by David Hair
PRIOR HENDRY CARVER, KORE THEOLOGIAN, 697
Norostein, Noros
Febreux 936
The sun was going down and still the Ahmedhassans and those few beasts of burden that hadn’t been slaughtered for food continued to stream into Copperleaf – but it wasn’t happening fast enough.
They’re moving at less than half the rate we need, and we’re doing all we can, Seth worried. When the enemy break the lines at Raathaus Square, we’ll be out of time – and I’ll have to close the gates – if we still can. He envisaged that: trying to shut out half the Easterners while the rest were inside. There’d be a massive outcry, blades would be drawn and this fragile peace would disintegrate . . .
Dear Kore, let us have enough time . . .
‘Look, sir,’ Delton called, pointing down into Lowertown, where a solid mass of enemy constructs had emerged onto the northern edge of Raathaus Square, facing the final rampart, the last defensible place this side of the walls. It was lined with Keshi archers.
If I send my men out to help them, it slows the rate of people entering, Seth thought, but if I don’t, can they hold?
‘Send battle-magi,’ Seth told Delton, ‘from my own legion.’ When his aides looked askance, he lost his temper. ‘Those people are in our care now,’ he barked, ‘and we’ll damn well fight for them.’
They saluted and in moments, three dozen men and women in red robes floated down from the walls and made their way against the tide of humanity flowing towards the gates.
Seth gave Delton a stream of instructions about housing, provisions, accommodation and a raft of other minutiae – until a piercing shriek came from above and he looked up to see a giant winged reptile diving in and raking the square below with flames. To his horror, he realised he’d seen such a beast before, in the last days of the Third Crusade.
A draken . . . holy Kore, they’ve got a draken . . .
He barely saw the surge of the enemy beginning the final assault, for his eyes were full of this dreadful beast as it turned and dived towards the Copperleaf gates – towards him.
He conjured shields, gripped the parapet and began to pray.
*
Cadearvo sent the draken raking across Copperleaf again, blasting fire into the Shihadi men before the main gates, gleefully lapping up the carnage and the exhilaration of riding such a beast. Never before had the Master allowed him to use the draken openly; too soon, he’d said, for they risked bringing the Imperial Keepers, the Merozain Bhaicara or the Ordo Costruo down on their heads. But the Keepers were destroyed or subverted and the Merozains and Ordo Costruo were far away, trying to save the Leviathan Bridge.
I can win this war on my own . . .
He hauled on the reins and brought the beast around again, for the draken required a minute to rekindle its fires, a kind of liquid regurgitation that ignited as it vented from the mouth: a piece of animagery genius.
They swooped again, his shields battering away the few arrows that came near. A ballista bolt – the one weapon he feared up here – whistled harmlessly by, then he had the draken spew fire over the gatehouse turret, torching the ballista and its crew, then flashed over the second tower, where just one man stood, shielding desperately as the flames broke around him. He laughed aloud as he lifted from the battlements and brought his beast round again to finish the survivor.
Where’s the false sultan? he thought. Where’s that damned pretender, whoever he is?
But then something caught his attention: a stream of rocs lifting from the highest tier of the city and surging towards him, lance-wielding magi on their backs.
Flyers . . . very well, I accept your challenge . . .
The draken banked and he guided it back towards the oncoming rocs. He had no fear: his beast was four or five times their size, with jaws large enough to snap the birds in half and claws that could gut them with a stroke. It blew out plumes of black smoke as it readied another fire-storm.
This is going to be fun . . .
*
When Waqar Mubarak saw the draken’s fires wash over the Copperleaf gatehouse and battlements, he felt a crushing weight slam down on his chest. Around him, the Shihadis wailed in despair – the refuge of Copperleaf suddenly looked like a trap, and the beast was coming around again.
Dear Ahm, he thought despairingly, haven’t you given our enemies enough weapons already?
He stepped from the lines, waved a concerned Tarita away and opened up his mind.
His heart rose at the thought of being aloft again. He spun, caught Tarita’s arm. ‘We have to hold here, but we must also bring that beast down – I have to go.’
She looked appalled. ‘You’re needed here.’
‘Only the Shihad have flyers now and I am their captain – it has to be me.’ He turned his back and strode away, found an open space and called to Ajniha, shrieking towards him. The draken was returning and pandemonium was growing around him as the retreat into Copperleaf stalled. Their plan was breaking down, their hopes falling apart, because of this one dreadful foe.
But Ajniha was above him now, her eyes blazing, while the other rocs circled. Just a dozen left, he saw in shock. Others were away on patrol, or still in the north, he knew that, but still . . . So many dead . . .
He had no time for grief, not with Ajniha hovering above him, her wings beating hard. He hurled himself upwards on kinesis and Air-gnosis, landing in the saddle and whipping the buckles into place as the roc clawed at the air. They climbed, the other roc-riders closing around him, and his eyes sought the draken. The sun was setting, casting long shadows and streaking the skies with scarlet, as if the draken had set fire to the heavens.
*
Tarita watched Waqar’s construct-bird flap away, snarled a thousand curses and turned to the task at hand: The real task, you matachod. Damned glory-hunter . . .
‘Eyes front,’ she shouted, brandishing her gleaming scimitar. ‘Take aim!’
She had no right to give orders here, but when she bawled ‘Fire!’ as the black-eyed enemy roared across the lower plaza towards them, bowstrings thrummed in deadly harmony, propelling a jagged wall of feathered steel and wood. Some slammed into shields, but those which found flesh and eye sockets took those enemy down. Then from all along the rampart that divided the upper and lower plaza, mage-bolts and fireballs blazed.
Yurosi magi, Tarita realised, astonished that the slugskins really were helping them.
The defending Ahmedhassans reacted with surprise, but the unexpected aid stiffened them as the enemy scrambled up the bank. The decorative surface had easy handholds and a forgiving angle – but the defenders thrust long spears down into their faces, shouting to Ahm and to their mothers, hurling the black-eyed men and monsters back with desperate savagery.
Tarita joined the fray, took down an ogre-construct, then blazed fire at a wolf-man brandishing a giant axe, sending him screaming back into the press. She shielded as spears were hurled her way, then slashed through the guard of a possessed Shihadi and beheaded him. For a harrowing minute the assault looked likely to sweep over the top – but the enemy recoiled when the setting sun broke through the clouds on the western horizon and shone directly on the plaza. As more Yurosi battle-magi joined the defence, the enemy fell back, snarling and spitting, sheltering their eyes, but they only retreated a hundred feet or so.
As the sun kissed the horizon, more enemy were emerging to fight.
Dear Ahm, we’ve barely seen their full strength, Tarita realised. Whatever we do, it’s not going to be enough.
Her mistress would have been furious: she’d been trained that when the odds turn against you, you cut and run. And now even her reason for being here had left to fight
in the sky.
I should be with him, she thought, shielding her own eyes and peering upwards, but the draken and the dozen remaining rocs were just distant shapes silhouetted in the heavens.
Then an officer approached her and asked deferentially, ‘Mistress Merozain, what are the prince’s commands?’
How in Hel should I know? Tarita thought angrily. The chotia just flew off and left me to die.
But what she said, calmly and firmly, was, ‘Hold here. We hold to the death.’
*
While everyone else scrabbled to survive, Ramon kept to his plan, barely thought through though it was. Ideas like this streamed through his imagination on a daily basis as he watched the world around him; this one mightn’t even work – but it was worth a try. Just give us a few more minutes, he exhorted the Ahmedhassans below him in Raathaus Square.
From his vantage on top of the first pillar of the aqueduct, level with the barrier wall that split the square, he called, ‘Is everyone in place? Are we ready?’
‘Aye,’ Postyn, his best Water-mage, called from the sluice-gate.
‘Aye,’ added Moxie, clinging to the underside of the race with Earth-gnosis.
‘And I’ve got our back, boss,’ Vania drawled, from her position beside Melicho at the levers for the next sluice-gate, her crossbow cradled. ‘Get on with it, Mel.’
‘Yeah, yeah, in a moment,’ Melicho complained. ‘This isn’t as easy as you think, Horseface.’ The tower was the keystone to the main lock-pool and Melicho was driving a wedge of Earth-energy into the pillars holding the structure up. ‘Fuckin’ hare-brained idea, if you ask me.’
‘You lot ever heard of a little thing called respect?’ Ramon griped. Then he returned his gaze to the unfolding struggle in the plaza below. It’s all about timing now . . .
*
While his possessed men and constructs hurled themselves at the embankment, Xoredh Mubarak sat his white horse, brooding sourly amid the clamour. If this was truly the Shihad, he would be surrounded by friends and advisors now. Men would be bowing as they passed him and the soldiers would be singing hymns to him as they advanced. But the black-eyed daemon-hosts just snarled and gibbered, ignoring him.
What is the point of rank when we’re all one in the hive-mind of Abraxas? he asked himself. If this was a glimpse of his personal future, it was somewhat disenchanting. But there was still a war to be won.
The daemon-possessed were suffering from daylight lethargy, impaled by the last rays of the setting sun, but sunset was just minutes away and even now, the gap in the clouds was closing. Darkness was about to rush in and seal his victory.
He raised his arm and ordered the advance, although there was little point when his army ran itself. Feeling hollow, he nudged his mount forward, glancing upwards, where the draken and the rocs were still tearing at each other, but half the eagles were already down, spinning earthwards, torn or ablaze.
We’ll sweep right over them, then through the open gates. They’ll never stop us.
He lifted his eyes to the aqueduct and noticed movement, focused in on it and stiffened. Sensini is there . . . It took seconds to calculate the danger and he blazed a warning through the shared mind of Abraxas.
Instantly a swarm of the possessed launched themselves at the small knot of defenders on the water course, but the tower was high and the pillar smooth.
Magi are needed there . . .
He kicked his horse into motion, his hackles rising and blood in his nostrils.
*
Waqar nudged Ajniha into a spiralling climb, then with one eye on the draken, took his final lump of Mollachian silver from his pouch, melted it and recoated his blade and spearhead. The construct-beast was about half a mile away, trying to get above them.
His task done, he gave his attention to those with him.
He was surprised when a female voice answered tersely, He peered, and saw a stick-thin woman. Few of the roc riders had been female, and he’d not known any to be in leadership positions.
Waqar had been about to say exactly that, so he signalled assent, following Amiza’s bird as they soared upwards and then split into two columns of six, surging towards the draken that had given up trying to out-climb them and was now turning at bay. Waqar tried to get to the fore, but the other birds crowded him to the rear, right where the presumptuous Amiza wanted him.
As they closed, he focused on the draken, wondering who rode it. Perspective was difficult at this distance, but the rider looked unnaturally large and he remembered the ogre-being he’d glimpsed inside the volcano in Mollachia. Engaging gnostic-sight, he saw the rider wore a skull-mask.
Dear Ahm, it’s the creature who captured Jehana . . .
The distance closed swiftly and suddenly they were fighting. The draken-rider took his beast straight at them, sending an incandescent blue bolt punching straight through the shields of the lead rider, ripping the roc from the sky – then the draken struck like a cobra, lunging in and plucking another rider from the saddle with its jaws. The roc flailed as the saddle-straps caught, then snapped, but a draken claw had already torn its belly open. It shrilled and spun away, while the rest of the wing scattered around it. Spears glanced off the draken’s ridged hide, but another mage-bolt had already burst the skull of a third bird. Waqar hauled Ajniha out of line to avoid careening into the back of the roc in front of him and their attack broke apart in confusion. The other column flashed by impotently, circling back to try and engage. He heard Amiza cursing before she blared,
As they scattered, the draken plunged into a dive to gain speed for another climb, then shot upwards, leaving the roc-riders cursing and swinging in pursuit. They’d all lost altitude in the manoeuvres and were now only five hundred feet above the battle in the city below.
In a few heartbeats, thirteen had become ten and the draken was untouched.
*
Cadearvo’s mount levelled out of the dive and he scanned the skies below. Ten rocs were still pursuing him as he circled above the big square above the Copperleaf gates.
I’ll kill these scum, then rake the men below in flame . . .
Then he recognised Prince Waqar’s bird among his attackers and laughed aloud.
Waqar didn’t respond, but Ajniha and the other rocs squalled indignantly, as if sensing their riders’ ire. They climbed after him while he circled, letting them expend energy while the draken’s complex physical chemistry did its work and readied another bellyful of fire.
Just as they reached him, he banked and picked his target. They peppered him with mage-bolts and spears, but he loosed a concussive wave of kinesis that dashed aside their pathetic missiles and blasted the birds backwards beak over tail. Then his draken spat its fiery torrent, engulfing one bird, then biting another and tossing it aside. Cadearvo surged through the stalled rocs, impaling one on a lance as his draken tore the wing from another.
&nb
sp; Then they swept on, and ten was now six . . .
. . . and in front of him he saw Waqar’s bird and emitted another blast of kinesis that stalled his prey in mid-air.
His draken crunched into the roc, gripping it in massive talons as Cadearvo craned his thick neck to seek the rider while conjuring energy on his lance. He leaned over in the saddle, the weapon blazing . . .
*
Waqar was at the back, which saved him from Cadearvo’s initial onslaught. As the rocs before him were scattered and torn from the skies, he missed that first stunning kinesis wave, then the draken burst through the stalled flock, ripping three more from the sky, the ogre sent out another blast of energy and Ajniha was slammed to a standstill too. Before he or the bird could react, the draken was upon them, wings buffeting them. Talons big enough to engulf a horse opened over them, then wrapped round Ajniha’s torso as she shrilled in fury.
As the draken’s giant head reared over them, Waqar tore free of his saddle-straps and launched himself over Ajniha’s head – then realised in horror that he was anticipated and heading right for Cadearvo’s glowing lance-head. He glimpsed the mask, saw it contort with glee as the weapon thrust through his shields . . .
. . . but he twisted in mid-air like a dancer and it only grazed his thigh – then momentum took him onto the face of the draken, slamming into it right between the eyes, his own shimmering lance in his hands . . .
The spearhead took the draken through the right eye, momentum and kinesis ramming most of the length of the shaft right through into the brain, bringing the draken to an abrupt stop, but Waqar flew onwards, grabbing for his scimitar as he sailed over the beast’s impaled head towards its rider. The masked ogre had an instant to register his presence, but as the construct’s hand blurred to the dagger hilt at his belt—
—Waqar’s scimitar came free. Cadearvo’s shields turned scarlet, then the speed and weight of impact burst them open as they smashed together and Waqar’s curved blade plunged into the masked ogre’s neck, carving through the gorget of chain, and lodging against the bone in a spray of blood – even as Waqar found himself impaled on his foe’s dagger.
