A Place Among the Fallen [Book One of The Omaran Saga]

by Adrian Cole

  'The owl? His folk have flown. I think he is trying to rally them, but the collapse of the Mound terrified them. But he will return.’

  Wargallow watched the skies. ‘There may still be powers here. But none that can be met in the field. We must prepare Omara.’

  'If we get out,’ said Guile.

  They heard then the renewed roars of the enemy, and as one got to their feet, knowing that the respite was over and that the next wave was coming. But as they took up stations, they saw that they were not yet under attack. Out in the city, where the dreadful commotion had begun, they could see great clouds of thick brown dust rising skyward. Through the clouds floated dozens of dome-plants, and it was these that were responsible for the discharging of the clouds. Moments later Kirrikree swept overhead, and it was a while before he had confirmed for Sisipher that the dome-plants had come over the city in force. He had brought them and now scores of them were attacking the enemy ranks, driving them underground, choking them with their poison.

  The wind was not strong, but it blew the poison away from where the army waited, and at last, by the afternoon, Sisipher said that it was safe to ride into the city. Jubilant, the army began the march, and above them the dome-plants drifted, eddying and patrolling like wolves of the sky. Ratillic knew that many of them had taken to the air prematurely and were not ready to seed, but they understood, through the great owl, what it was that the army sought to achieve. They sacrificed themselves willingly to bring about the confounding of the creatures of Xennidhum.

  By nightfall the army had reached the twin idols that guarded the great stair. The men had not been attacked for some time. The last of the dome-plants had drifted out across the jungle beyond the city, slipping down into darkness, and Ratillic feared that it was to their silent deaths. Kirrikree dropped down beside him.

  'The city rouses itself,’ said the owl. ‘In an hour you will be faced by even greater numbers. There are things below you that will test the strength of mind of your men.’

  'Listen to me, Kirrikree,’ Ratillic told the great bird. ‘You must take as many of your birds as are left and flee this place. Xennidhum is not dead, and we have not the power to destroy it, not today. But other armies will come here to finish our work. I fear that we are doomed. Word must go back across the desert. You must spread it to all of Omara. You must find ways. There must be men and women of power out there, even if they hide this power from themselves. You heard the words of the stones in Cyrene. What Korbillian has started, you must finish. He gave his life for this world—”

  'I understand that,’ whispered the bird. ‘And I understand what it was he sacrificed.’

  Ratillic felt himself go icy under the wide-eyed stare. ‘You know?’

  'He was right. I would have chosen as he did.’

  'Then you know also that I killed him.’

  Kirrikree stretched his wings. ‘I know that he died ensuring that the powers of the Hierarchs ended.’ He took to the air as though no more was to be said. ‘I am reluctant to leave you here, but what you have told me to do is urgent. I will take the birds at once.’

  Sisipher felt his mind then, wondering why he had shielded his words with Ratillic. She understood now what the bird had to do. ‘Goodbye,’ she called to him.

  'Endure,’ he called back to her. ‘For my sake, Sisipher, endure.’ Then he was gone and this time the vacuum left in her mind seemed more total, more final. There was a flutter of wings as the last of the birds joined Kirrikree and they were a brief cloud against the darkness of the night, disappearing westwards to the desert.

  The moon glared down upon the army now, seemingly eager to watch the next phase of its torment. Wargallow and the leaders consulted.

  'Should we begin the descent quickly and make our stand on the road below?’ Wargallow asked.

  'Aye,’ said the fighting men. ‘Better to have something at our backs and not the stairs.’

  The descent began at once, and as it did so the first of the enemy ranks appeared. This time they had goaded strange creatures to the fore of their forces, creatures that had been drawn up from far below the city. Brannog recognised some of them: they were far more powerful than the fleshworm he had killed, and they seemed more agile. Wriggling forward, they rushed upon the tail of the army. Following in their wake came the creatures of Xennidhum, and there was about them now a frenzy, a maniacal will to destroy. Within moments the two forces were locked together, milling like ants, and so closely packed was the fighting that it was impossible to use a sword. The terrible beasts that had been unleashed ran amok, turning upon their own masters just as eagerly as upon the army, and as they tore great swathes into the locked masses, scores of the retreating army were able to get away down the stairway. A strong line of defense held the topmost stairs, while Wargallow led the flight down. Ratillic watched the jungle for signs of life, but the fires that Korbillian had unleashed on the upward journey and the work of Naar-Iarnoc had devastated what grew there to such an extent that nothing moved now.

  Sisipher clung to Brannog as they raced down the stairs, close to falling many times. Above and behind her she could hear the awful din of battle, and she felt a stab of guilt that so many men were fighting to secure her escape. Brannog knew what she was thinking and tried to comfort her.

  'Some of us must get back,’ he said. ‘Wargallow, Guile, Ratillic. And you and I. If others are to come here, they will need rallying.’

  'But how many must die?’

  'You must not think of that.’

  The frantic journey down the stairs ended, but the race down the road became even more breakneck. Those that still had horses rode, so that a party of them was far ahead of the retreating army. They paused to look back.

  'We cannot desert them,’ said Guile. ‘Morric was right. I cannot sacrifice men when I am not prepared to fight.’

  'This is no time for sentiment!’ snapped Wargallow. ‘My own men are dying up there. But we have to get clear.’ He pointed his killing steel at a Deliverer who had escaped with them. ‘You! Tell them what has happened. Guard our backs. We will make a break for the open desert.’

  The man obeyed at once.

  'Ride on!’ Wargallow called. He spurred his horse down the road alone, and moments later the others had followed. There were about fifty of them; soldiers to protect Guile, Deliverers, Earthwrought, a handful of Strangarth's men. None of them spoke, all knowing the likely fate of the army.

  Ratillic caught up with Wargallow. ‘Be careful!’ he called. ‘There may be others below us.’ Wargallow acknowledged with a wave, but he rode on scarcely less quickly. The heights of Xennidhum dropped behind them, and they heard nothing now but the thunder of the horses. Down into the deep canyon they rode, the moon blotted out by the heights above them.

  A cry behind them made them turn. One of the warriors had fallen, his horse dropping under him. Guile swerved back in spite of protests and picked the man up. His men joined him, puzzled at his uncharacteristic recklessness.

  'Come on,’ Guile shouted at the man. ‘I've lost enough of you.’ The others had raced on ahead.

  'Sire, you cannot carry me. This is too dangerous.’

  'Nonsense! Hold still.’ Guile goaded the horse harder, and his men feared that it would collapse as the soldier's mount had.

  It was not until Wargallow's leading party had reined in above the desert floor that Guile caught them. Wargallow was scanning the desert. He turned as Guile and his men rode up.

  'Any pursuit?’ he said tersely.

  'Not yet.’

  'There's nothing below,’ said Ratillic.

  'The domes?’ said Sisipher, but Ratillic shook his head.

  'Gone.’

  'Then Wargallow's right,’ said Brannog. ‘We'd better see that we get across. We owe them that.’

  'Sire,’ called one of the soldiers. ‘We need water for the horses. My men have none left. Nor supplies.’

  A quick check taught them that they had hardly any water between t
hem. ‘Korbillian said the pools here could be purified,’ said Ratillic. ‘But without his power—”

  'We'll never reach Cyrene without water,’ said Wargallow. ‘Is there none we can use?’

  Sisipher pulled at Ratillic's sleeve. ‘Ratillic, the dome-plants survived. They must have taken water.’

  'Yes, but their structure is not like ours.’

  'Naar-Iarnoc survived,’ she persisted.

  He nodded. ‘I don't know.’

  They rode downwards to the basin below, and as they crossed the rocky slopes they looked up at the plateau. There was still no sign of pursuit, but each of them felt sure it would come.

  'Are you sure we cannot reach Cyrene without water?’ said Brannog.

  'If we did not travel by day,’ said Ratillic. ‘Perhaps we could. But we dare not rest. The hordes of Xennidhum will follow, heedless of their own death.’ They had reached a place where dome-plants had lived. Here there were small craters where the plants had broken free of their root system, and nearby was a large pool. It glistened in the moonlight. Ratillic studied it.

  'Dangerous,’ he breathed. But he thought of Korbillian, and of how he had tried to drag him away from the Opening. He had paid for that with the scorching of his hands, and yet, he had touched him. ‘I will see what can be done.’ He stooped to the water and before anyone could stop him he had scooped up a handful of the brackish substance. He gulped it down and stood stiffly, eyes closed. He could feel it coursing through him.

  'Is it safe?’ said Wargallow.

  Ratillic felt the onset of the first cramp and doubled up. But he fought back the pain and straightened himself. ‘No. Not yet. But get a container. I may be able to do something with it.’

  'Has it poisoned you?’ said Sisipher.

  He shook his head. ‘I can change it within me. Little harm to me. Bring the container.’ One of the soldiers brought a large water sack, and Ratillic sliced it in half, making a crude dish out of it. Once this was filled, he rolled up the sleeves of his robe. His hands were badly burned. ‘Watch the road,’ he warned them, and guards were posted at once. The plateau remained silent. Ratillic dipped his burned arms in the water. He closed his eyes and spoke softly in the darkness. When he had finished, he had the water poured into another container. Three times he did this, filling as many of the containers as he could.

  'Can we drink it?’ said Wargallow.

  Ratillic nodded. ‘Safe enough. Drink sparingly.’ He filled the bowl he had made a last time and put his hands into the water. This time his back arced. The faint power was used up. His suffering was clear.

  'Ratillic!’ Sisipher cried. ‘Stop him! We have enough.’

  Brannog tried to pull Ratillic's arms from the water but could not. He stepped back, about to kick the container over rather than have Ratillic suffer more.

  'Wait!’ Ratillic cried, and Brannog held back. ‘It is ready.’ Ratillic stood aside as the water was poured into a last container. He wrapped up his hands, but Sisipher had seen that they were raw and blistered.

  'You should have enough to get you to Cyrene,’ he said.

  Brannog grabbed him as he slumped forward. He felt extraordinarily light, as if the flesh on him had dried up to nothing. ‘Ratillic!’

  Sisipher leaned over him. Gone now was the revulsion she had once felt for him. ‘What have you done?’

  'Guile's fifth finger,’ he grimaced. ‘The water is safe. A price I willingly pay for my own dark desires.’ His pained eyes looked away from her.

  'You fool!’ snapped Brannog.

  'Ride!’ Ratillic hissed back. ‘I did not do this lightly. You must get across. Wargallow, get these fools away.’

  Wargallow put his hand on Brannog's shoulder. ‘Leave him.’

  Brannog turned, anger flaring in him. All his past fury at the death of his people and the countless other deaths rose up in him like bile. He cursed, as if about to drag out his axe.

  Sisipher read his mind and thrust herself in front of Wargallow, shielding him. ‘No, father! We lose everything if we quarrel now. We must ride. Put Ratillic on his horse.’

  Brannog stared at her for a long moment, but then grunted. ‘This place warps anger to killing fury,’ he said, and Wargallow nodded, but said nothing.

  They gathered their precious water containers and put Ratillic, who was already unconscious, upon his horse. As they rode out from the rocks and down to the first of the sand wastes, they heard a roar from behind them. There were lights on the road, and whether it was the remnants of the army or the creatures of Xennidhum, they could not tell. Quickly they rode across the shallow sand, and before long they had been swallowed by it.

  All night they rode, pausing only to try and see from the higher ridges if there was any pursuit. Shortly after dawn they discerned a cloud of dust and knew there was a pursuit, but even now they could not be sure what it consisted of. In spite of the murderous heat, they could not risk stopping, so moved on, more slowly into the embrace of the desert. Several of the horses died, and men had to ride double, which slowed them even more, but Wargallow was ruthless enough to force them on. Brannog wondered whether the man was a curse, or whether his determination to succeed at any cost was the factor which would get them through this ordeal. Wargallow spoke to every man, whether they were Deliverers or not, and told them if they could not keep up the pace, they must drop behind. None fell back.

  Brannog rode with Ratillic before him now, but he had known for some time that he must have help soon. He said nothing to the others, for their spirits were frayed enough, but he sensed that Sisipher knew how Ratillic faded. In silence they rode on, only vaguely aware that they were travelling in the right direction to find Cyrene. If they missed it, they would not survive.

  What followed was like a fevered dream for them all as day became night and then day again. Men died, and other horses fell, the party slowly depleted. Already the water ran low, but they made it last. Behind them the scouts reported that the dust cloud drew ever nearer, and estimated that in another day it would draw level with them.

  When Brannog finally saw what he took to be the valley of Cyrene, he thought perhaps it was a mirage. Exhausted, the party crested a ridge and looked down. They had found the city of whispers. But as they came upon it, they heard a drumming of hooves. Within moments they were surrounded. Weakly, Brannog dragged out his axe. He found himself staring into a face that would not focus. But he heard a great shout not of anger, but of joy.

  'Brannog!’ came a voice. The face was less blurred, and after a long moment he saw that it was Ruan, and about him was a compliment of fresh troops. Brannog leaned forward to clap him on the shoulder, but the desert reached up and smothered him.

  When he came to, he was in a cool stone room, within the city. Water bathed his brow and he looked up to see his daughter smiling down at him. He tried to rise but had no strength left.

  'Be still,’ she said.

  'The others?’

  'All are safe, though Ratillic is unconscious,’ she said.

  'The pursuit?’

  'It comes. But Ruan is ready.’

  While Brannog fell back into sleep, Wargallow was sufficiently recovered to seek out Ruan. The latter had taken command of the soldiery. He had brought a thousand men across the great Silences, and he was proud of his ability to command them. He had acted swiftly when the party fleeing from Xennidhum had been found, deploying his troops defensively, seeing to the well being of Brannog and the others. There had been no time to discuss with them what had occurred in Xennidhum, so he was relieved now to see the Deliverer approaching.

  'Elberon died fighting,’ said Wargallow, knowing the young man sought news of the warlord first. ‘He fought like a dozen men, but you cannot imagine what we had to face.’ He went on to give an account of how the others had fallen.

  'And you are all that survived?’ said Ruan, appalled. He was watching the cloud of dust that came ever nearer from the east.

  Wargallow nodded at it. ‘Unle
ss that is the army. But I think not.’

  'How is Ottemar?’

  'He'll live,’ said Wargallow. ‘And is he to be the man you will crown as your Emperor?’

  'We'll need to rebuild the army. We could not take Goldenisle with what we have left. And without Elberon, well, he was irreplaceable.’

  'But you must replace him.’ Wargallow turned from the young man, leaving him to his troubled thoughts. As the Deliverer watched the desert, he called men to him. ‘Are my eyes playing tricks? What is that to the north? And there to the south!’

  Ruan had rushed to his side when he heard him shout. ‘The dunes! The walls that rose against us. But without Korbillian—”

  Ogrond and a number of the Earthwrought were also watching. ‘We are safe in Cyrene, masters. The dunes will not come here. The things within them fear this city, even now. But there is enough to satisfy them out in the desert. The pursuit is loud, is it not?’

  An hour later the dunes had massed and moved inexorably closer to each other. At last, long before the great cloud of dust that heralded the pursuit had reached the city, the banks of dune had closed in on it. Night fell, and while every soldier shrugged off sleep, watching the sand, prepared for battle, there was only the silence. As dawn brightened the panorama, they saw that the dust cloud had gone. There was no sign of the dunes.

  'It is done,’ said Ogrond, who had not moved.

  'Then it is safe to go back?’ Wargallow asked him.

  'Aye,’ he said solemnly. ‘I will take my people at once. We have found delvings that have been neglected for many years. We have much to do.’ He said no more than that, but scurried off to prepare the Earthwrought for the parting.

  Wargallow went indoors to where Brannog and Sisipher were talking softly at Ratillic's bedside. The two men faced each other and for a moment Sisipher thought the enmity between them would flare.

  'We seem to have won free,’ said Wargallow.

  'At what a cost,’ nodded Brannog.

  Wargallow appeared to be trying to find the words to say something that was troubling him. He looked at the unconscious Ratillic, grunting. ‘There has been much blood spilled. I recall your village, Brannog. If I have wronged your people, I regret it. The ways of the Deliverers must change. Grenndak has much to answer for, but so have I, and all those who stood by his Abiding Word.’ He held out his killing hand. The sun sparkled on its polished curves. ‘You have been wronged. I have been used, just as Korbillian was used.’ He put his arm across the heavy wooden table that had been pulled alongside Ratillic's bed.