The Northern Approach (32 page)

“She takes away their leverage!” Yoska hissed to Raeln, snapping his attention away from Ira. “Do not let her die for nothing! Run!”

Raeln, Estin, On’esquin, and Yoska ran hard across the outer edge of the atrium, heading for the door where Thomin waited. By the time they had reached him, the Turessian woman had closed the distance and ran on through the flames Thomin summoned, screaming as he continued to call down more.

With a nimble lunge, the Turessian caught Thomin by the neck with one hand and shoved her other into his chest. Thomin shook violently and collapsed at her feet.

“I can save them!” Estin said, turning across Raeln’s path to head for Ira. “We need to go back!”

Reacting more out of instinct than plan, Raeln punched Estin across the jaw, knocking him off-balance. A second strike with his elbow dazed Estin and dropped him to his knees. Raeln scooped him up and kept running, with Yoska covering their flank, putting himself between Raeln and the Turessian woman.

They fled through the door, with On’esquin leading the way. Right behind Raeln, Yoska slammed the door shut and barred it, a second before an impact against it sounded like a battering ram. Wood splintered all across the door and Raeln wondered just how strong the Turessians were…and how anything could stop them.

Raeln threw Estin’s limp body at On’esquin, who caught him and ran on, while Raeln fell to the rear to slow the Turessians when they broke through the door. He only had to wait a few seconds and the door burst open, the Turessian woman marching through.

Rolling his shoulders to prepare for the losing battle he was about to wage, Raeln advanced on the Turessian, sheathing his sword as he went. He could not see her face under her hood, but he knew what to expect. There would be an amused grin, a dismissive shaking of her head at seeing a wildling trying to attack her, and those ever-present tattoos like the ones On’esquin wore. If nothing else Raeln intended to beat the smirk off her face before he died. He hoped he could buy enough time for the others to reach the wall.

When Raeln got within ten feet, the woman moved her hands to start a spell that she likely thought would kill him. Raeln watched her movement for the telltale signs of a wizard nearing completion of their magic—he might not understand how the spells worked, but being raised around wizards, he knew how to spot the moment before a spell completed, based largely on subtle cues.

That instant of finality in the casting came as Raeln got about four feet from her. Throwing himself sideways to avoid the blast of flame that roared down the hall past him, Raeln pushed right back off the wall to practically launch himself at the woman before she could begin again. Then he was on her, kicking, punching, and twisting at her elbows and wrists when he could reach them, doing everything he could to keep her from using more magic. If she could not gesture at him, she could not kill him that way.

Raeln ducked under the clumsy swing of the woman, who might be far stronger in her undead condition, but she was clearly not trained to deal with a foe like him. Coming up at her side, Raeln slashed at her face with one hand’s claws, shredding her hood, while drawing his sword with the other. Before he could raise the weapon, the woman recovered enough to turn on him, catch his wrist, and use her incredible strength to shove him up against the wall and pin him there with one hand on his chest and the other his wrist.

Long brown hair hung over the woman’s pale skin, and her dark eyes stared up at Raeln as she applied a little more pressure, squeezing his breath from his chest. Thin lines of tattoos ringed her eyes and ran down the sides of her neck, interrupted only by the deep, bloody wounds from Raeln’s claws, which were already closing as he watched.

“Filthy beast,” she said, pushing against his chest until he strained to cry out, but without any breath, the sound was faint.  “Always the rodents return to the filth of the city. Could we possibly have done more to keep you out, or would that have drawn you all the more quickly? Will we never be free of you?”

The Turessian woman’s fingers dug into Raeln’s chest, pushing through his shirt and cutting into his flesh through sheer force. Pain exploded from her touch as she added some form of magic to the already excruciating sensation of her fingers being driven into his chest. “The orc chose his companions poorly,” she added, slamming his sword-arm against the wall in an attempt to make him drop his weapon. “Killing you would be too kind. I will turn you and make you walk to the ocean and keep going until your body falls apart. Perhaps that will teach others like you not to challenge us.”

Heat radiated off the woman’s hand, burning through Raeln’s chest. He could not find the strength to fight back or even resist. Slowly his heart’s incessant pounding eased and he began to feel a sleepy calm come over him. All the pain diminished and his anger at the woman faded with it as his head hung drowsily. He could feel sleep coming and no longer wanted to resist it. He was so very tired after the months of anxiety and anger.

A bestial roar that felt entirely out of place preceded the Turessian falling sideways, losing her grip on Raeln. The moment her hand left him, the calmness that came with the pain vanished, but the agony of burns all across his chest remained. Raeln nearly fell, putting one hand to the bleeding wounds from the woman’s fingertips.

On the ground in front of Raeln, the Turessian woman was curled into a ball, trying to shield her face as Estin sat atop her, raking at her head and shoulders with his claws. When the woman tried to raise a hand to cast a spell at him, the wildling’s tail snapped around her wrist, knocking her arm aside to allow him to keep hitting her. He was doing little real damage, but the surprise of having him attack her like a rabid beast seemed to have taken her off-guard.

“Get moving!” Estin snarled, taking off part of the woman’s face. He was covered in blood, but the woman had nothing more than scratches by the time his hand came up to strike again. “I can’t hold her forever!”

Raeln stumbled past Estin to Yoska, who was waiting with one hand out to help him. Raeln glanced over his shoulder, worrying more about Estin than about how they were going to get out of the city. The man had been willing to sacrifice himself for Raeln and the others. That was not something he easily let go of.

On’esquin shouldered past the two of them, wielding the spear he had taken from Ira and Thomin’s place. With a roaring bellow, he ran past Estin and slammed shoulder-first into the second Turessian, who had tried to come through the door. Spinning, he skewered the Turessian Estin was fighting before pointing Estin back toward Raeln.

Raeln and Yoska ran, with Estin joining them a moment later. He was bleeding badly from a wound to the side of his head and had cuts all across his chest, but he managed to keep up. As long as Estin was upright, they could all ignore their wounds until they had time to rest properly.

On’esquin came running after them. “She’s called for her soldiers!” called out On’esquin as he got close. “Keep running! Do not stop until you can’t see the city anymore!”

Raeln increased his pace, soon reaching a series of closed doors in one room after another like those when they had first entered the temple, which Yoska seemed to have at least some inclination how to navigate. Following him, they made their way toward the walls, with On’esquin not far behind. Every few minutes, Raeln heard combat in the distance behind them as On’esquin slowed more of the undead, but each time he looked back, the orc was running along behind them.

They eventually came into a room nearly identical to the one they had entered the temple through. Here, a single iron-bound door on the far wall stood closed, and through it Raeln could smell fresh air. Between himself and that door stood four living men, one holding a crossbow aimed at Estin and the others holding swords in trembling hands.

“Stand down!” the man with the crossbow warned them. “We have our orders!”

Raising his head to the ceiling, Raeln howled, letting his voice echo through the temple. The time for stealth was long past. He howled until every person in the room—friend and foe—was staring at him, wondering what he would do.

The moment his howling ended, Raeln charged, racing toward the door and leaving the others behind. Fear filled the eyes of the human soldiers and Raeln meant to use it. The crossbow went off as he made it halfway across the room, the bolt blowing cleanly through his shoulder, but he had no time to worry about pain or blood loss. Everyone he knew was about to die if he stopped.

Raeln lost any awareness of what he was doing as he raised his sword. Everything blurred together into a dull red haze as he heard screams and felt pain. Nothing seemed to matter but the battle around him. When he finally could calm himself enough to see what he had done and look for more threats, the four soldiers had been torn almost to a fine paste. Blood covered him, reeking of fresh death. The men stared lifelessly up at the ceiling with much of their intestines splayed across the floor.

Panting, Raeln hung his head and wondered how he had become such a brutal creature. He had been fighting for his village since he was old enough to walk, but such gruesome destruction of a foe was unheard of among his people. The faces of those men would haunt him a long time, but he felt no remorse, at least not yet. He only saw Ira, Thomin, and all the other faces of those he had failed. This brutality was hardly penance enough.

A second later, On’esquin ran past Raeln and wrenched the door open.

Raeln looked back to see if the others were all right and saw Yoska was helping Estin walk as blood ran freely down his face.

Shaking his head at their losses, Raeln followed On’esquin out the door and onto open plains that spread as far as he could see. When he glanced to his right, he spotted the city’s northern gate about a quarter mile east of where they were. Once everyone was through, Raeln shut the gate and slammed his forearm into the lock repeatedly until it bent enough that he was sure the door would not open easily.

On’esquin took the lead, running as hard as his legs would take him, with Yoska following close behind, keeping pace through determination, despite Estin’s additional weight on his shoulder. Neither of them was faster than Raeln, but he held the rear, ready in case the enemy managed to get horses in time to pursue.

Arrows rained down among them shortly after they left the walls, nicking Raeln’s shoulder and narrowly missing Yoska more than once. Three arrows plunked into the back of On’esquin’s armor, but instead of trying to avoid them, he moved to put himself between the archers and Estin, who could not shield himself. Soon enough the arrows stopped as they got outside of their range.

Yoska slowed first, with the others dropping to a fast walk beside him. They were all winded, having covered a tremendous amount of ground despite already being exhausted from battle.

Raeln, in particular, was having a hard time continuing on as his head spun from the massive blood loss where the crossbow bolt had pierced his shoulder. He tried to tie some cloth around it to slow the bleeding, but his hands felt clumsy and heavy, unable to perform the simple task.

Knowing he had better check behind them, Raeln reluctantly looked back, hoping he would see nothing more than the walls in the distance. As he turned, he realized that was a foolish hope as he watched nearly a hundred horses emerge from the gates. In his delirium Raeln’s first thought was not for survival, but how the undead could manage to train horses to let them ride. Then he saw several horses who appeared to be missing entire sections of their torso and understood all too well. Leading the massive group were two night-black steeds that bore tall flags that were white with black symbols on them…Turessian symbols.

“No need to run,” Raeln told the others as he stopped walking. “They’ll be on us in minutes. Rest here and be ready to die fighting.”

Yoska came up beside Raeln and shook his head as he drew his knives. “Will be fight of legend, yes?” Yoska laughed half-heartedly. “Live or die, we make them remember us.”

Off to Raeln’s other side, he noticed On’esquin gently setting Estin down on the ground. Estin’s forehead had bled badly, covering the side of his face with matted blood, but he appeared to be breathing and the flow of blood had slowed. He would live, assuming any of them did, though unfortunately he was in no condition to help.

On’esquin, rather than picking up a weapon and preparing for battle, knelt beside Estin and began patting his other cheek. He whispered something Raeln could not recognize, but it sounded as though he were nervously urging Estin to wake up.