“Mina,” said Galdar, “your horse, Foxfire, is here, ready and able to carry you. There is no shame in riding.”
“My soldiers run,” she told Galdar faintly. “I will run with them. I will not ask them to do what I cannot!”
She tried to rise. Her legs would not support her. Her face grim, she began to crawl on her hands and knees along the trail. Some of the soldiers cheered, but many others wept.
Galdar lifted her in his arms. She protested, she ordered him to set her back on her feet.
“If I do, you will only fall again. You will be the one to slow us down, Mina,” Galdar said. “The men would never leave you. We will never make the Silvanesti border by nightfall. The choice is yours.”
“Very well,” she said, after a moment’s bitter struggle against her own weakness. “I will ride.”
He helped her onto Foxfire. She slumped over the saddle, so tired that he feared for a moment she could not even remain in the saddle. Then she set her jaw, straightened her back, sat upright.
Mina looked down, her amber eyes cool.
“Do not ever defy my orders again, Galdar,” she said. “You can serve the One God just as well dead as alive.”
“Yes, Mina,” he answered quietly.
Gripping the reins in her hands, she urged the horse forward at a gallop.
Mina’s prediction proved correct. Her army reached the forested lands outside the Shield before sundown.
“Our march ends here for the night,” Mina said and climbed down from her exhausted horse.
“What ails this place?” Galdar asked, eyeing the dead and dying trees, the decaying plants, the corpses of animals found lying along the trail. “Is it cursed?”
“In a way, yes. We are near the shield,” Mina said, looking intently at everything around her. “The devastation you see is the mark of its passing.”
“The shield brings death?” Galdar asked, alarmed.
“To all it touches,” she replied.
“And we must break through it?”
“We cannot break through it.” Mina was calm. “No weapon can penetrate it. No force—not even the magical force of the most powerful dragon—can shatter it. The elves under the leadership of their witch-queen have hurled themselves against it for months and it remains unyielding. The Legion of Steel has sent its knights to batter it to no effect.
“There.” Mina pointed. “The shield lies directly before us. You can see it, Galdar. The shield and beyond the shield, Silvanesti and victory.”
Galdar squinted against the glare. The water caught the setting sun’s lurid red glow, turning the Thon-Thalas into a river of blood. He could see nothing at first, and then the trees in front of him rippled, as if they were reflected in the blood-tinged water. He rubbed his eyes, thinking fatigue was causing them to blur. He blinked and stared and saw the trees ripple again, and he realized then that what he was seeing was a distortion of the air created by the magic of the shield.
He drew closer, fascinated. Now that he knew where to look, he fancied he could see the shield itself. It was transparent, but its transparency had an oily quality to it, like a soap bubble. Everything inside it—trees and boulders, brush and grasses—looked wobbly and insubstantial.
Just like the elf army, he thought, and immediately took this as a good omen. But they still had to pass through the shield.
The officers brought the troops to a halt. Many of the men pitched forward face-first on the ground as soon as the order to cease march was given. Some lay sobbing for breath or sobbing from the pain of muscle spasms in their legs. Some lay quiet and still, as if the deadly curse that had touched the trees around them had claimed them as well.
“All in all,” Galdar growled in an undertone to Captain Samuval, who stood gasping for breath beside him, “Given a choice between walking into that shield and facing ogres, I think I’d take the ogres. At least then you know what you’re up against.”
“You said a true word there, friend,” Captain Samuval agreed when he had recaptured some of his breath and had enough left over to use for speech. “This place has an uncanny feel to it.”
He nodded his head in the direction of the shimmering air. “Whatever we’re going to do, we’d best be doing it soon. We may have slowed the ogres down a bit, but they’ll catch up with us fast enough.”
“By morning, I’d say,” Galdar agreed, slumping to the ground. He lay on his back. He had never been so tired in all his life. “I know ogre raiding parties. Looting the wagons and butchering our men will occupy them for a while, but they’ll be looking for more sport and more loot. They’re on our trail right now. I’ll bet money on it.”
“And us too goddamn worn out to go anywhere, even if we had anywhere to go,” Captain Samuval said, dropping wearily down alongside him. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have energy enough to lift my hand to brush away a gnat, much less attack some blamed magical shield.”
He cast a sidelong glance at Mina, who alone of all her army remained on her feet. She stood staring intently at the shield, or at least in the direction of the shield, for night was closing upon them fast, and its distortion could no longer be easily detected.
“I think this ends it, my friend,” Captain Samuval said in a low voice to the minotaur. “We cannot get inside the magic of the shield. The ogres will catch us here in the morning. Ogres at our rear. The shield to our front. Us caught between. All that mad dash for naught.”
Galdar didn’t reply. He had not lost faith, though he was too tired to argue. Mina had a plan. She would not lead them into a blind alley to be caught and slaughtered by ogres. He didn’t know what her plan might be, but he had seen enough of her and enough of the power of her God that he now believed her capable of doing the impossible.
Mina shoved her way through the gray and lifeless trees, walked toward the shield. Dead limbs fell around her. Dead, dry leaves crackled beneath her boots. Dust like ashes sifted down upon her shoulders and covered her shaved head with a pearl gray mantle. She walked until she could go no farther. She came up against an invisible wall.
Mina reached out her hand, pushed at the shield, and it seemed to Galdar that the insubstantial oily soap bubble must give way. She drew back her hand swiftly, as if she had touched a thistle and been stung. Galdar thought he saw a tiny ripple in the shield, but that might have been his imagination. Drawing her morning star, Mina struck it against the shield. The morning star fell from her hand, jarred out of her grasp by the blow. Shrugging, she bent down to pick up her weapon. Reports confirmed, she turned and made her way back through the forest of death to her command.
“What are your orders, Mina?” Galdar asked.
She looked around her army that lay scattered over the gray ground like so many corpses.
“The men have done well,” she said. “They are exhausted. We will make camp here. This is close enough, I think,” she added, looking back at the shield. “Yes, this should be close enough.”
Galdar didn’t ask, “Close enough for what?” He didn’t have the energy. He staggered to his feet. “I’ll go set the watch—”
“No,” Mina countered. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “We will not set a watch this night. Everyone will sleep.”
“Not set a watch!” Galdar protested. “But, Mina, the ogres are in pursuit—”
“They will be on us by morning,” she said. “The men should eat if they are hungry and then they must sleep.”
Eat what? Galdar wondered. Their food was now filling the bellies of the ogres. Those who had started out on that mad run carrying packs had long ago dropped them by the side of the road. He knew better than to question her.
Assembling the officers, he relayed Mina’s orders. To Galdar’s surprise, there was little protest or argument. The men were too tired. They didn’t care anymore. As one soldier said, setting a watch wouldn’t do much good anyhow. They’d all wake soon enough when the ogres arrived. Wake up in time to die.
Galdar’s stomach r
umbled, but he was too tired to go searching for food. He would not eat anything from this accursed forest, that much was certain. He wondered if the magic that had sucked the life from the trees would do the same for them in the night. He pictured the ogres arriving tomorrow morning to find nothing but desiccated husks. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
The night was dark as death. Tangled in the black branches of the skeleton trees, the stars looked small and meager. Galdar was too stupid with fatigue to remember if the moon would rise this night or not. He hoped it wouldn’t. The less he saw of this ghastly forest, the better. He stumbled over limp bodies as he walked. A few groaned, and a few cursed him, and that was the only way he knew they were alive.
He returned to the place he had left Mina, but she was not there. He could not find her in the darkness, and his heart spasmed with a nameless fear, the fear a child feels on finding himself lost and alone in the night. He dare not call. The silence was a temple silence, had an awful quality he did not want to disturb. But he had to find her.
“Mina!” he hissed in a penetrating whisper.
“Here, Galdar,” she replied.
He circled around a stand of dead trees, found her cradled in a severed arm that had fallen from an enormous oak. Her face glimmered pale, more luminous than the moonlight, and he wondered that he could have missed her.
He made his report. “Four hundred and fifty men, Mina,” he said. He staggered as he spoke.
“Sit down,” she ordered.
“Thirty left behind with the wagons. Twenty more fallen on the road. Some of those may catch up, if the ogres don’t find them first.”
She nodded silently. Galdar eased himself to the ground. His muscles ached. He would be sore and stiff tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be the only one.
“Everyone’s bedded down.” He gave a cavernous yawn.
“You should sleep, too, Galdar.”
“What about you?”
“I am wakeful. I will sit up for awhile. Not long. Don’t worry about me.”
He settled himself at her feet, his head pillowed on a pile of dead leaves that crackled every time he moved. During that hellish run, all he had been able to think about had been the blessed night when he would be able to lie down, to rest, to sleep. He stretched his limbs, closed his eyes, and saw the trail at his feet. The trail went on and on into forever. He ran and ran, and forever moved farther away from him. The trail undulated, twisted, wrapped around his legs like a snake. Tripped him, sent him plunging head first into a river of blood.
Galdar woke with a hoarse cry and a start.
“What is it?” Mina was still seated on the log. She hadn’t moved.
“That damned run!” Galdar swore. “I see the road in my dreams! I can’t sleep. It’s no use.”
He wasn’t the only one. All around him came the sounds of breathing—heavy, panting—restless shifting, groans and coughs and whispers of fear, loss, despair. Mina listened, shook her head, and sighed.
“Lie down, Galdar,” she said. “Lie down and I will sing you a lullaby. Then you will sleep.”
“Mina …” Embarrassed for her, Galdar cleared his throat. “There is no need for that. I’m not a child.”
“You are a child, Galdar,” she said softly. “We are all children. Children of the One God. Lie down. Close your eyes.”
Galdar did as he was told. He lay down and closed his eyes, and the road was ahead of him, and he was running, running for his life …
Mina began to sing. Her voice was low, untrained, raw and yet there was a sweetness and a clarity that struck through to the soul.
The day has passed beyond our power.
The petals close upon the flower.
The light is failing in this hour
Of day’s last waning breath.
The blackness of the night surrounds
The distant souls of stars now found.
Far from this world to which we’re bound,
Of sorrow, fear and death.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Your soul the night will keep.
Embrace the darkness deep.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.
The gathering darkness takes our souls,
Embracing us in a chilling folds,
Deep in a Mistress’s void that holds
Our fate within her hands.
Dream, warriors, of the dark above,
And feel the sweet redemption of
The Night’s Consort, and of her love
For those within her bands.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Your soul the night will keep.
Embrace the darkness deep.
Sleep, love; forever sleep.
Galdar felt a lethargy steal over him, a languor similar to that experienced by those who bleed to death. His limbs grew heavy, his body was dead weight, so heavy that he was sinking into the ground. Sinking into the soft dirt and the ash of the dead plants and the leaves that drifted down upon him, settling over him like a blanket of dirt thrown into his grave.
He was at peace. He knew no fear. Consciousness drained away from him.
Gamashinoch, the dwarves called it. The Song of Death.
Targonne’s dragon riders were up with the gray dawn, flying low over the forests of the ogre land of Blöde. They had watched from the heavens yesterday, watched the small army run before the ogre raiding party. The soldiers had fled before the ogres in near panic, so far as the dragon riders could see, abandoning their supply wagons, leaving them for the ogres. One of the riders noted grimly that Targonne would not be pleased to hear that several hundred steel worth of equipment was now adorning ogre bodies.
The ragtag army had run blindly, although they had managed to keep in formation. But their mad dash to safety had taken them nowhere. The army had run headlong into the magical shield surrounding Silvanesti. The army had come to a halt here at sundown. They were spent, they could go no farther, even if there had been any place for them to go, which there wasn’t.
Looting the wagons had occupied the ogre raiding party for a couple of hours, but when there was nothing more to eat and they had stolen all there was to steal, the ogres moved south, following the trail of the humans, following their hated scent that drove them to fury and battle madness.
The dragon riders could have dealt with the ogres. The blues would have made short work of the raiding party. But the riders had their orders. They were to keep watch on this rebellious Knight and her army of fanatics. The dragon riders were not to interfere. Targonne could not be blamed if ogres destroyed the Silvanesti invasion force. He had told Malys many times that the ogres should be driven out of Blöde, exterminated like the kender. Maybe next time she would listen to him.
“There they are,” said one of the riders, as his dragon circled low. “In the Dead Land. The same place where we left them last night. They haven’t moved. Maybe they’re dead themselves. They look it.”
“If not, they soon will be,” said his commander.
The ogres were a black mass, moving like sludge along the road that ran alongside what the Knight had termed the Dead Land, the gray zone of death that marked the edge of the shield, the border of Silvanesti.
The dragon riders watched with interest, looking forward with anticipation to the battle that would finally bring an end to this tiresome duty and allow them to return to their barracks in Khur.
The Knights settled themselves comfortably to watch.
“Do you see that?” said one suddenly, sitting forward.
“Circle lower,” the commander ordered.
The dragons flew lower, wings making a gentle sweep, catching the pre-dawn breeze. The riders stared down at the astonishing sight below.
“I think, gentlemen,” said the commander, after a moment spent watching in gaping wonder, “that we should fly to Jelek and report this to Targonne ourselves. Otherwise, we might not be believed.”
A horn blast woke Galdar, brought him to his feet before he
was fully conscious, fumbling for his sword.
“Ogres attacking! Fall in, men! Fall in!” Captain Samuval was shouting himself hoarse, kicking at the men of his company to rouse them from their slumbers.
“Mina!” Galdar searched for her, determined to protect her, or, if he could not do that, to kill her so that she should not fall alive into ogre hands. “Mina!”
He found her in the same place he had left her. Mina sat in the curl of the dead oak’s arm. Her weapon, the morning star, lay across her lap.
“Mina,” said Galdar, plunging through the gray ash and trampling the dead leaves, “hurry! There may yet be a chance for you to escape—”
Mina looked at him and began to laugh.
He stared, appalled. He had never heard her laugh. The laughter was sweet and merry, the laughter of a girl running to meet a lover. Mina climbed upon the stump of a dead tree.
“Put your weapons away, men!” she called out. “The ogres cannot touch us.”
“She has gone mad!” Samuval said.
“No,” said Galdar, staring, unbelieving. “Look.”
Ogres had formed a battle line not ten feet away from them. The ogres danced along this line. They clamored, roared, gnashed their teeth, gibbered, and cursed. They were so close that their foul stench made his nostrils twitch. The ogres jumped up and down, kicked and hammered with their fists, wielded their weapons in murderous rage.
Murderous, frustrated rage. The enemy was in clear sight, yet he might as well have been playing among the stars in some distant part of the universe. The trees that stood between Galdar and the ogres shimmered in the half-light, rippled as Mina’s laughter rippled through the gray dawn. The ogres beat their heads against a shield, an invisible shield, a magical shield. They could not pass.
Galdar watched the ogres, watched to make certain that they could not reach him or his comrades. It seemed impossible to him that they could not enter through this strange and unseen barrier, but at last he had to admit that what his mind at first disbelieved was true. Many of the ogres fell back away from the barrier, alarmed and frightened of the magic. A few seemed to have simply grown weary of beating their heads against nothing but air. One by the one, the ogres turned their hairy backs upon the human army that they could see, but could not reach. Their clamor began to die down. With threats and rude gestures, the ogres straggled off, disappeared into the forest.
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 46
