I struggled beneath Parsatayn’s sick blanket of hate. I fixed my eyes on him and kept moving forward.
He tossed the cut of meat into his mouth. I got within reach of him while he chewed and reached my hand out toward him. He turned and looked down at me. His skin crackled and shimmered.
“Such effort, dear girl,” he said while his body was perfected. His milky eyes became bright green, and a length of black hair grew upon his head. He looked as young and fit as Rahan.
The beating heart became distant and weak. I reached out and managed to get hold of Parsatayn’s ankle. “I take him from you,” I whispered.
He kicked my hand away and swallowed. He cut another slice and tossed it back. “Look at you. A darling child of the Earth, aren’t you? What a feast you will make. What power is in your blood? Will you tell me, or must I learn it by sucking the marrow from your bones?”
“I am made from the souls of my children,” I said. “I was sewn together by the Spirit of the Earth by the sacrifice of an entire people. You are nothing.”
“You cannot take the Shadow from me, girl,” he said and set his foot upon my throat. I could not get it off. My face swelled, and I looked up at the sky. It was gray from the smoke of fire, the dust of the fallen cathedral, and Parsatayn’s black power.
No. It was not Parsatayn’s power. It was Bessradi that fed him—the tortured city.
I turned my power outward and set my hand in the wide pool of Barok’s blood. “I take them all from you,” I wheezed, and the blood began to smoke. “I take them all from you, Father. Bessradi, you are free.”
The bright blood erupted in flames and Parsatayn screamed and fell. I sat up and reached out with Her will—out toward every soul in the capital, every soul within the Kaaryon itself. We found them all. I embraced the warring threads of light and dark within each and mended every living soul.
“My children,” I said with Her voice. “Be at peace. Know a moment without this struggle.”
Barok’s burning blood turned to hot ash, the old planking split, and all at once the Shadow lost His multitude. The warmth of the mending penetrated the saddened millions, and the dark heart of the continent beat clean and clear.
Parsatayn tried to sing, but there was nothing of the Shadow for him to spend.
“Come here,” I said and started toward him. “Your turn.”
He yelled in fright and kicked at me like a child. He mumbled, whimpered, and began to crawl toward the river.
I got hold of his foot and ankle. He kicked at me and yelled. “What are you?”
“The Shadow made Hessier to do His will. The Earth made me to do Hers,” I said. Parsatayn reached for his knife, and I punched him in the mouth. He flopped back, and his head smacked hard upon the landing. I climbed on top of him and took hold of his perfect face.
“You are free, Parsatayn,” I said softly. “Your soul is free. You may walk lightly, dearest friend of the Earth. Let go and join Her.”
The Shadow lost His hold upon him, and all the magic that bound his soul in his dead flesh was undone. In moments, he was shriveled and hairless. His last angry look melted away.
He closed his eyes, and his unburdened soul floated away in the breeze.
Happiness bloomed around me. On it went, out passed the walls of the city—out beyond the horizon. Children who had never known a happy day laughed. Exhausted mothers felt the Earth’s love. Old men bowed their heads, and the warmth of forgiveness stole away their old hates and fears.
Millions smiled.
“Rally,” came the sudden call. It stabbed my calm heart and made me flinch. The ferocious world remained, and the Shadow leaked back across the stricken city as the fresh hatreds and passions of men rose.
The Hurdu had recovered and were moving toward us down every road. The forecastle of my ship burned. The dust of the Tanayon drifted over us, and the forlorn wails of the city’s faithful filled the air.
Furstundish the Senior stood over Barok in the swirling smoke of the prince’s burnt blood, calling the scattered greencoats to him. The sun blazed upon his armor.
The Chaukai rose from the smoking planks of the landing and charged toward their ferocious captain. The caustic bite and vital gifts of the smoke summoned me back as well. I stood as greencoats rushed by.
“Soma,” he called. “We need to find a ship.”
“We have one, rot your hide,” I replied. “Get everyone aboard. We are leaving.”
The rumble of hooves vibrated up through my knees and hips. The captain and his men packed themselves behind their shields and took the Hurdu’s charge. Spears and lances stabbed through man and horse. Men screamed and died, but the wall of green held. The furious melee ended, the Hurdu withdrew, and the Chaukai staggered back across the landing toward the ship.
I raced onto my stricken ship. The forward half of the forecastle was an inferno. The crew was scattered upon the deck. Some were dead. Rindsfar was not. He’d gotten three men together, and they had one of the chain pumps working.
“There you are, Admiral,” he said.
“Good man, Rindsfar,” I called, and then shouted at the rest. “All hands! Wake up, you rotting old men. Your admiral calls you up. All hands, all hands.”
A tired cheer sounded. A man from the aftcastle crew stopped long enough to salute me. “We thought you dead, ma’am.”
“She wouldn’t let me,” I said and pointed him at the chain pump. He went, and others joined him. Another group rallied around Rindsfar.
Water charged through the hose I held and blasted the dreadful fire. The water hissed and sent gray smoke high into the blue sky. I could stand to lose the forecastle, but if the flames made it below decks, the ship would be lost.
More men in yellow and green started to arrive. I got them all moving.
“On the tiller, on the rail,” I called. “Make ready to push off. Stow the main mast sail below before the fire gets at it.”
They jumped to, and I yelled over the side, “Captain, time to go.”
“Order, fire by the line,” the old Chaukai called, followed by, “Ready. Aim. Loose. Loose. Loose.”
Each report of their bows was the crack of a monstrous whip followed by the sharp clang of arrows slamming through steel. Horses and men screamed, and the clatter of hooves faded. Boots thundered up the gangways.
Our fight with the flames was not going as well as the Chaukai’s fight with the Hurdu. We were only getting water on the outside of the forecastle.
“We need that door open,” I shouted.
A braver and more foolish of the lads stood and threw himself at it. It crashed open, and the man screamed as he tumbled into the flames that belched out at us. Rindsfar and I aimed the hoses at him and two others grabbed his feet and dragged him free. We advanced toward the doorway, crouched low, and aimed the hoses at the back corners of the wide cabin. The smoke became a great storm cloud above us.
“Everyone is aboard, Admiral,” Furstundish the Senior called. I peeked once and saw Barok and all three of our priests upon the deck.
“Push off,” I ordered and crept closer to the blazing doorway. “Let the current take us downriver.”
I felt us edge away from the landing, and the shadows cast by the rigging upon the deck around me began to slide to the right.
“Buckets here,” I called as the hoses continued to war with the ship-eating terror. “Bucket brigade. Water the doorway.”
Water began to splash upon us and the top of the tall forecastle. An angry cloud of steam pushed me down for a moment until the heat was washed away by more and more buckets of river water. Someone wrapped me in a heavy blanket, and buckets of water were dumped upon me. The man on the hose behind me wedged himself low behind my back to keep me stable.
I crept ever forward. Rindsfar was right there beside me. His right cheek was gouged deep and the eye above it swollen shut. The front of the fire line was no place for him.
“Hand off to another man,” I said to him. “Get bel
ow and tell me if the fire has spread.”
He went, and I said over my shoulder, “Helm, aim us for the quicker channel along the north bank. And someone get the wounded safely into the aftcastle. We might start taking fire from the towers along the Priests’ Quarter.”
The orders were relayed, and I edged farther toward the doorway. Our streams of water splashed with a violent hiss across the floor and far walls. The top and sides of the forecastle continued to burn brightly.
The Whittle’s shadows continued to swing around until they were gone. We were into the channel and moving back west with some speed.
“Incoming,” Furstundish the Senior called. “From the tower there. Shields, shields.”
A half-dozen men crowded around my right side and formed a wall. Arrows zipped around us. One stabbed into the charred planks between the doorposts. Its fletchings caught fire, and the arrow burned like a candle until I doused it.
I felt the ship make headway in the current. There were just the two towers that could hit the river, and I marked our progress by how the men shifted around me. We would be out of danger soon. One man was struck through the throat and fell. The men at the hoses kept their station, and we edged farther into the doorway. The floor of the room beyond was free of flames. If we could only keep it that way.
Other worries rose. I thought my way back south along the wide river. We would have to be quick if we were going to escape the city.
A great cheer went up from the men.
“Are we free of the towers?” I asked.
“Yes, Admiral,” called the familiar voice of my lookout. “Also, ma’am, the Kingfisher lies at anchor ahead of us. Rahan is aboard with all of the arilas and the rest of the greencoats. They managed to set fire to the Chancellery and the Treasury Keep, and as low as the Kingfisher is sitting in the water, they must have taken every coin of the treasury.”
“Relay to the helm to bring us alongside downwind and signal the Kingfisher to weigh anchor.”
The voices below deck grew louder as we approached our sister ship and tied on. The Kingfisher’s crew swarmed aboard with buckets.
A scream echoed up from below.
“Someone find out what is going on” I said, and several men went.
Lord Rahan and Furstundish the Senior crouched beside me. The Exaltier shielded his face from the flames.
“Barok and Geart?” he asked.
“Alive. Wounded and unconscious but alive,” I said. “Sikhek and Dekay are both gone.”
Rahan looked into the flames. “You should abandon ship.”
“You will be the last man I forgive today for telling me to abandon her. I’d sooner leave you behind. And we’ll need both ships if we are forced to flee. You mean to stay, I presume?”
“Until I am dead,” he declared.
I adjusted my aim against the back wall of the forecastle cabin and asked the captain, “Are your men fit enough for one more fight?”
“Anything. With the men aboard the Kingfisher, we could take the palace itself.” The greencoats around us cheered.
“Harder target than that, I am afraid,” I said.
“The arsenal,” Rahan said.
“Yes,” I replied and explained to the men. “There is a fortress at the junction of the north and west branches of the river. Whether we stay or we go, we must take it. Yarik could have galleys moving to block and chase us. We must take the arsenal.”
Furstundish the Senior asked, “How many men guard the fortress?”
“I do not know. I will sail us straight in, and you must win against whatever force is inside. Fail, and we are lost.”
“Relay from below, Admiral,” someone said. “Flames in the forward hold.”
As if in response, the foremast cracked ominously and leaned heavily forward.
Come on, girl, you can make it. Hold on, Whittle!
“Buckets below,” I cried and tried to press forward once more. My hair began to singe, and the blood upon my cracked lips dried.
“You will beat the flames?” Rahan asked.
“Captain, get him away from me,” I said, and the pair wisely departed.
The ships had spun a bit while they were lashed together but righted themselves as we started downriver.
My heart sank into my stomach.
Between us and the arsenal were two bridges that the Whittle’s masts could not get beneath. I did not have time to sway them up and stow them.
The lookout called down between coughs, “The Hurdu and Hemari are moving in numbers along the river, Admiral. Many thousands.”
I stole a glance left. We were rounding the long curve of the palace wall. The barracks of the Hemari 1st were ahead of us along that same bank. The bridge that crossed the river there was the largest in the city. A great crowd of men and horses was there, but I could make out no detail of them through the smoke.
“Hatchets,” I called. “Chop down the main mast. Quick there, before we run into the bridge. Lookout, abandon your station!”
The crew hated the order as much as I did, but they were swift. Each crack upon the tall column of Enhedu pine pricked my soul, and the great groan as it fell tore at my heart. It smashed the rail as it went over the side and carried the yards away with it.
The bridge loomed before us then, and the burning spear of the stricken foremast slammed its rail. The ship shuddered, and the mast broke in two places. The top third fell onto the wooden bridge with an explosion of burning cinders. The middle third went into the river. The flaming stump that was left was low enough for us to slide beneath the bridge. The hot flames from the forecastle bathed the bridge’s wooden cross timbers. The gull’s nests and grime upon them burned brightly. The flames caught, and we passed beneath a sheet of undulating flames. Bits of burning filth began to fall upon us.
“Buckets! Be quick. Oars. We need some speed.”
The men in yellow and green were marvelous around me—unflinching warriors beneath a flaming hell. Oars were run out while the crew hunted the small fires to extinction.
My view downriver was blocked by the burning forecastle, but I knew it well. Ahead of us were two more bridges, the arsenal fortress, and the tall boathouses it guarded. The gatehouse of the second bridge was also the eastern corner of the fortress. I tried to think where we could make a landing and storm the walls. My first thought had been to swing into the arsenal harbor and storm the place from the inside, but a heavy chain hung between the two towers that guarded the entrance to the harbor. If the chain was up, sailing over it would sink us.
I recalled a tithe tower to the north of the fortress. The ground around it was a maze of low hedges, and between tower and fortress was a wide park.
“Helm, get us closer to the west bank,” I called.
“Hurdu are moving down the east bank, Admiral. They chase after us. It looks like they will beat us to the bridge.”
“Oars,” I shouted, and then I gasped as the planking beneath me began to split. Smoke seeped through.
“Axes,” I said and edged back. “Axes here.”
Yellowcoats came from every direction, and the bang and whack of the sharp blades was furious.
“Mercanfur, Rahan!” I shouted as a hole appeared in my once beautiful deck. “Get everyone aboard the Kingfisher and prepare to cut loose. I am going to stay with the Whittle and put her under the bridge and gatehouse. You land at the park above the fortress and try to storm the place before the defenses are roused.”
They went, and their great thunderous voices called men to tasks.
Before me, the quick axes opened a hole in the deck and flames curled up, hot and hungry. Buckets continued down the hatchway, while I aimed my hose into the breach. Steam exploded up as the heat trapped below sought escape.
Hold on, girl. Hold on!
We slid beneath the smaller bridge to a thunder of hooves above us. The Whittle’s fiery nose lit the grimy timber bridge like a candle. Men and horses screamed.
On the far side, we began t
o transfer our passengers and wounded to the Kingfisher. I was heartened to see Avin, Ryat, and Errati make their way across. Geart and Barok needed to be carried. Furstundish the Senior and a set of his men were the last across with Barok’s possessions and what few things they decided were worth salvaging from below.
Mercanfur ordered the Kingfisher cut loose, and she dove in toward the shoring along the park.
I drank in the view. The people of Bessradi were no longer content to stay in their houses. The streets had filled with frantic people who lived in constant fear of fire. The Hurdu had fallen behind us in the press. They were also running out of ways to get onto the west side of the river. The Whittle’s flames were cutting Bessradi in half. Right before us was the looming corner tower and gatehouse of the arsenal fortress. The fat rectangle of tan stone boasted matching portcullises that faced the bridge to the east and approaching road to the northwest. You could not get from one to the other without going through the gatehouse above the bridge. Both its portcullises were open.
“Helm,” I called. “Put our nose right under the base of the bridge. Prepare to drop anchor.”
The Whittle closed the distance fast, the anchor dropped free, and we smacked into the shoring beneath the bridge. Flames and black smoke raced beneath the bridge. The long anchor line went taunt, and we came to a halt with our red flame curling up through the bridge.
Back up river, I spotted Lord Rahan going ashore with greencoats. The arilas and their personal guards charged out with them. Rahan had hold of his war hammer and led the men up through the park. I lost sight of him there and listened for long and terrible moments for the sound of the portcullis or gates closing on them. It did not come. The panicked yells and coughing of the Hemari was replaced with the sound of battle.
I thumped the Whittle once upon her wounded deck in thanks, and got ready to abandon ship.
88
Evand Yentif
The Battle of Priests' Field
I jammed my blunted spear down into the face of the Hurdu lieutenant that led the attack, and with a clank the spearhead broke through his faceplate and deep into his cheek. The spearhead refused to let go, and as the man fell, he took my spear with him. A hundred more Hurdu were there scrambling up the earthen bank of our breastworks.
Tanayon Born Page 12
