Shadowdance

by Robin W Bailey

  Taelyn nodded. "My thanks, Innocent." He hesitated, considering his next words. "I know where your heart lies, that you would fight with us. But your friend has given the best advice. None of us questions your courage."

  Innowen barked a short laugh, then choked it back. "I think your soldiers have more questions about me than they dare to ask even in private." He waved a hand when Taelyn started to protest. "That's not important now, and if there's anyone on the next hill, I bet they can hear everything we're saying."

  Taelyn nodded again and wordlessly started back down toward his troops. Veydon followed, but Innowen clung to Razkili's hand for a long moment and stared toward the mountains. He drank in the awesome silence, inhaled it, filled himself with it until he felt as ponderous and unmovable as the ancient stone itself. Only that way could he keep from voicing his worry for his friend. He should be at Rascal's back, protecting him in the fighting. It was where he knew he belonged. But instead, he would watch from a distance, and Veydon would do his job for him.

  He gazed hard and long into the Akrotirs. Then he squeezed Razkili's hand once, let it go, and turned his horse down the slope to rejoin the army.

  Veydon intercepted him at the bottom. "I'll watch out for him," he said. There was an odd passion in his words, and his gaze bore piercingly into Innowen. "I swear. I will go down before he does."

  Innowen's brow furrowed, and his lips drew into a thin line as he regarded Veydon. "Why?" he said irritably. "Why would you do that?"

  Veydon smiled weakly and looked away. "Has it been so long that you've forgotten Shandisti? I know you, Innowen. I remember the harvest festivals of our boyhood." He looked back, and there was a softness in his eyes. "Most of the children were cruel to you because you couldn't walk, and I was one of them." He swallowed and glanced away again. Nearby, Taelyn's officers were rousing the soldiers to their feet. The rest break was over. It was time to resume the march. "Call it atonement that obligates me to look after your friend," Veydon continued in hushed tones. "I know how you must depend on him."

  I depend on no one, Innowen started to snap, but he bit it back. It would have been such an obvious lie. He stared at Veydon, trying to remember his face. He couldn't. There had been lots of children in Shandisti, and he had gone to the village only on holidays when Drushen would take him. Some had taunted and tormented him, but he'd never paid much heed. There'd always been too many wonders, too much going on during the festivals, even in such a small community, to hold his attention. He shook his head. Veydon held no place in his memory.

  "Just guard his back," he said at last. "You could have nobody better at yours." He looked over his shoulder toward the summit of the hill where Razkili sat alone gazing into the distance. Innowen wondered what thoughts were running through his mind.

  "We move," Taelyn said, riding up to him. Innowen and Veydon fell in beside their commander and climbed the hill again. Razkili merged into the line as they overtook him. The army resumed its relentless flow toward Parendur.

  The Akrotir Mountains grew ever larger until they dominated the southern sky.

  Taelyn held up a hand. His drummer remained silent, but the word quickly passed to halt. Two riders descended the hill before them and made straight for the front line.

  Taelyn saluted his scouts. "Report."

  "Parendur lies just over that ridge," one of them answered. "We still can't identify the army camped outside its walls, but Veydon's estimate of their number is probably correct. Two thousand men. Most are asleep in their tents now with only a token patrol on the perimeter."

  The other scout spoke. "We left our horses on the ridge and bellied down as close as we dared," he said. "They are well armed, but discipline seems lax. We saw gambling and drinking, and a few arguments."

  "Mercenaries?" one of Taelyn's officers suggested.

  "It's possible," answered the first scout. "We heard a smattering of different languages. Isporan among them, so some, at least, are our own people."

  Taelyn spat, then turned to his officers. "Tell the archers to ready their firepots and move them into position. Deploy the other units according to plan." He steered his horse around Razkili and whispered to Innowen. "Choose a place on our left flank where you can see," he said gently. "Razkili can go with you to bring your horse back. With the grace of the gods, we'll clasp hands again when this is over, Innocent."

  Innowen took the older man's offered hand. "Razkili would tell you to trust in no gods, just your arm and your weapons. Osiri philosophy. It's good advice."

  He pulled away and rode east along an old stream bed that had dried up in the drought. Razkili followed. They picked their way carefully in the darkness until Innowen turned right and started up the side of a high hill. He could still see Taelyn's army huddled in the valley behind him.

  At the summit, he dismounted. Even in the darkness, Parendur took his breath away, just as it had the first time he saw it. It filled the next valley and sprawled out onto a narrow plain. Watchfires burned at intervals along the top of the city's defensive wall. The shadows that moved there, he knew, were soldiers at their posts.

  The plain was also dotted with fires and the tents of Parendur's attackers. He had a good view into the camp. It was still and quiet. A few men huddled around the fires. A two-man patrol passed far below him, more visible by the shadows they cast than by anything else.

  "Archers will set fire to their tents from there," Razkili said, pointing. "The confusion will give the chariots time to pull out of the hills and assemble on the plain."

  Innowen held up a hand to interrupt him. "Let me watch it," he said. "That will be the best explanation."

  "I just want you to realize it's a good plan," Razkili urged. "It will go well. Taelyn is a skillful strategist."

  Innowen shut him up by embracing him. "To hell with strategy," he whispered. "You keep your spear level and your sword close at hand. Now get out of here, and take my horse. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can share a jug of wine in Parendur. The finest wine in the world is made right behind those walls. That's probably why these invaders want in so badly."

  "Wine sounds great," Razkili answered. "I'll come back for you when the fighting's done. Gods willing..."

  Innowen pressed a hand over Razkili's lips. "Trust no gods, Rascal."

  Razkili grinned. "Osiri philosophy from you?"

  "Forgive me," he said, stepping away. "My mouth didn't know what it was saying."

  "It seldom does, my Innocent." Razkili swung up onto his horse and took the reins of Innowen's mount. "I like that name. It fits you." Before Innowen could respond, he wheeled away and rode down the hill.

  Almost at once, a rain of fire streaked the night sky, and the darkness hissed, alive with the sounds of arrows streaming flame. Enemy tents began to burn, brightening the land with a deadly light. Still the arrows flew, and the wind conspired with Taelyn as it carried sparks and ash to the tents that arrows couldn't reach.

  Men only half awake began to stumble into the open. Shouting and confusion rose in the camp, but noise alone could not hold back the deadly shafts or the hail of stones that plummeted upon them when Taelyn's slingmen joined the fray. Scores fell dead in their tracks with screams frozen on their lips and faces crushed.

  Innowen watched in dreadful fascination as the enemy scurried like crazed ants whose hill had been trampled upon. Some ran wailing, directionless. Some dashed back into burning tents to snatch up weapons. A single officer raced back and forth bellowing orders that went unheeded, while flames reflected in the sweat of his bare back and in his wide eyes.

  The storm of arrows and stones ceased. Aided by the light of the burning tents, he gazed expectantly toward the narrow plain.

  The chariots hit with tidal force. The horses themselves were as deadly as the drivers' javelins. Men bounced helplessly off the animals' powerful shoulders, hooves pounded them into the earth, wheels crushed limbs and bones.

  Behind the chariots came the cavalry. Again and again,
long lances ripped streams of scarlet from the backs and bellies of Parendur's invaders. The fires made dazzling patterns on the riders' bronze helmets and on the tips of their weapons. Innowen looked for Razkili and found him easily. The pure burnished metal of his shield caught and magnified the fireglow around him. No other carried such a shield. It had to be Razkili.

  Taelyn's hoplites swept out of the hills with crazed battlecries, running with their spears before them. Their fierce charge carried them deep into the heart of the camp. The enemy fell like ripe wheat before them as they lunged and slashed with ruthless efficiency.

  The din of battle swelled like a terrible song over the field, and over that, a surging roar as fire raged through the encampment. The mountain winds rushed over the plain, whipping the flames to a frenzy. Streamers of burning fabric swirled into the air. Hot clouds of ash and smoke whirled into the night.

  Innowen heard the wind, and suddenly, it scorched him like a hot breath as it flashed up the hill, bringing a maelstrom of glowing ash that gurgled and churned around him. He flung up his arms, expecting pain, yet not a spark touched him. The wind whistled in his ears, changing pitch as the gusts rose and fell. A searing snow whirled about him in elusive choreography.

  It was madness. Men were dying down below. Razkili and Taelyn were risking their lives. Yet he reached up and drew a graceful arc with his arm. The wind sang, and the ash danced, and Innowen surrendered to it. He flung back his head. A long sigh issued from his lips. A thousand lives below him did a death-dance that sent a rhythm through the earth, and it flowed into him. He felt the pulse and the thrust of it. He moved, or it moved him.

  The screams and shouts became a chorus, a minute part of the music of the world. The clash and clang of spears and swords made a timpani. He spun on his toes, his hands weaving intricate patterns as he turned. Wind-blown, tiny points of firelight, like living creatures, turned with him. They leaped, and he leaped into their midst, extending his arms like wings.

  Suddenly, the rhythm changed. He gazed down at the battle, though his feet never stopped, his arms never stilled. The invaders had found their weapons, and they fought back as fear turned to fury. Most of Taelyn's chariots were broken hulks. Half his cavalry fought on foot now. Razkili was nowhere to be seen. A new cry went up at the edge of the plain as archers and slingmen rushed to join the fight, seizing up the spears and swords and shields of the fallen to use as their own. Again, he scoured the carnage, seeking the gleam of Razkili's polished shield. Another cry went up. Atop Parendur's wall, a growing crowd gathered. Innowen shot a glance at the city's main gate. It remained closed. But Taelyn had counted on reinforcements from Kytin's First Army. Where were they?

  The wind blew, spinning him around. He arched to the side and kicked high, rolled through his spine, and drew himself spear-straight.

  Then he stopped, suddenly deaf to the wind and its impossible music.

  A huge knight charged through the combat on a black horse. Firelight rippled along the blade of a great bronze sword and on the metal studs of his leather armor. The dark crest of his helm streamed behind him as he rallied the unknown invaders and urged them back toward the open plain.

  Innowen's breath quickened, and he clapped a hand to his mouth. His thoughts churned for an instant, then down the hill he raced, along the side of the next, and out toward the battle. At the border of the fighting, he snatched up a sword. The edge was badly notched, the blade bent. He pressed it over his knee and did his best to straighten it. With his weapon, he rushed into the fray.

  The invaders, though, were in full retreat, and the dark warrior was nowhere to be seen.

  "Vashni!" Innowen screamed as he ran searching among the burning tents. He had not imagined it, he told himself. It was the Witch's servant he had seen. It was Vashni!

  He cast away the sword when he found a spear at his feet. It was a better weapon. The shaft was solid in his grip. The point glistened wetly.

  He ran, dodging the smoldering remains of tents and bodies that blocked his path. Someone lunged out of the shadows. He blocked a spear thrust and brought the blunt end of his own spear up and around. The attacker crumpled with a groan. Innowen didn't take time to finish him. It was Vashni he wanted.

  Suddenly, a horse blocked his way. He brought his point up, prepared to thrust, but a hand swept out, caught the shaft, and held it with an unyielding strength. One of Taelyn's officers peered down at him, frowning. "Easy, son," he said, removing his helmet. "This fight's all but over."

  Innowen lowered his spear, and all the energy seemed to ebb from him. "A warrior in black armor," he muttered. "Huge sword. One of their leaders. You saw him?"

  The officer shrugged. "You ask about one man out of two thousand. If he wasn't on the business end of my lance, I didn't see him." He leaned down and extended a hand. "Come up," he said. "I'll take you to the commander."

  Innowen let his spear fall to the ground and climbed up behind the soldier. He braced his hands on the horse's rump for balance as they moved off across the field. The destruction spread everywhere around them. Here and there, tent poles still burned, though most of the fabric had been consumed. The smell of smoke and blood made a terrible perfume. The moans of the wounded and dying floated eerily as the clamor of battle faded.

  They found Taelyn with a handful of his warriors. At first, Innowen thought he'd been wounded, but he soon realized the blood that covered the older man was not his own. The drummer, though he still rode behind his commander, bled heavily from a cut in his side. His rigid features betrayed his pain.

  Taelyn glared with an anger Innowen had never seen in him. "He didn't join us!" he raged. "That bastard never opened the gates."

  "Kyrin?" Innowen guessed.

  "He let us die out here, so long as he was safe behind his damned walls!"

  "But you won," Innowen reminded him, "without Kyrin."

  This time the glare was directed at him. "Tell that to the dead men who followed me into this!"

  Taelyn led them through the wreckage toward a cluster of hoplites. Little by little, all that remained of his army began to gather. Men drifted out of the smoke and darkness like bloody ghosts, taking substance as they drew closer. Few spoke. Some looked around for comrades and clapped them silently around the shoulders, too weary or too numb to utter greetings.

  It moved Innowen deeply, and shame filled him. He had danced while Isporans lost their lives. How could he have done that? What kind of man was he?

  A hand touched his thigh, and he looked down at a weary-looking soldier. "Veydon?" he said, as recognition took hold. He sprang off the horse and caught the young officer as he started to collapse. His arm slipped around Veydon's back, and he felt a slick wetness. "Oh gods," he muttered, and Veydon's breath hissed as Innowen lowered him down.

  "Just let me rest," Veydon whispered. Others gathered close to see to him. "It isn't bad, but it hurts like the hells."

  "He's taken a thrust under the shoulder blade," someone said, turning him on his side, examining his back.

  Veydon gripped Innowen's hand. "What are you doing here?" His words came through clenched teeth. "Razkili's gone into the hills to get you."

  "He left you like this?" Innowen said in disbelief.

  "He didn't know," Veydon reassured him. "I didn't tell him. It didn't seem so bad at first."

  "We've got to get him inside the city," said another officer as he knelt down by them.

  Taelyn scowled angrily. "We've got to get a lot of men inside. And by damn we will if I have to pull those gates down myself!"

  Several men picked Veydon up out of the dirt, but he refused to release Innowen's hand. "We won," he said with a weak half-grin. "It was the wind. It carried the archers' fire through the camp faster than we could have hoped. It was as if the wind was on our side."

  The wind. It still blew down from the Akrotirs. Innowen felt it on his face when he looked up. But it held no music for him now. He gazed away into the darkness, walking beside Veydon as his frien
ds carried him. He didn't know where, but he went just the same, pulled along by the hand that held his.

  It was a black hell he walked through, a place of lamentation and death, of smoke and fire and gloom. What a fitting place to find Vashni, a man he had first thought a demon. And if Vashni was here, surely the Witch of Shanalane was close by.

  He wiped a hand over his lips, then licked them. The salt taste of blood blossomed in his mouth.

  Chapter 9

  Innowen could smell the tension as Taelyn's force at last rode through the city's main gate and into Parendur. He leaned back against Razkili and flicked away a bead of sweat that threatened to sting his right eye. Rascal's arms tightened around him, and they swayed together in rhythm to the horse's stride.

  Throngs of Isporans lined the streets, eager for a glimpse of their liberators. Their cheers swelled through the city. Men hurried forward with buckets of water and ladles, offering drink to the victorious soldiers. Others pushed closer to touch them, to run one hand quickly along a leg or foot, before vanishing with a small gasp back into the crowd.

  Innowen felt nothing when they brushed his limbs, but he was still grateful to be on a horse. The height and the size of the animal gave him some safety from the human mass. He pitied the poor footmen when they entered the gate.

  Though the crowd roared its gratitude, Taelyn's men kept almost silent. Not even the people's jubilance and the spontaneous celebrations that filled every alley and street corner along their course dulled the collective edge of the army's smoldering anger. Beside Innowen and Razkili, Taelyn sat rigidly on his mount, his face a grim mask. He stared straight ahead, not seeming to blink at all, oblivious to the citizens and all their noise.