“Loose!” cried Brekk.
T-thunn! sang two ballistas, and fireballs smashed into the Ogrus and set them ablaze. Shrieking and burning, unable to cast off the tarlike clinging fire, back toward the oncoming rout they fled.
“Loose!” cried Dokan.
T-thun! two more ballistas sang, hurling lances to slam through each of the fleeing Ogrus, and yet aflame, they fell slain.
“So much for the Trolls,” grunted Brekk.
But still, there were two hundred Spawn to deal with.
Desault, his satchel in hand, reached Aravan. “Are you hurt, Captain? Wounded?”
“Nay, Desault. But James is wounded, and as soon as we can, we must return to his side.”
“He yet lives?”
“Aye, he does. And if the Spaunen think he does not, then there is a chance he will survive this battle.”
Even as Aravan spoke, black-shafted arrows and heavy slingstones flew at the Eroean, to be answered by arrows and crossbow quarrels in return.
Sling bullets, too, hammered into the Foul Folk, as again and again Pipper rose up from behind the railing and let fly. “Got one!” he shouted. “That makes six in all.”
“Pish!” sneered Binkton in return, loosing another arrow. “Seven for me.”
As Pipper squatted behind cover to load another sling bullet, he scanned the deck. “Scout!” he blurted.
Binkton, also squatting to nock another arrow, growled.
“What I mean, Bink, is, Where’s Lissa?”
Now Binkton looked about. “Didn’t she and Vex come running up the gangplank?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, she’s got to be here somewhere,” said Binkton, though the bleak look in his eyes claimed otherwise. He rose up and loosed another arrow. It flew wide of its intended target.
But grume-coated Ruchen arrows hissed among the crew, and some fell pierced, crying out in shock and pain. Others fell with bones broken by heavy slingstones. Desault and his aide rushed thither and yon, and Aravan and Aylis joined the chirurgeon, and they stanched the flow and cleansed away grume and administered sops of ease for those in dire need.
Arrows and sling bullets flew from ship to shore, to be answered in kind in reverse. The ballistas sang, and fire fell among the Grg, though for the most part the flaming missiles were dodged.
But then a great howl of elation rose up from the Spawn.
“Kapitan! Kapitan!” shouted Nikolai. “Look!”
Aravan gazed toward where Nikolai pointed.
Out among the tall foliage, a burning Troll wrenched upright. Aflame and fully skewered by a ballista-flung lance, the Troll jerked to its feet.
“Wot th’ . . . ?” Long Tom gaped at the fiery apparition.
Aylis muttered an arcane word, and with her
“Aravan, it is not alive,” she called. “There must be a Necromancer near.”
“Where away?” called Aravan.
“I cannot
Bearing the heavy stone, the Troll afire—its flesh sizzling and popping, greasy gray smoke swirling upward from the blaze—lumbered toward the pier.
“Oh, Gralon, but Oi do think he’s thinkin’ o’ throwin’ that monstrous rock at us, Oi do,” cried Long Tom. “He be aimin’ t’ hole th’ hull.”
Swiftly cranking, the Châkka recocked the ballistas. “Lade stone!” cried Dokan.
“Stone?” asked a nearby Châk, even as he reached for one of the granite balls.
“Neither fire nor spear has slowed him,” growled Dokan. “Mayhap we can break him apart.”
Again, the Foul Folk erupted in jubilation, and aboard the ship Pipper said, “Adon, Adon, look,” as the second burning Ogru wrenched itself up out from the tall foliage growing along the shore.
Arrows and sling bullets flew, all to no effect against the first of these hideous creatures.
Thunn! sang the ballista, and the rocky missile hurtled through the air to strike the burning, spear-pierced, slab-bearing Troll along the left side of its abdomen, punching through, leaving a gaping wound behind. As the monster staggered sidewise a step, viscera slid out from the hole to hiss and sputter in the fire. Yet in spite of his entrails spilling forth to burn, the creature recovered and lumbered on.
“If ye can, take off its head,” commanded Aravan.
Châkka adjusted the aim.
Thunn!
“Kruk! Missed!”
As the Spawn jeered and flew arrows at the crew, onto the pier thudded the Troll, the second Troll afire following yards behind, a small boulder in its grasp.
“Kapitan, cut hawser?”
“Nay, Nikolai. They will throw ere we move away.”
T-thunn! Two more ballistas loosed, one to miss, the other to slam into the first dead thing’s right shoulder. It dropped the slab to the pier, and jerkily stooped to pick it up. And still the second Troll came on.
The monster on the pier lifted the slab and jerked upright and raised the hunk overhead to throw.
“Oh, lor! Oh, lor!” cried Binkton, even as he loosed another ineffective arrow at the Ogru. “It’s going to sink us.”
Among the dense riverside foliage, Lissa looked at her last arrow, the small missile with its dark barb deadly and nigh instantly lethal. She had slain eighteen Foul Folk with her shafts—all of them bow-bearing Rucha and sling-bearing Loka, for with the ship out in the stream, these were the long-range foe.
She had disobeyed Aravan’s last command, though were she to be questioned about it, she could claim that he had told her only to hie back to the ship. And certainly she had nearly done so. Still, she knew that she would be more valuable ashore than to be stranded afloat, where her bow-cast missiles would be somewhat outside decent range. And so, riding Vex she had slipped among the growth and had slain eighteen Rûpt in all. And as she had done so, several times Loka or Rucha had spotted her, and she and Vex had fled through the growth, veering this way or swerving that, dodging black-shafted missiles, or escaping wide cuts of hard-swung tulwars or the smashes of hammering cudgels, and each time she and the fox had avoided the death-dealing strikes and had managed to lose the pursuit, for none of the Rûpt was as swift as the vixen.
And now Pysk and fox lurked in the weeds, and Lissa was down to a single arrow; surely she needed it for protection.
But then she heard the Spaunen cheering and jeering, and she risked standing on Vex’s back, the better to see.
A burning Troll? But it’s dead. How can such a thing—? Of a sudden she knew why, and who her last target had to be. She slipped back astride Vex and gave the fox her orders.
Through the tall growth slipped the vixen, her nose questing, and another cheer rose up from the Rûpt. Still the fox searched. Finally, she leaned forward as if on a point. “Go,” whispered Lissa, and ahead the vixen skulked.
They slipped up behind one who must be a Mage and, Mage or no, Lissa with her single remaining arrow had to try. For had not Aylis said, “Magekind is just as vulnerable to slings and arrows and blades as are others; it is simply a matter of getting close enough to take him unaware”?
Even as the being gestured toward the two Trolls afire, and as the one lifted the slab overhead to hurl, Lissa nocked the tiny arrow and drew aim and loosed.
Malik was dead between one breath and the next, and certainly before he hit the ground.
On the pier the Troll collapsed, the slab crashing down upon it. The other Troll crumpled as well.
The dead were dead again.
The jeering Rûpt fell silent, and a Hlôk near their newly slain leader howled in dismay.
Without any Spawn shouting a command, of a sudden the entire force of Foul Folk fled away, most running upriver, a few running downstream, none running toward the City of Jade, for they dreaded what lay within.
47
Respi
te
ELVENSHIP
MID AUTUMN, 6E9
With the Rûpt fled away, Long Tom sent sailors in two dinghies to the stone quay, the boats pulling mooring lines from the ship to the shore. They landed and once again tied the Eroean to the pier. Then, using long iron pry bars, they rolled the dead Troll into the water, and down it sank like the heavy-boned thing it was, to become fish food along with the two drowned Trolls some forty-seven feet below. After the ship was tethered to the dock, Long Tom had the crew loosen the port-bow anchor winch and pay out the hawser, and with the mooring lines along the starboard side they drew the Eroean back to the pier. Yet, when safely tied up, they once again cranked the anchor hawser tight—“Should we need t’ pull th’ same trick agin’, lettin’ th’ river ’n’ anchor rope swing us away from th’ quay.”
As soon as the crew ashore lifted the gangplank back into place, Aravan and a litter crew hurried to where James had fallen. The bosun was yet breathing, though unconscious. A grume-slathered Ruchen arrow jutted out from his back. The crew carefully placed him onto the litter and bore him back to the ship. As they went up the footway, Lissa and Vex followed.
“Where were you?” asked Pipper.
“Killing Spaunen, mostly Rucha,” she replied.
“I got seven with my sling,” said Pipper. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, for killing of anyone, even maggot-folk, did not set well on his mind. “And Bink, here, got eight.”
“I had twenty arrows,” said Lissa, “but I wasted one against a Troll. It did not penetrate that thick hide of his.”
“What of your other arrows?” asked Bink.
“Eighteen Rûpt and one Mage.”
Even as Binkton gaped at the Pysk and breathed, “Eighteen?” Pipper blurted, “The Trolls!”
“Pip, she just said her arrows didn’t penetrate their hide.”
“No, Bink. What I meant is that by Liss killing the Mage, that’s what brought down the dead Trolls.”
“Oh,” said Binkton, the light dawning. “You’re right, Pip.” Binkton turned to Lissa. “You saved us all.”
“The Knight!” Pipper exclaimed. And even as Binkton groaned, Pipper said, “Lady Aylis’s reading. Liss drew the Knight of Swords upright, and Aylis said, ‘Victory over a dire foe, in this orientation, though perhaps at great peril.’ Don’t you see, Bink, Lady Aylis had it right all along, for a Necromancer is a dire foe.” Pipper turned to Lissa, adding, “And out there among the Rûcks and such, well, you were indeed at great peril.”
“Vex kept me safe,” said Lissa. Then she looked about the ship. “What of the others? How did the warband and sailors fare?”
“Some took wounds,” said Binkton. “Arrows and slingstones. Most of the Dwarves avoided the missiles, or their armor kept them safe. The sailors took the largest part of the hurt. Desault has commandeered space belowdecks to be an infirmary, where he’s taken the wounded for treatment.”
Lissa said, “Well, I hope he knows about Ruchen arrows. They can be quite nasty, you see, as vile as they are.”
Even as Lissa spoke, as he carefully worked the shaft back out from the chief bosun belowdecks Desault said, “It is essential for us to get all wounds as clean as we can, for these Rûcken arrows, they bear a festering disease. A person can die days, even weeks after taking such a wound. They turn the flesh black, and a dreadful rot sets in. Were it an arm or a leg, and that were to happen, we would amputate. But where James is injured, all we can do is wait and see. So, let the wounds bleed freely for a short while, and probe gently with these cleansing swabs to clear out as much of the dark filth as you can, even though it will pain the patient.” Desault then held up vials of yellowish liquid. “Then hold them down and pour this fluid in the gash.”
And so, amid groans of the injured, Aylis and others helped Desault treat the wounded—cleansing, pouring, bandaging, and giving the worst of them sops of poppy juice to ease the agony. As well, they set and splinted the bones of five sailors, bones broken by the large slingstones of the Spawn.
And up on deck lookouts watched as along the shore Dwarves dragged slain Grg into a pile, heeding the Pysk’s warning to touch not any of her shafts that might be protruding from Ükhs or the back of the neck of the Mage. And as to the dead Troll yet ashore, it took nearly all of the Dwarven force to drag that still-burning corpse to the pile. When that was done, they splashed oil thereon and the licking flames on the corpse of the Troll set the whole afire.
As black and grey smoke spiralled into the sky, Nikolai turned to Aravan and asked, “When we go City of Jade?”
“On the morrow, Nick. Tonight we rest and recover.”
And so that night, weary from the stress of battle, and glad to have survived, the crew entire took turns at watch and at sleeping, all but the wounded, that is, some of whom fell into drugged stupors, others to lie awake in pain. The captain and Aylis and Lissa and Binkton and Pipper and other comrades moved among them and spoke quiet words of support.
And even as they did so, the sky began to darken, and a wind began to stir, as of an oncoming storm.
48
Calamity
DARK DESIGNS
MID AUTUMN, 6E9
At the onset of night and smiling to himself in his aethyrial form, Nunde flew out from his tower in the Grimwalls and headed for the City of Jade. Surely by now, Malik had triumphed and had Aravan’s corpse in his possession. I will have to reward my loyal and clever apprentice for succeeding in his task. Yet, wait: should I reward him for something I planned? After all, he is merely an extension of my own hand. Oh, why not? Surely a reward will confuse him, and I would add to his distress, and that will please me much. And so, in astral contentment, Nunde sped toward that far-distant land.
Yet when he neared and with his reversed aethyrial vision he saw along the shore a thin spiral of white smoke rising up as from a dying fire. Nearby and peacefully docked lay the Elvenship. Human and Dwarven lookouts aboard kept watch, yet these Nunde did not fear, for they could not see him. Only that trollop who consorted with Aravan had the
Shaken, he sped toward the col between the hills where the ambush had been set. No one was there. Where had they gone? Surely they couldn’t have been—
Nunde sped back to the smoldering remains of the fire. Not only were there Ogh bones among the ashes, but a medallion that Malik had worn. Malik had failed! Malik had failed! Aravan, no doubt, yet lived.
How did they discover his trap? The hawk! That must be how. That slut of a Seeress must have flown the bird under the canopy and had peered through its eyes and had found the ambush waiting. And that fool of an apprentice had somehow lost all in an attack on the ship. Four Oghi and a hundred Drik and another hundred Ghoki: more than two hundred Chûn in all. How could he have done so, with the ship bound to the pier and as vulnerable as a puling child? Idiot! Imbecile! May he rot forever! May he have died in unbearable agony!
Now I must do that which will put me in peril.
Nunde sped back to his distant tower, where he ordered the roundup of hundreds of Drik. And in an orgiastic frenzy of killing, not only to vent his rage, but also to bloat his being with
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