The Stiehl Assassin

by Terry Brooks

  It was all done in a flurry of wild activity, but it was done. Even before the Skaar legions came into view, the defenders were ready and waiting. They had chosen a gap formed by steep hills and heavy timber to either side—a natural passageway that the Skaar army must attempt to pass through. Here, the bulk of the defenders and all the stationary Reveals had been positioned. The Dwarves, including those bearing mobile units strapped to their backs, were divided into three groups. The largest group remained with the stationary Reveals. The smaller two split up to accompany the units of Federation soldiers that fanned out to either side of the gap, climbing to the apex of the forested ridgelines where they would await flanking attacks that would almost certainly be launched.

  In addition, the warships and smaller fighting craft that had remained behind after the departure of the Prime Minister’s fleet were sent aloft, fanned out across and slightly behind the Federation defenses to engage any Skaar airships that might attempt a breakthrough from above. In spite of the drain on the fleet from the unfortunate preemptory attack, the Federation still outnumbered the Skaar—and still possessed superior firepower. If the Skaar could be stopped from vanishing at will, they would have a hard time securing a victory even over this diminished Federation army.

  At least that was what the commanders told their soldiers, assuring them that their weapons, experience, and courage would be enough.

  Lakodan wasn’t so sure, but a shared glance with Battenhyle was all he permitted himself. He was still trying to get used to the idea that he was actually going to fight alongside the very men and women who had been his lifelong enemies. It was a difficult reality to accept.

  So he didn’t try. He simply celebrated that—for the moment at least—he and his companions had been given a chance at gaining a reprieve from the hated conscriptions that had made virtual slaves of their people for decades. There was nothing for it but to employ their extensive and formidable fighting skills and experience, and hope for the best.

  As the Skaar airships hove into view and their soldiers on the ground marched out of the brightness of the midday sun—which was now at their backs and directly in the eyes of the defenders—the Dwarf warrior realized he had lost sight of Belladrin in the confusion of preparing for battle.

  Now, as he looked for her, she was nowhere to be found.

  * * *

  —

  The Skaar army approached the defensive lines of the Federation at a steady walk, swordsmen leading, spearmen in the second ranks, slingers and bowmen last—everyone proceeding at the same pace, steady and unhurried. They approached as a single unit until they were within a hundred yards, and then split into three commands, the centermost striding directly for the defensive lines, the other two peeling off to begin climbing the forested hills in the already anticipated flanking movement. Rather than attacking stripped of everything but boots and weapons, as they had been reported to favor, they wore hooded cloaks tied about their necks and thrown back over their shoulders.

  The day was unseasonably warm and the wind almost nonexistent. And the cloaks seemed almost counterproductive to any efficient use of their fighting skills. Lakodan, far to the right and high up on the ridgeline, with one of the portable Reveals strapped to his back, felt a twinge of uncertainty. He looked for Battenhyle, but his friend was down in the center of the defenders with another portable Reveal. Ajost, bearing the third and last portable Reveal off to his left, caught his eye and pointed to the advancing Skaar, a questioning look on his broad face. He had noticed the cloaks and was wondering the same thing. Lakodan’s uneasiness grew stronger.

  Then the drums started, their heavy booming a deep, steady rhythm that reverberated with such power the ground shook and the leaves on the trees shivered. Weapons raised, the Skaar continued to advance, still marching in lockstep, all of them visible, none yet attempting to vanish. But they would do so, Lakodan told himself. It was what they always did.

  Except this time, they didn’t. By the time they were within fifty yards, not a single Skaar soldier had disappeared.

  Still they came on as if they believed themselves indestructible—as if they believed themselves impervious to anything the defenders might do to stop them. Lakodan was still trying to figure out what was happening when the front line of the advance launched their initial attack. From behind the bristling array of swords and spears that led the way, slings and bows dispatched a barrage of stones and arrows into the defenders, who were positioned along the center of the defensive line—still waiting for the enemy to disappear so the Dwarves could begin using the Reveals. The suddenness of the attack was shocking, but the response was immediate as Federation flash rips began spraying fire into the front ranks of the Skaar.

  Down went the entire forefront of the attackers, catching fire as they were struck, igniting like straw dolls—because, Lakodan realized with sudden recognition, that’s what they were. The front ranks were dummies fastened to one another by sticks and held upright by living soldiers at the ends of each rank—puppets moving enough like men to fool the defenders from a distance.

  And now, in the face of the catastrophe that the Dwarf warrior could see unfolding, the Skaar began to disappear. Not in ones and twos or even tens and twenties, but all at once. Shock at this turn of events further froze the defenders, giving the Skaar just enough time to rush the hastily assembled fortifications and reappear.

  By now Battenhyle had also realized how they had been tricked and roared to his companions to use the Reveals. The Dwarves began to spray the seemingly empty space behind those already engaged in the fighting, spreading a wide swath across the plains to expose those Skaar who thought to hide themselves. After a few minutes, cloaked figures began reappearing, coated in spray. But almost immediately they threw off the cloaks in which they had wrapped themselves to be shielded from the mixture and disappeared again, all while still charging the defenders.

  Before there was time to adjust the Reveals to launch a fresh fusillade, the Skaar were climbing over the barricades and descending on the Reveals. Dwarves and Federation soldiers alike battled fiercely to throw them back, but by now the advantage had swung in favor of the Skaar. The defenders were forced from the walls, and the stationary Reveals were smashed apart. Flash rips kept the attackers from overrunning the Federation lines entirely, but defenders were dying everywhere. Many of the Dwarves were gone as well, killed when the stationary Reveals fell. On the left and right flanks and at the defensive center, Lakodan, Ajost, and Battenhyle, all carrying portable Reveals, fought on, continuing to expose the enemy but being forced back even as they did so. Chaos dominated, and the heavy layer of swirling black smoke that rose from the burning straw men engulfed the entire battlefield in a thick haze, further adding to the confusion.

  On both flanks, additional attacks were under way. The Skaar came at the Federation defenders in waves, weaving through the trees while wrapped in their heavy cloaks, absorbing the mix spewed by the mobile Reveals when they had to, using trunks to hide themselves where they could. Working to get close enough to break through the defensive lines, they used feints and sudden rushes to draw fire away from one another, disappearing and reappearing like ghosts.

  But the Federation soldiers fought on valiantly, allowing the Dwarves to use the portable Reveals in short bursts, then triggering their flash rips to bring down the exposed enemy soldiers. The struggle surged back and forth, all of it within a confusing maze of trees and brush obscured by ascending smoke from the battlefield below. It was the same on the left flank, although the Federation defense there appeared to be having more success after choosing to break up into groups of half a dozen, to allow the members in each group to better defend one another while holding their ground. Lakodan saw this and yelled to the commander leading their beleaguered band of fighters, only to see him collapse an instant later with an arrow through his chest.

  Overhead, airships from the
two armies warred with each other, the battlefield too obscured by smoke and ash to allow either to do much damage to the soldiers below. A few went down, none of them warships, and it seemed as if the fighting taking place in the sky overhead was entirely removed from what was happening on the ground.

  Fate’s pendulum might have swung in favor of either army at this point, the attacks and retreats on both sides ebbing and flowing equally, the dying and wounded diminishing in equal numbers for both. But then a broad-shouldered figure at the very center of the lower battlefield surged to the forefront of the fighting, a huge two-edged ax gripped in both hands, and drove right into the heart of the Skaar ranks. Lakodan knew him instantly. Spears and swords cut and slashed at Battenhyle but to no discernible effect. Federation soldiers shouted their battle cries and rallied to join him, the entire complement throwing themselves recklessly at the enemy.

  It was a defining moment. The Skaar recovered from the rush and held their ground once again for long minutes before attacking anew. This time it was the Federation that was pushed back, and for a moment it looked as if the defensive line would be broken. Then the Federation rallied again, Battenhyle at their head, and threw back the Skaar once again. Slowly but surely the mobile Reveals were negating the ability of the invaders to disappear. Efforts to bring down the remaining bearers had failed, for Lakodan and Ajost were surrounded by Federation soldiers determined to protect them.

  Finally, the enemy drums began to beat once more, but with a different tempo this time, and the Skaar started a slow withdrawal. When the Skaar had pulled back to beyond a hundred yards, they began to disappear again, one by one. It was a slow, deliberate process, a kind of taunt to demonstrate their superior abilities. In a slow fading, they abandoned the battlefield until no more remained.

  Federation soldiers and Dwarves stood side by side and waited, suspicious still, eyes fixed on the grasslands where the Skaar had last been seen. The Dwarves bearing the Reveals expended a few further bursts of the coating mixture, broad sweeps of clinging liquid sprayed all across the open expanse to expose any of the enemy who might have chosen to linger.

  But none were visible.

  For this day, at least, the Federation had prevailed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  FLYING ABOVE THE CHOPPY waters of the Tiderace, miles from any shore and almost two weeks from its point of departure, the Behemoth was still plowing through air currents and clouds, working its way toward its destination. For Shea Ohmsford, that destination seemed as distant now as it had when they set out—a phantom as elusive as the wraiths that were said to roam the Wilderun, and just as likely to disappear. He was used to being patient, but he was also a boy who possessed an impulsive nature, and he was growing steadily more eager to speed things along.

  In an effort to lessen the pressure of that urge, he began spending more and more time with the old man, listening to him explain the workings of his wondrous machine, absorbing everything he was told, making it his business to become as educated as he could about what Annabelle could do and how she was supposed to work. It was arduous at times, Tindall’s explanations so confusing that he became lost. But each time he simply admitted his failure and asked to be told again. Tindall, a born teacher, was so entranced by Shea’s interest that he never once complained or argued but simply did as he was asked. In the boy, he had found the perfect student, and he was not about to discourage that.

  The effort was taxing on both of them, however, for the old man grew easily tired these days, the travel wearing on him both physically and emotionally. Still, he seemed to enjoy the effort and perhaps the distraction of not having to worry about how Annabelle would perform once they reached Skaarsland, and so he pressed on.

  On the other side of this give-and-take, it was difficult for Shea to get his head around the whole idea of a machine being able to change the weather, much as he wanted to believe it was possible. Believing required too many assumptions that contradicted everything he knew about weather and climate and the way they impacted the world. Not to mention how every effort made by Mankind over the ages to control the weather was said to have ended in disaster, usually costing the lives of those who dared to challenge nature’s rules. So the best he could manage was to take a wait-and-see attitude, keeping an open mind even as his doubts and misgivings threatened to stifle his optimism.

  When he wasn’t spending his time with Tindall, learning the intricacies of Annabelle or hanging about Rocan on the fringes while the other regaled his friends with stories of his wild adventures, he could usually be found in the pilot box learning how to fly the Behemoth. His teacher—when Rocan wasn’t about—was usually the Rover’s cousin Sartren, who didn’t seem to mind the boy asking questions. He explained the complexities of flying a craft this huge, distinguishing them from what was required to fly a warship, frequently letting Shea take the controls to handle the craft on his own. He kept close watch while the boy did this, of course, but Shea was so excited at being given a chance at flying the big airship that Rocan’s cousin was happy to offer him the opportunity.

  Not once during all this time was there any sign of Seelah. Shea looked for her constantly, even going so far as to rise in the dark and wander the decks in the hope of encountering her. At one point, he asked Rocan outright where she could be found, but the Rover simply smiled and shrugged. Seelah could only be seen when she wished to be seen, and for now she preferred to remain hidden.

  So the days drifted away—some more quickly than others, some dragging like an anchor chained to everyone’s patience. But the weather stayed friendly and offered no obstacles, and according to Ajin d’Amphere’s frequent calculations—she somehow had a means for reading where they were in relation to Skaarsland—they were making good time.

  Then, just before completion of the second week since departing the shores of the Four Lands, a storm caught up with them. It blew out of the northwest, its coming signaled by a bank of dark clouds that seemed to pile on one another like rocks in an avalanche the closer they got to the airship. Then the storm found a tailwind to speed it along, and soon it was barreling down on them with frightening swiftness and increasing size.

  After repeated attempts to outrun and outmaneuver it, Rocan finally gave in to the inevitability, had the sails hauled down until only the mainsail remained aloft, and ordered the Behemoth to come about and turn into the storm. It was huge by then, blotting out the sky and horizon, slowly gobbling up everything as it swept over them, until there was almost no light left and the toxic mix of clouds, rain, and wind was everywhere.

  Crew and passengers alike were ordered to secure themselves with safety lines anchored to iron rings screwed into the heaviest support timbers. Most did so immediately. Tindall was allowed to anchor himself to the platform on which Annabelle had been fastened, but a member of the Rover crew was assigned to stay with him. Shea was placed inside the pilot box with Sartren. He looked for the others and found Brecon Elessedil near the bow and facing into the wind, blond hair streaming out behind him like a ragged pennant.

  Of Dar Leah or Ajin d’Amphere, there was no sign.

  Arneas Rocan was the last to fasten his safety line, and then only after making sure that everyone else was securely attached to something sturdy.

  “Now you’re going to see a real storm,” he informed the boy as he joined him in the pilot box. “These sorts of blows can be so fierce they take down masts and shred sails.” He laughed as if he could imagine nothing more entertaining. “We’re in for it now!”

  As if to emphasize his words, the wind accelerated into a howl of such mind-numbing proportions it became impossible to hear someone standing right next to you unless they were shouting in your ear. Although the mainsail was still flying, it was already beginning to fray along the edges, and Shea was certain it would not last out the storm. He watched the clouds scudding across the sky in huge, roiling banks to form an almost impenetrable
blackness that swiftly closed about the Behemoth. Although Shea couldn’t hear what Rocan was shouting to Sartren, he could guess based on the latter’s renewed efforts to keep the airship pointed into the wind. But the Behemoth was a massive, cumbersome beast, and her response was ponderous and slow. Sartren was losing the battle to keep her in line until Rocan joined him, the two of them wrestling with the steering in a desperate fight to deny a hurricane-force wind that sought to wrench their control away.

  A crash sounded from behind, and Shea turned to see that the aft mast had lost her main yardarm, which was lying on the rear deck. A pair of spars, smaller and higher up, shattered as the wind buffeted the rigging relentlessly. Forward, casks of water had broken loose and were rolling about the decks. One cask gained sufficient momentum from the rocking of the airship that it slammed into the railing with enough force to burst through and disappear over the side.

  Shea was crouched down within the pilot box, pressed against its protective walls, his hands over his ears in an attempt to shut out the howl of the storm. It was a futile effort. The wind was a scream of rage and madness, its volume so overpowering that it was almost deafening. Rain lashed the crew and passengers with stinging force and hammered the wooden decks and hull with a staccato drumming that suggested it might somehow manage to bore right through the timbers. On all sides the clouds were overwhelming the ship, swallowing them as if an ocean of darkness that intended to drag them down.