Yet his men held their line, prepared to fight with the strength of desperation.
A reaver charged the Earth King, not even slowing as it barreled over two men ahead, crushing them with its bulk. Erin Connal cried out in dismay, lunged to meet it.
“You take it low, I’ll take it high!” Celinor shouted at her back.
She ran at the beast. It raised its glory hammer overhead. Erin shouted and struck her own warhammer into the monster’s elbow, biting deep into the joint just beneath its protective bone spur.
The jolt should have frozen the reaver in pain for a moment, or perhaps enraged it.
Instead the reaver struck with its glory hammer—eight hundred pounds of steel at the end of a twenty-foot pole. She heard no warning from the Earth King.
The pole slammed into her shoulder, throwing her to the ground, pinning her for a moment. The reaver raised a massive paw in a fist, ready to pound her into the dust.
Celinor leapt over Erin, lunged in, and struck the beast between its thoracic plates. His blow was not powerful enough. No guts gushed from the monster.
The reaver hissed in fear and lurched back a pace, trying to escape.
Celinor leapt in and delivered a second blow. The reaver’s guts spilled down in a gruesome rain, and the monster leapt away, slamming into another of its kind.
The Prince of South Crowthen spun, dodged out of battle, and grabbed Erin’s hand, helping her up. “Two!” he warned.
Erin felt her face redden with chagrin.
Gaborn finished drawing his rune of Earth-breaking, raised his fist, and looked up.
All around him, reavers thundered forward in a terrifying wall of flesh, pounding into the ranks of his men, overwhelming them.
To his left a reaver smashed a fellow with a glory hammer. The body somersaulted in the air twice, arced toward him.
Celinor raised his shield, threw himself before Gaborn, but the force of both bodies slammed into Gaborn, smacking him to the ground.
Everything went black.
61
IN THE FADING LIGHT
Saffira sang in the voice of her homeland, in Tuulistanese, and because she had thousands of endowments of Voice, her aria rang louder than any sung by a commoner.
So beautiful was her song that Raj Ahten looked up from a wall of Castle Carris where he had been watching Gaborn’s debacle of a charge.
Time seemed to freeze.
So loud was her song that even on the causeway, many reavers drew back, philia waving in the air, as if trying to decipher whether her Voice presented some new threat that they must confront.
For a moment, the tumult of battle dimmed, as men listened to Saffira’s golden Voice.
Certainly, most of the men of Rofehavan could not have understood Saffira’s words. Tuulistan was a small nation in Indhopal, insignificant. One could walk across its borders in a fortnight. Yet the pleading tone of the young woman’s voice struck Raj Ahten to the soul, made him yearn to … do anything, anything to placate his bride.
She sat in the saddle on some ruined mound, and all beneath her the land was black with reavers. In the last light of day, her lavender dress seemed but a veil that lightly covered her perfect beauty.
She shone like the first and brightest star in the nighttime sky, and all around him, Raj Ahten heard the rush of indrawn breath as thousands men gasped in astonishment.
Immediately Raj Ahten saw what Gaborn had done. He saw the glamour of all his concubines, of the loveliest women from every nation he conquered, all bound into one. He heard the sweetness of every melodious voice in his harem.
Saffira sang a common lullaby.
She’d sung it to her firstborn son, Shandi, when she’d first held him, five years ago—before a Knight Equitable slaughtered the child in an effort to rid the world of Raj Ahten’s progeny.
The tune was not profound, neither was its message. Yet it moved Raj Ahten to the core of his soul.
“There is no you. There is no me.
Love makes us one. There is only we.”
Of all the men who heard that song, only Raj Ahten understood its message. “I understand your hatred and anger,” she said. “I understand, and I feel it, too. I have not forgotten our son. But now you must lay your anger aside.”
Saffira then called in her imperfect Rofehavanish. “My Lord Raj Ahten, I beg you to put aside this war. The Earth King asks me to bear this message: The enemy of my cousin is my enemy.’ Men of Mystarria, men of Indhopal—unite!”
She beckoned to Raj Ahten, and in the silence, the reavers near her suddenly responded, surging uphill, as if at her summoning.
Saffira’s eunuch guards—the finest of Raj Ahten’s Invincibles—rushed to her side and followed her downhill as she raced now to the north, toward Gaborn’s forces half a mile distant.
She had far too many reavers ahead of her. The great monsters stood back to back around the Earth King’s pitiable army, forming a solid wall. Even with all the speed of her mount, Raj Ahten knew that she would not be able to break those lines.
Certainly she understood that. Yet she rode into danger, into the heart of the maelstrom.
She would force his hand. If you will not come to save him, then at least come to save me, her actions said.
With a shout of horror and dismay, the men of Carris responded to Saffira’s plea.
For several moments now, Paldane’s men and the frowth giants had been shoving the reavers back, had managed to scrabble over the pile of dead reavers to the causeway in Lake Donnestgree, then shove them back a hundred yards toward the mainland. The causeway itself was littered with dead reavers.
Now the people of Carris all heaved forward as one. With a great roar they charged for the mainland. The fell mage’s spells of fatigue seemed to be forgotten temporarily.
All along the walls and all through the city streets, men picked up whatever arms they could carry and hastened to join Saffira and the Earth King.
Raj Ahten watched in amazement.
This was a mistake, he knew. Hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children in Carris would race to attack; the vast majority of them were only commoners.
The reavers would have them for dinner.
Yet they charged.
He could not say what drove them. Whether it was a belief in their Earth King or the desire to heed Saffira’s call. Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps they fought only because there was nothing left for them to do.
He himself raced down the tower steps, shoving aside slower men so that he could join the battle. His heart hammered and pulse quickened. Invincibles surged from alleys to back him.
62
CHASMS
On the road to Carris, time and again Borenson had wondered about Saffira. Would she have the courage to stand up to Raj Ahten? Did she truly want peace? Would she betray Gaborn and his people?
Yet now, with danger all around, this woman—hardly more than a child really—rose to Gaborn’s defense.
Saffira finished her song. For a breathless moment Borenson sat enthralled, unable to think, unable to do anything but mourn the fact that her song had ended.
Cheers arose from the city, thunderous cheers like the voice of a distant sea, assuring that the people of Rofehavan would heed her call.
Saffira’s courage had been sufficient. In that moment, Borenson loved her as fully and innocently as he could love a woman. His heart pounded, and he wanted nothing more than to stand in her shadow, to breathe her sweet perfume, to gaze at her ebony hair.
She sat tall in her saddle, breathing hard. The light in her eyes was a marvel, and as she sat listening to the cheers from Carris, she bowed her head in silent exultation.
“Come, my friends,” Saffira called, “before it is too late.” She spurred her mount north, galloping downhill toward Gaborn, but not making a direct charge.
She was angling west, away from the main force of the reavers.
Smart girl, Borenson thought. She’s pretending to charge, hopin
g to divert the reavers’ forces from Gaborn, even as she races west past Bone Hill. From there she would angle back around from the north, come at Gaborn from behind.
Ha’Pim and Mahket struggled to catch up, to ride at her side. Ahead lay Bone Hill, the fibrous cocoon around it gleaming dully like icicles in the evening, the fell mage at its crown gleaming from the opalescent runes tattooed into her carapace.
The great reaver stood with her citrine staff raised to the sky; the philia on her broad head rose and waggled as she sought to catch a scent.
Suddenly her enormous head swiveled toward Saffira, as if she’d taken notice. She pointed her staff toward Saffira’s entourage.
She thinks we’re attacking! Borenson realized almost too late. He did not know if anyone else saw her response. “Veer left!” he cried.
The fell mage hissed and light pulsed in her crystalline staff. The air around it exploded as a dark green cloud issued from its tip.
Saffira charged sharply left as the green haze pulsed out and slammed into the ground on her previous trajectory. The cloud carried an odor of rot so foul, so abominable, that Borenson did not merely smell it, he could feel his body struggle to respond, as if his skin would slough away and flesh decompose as he watched.
Saffira covered her face with a golden silk scarf, weaved a course perilously close to the nearest reaver. The ground trembled.
Pashtuk and the green woman were unceremoniously dumped from their mount.
Pashtuk grabbed the wylde and quickly tried to remount. The wylde struggled lightly in his grasp, as if eager to battle the reavers.
Saffira looked back, saw his predicament, and stopped her own horse, waiting for him.
“Watch out!” the child behind Borenson cried out. A blade-bearer rushed Saffira’s back. Her guards shouted, warning her.
Saffira lowered her head, wheeled and spurred her charger, as if hoping to draw the beast away from Pashtuk.
Almost casually the reaver swung its great talons, talons that gleamed wickedly on a forepaw that was as long as a horse.
The reaver smacked Saffira’s mare, breaking the horse’s neck and slapping it backward. Saffira tumbled over the top of her horse, bounced against one great claw, and vaulted into the dark recesses behind the reaver.
Three other reavers raced toward the spot.
Ha’Pim shouted in dismay and drew rein, leaping to dismount. A blade-bearer smacked him with a glory hammer as he landed. Blood and gore spattered Borenson’s face.
Mahket rode full of furor into the reavers, swinging a great battle-axe. He leapt into the mouth of the reaver that had struck Saffira, delivered a tremendous blow through its upper palate, and danced back out, swinging at another monster’s leg. His body was a blur of motion.
Pashtuk quit trying to mount his horse—simply hurled himself toward the closest charging reaver. He leapt up several feet in the air, struck down with his battle-axe at the base of the monster’s neck.
Borenson reined in his horse. There was a slim chance that Saffira would live. The blow she’d taken might only have broken a few bones.
Yet if she lived, she was now behind three reavers—or under them.
If they did not kill her outright, she’d be crushed.
“Get us out of here!” the child behind Borenson cried, clutching Borenson’s waist. The odor of rot that the fell mage had exuded was filling the area, gagging him.
He gritted his teeth in frustration. He was Saffira’s guard. She owned him more completely than he could ever imagine himself being owned again.
Yet he was also bound to Gaborn. He knew where his duty lay. Borenson had the wizard Binnesman’s wylde at hand. She was a potent weapon. Borenson needed to deliver her to Binnesman.
Weakly, Borenson heard Saffira cry out in Tuulistanese, “Ahretva! Ahret!”
Though he could not understand her plea, he now knew that she lived. The power of her Voice was more compelling than cold logic. The woman who had so courageously charged into the midst of the reavers to deliver her message now held his heart too firmly for him to resist.
So, Borenson thought dully, this is where I will make my battlefield. This is where I make my stand. It is not a battlefield I would have chosen.
With no endowments to aid him and with no apology to the child who rode behind, Borenson leapt from his mount and charged into battle.
Averan sat on her horse for half a second in dismay. Borenson and Saffira’s bodyguards had abandoned their mounts—all to defend Saffira.
The green woman remained in her saddle. A reaver’s blade arced overhead as two monsters raced toward her.
Averan shouted, “Foul Deliverer, Fair Destroyer: blood, yes! Kill!”
The green woman leapt from her horse onto the nearest reaver so swiftly that Averan almost did not see it. Spring slammed a fist into the reaver’s brain, shattering its skull, as if she’d finally figured out that this was the quickest way to get some of the goo that she liked.
Ahead of Averan, the two Indhopalese guards lopped the forearms off a reaver. The creature reared, tried to back away, while with terrifying slowness and clumsiness—or at least compared to warriors with endowments—Sir Borenson rushed up under its belly and started trying to chop between its thoracic plates. The guards turned to a reaver at their backs, trying to hack a path to Saffira.
To Averan’s left and behind her, reavers all raced to converge. “Help!” Averan screamed. “Help!”
But no one came to her side. She didn’t have Saffira’s allure. She was only a little girl.
She dropped from her horse. A reaver swung a glory hammer behind her, bludgeoning Borenson’s fine mount into a spray of blood and guts.
Averan scampered, hunched over, and tried to make herself small. Desperately she sought someplace to hide.
Ahead, the green woman had just slaughtered a reaver. It lay gasping mechanically, mouth open, its raspy tongue nearly two feet wide hanging from its mouth. Averan wanted to roll under the monster, to hide in the crook of its legs, but the beast had fallen to the ground.
Its mouth, she realized. I could hide in there.
She leapt into the monster’s cavernous mouth. Its palate formed a hollow nearly as tall as a man, but the sides were covered in slime. The warty flesh of its gums was nearly black, and the reaver’s teeth around her, row upon row of them, were all as clear as crystal knives. She clung to two of the longest teeth, hanging on, lest she fall down.
The reaver’s breath smelled fetid, added to the horrid stench of decay that the fell mage had created. Averan almost imagined that the beast was rotting apart in her hands. Her own hands itched, and dark blotches were forming on them.
The reaver’s mouth convulsed mechanically, and the tongue she stood on shifted. Then the reaver’s maw slowly began to close.
Averan’s stomach clenched in terror. She pushed on its gums with all of her might, struggled to keep the mouth open. She feared that even though the reaver was dead, it might swallow her still. She’d seen how dying animals sometimes moved by reflex. “Help!” she screamed. “Help!”
“I’m coming!” Borenson shouted. He’d sliced cleanly between the reaver’s thoracic plates and now backed away as the reaver came crashing down, its forepaws landing almost atop him.
He’s coming for me, Averan thought.
But now as the eunuchs continued to fight a blade-bearer to Borenson’s left, he lunged beyond them, into a dark gorge formed of reaver corpses. Borenson raced to Saffira.
But I thought you were going to help me! Averan wanted to shout.
The evening sky was going dark. The land was covered in a cloying, sickly mist, and in the deep shadows, reavers rose up black and monolithic. As a new attacker scaled the bodies of the dead, the light above Averan was nearly cut off.
Averan cringed in terror, struggled to push the reaver’s mouth open again. As she did, she squinted, and in her mind’s eye she could see the emerald flame burning brightly.
It’s so close now, sh
e thought. I could almost touch it. She’d been drawn to it for days. Now, she thought she understood why.
Safety. I would be safe with the Earth King, she told herself—safe as his Chosen. A wild hope thrilled through her.
“Foul Deliverer, Fair Destroyer,” Averan cried on sudden impulse, “go get the Earth King! He’ll help us.”
Then the reaver’s mouth closed, despite all that she could do.
Averan screamed.
63
THE BRIGHTEST STAR IN INDHOPAL
Raj Ahten raced down from the stone walls of Carris, struggling to be the first to reach Saffira. He shoved aside some slower men on the stairs, then leapt from them onto the back of a dead frowth giant, catching his foot in the beast’s chain mail. He pulled his foot free.
Once released, he leapt from the back of one dead reaver to another, using the dead beasts as if they were ghastly stepping stones. Thus he reached the fallen castle gates well before most of his people did. Only a few of Paldane’s men were ahead of him out on the causeway.
For half a heartbeat, he stood on a reaver’s corpse above the causeway and felt the tremors of an earthquake. It shook the very foundations of Carris, with a roar far louder than the surf. As it hit the shore, it caused a mighty wave to ripple out.
Paldane’s finest men fought ahead down the causeway, embroiled in a melee.
He could imagine how they would fare.
He raced now, leaping along the backs and bellies of dead reavers.
As the quake rocked a reaver beneath him, Raj Ahten vaulted into the air, then landed in the fray atop a living reaver’s head. He slammed his warhammer deep into its sweet triangle, killing it instantly.
A hundred thousand human voices cried out as one as the earthquake surged beneath the castle. Raj Ahten glanced back just as the west wall of Carris sheered away in thunderous ruin, spilling outward.
He dared not hesitate. He climbed the reaver’s sloping head, raced toward Saffira.
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