The Heretic Land Part 30

More arrows and shot whisked past his ears and flung two Skythians back, screaming as they writhed on the ground. Three more leaped over them, rough blades at the ready. These were weapons manufactured from hammered metal, twisted rope for handles and blades already dulled from combat. They were nothing like the Spike swords a many-folded, much-forged works of art that would take a thousand impacts before any sign of wear.

Yet the Skythians' faces were twisted with anger and hatred, and for the first time it crossed Sol's mind that their mission here had already failed. Maybe these are the Kolts! he thought. But he had read accounts of those mad, d.a.m.ned things and what they could do, and heard stories pa.s.sed through the ranks, both up and down, upon news of their posting. Kolts would fall and rise again, limbs missing and torsos punctured by a dozen arrows. Kolts could wave arrows aside and bend swords with a look. Kolts were Skythians cursed to kill their own. Before him were a people furious about the invasion of their land, but when an arrow or blade hit them they stayed down.

'Legs!' Sol shouted, because he realised the rush of enemy was too much. The spear women knelt and swept their weapons left and right, slashing tendons and muscles, tripping their a.s.sailants. Sol and the swordsmen stalked forward and finished the fallen, then raised their blades to face those following on behind. Sol slashed one man across the guts, stabbed another in the groin, ducked a heavy blade. A Spike's arrow killed the blade wielder, and Sol shoved the falling body back to trip up his comrades.

A warm spray of blood splashed across his face and blurred his vision, and as he wiped his eyes he felt something strike his hip. He grunted, twisted violently to the left. His flesh ripped and metal sc.r.a.ped across his hip bone, and he roared in agony as he brought his own sword around in a killing sweep. He felt the resistance as it entered flesh, and as he blinked away the blood he withdrew his blade and stabbed forward.

The dead Skythian still clasped the spear that had pierced Sol's side. Poison, he thought, but if so, there was nothing he could do. He and the other Spike soldiers forced the flow of enemy back onto the bridge, ten against a hundred. They walked over the bodies of those they had dropped, some of them dead, many still writhing beneath their boots. They were invincible.

Sol's vision blurred from the pain, and he bit his lip and screamed in rage. As the rush of enemy seemed to diminish a not only in numbers, but also in confidence a something made him turn around.

He could see Gallan and the others making headway, but beyond the battle, beneath the trees where the firelight barely reached, something was moving.

We won't fight off more of them, he thought. Resignation hovered close by, but he would not allow it to settle. A Spike soldier never gave up, and as their Blader he would fight until he had spilled his blood and shed his limbs.

Away from the bridge by one of the fires, Gallan turned, some finely honed sense telling him that his attention was required. He caught Sol's eye, and Sol pointed out towards the trees. Gallan looked in that direction ... and paused.

Sol looked again. The shadows had manifested, lit pale by reflected firelight. Such stillness seemed out of place within the sounds and smells of battle. And such stillness he had seen before.

'Lechmy Borle,' he said, speaking the name of his love as blood soaked his bare leg. She sat on a huge shire, a man on a similar beast beside her. From this far away Sol could not make out her expression, but he did not need to. He would love her silhouette. He would love the idea of her, the memory, and all the s.p.a.ces she had ever filled.

The man beside her held something in his hand. As he lifted it, the fighting ceased.

There was no gradual falling away of the battle. One moment metal clashed and bodies fell; the next Skythians dropped their arms and went to their knees. Spike soldiers killed a few more, and then paused in their a.s.sault, confused.

Surrender, Sol thought, and he knew that his Blade must honour such a gesture.

But then he realised that he was wrong. This was nothing like surrender. He turned back to the enemy he had been facing, all of them kneeling on or beside the bodies of their fallen brethren littering the old stone bridge, and they all stared past him with a strange expression in their eyes.

Wonder.

And awe.

They had galloped into the night, the shires pounding at the snow-covered ground, fine snow stinging Bon's face and blurring his vision, Leki gripping her reins in one hand while the other arm was tied tight across her chest, and Bon had followed her without question. She knew where they were going. And he carried what they would need when they arrived.

Now they stood at the edge of the clearing before the river, and Leki seemed transfixed by the scene before them.

Bon had never witnessed anything like this. He could smell blood and smoke on the air. Several large bonfires illuminated the river bridge and the areas at either end with dancing light, and it seemed to make the people there a dead, kneeling and standing a quiver and dance. Snow had been churned into a muddied mess. Weapons glinted. He saw the pale leather of Spike uniforms, and they looked so out of place.

'The Engine?' Bon whispered.

'Not here,' Leki said, still motionless. 'But Sol.'

'Your husband.' The way she spoke his name ... That should have told him everything. And yet he sensed a tension in her, and as he urged his shire forward to draw level with Leki, she glanced sidelong at him. She looked sad.

But this was beyond both of them, and she looked at the thing in his hand.

'They already sense it,' she said. 'The slaughter has stopped.'

'Let's hope we can keep it that way,' Bon said. 'Leki ...'

'Bon. Not now.' She seemed terribly pained. He wanted to hold her. But the pressure of events weighed heavy, and there was no time to waste.

'Your arm,' he said.

Leki smiled. 'The pain led us here. Small price to pay if we can stop ...' She nodded past him at the frozen battle.

'That, and everything else,' Bon said. 'Will you ride with me?'

They moved off together, shires side by side. The animals snorted and sweated, and Bon discovered a new respect for the creature that had carried him so far, so quickly.

They crossed the river's flood plain, and soon the snow turned slushy, and then dirtied with mud and blood. They pa.s.sed the first dead bodies, and their wounds were shocking, gaping, exposing insides to the fire-lit night. No one should ever see that, Bon thought, but as the shires walked closer, he saw so much more.

He held the object handed to him by Venden, his not-quite-son, and knew that it was the focus of attention. That such an object could exude so much power confused him, and he imagined the false G.o.ds of the Fade kneeling and trembling before him, as these Skythians did now.

But this was not fear the Skythians were displaying, and perhaps not even homage. They watched him and Leki with respect, and hope. His own hope was that they would not kill the messenger.

A gift from Aeon's heart, Venden had whispered. Bon had not known his son's voice at all, though his imagination had let him place a little boy's voice in that alien mouth.

They paused by the furthest fire from the bridge, and Bon raised the bone object in one hand.

A whisper ran around them, like shadows cavorting just out of sight. The Skythians watched, almost hypnotised, and the whisper came from them. Not their mouths, or the slight movements in their nervous stances. This whisper was the intensity of their regard.

'What are we supposed to do with it?' Leki asked.

'He didn't tell me,' Bon said. The bone seemed suddenly heavy with potential, his arm muscles locking, cramping. He knew that he needed to think of something quickly.

The Spike soldiers were taking their enemy's fascination as an opportunity to regroup. They walked among the kneeling or p.r.o.ne Skythians, stepping over the dead, keeping a wary eye open, and gathered together not far from where Bon and Leki sat on their exhausted shires. The soldiers kept close to one of the large fires, ready to shift behind it should the Skythians attack again. They would not wish themselves silhouetted against the flames.

A man and two women broke from the group and walked towards them.

'Your husband?' Bon asked softly.

'Don't speak,' Leki said. 'Not a word.'

Bon examined the trio. The limping man was tall, strong, handsome, everything he imagined a Spike Blader should be. One woman was short and slight, vicious looking, with a blood-soaked bandage around her throat. Her companion was heavier and pretty. She carried a thick wooden spear, its handle wet and dark.

Blood. They were all covered in it, perhaps theirs, more likely their victims'. Their eyes glared from smeared faces. Firelight glinted.

'I need to tell him about-'

'Let me do the talking, Bon.'

The two women held back slightly, turning their backs on their Blader and watching the shadows. Leki's husband a Sol Merry, she'd told Bon, a name so unsuited to this blood-soaked daemon that he almost laughed a strode directly to their shires and stood between the creatures' heads, glancing back and forth between Leki and Bon.

'Who is this?' Sol asked. His voice was surprisingly soft, yet it commanded attention.

'Bon Ugane,' Leki said. 'He's been helping me.'

Sol nodded, eyes fixed at last on Leki. 'You look different, Leki. Yet it's still so good to see you.'

Leki's laugh was forced. 'You look different also.'

'What's that?' Sol asked. He held out his hand, nodding at Bon's hand.

'No,' Bon said. Sol's eyes flashed with anger. Here was a man not used to being refused.

'Not for the likes of you,' Leki said.

'The likes of me?' Sol asked.

'Or me,' Leki continued. 'Or Bon, or even the Skythians. It's not for the likes of any of us, except as a message.'

'Did you find Aeon?' Sol asked. 'That was your duty, and your mission. Where is it? He can stay here, hold that thing up and keep these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds down, and you and I will go south with the news.'

'And then the Engines will raise magic to destroy Aeon once again,' Leki said.

'Of course,' Sol said. 'That's what we're here for, isn't it?' Bon could already hear doubt in the soldier's voice, and confusion.

'Everything you know is wrong,' Bon said. He was surprised at the conviction in his voice, the strength. He lowered the bone in his hand a sighing as the discomfort lessened a but kept one eye on the Skythians. The fight seemed to have gone from them all, but it might return without warning. Everything was in the balance.

'You speak when I address you,' Sol said softly. He was looking back and forth between them, his expression dark and unreadable.

'Bon, I told you to let me-' Leki started, but Sol reached up suddenly, grasped her arm and pulled her from the shire. She tried to land on her feet but stumbled, falling onto her side and hitting the ground hard.

Bon stiffened on his mount, but the heavy woman had slipped silently to his side. She rested her spear against his right thigh, ready to shove its tip into his stomach.

Sol paused for an instant, then bent to grab Leki's arm again.

Leki kicked up and out at Sol's hand, knocking it aside. He inhaled sharply. Fisted his hand, examining his fingers. The moment froze as Sol Merry avoided looking at anyone.

'So, Leki,' Sol spoke softly. 'Have you and he ...?'

'No!' Leki stood, tense and ready. She looked shocked, confused. 'Sol, why are you doing this?'

'I thought you were ...' He stood away from his wife, and Bon noticed something strange. It was no trick of the light, and no imagination on his part. Leki's blood-spattered husband was shaking. 'I thought you were dead.'

'Things have changed,' Leki said. 'Everything's changed.'

Bon wondered what she meant.

We don't have very long, he thought, not quite sure where that idea had come from. He glanced across the battlefield, at the blazing fires and the people who had until recently been trying to kill each other. And he was struck by a terrible sense of hopelessness. In his right hand he carried something beyond human comprehension, and humans continued to fight and kill in the name of one G.o.d or another.

'There's nothing we can do,' he said.

'You. Quiet, or Deenia will-' Sol began.

'Will what? Kill me?' Bon glared at Sol, holding the bloodied soldier's gaze, and slowly shook his head. He carefully showed him the bone-like object, not wanting it to look at all like a threatening gesture. 'This is incredible, yet you want to destroy it. We live in a time of wonders, and you want to fight, and to kill.' He looked across at the bridge, and the slew of bodies across its span. He felt beyond sad. He felt empty.

'We have orders,' Sol said. He nodded towards Leki. 'Both of us.' He and Leki stood apart, and their stances said that the distance between them had never been greater.

'Founded on wrong information,' Bon said.

'So wrong,' Leki said. 'Aeon is not the enemy here. It's just a thing, a wanderer. Magic is the enemy, Sol, because it will raise something terrible. You have to know what I've found out, and if you'll only let me tell you-'

Sol drew his sword and pointed it at his wife's face. Bon tensed, and felt the tip of the heavy spear pressing against his jacket and the roll of fat around his stomach. The eyes of the woman holding the weapon had barely changed, and he knew that she would gut him without blinking.

'You believe all this?' Sol shouted. 'You're blaspheming. Why? Because you're Arcanum? Because you're a witch?'

'Magic came from another G.o.d,' Bon said. He tried not to look at Leki, knowing that anger would not serve him well against these killers. 'A being as much a G.o.d as Aeon, at least. It was called Crex Wry; it fell long ago, and must never rise again.'

'What?' Sol said, angry. 'So now you'd tell me a story?'

'A story is fiction,' Bon said. 'This is the truth. If the Engines work and magic is raised, it might be the end for us all. It will destroy Aeon, magic's Kolts will rise, and this time they won't be so easy to put back down.'

'And if we let that Aeon thing wander the world, what then?' Sol said.

'Then nothing,' Bon said. 'Aeon and its kind wandered the world for ever, and witnessed the creation of the world we know today.' Bon felt the warmth in his hand. 'But one of them went mad.' The warmth seemed to pulse, a living part of Aeon. 'They put it down, because it was set to destroy everything they had made. And they worked hard to keep it down, for so long that the mountains forgot magic, and the valleys and seas had never known its corrupt touch.'

He held the bone tighter.

'I'm not interested in stories,' Sol said. 'Not even if they're the truth. I'm a soldier, and I'm only interested in orders.' He turned away from Leki and raised his sword at Bon. 'Now if you don't hand that thing over-'

'No,' Bon said. 'Not to someone like you.'

'Then I'll take it.' Sol came for him.

Bon glanced at Leki. He saw a slight shake of her head, a widening of her eyes. Sol saw it also, tensed- Bon thrust his hand forward and struck the woman across the nose with the part of Aeon. She grunted and fell back, and Bon winced away from the spear's point as it slipped from his leg and fell with her.

He waited for the bone-thing to grow, or surge, or flow with the power of Aeon, spewing its message across the landscape so that these fools would know the truth. I have Aeon in my hand! he thought, feeling the heat, the pulse.

But nothing happened.

Hands grabbed him and pulled him down from the shire. Bon gasped in a breath to shout. Something struck his face, the fires visible between the startled shire's legs faded and true darkness fell.

The priest watches the battle, but is no part of it. Hers is a higher purpose. She keeps close to the Engine, one hand against its warm, shivering surface, the other nestled between her legs. The Engine seems to speak to her of its intentions. She listens, and loves.

They moved twenty miles along the coast before the enemy came. The going was easy, and the three Blades escorting her and the Engine a a hundred and fifty Spike soldiers, armed and ready for a fight a made sure the ground ahead was scouted, and any dangers eliminated or avoided. The priest watched some of their creatures of war move ahead, and sometimes she caught rumour of their implementation. A smell, a smear of blood on the sand, the ruined remains of some unknown enemy.

They said the Skythians were little threat.

And then the attack.

But the battle is almost over now, and the Spike soldiers are close to victory. The glade close to the sea where the ambush took place is covered with dead. Several large fires have been started, and in their deceiving light she can see piles of corpses, all of them Skythian. They are being heaped high and burned, and the Spike dead will be taken to the beach and given proper cremations, their ashes and the heat of their demise given to the G.o.ds.

'May the G.o.ds of the Fade smile as they accept the sacrifice made today,' the priest says. The Engine throbs in response, the sensations travelling across her shoulders and down her other arm. She closes her eyes and sighs.

'It'll be ready soon,' the engineer says. He is a weedy, rodent-like man, and she has never liked him. She once saw a tattoo on his shoulder that might have been Outer, and when she confronted him and forced him to strip before a jury of Fader priests, it was revealed as a birthmark. He has never trusted her since then. He says she does not believe how devout he is.