They proceeded onward trying to watch every way at once. He froze at the sound of scurrying coming from his right, and let out the breath he was holding when he spotted the source of the noise. A rat huddled in the dirt by the base of a building. One of the hunters, an older man with a knowing smile, passed him on silent feet. That was Karod, the acknowledged leader of the few hunters to have survived this long by evading Shiomi patrols while still bringing in sustenance to those who counted on him. Coran grimaced and followed almost as quietly. He knew how to fight and how to plan battles, but for being sneaky these men had few peers, and Karod was the best of them. Coran knew some men who lived in the mountains above Tyelin who might be a match.
An open square appeared beyond the last two buildings of the street. Across the square loomed the stone walls of the inner complex. On reaching the open area he spotted the gate of vertical iron bars. Other shapes emerged from the street on the other side. The two groups came together in the shadows.
“There is a gate house just inside and to the right. I could see a lantern lit,” Soelidin informed him as the hunters grouped themselves around them.
Coran edged out into the square until he saw the light from the lantern coming from a small wooden building where Soelidin said it was. “We slip over the wall and take out the guards. Then open the gate. Do you know if the rest of our army is almost here?” Soelidin nodded and cupped his ear to listen. Coran could just make out the trodding of feet, and they were coming closer. “Tell them to stay in the streets until we can get the guards,” he ordered the hunters. They hurried to comply.
Apparently, that didn’t apply to everyone as two people came and squatted down beside them.
“What now?” asked an excited Ruan. By the look in his eyes the excitement might have been a cover for fear.
It was the other person with the hood pulled down that took his attention. “What are you doing here?” he whispered sharply.
Shirri calmly pushed back the hood to reveal her face and dark hair. “I am a healer. How can I heal anyone if I am so far away that they die before I can reach them?” she whispered back just as fiercely.
He couldn’t argue with her logic, but it just seemed wrong. He spoke to Soelidin while giving her an even stare. “Let’s go.”
They crossed the square and reached the walls without notice. One of the hunters came too, and clasped his hands together and held them out. Soelidin stepped onto the makeshift stirrup and grabbed the top of the wall. He slipped over to the inside of the complex with ease. Coran mimicked the Anagassi and landed against the interior wall with a slight thud.
The ground on the inside of the compound was paved with uneven slabs of stone. Two long, narrow buildings stood side by side before another two story dwelling which was where the leadership would be, a man named Tammaz. Lamps were hung on poles outside the doors of the first two buildings which had to be the barracks. They were only a hundred paces away.
As he reached the gate Soelidin was already coming out of the small gate house. He was tucking his knife away. “Only one. No keys.” He pointed to a thick chain holding two sides of the gate closed. Ruan approached from the outside with Shirri and the army in tow. The young Karand pulled on the chain to check the strength. It was obviously formidable.
“Intruders!” The shout came from the direction of the barracks and Coran had his sword out before the echo faded. A green shirted Karand was shouting for help. It did not go unheard. Men poured out of their respective barracks with swords in their hands. Some had green shirts pulled on roughly, others were bare-chested or without shoes. A few wore nothing but a cloth wrapped around their waist.
Coran took a moment to look at the gate again. Ruan had a sword inserted between the chains and was trying to force it open.
“Get over the wall,” Shirri pleaded. She could see the guards approaching at his back.
“No time,” Soelidin answered. He had his own blade out, its wide curved surface reflecting the moonlight.
Some of the Novelah outside the gate were shouting with worry. “Help me,” Ruan called and several men came to add their strength to his.
Coran turned away from their effort to face the countless numbers of determined men coming to kill him. They were only twenty paces away now and slowing from the run across the yard. They could see that the two of them were trapped.
That was when the feeling came over him. The sensation was not the fear or acceptance of what was to come as he expected, but was anger that these men thought they could kill him so easily. It was determination that filled him, a determination not to die quietly in the night. The feeling took hold and he knew what he was going to do. It was insane, but he would do it anyway. Raising his sword before him, Coran yelled at the top of his voice. He roared his defiance and the men before him faltered in their advance. Still yelling, he charged into the very center of that mass.
Dark Karandi faces flinched away from his ferocious attack. There was a feeling of letting himself go, of letting his instincts take over during a fight. This time he surrendered to that feeling completely. He didn’t think, just acted and reacted. His blade whirled in his hands and he flowed among his adversaries in a dance with death. He was a ghoul in the darkness, striking down all he encountered. He was an avenging spirit for all who had suffered at their hands. He was death.
To escape injury during such a melee was impossible, but those wounds he took could not be his. Not now. They belonged to someone else. How long he fought or how many he killed he would never know.
The Novelah Karands who had been kept from the battle by the iron gate appeared out of nowhere to fight their hated foes. It was Coran’s hesitation at seeing them that allowed the unseen blade to reach his flesh. There was a searing pain in his lower back that penetrated any defense to shut it out. Everything around him became suddenly clearer, the darkness somehow brighter. He saw clearly the faces of men as they fought for their lives on both sides. He heard every clash of steel and every cry of pain. At least, for one perfect moment, then everything started to fade.
So many men lying across the paving stones it was hard not to weep for the horror of it all. Groans came from the wounded, but far too many lay silent. The battle had moved on ahead and she could still see men she knew fighting, dying, and killing. Shirri picked her way through the carnage, desperate to find him.
She didn’t exactly lie to him about her motives for going with him to Summerhall. What she said was true, but she left out the most important reason.
She lashed out at him to hide her surprise at seeing him the first time they met, because she had seen him before. If having only one vision made her a seer she didn’t know, but that vision had been of Coran, except that she didn’t know who he was at the time.
She saw herself kneeling over him with her hand touching him. She was healing him. What she saw was blurred, as if there were more than one image of it. She believed that she would have to be there to help him more than once and feared that the first time would be tonight.
She forced herself to ignore the pleas coming from the wounded she passed. She would help them when she could. First he had to be found.
When Coran had charged the enemy it put heart into those who came to follow him. Her brother had abandoned the chain and led the assault on the gates themselves. Against a flood of men the rusty hinges broke and they swarmed into the compound. She had tried to keep her eyes on Coran, but could not through the numbers that surrounded him. Now she needed to find him before it was too late.
Spotting sandy colored clothing and a matching kesu wrapped around a head she rushed over to the body lying on its stomach. The kesu was partially torn off to reveal his features. She didn’t waste time checking to see if he was still alive, the wound that might be fatal was easy to see. She ripped the tear in his short robe wider in order to touch the wound itself. She placed her hand over the red, bleeding gash in his back. She let herself feel the wound, the pain. She thought about what it was supp
osed to be like, whole and unhurt. Energy flowed out through her hand and into the wound. When she removed it there was only a red line about two inches long where the wound had been. She could see he was breathing and let out a sigh of relief. The drain of energy from healing someone was felt keenly. In her apprehensive state she had used more than she should have. That was not good when there would be so many others that would need her talent tonight.
Someone came to stand over her, and she looked up into the wise face of Neheya. The experienced healer spoke to people she did not see at first. Shirri surveyed the corpse-filled yard. There were men and a few boys carrying clubs and knives in their hands and hope on their faces. Women were moving among the fallen, answering the calls of the injured.
“Start moving the wounded to the square outside the gates,” Neheya ordered. “We need lots of blankets and water. You two!” She pointed a finger at two men who had stopped to listen. “Help carry the wounded. Start with him.” She indicated Coran at her feet.
The two came over and peered at the fallen man in the attire of an Anagassi. The younger one with gaunt cheeks paused in the act of reaching down. “A Midian?”
“The M’Shai,” Neheya stated simply. The words froze everyone within earshot. Dozens of sets of eyes stared at the Midian lying on the ground with a mix of awe, fear, and hope. “Pick him up.” The two obeyed without question. The older Healer followed the procession towards the square.
The words that Shirri herself had spoken only in her mind had now been said out loud for all to hear. She had heard the whispers among her people when they visited the camps, but no one dared to say it openly. M’Shai. One of the few words still known of the ancient language of the Karands. It meant ‘death’, or maybe ‘death walking’, or ‘death among us’. Being so old, any exact translation was impossible. Those words didn’t need any other meaning though. The M’Shai would be the one who led them in the final fight to decide the fate of all Karands. Was he really the one though? Neheya saying it out loud would be confirmation enough for most.
Shirri forced herself to get up and follow after her teacher. There was much to do before the night was over.
The green and white striped tent was set up not far from the pools of water at the center of the oasis. The largest of the pools was at least a hundred yards across. Palm shaped leaves decorated the surrounding trees to provide shade for a unit of Calvary watering their mounts.
Elthzidor let the tent flap fall closed, then turned around to face the woman who stood next to a four legged table being used as a temporary desk. The latest message from Summerhall was still in his hand. He raised his hand with the paper on his upturned palm. The letter was suddenly consumed by flames. After it had burned completely, he let the ashes drop to the sandy ground. Selisk watched his actions, unconcerned by the news. Her dark red robe was open to reveal the smooth, and tight fitting, white dress beneath.
“It seems that my jubilation over his death was premature.” Elthzidor said in his vibrant voice. “Something must be done about that boy.”
“I agree, but what? He has already bested Jeshon and one of the Orgog.” She said the last with a grimace. No one felt easy having the Orgog around. “And Haltherin.”
“Jeshon proved himself a fool, as well as Haltherin. Send two of the Orgog this time.”
“Where would you have them start looking?” she asked innocently. A little too innocently. Selisk was never innocent.
“Do not play games with me Selisk. You are capable of making decisions on your own. Why is it that you can no longer have a horse saddled without my approval?”
“I only want to be sure of your wishes,” she replied calmly.
He could tell that she was up to something, but what? It could be that she wanted to show how obedient she could be to the Ra Majin. That thought almost made him laugh out loud. Could she be laying plans in case he should fail? He had no doubt of that. “Have them start in Crecy. Either he is still there or on his way to Summerhall.”
Selisk bowed her head as she backed her way out of the tent.
Elthzidor paced the short distance that the tent allowed. Another thought came to mind. If the boy, Coran, had been alive the whole time and in Crecy there had to be a reason. He knew that the boy had been sent to Daes Shael to spy on him. What if he had been successful? What if the man Z’Arize had seen was not a Northman but a Midian? The man was fool enough for it. That would mean that Coran Tyelin was responsible for the loss of his fleet. It also meant that he definitely had help in Lornth. There is no way he could have done it alone. The people of Lornth had already been dealt with.
What was important right now was Naras and Torvilin. If it wasn’t for him needing the Voltian he would have seen the girl dead as well. The problem was that Torvilin demanded her as part of his payment. He would be free to deal with her when the Prince was no longer useful. Still, he couldn’t take the chance of leaving her alive for too long. The boy was a different matter. Coran’s only use was to die.
Chapter 25
Passage Home
Treska was watching, along with everyone else, the tall man by the fountain. His clothes were a riot of colors. His shirt alone contained stripes of blue, green, yellow and too many others to name. He was juggling colored balls and just added a fourth, sending them high into the air. Krista clapped her hands in appreciation. His sons watched in admiration. They were at the front of a small crowd in one of the city’s many squares where performances often occurred, or speeches might be given. Tall buildings of white stone lined the sides of the square and a circular pool of water was at the center, it was fed by a fountain in the middle of the pool.
The juggler snatched the balls out of the air one at a time. After he had them all he bowed grandly to the audience. Treska joined them in their clapping. The man bowed again and flourished the red cape he wore to signify that the show was over for now. People began returning to their daily chores. Treska started to turn too, but was bumped by a man in blue livery which meant he had to be from the palace. A few bystanders glanced curiously at him. The servant inclined his head briefly and handed over a small, leather pouch and a sealed letter. He didn’t say a word, and left immediately, slipping through the crowd with ease.
Treska shook his head at the strange affair. He noticed the seal on the letter and his hands started to sweat. Indented into the round wax was a shining sun and a rose. It was the personal sigil of the Princess Katelyn.
“What is it Father?” asked his daughter. She tried to look over his shoulder as he broke the seal carefully, unfolded the paper and read. “Is it from somebody important? A lord?” she continued excitedly after seeing the seal.
He reread the message to make sure he understood it, then tucked the paper into his coat pocket quickly. “You could say that.”
“Who is it from?” she pressed.
He looked into her eyes and forced a smile. “We should get home. I need to speak with your mother.” The children didn’t protest too much at being herded away. Treska ignored the curious stares of his neighbors as he ushered his youngest along with a hand to his back. He hefted the pouch in his other hand and was surprised by the weight. Using a finger to pry at the opening he took a glance inside and he swallowed hard. It was all gold.
Coran woke to the sight of a brown spider as big as his thumb clinging to a web spun in the corner of a wooden frame a few feet above his head. He realized it was the bottom of another bed he was looking up at. Glancing around he saw he was in a long hall full of bunks, one on top of the other. They were almost all filled with dark skinned men covered by unbleached blankets. Women went purposely from patient to patient bringing water to drink and wet cloths to wash. He was in a barracks. Light streamed in through dirt streaked windows to illuminate the dust filled air.
He pushed his own blanket down and saw the scratches and cuts on his arms and chest. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his stomach as well. Memory crashed in on him. Fighting in the night. A searing pain
in his back. He rolled onto his side and gently probed his lower back. There was little pain from the movement as he felt the bandage where the wound should be. He also noticed the fact that he wore only a single cloth around his waist.
Looking around he spotted the Anagassi clothes tucked under the bed by his feet. Struggling, he rolled the rest of the way out of the hard bed. Sitting up he waited for his eyes to focus and his head to stop spinning before gathering his clothes together. Wrinkling his nose he realized how badly the robes needed washing. There was not much in the way of alternatives though, so he quickly put on the trousers and short robe. Arieg, he amended. The shorter robe that was belted closed was called an arieg.
He felt better after donning the garb and standing with aid from one of the bunk’s corner posts. A young woman with her hair braided offered him a metal cup filled with water. She had the look that he had seen before on these people’s faces. It was awe mixed with fear. He took the cup and thanked her before drinking. She smiled as he handed it back to her. She went to the next bed and filled the cup from the bucket in her other hand, then offered it to the man lying there.
Coran left her to the task and walked to the open door at the end of the barracks. He didn’t wear the head cloth or the red sash, those he just tucked behind his belt. He also couldn’t find his sword. It felt funny not to have the comforting weight at his hip after wearing it for so long.
Before even reaching the doors he could smell the stench of death from the other side. Outside was a scene of sadness. He didn’t notice any bodies belonging to Novelah, but men who probably escaped injury in the fight were relegated to lifting the corpses of the Shiomi onto the backs of wagons. They would most likely be burned somewhere outside the city. He spotted a familiar portly face in his loose, brown robes watching the grisly project. Coran stepped around two men hefting a body and walked to his friend’s side.
Fire And Ice (Book 1) Page 37
