Bloodstone (29 page)

One warrior, driven mad by the horror that stalked among them, crawled past the tortured corpses and sprang upon Kane from behind. His outthrust sword speared for Kane's back and drove into the coruscating web of energy that surrounded him-touched, but did not penetrate. In a crackling instant, the blade fused into molten slag and its wielder flashed into glowing cinder that crumbled as it fell. Faced with an invulnerable creature who stalked them with a weapon of hellish destruction, the regrouped defenders broke and fled. Behind them, cutting them down as they blindly ran, hopped the blood-crazed Rillyti, their invasion into the city's heart no longer challenged.

Once Breimen's walls had fallen to their attack, there followed not battle, but ruthless slaughter. Malchion had not yet recovered from his defeat at the Macewen crossing, and in his complacency over Dribeck's desperate truce, he had dropped the wartime vigilance which might have kept his city prepared--if preparations were possible against this onslaught of elder-world wizardry. Thus it was that the diminished Breim army had been taken unaware, thrown into disorder by the fearsome power of Bloodstone, the vicious savagery of the Rillyti, and their best had fallen in the battle before the river gate. Now only sporadic resistance met the intruders-disorganized reinforcements from other barracks, aroused townspeople with swords in sleep-dulled grip. Angry men who fought against the current of panic to face the inhuman reavers died under their irresistible weapons, or turned to join the flight.

The graying night was lit by the flames of massacre. In an effort to conserve Bloodstone's energy reserves--drawn upon heavily to blast out the channel through the swamp and to power the invasion fleet, in addition to his own utilization--Kane relinquished the energy screen which enveloped him. Surrounded by his massive warriors, he stood revealed in armor of bronze alloy, further protected by the darkness and tumult, although now and again a hastily aimed arrow struck close to him, or skittered off the unyielding metal plates. A fantastic statue of living bronze, he directed the pitiless attack through the writhing city, gleaming armor throwing multihued reflections of fire and blood, flashes of evil green.

Through the predawn streets his demon army surged, slaying every living creature who came before their blades, whether to do battle or in hopeless flight. The Rillyti were not unscathed. Despite the chaos, men rallied in desperate knots and sought to throw barricades across the streets. Their swords clashed bravely against the greater blades of the enemy; clubs and axes hacked and hammered, and at point-blank range their spears and arrows struck with lethal force. Again and again one of the towering batrachians was pulled down, torn to pieces by mob ferocity, hamstrung or gutted by a well-placed sword stroke, perhaps skewered by the envenomed fang of a captured spear. But there were hundreds of the bestial invaders, and the cost of their deaths was often a mound of human corpses. The circumstances of Kane's attack hindered the defenders' effective use of their superior numbers, and wherever resistance toughened, the deadly power of Kane's ring turned their stand into terrified rout.

Breimen was a young city, so that timber formed the bulk of its construction. Now flames shot to greet the dawn from uncounted sites, fired by Kane's energy bolts and by the torches of the Rillyti. Horrified townsmen sought sanctuary in their homes--sought, but did not find. In sheer lust to destroy, the swamp creatures smashed entrance into the frightened dwellings and slaughtered all within--freeman and slave, woman and child--leaving only flaming shambles, whose loot they bothered not to carry away. Fanned by the morning breeze, flames leaped from building to building, and there was no man to deny their hunger. Gibbering chaos marched the streets of Breimen, leaving a crushed and crimson trail to mark its passage.

Near Breimen's center waited Malchion's keep, a squat, unlovely structure of stone and timber, surrounded by palisade and dry moat of barbed spikes. Here men found shelter; resistance found a core to build upon. Roused from his wine-besotted sleep, the Wolf monitored the grim reports of those who had fled the enemy thrust. Malchion snapped orders in haste. All able-bodied men were to be taken into the keep and armed for its defense, until the proximity of Kane's advance forced them to raise the drawbridge. If walls and spiked trench thwarted their assault, there would be time for the rest of the stricken city to regroup, to draw strength from the outlying barracks. Runners were dispatched to spread Malchion's commands. Once a massed attack threatened Kane's rearguard, the Wolf would lead a sortie from the keep. Kane would be pincered between disciplined attacks on two sides, and the city whose belly he thought he had slashed through would close like a trap upon the inhuman army. But Kane, who had planned a lightning raid, not a lengthy siege, recognized clearly that his position could be overextended. He had come not to conquer, but to destroy, and as the defense stiffened at Malchion's keep, he strode forward to deal with the enemy fortress with the power he commanded. Against the strafing archery fire, Kane was forced to reactivate his protecting cloak of wavering energy. Arrows spattered like spit on glowing steel as they struck the shimmering figure, this phantom of emerald flame who stalked through the smoke-clotted dawn.

Demon lightning, more potent than any he had yet unleashed, blazed from Kane's flame-sheathed fist. Its coruscant bolts met the palisaded wall in a shuddering blast. Timbers flared in consuming incandescence; stones fused, exploded into white-hot splinters. Those who could, fled the searing walls in blind fear; those less fortunate danced spasmodically upon the crackling death pyre. In seconds Kane's raking energy had devastated the fortress walls and driven survivors to cover.

No Rillyti surged past the smouldering debris of the blasted palisade, though there was none to dispute their rush upon the keep. Kane's attention quickly shifted to the embattled fortress; again the energy of Bloodstone leapt from his ring. More brilliant than ever before, full into the foundation wall the lance of fire struck. A tremendous concussion shook the entire fortress; the defenders sprawled across the reeling floor, plummeted from their perches. Like a hell-spawned hammer, the annihilating beam carved into the foundations, slashing through the splintering rock like a white-hot blade through a maiden's belly. Kane stood transfixed, a river of star-born energy coursing from his extended fist. Behind him, the Rillyti croaked in fright, cowered back from the exploding fragments that spun through the green-tinted fury of the walls.

The very stones seemed to scream in death agony, descant to the threnody of thundering explosion, crackling energy, terror-stricken howls. Half its length ablaze, its foundation wall torn away, the fortress of Breimen slowly settled against its wound. With a gathering rush, the entire keep crumpled onto its pyre, slammed against the blistered earth with a death roar like the last peals of thunder of a violent storm. Its hallways were jammed with hundreds of panic-maddened souls, fleeing hopelessly from the consuming rays. All but those who fought their way to the exits and leaped from leaning windows to seek flight through the horror-filled dawn--all but these few were crushed to screaming ruin, as the fortress toppled to blazing, broken rubble. Its promised security now closed upon them as a death-trap. The smoke from the holocaust obscured the skies of dawn, tainted the creeping sun to a rubrous crescent against the flame-streaked horizon.

The shifting web of energy flashed off with the cessation of the spiking beam, for the fortress no longer existed. Kane slumped wearily, barely able to bear the weight of his armor. The destruction of Malchion's keep had drained Bloodstone's energy reserves to a dangerous level, so that their return to Arellarti would be imperiled, should Kane draw upon the crystal for any more power.

But his purpose had been accomplished. Breimen was a broken cripple now, and the power he had demonstrated would cause men to reexamine their decision to challenge him. Calling back his marauding army, Kane ordered a return to their fleet.

Along the path they had entered, Breimen was ablaze, with the fires spreading throughout the city. It was necessary to cut their way back to the river by a different, circuitous route, which they fought through with little difficulty--for the destruction of Malchion's fortress along with the bulk of his remaining army had broken the back of the resistance. Those whose suicidal charges sought to halt their progress were summarily butchered, and never were the invaders pressed to the extreme that Kane need call upon the final reserves of Bloodstone's energy--the power they needed to drive the engines of their waiting craft. The fleet which departed the dying city was lighter by almost half its number. But the power of Breimen was vanishing in the pall of smoke that enshrouded the morning sky.

Someone was knocking at her door. "Teres?"

She sat up, bewildered by the unfamiliar surroundings, thinking for a moment that she had awakened in Kane's tower. No, she was alone. This was Dribeck's citadel, where she had spent the last few days since returning to Selonari with the Wolf's message and an escort of twenty-five of her own men. Dribeck had read between the lines of Malchion's decision--and noted Teres's following, as well--though he kept his thoughts to himself. Teres wished guiltily that her father had permitted her to bring more of the men she counted as loyal, but the Wolf half suspected her motives. At least there would be a handful of swords to offset this shadow upon Breimen's honor.

"Teres?" Still the rapping. "Teres? It's Dribeck. I need to speak with you."

She recognized the voice. "Just a minute," she called uncertainty. The stars were bright through her windows; she could only have been asleep for a few hours. Feeling alarm, Teres sat up on the bed, naked in the wan flicker of a single lamp. Drawing free one of the dark fur robes, still warm where she had lain beneath it, she wrapped it about her figure and padded to the door.

"What is it?" she murmured uneasily, slipping back the bolt.

Dribeck's long face was worried. "I'd better come in," he advised. "I've just been given some grim news."

Teres frowned as the other pushed past her, giving no notice to her lack of attire. His manner was haunted; he was numb from some overwhelming disaster. "Kane... ?" she began in a strained voice.

"Yes." Dribeck stared at her with a stunned expression. Her heart is a warrior's, he told himself, so give it to her straight and have it done. "Word has just reached us, as survivors begin to arrive. Kane attacked Breimen two days ago with an army of Rillyti. There was a savage slaughter, and Malchion's keep was destroyed. When Kane withdrew, half the city was in flames. Breimen lies in defeated rains, and Kane retired to Arellarti with most of his army intact."

Teres slumped weak-kneed against the wall, her face ashen, the knuckles that gripped her robe blanched from stress. For a moment she was silent, unbelieving. Her lips worked, finally shaped words. "How?" she managed to utter.

Bleakly Dribeck related the terrified reports which the first to reach Selonari had given him. Teres listened without comment, white, immobile as a fur-draped statue. It seemed the wall must buckle from the immense weight that leaned upon it.

"My father?" she asked weakly.

Dribeck's voice was sympathetic. "He was within the fortress when its walls were blasted into rubble. It is doubtful that..." He did not finish the statement, nor was there need.

There was pain in her eyes, in her tone, though her face was calm. "The Wolf deserved a better death than that," she whispered. After a pause she added, "Or perhaps you feel his fate was a just one. After all, he refused to aid you--figured that Selonari and Kane could fight to the death, while Breimen played vulture."

Such had been Dribeck's thought, but he denied it, saying only, "A man fights by the rules he knows. A warrior's death should be in open battle, not as prey to black sorceries."

"Why Breimen?" Teres demanded of fate. Then, reflecting, "Was it revenge?"

"I think not," Dribeck assured her. "Kane's mind is too rational to risk everything for emotional gratification. It's doubtful that he knew of Malchion's neutrality. Probably he considered Breimen to have allied itself with Selonari, and he thought to counter this threat before Malchion marched south. From his tactics, it appears obvious as well that he meant to overawe his prospective enemies with a display of devastating power."

"Maybe," muttered Teres, thinking Dribeck knew only one facet of Kane's twisted psyche.

She seemed composed, so that Dribeck advanced a further point, albeit somewhat guiltily. "We're of course gathering information as fast as it comes in. My counselors are being roused while we speak--I've called an emergency meeting, naturally. Your presence would be of great value, but under the circumstances I understand your desire to--"

"To throw myself down and weep hysterically?" grated Teres, showing her teeth against her whiter face, two spots of scarlet emblazoned on the cheekbones like a demon mask. "So might a foolish girl honor the murder of her city and kin! A warrior sharpens his sword of vengeance! I'll be at your damned council!"

"As you wish," commended Dribeck, who had hoped for this response. "Come, then, when you are ready--you know the council chamber well enough by now." Asbraln was calling him from the hall, but he paused long enough to add, "Teres, I know my sincerity has at times seemed dubious, but... You have my genuine sympathy tonight--and my respect."

Teres barely acknowledged his departure. For a long while she remained braced against the wall, her arms clasping the furs to her body. At length she dropped onto the bed, realization of what had occurred finally creeping past the defense of disbelief. There was a sound in the lonely chamber then, a sobbing catch of breath, low and raking. But there were no tears in her eyes, so the choked sounds must have been curses.

Mechanically she drew on her clothing. This performance seemed commonplace as ever; might it be that nothing else in her life had changed?