Aegrism rose into a kneeling position and pulled the stock of the weapon in tightly against his shoulder, aiming down its bolt. Soon, Galas knew, they’d take up the hunt again, and this time there’d be no one to warn Fioni’s crew. By the time Serina arrived, they’d have the Dain woman, the sword, and all the prisoners they’d need for the voyage home.
The arms of Aegrism’s crossbow snapped forward, sending the deadly bolt cracking off into the night.
Chapter 46
Owen
With Denyr long dead and no idea what had befallen the jewel case containing Serina’s heart, all outcomes seemed dark. While Fioni, Kora, and Lady Danika debated the next course of action, Owen moved away to consider how best to fight Galas. Even if they had found the jewel case containing Serina’s heart, just sitting there waiting for them, they would still have had to deal with the warriors coming to kill them. He took a torch from one of the crew and stalked back and forth along the top of the wide stairs that covered the entire side of the pyramid. The problem he needed to work out was how to stop Galas and his men from spilling around the side of their shield wall and enveloping them. The obvious answer was to construct obstacles and funnel the attackers in where they could hold them. Much of the rubble lying about the outer rim of the summit was small enough to move by hand. In time, they could easily move enough of the rubble to create barriers on their flanks, but they didn’t have that much time. It would take at least a day of hard labor. At best, they had hours—and maybe not even that long.
He moved down the stairs to the wide landing before the summit. His intuition told him this landing, perhaps a dozen feet wide, would be key to the battle, not the summit itself. But why? What am I missing?
Once again, he pictured Galas’s men storming up the steps: tired, angry, entirely focused on Fioni’s crew, who would be raining stones down upon them. He imagined them hitting the landing, re-forming ranks for the final push. And then… Sudden understanding swept over him. I’m coming at this wrong, he realized. Now, he remembered another impromptu lesson with the Keep-Captain. “The best obstacles,” Awde had said, “are the ones the enemy sees but disregards as insignificant until it’s too late. If you can break up an attacker’s momentum at a critical moment in the battle, you can seize the initiative from him.”
His gaze went from the rubble lying about on the summit to the vital ground before him as he assessed how long it would take to do what he wanted. “There’s time,” he said to himself, “if we get started right now.”
And if he could convince Fioni.
Lightning flared, illuminating a solitary figure struggling up the steps. He realized in a moment it had to be one of the two scouts, come to report on Galas’s men. “Someone’s coming!” he yelled to the others.
Still holding the torch, he moved down to meet the scout, recognizing Kersta, one of the two crew members Kora had said she had left behind to spy on Galas’s men. She stumbled and fell forward, blood on her face, and he rushed to help her, hearing the footsteps of others coming behind him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, lifting her up again. “You’re bleeding.”
She wheezed for air, clearly physically spent. “Vadik’s… dead… Ambushed us. They’re… coming.”
“Wodor’s balls!” swore Fioni, taking Kersta’s other arm and helping Owen bring her to the summit. “How long?”
Kersta shook her head. “Don’t… know… I ran… all way.”
“I see torches,” said Owen, staring down into the ruins below. “They’ll be at the steps in a handful of minutes, I’d guess.”
“How many?” Fioni asked Kersta.
“At least a hundred, Waveborn… but scum of… clan.”
“That seems about right,” Fioni said. “How about the Hishtari?”
Kora had handed Kersta a waterskin, and she drank greedily and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before shaking her head. “Only Galas’s men.”
“How do you want to do this, Fioni?” Kora asked her. “We can meet them with sword and axe as they reach the summit. If we move farther back until they’re almost on us, they won’t be able to use bows.”
Fioni’s face registered her uncertainty. “If Galas brought all of his men, maybe we could slip away, try and get around him and take back Iron Beard.”
“We can’t leave!” insisted Lady Danika. “Not until we’ve destroyed Serina’s heart.”
“There is no heart!” snapped Fioni. “Besides, we’re outnumbered almost two to one—and each of Galas’s men will have both shield and armor. Even with the high ground, I don’t think we can win here.”
Owen stepped between them, placing his hand on Fioni’s forearm. “You can. I know how.”
Fioni watched him, uncertainty flitting across her features. “Owen…”
“I have a plan. I think it might work.”
“Another plan, Owen,” she said sadly. “And who will carry it out this time?”
“I will—with your permission.”
All discussion ceased as the crew silently stared at Owen and Fioni. She still doesn’t trust me, he realized, feeling a sinking sensation in his gut. There was nothing more he could do, though. It was her crew; the decision was hers. Her eyes softened, and she smiled. “All right, Owen. I trust you.”
He’d have kissed her right there if the others weren’t all standing about, watching.
“They’ll be expecting a shield wall to meet them at the top of the stairs,” Kora said.
He considered Kora. “Do your people know a swine wedge?”
Confusion crossed Kora’s face. “A what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re only going to get one chance to get it right, anyway. For now, I need everyone to pick up stones and help me.”
“There’s no time for that now,” insisted Fioni.
He lifted a chunk of broken rubble the size of his head. “Hurry, all of you!”
Chapter 47
Dilan
Dilan stood behind Serina, considering the black pyramid with the statue of a strange beast-like woman atop it. The pyramid’s ironbound doors stood open, its empty interior wafting with the unmistakable aroma of dried blood. They had crossed the island as fast as the ghouls could move—which was snaillike in comparison to how fast the two blood fiends could have moved without them, but Serina had insisted they might yet need soldiers this night. Now, several dozen ghouls remained, a silent, unmoving mass of walking corpses, among whose ranks were the women whose blood Dilan and Serina had just consumed. While he watched, Serina softly swayed before the pyramid, her eyes closed in concentration, her arms held out to the side.
Something felt… wrong here. “Mother, what...”
“It’s magic, Dilan, the residue of eldritch power—a magic so powerful it has stained the ground.” She inhaled deeply, her red eyes flashing open. “This is a tomb, my childe!”
He stared in confusion at the empty vault. “Why here, overseeing a mountain pass?”
She entered the vault, turning about and inhaling deeply. “I don’t know, but the connection to the dead is clear. Such magic, though. I’ve never experienced its like before.” She inhaled deeply, exposing her fangs, her red eyes shining with awe. “This island hides wondrous mysteries. Once we deal with our enemies, we must unravel them.” Without another word, she stormed off, gliding up the mountain like a beautiful, terrifying dream. She paused again when they came out from beneath a massive arch, the silver-bathed city ruins lying below them.
“She’s down there,” she said softly. “Your bloodline ends this night, Stron.”
Chapter 48
Owen
All too soon, Galas’s men were halfway up the steps, glaring in hatred.
Owen stood with Fioni’s crew in a two-rank shield wall twenty men and women strong along the top of the stairs, waiting for their foe. There were only enough shields for the first rank, armed with long-hafted fighting axes and the remaining Wolfrey longswords, so those in the second rank
carried the eight-foot-long ash-wood spears with leaf-shaped iron blades. In the press of battle when the two forces met, the spears would be long enough to thrust over the heads of those in the front. Owen stood now in the center of the first rank, where most could see and hear him. Whether his plan worked or not depended entirely on how fast the others backed him up. If they hesitated—or failed to see him move—he’d die in moments, followed shortly after by everyone else.
Fioni stood on his left, Kora on his right—the iron core for the shield wall. All down the line, each warrior overlapped his or her stout limewood shield with that of the warrior just to the left, creating a single armored mass. Fewer than ten men and women were left to act as reinforcements when warriors fell, or to harass Galas’s force with stones. There’s not enough of us, Owen knew, not when the screaming and the dying start. He ground his teeth together as he watched Galas’s force steadily climbing toward them, completely filling the stairs with their numbers. If he had even twenty more men, enough to form a third rank or extend his wall, he’d have been content to fight a defensive battle. But with the odds stacked against them, he knew how this fight would unfold. Without a third rank to shore up the first two ranks, to push upon the backs of those in the front, they’d slowly give way to the enemy. Battle between opposing shield walls was, in truth, a shoving match, with each side straining to push back and break apart the other side.
If our wall breaks first…
Those too injured to fight, as well as Lady Danika and Gali, hurled stones down the steps. Most missed, but a few crashed into the enemy, crushing bones and sending men tumbling into one another. The enemy came forward, their front ranks almost at the landing where Owen knew they’d pause and form their own shield wall. He had made his preparations as well as he could in the time he had; now it was up to fate. “No plan of battle survives the first clash of sword,” Keep-Captain Awde had always said.
As expected, each of Galas’s men carried a shield, with many in leather or hide-armor as well. Their ranks bristled with spears and axes. Although Owen could hear Galas’s voice behind his men, egging them on, he couldn’t see him.
“Be ready!” Owen screamed above the insults and taunts of Galas’s men. “They’ll throw spears just before they come on.”
The front rank of Fioni’s crew began to bunch together as each warrior unconsciously pressed his or her unprotected side closer behind the shield of the warrior on their right. “Keep your pacing!” Kora admonished them. “There is no safe place this night. If you die, know that the crones spun your destiny the day you came into this world, screaming for your mother’s tit. Wodor, Fenya, and Orkinus are watching. Give the kin-killing traitors the sword’s sleep they’ve earned!”
The crew cheered.
“Stand fast, true Waveborn!” Fioni’s voice rose above the din. “Avenge your yarl and make corpse beer of your foes!”
Again, the crew cheered, a hysterical tint to some of their voices. Good, mused Owen. Anger is better than fear. Fear kills more men than spear or sword.
The first of Galas’s men reached the landing, huddling behind their shields as they waited for the others to catch up, all the time screaming obscenities, telling the women what they’d do to them after the battle. They threw their lit torches forward to land among the steps, casting a bright-orange glow upon the steps. In moments, the enemy’s own shield wall took form. Four ranks deep, and wider than their own, the enemy’s shield wall pushed the front rank closer to the low pile of broken stones and rubble near the end of the landing—just before the lip of the steps leading up to the summit. The obstacle, if you could even call it that, was barely the height of a man’s ankle. Anyone that saw it would easily step over it—but only if he saw it in time. Hopefully, the enemy’s attention was entirely upon the shield wall awaiting them. Those in the enemy’s second or rear rank would be entirely blind to the hazard.
Or so Owen prayed.
Now he saw Galas behind the first two ranks. He wore a speckled helm and stood next to a bald brute of a man bearing one of the Kur’teshi crossbows. Upon seeing Fioni, shock filled Galas’s eyes, replaced almost immediately with a leer of satisfaction. “Still alive, cousin? You’ll soon wish you weren’t.”
“Come, craven!” Fioni yelled back. “No one else needs die this night. Let’s you and I dance the blanket together.”
Galas barked in laughter. “That’s not what we’ll do beneath the blanket, cousin.”
She leaned forward, straining against Owen’s shield. “Be calm,” Owen admonished. “He’s trying to draw you out.”
“Tell me,” yelled Galas, looking about his men. “Where’s that fat whale who taught you how to fight, Vory Eel-Gifted? He’d be worthy of dueling, not some fatherless split-ass.”
His men cheered, smashing their weapons against their shields.
“Ignore the pile of whale-shit,” Kora yelled over the clamor. “He already knows Vory’s dead, else he wouldn’t dare make the challenge.”
Owen saw the signs of the enemy’s rage building as they prepared themselves for the violence to come. The front rank began stomping their left boots on the landing and beating their shields in a steady cadence that promised blood.
“Be ready,” Owen warned the others, unsure if they could even hear him.
A single warrior broke out from the front rank, darting forward to launch a spear through the air. As the shaft seemed to hang in the air for a moment, the moonlight glinting off its leaf-shaped blade, Owen recognized it was coming for him. He braced himself, waiting until the very last moment. Then he leaped up into the air, letting the spear hit the stones where he had been standing, clattering away harmlessly. A cheer erupted from Fioni’s crew, and they began hammering their own weapons against their shields.
“Kill them!” Galas screamed, his face red with rage. “Break them!”
An entire volley of spears flashed through the air just before the enemy surged forward. A spear struck his shield, burying its metal head into the limewood, but Owen cut it loose with his sword. The front rank of the enemy hit the low obstacle, stumbling into it, with several men falling forward unexpectedly. Some had seen it and stepped over it, but in doing so, they slowed down the others, who pushed upon them, stumbling into one another. The enemy faltered, but it would be a fleeting thing, lasting only moments.
“Now!” roared Owen, charging forward down the steps.
He didn’t hesitate to see if the others followed him in the Swine Wedge formation that he had drawn out for them with pebbles, showing how it was supposed to work. The Swine Wedge formation was like a spear thrust into the enemy’s ranks intended to break shield walls. But if the others weren’t with him, he was going to die. He had gambled their lives, trading the high ground for a desperate attack against a superior force, something only a fool would attempt, but something Galas would never suspect. “And one should never do what the enemy thinks you’ll do,” he heard Keep-Captain Awde’s voice in his memory.
His heart surged with pride when he heard the war cries of the others right behind him, and he leaped through the air over the last few steps, a Wolfrey battle cry on his lips. The two forces collided in a bone-shattering crush of shield, steel, and muscle. When Owen smashed into the enemy’s ranks, he knocked several men back. A tall man with tattoos covering his forehead and cheeks stared wide eyed at him, but Owen rammed his sword point into the man’s mouth. Then he was among the enemy. With his shield before him, he cut over its rim at another man, who also seemed to melt away, without Owen being sure if he had struck him or not. Another man replaced that one, and Owen hammered his shield into his face, knocking him down and stamping over him to get at yet another man. Owen pushed on, shoving and hammering at those before him, using speed and violence to carry him on, trusting Fioni and Kora to safeguard him from the sides. If he didn’t cut through Galas’s force, they’d be surrounded, and the attack would fail. He was vaguely aware of Fioni and Kora just behind him, the tip of the spear, fighting o
n either side as he stabbed forward. Men screamed in pain and rage. Spears, swords, and axes flashed in the torchlight. Several times, he felt pressure and blows against his ring mail, but he ignored everything, always pushing forward, always cutting and hacking and stabbing and shoving. It felt as though he were being buried in bodies, the screams and pandemonium deafening. Then he split the skull of a man before him and stepped out past the press of bodies.
Free! I’m through.
Without pausing to appreciate what he had just accomplished, he spun and lashed out at the enemy’s rear, striking men down from behind. A moment later, Fioni and Kora were with him, also attacking the enemy in the rear, followed shortly after by even more of the crew. We’ve split his shield wall! When the awful realization of what was occurring spread through the enemy’s ranks, many of whom couldn’t even defend themselves in the press of bodies, panic began to take hold. Men don’t fight when surrounded, he knew—not if they can run.
The landing, slick now with blood and guts, sent men slipping and falling. Disemboweled men screamed in agony, thrashing about among the severed arms, legs, and heads, further discombobulating Galas’s ranks. The fear began to build, spreading now like the fire they had set days earlier. Galas’s men began to bunch together for protection, but under assault from front and back, they were so densely packed together even the dead had no room to fall.
They broke.
Those on the periphery fled back down the steps, practically falling over themselves to get away. Others tried to climb over their mates, all pretense at reason gone. A handful tried to put up a defense, locking their shields together. Owen hooked the bottom rim of his shield over theirs to pry open a gap and then cleaved through a man wearing baleen and leather from clavicle to belly button. As his body fell apart, the man’s guts poured out like oats from a split sack.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 79
