Shorn slapped his next attacker aside, but three more came running up behind him. Shorn kicked the closest one, who fell back and tangled up the other two, all of them falling down.
Shorn bent and snatched up one of the stones that littered the battlefield, raised it over his head and threw it into the midst of another knot of Children that were rushing him. The stone, as big as a man’s torso, tore through them and sent them flying.
But it was clear that Shorn was weakening fast. The next stone he reached for slipped from his grasp and while he was trying to pick it back up, a woman darted forward and dove at his legs, catching hold of one ankle. The ankle buckled and he fell against the gates.
Righting himself, Shorn kicked the woman away, but there was no real force behind the kick and she threw herself at him again almost instantly. He punched her, but his blow was weak and she was able to latch onto his arm. While he was trying to dislodge her, four more converged on him with gleeful shrieks and behind them came still more. He slapped weakly at the first with his free hand, but that left him open and the other three got their hands on him. Shorn went to his knees, more Children pouring over him.
Meanwhile, Heram had gotten back to his feet and was tossing Children out of the way as he tried to get to Shorn.
That’s when something completely unexpected happened.
There was a flash to Rome’s left and a kind of shockwave, but one that threatened to pull him toward the flash instead of knocking him away.
Standing a dozen paces away, leaning over the battlements, reaching down toward Shorn, was Netra. All around her lay the unmoving forms of a half score soldiers.
The air blurred around her hands, there was a hissing, crackling sound, and a brilliant blaze of light flashed from her down to Shorn.
The effect was immediate and electric.
Shorn roared and came to his feet, shaking off the Children like a bear shaking off wolves. He was shining so brightly it was difficult to look at him.
Heram lunged at him.
Shorn grabbed one outstretched hand, pulled and turned simultaneously, flipping Heram over his shoulder. Heram slammed headfirst into the gates.
While Heram was getting to his feet, Shorn broke through the ring of Children. Once free of them he stopped, grabbed up a stone, and threw it at Heram.
Heram looked up just as the stone struck him on the shoulder. With a roar of fury, he charged at Shorn, trampling the Children who didn’t get out of his way.
But Shorn was no longer backed into a corner. He had room to maneuver and he made the best of it. He dodged Heram easily, picked up another stone and threw it at him. Then he was moving again.
Over and over he did this, taunting Heram, letting him get close but staying out of his reach. And as he did it he slowly but surely lured him away from the gates, along with many of the Children.
Rome looked over as Netra slid down the wall and sat down. What just happened? he wondered. What did she do? Did she kill all those men?
Rome started toward her, but stopped when Tairus yelled.
“We’ve got a new problem!”
Rome turned to look. Reyna was entering the fight.
Seventeen
“Unbelievable. They’re even dumber than I thought,” Reyna grumbled to herself. “Isn’t there a complete brain among the lot of them? Can’t they see what he’s doing?” Most of the Children were chasing the big, copper-skinned man when anyone could see that he was deliberately luring them away. The few who weren’t chasing him were about as effective as rabbits, hopping up and down at the base of the wall. Every minute a couple more fell to stones, limbs and heads crushed.
Did Netra just do what she thought she did? she wondered. Was she really that strong? Despite herself, Reyna was impressed. She was also intrigued. She hoped she’d get a chance to capture Netra again. This time she’d make sure she didn’t get away. She’d keep her alive until she learned everything that girl knew.
But that was for later. Now it was time to act.
She’d seen enough that she was reasonably sure the defenders had no new weapons. The bearded one with the black axe and the lean man with the spear could present problems, but she was confident they’d never get close enough to trouble her.
It was time to show them all who they really needed to fear.
She headed for the wall. She hadn’t gotten very far before several ballistae bolts came flying her way, but she was ready for them. She released the slightest breath of her power, letting it radiate out from her. It was as if the bolts hit an invisible shield, deflecting away before they could strike her. Arrows followed, with the same results.
That was the problem with Heram—one of the problems anyway. He thought of power in only one way: brute strength. He didn’t realize that power came in many different forms and had many different uses. It was a weakness many men had, and one she had exploited many times.
The storm of arrows and bolts increased as she neared the wall, but she ignored them. She strode calmly, regally, toward them, head up, looking steadily at them, taking her time. She walked like a queen crossing her throne room. Let them see their doom approaching and despair. The soldiers on the wall were shouting to each other. So far none of them had broken and run, but she could tell they were close. It wouldn’t take much. She liked this feeling, the abject terror she inspired.
She was a dozen paces from the wall when she stopped and flung out her hands.
When Rome saw Reyna stop and put up her hands he yelled, “Get down! Now!”
The soldiers were ready and they reacted quickly, ducking down behind the battlements—except for one man to Rome’s left. Rome saw him jerk back as something snapped through the air and struck him, knocking him back a couple of steps.
The man looked down in horror. What looked like a dirty spider web, but about as big around as a finger, was stuck to his chest. He grabbed at it and then jerked his hand away with a cry, as if it had burned him. He half turned toward Rome, his mouth working, and took one step, one hand coming up, reaching. Then a stricken look came into his eyes. The color leached from his skin until it was like wax and then he began to visibly deflate. In moments he was on the ground, withered and desiccated, the skin split open along his cheekbones and across his scalp.
The soldiers nearest to him drew back in alarm and one lost his nerve, jumped up and ran for the stairs. Another web shot through the air, striking him in the back. A scream came from him as he tried to reach back for it. Then he stiffened, his eyes rolling back in his head. He spasmed and went down.
“Stay down!” Rome yelled. “She can’t get you if you stay down!”
After a moment, Rome peered over the battlement. Reyna was standing motionless with her eyes closed. As he watched, her facial features started to melt and flow, then reform. When the flesh solidified once again, the ruin of her face was healed. The missing patches of hair grew back. Her limbs straightened, withered flesh filled out. It was both awesome and horrifying to watch and it brought home to Rome just how hopeless this war was. How could they defeat an enemy who could do that?
The transformation complete, she opened her eyes and saw Rome looking at her. “Do you like what you see?” she called to him. She did a slow twirl, showing off.
“I’d like it better if you were leaving,” he yelled back.
“Yes, I’m sure you would. But we both know that isn’t going to happen.” She glanced off to where Heram and the rest were still chasing Shorn. “Sooner or later that big idiot is going to realize just how stupid he is and…” She shook her head. “I take that back. That is something he’ll never realize. But he will give up eventually, and then he’ll come back. When that happens, your gates will come down. You know that, right?”
“And when that happens, we have a little surprise waiting for you,” he replied under his breath, hoping that it was true.
“I’ll just assume from your silence that you agree with me. So let me offer you a deal. Save us all this trouble an
d just open the gates. Do that and I give you my word we’ll spare some of you…let’s say half. After all, I’m going to need servants, right? I don’t want to kill you all. What do you say?”
“No chance,” Rome called back.
“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised, or she was just a good actor. “I assure you that you and those you choose will be among those left alive.”
“The answer is still no.”
“So you choose to fight, to anger me and then suffer the consequences, rather than take my deal and save a great many of your people? Is that right?”
“That pretty much sums it up.” Rome had an idea. “The problem is, Reyna, that I don’t know if I can trust you. Why don’t you come closer? Let me look in your eyes. Let me see if you can be trusted.” He hefted the axe as he said this. Let her come to stand below him and he would jump off this wall onto her. He just might be able to take her down before she could kill him.
Reyna shook her head. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea. I’ve seen you with that axe of yours. I saw what you did to Father with it.”
“It was worth a try,” he yelled.
“Of course it was. And I don’t blame you for it. You’ve seen how pathetic my companions are. Any reasonable person would assume that I’m the same. Unfortunately for you, I’m not.” She turned and saw that Heram and the others had finally given up chasing Shorn and were returning.
“Oh look, here they come now.” She looked back up at Rome. “One last chance to reconsider.”
Rome didn’t answer. There was nothing, really, to say.
“The gates, Heram,” she said when he arrived. “Stop fooling around and bring them down.”
Heram glared at her for a moment, then walked to the gates and resumed pounding on them.
The wall shook and stone dust sprinkled down.
Nalene looked over her shoulder when the thudding resumed. She could see a sliver of light between the gates each time Heram struck them. She exchanged a look with Quyloc, who was standing to the side, the rendspear in his hand, and in that look was the same shared knowledge.
How long would it be before the gap was big enough for him to get his hand in there? Once he was through the gates, how long would the portcullis last?
She turned back to the Tenders. They were formed up in three groups of seven, each group a diamond pattern. Bronwyn stood at the head of one group, Perast and Mulin at the head of the other two. Only Bronwyn’s and Perast’s groups were ready, the air around them hazy with pent-up energy waiting to be released. Mulin’s wasn’t. One of the Tenders in that group was still struggling with her sulbit. As Nalene watched, the creature got out of her grasp and scurried up her arm.
“Control that thing, Owina!” Nalene yelled.
Ricarn put a hand on her arm. “It won’t help to yell at her,” she said calmly. “She is already afraid.”
“Not as afraid as she will be when those gates fall,” Nalene snapped at her, her own fear, as always, coming out as anger.
“You are afraid too.”
Nalene started to deny it, then looked away. The truth was that she was terrified and so was her sulbit. The creature was standing on her shoulder, pressed against her neck, trembling. “We’re almost out of time,” she said.
“We are,” Ricarn agreed, turning to look at the gates. She sounded so calm, almost uncaring. How many times Nalene had wished she were as detached as Ricarn?
“Maybe we should just go ahead and put up the barrier with what we have,” Nalene suggested.
Ricarn gave her a look, one thin eyebrow arching slightly.
“I know, I know,” Nalene said. She knew as well as Ricarn how that would probably work out. They’d practiced this barrier yesterday, once they learned that Melekath was no longer with the Children and so they didn’t have to worry about them coming through the wall. Nalene wished they could have practiced it a dozen times, but the Song they burned each time was so great that if they had, the sulbits would have been too depleted to be effective. They were strong enough now to hold a great deal of Song, but it wasn’t an unlimited amount.
This wasn’t going to be like the impromptu barrier Nalene had thrown up at Guardians Watch to protect the Tenders from the wall of gray flames. That had been a temporary thing that only remained up as long as she held it in place with her will.
This barrier had to be much stronger and it needed to be static. The plan was for the Tenders at the head of the three formations to feed Song into the gatehouse opening, where Nalene would weave it together in such a way that the Song, instead of rushing off and diminishing, would constantly flow back through the barrier. That way the barrier could be maintained by minimal additions of Song, rather than by constantly replenishing the whole.
What they’d learned when they practiced was that the flows coming from each formation had to be close to the same strength. If one of the three was significantly weaker than the other two—say by the loss of one Tender—it would be like making a chain where every third link was forged of inferior steel.
Nor could the barrier be built initially by two flows and the third added in later. The structure of the barrier was such that adding a third flow after it was complete would cause the whole thing would fall apart.
Nalene spun around as a loud cracking noise came from the gates.
One of the gates was sagging noticeably. Thick fingers reached into the gap between the gates. The fingers curled, found their grip, began to pull. The gate cracked again.
“Look away,” Ricarn said. She had not turned to look. “You must focus on the task at hand. If you are not ready, you will not be able to control the flows when they deliver them to you.”
Nalene forced herself to look away, to look instead at Owina. The older woman’s face was pale as she pulled her sulbit down off her shoulder and cradled it in her arms. She bent her head, whispering to it, stroking it with a shaking hand.
“Come on,” Nalene said through gritted teeth, trying to will Owina to get her sulbit under control. “Come on…”
There was another crack, louder than the rest, and Nalene couldn’t control herself. She turned to look just as one of the gates was ripped away from its hinges and thrown off to the side. Instinctively, she fell back a step. Her sulbit cowered against her. She could sense how close it was to bolting. She was moments away from it herself. She could hear gasps from the other Tenders.
Heram stepped into the opening. His cold, hungry eyes met hers and Nalene flinched. Something like a smile came onto his harsh visage. He took hold of the other gate and ripped it away as well.
“Look at me!” Ricarn hissed. The force of her words was such that they penetrated Nalene’s fear and she turned to her. “You must forget about him. Forget everything. Block it out.”
Ricarn turned her attention to Owina. “The creature is feeding on your fear. Until you get yourself under control, you will never get it under control.”
Owina nodded and took a deep breath.
As Heram stepped into the gateway passage, Quyloc moved up to the portcullis and raised his spear.
“Do you remember this? Do you remember what it can do?” Quyloc challenged him.
Heram’s eyes went to the spear and the smile left his face. “It won’t make any difference. I don’t care how much you hurt me with that thing. It won’t stop me from killing you.”
“We’ll see about that,” Quyloc replied, settling himself into a fighting stance. He was surprised at how steady and confident his voice sounded, because the truth was that he believed what Heram said.
Before Heram had gone two more steps, other Children surged into the passage and charged forward with wild yells and howls. A few were struck by stones dropped through the murder holes, but most made it to the portcullis untouched and they hit it like a flood. Faces pressed up against the metal latticework and grasping hands reached through.
Quyloc felt the Tenders’ fragile control slip. They were only moments from breaking.
He stepped forward and stabbed, then stabbed again and again, as fast as he could. Those he struck screamed and purple-black wounds appeared in their flesh. They fought madly to pull back, but there were too many behind them, pressing forward in their desperate eagerness, and they couldn’t get away.
Dimly, Quyloc heard Nalene yelling something, but her words did not register. His only thought was to keep attacking, to hold them off as long as he could.
Heram waded into the crush of Children, grabbing them and throwing them back out of his way. “Get out of my way!” he yelled. “Get back!”
His bulk was immense, seeming to fill the gateway passage. He was too tall to stand upright completely. The Children were like puppies in his hands.
Then he was through them and standing at the portcullis. He looked past Quyloc at the Tenders. “What is this?” he asked. “Are you trying to make a shield out of Song?” He smiled. “It won’t work, you know. I like Song. It will just make me stronger.”
“We’ll see about that,” Quyloc replied grimly. “We might have a surprise for you.”
Heram grabbed hold of the portcullis and Quyloc slashed across his fingers. He winced as the dried flesh of his hands was peeled back, but he didn’t let go. Instead he smiled, the harsh smile of a predator about to kill his prey.
“It is only pain,” he said. “I know pain. And I know hunger. Hunger is stronger.”
He began to pull on the portcullis, while Quyloc attacked again and again, reaching through the openings to stab his forearms.
The portcullis held. It bent slightly, but that was it.
Heram let go and began banging on it. Quyloc moved closer, trying to reach further through and stab Heram’s face or his body. Suddenly Heram snatched at the spear. For one heart-stopping instant he had hold of the weapon. Quyloc jerked on it desperately and just managed to yank it away before he could snap it.
Heram changed tactics. He bent and grabbed hold of the portcullis near the bottom with one hand. With the other he fended off Quyloc’s renewed attacks as best he could. Some got through, but they were not enough. His mighty legs flexed and he began to pull. The metal bent.
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