The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  He'd stood irresolute and torn. All he had to do was join them and stand beside his sister – shape their rage, direct their attack, become one with them.

  Instead, he'd turned and begun to walk toward their enemy, each step tearing a hole in the fabric of his soul, tearing down the web of lies and illusions he'd begun telling himself: That he had a people. That he was a Bythian. That he could belong, could be one of many, could be welcomed.

  Overhead, the agony vultures were circling. They were waiting for him to fall, hoping he would collapse so they could feast.

  Asho bared his teeth. Not yet. His path had not yet come to its end.

  The entrance to the Labyrinth of Abythos was just ahead. Its ceremonial gate was a work of savage architecture, carved from black basalt and wicked in its lines and angles. The earth opened up beneath it, depressing into a ramp that sank into the depths. A constant stream of traffic was moving down it, streaming from the Solar Gates back behind the cubes. There was little time left, Asho knew. Instinctively, he could sense the imminent closure of the Portals that connected Bythos to the rest of the Empire. An hour, perhaps, at most.

  Asho stepped out of the endless, cruel fields of rock into the great cleared space in front of the archway. Urgolthas were hauling wagons below, and Ennoian guards and overseers were crying out commands, seeking to impose order on the commotion.

  Asho slowed and looked around. His heart was pounding. This was it: the moment he would betray his people. The minute he'd been dreading.

  He strode over to a swarthy Ennoian who was grumbling and rubbing the back of his head as he stared at two urgolthas that had stopped to sniff each other. "Move on, move on!" The man's cry was halfhearted. The urgolthas' drovers were already cracking their weapons.

  "Excuse me, ser," said Asho, stepping forward. "I need –"

  "What the hell are you doing up here?" The Ennoian glared at him.

  "I've got to warn you –"

  "By the Ascendant, there's a war going on, and I've got slaves talking back to me? Get over there and join that team moving those urgolthas!"

  "You don't understand," cried Asho, his despair suddenly turning to tortured anger. "You've got to listen!"

  "All right, listen to this," the overseer said, and drew his blade from his hip.

  Asho stepped back, hands rising. He was without his sword. Already, dozens of soldiers were turning toward them, alerted by the first man's tone. Asho cursed, ducked his head, and ran to one of the urgolthas, sliding in beside the other Bythians, who cast flat looks at him before turning away.

  The massive beast was in good condition; its hide was lustrous, its eyes bright. Clearly, it had just come down from the Empire above, hauling this load straight to Abythos. Asho knew nothing about these towering beasts. So he simply waved his arms and tried to blend in until the drovers finally got their beasts going and they were all moving forward.

  Asho cast a last glance over his shoulder. Was that a dark mass of people leaving the cubes in the distance?

  They marched down the ramp into the world of the Labyrinth. Buglights were affixed to massive columns that soared like pale tree trunks into the heights above, casting everything into shifting clouds of emerald green. The ramp opened into a vast chamber from which tunnels and echoing corridors extended; as he moved forward, Asho counted at least a dozen huge passages running deeper into this subterranean complex, the green of the buglights giving way to the strange ambient purple glow of the Labyrinth.

  The deeper they went, the more impressive the Labyrinth became; at times, chasms opened up alongside the path that descended to untold depths, while a forest of stalactites and stalagmites rose and fell all around them.

  Troops of Ennoians jogged past, hurrying toward the Gate. Messengers raced back up toward the surface. Everywhere, there was a sense of tension. Asho watched another squad of soldiers run past, spears resting on their shoulders, and realization hit him. It was really happening. Somewhere, far away across the world, the kragh were assaulting Abythos.

  Asho could take this no longer. He stepped out from behind his companions and began to race forward. The drovers yelled out in annoyance, and a group of Ennoian soldiers scowled at him and began to give chase. Asho ran faster, sprinting down the broad ramp, darting past wagons, ducking around porters, bobbing and weaving through the crowd.

  Suddenly, the ramp leveled out again and Asho saw the Abythian Gate. It rose in the center of an island of stone, surrounded on all sides by chasms and crevices. Huge stalactites descended around it like a protective wall, and five narrow causeways connected it to other islands and passages that led deeper into the Labyrinth. The largest causeway connected to the main ramp, where ranks of soldiers were standing at the ready, some three or four hundred men and women facing the Gate, watching its huge white rippling surface as others emerged or ran through bearing messages and orders.

  "Attack!" screamed Asho, abandoning all attempts at subtlety. "An attack from above!"

  Heads turned. Eyes narrowed, then looked past him at the guards in pursuit. Asho slowed and waved his arms. This was madness. Worse, it was abject foolishness. Why had he thought these men and women would listen to him at this critical hour?

  "Please! The Bythians are rising and marching on the Gate! You must –"

  Arms seized him from behind, and something clouted him on back of the head. Asho staggered and almost turned to fight back, but bit down on the impulse. He searched the ranks of soldiers, the amused and annoyed expressions.

  A boot slammed into his calf and drove his knee down onto the rock. An arm slipped around his neck and put him in a headlock. Other hands pinned his arms behind his back. Cursing and hissing in an attempt to breathe, Asho struggled until he saw one of the soldiers spit and draw his blade, clearly intending to stop his struggles for good.

  "Hold."

  The voice was curt and redolent with authority. Asho looked up and saw an Ennoian knight stride up, a young man with a shock of gold hair. His features were delicate, his eyes mocking and cruel. Asho knew him, but from where?

  "Ser Cunot," gasped Asho, barely able to draw breath.

  The knight narrowed his eyes. "My brother is dead. I am Ser Cunad."

  "Golden Viper. Asho. Kyferin Castle." Asho could barely choke the words out.

  The knight's brow furrowed, and then he blinked. "Release him."

  The Ennoians hesitated, then did so, stepping back so that Asho nearly fell over. He inhaled sharply and fought his way to his feet.

  "I remember you. The Bythian squire." Ser Cunad's voice had gone flat. "We fought in the tournament below Kyferin Castle. You and your lady were banished. What, by the Black Gate, are you doing here?"

  "Not a squire," said Asho. "A knight. And I swear to you on my honor that a Bythian army is marching upon this Portal. They have been contacted by the kragh and urged to lead a revolt at this critical moment. Please, you must believe me."

  Asho heard snickers around him, but Ser Cunad's expression remained cold. He studied Asho, who could only hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

  "The slaves cannot form an army," he said at last. "They lack weapons."

  "Picks, shovels, anything at hand. They're coming. They may even be at the archway above right now."

  A red-faced sergeant let out a hollow laugh. "Want me to put him in his place, ser knight?"

  "No," said Ser Cunad. "Take a hundred soldiers and move to the surface. Verify whether this approaching 'army' exists. If so, send word back and remain at the archway to defend it. If not, return with all speed."

  "I – yes, ser knight." The sergeant swallowed his amazement and bellowed at his men. A full quarter of those assembled fell in and began to jog behind the man, who led them streaming across the causeway and up the ramp.

  "I don't know what your game is, Ser Asho," said Ser Cunad, "but I will do you the honor you deserve as a knight. If, for any reason, I find that you are taking advantage of me, however, I will punish you as I would a sla
ve."

  Asho rubbed at his neck. "That won't happen."

  Ser Cunad went to respond, but cries from above cut him off. Soldiers who had still been facing the Abythian Gate turned, their ranks growing disordered as they peered up the huge ramp. Urgolthas trumpeted in alarm, and then yells and screams sounded, followed by a growing rush of chanting and shouting, as if the Labyrinth itself had suddenly been given voice.

  "Here they come," said Asho. "May I have a blade?"

  Ser Cunad stood stiff with shock and did not respond. An urgoltha pounded into view, numerous spears embedded in its thick hide. Eyes rolling, it shook its huge head from side to side, sending men flying as it stampeded through the line of wagons and reached the edge of a chasm. Momentum carried it right over, and it fell squealing and trumpeting into the depths below.

  "By the Black Gate," mumbled Ser Cunad.

  The hundred men he had just sent up were retreating from a boiling mass of Bythians, hundreds upon hundreds of them choking the ramp. They were hurling rocks and swinging poles, overwhelming the Ennoians through sheer mass of numbers. At the center of their front line Asho saw the mountain kragh, Nok. It was sweeping its massive ax from side to side, and wherever he attacked, Ennoian soldiers fell.

  "Full turn!' Ser Cunad's voice cut through the din. "Now, damn you, now!"

  The remaining Ennoians scrambled about, their sergeants bellowing. Asho cast about for a blade, anything he could wield as a weapon, but nothing was at hand.

  The hundred Ennoians who had gone up to scout reached the edge of the causeway just as Ser Cunad swung his blade forward and screamed, "Charge!"

  Three hundred more Ennoians pounded forward to bolster the line, pressing in from behind the first hundred and grinding them to a halt. The causeway was only broad enough for thirty men to stand shoulder to shoulder, so the retreating Ennoians had to spread out on either side with their backs to the chasm.

  The press of the Bythians was too much. Even as the center of the Ennoian line began to press forward, cleaving into the Bythians, the flanks began to muscle the soldiers back, and they began to overbalance and fall into the chasm, screaming and wailing as they plunged after the urgoltha.

  Asho moved forward with the press, jammed in tight between soldiers eager to attack the Bythian rebels. He was crushed on all sides and lost sight of Ser Cunad. He could hear screams and the dull clang of weapons on armor, the curses and the desperate gasps for breath of men swinging for their lives. He reached over and over again for the magic of the Black Gate, unable to restrain his instinct, but each time he failed to snare more than a sliver.

  The men before him suddenly pressed back, then melted aside, opening up a space, and Asho almost stumbled forward into the front line when he saw Nok looming right in front of him. The mountain kragh had to be seven feet tall; his massive muscles were swollen, with veins like earthworms ridged along his arms, and his tusks were crimson with blood. He had swung his huge ax directly overhead, and Asho barely had time to throw himself to the ground before it whooshed right through where he'd been standing.

  A sword lay to his left. He snatched it up and jumped to his feet, expecting to see the kragh regaining his balance, wrestling the heavy ax back under control, but Nok needed no such help. The kragh was already reversing his blow, his strength such that his weapon seemed to dance at his bidding.

  Asho threw himself forward, not even bothering to try to deflect or parry the blow. The kragh would have cleaved through the blade and Asho both. Instead, Asho moved within and past the path of the lethal ax head, so that the haft itself cracked against his ribs, lifting him right off his feet and sending him rolling along the stone floor.

  Before Asho could arrest his roll, the ground disappeared out from under him and he fell. Dropping the blade, he latched onto the edge of the causeway, his legs kicking out over the void below.

  Asho cried out and clung for dear life, his fingers beginning to slip. Men were fighting desperately right above him, their heels moving over the edge, swinging and cursing and then falling back, flailing and screaming as they fell past him and down into the depths.

  Asho gritted his teeth and began to haul himself up only to have someone step on his fingers. He screamed and pulled his arm free, which swung him completely around to hang now by one hand as he gazed down into the cold purple depths. Dark shapes were falling down there, growing smaller and smaller. His left arm was on fire, his fingers slipping on the wet grit of the floor. He turned back to the chasm face, swung his right hand back up, missed the edge and felt his left hand give way.

  For a sickening second he dropped, and then a hand swept down and gripped him by the wrist. Asho looked up and saw Kanna, her face contorted with effort. She hauled him back up, and he managed to grip the edge with both hands and complete the job. He rolled up onto solid ground, panting, but there was no time to rest. Kanna seized him by the front of his shirt and with a cry lifted him up to his knees.

  "What are you doing here?" she screamed. All around them, men were fighting and dying, weapons clanged, and the din of battle raged.

  Asho got his feet under him and stood.

  Kanna let go of him. Her eyes were wide. "You came to warn them!"

  Asho could do nothing but nod. He saw disbelief flash through her expression, then pain.

  "Traitor!" Kanna stepped back and drew her blade. "Traitor!"

  A man rammed into him from behind, and Asho fell to his knees, tripping over the outflung arm of a dead woman. Kanna raised her blade. She was gripping it with both hands, her teeth bared, her eyes wild. His own hand closed on the hilt of the dead woman's sword.

  Instinct kicked in. All it would take was to stab up before Kanna could swing down. He gritted his teeth and went to deflect the blow aside, but then a number of combatants backed violently into them. Asho managed to sidestep, but Kanna wasn't so fortunate. A man slammed into her and knocked her over the edge.

  She didn't scream. One moment she was there, then she was gone.

  Asho almost froze. Instinct kept him alive. He turned his back to the chasm and sidestepped as the crowd continued to back toward him, pressed by the Bythians and Nok's great swings. A man attacked him, but he blocked automatically and backhanded a cut across the man's throat.

  More Bythians were flooding down the ramp, and though the initial group of scouts had mostly been toppled into the chasm, those who had been standing at the head of the causeway were still holding strong, pushed forward by the straining remains of the Ennoian force who were aching to fight the rebels.

  Asho heard Nok's roar and saw the kragh charge into the massed ranks of Ennoians at the head of the causeway, his ax swinging like a scythe mowing down wheat. He bulled his way deep into their ranks, and the Bythians poured in after him.

  He was being ignored, Asho realized, the other Bythians focusing on the Ennoian resistance. Asho stood to the side and let his sword drop. What should he do? Attack them unaware? He felt sick to his soul, suddenly outside of this fight, neither a Bythian nor an Ennoian, with no side to call his own.

  Cries emanated from the Abythian Portal, and Asho turned to see men falling backward through the rippling white waters as if they had been pushed. Dozens upon dozens of soldiers sprawled and tripped, bloody blades in hand. They kept coming, falling out through the Gate, desperate and wounded.

  One of the newly emerged soldiers climbed to his feet, dropped his blade, and cupped his hands around his mouth. "They're coming!' he screamed. "The kragh! They're coming through!"

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  The humans were defeated. No one knew it yet but him, but he could see it in the tides of battle, could taste it in the air, could sense the weakening of resolve. He had done it: he'd taken Abythos. The mightiest human bastion had fallen to his intellect.

  The ramp down into the heart of Abythos and its Solar Portal was open to him and his horde, torn asunder by the trolls. Hundreds of his kragh were streaming past him, hurling themselves down the ramp into the
rising tide of humans who were desperately trying to hold them back.

  No matter. They would fail.

  Tharok felt swollen with power, World Breaker pulsing strength and terrible vitality into his frame. The sounds of war were raging around him, echoing down from the battlements where thousands of humans were trying to stem his horde, from the great ruined gate where they sought to pincer through the influx of kragh and cut them off.

  Let them. He didn't need to overwhelm Abythos in one fell swoop. He just needed to get enough kragh through the Portal before it closed, and then the rest would fall in turn.

  A phalanx of human knights appeared to his left, their bodies encased in gleaming metal. They came charging toward him with their swords flashing, led by a grim-faced man with salt-and-pepper hair. Fools. Why wear metal when they were too weak to move swiftly with that added weight?

  They punched into the side of his sea of kragh with impressive determination. Bloodlust stirred inside of Tharok, and he rolled his shoulders, bared his tusks and let loose a roar of challenge.

  To his surprise, the older human slipped under the swipe of his opponent, disemboweling several kragh as he passed, and stopped in front of Tharok. Instead of being terrified by Tharok's roar, the human threw his own arms wide and screamed right back. His voice was puny, but the dark rage and defiance in it was impressive.

  Tharok grinned. The little human had spirit. Now, to test his strength.

  He cleaved World Breaker down at the man's head. The human threw himself aside, barely avoiding the blow, and a line of fire erupted across Tharok's forearm.

  Tharok raised his arm. A deep cut had somehow appeared along its length. The human bared his teeth, but he froze as the cut pressed closed, healed, and disappeared.

  Tharok chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, and swung World Breaker in a vicious horizontal snap. The human whipped his blade up and parried, and a flash of white light burst out as their blades connected.