by Clayton, Jo;
Time slid by, minute by dragging minute. Silence descended on the army, a silence broken by the nearly sub-audible hum of breathing and snores from thousands of sleepers, and the scattered creaks, clanks and rustles from those who stood watch. The minutes added to an hour, then another. She touched the leather pouch hanging between breasts whose slow swelling was beginning to be a nuisance, felt the hard knob of the ink bottle and the long thin pipe filled with dreamdust. Might as well be now, she thought. If it’s going to be tonight. Dawn couldn’t be that far away. She breathed a very faint whistle, reached out and touched Coperic’s arm. “I’m off,” she whispered.
He nodded but said nothing.
She began creeping forward, moving on her toes and elbows, supple as a snake. The Dom was down and any movements she woke in brush or weeds would be lost to darkness, but the less she left to chance, the less she might have to regret. Ildas paced beside her when he was able to control his excitement, capered in circles about her when it broke loose, leaped onto her back and rode her awhile, his needle claws digging into her skin and muscle through the thin cloth of her tunic.
She eased carefully past the sentries, began winding through the sleeping Minarks toward the one she intented to work on, the one who had the highest status among these violent, mad and excessively proud princes. He’d be somewhere in the middle of the ground the Minarks had taken for their own, the safest place. She found him by wiggling from one armor pile to the next until she recognized the gear her prize wore when he cantered along the Highroad, ribbons singing silk about him.
Lying flat beside him, not even breathing, she dug into the pouch and pulled out the blowpipe. She scratched away the wax seals and puffed the dust in a cloud that hovered a moment over his face, then settled into his open mouth, was drawn into his nose with each breath he took. He sneezed, started to wake, then went limp. After a moment he was snoring a little, taken by the effects of the drug.
She got up and bent over him, inkpot in one hand, short thick brush in the other, a grin on her face. She knew that black ink all too well. You couldn’t wash it out of clothes and even skin was hard to clean; the spots it left faded to an ugly gray-green but stayed with you for at least a month. With careful neat strokes she painted a glyph on his cheek, another on his forehead and a third on his other cheek; together, they meant I am a lazy useless slave. She set the pot and brush down and eased the blanket off him, then slit open the white silk tunic he wore. Working with the same care, she painted glyphs for the worst obscenity she knew, and below it the words Soäreh sucks and below those she drew an arrow pointing to his genitals; those she painted lavishly black, swallowing giggles as she remembered what her father and Teras had done to the agli; it was that very memory that made her suggest performing a similar service for the Minarks. She studied her work with satisfaction, but it seemed unfinished. She drew fat teardrops dripping down his thighs and weeping eyes on his rather knobby knees, then gave him sloppy black feet. She emptied the dregs in the ink bottle onto the fresh white doeskin tunic he planned to wear in the morning.
Once again she sat on her heels and contemplated her work, repressing all show of amusement. The Minark shivered. Gravely she pulled the blanket back over him and tucked it in with maternal care. Can’t have you waking from the cold, little one. Rise in daylight and let everyone see your fine new decorations. She collected the pot and brush and the blowpipe, even the bits of wax. No use leaving anything for the norits to work on. Ildas nosed about and helped her gather all the fragments. On her heels again, she looked around, regretting Coperic’s adamant stand. One was enough, he said and repeated his formula, get in, do the job, get out and away. The other Minarks were sleeping peacefully, the attendants not on duty sighed in their sleep from a familiar exhaustion, but didn’t wake. The sentries stood unmoving—dead, though they didn’t know it yet. She lowered herself and went snaking away. Chances were she could stand up and stroll over to Coperic, but she needed the practice and she wasn’t that sure of how well the web would hold.
When she reached Coperic, she saw Bella and Biel come slithering back, gliding with a silence and grace she watched with utter envy, glad she’d done her practicing out of sight because it seemed to her she’d never equal the skills of that enigmatic pair and she’d rather like to. Time to get out of here, she thought. She gave her low breathy whistle to warn Coperic she was near, then touched his shoulder to let him know how near.
As before, he nodded. Without a word, he started creeping toward the shelter of the trees. With Bella and Biel she followed close behind.
V
THE BATTLE FOR THE BISERICA
1
They climbed to the top of the west gatetower, Dom Hern and Yael-mri, Georgia Myers and Anoike Ley, stood looking down at the army stretched out through the low hills humping up toward the Pass, gazed at movement and form half-hidden, half-seen through the glitter-haze of Nor magic. In a ragged line along the barren flat where the hills stopped, a row of norits stood staring at the wall, radiating a virulent hatred for the weapon women behind the merlons, for the Stenda, the tar-folk and villagers waiting with bows, spears or tending the fires under kettles of bubbling fat.
Hern nodded at the widely spaced dark figures. “Norits.”
Georgia looked over the shorter man’s shoulder. “They don’t fancy y’all that much.”
“They don’t fancy anything that limits their power.”
“Yeah. Knew a few like that back home.”
Yael-mri stepped away from her slit. “Dom Georgia, domna Anoike, those men are the greatest danger we face.” She looked down at long slim hands that shook a little until she shut them into fists. “It won’t take them long before they find out how to deflect your missiles. Two days. If we’re really blessed by fortune, three. We’d appreciate it if you’d concentrate on taking out as many of the norits as you can. However many you kill or wound, that many weakens them,” she nodded at the slit, the army below, “more than a thousand men. But as soon as you notice that you can’t seem to hit any more of them, forget it and use your weapons where they can do some good.”
Georgia nodded, then moved to one of the broader slits in the tower’s side, leaned out and looked along the wall, using the small dark forms of the defenders to help him estimate the width of the walkway behind the merlons, tried to determine how much shelter the stone uprights would give his people. Anoike joined him in the opening, her elbows poking hard into his back until he wriggled a little, tensed some muscles, and sent them sliding. She caught at his shoulders, chuckled softly. He ignored that and the pressure of her body against his, pointed to the walkway. “Wide enough, you think?”
“For a wall, it’s some wide. Not no expressway, more like a back country two-laner, with them hot-pots for wide-assed road hogs, but yeah, I say Angel could ride it. If he keep his head down. Horse’s head it might show, might not. Way he move, take a piece a luck for them suckers to get a shot at him, specially with bows.”
“Move the delicate bod, woman, I’m coming out.”
Chuckling again, she stepped away from him, stood in the center of the small square room, hands in pockets, casually hipshot, looking from Yael-mri’s faintly disapproving face to the bland round countenance of Dom Hern. The glint in his eyes was familiar. She tried to look, conspicuously uninterested.
Georgia pulled his head in, rubbed the back of his fist across his chin. “We got a pretty wide front to keep an eye on. Seems to me the best thing would be posting snipers along the wall. They’d be spread thin. Need competition quality shooters here to take out your norits fast and economical. Lay my hand on fifteen maybe, counting Annie Lee here.” He grinned at Anoike.
She snorted. “You payin for that, Redneck. Wait till we in the sack, I show you Annie Lee.” She jerked her thumb toward the wall. “Split Angel’s band, half on each side the gate, use teletalks to send ’em where they needed. How many teletalks you pick up at the armory? Got some spare batteries, I do hope. One a us u
p here with binocs, we could see the whole damn war. Like some crazy board game.” She shook her head slowly. “Weird. Hey man, think a the wars you been hoppin around to where most the time no sucker got any idea what’s happenin, especially some shithead general.” She strolled over to one of the front slits and looked down. “We got us a cozy down-home war. Almost makes sense.”
Hern’s eyes moved from her rigid back to Georgia. “Teletalks?”
“Yeah. Since you’re running this thing kinda short-handed, you could do with better communications than they got. We picked up a gross of ’em, Anoike, brand-new in the cartons, enough to tie everything into a good tight web. And batteries sealed in plastic so they should be all right unless Procurement’s more rotten than usual. You know, this could be a bigger edge than rifles.” He turned to Yael-mri. “What’re you doing about rock-climbers?” When she continued to look blank, he moved a hand in an impatient gesture. “Sabotage teams flanking the walls. Going round through the mountains. Give me a cloudy night, some rope and a half-dozen of my folk and five’ll get you a hundred, I get into the Biserica and make a dent in your Shawar. You’re vulnerable there, Yael-mri, and it don’t take magic to do it, just a bit of work and the motivation. Dom Hern here,” he waved at Hern, “says you got something called Sleykyn assassins with one big hate for you meien. If they half like the contract killers we got back home, climbing’s something they got a lot of practice in. Whoever’s running that show,” another wave toward the army, “he’d have to be rock from ear to ear not to think of that. And don’t tell me you don’t fight that way. He got ’em, he’s gonna use ’em. Hate between you and Sleykyn goes back hundreds of years, the Dom says, so he gonna have no trouble getting volunteers for a suicide run. Up to you to keep it from paying off. You better have spotters watching both sides of the valley. We got spare binocs we can let you have if you want.” He frowned. “No night-scopes, though, what we got we better keep on the wall.” He looked from Hern to Yael-mri, shook his head. “Dumb. Me. You don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. Teletalks, nightscopes, binoculars. I’ve seen enough here. Anoike?” She nodded. “Right. Let’s get back down to the camp, I’ll walk you through our gear.”
Yael-mri passed a hand across the gray-streaked brown hair cut close to her finely shaped head. “War,” she said. “I don’t want to think about it and that keeps me half-blind.” She started down the stairs walking beside Georgia. “We have some sensitives that aren’t strong enough for Shawar. I’ll work out relays and keep them scanning the cliffs.”
Georgia chuckled. “Crystal balls?”
“Not exactly. Why?”
“No reason; this world is so much like mine I keep forgetting the ways it’s different.”
As she continued to circle down the stairs, hand sliding along the wall, Yael-mri shook her head. “You have to remember, Georgia Myers, you and all your folk. Remind your fighters to keep their weapons inside the wall. Shawar protection ends with the outer surface of the stone. Anything that pierces the shield, the Norim out there will catch hold of and turn for their own purposes.” She was silent for another few steps, frowning. “The shield only keeps magic out, does nothing to stop anything material. The mercenary longbowmen have strong reputations for accuracy. You’d better watch yourselves.” She went down and around, spoke again as they started down the last flight of stairs. “When they spot your shooters the norits will tell Nekaz Kole. The Ogogehians have something called vuurvis oil they use to spread fire that can’t be put out. If your sharpshooters are easy to spot, they’ll attract fireballs like lodestones.”
They emerged into the chill morning, started toward the jeep that brought them from the Biserica.
“How soon’s the attack going to start?” Georgia settled himself in the seat behind the driver, watched Anoike swing up behind the wheel.
Yael-mri got awkwardly in and perched beside him, still uncomfortable around the machines. “Depends on what you mean by attack. The Nearga Nor are battering at the Shawar right now. Fierce—but we’re holding for the moment. The army? I’d give them till noon to get settled in and start building the siege engines. And put some order in the camp. And the first attacks will be more probes than serious thrusts, testing our resolve and our defenses. They’ll send meat against us, not their trained fighters.” She raised her voice so she could be heard over the noise of the engine. “Dom, meat first, don’t you think?”
He looked back, frowning, his attention plainly elsewhere. “Yes,” he said. “Most likely. Though what I’ve heard about Nekaz Kole, he’s tricky. Have to watch for changes.” He stared past them a moment, then faced around, sinking into his thoughts.
2
Julia crouched beside the crenel, the teletalk by her knee, the head of her target clear in the scope, trying to ignore the noise of the battle going on around her, the hordes of black-clad men swarming at the wall, dying by hordes from the shafts and spears of the defenders and most horribly under the floods of the boiling fat. She drew fingers over the wood of the stock, briefly amused at having discovered such an unlikely talent so late in life. Something about her mix of eye and hand coordination made her one of the best shots Georgia had. She resettled the rifle and listened for the signal from Dom Hern; she had three possibilities in her range of vision, figured she could take out all of them before they reacted to what was happening.
The teletalk crackled. “Ready. Now.”
Careful not to let the barrel broach the shield, she squeezed gently, rode the recoil, shot again, and again. Another idiot Nor rushing to see what was happening. Four. Then she began firing calmly, methodically, cleaning off the section of slope visible to her.
3
Tuli lay hidden above the road where first she’d looked down on the Biserica valley, burrowed into a thick stand of dead brush, Ildas nestling against her side. Coperic and the others were scattered about the slope around her; she didn’t know exactly where, it didn’t matter, there wasn’t much they could do, the last days there’d never been much they could do. She watched the army flowing over the foothills, the disparate parts settling out of the mass like cream clotting into cheese, the norits lining up to glare at the wall and the answering shimmer of the Shawar shield.
And the demon chini trotted alertly along the ragged, shifting rear of the army, demon sicamars pacing silent and deadly in unnatural proximity to these their natural enemies, the red eyes of both sorts sweeping the slopes above them. Now and then, one of them, chini or sicamar, would dart upward, feet barely touching earth, dive behind scatters or rock or into clumps of brush. Sometimes there’d be a shriek, sometimes just a rattle of rock, sometimes shreds of movement more guessed at than seen, and the demon beast would go placidly back to his patrol.
Tuli watched grimly, knowing the next victim could be her or Coperic or anyone. Even Ildas was an uncertain ally. He was both repelled and terrified by them, would act against them only if she were under immediate and inescapable threat. She looked away from the demons. Smoke rose in lazy spirals from the fat-kettles dotted along the wall; she caught glimpses of figures through the embrasures, more dark spots moving about the distant Biserica; she could hear loud roaring sounds that bothered her with their strangeness, noted some things moving with a speed that startled her and convinced her she was watching phantoms, nothing real. She sighed and went back to looking for possible vulnerabilities in the army.
When the Minarks had waked after she’d painted the lordling, there was a mad flurry that almost spread to the units of the army camped nearest to them, when they woke to find sentries bypassed and sleepers among them with their throats slashed. Coperic and the others watched with deep satisfaction as the attendants standing watch were beaten to death with the spiked ball at the end of the lance the Minark lordling carried, the painted man howling and grimacing as he tore the flesh from their bones; when he was finished, he went into a frenzied dance that ended when he sliced open his own throat and went over backward under a fountain of blood.
An hour later all the Minarks and their remaining attendants were packed and riding away from the army; the lordling’s body was rolled in cloth and tied onto his rambut; the bodies of the attendants were left lying where they fell. Tuli was appalled by the violence but at the same time delighted by the outcome. Her single act had removed almost a hundred fighters from the army; she’d expected some result but not so dramatic a success.
The next night there were too many norits about and traxim flying low in search patterns over the ground about the army; the band kept back, watched other groups of attackers fall to the Nor-fire and the arrows of aroused and angry soldiers. For two more days Coperic led them after the army; they circled it at night, looking for opportunity to inflict hurt without getting killed themselves, uselessly killed like so many of the others trying to nibble at the edges of the army. Coperic had some hope of the vigilance abating because of the ease with which the raiders were being slaughtered. Before that happened, the army came even with the Kotsila Pass and the force from Sankoy came down to join the larger force from Oras, bringing another swarm of norits, black lice to infest the Plain. Four of these were something more than the rest, clothed in arrogance and power so complete they seemed—and probably were—on the verge of leaping the chasm from norit to noris. They rode apart from the others, mounted on black, fire-eyed beasts, macain in shape but not in spirit. Clustered around them, pacing with a terrible sureness and an arrogance equal to their masters’, came a pack of demon chini and sicamars. Tuli counted fifteen of the black beasts. Interrupting her thoughts with silent whimpers, Ildas cowered against her, sliding into cloth and flesh until he was nestling within her body. She tried to comfort him, but her efforts lacked conviction. Those beasts terrified her quite as much as they did him.
