The first of the Tanhara Gen riders, some with children mounted in front of them, several carrying infants, and one with a newborn, pounded through the gap in the renSime line. His own Companion, Losa, rode in the middle of the group carrying a baby in the crook of her arm, controlling the horse with her knees. His life might well depend on Losa’s survival.
Solamar cleared the Tanhara Gens and pulled out in front of the Fort’s renSime contingent to race flat out for the wagons.
Shouting and gesturing, he explained the plan with nageric emphasis as the wagons roared past him.
Despite it being beyond his authority to give tactical orders, the Tanhara renSimes driving the wagons set to implementing the Fort Rimon plan.
The cattle and sheep were cut loose. Now that they were inside the valley, the exhausted animals wouldn’t stray far, especially with the dogs herding them. That left the chickens, a few goats, more dogs and some cats, and a dozen geese, in the wagons.
Most of their riding stock had gone ahead with the Gens, leaving all the Tanhara renSimes riding in the wagons, driving them, or mounted on the few horses left. The lead wagons with the wounded also carried most of the channels and Companions to care for them.
The trailing wagons bristled with renSime defenders ready to die for Tanhara if necessary. The last wagon held two hopelessly ill Gens and an elderly channel, ready to sacrifice their lives to give the others a few precious seconds to escape.
Several renSime passengers took positions beside the drivers with arrows at the ready, an unusual weapon brought from out-Territory. Tanhara had been forced to master it during their flight when they met Freebanders who used it to pick off channels and Companions from a distance. One Band had chased Tanhara across two Territories and learned better than to get too close.
As Tanhara readied for the fight, the Fort’s riders passed the wagons at full gallop, speeding to intercept the Freeband Raiders.
They crossed the edge of the tilled fields. Now they rolled over the stubble of harvested wheat fields. The ground was softer, slower, but rock free. Speed picked up. We’re almost there. We’re going to make it.
Zlinning their prey about to escape into the stockade, the Freebanders spurred their horses mercilessly. They wanted those Gens who were fleeing ahead.
Solamar saw one of the Freebanders’ horses founder. The junct Freebander, a scarecrow figure of skin and bones clad in rags, leapt clear of the horse and ran, augmenting his speed by burning extra selyn. Even without a horse, he was still closing on the rear wagon.
Solamar dropped back to the rear wagon just as the Fort Rimon renSimes met the oncoming line of Freebanders.
The Rimon renSimes picked off the leaders with throwing knives, arrows, and bullwhips. The horses and Simes thus downed tripped several more Freebanders. The pile-up slowed the rest of the attackers. Most leapt off their horses and continued on foot.
The Rimon renSimes regrouped and caught up to the last wagon.
The lone runner on foot had now been joined by those unhorsed. Burning extra selyn, they were more desperate than ever to get at the Tanhara Gens.
With a quick scan toward the Fort, Solamar realized that most of the Tanhara Gens were going to make it to safety. But the last wagon was in trouble.
Solamar rode for the Freebanders, gathering his concentration. He grabbed hold of the junct’s personal fields with his own, and yanked hard.
The handful of juncts closing on the rear wagon went down. Oh, shen. They’re dead!
He hadn’t meant to Kill, but juncts could be so fragile, especially the malnourished and dissipated Freebanders.
The leader of the Fort’s renSime troop turned to him and saluted with four tentacles. Even at such a distance and through the surging ambient, he felt her astonishment and approval. But she was also irked at him for not riding on to the Fort gate. She ordered him away with a gesture.
Solamar turned his horse and galloped for the head of the wagon train, feeling his mare laboring with fatigue. He leaned over her neck and told her, “Just a little farther now, Trilli, and you’ll get a good meal and a warm barn to sleep in.” He shifted his weight encouragingly.
As the wagons climbed up to the Fort’s gate, Solamar swung onto the lead wagon’s left rear horse near the failing tackle he’d spotted earlier.
They reached the top of the rise where the area in front of the gate was broad and flat. The gates still stood slightly open.
Solamar gestured the renSime driver to circle right, easing the strain on the failing harness juncture.
They led the first ten wagons into a semi-circle around the gate, and headed the lead wagon straight into the wall of the Fort. Zlinning to judge the right moment as he gentled the skittish horses, Solamar climbed onto the wagon tree and pulled the pin.
With the horses separating from the wagon, he rode the tree, steering the horses along the wall toward the gate, letting the wagon tongue drop as the driver stood on the brake.
The wagon stopped with the tongue only a stride short of the wall.
RenSime drivers and passengers scrambled off the slowing wagons, and freed the horses. Tanhara channels and Companions pulled the stretchers out of the lead wagons, and helped the walking wounded. The moment everyone was clear, each wagon was tipped over barricading the still open gate and the smaller door beside it.
The older children and everyone else wrestled the panicked animals, people, stretchers, and crates of screeching birds toward the open gateway.
Beyond the barricade, on the far edge of the harvested fields, the Freebanders had regrouped and were now pounding toward the Fort behind a large contingent on foot.
Solamar was certain these Raiders were just a contingent split off from the larger horde that had destroyed whatever town was burning behind the distant hill.
Have I found Fort Rimon only to lose it?
Through the gate opening, Solamar zlinned the Tanhara Gens with his own Companion, Losa, a white-hot glow among them. The Rimon Gens didn’t all go down to the shelters so they’d be there to help our Gens.
Behind Solamar, at the barricade, both Rimon and Tanhara marksmen took positions on the overturned wagons and laid down a barrage of arrows that stopped even the Raiders who were in the grip of Killust. Solamar didn’t have time to be shocked at the Rimon use of the bow.
Meanwhile, the Fort’s mounted renSimes attacked and harried the Raiders, buying time as the next fifteen wagons pulled into a circle around the first ten. That left three wagons outside the makeshift barricade.
Tanhara refugees struggled to salvage their possessions at risk of their lives.
Rimon defenders swarmed out of the Fort shouting orders to cut the draft horses loose and scatter them down the path into the confusion of attacking Raiders.
Against the flow of defenders coming out to help, Tanhara animals, people, older children, all burdened with whatever they could carry, all shouting advice, yelling orders, and trying to keep track of their loved ones, clambered over the toppled wagons, boiled across the narrow space and poured through the Fort gates struggling toward safety.
The smaller gate door was barely wide and tall enough to get one horse through at a time. The last of the four-ups that could squeeze through the Fort gates cleared, and the huge gates began slowly closing.
Over five dozen prime draft animals were driven down the hill into the swarm of Raiders.
As the gates closed, some stretchers had to be abandoned, the wounded carried over someone’s shoulders. The channels struggled to control the ambient, dampen the panic, and scrambled to get into position where he could help. Solamar dismounted and pulled Trilli into the stream of frantic people entering the Fort.
More than two hundred adults, kicking at the chickens and geese, dragging the goats, calling their dogs, towing and carrying children, crammed through two narrow openings to join the mob of Gens and other children they had sent ahead. Many tarried outside the shelters in mounting anxiety for their loved ones while Rimon�
��s Gens urged them to go below where it would be safe.
The channels managed to keep the local ambient muted, unattractive to the attackers. Solamar finally in position, joined his efforts to theirs. He boosted one of his patients onto Trilli’s sweaty back, a renSime with a broken leg. “Just a few steps,” he assured the man, “and you’ll be in a solid bed, no more jostling, no more wagons.”
He split his attention between his fainting patient and the battle forming at the barricade. The Fort’s riders arrived at the barricade and leaped from their horses to the overturned wagons. The Freebanders arrived right behind them, pounding at the defense line, and dying.
Death filled the air, the small deathshocks of selyn-depleted renSimes forming a wave of background noise under the potent ambient.
Then the Freebander’s fire-arrows began to rain onto the wagons. Sheets of fire leaped for the heavens. Screaming panic shattered the ambient lanced with burn-pain and pulsing horror. The world turned black, red and white.
Solamar plunged himself hypoconscious, struggling to cut off his awareness of the ambient, once again wishing he were Gen. Gens didn’t have to feel everyone’s pain as if it were their own.
Again, Gen pain split the ambient, this time a Companion’s burn pain sizzling like lightning.
An instant before his awareness shut down, Solamar zlinned several Raiders off in the distance lanced by the incredible shock of that Companion’s pain, fall from their horses and lay twitching.
Raiders didn’t use fire as a weapon because it could do more harm to them than to their targets. What is going on here?
Drenched in sweat, shaking, he coughed in the smoke and dust, suddenly hyperaware of the smell of singed flesh, the screams of the horses, the stench of fear. He let himself drift duoconscious again, still leaning all his weight into holding his horse’s nose down, keeping the animal from bolting into the mass of humanity ahead of him. He rejoined the other channels trying to control the ambient. The burned Companion was being carried into the Fort. Raiders would soon learn not to use fire as a weapon against Forts.
Above them, from the top of the stockade wall, arrows arced into the massing Freebanders, peppering the ambient with the pain of each hit. Despite his effort to avoid it, Solamar zlinned each plume of selyn rushing out of a junct renSime already near Attrition.
Some of the Fort’s renSime defenders packed in around him as an escort. “Quickly! Channels to the underground shelter!”
The people and animals ahead of Solamar jammed together, trying to make room for those still coming through the big gate. Solamar turned to watch it close behind him.
Freebanders leaped through a sheet of fire from one of the wagons, over the heads of the defending archers, landed in the midst of the churning mass of refugees and headed for the gate. Just inside Gens were still crammed into the mob pushing through. More Freebanders were coming over the burning wagons.
Solamar’s escort turned toward this new menace, and a moment later the wave of Freebanders came at them in a flying wedge, slashing their way through with long, heavy bladed knives.
True to form, the lead Freebanders in the attack were all close to Attrition, the point at which their bodies would run out of selyn. They were dead if they didn’t get a Gen to Kill within the next few minutes, draining the Gen’s life force to replenish their own.
Bleeding renSimes fell all around while Tanhara defenders grappled with the Raiders.
Then the flying wedge of Raiders was past Solamar, into the seething mass of humanity inside the Fort. The miasma of deathshock spread like a poisonous fog within the walls of safety.
Screaming, howling and slashing, another wave of Raiders leaped through the flames of their own making, some of them with their clothing on fire.
Solamar zlinned a knife flying through the air. He lunged toward the target, one of his own escort, planning to push him aside.
The knife thunked solidly into flesh. The tip sliced into heart muscle. The man died standing up. Solamar landed on top of the renSime corpse and sprawled in a tangle amidst trampling feet.
Trilli bolted into the mass ahead. Someone caught the reins, and that was the last Solamar knew about the horse and his patient.
Hands and tentacles pulled him to his feet, his green shirt and tan riding leathers drenched in the guard’s hot blood.
He was only a few steps inside the gate when it thudded shut. Five renSimes levered the huge crossbar into place. Tanhara refugees were still pushing through the smaller door fleeing the mass of Raiders behind them.
The ambient was a strident, paralyzing, sense-deadening pressure against his whole body. And then suddenly—it wasn’t.
A towering nageric presence penetrated the ambient, dominating everything nearby with a fine but massive precision.
That has to be a Farris Channel.
In the bubble of controlled silence, his head cleared and he searched for the channel. There! Right inside the door. He shouldn’t be out here! It’s too dangerous.
Too stunned to protect his own senses, Solamar zlinned right through the wooden Fort walls. Another larger group of Raiders came boiling over the wagons in a howling mass of raging Need and unbridled Killust. The defenders retreated before them. They’ll surely take the Fort. We’ve destroyed Fort Rimon!
Solamar stood, transfixed by failure.
A strong, bony hand suffused with that massive Farris nager grabbed Solamar’s hand and shoved it against the rung of a ladder. “Up!”
Solamar climbed, pushed by the Farris, and in moments was standing on top of the Fort wall beside an older man who pulsed with that peculiarly overwhelming nager. The Farris channel. In the midst of battle.
The Farris was tall, hawk nosed, with the typical black hair, brows, and eyes, dimpled chin, high cheekbones that Solamar had seen only in drawings. Definitely Farris.
“Zlin there!” A nageric prod directed his attention to the view over the wall and down into the boiling mass of hand-to-hand combat around the overturned wagons. The defenders were being cut off and systematically destroyed by the Freebanders. Six wagons were on fire.
A group of Freebanders pushed one of those burning wagons up against the Fort’s wall. On top of the wall, a squad of renSimes hurriedly deployed a trough from the cistern at the corner to a point above the burning wagon and sluiced the fire with water, wetting down the wall too.
As Solamar stared, two more Fort renSimes were overwhelmed by Raiders. We’re going to lose this Fort too.
A male voice off to his left called, “Rimon, we’ve got to get that door closed!”
“Not yet, Jhiti!” answered the older Farris channel. “We still have people out there.” Even as he spoke, more renSime defenders beat off Raiders and retreated through the narrow opening of the door. Two more Raiders followed them in. There were more defenders still out there fighting.
So this is Rimon Farris! No wonder he has such a nager.
Then Losa’s searingly penetrating nager shattered the ambient. The Farris whipped around to gaze down into the stockade’s yard. Unconsciously, Solamar spun in sync with him.
Losa had been cut off from the hatchway leading down into the shelter. Raiders surrounded her. She had given Solamar transfer only five days ago. As brightly attractive as her nager seemed, she didn’t have enough selyn to withstand being attacked by so many renSimes.
Two of the Raiders slashed at her with their long knives, toying with her fear. Blood spurted as she backed up, selyn energy pluming forth from the wound making the Raiders grin. Solamar’s whole body went into healing mode, reaching toward his Companion to staunch the loss of selyn with his own body’s fields, even though he was too far away.
It was what channels did—heal wounds, fight disease, bring Gens and renSimes to peak of health. More than instinct, it had become for Solamar a total way of life as he pushed and pulled the Tanhara refugees toward the legendary Fort Rimon, where they were all going to die.
“Snap out of it!” commanded
the Farris.
“They know what she is!” protested Solamar transfixed. “They’ll murder her and try to strip her dead body of selyn.” Below in the yard, the two Raiders stalked Losa, attracted by the pluming selyn they could zlin. It was just one small skirmish in a yard full of fighting, running, chaos and dying.
The Farris glanced from Solamar to Losa. “She’s your Companion.”
“Yes.”
“Help me get the Raiders’ attention!” the older channel commanded grimly and turned to the yard below.
Suddenly the ambient around the Farris was pure Gen—bright, hot, incredibly enticing. Solamar joined the effort to create the illusion of two great Gens hidden visually from below by the guardrail and part of the water tank but nagerically obvious.
“Good, now a little fear for spice, like doing a disjunction lure. Follow me.”
It was remarkably easy, just like dancing with an expert. In counterpoint, they swirled and pulsed with fear, using the channel’s unique control of the body’s nageric projection to seem to be Gen to the senses of the Simes below.
Solamar, tired, aching, terrified and desperate, let himself float on the Farris nager, let that ineffable power sweep through him, using his body as an extension.
One by one all the Freebanders in the yard, and even those still fighting the defenders outside by the wagons turned toward the spot above where two replete and terrified Gens waited to be Killed, to be savagely stripped of all their selyn energy.
The Raiders would see only two heads, one black haired, one blond, and maybe a bit of shoulder, not enough to tell Sime from Gen visually. But every renSime, Raider or not, zlinned those two deliciously terrified Gens and so they knew they were seeing two delicious Gens no matter what their eyes might report.
Now, even the Fort renSimes were responding to that projected Gen fear, only they did have an idea of what was actually going on. Freeband Raiders fed on Gen fear as well as selyn. The Fort Simes never Killed, never craved fear, but got all their selyn through their channels. The Raiders had no clue what a channel could do with selyn fields.
The Farris Channel: Sime~Gen, Book Twelve Page 3
