Nalia could just see Eoria nod at her before she carefully placed her left hand onto the lip of the cliff and pulled herself up easily—doing a one-handed pull-up—onto the horizontal surface.
She scuttled into the shadows so quickly that even if someone had been watching, Nalia doubted they would have registered a human shape. With her dark, mottled clothing, her slight size, and the perfect fluidity of her movements, there was no fear of detection at this juncture in the walls.
Eoria stuffed the hooks she had used to traverse the path into her sack to make sure they made no noise, and then she paused, looking at the sheer wall in front of her.
The walls of the Gray Fortress were a spectacular feat of architecture. They were fifty feet high all the way around the fortress, averaging a dozen feet thick. They were made from mammoth stone blocks that had been cut and fitted together so artfully that there was no real seam between them, nothing significant enough to use as a handhold or foothold. The walls themselves were conspicuously free of pitting or cracking or other “features”—as Eoria and other climbing specialists would call them—and were so straight that if one were to stand atop them and sight down at any point, it would look as if the surface was all one giant piece of stone. There was obviously some great power involved in forming them.
The gatehouse walls were just as smooth and just as perfectly designed as the rest of the walls, but much higher, perhaps seventy feet from the ground to the tip. The two hulking towers on either side of the main gate opening were higher still, topping out at what must be eighty or ninety feet. The gatehouse itself was a massive block of a building, with a two hundred foot tunnel going through it that was wide enough for two full-sized carts to pass each other easily. The first of two portcullises was down, its grate glinting in the night. The massive wooden doors in between were standing open, and the other portcullis was raised, allowing a dim view of the barbican beyond.
Nalia looked back to Eoria. The slight Sapsyr raised her left hand, sliding it along the wall above her head. She moved it up and down slightly, making soft, almost imperceptible scratching noises. Satisfied with the placement, she did the same with the right hand. With a soft breath, she raised herself up off her feet, body hugging the wall.
Her feet moved slowly up and to either side as she hung there, making their own soft scratching noises, until she was satisfied with their position. Once she was, she straightened her legs to raise herself up slowly while reaching up with one of her hands to find the next minuscule crack, seam, or bump she could use to grab with the spikes on her gloves. She started moving up the wall in a controlled, smooth motion, never waiting for long, always finding something else to hang the spikes on.
Nalia was impressed. She had seen Eoria do amazing things, climb rocks, trees, or walls that looked unclimbable. The sheer strength required to do what she was doing was incredible.
Too, her balance had to be perfect. Nalia noticed that Eoria kept her butt and, to a certain extent, other parts of her trunk, out from the wall. She had seen some of the other sisters use the claws to climb a wall and with just a tiny shift of the body, usually bringing their midsection or butt closer to the wall, they peeled off and fell. The spikes were hardened ceramic, strong and sharp and able to easily hold the weight of the climber, but they weren’t infallible. Nalia herself could never hope to do what her sister was doing.
In less time than seemed possible, Eoria was pulling herself over the parapet bordering the walkway next to the tower. It was up to her now to get the others inside. Nalia would have to wait patiently. Again. She hated the waiting.
Sooner than she expected, she heard the grating of the portcullis raising. It groaned its way to a third of its thirty foot height and stopped. Eoria came out far enough for the sisters to see her, waved, and disappeared back into the tunnel.
When Nalia came through the tunnel with the other members of her group, she saw that it ended with another portcullis—this one also raised—and then the barbican—another tubular defensive chokepoint to keep intruders at bay—began with yet another portcullis. This one was raised as well.
In between the gatehouse tunnel and the barbican was a space about fifteen feet long, with a reinforced door on either side of the tunnel. It looked as if the doors were designed as a way for guards to bypass the barbican while making their rounds. The door to the left stood open. Eoria was standing there, scanning the area for more guards. There were two bodies at her feet.
Chapter 19
If there were any observers at the gate of the Gray Fortress, they would have seen one hundred Sapsyra making their way through the gate, but they would not have heard anything. When Sapsyra did not want to make noise, they made no noise. Ylleria Zose ran alongside her soldiers, one of the first through the gate. She nodded to Nalia, still at the door between the gate tunnel and the barbican, and looked around. They would have to move quickly to keep their element of surprise. Eoria had taken care of the guards, but there still may be patrols or sentries rotating in. She watched the rest of her soldiers coming through the gate.
As they moved from the door into the courtyard itself, she saw movement in the edge of her vision that did not belong to her troops. She snatched a bow from the hands of the soldier next to her with one hand, extracted an arrow from the quiver on the woman’s back with her other, and in one quick movement drew it to her cheek and let the arrow fly.
She was just slightly too late.
The man had been coming from one of the side buildings along the wall and had seen them. He screamed an alarm and turned to run, spoiling her shot. She meant for the arrow to go through his throat, silencing him, but instead it pierced him at the base of the neck. She could see the blood pouring out even fifty feet away and knew it was a fatal shot, but he continued to make noise for a few seconds more, until too weak to do so, and then he dropped to the ground.
Throwing the bow back to her soldier, Ylleria drew her large, curved sword and readied herself for battle. She knew Nalia’s team had secured the area as best they could, quickly and quietly disposing of the soldiers on guard, but her foul luck irked her. They could not have predicted the lone soldier moving about.
She did not have to wait long. Soldiers began pouring out of what could only have been barracks lining the walls, fully clothed and armored, weapons at the ready. The two forces clashed in the courtyard in front of the gate and turned the hard packed dirt into bloody mud.
Ylleria’s sword was the ceremonial sword of the Mrymit of the Sapsyra. It was an ancient weapon, made from the finest steel, much like Nalia’s weapons were. It was a mammoth curved weapon with a wide, thick blade. It carried the name Bruqa, “lightning” in Old Kasmali. The name was thought to be a reference to the jagged edges on the inside curve of the blade, which resembled a lightning bolt. The serrations, while sharp, were not honed like a razor, as was the cutting surface itself. A skilled user, such as Ylleria, could use the back side to inflict damage or to catch and tear weapons free from opponents, and of course the front side was death itself.
The Mrymit parried aside a sword blow from a large man in front of her and ducked another cut from a swordswoman to her right. She caught a glimpse of Nalia, shrapezi out and spinning, bringing death to all near her. She really was very good with those things, considering she had just received them.
She brought her mind back to the battle at hand, took the arm off one sword wielder, spun, and took off one of the legs of the other attacker at the knee. Leaving them both to die of blood loss, she moved on.
There were so many combatants in a large battle like this, she yearned for more space to move around. Twisting, swinging her sword in great arcs, and causing death to everyone who came near, she had her own little private space in the midst of the battle. Most of the enemy soldiers had seen the quickness with which she dealt death and had chosen other targets to attack.
A very skilled opponent came against her next, along with three others. He seemed to be the squadron’s hero
and took it upon himself to handle the enemy commander. As he came toward her with twin swords, she smiled at him, causing him to look confused for just a moment.
He shifted his eyes to look to the side, assuring himself that the other three were still there. One had a heavy, metal-banded mace, one had a rough bronze sword, and the other had a chain whip. That was an interesting choice, the chain whip, she thought.
They came toward her all together, obviously accustomed to coordinating their attacks. She smiled again and then attacked. All of them looked surprised that she would do so. The surprise on the face of the man with the bronze sword lasted until the blood pouring out of his ruined throat caused him to weaken and fall to his knees. He hadn’t even seen her strike.
Two Swords—that was what she named her adversary—came at her, both swords spinning in perfect motion. At the same time, the mace came at her from behind to crush her skull and the woman with the chain whip lashed the weapon around to snag her sword arm. Ylleria jumped up and to the side, turning a crooked twist and half-flip that allowed her to slash as the mace wielder as she was in mid-air. The chain whip passed harmlessly through the air where she had been just a moment before, to the surprise of its wielder. Two Swords came on relentlessly, adjusting to the changing battle automatically. Ah, this one is good.
The strike to the soldier with the mace was superficial, a cut on the arm causing him to bleed, but not doing much else. Because of her change in position, they were now arrayed in front of her and the time had come to end it. Feinting toward Two Swords, she turned instead and lopped off three fingers of the hand holding the mace, causing it to drop to the ground. Bending backwards at an impossible angle, she allowed the chain whip to pass by without touching her, put her hand to the ground and straightened suddenly, launching her foot up in a fast arc that caught the chain whip wielder under the jaw. The crunching sound of her jaw breaking was satisfactory, causing Ylleria to congratulate herself on landing the difficult maneuver.
The Sapsyra battle commander continued her motion, much like a cartwheel in reverse, regaining her feet and blocking the two quick strikes from Two Swords. She allowed him to strike at her a few more times until she knew his rhythm. Then, as he went to feint and strike at her again, she simply thrust her sword straight into his belly. The tip punched out his back, severing his spine and causing him to drop to the ground. Looking around, she shook her head. The few seconds it took to handle these four were too many. She had a lot of work to do tonight and could not take her ease and enjoy the combat. Flicking the blood from her sword, she moved on to the next group of enemies.
Within a few minutes, there were few soldiers left in the courtyard. Those who remained were even now being dispatched by her sisters. For the most part, the Sapsyra did not have serious injuries, but she could see at least one sister lying on the ground, obviously dead.
Well, the Gray Man knew they were there, now. There was nothing for it but to continue on as quickly as possible. They had breached the main fortification, but she did not doubt that they would have to fight for every inch once they entered the keep itself.
One of her mrysur came up to her and saluted. “Mrymit Zose, we have lost three sisters. All the enemy forces have been neutralized.”
She returned the salute. “Thank you. Form up. We must enter the keep quickly and end this.”
Crossing the bailey to the keep proved to be more difficult than they had anticipated. The first sister to trigger what could only have been a rohw trap set by the Gray Man himself did not survive the encounter. In fact, parts of her were blown twenty feet in all directions.
Prodding the ground ahead of them did no good, either. She was not sure of such things, but she believed that the traps worked on the principle of a person’s vibrations. Prodding with a stick would not set the trap off, but as soon as the sister using the stick stepped within range, she disappeared in the force of the blast much like the first.
It was not only traps such as these that claimed lives, however. Other soldiers who were either already in the keep or who went there from other barracks around the walls were now set up and firing arrows at them through arrow slits at different levels of the main keep building. While a few arrows were not a hindrance to the Sapsyra, dozens or hundreds of them were. Weighing the options, she ordered a full charge, running through the trapped area alongside the others and getting to the doors of the keep as quickly as possible. Between the traps and the arrows, more sisters were lost. She held to her belief that it would have been worse if they had delayed.
Ylleria was in one of the front ranks, running at full speed, dodging or swatting aside arrows as they came toward her. Luckily, the Gray Man’s forces had not organized fully yet, so the projectiles were not all focused on one area. If they were, they would not have survived.
Her group reached one of the smaller entry doors first. Four of them coordinated strikes and snapped the door off its hinges. These doors were not meant for defense, relying on the outer walls to keep invaders out.
They were in the keep. Now they needed to find the fiend and end his life.
“He will be in the Great Hall, no doubt,” she said to her troops. “We must find our way there. For the honor of the Sapsyra and for the Zouyim!” she yelled, and the other sisters took up the call. She saw Nalia just coming through the door as she turned and led her troops further into the keep.
The wide hallway they were in opened up into a series of intersections, each one wide, with vaulted ceilings. As they started across, the twang of bowstrings and the hiss of arrows cutting the air sounded.
Ylleria rolled to her right, came up with her sword in her hand, and cut two arrows from the air as they made their way to her. Many of the other sisters were successful in catching or deflecting arrows as well, but they were crowded and some of the sisters were struck. The grunts of pain and the sound of the arrow thumping into muscle or other soft tissue told Ylleria which were deadly and which were survivable.
Scanning the ceilings and high walls, she saw the multitude of arrows slits from where the hidden bowmen were firing their weapons. A lull in the firing allowed her to see Nalia coming toward her. A twang and a zip and Nalia was spinning, catching an arrow and then continuing her rotation. She spun completely around, using her momentum to launch the arrow back from where it came with as much force as it had been fired. The projectile went through the slit and there was a satisfying thud, accompanied by a grunt and a moan, letting her know her daughter’s aim was true.
“We must move through these intersections quickly,” Nalia said. “We can only dodge so many arrows.”
“Yes, you are right,” her mother said, moving toward one of the other hallways. “Nalia, take the lead. Choose whichever direction you feel appropriate. If we delay, we will not survive. I will be right behind you. I must command my mrysur.”
Nalia nodded and ran toward one of the halls. She heard her mother shouting as she left. “Follow Nalia. Do not hesitate.”
The sisters raced through the corridors, Nalia in the lead. Arrows and crossbow bolts were still fired at them when they crossed intersections, but the enemies were unable to organize quickly and the sisters’ losses were minimized.
Realizing that firing from the shadows was not having the desired effect, soldiers began to appear at intersections to block the way of the Sapsyra, causing them to be in the line of fire for longer periods of time.
“We must cut them down quickly or be trapped between the soldiers and the arrows,” Nalia said, landing a savage cutting blow that removed half a soldier’s head. She was tired, running and fighting and worrying about her mother somewhere behind her.
She narrowly avoided being cut by an overhead slash of a sword. Am I that tired? She slapped the blade aside with one of her own and punctured the man holding it with the spike at the end of her shrapezi. Or are these soldiers more skilled than those we have been fighting?
Pain blossomed in her left shoulder as a thrown knife grazed he
r, cutting through her clothing and her skin. She moved in time to deflect the second knife with the edge of her sword. She would need to focus more completely. The Gray Man had wisely kept his elite fighters as a personal guard. They must be getting close.
The soldiers in front of them were all down. She continued through the halls, slowing from her earlier speed, more wary of traps. The sound of so many feet on the stone, mixed with heavy breathing and the occasional whiz of an arrow or crossbow bolt, made everything seem dream-like. She really was getting tired. Looking back, she noticed some of the other sisters with injuries. There were even some sisters who were not able to get up or keep up with them as she moved them along. How many had been killed? How many were left? Were there enough to complete the task?
At several other intersections, the same scene played out. A group of soldiers barred their way, they fought with them while dodging arrows and quarrels, with the occasional heavy objects dropped toward them from murder holes, then they moved on when all the soldiers had been dispatched. Each time, another sister, or two, or three would be injured or would lose her life.
“Is there no end to these damned hallways and intersections?” she hissed. Just how big is this place?
They came to another intersection, this one looking different than the others. It had the same vaulted ceilings, the same arrow slits and murder holes, the same type of soldiers blocking the passage, but there was something different. The intersection was much larger, with ornate tapestries lining its walls. The group itself, now that she looked, was greater in number, and they all wore uniforms, unlike most of the other soldiers she had seen. This must be what they had been looking for.
Harmonic Magic Series Boxed Set Page 50
