the wall as it fell backward with an arrow in its chest. Mathew glanced up and down the length of the catwalk. He didn't think they would be able to withstand a third assault. When he looked at Father Thomas, he saw the same thoughts written on the priest's face. At most there were thirty men left, with hundreds of Orlocks still out there. Looking through the timbers, he could see them pulling the bodies of their dead companions away—for food. He pushed the thought from his mind.
Once more he tried to reach for the power and once more he failed. It worried him more than he let on. Something was very wrong. By this time his ability to access the ring should have returned. It was already taking longer than the previous day, when he had all but drained himself to the point of not being able to speak. His strength had come back then, just as it had each time before. But his ability to use the ring had not returned. He was certain there was a reason for it. There had to be.
Power without knowledge. The words kept going around in his head. There was something else, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. He kept wrestling with the problem until a cry from the wall attracted his attention.
"Get ready!" Edwin yelled at the top of his lungs.
Mathew jumped to his feet and had to look twice to confirm what he was seeing. The Orlocks were attacking again. Hundreds of them had spread out in a broad line and were running for the wall. If that wasn't bad enough, a small group in the center was pushing two burning wagons loaded with hay, gaining momentum with every step.
Father Thomas rapidly surveyed the situation and yelled out, "Back! Everyone fall back. Abandon the wall."
They began scrambling down the ladders along the catwalk. Mathew had just reached the ground when a loud crash followed by a shower of sparks rising up into the early evening sky told him one of the fire wagons had hit. Thankfully, the gate held. A second crash followed, and Mathew saw a crack appear in the heavy cross timber that bolted the two gates together.
"Back!" Father Thomas called again, grabbing his arm and pulling him along.
They ran up the street, checking over their shoulders as the Orlocks began to climb over the wall. Collin and Edwin paused long enough to loose arrows. Collin's found its mark in the middle of an Orlock's chest, while Edwin's arrow struck his target in the stomach. Both creatures screamed and fell backward. Edwin frowned, pulled a copper elgar out of his pocket and tossed it to Collin.
"You were closer," he said, and resumed his lumbering trot up the street.
Collin grinned and pocketed the coin with a quick wink at Mathew, who could only shake his head.
Just before they rounded the curve of Tremont's main street, Mathew spared another glance over his shoulder. The entire wall was on fire. While he ran, he caught glimpses of men positioned behind barrels, in windows, and crouched in the doorways of shops along the way. Two lines of barricades had been hastily erected across the street. He also noticed there was a thick line of hay directly behind one of the barricades, which puzzled him.
A loud crash told him the gate had fallen and Orlocks were pouring into the town. For the next hour, the archers Father Thomas had hidden released flight after flight of arrows at the creatures, quickly changing their position after each volley. This slowed the Orlocks, but Mathew knew it wouldn't stop them for long. For the third time he tried to use the ring and failed. Each time he did, it was like trying to remember a dream. It was there, but just beyond his grasp.
When they finally arrived at the tavern, most of the advanced archers who had been cutting down the Orlocks were falling back as well. One of them, an elderly man with a shock of white hair and a deeply lined face, came up to Father Thomas and shook his head.
"They're coming up the street now. We couldn't hold them any longer," he said.
"You did as well as anyone could ask of you," Father Thomas said gravely. "Get back to the North Gate and
tell the men to be ready. They must not be allowed to pass there."
The man nodded and ran off.
Father Thomas watched him go. The vision of the slaughter at Lindsey returned to his mind, gripping his heart like a hand of ice. The oath he swore to himself earlier, at risk of his eternal soul, also came back to him, as it had done throughout the day. No, he thought fiercely, it will not happen again.
He had spoken to the men privately, and all of them understood. If the Orlocks made it to the castle, they would find no one living to torture or maim. The weight of such a decision rested on his mind like a mountain. He was a priest, sworn to comfort those who were in pain, and life was a precious thing to be preserved. Briefly, he thought of Ceta Woodall waiting for him back in Elberton, and of never seeing her again. The possibility knifed into his heart, and only with the greatest of efforts did he force it back down again.
The Orlocks rounded the street fifty yards from the first barricade and, seeing the men waiting beyond, rushed at them. Exactly as planned, when seventy or so of them had climbed the first barricade, the "dead" man lying half under an overturned wagon sprang to life and lit the hay with a torch that lay smoldering next to him. A line of fire roared up and became an impassable wall, separating the first group of Orlocks from the second. The man scrambled out from under the wagon and dashed for one of the stores, disappearing into it. Behind him and on both sides of the street, archers opened up on the first group of Orlocks, who were cut off from their companions.
Despite the storm of arrows, still some made it through. Mathew stepped backward, avoiding a scythelike axe swing from one of the painted Orlocks. When his eyes met those of the creature, he could almost feel the rage and hatred flowing from them. Before it could make another stroke, he lunged, piercing it through the heart. To his right he saw Father Thomas moving swiftly and with incredible precision. Two Orlocks fell before his blade. As a third ran at him, the priest ducked down and drove his shoulder into the creature's body, then straightened up and tossed the Orlock over his head. The priest turned, pivoted, and beheaded it with a swinging backstroke.
Mathew knew that Collin was fighting somewhere behind him, but he had no time to look around as another Orlock charged at him and leveled a pike at his chest. Its lips were pulled back, baring its teeth. Mathew braced himself and parried in the opposite direction, deflecting the weapon to his outside, then stepped in and cut diagonally upward, using both hands. A bright line of red appeared across the creature's throat and its eyes bulged. The Orlock raised its hands to clutch the wound before toppling over.
Near one of the shops, he saw a man desperately trying to get another arrow off before he was overrun. There was nothing he could do to help. Two more men went down, one from an axe, another from a pike in his stomach. He couldn't say how long the fighting went on. Exhaustion was beginning to close in, and with each stroke his blade seemed a little heavier than before.
Then, to his surprise, he realized there were less Orlocks. The defenders of Tremont waded in and cut down the remaining few still alive on their side. While the barricade continued to burn, archers on the rooftops fired down on the Orlocks trapped on the opposite side until they too began to fall back.
A cheer went up from all those who were left, but Mathew's breath almost left him when he saw the number of men and women they had lost. There were only fifteen or so left.
"Back! Everyone back!" Father Thomas yelled. Mathew turned with the rest of the men and began running down the street, only to stop abruptly. The smoke-blackened face of Akin Gibb grinned back at him.
"My God, Akin!" he exclaimed. "That was you under the wagon?"
Akin shrugged. "I'm considering switching to a Church where the priests are somewhat less demanding.''
"And I'm considering acquiring some new congregants who don't complain as much," Father Thomas replied, falling into place alongside them.
Akin clapped Mathew on the shoulder and they resumed their pace down the street. It was fully dark by the time they reached the North Gate, save for the red-orange glow of the fires still
burning throughout the town.
"I've been hearing the most interesting things about your trips into the country," Akin remarked. "Something about stealing horses, Orlocks. . . and collapsing hills, if I got it correctly."
For the second time that evening Mathew recounted what had happened, quickly and without embellishment. Several men stopped to listen but said nothing. He knew they were looking at him oddly.
When he finished, all Akin said was, "Hmm."
"Modesty is virtuous, or hadn't you Elgarians heard?" a deep voice boomed out from their left.
"Gawl!" Father Thomas burst out, rushing forward to embrace the giant. "Well met, man. Well met."
Father Thomas barely came up to Gawl's chin.
"I said it before, Siward, and I say it again, you keep some very interesting company. I leave you to watch this little town in my absence, and I return to find it filled with Orlocks and Bajani generals."
"Where is everyone else?" Father Thomas asked, looking around for the defenders.
"We've been taking your people out for the last hour. Another ten minutes and we should have everybody. It seems our new friend General Val is unusually well-informed about the layout of not only the town, but also the old abbey."
Darias Val stepped out of the shadows to join then, making a small bow to Gawl, who returned it.
"It appears," Gawl continued, "the monks who built the abbey felt some necessity to provide means of exiting it quickly, though for what reasons, I wouldn't care to speculate. The general was kind enough to show us the passage out. There's a long tunnel that comes up about three hundred yards on the other side of the forest. We're camped about four miles from here." "What news of the battle?"
"Some good. As Val has said, with the death of their leader, the Bajani, being God-fearing people, are in a period of mourning. They won't fight, and Duren can't risk an internal war by provoking them. We're holding, but just barely. Even with Bajan out of the battle, Delain is still badly outnumbered. Hopefully, the Mirdites can level the situation a bit more when they arrive."
Father Thomas blew out a long breath. "How many men did you bring with you?" he asked.
"Two full companies, but they'll do well enough," Gawl replied with a broad smile. In the dim light, Mafhew thought he looked even more feral than usual.
"Two companies?" Father Thomas said, looking around, puzzled.
"Up there at the castle, Siward," he said, inclining his head in that direction. "Actually, it was the general's idea. If the Orlocks want Tremont so badly, we're going to let them have it."
"I've stationed your men in the buildings and on the roofs around the courtyard of the castle," Val said, speaking for the first time. "The Orlocks w,ill enter .. . but they will not emerge."
"How do we get them in there?" Collin asked. "We must offer a sufficient inducement," Val replied noncommittally.
Twenty minutes later Collin, Akin, and ten other men, including Val, who insisted on remaining with them, stood just on the other side of the smoldering embers of the last barricade. They watched the Orlocks cautiously advancing down the street.
"Remind me not to ask any more questions," Collin said under his breath.
Akin gave him a sour look and mumbled something about finding another Church again.
Darias Val stood in the middle of the street, feet widely planted, holding a curved sword in one hand, with a fist resting on the opposite hip, his belted black robe moving slightly with the evening breeze.
"Be gone from this town, eaters of filth! You are an abomination to the sight of men. Be gone, and we shall let you live," he called out.
Confused by the show of bravado, the Orlocks stopped and looked at one another, then at the stores and rooftops. No more than fifty yards separated the two groups.
Finally, one of them stepped forward and spoke, "Send us the boy and we will let you live, human."
"What boy do you speak of, creature of the night?"
Emboldened, the Orlock took another step forward.
"Move no closer, monster," Val snapped. "You expect us to take the word of an Orlock?"
"You expect us to take the word of a human?" it mimicked back with surprising accuracy.
"Why do you want the boy? Why not just take the ring?" Akin called out.
There was a pause before the Orlock answered. "The ring would have sufficed before. But now we would like the boy to be . . . our guest. Thousands of my people are dead. So tell me, human, which of us is the monster?"
"Well, at least they don't want me too," Akin said to Collin, pitching his voice loud enough to carry. "I'm the one who set fire to his people earlier."
The words had the intended effect. With a roar, the Orlocks rushed forward. The remaining twelve men spun about and fled up the street. Close on their heels, the enraged Orlocks pursued them past the North Gate and up the hill into the castle.
By Gawl's count, over two hundred of the snarling creatures flooded into the courtyard, only to find it empty.
When he gave the order to fire, both companies archers, previously hidden, stood as one, releasing storm of arrows down on the Orlocks as the gates were sealed.
It was over in five minutes.
37
Elgaria, Ardon Field
Mathew awoke in the predawn light feeling tired and sore. His sleep had been fitful and gave him little rest. Orlocks or not, the fact that he had killed thousands of living beings weighed heavily on his mind—so heavily that his sleep was racked by terrible dreams. The creature's question about which of them was a monster bothered him more than he was able to say. He made another attempt to use the ring, but it proved just as futile as those the previous day. He gave up, splashed some water on his face from the basin, grabbed his sword and began to walk back toward the town of Tremont. Solitude and time to think were what he needed at that moment.
At the edge of the forest, a short distance from the path leading to camp, were the remains of three ancient buildings. Gawl had pointed them out to him on their way in the night before. Two of the buildings had crumbled, leaving cement foundations and portions of granite walls still standing. The third still contained a complete first floor and part of a second.
Mathew stood there, imagining how huge it must have once been. There were no doors or windows anymore and whole sections of the walls were broken, revealing a battered metal frame. An entrance in the center of the building led to the largest single room he had ever seen. It consisted of marble that extended all the way to the ceiling, which had to be at least fifty feet above his head. At either end of the room were the oddest-looking staircases. Each rose up at a steep angle to the second floor of the building. They were made of glass and a light, shiny metal Mathew didn't recognize. The steps had lines or grooves running across them, and above the glass enclosure, a handrail made of a soft black material extended from the top of the staircase to the bottom and disappeared into the floor at the base. Mathew wondered whether the Ancients might have designed the staircase to move. It certainly seemed possible. The steps at the very bottom were not the same height as the other steps. They got smaller and smaller, eventually becoming flat at the bottom, and, like the handrail, they seemed to collapse and disappear into the floor. He stared at the structure in fascination. It was both beyond his comprehension and sad how the Ancients could create such things and then destroy themselves.
Mathew glanced down at his ring. There was little question now his ancestors had created it. Perhaps like the staircase, it had finally failed, never to work again.
The previous night, before they reached the camp, he had watched an Elgarian patrol engage the Alor Satar in a late-evening skirmish. Try as he might, he was unable to do anything to save them. All ability to make contact with the ring seemed to have simply vanished, and what little support he was able to lend was with his sword. Thankfully, the enemy broke off the engagement when Delain's reinforcements arrived. Now Mathew slipped the ring off his finger an
d stared at the strange lettering on the inside of the band. He wanted desperately to believe the power was still there, but if it was, for some reason he could no longer reach it.
His mind considered and reconsidered the possibilities, searching to come up with an explanation for what had happened, but each time his own ignorance mocked him. It was like a blind man trying to understand color. He desperately needed to do something to save his people—but what?
He wandered around the colossal wreck for the next
hour before finally giving up in frustration and heading back to camp. The numbers arrayed against them were too great, and it was going to take a miracle for Elgaria to withstand Duren for more than a few days. It seemed that the madman was going to win after all.
The camp Delain had chosen was on the south side of a place called Kolb's Farm. Duren and his army were camped across a broad green field at the north end of it. Too tired and depressed to talk to anyone, Mathew listened to bits and pieces of conversations. The fighting had gone on throughout the day, coming to an end only because of darkness. Both sides sustained heavy losses. The Elgarians had managed to hold, but just barely. At that hour of the morning, a few people were up and about. As he walked along, Mathew noted that Delain had posted sentries every hundred feet or so around the camp's perimeter, in the event of a surprise attack during the night. None came. Apparently, Duren didn't think there was any need for one.
A fight mist hung over the field between the two armies, covering the ground. Mathew stopped next to a campfire, allowing the heat to warm his back. Although Duren and his people were camped three or four hundred yards from them, there didn't seem to be much activity there. Well to the west, the rugged mountain range marking the border between his country and Sennia was showing highlights of golds and yellows. Though winter was long gone, some of the peaks were still capped in white. Gawl had told him that at the higher elevations snow could be found on many of the mountains the whole year round.
After a few inquiries, he found Daniel and Collin sitting outside Daniel's tent, talking. They waved as they saw him walk up. Daniel was resting on a cot, his left leg heavily bandaged.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 47
