din of battle and the shouts of panic from above. He was about to ask for guidance from Juhkar when he simply walked into the wall of smoke, bow raised. Vaelin started reflexively from the lunge of a smoke tiger, then steeled himself and followed the tracker into the fog. It was so thick he could barely see a foot in front of his nose, his throat catching the acrid sting, causing him to cough continually. He covered a dozen steps, then jerked aside, colliding with the tunnel wall as something fast and hard scraped over the shoulder guard of the hauberk he wore. The surrounding smoke twitched and the air thrummed with the buzz of multiple arrows.

  Vaelin subsided into a crouch and pressed on, eyes streaming as he attempted to pierce the swirling, foul-tasting mist. He hissed as an arrow scored a shallow groove across the back of his hand, then flinched as another careened off the bricks an inch from his head. From his right came the hard thrum of a bowstring followed by the sound of an arrowhead striking metal. He heard Juhkar curse before launching another arrow, this time producing the hard thwack of a shaft finding flesh.

  The smoke immediately began to thin, the twisting shadows of cats fading away into coiling wisps, the criss-cross edifice of the gate standing revealed. The tunnel beyond the gate was thick with Stahlhast, a brace of archers in front, aiming their strongbows through the small gaps in the iron lattice. The body of a young man lay against the gate, bloodied face pressed to one of the gaps and an arrow jutting from his shoulder. Next to him stood a sturdy woman in leather armour, very much alive and clutching the gate with a fierce grip. Blood trickled from her nose, face quivering with strain. The iron seemed to glow beneath her fingers, softening and contracting.

  Lehkis, Luralyn had said. A special way with metal.

  “Kill her!” Vaelin called to Juhkar, turning to find the tracker crumpled against the wall, one arrow in his leg and another through his shoulder. Seeing the sturdy woman tear a piece of glowing iron loose from the gate, Vaelin drew a throwing knife from his boot and cast it at her. It was a decent throw but the woman was clearly no stranger to battle, jerking her head aside as the knife came spinning through the gap, slicing off part of her ear. With a shout, she clamped her hands on the gate once more, the metal glowing and softening as if it lay within the heart of the forge.

  Stahlhast arrows chased Vaelin across the tunnel as he rushed to Juhkar, retrieving his fallen bow and reaching for his quiver. Before he could nock a shaft, a pair of arrows streaked past, both expertly aimed to find the gaps in the gate. One struck the Gifted woman in the thigh and the other in the belly. This time the effects of Sherin’s poison were somewhat spectacular. Blood exploded from the woman’s mouth in a thick crimson flower and she spasmed with such violence that Vaelin could hear the crack of her bones breaking. She seemed to deflate as she collapsed against the iron barrier, her hands slipping from the part-melted metal.

  More arrows followed in quick succession, swiftly felling three of the Stahlhast archers. But there were plenty to take their place, Vaelin shrinking low to avoid a fresh hail of shafts.

  “For Faith’s sake, brother, get out!” Nortah’s voice echoed loudly, Vaelin glancing back to see him and Ellese crouched at either side of the tunnel’s mouth, loosing shaft after shaft with typical speed and precision. Vaelin’s sense of urgency was further enhanced by the sight of Luralyn approaching across the courtyard beyond, flanked on either side by the Gifted twins and the Red Scouts in close formation behind.

  Grasping Juhkar about the chest, Vaelin dragged him towards the exit. Nortah and Ellese continued to cut down the Stahlhast archers, their perfectly aimed arrows creating a shield of twitching, poison-raddled corpses that prevented their comrades from taking their place. Vaelin pulled Juhkar clear of the tunnel just as the twins reached it, arms raised. Fortunately, the roar of the torrent of flame they sent into the tunnel was sufficient to swamp the screams of those inside. The twins continued to pour fire into the bastion until they sagged in exhaustion, the flames fading to reveal a blackened tunnel and gate, speckled with lingering flame but still mercifully intact. The tunnel beyond was carpeted with charred, steaming bodies.

  “Get him to the temple,” Vaelin said, hefting Juhkar into the arms of two Red Scouts. “Take them with you,” he added, nodding at the twins.

  “There’s still fighting here,” Kihlen said, staggering a little as he wiped the blood from his face.

  Vaelin stood back to survey the walls above. With the spectral harbingers banished, the Merchant soldiery had been quick to recover their discipline. Several knots of Stahlhast had managed to gain purchase on the battlements but were being vigorously assailed on all sides, whilst scores of crossbowmen rushed to fill the gaps along the wall.

  “We can hold without you,” Vaelin told Kihlen. “Best conserve your strength.”

  “They also attacked from the north and south-east,” Corporal Wei said as the Scouts carried Juhkar’s unconscious form away. “Seized a good-sized portion of the wall near the north gate but the general led a countercharge that scraped them off good and proper.”

  A flurry of shouts drew Vaelin’s gaze back to the wall. A regiment of soldiers were jabbing their spears into the air, shouting in feral triumph, boots stomping the Stahlhast bodies littering the battlements. Only one knot of attackers continued to fight on, a dark cluster of thrashing defiance amidst the tide of encroaching spearmen. One familiar figure in the centre of the melee slashed his sabre left and right with furious energy, seemingly indifferent to the certainty of death.

  “Go with them,” Vaelin told Corporal Wei, nodding at the retreating Gifted.

  With Ellese and Nortah following he climbed the stairs to the rampart, stepping over the mingled bodies of attacker and defender, pausing at the sight of Commander Deshai, lying dead with a sabre point thrust deep into his neck. The commander’s hands were wrapped around the neck of the Stahlhast who had killed him, the fingers gouged into the flesh.

  “Pity,” Nortah said. “A capable fellow.”

&nb
sp; An upsurge of shouts from the edge of the bastion drew Vaelin on, seeing the familiar figure now forced to one knee, the only surviving Stahlhast on the wall. Varnko’s armour sported a half-dozen crossbow bolts, and the stone beneath him was slick with blood. He still had enough life left to snarl at the soldiers as they closed in, spears levelled for the killing thrust.

  “Stop!” Vaelin called out, striding forward and waving the soldiers back. “This man is my prisoner.”

  They continued to stare at him, the bloodlust and rage of battle fading to leave a host of confused and besmirched faces. “Stop gawping!” Vaelin snapped. “See to the wounded.” He gestured to the surrounding bodies, most dead but some still clinging to life.

  “I . . .” Varnko rasped as the soldiers withdrew, “am not . . . giving up my blade . . . whilst there’s still breath in me.”

  Vaelin crouched at his side, reaching out to steady the Skeltir to prevent him toppling over. “I wouldn’t dream of taking it.”

  Varnko hunched in pain, the tip of his sabre scraping on the stone as he tried to prop himself up. Vaelin caught him before he could fall, easing him against the nearest crenellation. “Sherin is here,” Vaelin told him. “She’ll heal you like she healed your boy.”

  Varnko snorted, blood speckling his lips “My boy . . . has chosen . . . to hate me,” he said in a halting gasp. “Said I stole . . . his renown . . . by sparing him a death in battle.” He bared reddened teeth in a grin. “Ungrateful little . . . fucker, eh?”

  “Ungrateful indeed. Come.” Vaelin beckoned Nortah closer, preparing to lift the Skeltir. “We’ll take you to her.”

  “No!” Varnko pushed his hands away. “Don’t . . . sully my death.”

  His gaze was fierce with resolve, but Vaelin could see a plea in it too. The Skeltir of the Ostra Skeld was begging to be allowed to die. “As you wish,” he said, waving Nortah back.

  Varnko’s body slackened against the stone and he grunted with the effort of shifting his sabre to rest it across his knees. “This . . .” he said, tracing a finger along the many nicks and scratches of the blade’s curve, “was my father’s . . . He wasn’t Skeltir . . . died too young to make a challenge . . . But, I . . . it seems, lived too long.”

  He cast his gaze over the bodies littering the rampart. “Oh, my Skeld. Look . . . at what he made of us. Once we were great . . . now no more than the fanatic army of a madman . . .”

  “Why?” Vaelin asked. “Why did you follow him? You know he is no god.”

  Varnko’s eyes grew dim as his head lolled towards the plain beyond the battlement. “The lure of the Golden Sea . . . is hard to resist. For all our feuds . . . the Stahlhast are bound together . . . with steel. And he promised . . . such renown. In that, at least . . . he didn’t lie.”

  The Skeltir’s gaze slid back to Vaelin, eyes brightening as he summoned the last vestiges of strength. “My son . . . abased himself before that deceiver,” he grunted, shuddering with the effort of speaking. “Begged forgiveness for . . . his father’s weakness. Now he stands . . . ever at the Darkblade’s side . . . his most loyal dog. This . . .” He gripped the sabre’s hilt, trying to raise it. “Is not . . . for him. I gave you a fine . . . gift. Now, I ask for payment in kind. Find a suitable hand . . . to wield this.” Trembling, he pushed the sabre towards Vaelin.

  “I will,” he said, reaching out to touch his fingers to the pommel. “Skeltir,” he said, shuffling closer. “I must know, how many people with the Divine Blood does the Darkblade possess? What are their gifts?”

  “More”—Varnko bared his crimson teeth once again—“than mere smoke, my friend . . .”

  The Skeltir’s head slumped one final time, his last breath spattering a red mist onto Vaelin’s hand.

  “Ellese,” he said, rising and hefting the sabre.

  “Uncle?” She peered curiously at the blade as he held it out to her, hilt first.

  “Your mother once owned something similar, as I recall,” Vaelin told her. “This man asked for a fitting hand to wield it. I think yours will fit very well.”

  She gave a tight smile and took hold of the sabre. “Mother taught me the sword,” she said, coughing to clear the sudden hoarse note in her voice. “But I was always better with the knife and the bow.”

  “So was she.”

  “Let’s see him on his way,” Nortah said, nodding at Varnko’s corpse. “You have some knowledge of their funeral rites?”

  “No,” Vaelin said, raising his gaze to the plain, where more bodies littered the ground, felled by a swarm of crossbow bolts as they fled. They were not easily counted, causing him to conclude that most of the warriors belonging to the Ostra Skeld must have perished this night. Perhaps that’s what he wanted, he thought, looking once again at Varnko’s slumped, empty form. To spare them becoming what Kehlbrand would twist them into.

  “Just throw him over with the others,” he added. “I think he would prefer that.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Darkblade’s full host appeared on the northern horizon two days later. The great mass of riders approached to within a mile of the city before spreading out to the east and west to raise their town-sized camps. The infantry arrived as the day slipped towards evening, moving in loose ranks that told of a general lack of martial discipline as did their mismatched armour and weapons. Many wore the hauberks and carried the spears of fallen Merchant soldiery, whilst others were clad in dark breastplates and mail of Stahlhast manufacture.

  “The Redeemed,” Luralyn named them. “Former artisans from the tors and denizens of conquered lands and tribes, all convinced of my brother’s godhood.”

  “Not convinced enough to march in good order, apparently,” Sho Tsai said. The three of them stood atop the bastion of the north-facing gate, watching the host as it continued to spread. Camps were appearing to the south-east and west, indicating that the city would soon be surrounded.

  “Most are new to soldiering, it’s true,” Luralyn replied. “But make no mistake, many have already tasted battle and they will all happily die for the Darkblade.”

  “Their full number?” the general enquired.

  “My people are not as fond of counting as yours.” She gave an apologetic shrug. “They are many.”

  “I’d estimate somewhere over sixty thousand,” Vaelin said. “Together with the Stahlhast and the Tuhla, we face an army close to three hundred thousand strong.”

  “We counted more than two thousand enemy bodies after their first attack. But we lost much the same number fighting them off.” Sho Tsai exchanged a glance with Vaelin as they both pondered a grim arithmetic and arrived at the same conclusion. The defenders of this city would bleed their strength away with every attack whilst their enemy remained strong.

  “An army of such size will lay waste to the Northern Prefecture,” the general said. “Perhaps even menace the heartland of the kingdom.”

  “Kehlbrand is not interested in laying waste,” Luralyn said. “Nor will he stop until he has claimed all the realms of the Merchant Kings. His army will only grow as he conquers. Everywhere he steps he finds more adherents, more Redeemed to swell his ranks.”

  “Then we have to stop him here. Or at least bleed his horde so white it will stand little chance against the full might of the Merchant armies.”

  “Meaning we’ll have to kill six of them for any one of us that falls,” Vaelin said. “A hard prospect.”

  “But not an impossible one. I’ve seen armies break on less formidable walls than these.” Sho Tsai straightened, turning a shrewd gaze on Luralyn. “Your brother will not delay, I assume? He will attack tonight.”

  She nodded. “Everywhere he can.”

  “Then we will meet him everywhere. Lord Vaelin, I hereby appoint you in Commander Deshai’s place. You will take charge of all the regiments on the western wall. Ensure your men know that there is to be no retreat. Any man w
ho takes a single backward step will kneel before the headsman come the morning.”

  “This city was constructed to allow for successive retreats.” Vaelin nodded at the second tier of Keshin-Kho. “We know there are more Gifted out there. Should the outer wall be breached . . .”

  “Our tactics have already proven sound. Our own Blessed-of-Heaven will match theirs. You agreed to submit to my orders.” His eyes grew hard as they lingered on Vaelin’s and he spoke with careful deliberation. “Not one step back.”

  Vaelin felt a strong impulse to argue, point out that Juhkar was injured and unlikely to recover for days. In order to discern the presence of the Darkblade’s Gifted, they would have to rely on Ahm Lin’s song, which lacked the tracker’s precision. You are not Battle Lord here, he reminded himself. And there is always merit in a staunch defence.

  “As you command, General,” he said with a formal bow.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  As Luralyn predicted there was no lull before the storm, the first attacks coming less than an hour after sunset. They fell on the eastern flank first, ten thousand or more Redeemed streaming out of the dark to assail the walls with scaling ladders. Having been warned of the assault by Ahm Lin, Sho Tsai had rushed additional reinforcements to the sector. Vaelin could hear the din of battle even from across the city, detecting a strange rhythmic note amidst the discordant cacophony.

  “Battle prayers,” Eresa explained. “The Redeemed sing them in praise of the Darkblade as they charge.” She gave a short, strained laugh at the absurdity of her former comrades as she adjusted the hauberk she wore. It had been greatly modified to match her diminutive frame but still caused no end of irritation. She had been placed amongst the Skulls, whilst Jihla had been stationed on the northern bastion and her brother assigned to the eastern wall. Luralyn, at Sho Tsai’s insistence, remained atop the second inner wall with Varij and the Red Scouts. Vaelin had made sure to leave Corporal Cho-ka in no doubt that the primary duty of the Skulls was to protect the Blessed-of-Heaven in their midst.