The Ragged Man Part 41

'Aroth and the king!' he roared, holding one axe up high, and the call was picked up by all those around him and rippled through the defenders.

From behind the archers a line of trumpeters and other musicians began to sound their instruments: they all played the same notes, a repeated refrain with no specific meaning other than to add to the noise of battle. He hoped the strange cacophony would remind the soldiers of their homes and their families, whose survival rested on their men holding the line. It wasn't much, but Beyn knew soldiers would cling to any small hope to give themselves cheer.

'Not today,' the King's Man growled. 'I'm not f.u.c.king dying today.'

Kastan Styrax watched his troops throwing themselves with abandon at the enemy. As they slammed into the wall, some succeeded in driving the spears aside with their shields before stabbing with their own, others were impaled, and in their haste some smashed straight into the wall itself, a hastily built mishmash of rubble and sodden wood that stopped them in their tracks and left them staring at the face of some astonished Arothan barely inches away.

The Menin infantry pounded at the varied array of weapons, driven on by bloodl.u.s.t and the press of ranks behind. Styrax himself couldn't reach the defenders, such was the ma.s.s of his men attacking the wall. Another volley of arrows flew into the Menin and Chetse troops, and more came from the buildings, though most were blown about by the gale and dropped like exhausted sparrows, their energy spent.

Styrax threw a lance of flame at the nearest city building, and an orange-gold stream of fire illuminated the sodden combatants below. Before it struck, the flames were wrenched upwards and soared over the roofs of the city like a comet before dissipating into nothingness.

Styrax smiled grimly and drew on the Skulls fused to his armour. He threw a crackling burst of iron-grey energy at the building, and this too was diverted by Aroth's mages, although its tail clipped one corner of the roof, exploding some tiles. The pieces clattered down onto those below, and told Styrax all he needed to know about the mages defending the city.

He was quite safe from attack by them; that much he was certain. The vast majority were men and women with minor skills, sitting within a network of defensive wards and channelling their power to the strongest. That one knew what he or she was doing well enough, whether or not they were a battle-mage. How long they could defend against his efforts depended on how many they numbered, but Styrax didn't care - endless power was his to command ...It would be easy, he thought, to get carried away as he punched through the mages' defences. For the first time in years, Styrax didn't trust himself not to get lost in the storm of magic. Even a white-eye of his skill could easily be overwhelmed by such colossal energies, and grief had made him ragged at the edges. It would be easy for him to become careless and unfocused.

Let this be a victory for the army, he thought with a quickening sense of antic.i.p.ation; let it belong to the soldiers alone. let it belong to the soldiers alone.

He turned and waved forward the minotaurs, who were straining to drag the battering ran along the road that was swiftly turning to mud. Behind them came the Reavers. He would commit the regiments of white-eyes soon enough - their value was in exploiting vulnerabilities once he threw them into play.

As Styrax advanced towards the wall and joined the press of soldiers, a burgeoning corona of light played around his shoulders. The troops made s.p.a.ce for him quickly enough so he could attack the nearest Arothan troops with his spitting whipcords of bright white energy.

At such short range the coterie of defending mages could do little to defend the men and as their screams of agony rang out, so the Menin soldiers cheered and pressed harder against the line, ignoring the dead at their feet except to step over them.

On the right the minotaurs got the battering ram into position and started to drive it forward. A bronze head capped the pointed tip of the ram, inscribed by Lord Larim with runes of fire and strength. As it struck the heavy door to the Tollhouse with an almighty thump, so fire burst out from the bronze head and licked over the iron-bound wood of the door.

The fire quickly dissipated when the ram was dragged back, but the wood remained scorched, and every time the head hit it burned a little more. The minotaurs bellowed with frustration and rage as the door continued to resist, most likely blocked with rubble behind, but they kept at their task.

Above them a handful of archers braved the Menin arrows to lean out and shoot down at the minotaurs. One was successful, catching the largest of the beasts in the neck and causing it to reel away in mortal agony, then the Menin bowmen responded, peppering the upper levels of the Tollhouse.

Styrax added to their efforts as the archers reloaded, casting deep-red tendrils at the wooden upper levels. The tendrils grew rapidly, reaching out like blind snakes. When one reached the window it slid inside and Styrax heard screams a few moments later.

Shortly afterwards the city's mages came to their rescue, deftly unravelling the skein of magic and allowing the force to dissipate on the wind. Only a black stain, darker than flame-scars, was left, but it had done its work and Styrax returned his attentions to the ranks of defenders.

He could feel the presence of the defending mages all around him, waiting to unravel his next spell, so instead he fed the inexhaustible power of the Skulls into Kobra, his unnatural black sword - and there was nothing they could do to divert that as Styrax began to barge his way towards the enemy, his weapon raised and humming with barely restrained power. The air seemed to darken around him, turning mid-morning to dusk as Kobra's bloodthirsty magic shone out from the sword's blade. In response, Styrax's black whorled armour began to leak smoky trails of magic that swarmed and coiled like a ma.s.s of snakes. Before he reached the enemy he could see the fear etched clear on their faces.

Beyn wiped a palm across his face, clearing the rain from his eyes. Voices came from all directions; there was a clatter and crash of weapons from the wall and a deep, reverberating thump from the Tollhouse. He and Cober entered the fortified treasury by a side door, to be met by anxious faces.

'The rubble's not going to hold!' one young lieutenant said, terror making his voice high and strained. He pointed through an open doorway to the mound of stone and debris that occupied half of the far room.

'Well, make sure it b.l.o.o.d.y does!' Beyn snapped. 'Sh.o.r.e the d.a.m.n thing up - we're in a city, aren't we? How hard can it be to find rubble - or make some?'

The lieutenant blanched and gave Beyn a shaky salute before hurrying outside. Men sat or squatted in the empty interior of the Tollhouse, working the stiffness from their fingers. They were working in shifts, shooting from the slit windows, and the blood on several uniforms told Beyn it wasn't all one-way traffic.

He went through into the front room; the makeshift barricade was indeed shuddering and shifting with every impact on the door. While the main doorway was blocked right up to the lintel, once the wooden frame gave way, the doorway was wide enough that they'd be able to haul much of the debris away.

'd.a.m.n,' he muttered, stalking outside again.

There were soldiers everywhere: reinforcements, running up to the wall in groups of fifty or a hundred, and auxiliaries, humping fat bundles of arrows forward for the archers. The sky had lightened a little, but that only served to make clearer the true horror of their situation.

A line of men was strung across the causeway, thousands committed to the fight in one go, and hundreds were already dead. Those at the front were barely fighting; they just stood behind shield and spear and allowed those behind them to hold spears above their heads and thrust at the enemy, who were doing likewise. It was a battle of attrition. Beyn had several thousand men in reserve - but so did the Menin.

A piercing shriek of jubilation cut through the brutal clash of steel on steel, sending a chill down Beyn's spine. He looked up, and saw a pair of dark shapes in the sky hurtling towards him.

'Dapplin!' he roared at the nearest unit of pikemen, 'get ready!'

The squad moved forward as the captain yelled orders, but still they barely had time to get into position before the first of the Reavers arrived. Squatting low over a blade-edged shield, the Menin white-eye smashed into Dapplin's men. His long braided black hair flying, the Reaver tore a b.l.o.o.d.y path through them, the shield cutting through flesh wherever it touched, until it slowed enough for the white-eye to roll off, grab it and loop the leather hold over his shield-arm, and start towards the archers beyond.

Beyn caught sight of the weird tattoos and scars that adorned his face, which was contorted in berserk rage as the Reaver hacked at the archers with his great spiked axe. Two men fell almost at once, then another as the white-eye turned around and slashed a man's chest with his razor-edged shield.

As Beyn raced towards the frenzied white-eye, Cober hard on his heel, the Menin abruptly changed direction and launched himself at the pair like a whirlwind of steel. His speed almost caught them out, his axe whipping around to catch them mid-step. Beyn managed to abandon his charge in time, throwing himself to the ground and skidding under the warrior's outstretched arm, but Cober was not so lucky - Beyn heard a crunch of blade parting mail.

The King's Man twisted as he slid on the rain-slicked cobbles and hacked at the Menin white-eye's foot as his momentum took him through the Reaver's legs. Before he'd come to a halt Beyn was turning, one weapon above his head, while he jabbed the other at the unprotected back of the Reaver's knee. The Reaver arched in agony, but his howl of pain was cut short as one of the archers fired at almost point-blank range. The arrow punched a hole in the Reaver's cuira.s.s and threw the white-eye backwards onto Beyn, who collapsed under the enormous white-eye. He desperately tried to free his weapons before realising it was dead weight on him, not a living enemy.

'Don't just stand there!' he cried, struggling to get the dead man off him, 'b.l.o.o.d.y shoot the rest of them!'

As he got to his feet he saw the other Reaver had been surrounded and impaled, but several soldiers had been lost in the fight. The victory was short-lived as four more Reavers landed, flying directly into the defending line like an artillery strike. Those at the back turned to the nearest reserve squad, while the other two charged into the undefended rear of the battle line and began to slaughter the spearmen.

'Get to them!' Beyn roared, then he faltered as he looked down and saw Cober, still on the ground. The white-eye's hands were clasped around his neck and blood flowed freely from between his fingers. His mouth was open, as if he was trying to speak. Beyn looked into Cober's eyes and saw the horror there: the pain, and the fear of his impending death.

A wave of anguish swept over Beyn and his knees wobbled for a moment, but there wasn't time, not even for a man's last moments of life. Cober's body spasmed, and his mouth moved again, but no words came out.

His face tight with rage, Beyn turned away and headed for the fighting.

Styrax heard the door finally shatter to triumphant bellows from the minotaurs. The huge horned beasts started on the barricade filling the door, eagerly grabbing the lumps of rock and tossing them carelessly behind, drool hanging from their gaping jaws as they worked. The Menin lord fought his way clear of his soldiers and went around to the shattered remains of the Tollhouse's main entrance. The bronze head of the ram was a mess, but it had done its job, and inside the pile of rubble had already started to slip away.

Realising others would fit through the breach more easily Styrax let a sliver of magic run over his tongue as he shouted to the minotaurs, 'Withdraw! Be ready to breach the wall.'

The great beasts turned and regarded him. Bloodl.u.s.t clouded their senses for a moment, before they understood the order. Even the smallest were bigger than Styrax, with their limbs like tree boughs and great jutting horns that were as much weapons as the maces and clubs they carried. They wore no armour, but one lucky neck-shot aside, the several who had arrows protruding from their flesh were unconcerned, for their skin was tougher than leather.

Without waiting for a response Styrax gathered a fistful of flame and launched it into the building. The fire flowed over the chunks of rock and debris with serpentine speed, and Styrax was rewarded with the chilling screams of the defenders. He reached up and grasped the inside edge of the doorway, bracing himself against it while allowing more power to flood through his body. He swung himself up and kicked forcibly at the top of the rubble. For a moment nothing happened, then a great rumble heralded a landslide on the other side and Styrax clambered through the gap at the top. He heard whoops and warcries from the Chetse troops as they followed him, dragging more stones out of the way to clear a path for their comrades.

The moment he was inside, he swept Kobra forward to behead the one soldier still standing, then moved through to the next room and cut down the three archers who had left it too late to flee. Two more soldiers ran in, their spears levelled, and charged the Lord of the Menin, but with a wave of his hand a shield of misty grey appeared before him, the spearheads glanced sideways, and Styrax stepped around his magical defence and beheaded the pair.

Now his Chetse warriors were through too, and half a dozen moved past him, their axes ready for the next defenders foolish enough to try to plug the breach. Styrax let them go on ahead as he turned to the left-hand wall. He took a deep breath and flattened his pale left hand against the Crystal Skulls on his chest. The shadows inside the Tollhouse were banished by a bright light which wrapped around his black armour. Styrax felt a small pain at the back of his head as he drew deeper on the Skulls than he'd intended, but he didn't relent.

There was a bricked-up doorway in the wall; he'd seen it from the outside. It looked as if there had once been another part to this building, and this originally an internal wall, and so it was likely weaker than the rest. Styrax dipped his shoulder and ran straight into the wall beside of the doorway. The entire building shuddered as a blaze of light exploded from his magic-laden armour, momentarily igniting the mortar between the stones.

Styrax backed up and charged again, and this time he felt the stones buckle under the pressure. A third blow, and a section of the wall toppled down onto the soldiers behind it. For good measure Styrax kicked the doorframe again, sending another cascade of stones onto the Arothans outside. For a moment all he could see was the dust of the fallen building, then the screaming began as the Menin soldiers surged forward.

Behind them charged the minotaurs, shoving aside the Menin infantry in their eagerness to get at the enemy. They leapt nimbly over rubble and bodies alike, and the line of defenders buckled, then collapsed, brutally ravaged by the minotaurs. Styrax left them to it and headed out the back of the Tollhouse, following the stream of Chetse troops still piling through the broken doorway.

He emerged into a sea of enemy soldiers, the bulk of whom were formed up behind a line of archers. The berserker Chetse charged straight for the bowmen, who managed to take out a few before breaking ranks and running for their lives.

A squad of soldiers charged Styrax, their pikes levelled, and he dodged to one side to avoid them, deflecting the last with his sword. They had no chance to reform as he pushed on past the long weapons and into the tight squad, cutting around him with superhuman speed. Only two men survived his blistering a.s.sault, but they backed into an advancing minotaur, who clubbed one and gored the other, tossing him high in the air before he fell, broken, upon the ground.

More Arothan soldiers ran for Styrax, who found himself parrying three, then four desperate men. One black-clad soldier armed with two axes came in on his left, turning into Styrax's sword as it came up to stop his axe, bringing his other axe around to catch Styrax's arm in the next movement - and the manoeuvre would have worked, had Kobra not pushed back the guarding axe and shorn through the shaft. The red-black blade carried on forward, chopping through arm and into his ribs.

Styrax saw the soldier's mouth fall open in wordless agony as he hung there for a moment, the fanged weapon snagged on his shoulder, his body torn open and his life's blood flooding out. Their eyes met, and the soldier's jaw worked for a moment, as though he was trying to give Styrax a message with his last breath.

No words came, and the soldier's eyes fluttered as death took him.

Styrax tugged his sword from the corpse.

Behind him the Chetse reserves surged on, widening the breach in the wall and reducing what was left of the defensive line to mangled bodies and shattered bone.

'No quarter!' Styrax roared as he threw himself forward with his Bloodsworn bodyguard, following in the wake of the crazed minotaurs. More troops joined them, both Chetse and Menin, breathlessly stampeding into the belly of the enemy.

'Raze the city to the ground - kill them all!' cried the Lord of the Menin, and the soldiers heard the savagery in their lord's voice and watched as Styrax threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon, memories of Kohrad's death filling his mind as he waded through the collapsed city defences. They hurtled further into the city, killing everyone, and setting light to the buildings before they'd even finished the slaughter.

Even before evening drew in, the sky was so dark with smoke that it seemed Tsatach himself, refusing to witness such horror, had turned his fiery eye away from the Land. The rain fell like tears, washing a river of blood from what had once been Aroth into the two lakes.

CHAPTER 30.

Mihn ran his fingers up the back of Hulf's neck, digging into the grey-black fur to scratch the dog's skin underneath. The oversized puppy arched its neck appreciatively and licked at Mihn's wrists, and shuffled forward to press its chest against him. Hulf was already bigger than an average dog now, and his shoulders were developing real muscles, but he was still growing into his body, and Mihn reckoned he had a way to go before he had reached his full size.

He turned closer into Mihn, demanding the attention continue, and lifting one huge furry paw up onto Mihn's thigh. Before Mihn could move, Hulf caught sight of Isak leaving the cottage and bounded forward with a bark, shoving Mihn aside. He turned to watch the exuberant dog charge into Isak and slam both paws into the white-eye's midriff. It took Isak a moment longer to react than anyone else might have, but once his mind caught up with events a crooked, distant smile crossed his face.

'It's a good sign, that,' Morghien called from the lake sh.o.r.e, where he was fishing.

'Why do you say that?'

He pointed at Hulf. 'Dogs have a fine sense for the unnatural. However you brought him back, he's here now, and with no stink of the Dark Place about him.'

'Hulf doesn't smell it,' Isak said, looking up at him, 'but I do.'

'What, the Dark Place?'

The white-eye nodded sadly. 'On the air, in the fire: a song on the wind.'

'It is a memory,' Mihn said firmly. 'You are here, you are alive - and the Dark Place has no claim on you.'

'But there I walk,' Isak said, 'one foot within, one without, unbound and unchained, but yet the chains mark me still.'

Accompanied by the leaping, fawning dog, Isak joined Mihn and sat. Hulf wedged himself between them for a restless minute before he bounded up again and headed off to make a nuisance of himself with Morghien's feathered fishing lure.

'Do the scars still hurt?' Mihn asked as they watched Morghien playing with Hulf, sending him chasing after the lure with practised flicks of his rod.

'Without the pain, what would I be?' Isak replied, his eyes on the far sh.o.r.e.

'Still yourself, always yourself.'

He turned to look Mihn direct in the face. 'And what's that?'

'A man, blessed and cursed equally,' Mihn said eventually. Isak had taken to asking questions that Mihn had no real answer for - questions he doubted anyone but the G.o.ds could manage.

'Blessed? No,' Isak whispered, pulling his robe tighter around his body as though to hide the scars on his chest and neck. 'No blessings in the grave, and no curses either, not any more.'

'So you are just you, then, free of everything that was heaped upon you - the conflicting destinies, the prophecies and expectations, exactly as you intended when you faced Lord Styrax. You are free of obligation now.'

'All that's left is me, all of me I have left,' Isak said, watching Hulf struggle through the water. The ripples raced towards them and although they were a yard or more short of the edge, Isak still drew back his legs protectively. 'Ripples through the Land, change and consequence unbound - '

Hulf paddled his way to sh.o.r.e and raced past them, barking furiously at the figures emerging from the forest path, leading a pair of horses. One moved ahead of the others, obviously unafraid of Hulf's bl.u.s.ter, and Mihn recognised Major Jachen, returning as ordered.

'Major,' Mihn called, hurrying over, 'did you - ?'

But he didn't bother finishing the sentence as he recognised two of the people following Jachen: the King's Man, Doranei, looking distinctly puzzled, the other - while Mihn hadn't actually met her, he could hardly mistake Legana's piercing emerald eyes, even at that distance. They were as conspicuous as the shadowy handprint at her throat and the seams of copper in her hair. The Mortal-Aspect of a dead G.o.ddess stood awkwardly, using a long oak staff for support. She and Doranei were dressed much alike, in green tunic and breeches, but still her presence screamed for attention.

She c.o.c.ked her head at him. As they had left the shadow of the trees she had screwed up her eyes against the afternoon sun. As Hulf, finished with the major, edged forward to sniff at her, Legana recoiled at the unexpected movement, and she had a knife in her hand before she caught herself. She tucked it back into her sleeve and hesitantly held her hand out towards the dog, who sniffed again and retreated with his head low, obviously unnerved by her scent. A slight smile appeared on her lips.

'Welcome, both of you,' Mihn said.

Doranei looked wary, and older than when Mihn had last seen him. King Emin's agent look distinctly drained, ragged around the edges.

And for that we call you brother, Mihn thought as they grasped each other's forearm in greeting. Doranei's grip at least was a strong as ever, Mihn was glad to discover.

'Good to see you again,' Doranei said, unable to stop himself peering over Mihn's shoulder at Isak. Mihn turned briefly; the white-eye had not moved from his position, or given any sign that he knew someone had arrived.

'And you,' Mihn said warmly, 'as they say in Ter Nol, "Too much has come to pa.s.s since last we met".'

Doranei scowled. 'Too d.a.m.n much, aye.' He released his grip as Morghien arrived and embraced him.

'Brother,' Morghien, 'how fares the king?'

'As well as can be expected, but the strain's taking a toll on us all and . . . well.' He rolled up his sleeve and showed his arm to Morghien. 'Beyn was in Aroth. He used the wyvern claws to send me an' Coran this message two days ago.'

Mihn turned his head to read the three words in the Narkang dialect, now scabbed over: We are lost. 'So Aroth has fallen.'

The King's Man nodded and looked away. 'No more word after this. Beyn didn't respond to my reply. That's another Brother dead.'

A moment of silence descended before Hulf whimpered and pressed against Mihn's legs. When he looked, he saw Legana had advanced a few steps. Her face was unreadable, not unexpected, he thought, of one so profoundly touched by the G.o.ds. Mihn realised she was looking past him, but he couldn't see anything himself.