Raveler: The Dark God Book 3

by John D. Brown

  That meant if they packed them in there, the cliff would hold maybe 1,600 to 2,000 men. That left close to 3,000 out here.

  “That’s everything?” asked Shim.

  “In the main chamber there’s a large passageway going straight into the mountain. The arch to it is carved with all sorts of symbols. But that passageway has been caved in with I don’t know how many tons of rock.”

  “That’s the way that leads into the depths,” Argoth said. “It must be the passageway the old settlers shut off.”

  The soldier said, “Lord. The men are a bit leery of staying in those rooms.”

  “If there are any Famished back there,” Argoth said, “they’re locked in behind the stone of that passageway into the mountain. You tell the men that. Souls have many abilities, but they can’t travel through stone.”

  “There are still a couple of narrow passages we haven’t explored. Small stairs. Odd rooms. They could lead anywhere.”

  “Don’t worry about those passages,” Shim said. “You get the path into the mountains cleared. That is your one task. Now go!”

  The soldier brought his fist to his chest, bowed, then turned and hurried off the battlements and back to the cliff wall.

  Argoth said, “All we have to do is hold out until they get that pathway cleared.”

  “Mokad will simply follow us,” Eresh said.

  “Aye,” said Shim, “but if they come after us, they’ll all be squeezed into a great line so that we only have to face a handful of them at once. I’ll take those odds.”

  “We might not even have to take those odds,” said Argoth. “If those Burundian quarry men can clear a rock slide, they can engineer another to take its place. We’ll get our men through and leave Mokad on this side.”

  Except Mokad would have its kitemen in the sky, directing the army, maybe finding another way up. And there would be the skir. But they could split up once they were in the mountains. Three skir wouldn’t be able to follow every group of men.

  “It’s a clever escape,” Flax said.

  “What would be more clever,” said Eresh, “is if we could leave you here to watch our backs. What does the mighty Handsman say? How about you stay behind?”

  “If that’s where I’m needed,” Flax said, “that’s where I’ll stand.”

  Eresh humpfed, but what reply could he give to such a noble response?

  Shim said to Flax, “You see to your terror. Get those trenches dug. There will be no clever plan if we don’t survive the wind attack.”

  Flax nodded, saluted Eresh with a grin and a fist to his chest, then made his way off the wall.

  Down in front of the gates, the drovers returned from pushing the horses. The men at the gate opened and let them in. Back in the fort, the men deepened their trenches. Other men explored the two hoodoos that had been turned into towers. About halfway up the tallest one, a section of the outside wall had given way and taken a long part of the stone stairs there with it, making the upper portion unreachable without some construction.

  Shim sent a command for Hardy to guard the east wall. He sent another to tell Vance to man the west. Shim would take the north, the front of the fort. A soldier came and reported on the shorter hoodoo tower. It held half a dozen smaller chambers. He estimated that if they filled them and the stairs, the tower could hold two hundred men.

  It was still nowhere near enough if Mokad came with the winds. And Argoth wouldn’t want them packed in there anyway. Because when the winds stopped, the swords and spears of Mokad would be right at their doors. Shim’s men couldn’t be stacked up when that moment came. They had to be ready to maneuver and fight.

  “Where are we going to put the seafire?” Shim asked.

  “The gates,” Eresh said.

  “And on this front wall,” Argoth added.

  “The firelance teams will need to have their materials all ready at the base of the walls,” said Shim. “If they stay up here, the winds will sweep them off the battlements.”

  Argoth and Eresh agreed, and Shim sent more messengers to the captain of the firelance teams.

  Argoth looked for Matiga. He spotted her and her fist of fell-maidens toward the back, leading their horses through the arches. He’d told her that she needed to keep herself safe. Should anything happen to him, she needed to bear the grove off. They’d originally planned for her to accompany the forces traveling with the clanspeople racing south. But she and her maidens had been forced to act as decoys to draw Mokad’s forces away from the wives and mothers and children of the men here. When they’d been marching out on the plain, he hadn’t thought too much of the risk. But now Mokad had everyone all crammed up together; it was a huge risk. The only members of the grove not trapped were River and Talen and Harnock. But who knew if they were even alive?

  Out on the plains the winds churned, blocking any hope of escape.

  * * *

  Berosus walked off the parapet and weaved through lines of men hefting picks and spades, digging, in all actuality, their own graves. It was a well-ordered army, especially considering that most of these soldiers were not armsmen, but farmers, quarrymen, shepherds, wainwrights, and the like. A few of them hailed him as he passed. He gave them a smile and a nod and continued back to his men. He’d enthralled one of the senior members, one many of the others looked up to. Not with a major thrall, but with a minor one. Just enough to tip him his way.

  Shaymash the Skir Master had almost died. He wasn’t very strong now, but he was full of wrath. And he wanted vengeance. And Berosus had promised he’d give it to him.

  Now that Shim’s army was corralled, the rest was really straight forward.

  At the appropriate time, he’d go back up on that wall. He figured it would be easy enough to knife Shim, then incapacitate Argoth. He could do that before the Kish knew what was going on. And then it would be time to face Grandfather. It was a fight he was looking forward to, for the man had both power and skill. If it lasted more than a few moments, others might join in the fray. But they would go down. And when he’d finished that, there wouldn’t be anything left for Berosus to do. He’d feed Argoth to Shaymash’s wind, and then he’d send in the troops, and let the harvest begin.

  He looked up at the glorious blue sky and the red rock about him. He felt out to the bay and then across the waves to the Sublime that ruled him. He could barely feel her.

  It is all in hand, he thought back to her through his bond. This land is full, and I will return with a rich prize.

  Then he called over the man he had enthralled. The man they called Black Knee. He motioned to the two men next to him. “You might want to go up to the top level of those chambers. There’s a pathway into the cliff. You should go see what the men there are doing.”

  Black Knee said, “You don’t need us here?”

  “You’ve heard the tales of the Famished that were sealed in the tunnels.” Berosus pitched his voice low so that the three had to lean in. “What if the men back there accidentally let them out with their prying and digging? Somebody’s got to be on the watch. Somebody good with a sword.”

  Black Knees eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said.

  “Somebody must be ready,” Berosus said, “should one of them fall prey and become possessed.”

  Black Knee nodded.

  “How’s that leg?” Berosus asked.

  Black Knee put his weight on it. “Six be praised, it’s a wonder what you did.”

  Berosus nodded. “That cost some pretty Fire. Now go put it to good use.”

  “Aye,” Black Knee said. Then he motioned with his head at the other two, and the three of them headed for the caves. They were all strong men. Experienced men. Armed with axes and swords.

  20

  Outriders

  ARGOTH WAS DOWN by the gate, using a pick to outline where a ditch should be dug. This ditch would be for mor
e than cover from the wind. Because after the winds, Mokad’s army would come. And if they broke the gate, then a four-foot deep ditch inside would provide an obstacle for the soldiers that would pour through. It wouldn’t stop them, but it would put them at a disadvantage. And if a stout terror of men defended the fort on the other side, it would bottle the rest of Mokad’s army up, giving the men on the walls with missiles and seafire good targets.

  Argoth finished the outline and stood back. “There,” he said. “Get to it. Quickly now.”

  A fist of Shoka from the south coast moved forward.

  Then one of the lookouts that had climbed to the top of the shorter hoodoo shouted. “Ho!” he called and pointed out on the plain. “It’s Branby’s men! Southeast!”

  Argoth handed the pick to the soldier he’d borrowed it from and sprinted back to the stairs and up to the wall. He scanned the plain, then saw them, saw the shield on one of the soldier’s backs revealing the Vargon colors of purple and red. Branby’s hammer was one of those posted as outriders to watch Mokad’s army and skirmish with them if they must.

  The riders shot between the whirlwinds, their horses stretched out. Behind them raced a large pack of dogmen.

  The riders galloped past the area where the other dogmen and maulers were mutilating and feeding on the corpses of Vance’s men. The brutes looked up as Branby’s men rushed past, and then they howled and left the dead and dying to join in the chase.

  “Signal the bowmen!” Shim shouted.

  His hornsman blew the cadence that signaled the troops to ready a defense and pay attention. Shim gave more orders, and the hornsmen blew, ordering cohorts of bowmen to the walls. The cohorts called to defense dropped their picks, spades, and sacks, and picked up their bows and arrows, and ran to the battlements.

  Out on the plain, the mauler’s barks changed to the bay of hounds that have sighted quarry. Branby’s outriders raced behind a copse of trees, then rode into view again. There were eleven of them galloping full out, the necks of their horses outstretched, the riders low on their backs. Hard on their heels ran the packs of maulers and six of the giant dogmen.

  The riders broke out onto the bottom of the long gentle swell that led to the fort. The horses were tired; they were giving it all they had, but it wasn’t enough. Some of the dogs in the packs behind, while huge, were more narrow, bred for speed. A few of these began to close on the lagging rider.

  The rider glanced back, saw them, drew a javelin, but before he could throw it, a dog lunged for his mount’s hind leg. The massive dog bit in.

  The horse twisted and lost its balance. Hound and horse tumbled violently in a cloud of dust, sending the rider flying.

  Branby’s man thudded into the ground, tumbled, then scrambled a bit unsteadily to his feet. More of the dogs caught up. Another mauler sprang upon him and bit down on his head and shook him like a rag doll. Two more dogs fell upon the screaming horse. Yet another mauler bit into the man’s arm and wrenched it completely off. The dogman running with them leapt over the mayhem and sprinted for the next rider.

  “Sweet Creators,” a soldier down the line from Argoth said.

  “Bowmen!” Shim shouted.

  Along the parapets more than a thousand men nocked arrows.

  Out on the field, another horse and rider went down.

  The riders were about 300 yards out. Most common bows started losing their effectiveness when the target was more than 200 yards away. But a dreadman’s bow extended that range to 300 yards. And that wasn’t with the light pine arrows that were used for distance competitions, but the heavy arrows that had power to smite men in armor. Still, there was armor that could defeat arrows at that range. And so it was best to wait until the targets were close and the archer could focus the full fury of the bow upon them.

  The maulers were broad and big enough to look a man almost in the chest. A few running at the back wore mail on their backs, a spiked collar at their throats, and a sort of plate armor that covered their muzzles and heads. The runners in the front wore leather. They were stretched out, galloping after their prey, their vicious mouths hanging open.

  The six dogmen themselves must have been multiplied for the dogs did not outdistance them. They were massive men, taking huge strides, their black hair streaming from underneath their helmets.

  The riders blew past the 200 yard mark, the dogmen gaining on them. Shim waited.

  Out on the field a rider turned in his saddle, nocked an arrow, drew, and released. The arrow sank into the leather of a mauler, but seemed to have no effect. The riders galloped another fifty yards, but the horses were flagging, and the hounds closed the distance to the lagging riders. A horse stumbled, then regained its footing. The dogman behind caught up. He grabbed the rider by his neck, dragged him off the saddle, and threw him to the ground for the dog behind him, which immediately set upon the man.

  “On my command!” Shim shouted.

  The hornsman blew a note.

  Shim waited. Ten yards, twenty, thirty more yards. The horses and riders saw the open gate and put on a small burst of speed.

  “Now!” Shim shouted. The command echoed through the fort.

  A thousand bows hummed. The arrows rose up in a great hiss, flying on a trajectory that would take them to what Argoth guessed would be the 140 yard mark. It was a good distance, but still not within the murderous range that would reliably penetrate the dogman’s thick armor. The bows continued to hum, the archers leading their targets, sending forth a continuous hail of arrows.

  Argoth knew why Shim had waited until the last moment. Not only did he want them close, but he wanted to shoot them as they chased and as they fled.

  The horses, spent from their long run, began to flag again, their eyes wide with fear. The men on them turned in their saddles, some readying short lances, some nocking their bows.

  Behind them the first rain of arrows fell. The bowmen hadn’t simply shot a wall of arrows up. They’d aimed at a relatively small group of targets, which meant the arrows converged, dark as starlings, along a funnel-like path. But many had underestimated the speed of the enemy as they approached. Most of the arrows fell upon a handful of maulers in the back. The clatter of the steel points on the armor sounded across the field. The armor turned the path of many arrows to the ground. But some of the arrows pierced through or found shanks or feet. The massive dogs cried out in pain and slowed. Two of them tumbled to the dust, arrows sticking out their backs. Another faltered, its leg shot through.

  The archers continued to shoot.

  A dogman took an arrow in the side. Two maulers stumbled.

  A steady hail of arrows clattered against the steel of the dogmen’s armor. Very soon, the dogmen and their beasts would be entering the range where the bows would have most effect, but the dogmen were also catching up to the riders, and once they were in among them, Shim’s archers wouldn’t be able to shoot for fear of hitting their own men.

  A mauler caught up to another rider. The man leapt from his horse and executed a roll maneuver that allowed him to check his speed and come up facing his attacker, ready with his sword. He was one of those that had been forced. The roll was executed perfectly. But the dogman behind him beheaded the man with one stroke of his massive sword.

  Another rider leapt from his horse onto one of the dogmen. The two went down in a cloud of dust. Both men rolled and bounced and scrambled to their feet, but the rider had taken the worst of it. He lunged weakly at the dogman. The dogman batted his attack away, grabbed him around the throat with one huge hand and lifted him up to throttle him.

  “Shoot that dog lover!” Shim commanded.

  Bows hummed, arrows whistled from the walls.

  A few shafts glanced off his armor, and the big man turned and used the man as a shield. The arrows pierced the rider’s body, leaving the dogman unscathed. Another dogman continued to rush forward. A number of arro
ws glanced off his armor, but one sank into his foot and another took him in the face. He stumbled.

  A crossbow bolt pierced the armor at another dogman’s side and sank deep, sending the giant reeling to the ground.

  Two more maulers fell with a number of arrows in them.

  Then one of the dogmen whistled, and the whole lot of them turned and raced away from the fort. The bowmen chased them with arrows. But the dogmen weren’t stupid and ran, not in a straight line, but in a haphazard pattern. It’s one thing to shoot at deer or some other frightened animal at such distance. It was quite another to hit a man with intelligence who was multiplied and trying to evade your aim. Another mauler went down. Two arrows sank deep into one of the retreating dogman’s legs. He stumbled, but kept moving with a limp. But most of the arrows missed their mark.

  “Stop!” Shim commanded.

  The hornsman blew the command.

  There was a final ripple of bow twangs, and then the bows fell silent.

  The dogmen and maulers who’d been at the front of the attack ran back through the dead and injured. They passed three maulers fighting over pieces of a rider. Passed another that was dragging a dead man away by his leg.

  A crossbowman, clearly insulted by the sight, shot a bolt at the mauler. It sped across the field, glanced solidly off the thick armor on the beast’s back, and careened off toward the river.

  “Save it!” Shim shouted.

  Argoth counted the dead and injured. Seven maulers pincushioned, some of them yelping in pain. Three dogmen, down and bleeding out, one trying to drag himself out of bowshot.

  The cost: four brave Shimsmen.