Iko raised her forearms to her eyes and squinted through the narrow slit between. In this manner she could just make out some sort of towering pillar of pure white coruscating energy that appeared to be heading their way along the river. It was like a waterfall of light pouring down from the sky. It came pounding the surface, consuming all in its path. White flames licked its edges, turning blue and orange as they annihilated building fronts and wharves. The tumult was swelling to an unendurable howl.
She watched the approaching wave of brilliance wash over entire companies on the river. They dissolved in the fiery light like wisps of tinder in a furnace. Even wagons brought down on to the ice disappeared in the onslaught. It was as if they were ground to dust before her straining, aching eyes.
A closer company, an entire column, now sought shelter under wagons and she shouted to them to run but her voice was utterly inaudible even to her. The immense tower of light ground onward and the wagons disappeared even as the soldiers beneath squinted into the light as if seeking enemies. ‘No!’ she shrieked, but they vanished as if snatched away, blown to shreds of ash like leaves in a windstorm.
She tore her gaze away, blinking, dazzled by after-images. She set her lips to another Sword-Dancer’s ear: ‘We must flee the river! Now!’
This one nodded her understanding and passed along the order. Together they worked to redirect the shuffling protective circle, searching for any route up the shore. Feeling their way along, they came to a stone stairway leading up from the frozen surface. An access for washing perhaps, or collecting drinking water. They began slipping through two by two up the stairs. The king, held low among them, now struggled against such disrespectful treatment. They held him down despite this, hands at his back and neck.
One of their number found a narrow alleyway bound by two tall brick buildings and they withdrew between, the king hidden.
The punishing roar had swollen to a landslide thunder and the stabbing radiance was somehow even brighter. Its intensity lanced Iko through her squeezed shut eyes. She imagined that this was what standing at the edge of an avalanche must feel like.
The crescendo roared up level with them. Tiles and bricks, shaken loose from above, came crashing down. A reflected kiln heat made her pull her hands from the brick wall as the stone burned too hot to touch. The waterfall thunder continued past like a mountain tumbling down a slope.
Eventually, in the relative silence, she straightened, tentatively. After a time, Yuna sent a sister off to investigate. A hot wind now blew from the river, heating Iko’s face. It carried the stink of smoke, and of roasted flesh.
By the time the sister returned Iko’s vision had half cleared, though floating dots of darkness obscured it. The sister was pale, her face strained, even sickened. She said nothing, only shook her head. Yuna gestured them onward to the west. They headed that way, restraining the king among them like a prisoner.
Luckily for them, Iko thought, no counter-offensive was in motion. The Hengans, guards and citizenry alike, appeared just as stunned by this unprecedented cataclysm as they. She and her sisters reached the inside of the Outer Round wall where it marched down into the Idryn and only then did it come to her that they were on the north shore. They would have to cross the river.
Mist obscured the wide expanse, but not the thick heavy fog of before. These hanging tendrils resembled more the steam of heated water. Yuna pointed a sister ahead and she eased out on to the frozen surface. It gave slightly beneath her feet, and water now coursed above the ice sheet, but it held. Yuna gestured two more to attempt to cross. They set out keeping a good few paces between them. Soon the mists swallowed both. Some tens of heartbeats later came a high whistle – one of their ‘all-clear’ signals. Yuna sent out two more.
In this manner, some few at a time, they crossed the river. Chulalorn went in the middle of the crossings, with guards established behind and before. Iko was among the last pairs to go.
It was unsettling in the extreme starting out. The ice sheet creaked and groaned beneath her feet. The mists obscured her vision – it was as if she were walking through clouds. Her footing was unsteady as the surface gave and yielded like soft clay. Her boots were sodden by the river water now coursing over the rotting ice.
Shapes emerged from the mists around her and she jerked her sword free, nearly falling as the ice rocked beneath her. They were Kanese regulars retreating from the city centre. They came as ghosts, some singly, some in groups, limping, supporting one another. All bore horrific wounds. Their surcoats and leather armour hung blackened and burned, some still smoking. Their faces and hands were cracked and scorched, their scalps bare, the skin broken and bleeding. The only sound was a low constant moaning as of intense agony dulled now by numbness.
Iko stood still as the army of near dead limped past her, sloshing and splashing through the shallow water above the ice. We’ve been destroyed, she realized. How many hundreds – nay, thousands – had they lost here this day? They no longer possessed a viable force. They had no choice but to retreat and hope to limit whatever damages may follow from this disaster.
It was as Hallens had feared. Sorcery had been answered by sorcery – power had drawn power. The sudden need to slap Chulalorn across the face for all these deaths washed over her like a physical force and she suppressed the urge with a shudder. He could not have known. Yet he should have.
She slogged onward, splashing, her feet now sinking into the softening dough-like ice sheet. She made the southern shore, pulled herself up the still frozen mud slope by yanking on tall grasses, and joined the waiting party. Here she dutifully took her place in the defensive circle about the king and they made their way south to the encampment.
Yuna was already giving orders to her sisters regarding the logistics of the retreat while the king said nothing. He staggered along at their centre, his brows crimped in complete incomprehension, his gaze on the ground, seemingly as stunned and numbed as his soldiers themselves.
*
The eruption of power that came with the dawn had knocked Silk and his fellow mages to the floor. He and Smokey had been negotiating for more time with the Kanese officer; the man had had enough and his troops were once more pounding on the doors. The doors were yielding and he and Smokey were readying themselves though Silk knew he had nothing left to give – he’d exhausted himself drawing upon his Warren and could barely summon it.
All that changed, however, when the stupendous swelling of power blossomed from far above and all five mages dropped their own preparations to peer upwards in awed astonishment. Even when Silk couldn’t imagine it possibly intensifying any further, the upwelling continued to grow and surge. It doubled, and redoubled again, utterly beyond any capacity he had dreamed any mage could possibly channel or sustain.
The unthinkable might drove him to clutch his head in agony; dimly, through blurring vision, he glimpsed Smokey falling to his knees. He fell as well, only just catching himself on one hand. His head hanging, he saw red droplets pattering to the polished white marble flags beneath him and he touched his nose to find warm wetness there as blood flowed freely. Somewhere, out of his vision, Mara screamed in wordless protest.
A renewed burst of puissance drove him to the floor where he lay, hardly able to hold on to his consciousness. He felt as if he were pinned beneath the mightiest cataract in the earth and all those tons of water were pounding down upon him. He lost awareness while holding his head to keep it from bursting and giving vent to his own soundless scream.
He awoke being shaken, and turned over to blink upwards at the giant Koroll. The other mage handed him a cloth rag. ‘Thyrllan . . .’ Silk groaned.
The giant nodded. ‘A dose of the might of the Tiste-kind.’
Silk wiped the thickly caked blood from his nose, mouth, and chin. He slowly and carefully pushed himself to his feet. Dizzy, he peered about, squinting. Smokey and Mara were rousing themselves; Ho stood aside, waiting, appearing little the worse for their exposure to the cataclysmic pow
er. Silk felt a surge of resentment for that.
He staggered over to the Hengan mage. ‘We must go to her now.’
Ho nodded and headed for the tower door. The long climb up the circular stairway was an agony for Silk, because of his weakened condition, and because Ho insisted upon leading the way, and lumbered like a dozing bear. He examined nearly every step as he went; Silk fumed, urging him on, hand cradling his head. ‘Would you hurry?’ he hissed for the twentieth time.
‘She either lives or not,’ the older mage answered gruffly. ‘We must be careful – who knows what stresses this has placed upon the structure here.’
Indeed, the white marble of the tower was too hot to touch, and still seemed to glow, but all the more reason to reach Shalmanat. Silk growled and resisted beating his fists on the man’s broad back.
After four more turns of the tight climb Ho announced, ‘We are close.’
When Silk reached the step he found a stain of black flakes upon the polished white stone. He touched his fingertips to it and brought it to his nose. He smelled the iron tang of dried blood.
It was a thread of spilled blood descending the heated steps, drying as it came. Silk pushed the wary Ho onward with a hand on his back. They found the uppermost door open a fraction and Ho pushed it wider. His breath eased from him in shock and Silk pushed past him. The room was black with soot as from a ferocious fire; the furnishings lay as ash scattered about the floor; the very stone around them ticked and crackled with cooling; the radiating heat drove Silk to shield his face.
She lay half out upon the viewing parapet, naked, her clothes a mere dusting of white ash. Silk ran to her. A sickle blade of some white stone lay next to her. Silk was sickened to see blood still running from each wrist, a trickle now. She had slit both.
He tore his shirt and set to binding the wounds. Ho crouched next to him. ‘Sacrifice . . .’ the man murmured, awed. ‘I’d thought it sorcery but I was wrong. This is a religious invocation. The cult of the Liosan. Elder Light.’
‘Shut up and help me.’
‘I will carry her.’
Silk acceded to that – the man was far stronger than he.
Gently, the burly mage eased her up to cradle her in his arms. Blood formed dried black trails from her nose and mouth. Perhaps the movement pained her for she stirred then, blinking, and Silk was shocked to see the orbs of her eyes all deep crimson – shot through entirely by blood.
Ho started down the stairs, but Silk lingered. He leaned out of the parapet, careful not to brush the steaming hissing stone, and peered over the city. Mist still obscured most of the river and streets, but from what he could see the ice sheet was breaking into slabs and these bumping their way down the flow. The streets remained empty, citizens and soldiers alike stunned and shocked by a demonstration of power utterly unprecedented in any living memory.
Of course now he understood. Now he could see her reluctance. Not only the awful weight of this loss of life, but the possible cost of her own.
And from this point onward she had certainly lost the love of the people here. In exchange she had won their fear.
Steps sounded behind and Smokey joined him at the viewing terrace. He too glanced down, then shifted his gaze to him. ‘We have to salvage what we can.’
Silk nodded, his mouth dry. ‘Yes.’
Smokey started down, gesturing him to join him.
*
She found him lying in the shallows. A steaming husk hardly recognizable as a human, or humanlike, form. Smoke still plumed from his pitted scorched flesh. When she lifted him up he whimpered like an animal in agony. She raised her aspect to cool him while she held him in her arms, and though he was twice her size she carried him easily, like a child.
His breathing slowed as her power worked upon him and his eyelids fluttered open. Recognition focused within his tawny gaze. ‘Sister Night,’ he whispered, his voice breaking. ‘I sensed an Azathani near. I did not know it was you.’
‘Quiet now, Juage. Do not strain yourself. I have you.’
His cracked bleeding lips spread in a wry smile. ‘Still a friend of us foolish kind, are you?’
‘Hush now.’
She carried him to an abandoned cottage and set him down within, then went to the gaping doorway to keep watch. They were on the south shore, not that distant from the Kanese encampment, but she did not think them at risk – not now, at any rate. There ought not to be any more patrols or excursions coming out of that camp. Not any longer.
Instead they were no doubt breaking everything down in a panicked rush, loading their wagons, carts and mules and slogging off southward before any vengeful Hengan sally could be organized. Chulalorn himself had probably already departed, bundled into his personal carriage, surrounded by his cavalry elites and bodyguard.
If he’d survived, that was. Her impression was that he had. His kind usually did.
Perhaps it was the heat, but a light drifting rain began to fall across the landscape of trampled fields and burned-out crofts and sheds. It was a rain black with soot and smoke, as if the very sky had burned. Later in the day Juage stirred, groaning, and she came to sit cross-legged, studying him. The stink of roasted flesh had no effect upon her. His eyes opened once more and he turned his head to regard her. The light rain hissed down around them, dripping from gaps in the broken slate roofing.
‘Why do you involve yourself in this stupidity?’ she asked.
‘Sadly, I have no choice. The grandfather found me and released me. In return he asked for service to his family. Unfortunately, I had no idea he possessed such an extremely large family.’
Sister Night eyed him, dubious. ‘Come now, Juage. A Jaghut compelled by a human?’
Juage attempted a shrug, and hissed in pain. ‘Well . . . very nearly. In truth I am here for the same reason as you. Power draws power, does it not? Something is going to happen here and I know you sense it also.’
Sister Night nodded, conceding the point. ‘In any case, you were a fool to move against the Protectress.’
He shook his head, wincing as the burned flesh of his neck split apart. ‘Come, come. You did not expect this either.’
She nodded again. ‘True. But you must have known she was Liosan . . .’
‘Yes, I sensed that, of course. But a priestess of the cult? Able to unveil true Kurald Thyrllan?’ His tone turned chiding. ‘Admit you were as shocked as I.’
The barest of smiles pulled at her severe mouth. ‘I was . . . surprised by the . . . extravagance of it. I admit that. No doubt she is in even worse shape than you.’
He chuckled. ‘No doubt.’
For a time she listened to the rain drifting down in thin sheets. ‘And now?’
‘Now I must play my role – and keep an eye on these lands.’
She pursed her thin lips. ‘And if Chulalorn were not to have survived the attack . . .?’
He shook his head once more. ‘Now, now. Did you not swear not to involve yourself in such matters? And in any case, there is an heir.’
She gave the smallest of shrugs. ‘I made such a vow, yes.’
His amber eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded her. ‘Sometimes I suspect you are even more devious than T’riss.’
She rose. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. But what I can say is that since you are so incapacitated I suggest you rest here for a day or two to recover.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘I suppose I do need to recover my strength.’
‘Indeed. Take care, then. Farewell – for now.’
‘And fare you well, Sister Night.’
She bowed and stepped out into the thin misty rain.
Chapter 19
WHEN SILK AND Smokey pushed open the doors to the entrance hall they found it deserted. The remaining Kanese troops had fled. Though exhausted, the two mages headed south. Down at street level the carnage was infinitely worse than appeared from the distance. A chain of fires burned all along the course of the Idryn, on both the south and north shore
s. The Protectress must have performed a miracle in containing the coruscating power of the river, but warehouses and tenements crowded its banks. Many of these now burned uncontrollably and threatened to engulf the city in a storm of fire and destruction far worse than anything Chulalorn had planned.
They made for the walls of the Inner Round overlooking the Kanese-held Outer. They imagined that any counter-offensive would originate from here. A focused assault on a certain gate, or section of the curtain wall. Koroll, Ho and Mara had headed for the worst of the blazes. Mara, Silk knew, would be invaluable in collapsing burning buildings and shifting wreckage, while Ho and Koroll could treat those caught in the flames.
He and Smokey would keep watch against any counter-offensive. Not that he personally expected to be much help as he couldn’t do anything with his Warren until he’d had some rest. But he could stamp out panic and rally the Hengan troops. Not that he expected a counter-attack. Not after passing the burned human wrecks who had dragged themselves off the river and now wandered the streets begging for help, or simply mewling in unutterable agony.
Enemy soldiers would normally be cut down without hesitation, but most of the Hengans recoiled from these horribly wounded monstrosities. Silk, too, could do nothing to help when he passed them where they lay reaching to him, or standing motionless in the middle of streets and alleys, stunned by overwhelming pain.
When they reached the Inner Round wall they separated, he taking the right flank, and Smokey the left. Silk found the soldiers all gawking northward towards the Idryn, hidden now within billowing clouds of black smoke. Despite his own fatigue, he roused himself, barking, ‘Watch the enemy!’ then made a show of pacing off, as firm in his step as he could manage.
Once he had them back at their posts, he kept up a roving review, stopping to ask after any movement from the Kanese. As morning reached towards noon, he took the time to rest at each guard tower. He hoped to reassure them with his presence, though he was under no delusion regarding his usefulness in any assault when in fact he could barely remain on his feet.
Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 Page 40
