The Faithful and the Fallen: Ruin Part 30

'Hold your breath,' Maquin grunted as Fidele slowed before the thick smoke. He sucked in a deep breath, grabbed her hand and plunged in. A dozen heartbeats and there was no change, his eyes stinging, forty heartbeats and he could feel the veins pounding in his head, felt like his heart was thumping out of his chest. Fifty heartbeats and the smoke thinned, and then suddenly they were through it. Fidele staggered into him, coughing, her eyes streaming.

'Can't stop,' he rasped. Blurred images fought on the road ahead. He turned to his left, pulling Fidele into a huddle of buildings, led her through a twisting maze of alleys and paths. Eventually Maquin stopped, leaning against a wall. Fidele collapsed to her knees, chest rising and falling violently as she struggled for breath. Maquin realized he was still clutching a knife in one hand.

'Got to keep moving,' he muttered. He glanced up, saw the tower of Ripa looming above them.

'One hard climb and we're there,' he said. Dragging Fidele to her feet they stumbled on, turning a corner and almost falling into a running battle, Vin Thalun trading blows with warriors of Ripa in the black and silver of Tenebral. The Vin Thalun were fewer in numbers, but more were emerging from the streets and alleys all the time. Maquin looked up the hill, saw that the gates of a tall wooden wall that ringed the tower were open people streaming through them.

These men are the rearguard, buying time for the people of Ripa to reach safety.

'Up the hill,' Maquin yelled at Fidele over the din of battle. Together they ran, swerving around combat, over bodies. Two men crashed in front of them, punching, kicking, stabbing. Fidele hurdled them and stumbled on, but a hand grabbed Maquin as he leaped over them. He crashed to the ground, rolled to his feet, brandishing his knife. A Vin Thalun was climbing from the ground, short sword blooded and buckler still in his hands. Maquin didn't wait for him to find his balance and lunged forward with his knife, at the same time drawing another. His first blade sc.r.a.ped along the Vin Thalun's buckler, his second slicing low, beneath the rim of a battered cuira.s.s. Blood and a tangle of intestines gushed out of the wound. Maquin kicked the screaming man over and turned back to Fidele a dozen paces ahead. He waved her on, sprinting after her.

The men of Ripa were trying to form a wall against the Vin Thalun, but there were too many, more surging up the hill, others flowing out of side streets, flanking the beleaguered rearguard.

They have no chance.

Then Vin Thalun were spilling into the road above them, two score at least, more appearing, blocking the road and falling on the men of Ripa.

Fidele looked at him despairingly.

There was no way back. The side streets were swarming with Vin Thalun, and besides, running that way would only delay the inevitable.

The tower gates were still open, a hundred paces up the road.

Only chance is to get through those gates.

He stared at Fidele a moment, the worry etched upon her features, moments from their journey flashing through his mind. Strangely, he found himself smiling, remembering snippets of conversation and silence.

I think you're worth dying for. He knew making the gates was unlikely just too many Vin Thalun in the way, and more arriving by the heartbeat.

Death is only ever a moment away.

'What now?' Fidele asked.

I carve us a way to those gates, or die trying.

'Stay behind me,' he grunted, stepping in front of her.

The first men saw him too late, his knives bringing sudden death upon them. In a dozen heartbeats three Vin Thalun were dead, another slumped upon the ground, bleeding out from a deep gash in his groin.

Maquin pressed forward, felt Fidele behind him, knew she would have her knife in her hand.

The Vin Thalun saw him coming now, a handful moving on him together, spreading into a half-circle.

Don't give them time. He knew from the pits that to hesitate against many was to die. With a snarl he swept forwards and to the left, one knife high, the other low, cutting, blocking, slicing, always moving. Time slowed, each heartbeat a lifetime. He felt cuts appear on his arms, his thighs, thin lines of pain burning like flame as his attackers managed to get past his guard. He stabbed, hands slick with blood. A blow high on his back staggered him and he fell to one knee, rolled forwards from it, a sword slicing a handspan from his face. He had no idea where Fidele was now. Could only hope that she was still close. He kept stabbing, every face he saw superimposed with the features of Lykos or Jael. He killed them both, countless times, a feral grin on his face. One of his knives stuck between ribs, was ripped out of his hand as his victim fell away. He pulled another blade from his boot, powered on, blood splattering his face, blurring his vision, the taste of iron in his mouth. Someone grabbed his arm; he spun on a heel, sliced a hamstring, the man falling, still clutching him, pulling him down. A blow crunched into his gut, low, above his right hip, felt like a punch. He snapped an elbow into a face, heard cartilage snap, took a step forwards and suddenly he was falling, his right leg numb, the ground rushing up to him, his head slamming onto the blood-slick ground, his knives skittering away. He pushed at the ground, tried to rise, but his legs weren't working properly; he just managed to roll onto his back. He sucked in air, the sky a bright blue above him. Numbness pulsed out from the blow to his gut. He reached there, fingers coming away dark with blood.

Is this death? He felt no pain, just weariness settling upon him like a heavy cloak, his limbs suddenly filled with lead.

A face loomed over him, blotting out the sky, a Vin Thalun beard thick with iron rings, face twisted in a snarl, iron glinting. He thought about moving, fingers twitching to find one of his knives, but it was all too much effort. Then the face was falling away, Fidele replacing it. She dropped to her knees, shook him, face contorted with fear.

'Run, you idiot,' he said, though he wasn't sure how loud he said it, or even if the words had pa.s.sed his lips at all.

Hands gripped his head, Fidele lifting him onto her lap. Tears stained her cheeks, dropped onto his face. He tasted the salt on his lips. Her fingers brushed at his hair, wiped blood from his eyes. Her mouth was moving, her voice filling his head, but he couldn't distinguish the words.

'It's all right,' he tried to say. His eyes fluttered closed.

'Live, d.a.m.n you!' she screamed at him, a fist pounding his chest. His eyes snapped open. He heard that.

I'm trying, but it's not as easy as you'd think. In truth just staying focused on her face was proving difficult; a dark nimbus formed around the periphery of his vision, the urge to close his eyes over-whelming. So tired.

A noise grew, filling his head: pounding, rhythmic, growing louder. Hooves? Shadows were all around him now, a flash of hooves stamping. Arms reached down and grabbed Fidele, pulling her away and his head thumped onto the earth.

She fought them, shouting, reaching out, pointing at him.

Then hands were gripping him, lifting him high. A new face appeared, a man, thick black beard on a weathered face. He grinned, which Maquin thought was strange at a time like this.

'Welcome to Ripa,' the face said, and then the darkness surged in and Maquin knew no more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

LYKOS.

Lykos stood on deck and stared up at the tower of Ripa. Gulls circled and screeched and absently Lykos spied a sea-eagle, sailing the currents high above the flocks of gulls.

He is like me. Striking without warning. But I did not strike quickly enough. The tower still stands, its walls and gates closed against me.

He tried to focus on strategy, on finding a way to end this, but his mind kept looping back to Maquin and Fidele. For a moment he had not believed his own eyes, not believed that his fortune could be quite so good. Two moons he had waited for word of their capture, had become increasingly frustrated with every pa.s.sing day. Eventually word reached him that their trail had been found, only for them to disappear again. And then, nothing.

Until today, when he saw them staring straight at him from a sea of undulating gra.s.s.

And again they have escaped me.

'Your boat is ready,' a voice behind him said. Kolai, his shieldman. Lykos had hand-picked another dozen men, a mixture of pit-fighters and corsairs, more than he had ever felt the need for before. But a knife in the back had convinced him of his mortality. Better too many than too few.

Lykos made his way across the ship's deck and swung nimbly over the side, climbed down a rope net into a rowing boat bobbing on the swell. The wound in his back was as good as healed, though he could sense a weakness there, an ache when he exerted himself. His twelve shieldmen were already in the boat, half of them sitting at the oars. Each one of them had a grapple hook and rope wound about one shoulder. Kolai dropped into the boat behind him and they set off, cutting across the bay to the harbour.

They skirted the burning galleys of Ripa, larger, heavier and slower than any Vin Thalun galley. Lykos smiled at the sight, knowing how many ships the Ripa fleet had cost him while defending their coastline against Vin Thalun raiders before the pact with Nathair and Aquilus. It was very satisfying.

They moored the boat and climbed stone steps to the harbour. A group of Vin Thalun was standing on a pier, a hundred men, maybe more. Lykos walked up to one who stood before them, black-haired, beard oiled and clinking with iron like any self-respecting Vin Thalun. A scar ran from the corner of his mouth to his left ear.

'Demos, it is good to see you, you old pirate.' Demos was the closest thing to a friend that Lykos had. He had no interest in politicking, or in power, just lived for the thrill of riding the waves, of hunting on the deep blue. He was a shark, a predator, and a friend.

'Less of the old,' Demos grinned, 'I'm younger than you.' He held Lykos by the shoulders and stared at him. 'Being a lord is taking its toll, I think.'

'Aye. That and being stabbed in the back,' Lykos said grimly.

'Think you can do this?' Lykos asked him, looking at the cliffs that Ripa's tower was built upon.

'Only one way to find out,' Demos grinned.

'I'll go and draw their eyes,' Lykos said. They gripped forearms and then Demos was jumping into a long rowing boat, one of five that were moored beside the pier.

Lykos strode into the town. He did not rush. Dead littered the streets, warriors of Ripa stripped of anything useful weapons, armour, boots, cloaks. Vin Thalun gathered about him as he pa.s.sed through the town, until a few hundred were ma.s.sed at his back. As he climbed the hill to the tower he looked back out over the bay.

Vin Thalun galleys filled it, at least a score used in this strike on Ripa. Most had sailed around the coast and blocked the bay, burning the ships that were moored in Ripa's harbour. An attacking force had landed as Lykos had sailed his own men down the river, another ten shallow-draughted galleys. Fifteen hundred swords, and another thousand crew on the ships, reserves if need be. His sources told him that old Lamar had no more than eleven hundred men at his disposal, and judging by the corpses on the street a good few of them wouldn't be lifting a sword against him.

So I have the manpower to finish this. Lykos felt a worm of worry burrowing through his belly. He was overstretched and he knew it. He'd sent a fleet north-west at Calidus' request: fifty ships, including a score of transporters for horses and wains, all under the command of Alazon. Calidus had not expressly ordered Lykos to sail with the fleet, although he knew it had been presumed. But for Lykos only one thing dominated his mind, filling it, which was why he was here now.

Fidele. He had never felt like this about a woman before, always took what he wanted, with rarely a second thought. No doubt he had enough b.a.s.t.a.r.ds scattered about the Three Islands to one day crew a galley. But Fidele was different. She's the only one who's stabbed me, for a start. He chuckled to himself, Kolai glancing at him. I will have her back.

Besides, this rebellion needed to be crushed before it spread. Peritus is in Ripa and so he has Lamar's backing, and Lamar commands the largest warband in Tenebral after my own.

And he did not want Calidus finding out what level this rebellion had escalated to, at least not until after Lykos had dealt with it.

The road steepened and he saw the tower looming above him, black gates closed before it. The walls bristled with men and iron. No matter. A fortress is only as strong as its weakest man. Bodies were thicker upon the ground now, and to his annoyance Lykos saw a number of Vin Thalun faces amongst the dead. He paused again, turning; his position gave a fine view of the surrounding countryside. To the north and west the forest of Sarva stretched, a green, undulating ocean of bough and leaf. In its fringes a hill reared, broken walls and towers jagged on the horizon. Balara, the giant ruin. He had been there only yester-eve, making sure that his secret was guarded and safe.

Not so secret now, since Fidele and Maquin saw them. He had considered sending his giants back to Pelset, but decided in the end that keeping them close was the safest answer. He faced the tower and gates, stepped over the last of the dead that clogged the road and walked on a dozen paces, stopping within hailing distance of the barred gates.

'Close enough for a good spear throw from their wall,' Kolai observed.

Lykos shrugged. He was more careful since his injury, but some things smacked of cowardice, and he had not become Lord of the Vin Thalun by being a coward. Or by being cautious.

He gave his orders and shortly a few warriors returned carrying a wooden table and a chair. They positioned it in the road before Lykos. He sat, theatrically nonchalant as bread and cheese were placed before him, a cup of wine. He began to eat. Men were led before him now, warriors of Ripa roped together. With kicks and punches they were forced to their knees on the road before Lykos.

'Kill them,' Lykos said, crumbs of cheese spilling from his mouth. He washed it down with wine as the prisoners' throats were cut.

The row of warriors upon the wall watched it all in stony-eyed silence.

'Should have their attention now,' Lykos said as he stood and the table was carried away. He belched.

'You up there,' he shouted. 'Anyone worth talking to?'

His voice rebounded from the black walls.

'I don't expect someone my equal no deities amongst you, I would guess. But Lamar, maybe even Krelis, or Peritus the cowering worm, of course. Any of you will do.'

'I'm going to enjoy killing you,' a voice called back, a large man appearing above the gate. Very large, towering at least a head over any others around him. Lykos recognized him. Hated him.

'Well met, Krelis,' Lykos called back. 'A beautiful day, no?' Krelis was Ripa's beating warrior-heart. He had led the shipbuilding and then defence of the bay and coastline surrounding Ripa. His ships had not been as sleek and deadly at sea as Lykos' own galleys, but they were big enough and fast enough to consistently spoil Vin Thalun raids on villages along the coast.

'It'll be a better day when your head no longer graces your shoulders.'

Lykos pulled a face. 'A little too aggressive a start for a peace talk, I think.'

'This is no peace talk. Look what you've done to my town.'

As if to prove Krelis' point, black smoke billowed across the road, obscuring the view for a few moments.

'Wine,' Lykos called, and Kolai pa.s.sed him a skin. He drank deep and smacked his lips.

When the smoke cleared, Lykos spread his arms.

'There is nothing damaged that cannot be repaired. I needed to make a point.'

'And how will I repair my slain warriors? My murdered people?' Lykos could hear the hatred in Krelis' voice, barely contained.

Good. Anger is always the best enemy. It blinds, cloaks, distorts.

'You are harbouring an enemy of the realm. Peritus. He is guilty of treason. Murder. Inciting rebellion.' Lykos shook his head, tutting. 'To protect such as he, well, there are consequences.'

'You are not the law-giver in Tenebral. You are a pirate, usurping power. And Peritus is battlechief of Tenebral, a better man than you could ever hope to be.'

'He is an outlaw, stripped of his t.i.tles and sentenced to death by Fidele, Regent of Tenebral in Nathair's absence. And incidentally my wife, by the way.'

'She is not your wife.'

'I think she is. I was there. Any who says different is a liar.'

'She says different,' Krelis called out.

Lykos froze at that. She is in there, then. He felt something cold clench in his belly. 'Will you give Peritus up to me?'

'I will not,' Krelis said.

'Is he brave enough to talk to me? Or will he continue to hide behind you, his puppet?'

'Krelis is no puppet,' a voice called out, older.

Ah, Peritus; good. I did not think you would keep yourself from this.

'So, you have found someone stupid enough to take you in,' Lykos called. 'And I cannot help but notice that you are all scared to meet me in combat, else you would not be hiding behind your walls.' He was starting to enjoy this now. 'What say you, Peritus? Care to test your blade against mine?'

'I'd like nothing more,' Peritus called down. 'But I do not trust you I've tasted your justice and hospitality before, remember. I think if I came out to fight you that your shieldmen would fall upon me. You are a liar, a man of no honour.'

'I am hurt,' Lykos said, putting a hand to his heart. 'Well then, it would appear we have a problem to resolve. How would you suggest we go about that?'