Oblivion's Grasp

by Eric T Knight

  “When it is open, I go through first,” he warned the other Children. “Anyone who runs past me, I will tear you in half.”

  He pulled and the portcullis bent more. There was now a knee-high opening. Quyloc darted forward and stabbed at his feet.

  “It’s not enough,” Heram told him. “I told you.”

  He shifted his position, took hold of the portcullis with his other hand, and gave a savage jerk.

  There was a scream of tortured metal and Quyloc knew they were all dead. There was no way he could hold this monster off, but he knew he would die trying. He had to attack now, while Heram was still off balance.

  Just as he started to leap forward, Ricarn grabbed his arm. “Get out of the way.”

  Without hesitating, he jumped to the side, then turned to look at the FirstMother. The air around her was glowing so brightly that he couldn’t see her.

  Heram leaned back, his mighty muscles flexed, and he tore the portcullis completely away with a triumphant yell.

  At that same moment three thick bands of light shot forward into the gatehouse opening. He saw the FirstMother step forward, her hands thrown out, fingers bent as if trying to grab something only she could see. Her jaw bunched and the tendons stood out as she grappled with the Song.

  The bands of light began to move, weaving around each other, faster and faster. By the time Heram tossed the portcullis behind him and turned around, there was a glowing latticework of Song covering the gatehouse opening.

  “You made a terrible mistake,” he grunted, and reached for the barrier.

  But Ricarn was already moving. Moving with quicksilver speed, she stepped up to the barrier and struck it with her right hand. In the fraction of an instant before her hand struck, her arm changed.

  Her flesh seemed to flow and reform and where the flesh of hand and forearm had been, there now was segmented, chitinous exoskeleton, tapering at the end to a curved point, like a scorpion’s stinger.

  The stinger bit into the barrier and from it flowed something scarlet that spread instantly to the whole thing, so that it was now a deep, burnt-red color.

  “Now,” Ricarn said in Quyloc’s ear.

  Heram slammed into the barrier…

  And fell back, howling with pain. Huge blisters covered most of his arms.

  Right behind him came the Children. Sizzling noises came from them as they hit the barrier and they also fell back, howling and screaming.

  Breathing hard, his heart pounding, Quyloc lowered his spear. “What do you think now?” he said to Heram.

  “It will not be enough,” Heram said. Then he turned and walked away.xxx

  Once Heram had the gates down, Reyna moved forward along with everyone else. But as she reached the entrance to the gateway passage, she felt the buildup of power at the other end and stopped. Then she stood there and watched. The creatures the Tenders had surprised her. She’d never seen such things before. What were they? What were the Tenders doing with them?

  When Heram tore down the portcullis, she stepped into the passage, then stopped again as a strange light filled the other end.

  When Heram roared in pain, she quickly backed out of the passage, bewildered by what had just happened. How had they possibly managed to do that? The barrier was made of Song, that much she could tell, but the woman in red had changed it somehow. She’d poisoned it.

  Xochitl or one of the other Shapers must be helping the defenders. She looked around. How come they hadn’t shown themselves? What other traps did they have planned?

  She heard muted cheering from the defenders and looked up at the top of the wall, wanting to see if any of them were foolish enough to show themselves. When none did, she hurried away.

  It was time to reevaluate. The possibility that Qarath harbored one or more Shapers was a troubling thought.

  She passed the road leading north and it occurred to her that they could simply leave. There were other cities. Surely they weren’t all as well-defended as Qarath.

  But she rejected the idea almost immediately. She would not admit defeat so easily. There had to be another way into the city.

  She stopped outside missile range and turned to wait. A minute later Heram approached. The blisters on his hands and forearms were leaking fluid. Black streaks ran up his arms. His face was twisted with rage. He stomped up to her and stuck his face close to hers.

  “When are you going to start helping?” he growled.

  “What did you want me to do?” she retorted. “Should I have gone with you to chase the copper-skinned man around? Or maybe you wanted me to help you break gates down? Is that it? Did you want help breaking down the gates?”

  Heram clenched his huge fists and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her.

  “I almost had them,” he replied through clenched teeth. “If you had done that web thing, killed even one of those Tenders, they wouldn’t have gotten the barrier up in time and we would be feeding right now.”

  A number of the other Children had gathered around and they added their voices to his then. Not liking how this was going, Reyna fought the urge to take a step back. She couldn’t show weakness now. If she did, they’d swarm all over her. A memory of what they’d done to Melekath surfaced.

  “How could I?” she said, forcing herself to meet Heram’s glare. At least she was nearly as tall as he was, though a fraction of his bulk. “You and the rest of these fools were in the way. I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

  “Because you stay back and let us take all the risks.” A growl from the others greeted his words.

  “I hang back because I’m planning strategy. Have you heard of strategy? Do you know what it is?”

  Heram crossed his thick arms. “So? What have you planned? Tell us of your grand strategy to get us into Qarath.”

  Reyna gave him her best look of disdain. “Not yet. I’m still working on it,” she said.

  Heram grunted. “I think you have nothing. I think you cower in the back and let us take all the risks.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe it is time for a change.”

  Reyna glanced around. More of the Children had gathered and they were all listening raptly. Most of them looked hostile. What would happen if they all attacked her at once? Could she survive that?

  “No more talking,” Dubron suddenly chimed in. He was standing on Heram’s right, his gaze fierce and feral. “She’s fed recently. I can smell the Song on her. Let’s take it from her.”

  “You’ll never get into the city without me,” she warned.

  “You’re lying,” Dubron cried. “You don’t have a plan.”

  “You will not speak to me this way,” Reyna blazed, outrage overcoming her trepidation. Dubron flinched, but he did not back down.

  “Then tell us your plan,” Heram rumbled.

  Desperately, Reyna cast around for something to stall them. How else could they get in? Then she saw something she hadn’t noticed before and she turned to them and smiled.

  “You want to know my plan? I’ll tell you then. We have to wait until after dark, but here’s how we’re going to get in to Qarath…”

  Eighteen

  Rome was crouched on the inside edge of the wall, the black axe in his hands, when Heram tore through the portcullis. He tensed, ready to leap on Heram’s back the moment he stepped out of the passage.

  Then the barrier went up and Rome sagged down onto his knees, his relief so immense that all the strength ran out of him in an instant. That was too close.

  “What do you know?” Tairus said from beside him, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “It worked. I thought for sure we were all dead.”

  “Yeah, you and me both.”

  Turning, Rome crouch-walked back across the wall to the battlements, where he peeked over to see what was happening. Tairus followed. Reyna was walking away. A moment later, Heram emerged from the passage and followed her, along with many of the Children.

  Rome stood up the whole way. All along the wall, soldiers looked to him, que
stions on their faces. He knew they were looking to him for guidance and he knew that he had to provide it, regardless of how he felt. He raised his fist in the air and gave a shout. All up and down the line soldiers came to their feet and echoed him, but the cheer was short-lived and lacked any real enthusiasm. Every person there knew all they’d done was buy a little time. They’d all seen, up close and personal, a foe that could not be defeated.

  Rome knew how they felt. He’d known all along that the Children couldn’t die. He’d known all they could do was buy time and hope for a miracle. But somehow he’d convinced himself that it couldn’t be that bad. He’d convinced himself that they’d have some hitherto-unknown weakness that could be exploited.

  We can’t win.

  The truth of it was like a lead weight lying on his chest. He put a hand on the battlements to steady himself as he sheathed the axe.

  “They look like they’re going to attack her,” Tairus said, pointing.

  Most of the Children, Heram at their head, were gathered in a half circle around Reyna. They were too far away to hear what was said, but it was clear that Reyna was on the defensive.

  Along with most of the army on top of the wall, the two men stood there and watched as the drama unfolded in the sunset. Rome felt a sense of disorientation. It was a surreal scene, unlike any siege he’d ever witnessed. Where were the ranks of soldiers, defensive embankments, rows of tents? Instead there were less than a hundred people, none of them carrying weapons, all of them in rags. They looked like a disorderly mob of beggars and cripples. Nothing like an army at all. There was no order, no discipline, no plan.

  The tension passed and the knot of Children began to break up. A few of them started picking up pieces of firewood.

  “I don’t think they’re going to attack again today,” Tairus said.

  Rome had to agree with him, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Part of him wanted to continue the battle, to just get it over with.

  “Make sure we keep a good eye on them,” he told Tairus, and headed for the stairs. He felt Tairus looking at him as he walked away, felt the unspoken words the man wanted to let out, but he did not turn back.

  Once he got off the wall, he went over to the FirstMother. She was sitting on a crate, her head in her hands. Her sulbit looked like it was asleep. Only two of the Tenders were still standing near the barrier, thin streams of Song flowing from their sulbits, sustaining the barrier.

  “That was well done, FirstMother,” Rome said.

  The FirstMother looked up. Her face was haggard with exhaustion. Her sulbit seemed drained of substance, almost translucent. “It was too close,” she said.

  “Your Tenders will be able to keep it up?” he asked.

  “So long as we keep feeding the sulbits we can.”

  Rome stuck out one hand. “Take from me,” he said softly.

  Nalene’s eyes widened. There was a hiss of breath from Quyloc and he said, “Macht Rome, is this wise?”

  Rome ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on the FirstMother. Her sulbit stirred itself and stood up, its black eyes on him. He could feel its hunger.

  “Are you sure?” she asked him.

  “I will not ask my people to do what I will not,” he replied.

  She nodded once, then leaned forward. She took his hand in hers and whispered something to her sulbit. It moved sinuously down her arm and balanced on her palm. Once again its black eyes went to Rome, just for a moment, then its head dropped to his hand.

  Its mouth did not actually touch Rome’s skin, but still he could feel it touching him. A sudden pressure, not on him, but near him and then, deeply, painfully intimate.

  Something vital—something he’d never known he had until this moment—began to drain out of him. Coldness started in his extremities and moved toward his center. His vision narrowed. The sounds of people and animals grew dull and distant. He felt himself drifting away.

  Then she pulled the creature away. Rome felt hands on him, holding him upright. His knees were weak and he was terribly dizzy. Dimly he heard himself say, “Bring my horse.”

  Quyloc said something in response, but Rome seemed unable to process it. He turned and blinked. Instead of his horse, there was a carriage there, the driver looking at him with worried eyes.

  “That’s not my horse,” he said.

  “It will do,” Quyloc replied, and guided him to it.

  “Maybe just this once,” Rome said, and let himself be helped into it. There was the slap of reins, the voice of the driver, and the carriage took him away.

  “Lady?”

  Bonnie opened the door and saw Opus standing there, as neatly groomed as ever. He was dressed in his black livery, the wolf’s head embroidered on his breast. Spotless white gloves covered his hands. His thin mustache was perfectly trimmed, his shoes shined to a high gloss. The world was ending, but Opus would face it with every hair in place.

  “I’m no lady. You know that,” she said.

  “You are Macht Rome’s lady. That is all I need to know,” he replied calmly.

  Bonnie put her hands on her hips. “Well?”

  “The Macht is on his way. I thought you should know.”

  Bonnie was instantly alarmed. She’d heard the horns blowing and knew what it meant. She would have gone down to the main gates herself, but the guards on the palace gates wouldn’t let her leave, telling her it was the macht’s orders. “What happened? Is he okay?”

  Opus held up one white-gloved hand. “He is fine. Only…a little drained.”

  But Bonnie was already pushing past him, heading down the hall, holding up her skirts in one hand so she could move faster. Opus hurried to catch up. He was shorter than she was. “What do you mean, drained?” she demanded as he caught up to her.

  “He let a sulbit feed on him.”

  Bonnie gave him a sharp look. “He let a sulbit feed on him? How do you know this?”

  “Lady Bonnie, it is my job to know. I have those who keep me informed. And they have informed me he is on his way here…” He trailed off, giving her a sideways look. “In a carriage.”

  That surprised Bonnie. “A carriage? But Rome won’t ride in a…” Now it was her turn to trail off. “That’s why you came to get me.”

  “I thought it best.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply, touching him on the arm. They walked in silence then. In truth, Bonnie was glad for something to do. She’d spent the whole afternoon pacing Rome’s chambers, fretting. A lot of the time she’d spent questioning her decision to move to the palace. She felt so useless and out of place here. She didn’t know anyone. There was nothing to clean. Opus’ staff saw to that. The Grinning Pig wasn’t exactly homey, but it was the closest she had to a home.

  They moved into the main palace halls and she noticed that there were quite a lot of servants hurrying about, sweeping, dusting, carrying linens. There were workmen as well. A small team of them were working on an arch, chipping old paint off it, readying it for a new coat. It struck her as odd.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Opus.

  Opus made a negligent gesture as though it were nothing, though the whole time his eyes were moving, surveying the servants and workmen like a general inspecting his troops. “Merely some cleaning and overdue repairs.”

  “In the middle of a siege?”

  Opus gave her another sideways look and a tiny shake of his head. At the next intersecting hallway, he led her to the right. This hall was deserted. When they were out of earshot of the servants he said, “Everybody’s scared. Give them time to think on it and the whole lot of them…” He made a fluttering motion with his hand.

  “Oh.” Bonnie looked at Opus with new eyes. “I see.”

  A few minutes later they were at the front doors of the palace. A carriage was just pulling up. Rome was inside, slumped against the door, his eyes closed. Her heart opened up when she saw him and she ran to the carriage, was pulling at the handle before it stopped.

  Rome sat up and
blinked at her. A smile split his bearded face. “I fall asleep and wake up to an angel. No one could be luckier than me.”

  Bonnie wanted to kiss him. Instead she took hold of his arm and helped him down from the carriage. He leaned heavily on her. “What were you thinking anyway?” she asked, a bit more sharply than she intended.

  “I can’t ask my people to do it if I’m not willing to.”

  “And what good will you be for your people if you can’t stand up?”

  “What difference does it make? There’s nothing I can do anyway.”

  There was something in his voice she’d never heard before and she searched his eyes, afraid suddenly. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.”

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” Unable to meet her eyes, he turned his face away. It was something she’d never seen him do.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know.”

  Not knowing what else to say, she asked, “The barrier is holding then?”

  “For now.” He looked like he was about to say something else, but Bonnie was suddenly aware of too many people nearby, listening. She took him by the arm and led him away before he could get started. She led him back to their rooms and closed the door firmly behind them. Rome walked across the room, unbelted the black axe and dropped it on the table. Then he flopped down in a chair with a sound like a groan and closed his eyes.

  “They’ll find a way past it. Eventually they’re going to come in. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Bonnie pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. She took one of his hands in hers.

  “I’m sorry,” Rome said, opening his eyes. He touched her stomach gently. “I wanted to raise a child with you.”

  “Don’t be so sure we won’t.”

  He slumped back in the chair. “I’m sure.”

  She was suddenly angry. She came to her feet, her fists on her hips. “Then we’ll die!” she snapped at him. “But don’t apologize. Not for something you can’t control.”