As the Black Riders settled into their rows once more, a ripple of Dolana swept outward from them. Unhampered by the earth blood, the Hashon Jahar wielded the Earthpower with their concerted wills. Behind the blazing barrier, the stone wall slumped, crumbled and parted, hurling those atop it to a fiery death in the burning moat. The stone sank into the ground, pulling aside to open easy roads into the city. The screams of dying Lowmen rent the air as they burnt, mixed with the anguished cries of those left alive, as they tried to save their doomed fellows.
The Black Riders lowered their lances again and charged, thundering across the black web to the burning moat. The steeds leapt the flames and galloped into the city to begin the slaughter. Soldiers rushed to block the gaps, their swords clashing with the weapons of the Hashon Jahar, glancing off indestructible armour. Some steeds fell as soldiers impaled them, their wounds oozing earth blood, their riders engulfed by Lowmen. Those Lowmen still armed with crude flamethrowers spurted fire at the enemy, bringing many down and inflicting agony on the voiceless souls trapped within them.
The battle raged into the city, carried by the momentum of the charge and slowed by the soldiers' desperate fight. The roar of shouts and screams mingled with the clashing of weapons. Bleating horns and trumpets tried to bring order to the battle as captains commanded their men. The tide of Hashon Jahar had washed away all discipline, however, and their mighty mounts forged through the Lowmen fighters. The horses' broad chests smashed aside barricades as they invaded narrow streets after groups of people. An occasional man with a flamethrower took vantage on a rooftop and sprayed the Riders below with fire, others threw refined earth blood over their enemies and set it alight with torches. Many Black Riders succumbed to these attacks in heaving knots of ebon figures engulfed by flames.
The Hashon Jahar were too numerous to be defeated, however, more than the population of the city they attacked. The pall of smoke hid most of the battle from Chanter's view, and he settled on a treetop to wait for Kieran to emerge. Unlike the city people who fought for their lives within it, the warrior could flee the battle safely. The fire in the moat had subsided, and desperate people ran onto the black web, some of whom the Riders cut down swiftly, while others went unnoticed and gathered in weeping groups.
Chanter ruffled his feathers and settled his wings more comfortably, scanning the terrain below for Kieran.
Talsy stared at the black smoke rising above the trees. Most of the chosen were asleep, and only Shern stood beside her, shaking his head at the dark pall with deep sadness and regret.
"Nastar was a great city until they found the black oil," he muttered. "At first, they could find no use for it, but then they discovered that it made good roofing when dried, and soon they used it as paving as well."
"Was that when the Dargon grew angry?"
"You mean the land?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Was that when the land became hostile?"
"No. We found that we could separate the oil and make a flammable liquid, which we called fetram. This was used to burn back the forest, since it was far easier than cutting it. With it, we cleared vast tracts of land for crops, and the people prospered. We sold it to neighbouring cities, and they did the same. About two years later, twelve years ago now, the land turned on us."
"Why did you need to use the oil to burn the forests? Surely they would burn without it?"
He nodded. "But whenever we set fire to a forest, it rained. Some said that a Mujar protected the land, and a year after the land became hostile, they found him."
"What happened to him?"
Shern frowned, scuffing the road with a boot. "He was flung into a Pit."
"Of course," Talsy murmured.
"With the fetram, the rain could not put out the forest fires, and once he was gone, it no longer came."
Talsy gazed at the rising smoke again. "And no one realised what was happening?"
"Some did, but the majority did not heed our warnings. They wanted money. Once the land became hostile, there was no turning back."
"Then you needed the earth blood to protect you."
"Yes. When we found that we were safe from the land on the tar, we exported many barrels to other cities, and more wells were dug elsewhere. Now only those with tarred streets survive, and we were planning to tar the roads between them too." He sighed. "Now the Hashon Jahar have come to do what the land could not."
Kieran stared down from his perch atop a wall at the surging battle below. A group of Hashon Jahar fought several hundred Trueman soldiers, and, although heavily outnumbered, forced their way through with slashing swords that sliced through Trueman armour and shattered steel weapons. The soldiers swarmed around their enemies and hacked at them with swords that broke against their armour. Others attacked the horses with more success, bringing them down and their riders with them. Even unhorsed, however, the Black Riders slew Trueman soldiers with easy swings of their weapons.
Kieran clasped his empty scabbard, longing for the sword that should have been there. He had searched all night for his weapon, and now he wished only to escape this doomed city. Below him, a dozen soldiers pulled a Hashon Jahar down, its horse falling under the weight of the attack. The men, armed with axes and hammers, pounded the writhing black warrior, cracking flexible rock flesh. Oil oozed out, and the Rider's sword was smashed from its hand to skitter across the tar. It came to rest against a nearby wall, and Kieran stared at it longingly.
As he was about to leap down and grab the weapon, a clatter of hooves made him pause, and he looked up the street. A phalanx of Hashon Jahar charged into the road, swords drawn. The Truemen soldiers tried to scatter, but the houses hemmed them in, and only a few escaped. The Black Riders thundered through them to cut down the warriors in an orgy of gore and anguished screams. Brave soldiers who braced lances against the walls and impaled the galloping steeds brought a few Riders down, perishing themselves when the falling horses crushed them. The majority fled up the road, seeking shelter whence to fight, some vantage that gave protection from their enemies' swords.
Within minutes, the street was deserted, but for groaning wounded and the still forms of defeated Riders and their steeds. Kieran quit his roost and picked up the sword, leaping aside as a fallen Rider lashed out at him, unable to rise on smashed legs. Leaving the Rider to crawl, he sprinted up the street, searching for a way out of the city. Turning away from several roads in which battles raged, he ducked down a quiet street, then glanced back at a clatter of hooves. A group of Riders entered the road behind him and galloped up it, gaining rapidly. He looked around for a means of escape, a wall to leap over or a doorway to duck through. Rounding a corner, he found a Trueman barricade before him.
The soldiers who manned it shouted encouragement as he raced towards them, the Riders so close that he swore he could feel their mounts' hot breath on the back of his neck. With a mighty leap, he reached the top of the barrier and scrambled over it, pulled by many helpful hands. Even as he tumbled over the other side, the steeds hit the barricade with a terrific crash, lifted the overturned wagons loaded with stones and pushed them several feet up the road. The sliding wagons caught Kieran, and poles stabbed him in the ribs and belly. His armour saved him, and he rolled away, grimacing. Someone grabbed him and hauled him upright, thrusting a tough, leathery face close his with a gap-toothed leer. The officer pushed him towards the barricade and turned to raise his sword.
The Black Riders rode their horses into the barrier, pushing against it as they cut and slashed at the men who defended it. Soldiers stabbed the horses with lances, wounded some and sent them crashing to the ground. Their Riders leapt off to attack the barricade on foot, climbing onto the wagons as they laid about them with indestructible swords. The barrier would only hold for a few minutes, and Kieran turned away from the doomed battle. The officer grabbed his armour and yanked him around, glaring up at him.
"Where do you think you're going, laddie?" he growled. "You'll stay here and fight with the rest of us, like
a man!"
Kieran stared down at the man's pugnacious face pityingly. "Let me go."
"Where do you think you can run to, eh? Ain’t nowhere to go, fool!"
"I have to get a horse and warn the next city."
The officer shook his head. "Won't do them no good, either. The best we can do is kill as many of the bastards as we can!"
Part of the barricade disintegrated with a great crash, the smashed wood knocking aside the defenders as a steed forced its way through. Desperate to get free, Kieran shook off the clutching hand that clung to his armour and smashed his fist into the officer's face, sending him sprawling.
"They don't die!" he shouted as he swung away, glimpsing the despair in the man's eyes.
Sheathing his sword, he ran up the street, leaving the barricade and its hopeless defenders to their fate. He skidded around a corner and headed up another deserted road. Bodies strewn along it told of a battle already fought here, the fallen mostly Truemen. Reaching a dead end, he hurdled the wall into an alleyway choked with bodies, mostly women and children. His hatred of the Hashon Jahar swelled at the sight of the slain innocents, and he swung away, unable to look at their twisted faces.
Rounding the corner at the end of the alleyway, Kieran almost collided with a Rider galloping past. Springing aside, he drew his sword as the Hashon Jahar pulled his steed to a skidding stop and turned to clatter back towards him. Kieran stood his ground, as if to block the Rider's way, then leapt aside at the last moment, ducked the slash of the Rider's sword and plunged his own into the steed's flank. The horse went down with a crash, skidding on its knees and nose until it hit a wall, its rider flung off to roll down the street. Kieran turned and sprinted away, dived into a cross street and raced up it as fast as his legs would carry him.
A wide road crossed the one he ran along, apparently deserted, and he sprinted across it without a pause. Something huge loomed beside him, the scrape of hooves loud on the tar. A solid shoulder crashed into him and sent him rolling into a wall. Pain shot through his shoulder from the impact, and a Hashon Jahar turned its panting steed towards him. Kieran tried to raise his sword, but his arm did not work and the weapon fell from his numb fingers. The steed reared over him, its hooves clipping the air inches from his head as puffs of steam jetted from its flared nostrils. Kieran rolled away instants before its hooves crashed down where he had been, scrambling to his feet. Pain flashed through his shoulder as he avoided the Rider's slashing sword and turned to flee.
Talsy looked around with a frown. Her nape hairs prickled and her stomach clenched with uneasiness. Her glance flicked over Shern, who dozed, with the rest of the chosen, propped up against a tree. The uneasiness would not go away, and she turned to gaze at the smoke that rose from the distant city, wishing that Chanter would return. Without him, she was exposed and unprotected, a sensation that did not sit well with her stomach. Turning back to the sleeping people, she froze in shock.
Four black-clad riders emerged from the forest, and her heart leapt into her throat, pounding. Then she noticed that their faces were Truemen and their armour silver-edged. Long cloaks draped their horses' rumps, and handsome studded breastplates moulded their chests. Their attire reminded her of Kieran’s, being almost identical. She stepped back as the leader turned his horse and rode towards her.
"Shern!"
The seer jerked awake and gaped at the strangers who converged on Talsy. With a yell, he roused the others and leapt to his feet, but the riders moved fast. The leader grabbed Talsy as she turned to flee and dragged her onto his pommel. She kicked and yelled, punching whatever she could reach, but the armoured knight ignored her puny blows. He swung his horse with a vicious jerk of the reins and spurred it into the trees, his companions following. The chosen gave futile pursuit, but were soon left behind, only their shouts of anger and frustration following the kidnappers into the wood's green gloom.
Talsy struggled as hard as she could, but the iron arm that held her did not give an inch, and she only succeeded in hurting herself. Pinned to his armoured chest, she panted in fury as she was borne away.
Chanter hovered on the icy wind, holding position just beyond the black web. Still he had seen no sign of Kieran, and the battle in the city raged on. Piles of bodies choked the streets, Truemen and Hashon Jahar, although the Riders were only incapacitated for the moment. More people had fled onto the web, safe there while the Riders sacked the city. Some had brought carts, and these lurched away down the road, overloaded with refugees. Those left behind gathered to weep and wail, mostly women and children. Chanter tilted his wings and swooped low, skimming the ground, then used the momentum of his dive to sail high over the trees again.
Kieran’s failure to appear bothered him. The day wore on, and he should return to the chosen and lead them away. The city was taking a long time to fall. The Truemen's fiery weapons were more effective than swords and lances, and had taken a heavy toll. The Riders that had first fallen to the flames outside the city were starting to recover now, remounting their steeds to join their fellows within the broken walls. The fire in the moat had gone out, but thick smoke still rose from within the city as flamethrowers spurted liquid fire over the Hashon Jahar. He tilted his wings again and sailed around the city, a few swift beats speeding his flight. Kieran must emerge soon, or he would have to abandon the warrior.
Kieran stumbled down a narrow alley, the Black Rider close behind. Aware that he was about to be overtaken, he flung himself flat against the wall. The Hashon Jahar cantered past and slid to a halt, but the horse was unable to turn in the alley. Its Rider dismounted and strode towards Kieran, its sword raised. Kieran turned and darted back up the alley, the Rider clumping after him, slow and ponderous on foot. He raced into a broader road in time to join a fleeing crowd of civilians and enrolled in the wild run. Soon, he realised that the people were heading in the wrong direction and peeled off to run down another road, heading for the city wall.
Coming across a group of soldiers building a barricade, he stopped for a moment to rest, clutching his wounded shoulder. The men made no comment about his inactivity, his obvious inability excusing him. Some shot him sympathetic glances as they worked. He was now one of the honourably wounded, he deduced, one of the many who only waited for death, pitied by those who could still fight. A young soldier, no more than a boy, gave him a flask, and he sipped the strong wine before handing it back with a nod of thanks. Having regained his breath, he hurried on towards the wall. His arm flapped at his side, the pain slowing him and adding to his fatigue.
Two streets further on, he stopped beside a wall as a group of Riders thundered past, chasing a young man who ran with panting gasps, at the end of his stamina, and his life. As soon as the road was clear, Kieran darted across it, only one street away from the wall now. The grating clatter of a steed's hooves spurred his aching legs, but his strength had all been used up. A blow jolted his shoulder and hot breath blew against his neck as he was lifted off the ground. The steed's teeth clamped the shoulder pad of his armour, one black fang sliding past to impale his flesh with burning agony. Kieran bellowed and raised his good fist to beat at the steed's muzzle, but the horse shook him, sending waves of pain through him.
With a flick of its head, it hurled him against a wall, bashing his broken shoulder. Kieran gave a choked cry as he slid down in a heap, certain that death was upon him. A group of Truemen boiled into the street and charged the Hashon Jahar that loomed over him, swords raised. The Rider swung to face its new assailants, and Kieran crawled away along the wall while the Truemen warriors clashed with it. Within a few minutes, a dozen sword wounds in its flanks brought the steed to its knees, and the Rider leapt down to engage the warriors on foot. The Truemen fell like wheat before the scything sweeps of its sword, and Kieran struggled to his feet, desperate to get away before the Hashon Jahar came after him again.
Kieran loped down the street, leaving the few remaining warriors to delay the Rider. A final road to cross, and the mutilated
brown wall loomed before him. Gasping with pain and exhaustion, he scrambled over the tumbled slabs and stones, sliding down the steep bank into the moat. The oil, thickened by the fire that had swept it, gave way under his feet in a thick, viscous ooze that clung to his boots. His first step brought him to his knees as the sucking oil trapped his legs. With one hand for support, he struggled across the thin layer of tar that covered the moat, breaking through it to become ensnared in the hot oil below. It soaked through his boots and gauntlets to burn his skin, goading him with fresh pain. He floundered through it, using his remaining strength recklessly in his struggle to get free.
As his hand touched the soil of the far bank, a shadow fell on him, and he looked up, expecting to find a Rider looming over him. Instead, a group of civilians, women and children in it, reached down to help him out, hauling him free by his armour's straps. Gasping with relief as the oil on his legs cooled in the chill air, he lay down to regain his strength as the people urged him to get up. They clustered around him, and he realised that they thought he could protect them. Cursing his empty scabbard and useless arm, he made no effort to rise.
A shadow passed over him, and, with a great clank of armour and grating of hooves, a Hashon Jahar leapt the moat to plough into the group. Its sword slashed and blood flowed as the screaming group fled. The severed head of a young girl thudded to the ground beside Kieran, spouting blood into his face as it rolled past into the moat, its eyes open and mouth stretched in her final scream. Shuddering with horror, he raised his head to watch the Black Rider pursue and cut down the people, leaving their bodies sprawled in its wake. Galvanised, he struggled to his feet and reeled towards the forest.
Broken World Book Two - StarSword Page 8
