“It better work,” Rome said.
“They better hurry,” Tairus said, glancing over his shoulder at the advancing Children. They were less than five hundred paces away now.
For the tenth time, Rome shifted his armor to a more comfortable position. It was always like this before battle for him. His armor chafed and pinched everywhere and nothing he did ever made it right.
Tairus sighed. “Why can’t things ever be easy?” He pointed at the advancing Children. “I take it that’s the one you were talking about, the big, red-skinned brute?”
“That’s him.”
Tairus cleared his throat and spat. “I thought you were crazy when you told me he could probably smash down the gates with his fists.”
“And now?”
“I wish you were crazy.”
“Me too. If anything, he’s bigger than I remember. Oh well, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”
Tairus fixed him with a gimlet eye. “I don’t like your idea of fun at all.”
“You’re just getting old, that’s all.”
“I’d like to get a whole lot older.”
Rome turned to his aide, Nicandro, who was waiting nearby. “Go down the line. Remind everyone to concentrate fire on the big guy. Whatever it takes, keep him away from the gates.”
It was the ballistae Rome was counting on the most. They were huge things, mounted on iron stands and bolted to the top of the wall, armed with iron bolts fully as long as man was tall. They could knock down a charging horse. They should be able to slow the big guy.
Rome heard his name called from the foot of the wall and he turned and walked to the inside edge of the wall and looked down. At the foot of the stairs stood a tall, young woman wearing men’s clothes. Beside her was a hulking, copper-skinned figure wearing roughly-made, tanned leather. Before them, blocking their way, was a soldier. He’d retreated to the bottom step, his sword held out in front of him. It looked insignificant compared to the huge figure in front of him.
“They want to come up on the wall, macht!” the soldier yelled.
“That’s the pair who came into the city this morning,” Tairus said. “She claims to be a Tender. I don’t know what he is.”
“Let them up!” Rome called down. He watched as they started up the stairs and to Tairus he said, “See the way he moves? He looks like a fighter to me.”
“How come he’s got no weapons then?”
“Look at the size of him. I bet his fist is as big as your head. Maybe he doesn’t need any weapons.”
Tairus made a sound that indicated what he thought of a fighter without any weapons, but he made no other comments as the two climbed the stairs. When they stepped onto the top of the wall, Rome walked over to them, Tairus following.
“I’m Wulf Rome, macht of Qarath,” Rome said. “Who are you?”
“I’m Netra,” the woman replied. “And this is Shorn.”
Shorn was even bigger up close. Rome wasn’t used to feeling small, but he felt small looking up at him. He saw the way Shorn looked him over—his gaze lingering for a moment on the handle of the black axe sticking up from behind Rome’s back—the way he noted the positions and weapons of all the soldiers on that section of wall, and knew he’d been right in his assessment of him. He was definitely a fighter. Rome realized he was smiling. Their odds of survival just got a little bit better.
“We want to help,” Netra said.
Rome shifted his attention to her. She was younger than he’d first thought, deeply tanned by the sun and worn to the hard edge a person gets through a lot of walking on short rations. In her face he read experiences far beyond her years. She’d clearly traveled some hard roads.
“We can use all the help we can get,” he told her. “I heard you’re a Tender.” She nodded, reluctantly it seemed to him. “You have one of those things on you somewhere, a sulbit?” he asked.
“No.”
“What can you do?”
“I know the Children. I escaped from them yesterday. With Shorn’s help.”
That surprised Rome. He glanced at Tairus.
“I saw you and another man attack the Children yesterday.”
“You were there?”
“We were following the Children. You hurt Melekath badly. He’s not with them anymore.”
Rome shifted his armor and scratched. “I heard as much from Ricarn. That’s why we’re trying to get the barrier up. Without him, the only way they can come in is through the gates.” It was good to know that his ill-advised plan to attack Melekath had actually produced some benefit.
“What else can you tell me?” Rome asked Netra. “What weaknesses do they have?”
“I don’t think they have any,” she said grimly, looking out at the Children. “You see the tall one, with the red hair? Shorn smashed her head with a rock. Smashed it to a pulp. Look at her now.”
“It slowed her down though, didn’t it?”
“It did. But not for long. And she’ll get stronger with every person she feeds on. All of them will.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“She—her name is Reyna—she can shoot something at you, like a big spider web, and feed on you from a distance.”
“How far?” Tairus interjected.
Netra shook her head. “I don’t know for sure. I was a few paces away when she did it to me.” Rome noticed that her hand went to her side as she spoke. “But I don’t think she can shoot it far. Especially not now, after she had to use some of her strength to heal herself.”
“That’s good to know. I’ll pass the word to the troops,” Rome said.
“Thrikyl’s city gates were ripped off their hinges. I think the big, red-skinned one did it. I think he might be able to do the same to these gates.”
Rome exchanged looks with Tairus. “Is that it?” he asked Netra.
“Reyna and Heram hate each other. As soon as the opportunity comes, they’ll turn on each other. Reyna hates all the Children. She won’t hesitate to sacrifice any of them.”
“That’s good to know,” Rome said. “Maybe we’ll find a way to use that.” He glanced over at the Children. They were getting close. To Shorn he said, “You need a weapon?”
Shorn looked disdainfully at the weapons the soldiers were carrying and shook his head. He held up his hands. “I have these,” he rumbled. His thick fingers ended in blunt claws that looked like they’d have no trouble tearing through wood. His forearms were as big around as a man’s leg. Rome saw no point in arguing with him.
“Then let’s see if we can buy the Tenders the time they need,” Rome said. Nicandro had returned and Rome turned to him. “Tell the men to watch out for the tall woman with the red hair. She can shoot some kind of web and kill a man from a distance.” Nicandro saluted and ran off.
“What’s your plan?” Heram asked Reyna as they approached the city. He casually backhanded one of the Children who tried to run past him, sending the woman sprawling. “I told you no one rushes the city until I say so,” he growled. Another one of the Children was starting to inch by, but when Heram glared at him he put his head down and backed up.
“Why would I have a plan?” Reyna replied. “Don’t you have a plan?”
“My plan is to keep an eye on you.”
Reyna gave Heram a crooked smile. It was all she could manage. She didn’t need a mirror to know that her face was still a shattered mess. Her jaw hurt terribly and her mouth didn’t seem to close right. “It bothers me that you still don’t trust me.”
He ignored her comment. “It would be better if we still had Melekath to make a hole in the wall for us.”
“Well, then you shouldn’t have let them attack him.”
“I didn’t see you trying to stop them.”
“I don’t think we need him. I think we’re better off without him.” She spoke confidently, but the truth was that she wished Melekath were there too. After the beating the big copper-skinned one had given her, she had developed a healthy respect fo
r her enemies. But there was no way she would ever admit that to Heram. She would rather die than admit any weakness to him.
“We have to concentrate on the gates,” Heram said. “That’s their weakness.”
“Excellent plan,” Reyna replied. “I knew you had it in you. I knew you couldn’t be as thick as you look. Not that there was ever any possibility of that.”
Again Heram refused to rise to her jibe, only fixing his small, deep set eyes on her for a moment before looking away. He really frustrated her sometimes. He was simply no fun to poke at all. She longed for a foe who was a real challenge, one who plotted and counterplotted the way she did. What she wouldn’t give for a real test of wits.
But then, that was why she’d teamed up with Heram to bring Melfen down all those years ago, wasn’t it? Because Melfen was too smart. He’d been a real threat to her. If she hadn’t eliminated him with Heram’s help when she did, she might be the one lying crushed and paralyzed under a massive pile of stone back in the prison.
In truth, Reyna did have a plan. Her plan was to let the rest of the idiots charge the city walls, while she stayed back out of harm’s way and watched. That way, if the defenders had any more nasty tricks, she’d be able to find out at no risk to herself.
“You’ll be able to knock those gates down, won’t you?” she asked Heram. “Like you did at Thrikyl?”
“They’ll come down,” he replied.
“You’re not too weak now, after healing that terrible cut the little man gave you with his little axe?”
Heram turned a heavy frown on her and she saw with satisfaction that finally one of her jabs had landed. Heram hated being bested, and the fact that he’d been beaten by a foe no more than a third his size had to rankle.
“You’ll see,” Heram said.
“I’m sure I will,” she told him lightly.
They walked in silence until they were just about at the edge of bowshot, then Reyna turned to Heram. “Time to let them loose?” she asked. He nodded. She raised her voice. “All right. Go get them.”
With a shriek, the Children raced for the city. Heram hesitated for a moment, looking at Reyna. She shook her head and then he joined the rush. Reyna bit her lip. It was agony, standing here when all that Song was so close. She wanted to fling reason to the winds and charge the city too.
She didn’t have to wait long to see what the defenders’ response would be. A rain of arrows began falling on the Children almost immediately. The arrows couldn’t stop any of the them, but they did hurt. Most importantly, they distracted the Children from what was coming next.
There was a series of low, heavy thumps as the ballistae fired, all of them within a second of each other. Heram had a half dozen arrows sticking out of him and he was yanking them out as he lumbered forward, so he didn’t see the heavy iron bolts flying toward him. The first one struck him a glancing blow on the shoulder, tearing through desiccated flesh and ricocheting off. The force of the blow spun him completely around, causing most of the other bolts to miss.
But not all of them.
As he spun, one bolt struck Heram square in the middle of his back, knocking him down on his face. A cheer went up from the defenders.
The cheers died off quickly when Heram came to his feet a moment later. Grimacing, he grabbed the shaft of the bolt and pulled it the rest of the way through him. He turned toward the wall. Holding the bolt in one hand, he reared back, and flung it at the defenders. It sailed high, missing the soldiers on the wall, but one unlucky soldier in the square looked up too late and the thing hit him in the hip, sending him crashing to the ground, screaming.
One of the bolts that missed Heram struck an older man who was behind him. The force of the impact was such that he was lifted off his feet and flung backwards. The bolt stuck in the ground and he dangled there, arms and legs flailing uselessly, screaming with pain and frustration. Finally, his thrashing loosened the bolt enough that it worked its way loose and he toppled to the ground. Laboriously, he stood up. But he wasn’t strong enough to pull the bolt out of him. Eventually he just gave up and resumed his charge, the huge bolt making him weave and trip as he stumbled forward.
As Reyna had expected, most of the Children just ran blindly at the walls, which of course they were completely unable to climb. They tried to scramble up, but none got more than a little way off the ground before they lost their grip and fell back down. While they were trying to climb the walls, they were easy targets for the Qarathian defenders, who dropped stones on them. One stone hit a woman square in the head, and she lay on the ground twitching, her head cracked open like an egg, dusty, withered gray matter showing inside. But the lure of all that Song drew her inexorably and moments later she sat up and began trying to climb the wall once again.
Heram ran for the gates. By then the ballistae had reloaded and they fired another round, but Heram was watching for them this time. He ducked one and another only lightly scored his side. The rest missed. Once he made it up to the gates the ballistae could no longer swivel far enough to fire at him.
The gates were iron-bound wood nearly two feet thick and Heram planted himself before them, his feet spread wide, and began hammering them with double-fisted blows. The gates shook in their frame with each blow. Archers rained arrows down on him until he was bristling with them, but he simply ignored them. The stones the defenders dropped on him just bounced off.
It was an awesome physical display and even Reyna was impressed. She reminded herself not to take him too lightly.
“Those gates aren’t going to hold for very long,” Tairus said. He and Rome had moved to stand on the wall just above the gates, and were looking down at Heram. Each time Heram struck the gates, flakes of stone broke off around the hinges. The hinges were noticeably bent already.
Rome crossed the top of the wall and yelled down at Nalene. “FirstMother! We need that barrier!” His voice easily cut through the din of the battle and Nalene spared a moment to look up at him. But it was clear she couldn’t deliver the barrier yet. She had her own sulbit calmed down, but most of the other Tenders were still struggling to control theirs.
Rome hurried back to where Tairus was still looking down at Heram and drew the black axe from its sheath on his back. He started climbing onto the battlements. “Someone get me a rope!” he yelled. Under his breath, he said, “I’m going to cut his leg completely off this time. See if that slows him down.”
A soldier came running with a rope, but before he could get it tied off, Shorn was moving. He snatched up a half dozen ballistae bolts, climbed up on the battlements and jumped off the wall.
When he landed, two of the Children ran at him, but he easily knocked them down using the bolts, then began running toward Heram.
“Give him some cover!” Rome yelled. A fresh barrage of stones and arrows rained down on the Children, making it hard for them to pursue him.
Engrossed as he was with pounding on the gates, Heram didn’t notice Shorn’s approach.
Shorn ran up behind Heram and stabbed one of the bolts into his back, with enough force that it went all the way through him. Heram howled, and as he turned Shorn rammed another bolt into his gut. Heram howled again and grabbed the bolt, ripping it free. As he did so, Shorn quickly backed off a dozen steps.
Heram bellowed like a maddened bull and charged Shorn. Rome gripped the haft of the black axe tighter, fearing that this would be the end of the strange fighter. As big as Shorn was, Heram loomed over him and could probably tear him to pieces with his bare hands.
But then he realized that Shorn was expecting Heram to charge and was ready for it. He still had four of the ballistae bolts. As Heram charged, he jammed their butts into the ground and set himself in pike position. Heram was so enraged he didn’t try to dodge around the bolts or even slap them aside. The bolts took him in the chest. They bent visibly, but held. Heram ended up skewered on the bolts, still bellowing, swinging his mighty fists at Shorn. But he couldn’t quite reach him.
Rome
scanned the battlefield and saw that a new danger threatened Shorn. Two of the Children, men bigger and stronger-looking than most of the rest, were circling around behind him. Focused as he was on Heram, it didn’t look like Shorn had noticed them.
“Behind you!” Rome yelled.
Shorn glanced over his shoulder just as they ran at him. At the same moment, Heram suddenly changed his tactics. He stepped back, the bolts tearing free from his chest. Then he charged Shorn again.
But Shorn, instead of running away, ran at Heram. It looked like pure suicide.
At the last moment, Shorn ducked to the left, under Heram’s outstretched right arm. Heram tried to react, but he was too big and had too much momentum. As he went by, Shorn kicked him hard in the side of the knee. Heram’s knee bent sideways and he went down.
Shorn spun to meet the first of the attackers coming up from behind him, but the leg he’d kicked Heram with betrayed him and he stumbled. The first man managed to hook an arm around Shorn’s arm and Rome could see the way Shorn immediately wilted under that devouring touch. All too well he remembered what it had felt like when one of the Children touched him.
Shorn clubbed the man on the side of the head with his other fist and the man went flying. Then he shook his arm, as if trying to will feeling back into it.
The next man was close behind the first and Shorn had no choice but to backhand him.
Heram had gotten unsteadily to his feet by then, but before he could reenter the fight one of the ballistae fired. The bolt struck him in the side and knocked him staggering sideways.
More of the Children were converging on Shorn. The city’s defenders rained arrows and spears down on them and ballistae bolts flew every few seconds, but the Children, maddened by their hunger, ignored it all and kept coming. Shorn was backed up nearly to the gates, the Children spread out in an arc before him, coming from every direction.
Rome pounded on the battlement, hating how helpless he felt. There was no way they could risk opening the gates to let Shorn in. Ropes could be dropped to him, but Rome knew they couldn’t lift him up fast enough before the Children got a hold of him.
Oblivion's Grasp Page 10
