by Terry Brooks
Cinla stood beside her. The moor cat had returned from tracking Arling Elessedil, discouraged by the crush of citizens swarming the streets. Cinla had sought to resume the hunt twice once the crowds had been broken up and disbanded, blending in with her surroundings, becoming a part of the buildings and streets as she hunted. But the scent of her quarry had been buried by hundreds of others, and she could not pick it out.
She had conveyed all this to Edinja, for they could share a single mind when necessary. Now she sat beside her mistress, calm and steadfast.
Down the wall’s walkway perhaps a hundred feet away, Tinnen March was dispatching runners to all four quarters of the city, summoning reinforcements to the west wall, shoring up his defenses—realizing, perhaps, that the danger he was facing was much greater than he had first supposed. He shouted and gestured, and men raced everywhere at his command.
But the gates did not open to those outside the wall.
Edinja had seen enough. She stormed down the walkway in fury, the white-hot heat of her displeasure clearly visible as she neared the Federation army commander. She could feel Cinla following a step behind, her great head swaying from side to side.
“What are you doing?” she screamed at March, unable to help herself. “Open the gates!”
He gave her one swift glance. “It is too late for them. The enemy is too close. I cannot risk it.”
“I order you to open those gates, Commander!” Her small body shook with rage. “Now!”
He gave her a scathing look. “I command the military in this city, not you.” He turned, beckoning to a handful of guards. “See that the Prime Minister is placed safely away until she calms herself …”
He never finished. Edinja made a sweeping motion with one arm, and the guards tumbled away. Then she snatched Tinnen March by the front of his military jacket and marched him to the edge of the wall.
“You command at my pleasure,” she hissed.
Then she lifted him off his feet with what witnesses later would describe as superhuman strength and threw him over the wall.
He was still screaming when she turned to the soldiers who had watched it all happen and shouted, “Now get those gates open!”
Outside the walls, the rescued soldiers were gathered in a knot before the gates, having abandoned the sleds after the flits had been forced to cut them loose. Daylight was fading quickly. First Response still flew overhead, offering what protection it could, making wild sorties into the teeth of the attacking army as it swarmed over the grasslands and approach road, watching in horror as the enemy overran watchtower after watchtower on its way to the walls of the city.
Keeton was searching the walls for some sign of activity near the gates—anything that would indicate they were about to be opened—when a body came flying over the wall. It was a man in Federation military uniform, but that was all he could tell. He watched in shock as the man tumbled earthward and struck with such ferocious impact that there was no question about whether he still lived.
“Who was that?” Wint whispered.
Seconds later the gates opened, and the soldiers trapped outside poured through.
Wint took the two-man out onto the approach road for one more run at the attackers as they surged across the grasslands and past the watchtowers on their way to the wall, giving the rest of the team an opportunity to cross the walls and manage a landing inside. Then he swung the craft about and raced after them.
Back on the ground, below the west wall, hundreds of soldiers were flooding through the open grounds fronting the gates, heading for the battlements. Weapons were being unhooded and swung into place. Huge fire launchers were charged and rail slings loaded. The gates were sealed anew, the locks set, and the crossbar dropped back into place. Dust and shouts rose into the air—a wild cacophony of sound that smothered Keeton’s attempts to tell Wint what he wanted next from First Response. All around him, the soldiers of the Federation army were preparing to defend Arishaig.
He was barely out of the two-man when one of Tinnen March’s adjutants rushed up to him. “The Prime Minister requests your presence on the wall immediately!” he blurted, forgetting to salute until he had finished delivering his message. “Sir.”
Keeton glanced up, then nodded. “Who fell off the wall?”
The adjutant couldn’t seem to get any more words out. He saluted again, a quick sharp act, and rushed away.
Keeton managed to tell Wint what he wanted from First Response and then set off for the top of the wall. When he got there, he found Edinja Orle waiting for him.
“Commander Keeton,” she greeted him. Her words were sharp-edged, but her voice steady. The big moor cat Cinla was sitting next to her, watching him. “Commander March has been relieved of his command. You are his replacement. The defense of the city is in your hands.”
Keeton stared. “I don’t want the job,” he said finally.
“Well, you don’t have a choice.” She stepped close, lowering her voice so that only he could hear. “Tinnen March panicked. He was not going to open the gates. He was going to leave you and the others out there to die. I saved your life.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s who went over the wall?”
“He deserved what he got. I can’t have cowards and fools leading the army at a time like this. You and I don’t much like each other and we’ve not gotten along well, but I respect your abilities and your courage. I hope you respect that my responsibility as Prime Minister and leader of the people of Arishaig requires that I make the best choices possible when I am required to do so. This is one of those times.”
“I just don’t—”
She stopped him with a sharp hiss. “This isn’t up for debate. We don’t have time to argue about it. You are being given command of the army. You are being charged with the safety of the city and its people. Would you refuse to do your duty when so many lives are at stake, Commander?”
Then she pivoted and walked off without a backward glance, the moor cat trailing after her with long, loping strides.
The demons did not attack immediately, as it had appeared they would. Instead, they stopped just short of the closest pair of watchtowers, perhaps five hundred yards from the west gates, and stood howling and screaming at the walls of the city. The sound was deafening, and it continued uninterrupted, the creatures of the demon army massing as if held back by an invisible barrier and giving vent to their frustration and rage.
Shortly after sunset, a second wave came down from the heights to join the first, doubling the size of the attacking force and creating an ocean of bodies that churned and thrashed amid the tumult of shrieks and roars, with an occasional ongoing surge threatening a breakout that would take them to the walls, sending shudders down the spines of the Federation soldiers watching from the battlements.
Keeton used this time to meet with his divisional commanders and prepare a coordinated defense. Saddled with a responsibility he could not morally or emotionally refuse, he had resolved to do the best he could in the way the soldiers in his family had always done. Whatever he might think of Edinja Orle, he could not ignore her charge to defend the city of Arishaig and its people. He was a soldier first and always. If he was called upon to serve where the cause was right and the need obvious, he must accept it.
So he set about building a defensive plan that would allow the city to weather the onslaught that was about to descend.
Survival was not assured. A rough count put the number of the enemy at ten times that of the defenders. More troubling, while the demons lacked sophisticated weapons, they made up for it with an unmatchable savagery and predatory instincts honed and tested within the crucible of the Forbidding. Keeton was aware that there were dozens of species of demonkind, and each would have its own set of skills and abilities, about which almost nothing was known.
Keeton brought the bulk of the Federation army to the west wall to defend against the hordes gathered there. But he was careful to leave reserves at each of the other walls,
knowing better than to strip any defensive position of enough men to withstand an unexpected attack. Rail slings and fire launchers were mounted on the permanent swivels built into all of the walls surrounding the city and readied for use.
As a further defensive move, he summoned Sefita Rayne, commander of the Federation Airship Fleet, to discuss her role in protecting the city. She had heard of Tinnen March’s fate, although not the details surrounding it, and he was quick to fill her in. While no fan of the dead commander, she understood well enough the danger that Edinja Orle posed to the army’s remaining commanders if they somehow managed to displease her.
“You don’t want this command, do you?” she said quietly, steering him away from those gathered close. The blue highlights of her streaked hair glittered in the pale moonlight. “Admit it.”
“Not a bit of it,” he acknowledged. “But here I am anyway.”
She nodded. “Better you than March.” She was tall and rangy, and she had that airman’s gait that made it look as if she were always braced against the roll of a vessel. “What do you wish of me?”
“A few of your warships to begin with. They have creatures that can fly, but only the dragon is big enough to pose problems for a ship-of-the-line. Most of the attackers are earthbound and can’t reach an airship. If we put a few of the big boys aloft, we can attack them from above and break apart their attempts to force the gates. We’ll just have to keep a close watch for the dragon.”
“I’ll have lookouts aloft with specific instructions,” she agreed. “This is new territory. We really don’t know yet what that dragon is capable of. But the fire launchers should be able to keep it at bay. The ships are mostly outfitted and ready to fly. I’ll have a pair of them brought up right away, one for the pads on each end of the wall. When the attack comes, I’ll have them come in from the flanks. If you signal that the gates are in trouble, we’ll counterattack.”
“That sounds exactly right. But don’t discount the possibility that they might break off here and come at us from another direction.”
She looked out over the walls to the masses below, wincing at the fury of the shrieks and screams. “Quite the animals, aren’t they? Don’t worry; the rest of the fleet will be ready to fly. If these things choose a different avenue of attack, we’ll be on top of them immediately.” She paused. “Have you thought about going after them right away?”
He nodded. “A preemptive strike? I thought of it, but that changes the dynamic. We’re set up to defend and counterattack, not to be the initial aggressors. I decided we would be better off using the natural protection of the walls. Let these creatures come to us. Let them break their strength against the stone and iron before we get involved.”
Sefita shrugged. “Your command. Have we sent word to the other cities?”
“We sent word, but told the military there to stay behind their walls. If they try to come to our aid, they provide the demons with an inviting target. They could be caught out in the open and massacred.”
She looked out over the walls again. “Other than what we can see in front of us, how many are there?”
“I don’t know. I sent flits out three separate times to fly beyond that ridge.” He pointed. “None of them returned. Who knows what’s back there hidden out of sight?”
She exhaled sharply. “Maybe you could send someone out through the underground tunnels?”
He gave her a smile. “Are you volunteering, Sefita? Because so far no one else has.”
“I take your point.”
“Don’t misunderstand. I might have to send somebody. But what I was thinking of doing was sending another flit out after it gets dark. Harder to see it then.”
He paused, giving a quick glance down at the hordes gathered below the wall. “Be careful, Sefita. Tell your airmen to do the same. These creatures aren’t like anything we’ve fought before. I don’t know what they can do, but we don’t want to take anything for granted. So watch yourself.”
After she left to return to her command, Keeton found Wint down below, inside the First Response hangar, and pulled him aside. “I want to hold the First Response team in reserve. All of them. If the walls are breached, I want us there to plug the hole.”
Wint nodded but didn’t answer. Keeton looked around, out the hangar doors to where the west gates stood locked and barred. “Have them build a redoubt fifty feet back. Right about there.” He pointed. “Two levels, places for fifty men. Install four fire launchers. The big ones. Two on each level, evenly spaced. If the gates go, I don’t want anything to get past the redoubt.”
There was nothing more to do after that. Not until the attack began. He went back up on the wall and stood looking down at the invading army. He had convinced himself some time back that it was demons he was facing. He had no idea how Edinja knew this, or how she knew they had broken through the Forbidding, but the moment she had said it he knew it was so. These things weren’t indigenous to the Four Lands; there hadn’t been creatures of this sort seen in centuries. Why they were here now was a mystery, but the fact of it was enough.
He thought momentarily of the Prime Minister, wondering what she was doing. He hadn’t seen her since she had ordered him to take command of the army. He had assumed she would be back to find out how he was managing things, to watch over him as she had watched over Tinnen March and make a similar judgment on his efforts, but there had been no sign of her. He couldn’t decide if this was good or bad.
As twilight deepened, Keeton became increasingly convinced that the attack was going to come after dark. Perhaps these creatures saw better at night and wanted to take advantage of it. Perhaps this was their natural hunting time. Whatever the case, he set about trying to remove whatever advantage they perceived.
He started by ordering torches lit all around the city walls. While light this high off the ground wouldn’t penetrate down to where the attackers were clustered, it would illuminate them clearly if they attempted to scale the walls. In addition, he had flammable oil released into the shallow trough that encircled the city some ten feet from the walls and spiked outward in trenches dug at regular intervals perpendicular to the main ring for distances of from five to ten yards. Their oil reserves would hold for up to ten days if they were frugal. But Keeton didn’t care about ten days. He was worried about three or four. So he released oil until the ditch was filled.
Finally, he had pitch barrels brought up to the archers on the battlements so they could dip the tips of their arrows and add further light to any defensive effort.
Then he sat back to wait.
Time passed. The darkness deepened as the daylight faded and disappeared. Stars and a crescent moon appeared in a hazy night sky. Then unexpectedly the weather changed. The temperature warmed, storm clouds rolled in from the north, the haze deepened, and the stars and moon disappeared. Keeton abandoned his plans to send out a fourth flit. He couldn’t convince himself it was worth risking another airman’s life to confirm what he already suspected.
The hordes in the darkness continued to howl and threaten, but stayed put. Keeton thought to light the oil in the ditch but held off. Not until they attack, he thought. Not until it begins.
All around him, the men and women of the army stood waiting, eyes fixed on the darkness and the sounds of the demons.
Anytime, Keeton thought.
But no attack came.
13
On the morning following Farshaun Req’s burial, the Quickening and its passengers resumed their journey into the Charnals. They departed at sunrise on a day that started out badly and steadily got worse. Dawn showed as a band of crimson and pale silver that lasted less than twenty minutes and then dissolved into gloom. Massive banks of clouds obscured the skies for as far as the eye could see and turned the whole of the mountain range sullen and threatening.
The members of the company went about their tasks purposefully, but no one could shake their sense of unease. That a storm was coming was a given; all that remained to be determ
ined was how severe it would become and how long it would last. It was a commonly held belief among airmen that a red sky at dawn was a clear sign of an impending storm, and the more intense the color, the harder the blow to follow.
Because Farshaun was no longer with them, Austrum assumed command of the helm. An argument might have been made that either Railing or Mirai was the more capable pilot, but neither felt inclined to suggest this. Mirai barely glanced at Austrum when he climbed into the box and took over the controls, moving instead to the bow to begin helping the other Rovers work the lines. She didn’t spare a glance for Railing, either, which irked him, but nevertheless felt consistent with the way he expected she would behave from here on out. Last night was last night; it was over and done with, and he would get no special attention because of it. Not in the midst of their journey and not with any of the others around to take note. She had told him how it would be. She would wait to see how he conducted himself. If he found the means to toughen himself against his doubts and to set an example for the others, then things might change.
So he tamped down the twinges of regret and doubt about her seeming disinterest in him and concentrated on taking his first steps toward getting back to the person he had once been—Redden’s twin, yes, but the one who wasn’t afraid to risk anything, the one who was never in doubt. He plunged into the work of helping to fly the airship into the teeth of what everyone knew would be a very bad storm and set everything else aside.
He found himself beside Challa Nand at one point. “Doesn’t look good, does it?”
The Troll glanced at him. “Nothing gets by you, does it, Railing Ohmsford? Got any magic to get us through this?”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe. If it comes to it. And I do have some flying skills that might be useful when Austrum gets tired.”
“You’ll be needing them.” Challa Nand paused to look out at the darkness approaching. “We’ll miss the old Rover this day, I think.”
“He was the best of us when it came to flying an airship. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.” The memories came flooding back, and he shook his head. “What I said about him at the burial site was true. Everything I know, I learned from him.”
