50
THE STREETS OF GORKENTOWN
Axis spent a desperate night rallying his forces about the five roughly semicircular lines of defences radiating out from the fort’s gates. He lost the larger portion of his men at the point when he ordered the evacuation of the walls and a retreat to the first line of defence. He’d desperately hung on to the battlements for as long as he could, watching more and more of his men die, until he realised that if they did not fall back soon then the growing numbers of Skraelings vomiting forth from the IceWorms could cut them off from their lines of retreat. As they fell back entire units died under the weight and teeth of wraiths who clambered onto their backs. More died falling from ladders in their desperation to escape. Axis and Belial, and all the remaining unit commanders, fought desperately to keep the men under some sort of discipline, fought to keep them obedient to orders.
As men faltered and died, more wraiths surged forward, newly confident. They had been afraid of the nasty golden man, but nothing would stop them this time. Not even the man with his power.
Axis remained on the walls until it would have been death to stay. Finally Belial dragged him towards one of the remaining ladders left standing.
“Axis! You can do no more here, and you will be less than useless to those left if you die in a futile stand on the battlements. Come!” Belial grabbed Axis’ arm and hauled him towards the ladder. As they reached it Axis turned one last time to watch the slaughter of those still remaining along the top of the walls. Most were lost under a writhing grey and crimson mass of feeding wraiths.
Axis seized Belial’s shoulder, leaning close, his pale eyes fierce. “I should have been able to stop this!” he yelled above the screams of dying men and the whisperings of Skraelings.
Belial almost toppled over as Axis’ grip tightened painfully on his shoulder. He grabbed the top of the swaying ladder for support. “Damn you, Axis! Don’t give in to self-pity now! Pull yourself together and rally your men—listen, they call your name!” Faint shouts of BattleAxe reverberated up from the alleyways as men did battle with the Skraelings who had reached the ground.
He shrugged free of Axis’ hand and pushed him down the ladder before sliding down himself.
Axis jumped down onto the ground, slipping a little in the bloodied snow. “To me! To me!”
Thus began the desperate street battle of Gorkentown.
The narrow winding, twisting streets both aided and hindered Axis. On the one hand the Skraelings could not mount a mass charge without pounding against a strong line of determined defenders; on the other hand, lines of defence were often broken when Skraelings clambered over rooftops to fall upon the men as they watched the streets before them rather than the roofs above them. All fought bravely, with Axis rallying barricades when it seemed they might fall, standing shoulder to shoulder with his men as the Skraelings attacked. He tried firing the houses lying between themselves and the Skraelings, but too often burning walls fell upon his own men. They would have to save Gorkentown with their swords and little else.
On the other side of the barricades the two SkraeBolds rallied their writhing forces, directing the attack to the most vulnerable spots in Axis’ defence lines, hissing and spitting at the Skraelings until the wraiths were driven to even greater measures to reach the men. The Skraelings were murderous foes. Barricades that would have held for days against an army of men fell in only minutes to the wraiths. The wraiths could climb, sinking their claws into the slightest hookhold in the barrier. Better than climbing was slithering through spaces that cats would get stuck in, their toothsome faces grinning in anticipation, their hearts emboldened by the sudden spurt of fear which crossed men’s faces when they saw the wraiths emerge from impossible places.
The wraiths fed well. Barricades fell and were marked with the piled and torn bodies of the men who’d died defending them. There had been five lines of barricades in Gorkentown, but as the sun started to streak the eastern sky as crimson as the streets, Axis rallied those of his men that were left on the final line of barricades before the gates of Gorkenfort itself.
Weeks of relentlessly slicking the fort’s walls with ice had made them much harder for the Skraelings to climb, and those that had reached the top of the fort’s walls had been relatively easily disposed of. The IceWorms, who had wrought so much damage to the town’s defences, vomiting forth their Skraelings behind the walls, were too small to severely threaten the fort’s walls, their heads rearing uselessly twenty paces below the battlements. Still, Borneheld’s men had died as well, and the WarLord strode up and down the walls of Gorkenfort, cursing each and every one of his men, cursing Axis as the town’s defences were breached.
Atop the fort’s walls Jorge and Magariz stood watching the desperate fighting in the streets below, their faces grey and haggard. They ached to seize weapons and rush out to aid Axis and his men. Yet they could not. Borneheld had ordered that the fort’s gates remain closed no matter what happened in the streets below. Hard as it was, it was the correct decision. No matter the desperation of the men trapped outside, no commander should risk the safety of the entire fort.
Axis and all his remaining men were exhausted. They had been tense and alert for twenty-four hours, fighting desperately for almost twelve. All had wounds, and many were weak from blood loss caused by deep lacerations. Those not fighting leaned against walls, many slipping to the ground in exhaustion, knowing they were almost certainly dead if the Skraelings leaped on them while they were off their feet. Some pushed themselves wearily to their feet, others stayed down, beyond caring. Units had been decimated and men fought beside strangers, most in the grey of the Axe-Wielders, some in the brown of the regular Acharite forces.
At times during the street battles, Axis had desperately tried to reach within himself, reach within him to the power he knew was there. If he had once found the power and the knowledge to sing the Song of Recreation, why didn’t the deaths of his own men stir him to sing death and destruction upon the Skraelings? Through the haze of exhaustion and pain clouding his mind Axis realised that he needed his father, needed his knowledge. He felt like the five-year-old child he had once been, given a man’s sword for the first time, knowing that it could kill, yet able to do no more than drag it uselessly behind him as he wobbled across the courtyard. He found himself screaming his father’s name as he plunged his sword into a Skraeling’s eye, as if that could somehow magically bring his father to his side.
But all he could do was use the sword he had finally grown into, and pray that he would live beyond this nightmare. As those of the men that were left, less than three thousand of the eight that had originally manned the walls, gathered outside the fort’s walls, Axis was so exhausted he could no longer even maintain the Icarii ward of protection about him. Perhaps, after all, death would not be so bad—a kindness after all he had witnessed and the futility he had experienced this night. He leaned against a wall and slid wearily to the ground, his sword extended before him.
Belial slumped beside him, exhausted. Blood plastered his fine sandy hair to his forehead and exhaustion carved deep lines from nose to mouth.
Axis closed his eyes, but they flew open as a man screamed close by.
“They arrive,” Belial said shortly, helping Axis to his feet again. “Have they not fed enough yet?”
Axis wavered a moment and Belial had to steady him. “They seek me, I think, Belial. Their appetites cannot be sated until they taste my blood. If they do that, then Achar lies open to them forever and you may as well fall upon your sword.” Stricken by a horrifying thought, his eyes widened. “Belial! What will happen to Faraday should I fall?”
“Borneheld will keep her safe,” Belial said shortly. “Come, the men need you now.”
Axis followed him. “The gods must know she would be better feeding the hunger of a Skraeling than living out a long life with Borneheld,” he muttered.
The Skraelings were massing behind the last line of barricades, and a number w
ere already swarming over the top of the hastily built wall of carts and boxes. As Axis came closer to the barricade, Belial already well ahead, a bulky shape dropped out of the sky in front of him. Axis stopped dead, his eyes narrowing in surprise.
“Your men die, Axis Rivkahson,” the SkraeBold hissed, “and you tremble close to death yourself.” It stepped closer, wings extended behind it, taloned hands held ready to strike. Axis forced himself into a combative frame of mind, knowing that men depended on him. He would not die now, not yet. There must be more than this. He slowly raised his sword before him.
The SkraeBold gurgled happily as he saw the sword sway in Axis’ battle-wearied hands. The kill would be easy. It crowed its triumph to the sky for a moment, then, lowering its head, leaped forward.
But Axis had a little more determination left than the SkraeBold had anticipated. He swept his sword before him in an arc, catching the SkraeBold across a shoulder, opening the creature’s flesh until blood flowed. The SkraeBold screamed and twisted to one side, then changed the direction of its attack, driving in low below the arc of Axis’ next sword swing, its taloned hands seizing Axis about the chest and waist and driving him to the ground. The creature worked its claws closer and closer to his flesh, tearing at Axis’ tunic and mailshirt with its beak and tusks.
The strength of the SkraeBold was phenomenal, and although Axis was stronger than most men he could not free himself from the grip of the beast. Its breath, so close to his own face, smelt of rotten carrion, and Axis gagged, unable to fight back until he could catch his own breath. He tried to turn the sword in his hand, to turn it so that he could plunge the blade down into the SkraeBold’s back, but as he readjusted his grip the SkraeBold’s talons tore his mailshirt apart and sliced deep into his chest and flank. Axis went rigid with shock, his back arching off the ground beneath him, the pain too great for him to summon the breath to scream. His sword clattered from suddenly nerveless hands, and Axis knew he was dead. Perhaps it was as well that he would die where he had lost so many of his command. Better he die with them than survive without them.
The SkraeBold writhed and twisted as it lay upon Axis’ body, digging its talons deeper, feeling them rip through the man’s flesh, crowing its joy. Gorgrael would reward him well for this. It was still laughing and hiccupping with amusement when Belial swung his sword high in both fists and buried it deep between the SkraeBold’s wings. The impact was so great that it almost knocked Belial off his feet, but he held on grimly as the creature writhed screaming below him. Pray I am not too late, Belial thought over and over in his mind, horrified to see glimpses of Axis’ pale and still face, terrified by the sight of blood running away down the gutter.
“Die, you inhuman bastard!” he screamed, and twisted the sword down through the creature’s flesh until he heard the flesh tearing away from bone. He let go the sword, still buried deep in the SkraeBold’s body and, grabbing one of the leathery flapping wings, rolled the creature off Axis’ body. As the SkraeBold flopped over onto its back the sword drove deeper until the tip of the blade suddenly emerged with a dreadful sucking pop from its breast. The SkraeBold gave one last hiccupping sigh, its blood pouring out from its beak. Instantly it started to dissolve.
Belial raised his head to look at the white faces staring down from atop Gorkenfort’s walls. “Damn you!” he screamed. “Open the gates! Axis lies a-dying while you watch!”
He leaned down and lifted Axis’ limp body across his shoulder, staggering as he took the full weight onto his own exhausted frame. Turning slightly towards the final desperate battle at the barricades he screamed to Arne, the most senior of the Axe-Wielders left alive. “Fall back, Arne! Fall back towards the gates!” Not waiting to see if Arne had heard him, Belial staggered towards Gorkenfort’s gates, his feet slipping now and again on cobbles made treacherous with melting snow and blood.
Atop the walls Jorge turned to Magariz. “I hereby do take the decision to open the gates. You are not involved. I outrank you. I will take total responsibility.”
“You are too late. I gave the order to open the gates minutes ago.”
The two men stared at each other. Then they turned and slid down the ladders leading to the courtyard.
Borneheld was across the other side of the fort, close to the walls of the Keep, when he saw the gates begin to open. He screamed in fury and ran around the battlements towards the gates, but he was tired and the footing treacherous and only a third of the way around he slipped and fell heavily, turning an ankle so viciously that he could not rise for several minutes. He lay there, his face red and furious, gasping unintelligible orders.
Belial struggled through the gates with Axis an instant ahead of a flood of soldiers, many of them dragging wounded colleagues. Confounded by the death of one of the SkraeBolds, the Skraelings failed to attack the retreating men. And the remaining SkraeBold was so surprised at the killing of its brother that for long minutes it failed to rally the Skraelings.
The combination of Magariz’s humanity, Borneheld’s unsure footing, and the Skraelings’ confusion meant that only a few men were unlucky enough to be caught by wraiths as they turned to flee for the gates. All the others got through, and the iron-plated gates clanged shut in the faces of the first Skraelings to rouse themselves and race after the fleeing men.
The siege of Gorkenfort had begun.
Faraday walked through an enchanted forest, full of power and beauty, peace and serenity and strange diamond-eyed birds.
But the beauty, peace and serenity did not last and the diamond-eyed birds fled.
The sounds of a battle began to intrude upon her dream, and then, horrifyingly, the vision the trees had sung her flickered before her eyes again.
Axis, his sword clattering uselessly from his hands. Red, red everywhere. Heat. A Dark Man, crying with laughter. A woman, crying for release. A bloodied sun hanging over a golden field. Blood. Blood—why was there so much blood? Where was Axis? Faraday twisted away, gagging in horror. He was covered in blood—it dripped from his body, it hung in congealing strings through his hair and beard. He reached out a hand, then a great gout of blood erupted that covered her as well. She could feel it trickling down between her breasts, and when she looked for Axis all she could see was a body lying before her, hacked apart, and a golden and white form, as if a spirit, slowly rising behind it.
A heart, beating uselessly…
The bloodied sun…
A heart…
Blood…
The creature’s claws and beak tearing deep into the heart.
“Axis!” she screamed and wrenched herself from Yr’s arms. “Axis!”
Yr tried to grab her but Faraday had already snatched a cloak and was pushing past Timozel. He too tried to restrain her, but Faraday turned on him viciously. “Take your hand off me,” she snarled, and, shocked by the power in her voice, Timozel let her go.
Faraday wrapped the cloak about her shoulders and ran down the corridor, her hair flying, Timozel and Yr only a step behind her. They shared an apprehensive glance. What was happening?
Faraday ran into the courtyard just as Belial staggered through with Axis in his arms. Even from her distance Faraday could see the blood that covered Axis.
“Mother!” she whispered, appalled, certain he must be dead, then picked up her skirts and ran towards Belial.
Yr raced behind Faraday, her face white with anguish at what she could see.
Faraday slid to a halt beside Belial as he lowered Axis to the ground underneath the eaves of the stables. Drained of the last of his strength, Belial sank down beside Axis, his face pale underneath his bloodied forehead.
Faraday pushed away the few men who reached down to Axis and fell to her knees beside him. He breathed spasmodically, his skin ashen from loss of blood that seeped from half a dozen deep wounds. If the SkraeBold had missed Axis’ heart it nevertheless sounded as if it had torn his lungs apart.
“Faraday,” Belial began brokenly.
Faraday raised
her eyes from Axis’ bloody body. “I am not going to give up while he has life left in his body, Belial! Give me your knife!”
Belial stared at her, not comprehending, and Faraday snapped her fingers impatiently. “Your knife! I have to cut these clothes from him!”
Yr dropped to her knees beside Faraday, her face stricken, cradling Axis’ head in her hands. This was the closest contact she’d had with the man since she’d been in cat form; it felt as if his life force was all but gone. If it blinked out completely then all was lost; the world would tear itself to pieces under Gorgrael as the Prophecy shattered apart.
Faraday desperately cut and tore Axis’ clothes from his body, paling as she saw the full extent of his injuries. The SkraeBold had dug its talons deep into his chest and left flank—seven or eight appalling lacerations gaped open revealing bone and spongy lung tissue. A dozen smaller cuts dotted his chest and belly.
“Leave his head,” Faraday said quietly to Yr, “Help me staunch some of the wounds.” Already her own hands were slippery with blood.
Axis was dying. “Damn it!” Faraday muttered, then took a deep breath. “Mother, help me save him,” she whispered, and reached down into the very soul of her being to draw on the power the Mother had given her.
It seared up through her body and Faraday fought not to lose control, fought to direct the power to her purpose. Belial, who had struggled to a sitting position, was the only one with a clear look at Faraday’s face and he noticed the change that came over her. He rocked back, shaken by the flash of emerald glow in the woman’s dark green eyes as she called on the Mother’s gift, but more so by the expression of sheer power that swept down over her face like a curtain.
Faraday dug her fingers deep into Axis’ wounds until her hands were completely submerged in his body, the Ichtar ruby on her left hand burning as it was immersed in the BattleAxe’s blood. The bystanders took sharp breaths in alarm; what was she doing?
Battleaxe Page 50
