She glanced behind her to see a dozen well-armed thieves sitting tensely in the darkness, waiting for her to throw open the grate and lead them into battle while similar contingents were waiting in two score similar holes. Half of them will strike barely a single blow before running back to the sewers, she told herself grimly. Though that still might suffice to distract the enemy and make them pause. Closest to her were Shannon and Jhan, both of them looking more expectant than worried. She permitted herself a small smile in the darkness, knowing they could not see her face. It was an odd feeling. Never before had she gone into a fight confident that she had…friends…guarding her back.
She cocked her head at a small change in the noise overhead, the sounds of mayhem moving on, leaving them in its wake, and she knew the battle front had passed over them.
It was time.
She reached out and put both hands on the sewer grate, pushing the heavy iron up and out of the way. In a moment, she was on her feet with Bloodseeker drawn, and the next, she was countering a blow from a charging Northing and passing her sword through his belly. She was standing in one of the tight alleys of the bazaar, but she had to blink to understand what her eyes were telling her. Hardly 10 feet away, an entire section of the bazaar had been ripped away, leaving a path as wide as a country road, and the area was pockmarked with dead bodies and smashed wood.
“The demon take us all!” she cursed softly as other bodies emerged from the sewer and began to gather around her, their silence showing they shared her surprise. Well, enough with gawking.
“Come on!” she snarled and headed for the open area.
“Where are we going?” Jhan asked more to himself than anyone.
“We’re looking to get some attention,” she answered with a smile that made him flinch. “The best way to do that is follow whatever made this road.”
It took them only a few seconds to discover the source.
They came out of the tangle of broken wood to see the huge bulk of the Juggernaut no more than a thousand paces off, towering above the broken remnants of the bazaar as it strode its way towards the Third Wall. There were gasps and a muffled cry from the group behind her as they stared up at the terrible colossus that had left such devastation in its long wake, for a single glance backward showed the blasted holes it had left in both of the outer walls. But Adella had keener eyes and a steadier heart.
“It’s slowing down,” she announced to the group. “I think it’s losing power.”
There was no question that the terrible quake from the thing’s footfalls was coming less frequently, and its sheer nearness told them it had not traveled far since crashing through this portion of the bazaar. Watching close, it even looked a little unsteady as its feet stayed just a few seconds longer in the air, its balance teetering until it found earth again. But most incredible of all, it seemed to be melting, its humanoid shape deforming, becoming shorter and squatter.
Barely a hundred paces beyond the titan, however, was the Wizard’s Gate, the single entrance through the third wall of the city. If the thing could stumble its way that last short distance, it would shatter the gate with a single blow.
“Come on!” she shouted again, but she didn’t bother to see if any of them were bothering to follow. She broke into a full run and even left the shelter of the battered bazaar to close the distance faster. There were stragglers in the path of the monster, Northings and goblins alike intent on purposes of their own, and Adella wasted no time with them. She passed some, left others to the group behind her, and quickly dispatched the few foolish enough to get directly in her path, the sword humming with growing power and anticipation.
She was up to it now, and there were shouts and cries from a dozen sources warning of her approach, but nothing could stop her from delivering at least one devastating backstab to the thing. She hauled back and struck the back of the monster’s knee with all the power she possessed, Bloodseeker passing through the black sinews and unseen muscles.
Then came the blood.
A massive wave of crimson burst from the wound and turned the ground around her into a crimson quagmire. The smell was like a human butcher shop where hundreds of corpses had been hung to drain of their vital fluids, and Adella actually wretched from the stench and fell back a step. Then she looked down at the sword. Even though it was saturated with red, the blade was static, showing no reaction to the presence of human blood.
“What’s wrong?” cried Shannon from directly behind her.
“The blood is dead,” Adella shouted back. “It has no power for my sword.”
“Look out!” Jhan roared.
Whether from this final blow or from the countless ones it had received before, the huge mountainous bulk of the Juggernaut was dissolving right before them to collapse like a snowman caught in a summer heat wave, and Adella just had time to leap backwards out of the way. A black tentacle shot out from the formless blob, perhaps sensing the presence of living flesh, and Shannon had to fling herself wildly to the side to avoid the grasp. The man behind her was not as lucky. The tentacle wrapped around the thief directly beside Jhan, and he was dissolving into black tar even before the tentacle pulled him back into the oozing mass. The black liquid put a merciful end to his cries.
Everyone was scattering, Northings, goblins, and thieves alike, trying to escape from the slithering horror and the tentacles that lashed out in every direction to seize any living thing regardless of species or alignment. The Juggernaut itself had dissolved into a formless central mound that was no more than half the height of the original, and Adella had a fleeting impression of a huge blanket covering and protecting…something.
She had reached the safety of the broken bazaar when she glanced back to see Shannon and Jhan rushing around the dissolving Juggernaut and heading for the city’s Third Wall.
“Idiots!” she snarled to herself. Not only were the headed into almost no entrances to the sewers that close to the wall. She tarried for only an instant, arrows from the defenders on the walls falling indiscriminately on anyone below, and then she was charging around her side of the titan, trying to head them off.
She found them in a narrow lane that led straight back to the city wall, the shops on either side shut tight to form a dead-end. At least a dozen goblins had cornered them here, and the pair was slowly giving ground, though they were only now aware they had very little ground left to give. Sherman’s Lane! thought Adella as she recognized the location, and a flash of hope filled her heart. The luck of that fool Jhan hasn’t run out yet.
She charged. The goblins had no warning of her coming, and Shannon and Jhan had enough sense not to give her away with any obvious recognition. But she was not coming to fight, not yet at least. She rushed right up the side of the one shop, using a shelf here and an uneven board there to propel her to the next step, and in barely an instant, she had bounded by them all and landed in the back of the alley. Her presence made the goblins hesitate for a moment but no more, and even as they pressed forward, she found what she sought: a heavy iron sewage grate largely covered by the wood of the last stall in the lane.
Adella lashed out with her sword and smashed the wood to splinters to lay bare the entire grate, but she had neither the strength nor time to open it. There was still power in the sword, the blood from the stragglers she had cut down while charging towards the Juggernaut, and she called on that power now. She put the tip against the grate, and the next instant, the heavy iron flew off as if thrown by a giant.
“Get down! Get down now!” she yelled to her two companions and she jumped forward to give them cover. Jhan was closest, and he dove as if a man on fire into a welcoming pool of water, and Shannon was no more than a second behind him, dropping lithely down the hole. Adella covered her escape by parrying the thrust of the girl’s opponent, and it was only when Bloodseeker lobed off one of the creature’s hands that she discovered both her mistake and her peril.
The thing gave no sign of pain.
Not a single
drop of blood came from the stump.
The goblins were undead.
She leapt backwards, trying to reach the open drain, but three of the things were crowding her right arm, forcing her to give ground in order to swing. One of the creatures paid for the assault with his head, but the other two were already passed her and had cut off her escape to the drain. The others were pressing from the front, and they had no hint fear, no hesitation to face the silver blade, no reluctance when they saw their comrades fall to that flying sword.
She cut down the most aggressive goblin in the front and dropped and rolled away from the others, but more of the creatures were streaming into the alley, sensing a kill. Desperately, she pivoted and brought the sword down on the locked door of the shop behind her, and while it shattered, the hinges and lock still held it in place. A scimitar sliced into her side, and she grimaced with pain, but she swung around blindly, letting Bloodseeker guide her aim, and the head of another goblin dropped to the pavement.
She dodged a spear thrust, countered another scimitar, and felt a dagger rip a flesh wound in her right arm. There was only one option now. If the sewer was denied her and the shop doors were secured, she could only leave by the way she had entered, back out into the crowd, right through the pressing mass of the undead. She readied herself, whirling backwards to give herself some distance, and she could hear cries and shouts from the battlements above her, though she had no time to make any sense of them. One of the goblins thrust and gave her the opening she needed. She dodged rather than blocked the blow, and she used the motion to launch herself again up the side of the shops, finding the same invisible handholds she had used previously. But now there were many more enemies and nothing to distract them. She parried a spear thrust, cut off a wrist that was wielding a scimitar, but a hand caught her ankle and broke her momentum. She fell. And the undead were upon her like a pack of wolves.
She scurried backwards to find the shop wall, but suddenly, something heavy seemed to fall on the entire press of goblins and knock many of them to their knees. It was not enough to save her, though. She blocked one spear, half-parried another, but then a scimitar cut across her exposed belly, the razored edge slicing right into her life.
A shining light was slashing through the darkness gathering about her, and while nothing could now sustain her body, her heart rose in sudden hope and gave enough strength to her arm to parry once more, and rise to strike down one of the remaining goblins that were seeking her end. The other goblins were suddenly running or destroyed, the light a terror they could not face, and she slumped back to the stones, as a familiar face came over her, a face she now realized she had long been expecting.
“Adella…” Darius said, but his tone told her of his desperation and his despair.
“You’re late, Glory Man,” she whispered, managing a grin. “Always said you were a step too slow…”
He tore open her armor, laying bare the wound, and she could see the horror of the damage reflected in his face. No surprise there. She knew a killing blow when it fell, even if this time, she was on the receiving end of it.
He thrust his hands down on the savaged flesh, a pathetic and hopeless attempt to staunch the blood, and her lips twisted into another grin at this first touch of his hands on her body. She rose slowly on her elbows, fighting back the crippling pain that threatened to tear her body in two, spending her last moments in motion rather than at rest, drawing closer to him. She was within scant inches of his face, close enough to feel the reflected pain, to feel the warmth of his skin, and she opened her lips as she neared his mouth for a kiss, a bite, a final taste of life.
His head turned towards her, struggling yet unable to resist, their lips coming within a hair’s breath, the unspoken desire swamping out everything else, even death. It was he that was trembling, passion and resistance racking his body, the distance between them nothing yet seemingly as vast as ever for him. Suddenly, it felt as if fiery life were flowing back into her mid-section, and she gasped, the numbness of death giving way as a healing flame cauterized the gaping wounds through which her life was seeping.
It was no longer agony to move, no longer the sum of her abilities to transverse that fraction of an inch, but somehow it made it even harder for her, too, to pass that final distance to touch his lips. She fell back, life defeating her as death could not.
She looked down at her belly, and she was only mildly surprised to see the skin whole and clean with no sign of the wound from the goblin’s scimitar.
“The laying on of manna,” she said, speaking the words of legend as a simple and obvious fact. “Not a bad use for hands chained by purity.”
With one motion, Darius gathered her in his arms and lifted her off the bloody stones, holding her body to him in an intimate embrace that crushed a little of the air out of her lungs, the intensity an answer, a rebuke, a promise.
But there was no more time. The loss of blood made Adella too weak to walk, and the battle was still roaring its demand for Darius.
*
On the battlements of the third wall, directly above the Wizard’s Gate, three figures stood staring down at the slithering black mass that had been the Juggernaut, the thing failing by no more than a thousand paces from reaching the gate to the Third Tier. It seemed almost that an act of god had intervened to save them. Now they were watching the swirling, fighting, dying bodies from all sides dance around the fallen titan.
“The second tier of the city is lost, that is clear enough,” said Mandrik of Warhaven grimly. “The goblins have overrun all but the nearest sections. But without the Juggernaut, the enemy has no chance against the Third Wall.”
“I will sound the withdrawal,” agreed Thrandar, Duke of Norealm, raising his hand to the waiting entourage beside them, and instantly, a dozen ram horns blared out the retreat. “I will waste no more men for the dredges of the city.”
But even as the call echoed through the Second Tier, Brillis answered coldly, “I agree you must rally your men. But they must fare for themselves. I will not open the gate.”
Both men turned and stared at her, shocked.
“You’d abandon my men?” demanded Thrandar. “After they have spilt their blood freely in defense of your city?”
“Their sacrifices will have been in vain if the goblins storm the gates when I open them,” Brillis replied. “The Third Wall is the last to span from mountain to mountain. I will not risk it for perhaps two hundred lives. The gates remain shut.”
Mandrik turned to directly confront the mayor, his face as calm and steady as ever, but there was a hint of fire in his voice. “It is not stone and steel that holds the Drift, Lady. It is the strength and courage of the defenders. You will breach your walls indeed if you make our men watch the slaughter of honorable warriors with their backs to your gates!”
Below, dozens, perhaps scores, of warriors were answering the rams’ horns, pulling back from their struggles, rallying around the banner of Norealm being waved bravely by their standard bearer, oblivious to the treachery about to befall them.
“Look you!” cried Thrandar, pointing. “My men are already falling back! They expect the gates to open! Give the signal!”
“Think you that Regnar does not know the meaning of the rams’ horns?” Brillis shot back. “Think you he has not been preparing for this very moment? The gates stay shut.”
“Wait!” shouted Mandrik. “Look there!”
The others looked to where he was pointing, and they saw a huge figure carrying someone in his arms as he raced towards the gathering force at the gate. As he got among the rallying soldiers, he set his burden gently down and turned to face the throng of Northings who were beginning to press the small group. A moment later, the figure drew forth a massive sword that gleamed with a brilliant light and heartened and steadied the warriors far more than any rallying flag.
“The Paladin is there!” said Mandrik intensely, taking a step even closer to the Mayor. “Will you sacrifice his sword to your securi
ty as well?”
For a long moment, Brillis stared down at the developing battle, and to her credit, she watched to see the way the Northings flinched at the arrival of Sarinian, the steady discipline of Thrandar’s troops, and the influx of still more Southlanders coming in from the outskirts. Finally, she turned to her waiting guards and called, “Order Captain Ellium to move his cohort up to the gates to act as covering force. Gather the Fourth and Seventh Archers here to supply support fire. Set the oil cauldrons ablaze and ready them for use. Then give the order to open the gates.”
“Thank Mirna!” said Thrandar in relief as the guards scattered to do their Mistress’ bidding.
“Thank the Paladin,” Brillis replied grimly. “And if the enemy presses the gates hard, I’ll empty my cauldrons even on him.” She leaned over the battlements to where the covering force was already massing behind the gates. “Captain Ellium, you will have exactly two minutes before the gates close again! Any stragglers can see what mercy the Northings will show them! With spirit now! Open the gates!”
*
Darius did not need to hear the debate on the battlements above or know Brillis’ reputation for ruthlessness to understand the dilemma facing the defenders within the Third Tier, and he was not surprised when the gates remained shut despite the blaring rams’ horns and the banner waving bravely. He knew they had one chance and one chance only. The thieves had done an excellent job of disrupting and confusing the enemy, while the thrashing tentacles of the Juggernaut were holding back the main body of the Northings and preventing a final push to the gate. They must drive back the scattered enemy so convincingly that the defenders would feel safe in opening the gates for just a few moments in order to let the stragglers in.
“For your very lives!” he roared as he drew forth Sarinian, and around him there came a ferocious shout from the Norealmers as they surged forth in answer. Swinging Sarinian over his head and making the air moan with its passing, he charged the dark ranks of the gathering Northings who were taken aback by this unexpected onslaught, and the next instant, he was among them, slashing and hacking a bloody path. The Northings were the fragments of half a dozen different tribes, not a cohesive unit, and soon they began to break and flee before the desperate ferocity of the Southlanders.
Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) Page 28
