Children of the Wastes (The Aionach Saga Book 2) (17 page)

Sniverlik appeared from some hidden place, tall as a hu-man
when standing to full height. He waved a heavy black arm to bring Marauders
hurtling from the side tunnels. Then the Zithstone Scepter was in his hand,
catching the firelight and scattering it along dark liquid bands, diffusing it
like a braid come undone.

If only that scepter could diffuse the fire itself, and
not just the light
, Lizneth thought, watching the village burn. Most of its
doors and crossbeams were made of ironwood, but the slats and panels covering
many of the walls and roof linings were of softer wood that took flame more
easily. The cavern was getting so hot it was hard to breathe.

The
calaihn
made a brutal advance down the central
street, wading through the Marauders as if brushing aside some pest. They were
a long distance yet from where Lizneth crouched behind the peddler’s stall with
Chitt and Wyrda, and Sniverlik was in their way. Lizneth had never seen so many
zhehn
in Tanley before—not even during the harvest festivals, when huge
troupes of traveling merchants and performers from the metropolis came through.
She’d never imagined the village could fit them all, let alone allow them room
to fight.

The bodies began to pile up. Clever
ikzhehn
used them
to grow a few inches, scurrying over the heaps and leaping down to assail the
calaihn
from above. Sniverlik was holding off the bulk of the
calai
force using
only his lash to drive his
keguzpikhehn
forward while his great notched
blade sat in its sheath. The Zithstone Scepter’s influence was limited, yet it
enfeebled any hu-man who tried to get within striking distance of him, leaving
them easy prey for his guards. A circle began to develop around Sniverlik’s
position, stalling the
calai
offensive.

The
calaihn
had faced the scepter before, however.
They had found a way to fight in the darkness, and the scepter was no
different. As soon as the last of their main force cleared the tunnel, a detachment
armed with short double-recurved bows stepped into view. With their
sword-wielding allies forming a barrier around them, they stepped into the
pocket and began picking their targets. Sniverlik made an easy one—even the
greenest archer could’ve found his hulking mass amid the chaos.

They lit the heads of their arrows and began to shoot, not in
organized volleys, but each archer for himself. When the arrows began to land,
Lizneth discovered that their heads were bound with the same tar as the firebombs
they’d lobbed at the village. Each time an arrow struck fur or flesh or armor,
it stuck.

A pair of arrows struck Sniverlik’s chest, spreading ripples
of flame over his banded copper armor. He stumbled back a step, tore both
arrows free with one hand and flung them aside. The gummy black residue that
remained was still burning.

Arrows began to fell Sniverlik’s guards one by one. Sniverlik
held his ground even as his breastplate and champron sprouted new fires, but
most of his Marauders were not so brave. The arrows lit into wood and leather
and flesh, shedding black smoke and sending them screaming for the river.

The
Bolck-Azockeh
conscripts were the first to flee.
They fled for home, not only because the tunnel basin led to the metropolis,
but because it was their only route of escape. After the conscripts broke, it
didn’t take the Marauders long to foresee their imminent defeat. Cut off from
the eastern tunnels with nowhere else to go, they took to the basin as well,
ignoring Sniverlik’s protests in favor of escaping the fiery arrows swarming at
their backs.

Chitt and Wyrda fled along with them, leaving Lizneth on her
own behind the peddler’s stall. Scared though she was, her first thought was
not to flee toward Bolck-Azock. It was that her family’s cottage lay in the
opposite direction, beyond that seething mass of
calaihn
, and that she
had to get there somehow so she could warn them.

When Sniverlik lowered the scepter and ran, the tide of
hu-mans broke loose over the village like water through a collapsed dam. The
victors raised a triumphant shout as they swept in and began taking captives.
Many sheathed their weapons and wrestled the defenseless villagers to the
ground. More
calaihn
came behind the archers, carrying solid wooden
chests from which they produced iron manacles and lengths of heavy chain.
This
can’t be happening
, Lizneth told herself as she watched
ikzhehn
she
knew succumb to the invaders.
Neacal did lie to me. They never came here to
liberate us from Sniverlik’s tyranny. They’re here to make slaves of us all
.
Lizneth had seen what slavery was like. She wasn’t going back, and neither was
her family.

She tried once more to heft the iron
sword, but it was too heavy. She let it clatter to the ground and drew her
dagger, then scanned the street ahead for a pathway through the gauntlet.
I’ll
never make it past them all
, she despaired. She couldn’t stay here; the
tavern behind her was thick with flame and threatening to collapse at any
moment.

If she hugged the cavern wall and stayed behind the burning
buildings, there was a chance she could make a dash from the edge of the
village to the tunnel entrance. First she’d have to make it past fallen timbers
and burning debris. Her other option was to sprint down the main street heading
straight for the tunnel, but the
calaihn
would notice a
scearib
in their midst. All it would take was for more than one
calai
to get his
hands on her and she was done for.

I would rather burn than be a slave
, she decided.

The gap between the cavern wall and the row of burning
buildings was less than a fathom in some places. In others, the cottages and
villas were built directly into the stone to make use of some small niche or
crevice as a den or storage room. When Lizneth came to the first of these she
considered turning back.

Stay the course
, she told herself as she rammed a
shoulder into the building’s rear door, which had yet to take flame. Pain stung
through her shoulder, but the door held fast. She tried a second time, then a
third. The door wouldn’t budge.

She found a low window, still intact. There was nothing
around with which to break the glass, so she tried stabbing through it with the
dagger. The windowpanes were thick and irregular, and the tip of the blade
scraped uselessly along the surface. She reversed her grip and cracked the
glass with the hilt, but she couldn’t shatter it.

She tried the door again, slipping the blade into the frame
beside the handle. After a little levering, she felt a click. The door creaked
inward. Smoke poured out, stinging her eyes and burning in her lungs. She took
a breath and plunged inside.

She found herself in a small kitchen teeming with fire.
Shielding her face with an arm, she ducked under the sagging ceiling and hopped
over a burning brand to reach the door on the opposite side. Unlocking it, she
stumbled out into the street again.

After another series of buildings—most burning, some not—she
made it to the last, a colossal inn that was the largest in Tanley. It had been
one of the first buildings lit and was now more fire and ash than untouched
wood. She could try the back way and emerge beside the tunnel, or dart into a
dangerous street full of
calaihn
.

Around the back of the inn, she found a narrow gap in the
rock beneath two stories of burning timber.
I can fit through there
, she
decided. A
calai
stopped to stare down the alley at her. He shouted
something, then burst into a sprint toward her. Lizneth made a mad dash for the
burning gap.

Before she could get there, a dense snapping sound came from
above. The inn’s rear section gave out, dumping a flurry of spitting logs,
furniture, and crumbling wattle into her path. She skidded to a stop and
scrambled backward as a spray of embers erupted from the flames. A pair of feet
bludgeoned her in the head and shoulder; the pursuing
calai
tripped over
her and stumbled toward the blaze.

Lizneth could only watch in horror as the inn’s roof slid
free of the pile and crushed the helpless
calai
. White flames hot on her
fur, she continued her backward crawl, fearing the
calai
might pull
himself out. A thick ceiling joist crashed down on the overturned roof,
settling her fear in an instant.

She picked herself up and ran for the street.
Calaihn
were stampeding like animals, dragging
ikzhehn
aside as if trying to
clear a path for some coming atrocity. When Lizneth squeezed out from the
alley, she saw something that terrified her even more than the collapsing
building.

Neacal Griogan was coming down the street, carrying a weapon
attached by a hose to the tank on his back.
His was the sweat I smelled
,
Lizneth knew. Neacal’s eyes danced with crazed glee in the firelight. When he
pulled the lever on his weapon, flames spouted forth like a fountain to bathe
the nearest building in fire. He paid Lizneth little attention as she raced to
avoid him, appearing more concerned with burning the village to the ground than
killing
ikzhehn
. The other
calaihn
were running too, jostling one
another out of the way as if afraid of Neacal’s enthusiasm for the task.

Lizneth skirted the inn and slipped into the mouth of the tunnel
without further interference. She looked back from the shadows to see Neacal
unleashing blast after blast from his weapon, soaking every unburned corner and
rooftop. His back glistened with sweat; she could see the ridge of bone along
his spine and the slabs of muscle behind his shoulders where his weapon’s metal
tank ended. She clenched her dagger, thinking as she had with Sniverlik a few
weeks previous, how easy it would be to rush out and drive the point into his
flesh.

It would be easier now than with Sniverlik. Neacal was
closer. He was preoccupied with the burning, and his back was turned. For one
heart-pounding moment, Lizneth stood considering. There were too many other
calaihn
around him, and getting home to Mama and Papa was more important.

Lizneth sheathed her dagger and slipped away into the tunnel
darkness.

The family cottage was still and quiet when Lizneth arrived.
It was never this quiet, and she wondered with dread if the
calaihn
had
already swept the outer tunnels and taken them away. But when she burst through
the door she found her siblings full and napping, her parents rocking in their
chairs beside the hearth. They both snapped their heads around to look at her.

Mama put a finger to her snout. “Hush, Lizneth, my dear. The
cuzhehn
are sleeping.”

“Mama, Papa, you have to come now. We have to leave. The
calaihn
attacked the village again. Everything’s gone, it’s all burned—”

“Don’t you worry, my child,” said Papa. “Sniverlik will
protect us. He always has in times like these. We pay him levies for a reason.”

“It’s all over, Papa.” Lizneth couldn’t get the words out
fast enough. “Sniverlik is defeated. He brought conscripts from Bolck-Azock.
They ran. The
calaihn
came with fire and drove them out. The village is
gone. It burns.”

“Are you sure,
cuzhe
?” asked Mama.

“Am I—I was there, Mama,” Lizneth shouted.

Mama hushed her and continued rocking, as if Lizneth had told
her there was a fly in the porridge. “The
calaihn
fare poorly in the
below-world. Sniverlik will win the next battle, I’m certain. The villagers
will put out the fires and repair the damage done.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Lizneth.” Mama raised her voice. “I’ve asked you to be
quiet. Now if you can’t speak to your papa and me in a respectful tone, you’ll
need to wait outside until you can calm down. Look—you’re already waking up the
nestlings.” She flung a hand in exasperation.

“This is no time to be calm and quiet,” Lizneth insisted.
“Everyone, wake up. If you won’t take the
cuzhehn
away from here, I
will. The
calaihn
didn’t just raid the village and leave. They’re not
chasing Sniverlik. They are razing Tanley to the ground and taking to slave
every
ikzhe
who doesn’t flee. We’ll be next unless we find someplace to
go. They’ll spread out into the countryside and—”

“Okay,” said Papa. “Okay. I hear you, Lizneth. Mama, this
sounds more serious than we might wish to believe. Let’s take Lizneth’s advice
and go somewhere. Just for a short while.”

“What about Thrin and Raial?”

Papa shook his head. “You know as well as I… they are Sniverlik’s
now.”

“They’re so young…”

“I know. I know,
cuzhe
. Now, we must decide where to
go. Perhaps we could visit your sister in Ocklahz.”

“She doesn’t have the room, Halak,” said Mama, who only ever
used Papa’s name when she was upset. “Plus, Ocklahz is too far from here.”

“The
calaihn
stand between us and the basin,” Lizneth
told them. “We’re cut off from the border towns to the south and west. We’ll
have to head either north or east.”

“Then we head north, into the Vors’ Rhachis,” said Papa. “I
have brood-siblings in almost every village between here and the northern
wastes.”

“We have to leave quickly,” Lizneth urged. “They’ll be here
before long.”

“Right,” said Papa. “Let’s get to it then.
Cuzhehn
,
help Mama pack our things.”

“What if they scent our
haick
and follow us?” asked
Mama.

Lizneth allowed herself a smile. She put a comforting arm
around Mama and gave her a squeeze. “The
calaihn
can’t do that, Mama.
They don’t understand
haick
trails, and they have no
haick
themselves. We’ll be okay, as long as we leave soon.”