The Silent Army (27 page)

Deltrea looked at her and spoke with a shocked voice She did not speak of the miracle they had just seen instead she said, “You fancy her.”

Cullen waved the comment away. Who she fancied had never been a part of her relationship with Deltrea and wouldn’t be a part of it now.

“I can feel it, Cullen. Why didn’t you ever say?”

“I fancy men and women alike, Deltrea.” She muttered the words, while not a dozen feet away the miracle workers held onto their resurrected friend and hugged.

“Well, yes, but you never said.”

“You talked of your rutting. That doesn’t mean I ever wanted to talk about mine.”

“But we’re
friends
, Cullen. I told you everything because we are friends.”

“I saw how you treated a few people like me. You smiled in their faces and then said hateful things.”

“I would never do that to you.” Deltrea looked genuinely wounded.

“I never wanted to take that risk. In any event it is done.”

It was not, however.

The recently reborn looked to the other blonde, the smaller one, and swiftly grabbed her hand.

“I need a favor from you, Tega.” The way the woman spoke, it was not really a request.

“Just… Only this time, Goriah. Because you are owed that much.”

Goriah kissed the other girl’s cheek and then closed her eyes.

Desh Krohan said, “What are you doing?”

Goriah replied, “Revenge.”

The First Advisor merely nodded his head.

They were gathered together at the estate of Lanaie, though she was not there. Once again she was walking the palace with Brolley Krous and learning what secrets could be gleaned while with him.

Swech was restless. She was back in her body and wanted combat, as is almost always the case with the Sa’ba Taalor, regardless of the body they might inhabit. It was not that she was impatient, merely that she needed to refamiliarize herself. Limbs were different widths and lengths, joints were more fluid – thank the gods – and muscles were just different enough that she felt like her whole body was wearing a new boot.

To that end, rather than pace and drive everyone mad, Swech stretched and practiced her punches and kicks as she had been taught. From time to time N’Heelis called out a compliment or a suggestion and she smiled and listened. It was good to be among her people again.

Glo’Hosht did not pace. The King in Mercury looked over a map of the city that was several layers deep.

“Here, I think, is where your people can do the most good, N’Heelis.”

The King in Gold moved over to look and Swech stopped her practices long enough to look on and learn.

“Swords and blades are very nearly useless here. I think chains and staffs a better way.” N’Heelis spoke casually enough. Of all the kings it was possible that they were among the closest. They had always worked well together and likely that would never change.

Swech moved closer and looked at the map. They were examining the Mid Wall.

“That is where the Silent Army is strongest.”

N’Heelis nodded and pointed. “It is also where they are weakest.” She smiled and crossed her arms.

Glo’Hosht stood up suddenly and backed away from the table. As he moved, his arms and then his legs twisted and popped. Bones snapped and the king fell to ruined knees.

It only took seconds. The King in Mercury screamed, a loud, harsh bellow, and then the flames erupted. Not at one sleeve or another, not at the bottom of the king’s cloak or at the top of the woven hood the king always wore, but from everywhere at once. This was not the heat of the forge. It was hotter.

The fires roared along the king’s body and if there was a second scream it was torn away by the fury of the flames.

N’Heelis did not have time to react. Swech did not have time to react. No one could have. The King in Mercury exploded into flames and then burned away into nothing before anyone could hope to assist. Fine soot rained down from the spot. Scorch marks painted the ceiling above where Glo’Hosht had been. The whitest ash, so fine that it shivered away in the breezes caused by motion a dozen feet away, was all that remained.

Swech sought comfort, as she always had, in the voice of her gods. The Daxar Taalor did not answer immediately.

Even the gods were caught unawares.

She took no comfort from that notion.

The greatest rivers in the whole of the land all ran to the same spot, Lake Gerhaim. The lake itself was a sight that many could barely believe. Surrounded on all sides by low hills, almost any place a person stood afforded a view of the clear blue waters and the numerous villages and towns that all led to Goltha.

Goltha was a city of wonders in its own right but never had that name. The title given to the city was the Jewel of the Empire. Commerce from all portions of the country came through Goltha at one point or another, and even in winter the rivers were too wide to freeze completely. Goltha lived off the taxes claimed and the people who came to her for fortune. Not everyone succeeded, but all who came to the city knew they were in a place of magic and power. The magic was mostly for show: courtesans and street magicians, an occasional sorcerer and a thousand charlatans. The city embraced all who came so long as there was coin in the transaction. That was one of the less pleasant titles for Goltha: the Whore of Fellein.

Whore or Jewel, Goltha was very well protected indeed. Because so many wanted to seize the area, the Empire had long since made defending Goltha a priority. There were great iron gates that could be closed against ships from any or all directions. Water could pass through, but boats of any size would have to be given permission to enter once the main gates were shut. Those gates were among the greatest creation of the sorcerers of old. They had rusted, true, but not as much as they should have and never enough to weaken them in hundreds of years.

In addition to the gates there were three great walls, each higher than the last. The walls were solid in all directions save one: the waters of the lake were not blocked. That was why they had the great gates.

There were entrances in the walls, of course, but they could be barred and braced.

The sun had not yet risen when the northern and southern gates of Goltha’s outermost wall were set ablaze. The fires were carefully set in the deepest part of the night and the guards who stood outside those closed gates were murdered before they could sound alarms. The eastern gate was set ablaze as well, but only after the other two. City Guard and citizens alike did what they could to stop the fires but they were massive indeed.

By the time the sun rose the gates were in ruins. Metal hinges and bars do not stop wood from burning and whoever started the fires used a great deal of oil and wood to make the blazes burn hot and fast.

Among the soldiers was Captain Leno Nethalte, in charge of the archers who had successfully slaughtered their enemies along the Inbrough River. He did not fight the fires or waste his men on that action. Instead he ordered the First Wall stationed with archers and spearmen alike. All brought shields, the better to defend their positions. All brought extra arrows and spears because one never knew how long a siege would last.

The ruined gates were quickly replaced with heavy lumber and stones to support the wood. Great wooden braces were rigged as quickly as possible.

The soldiers of Goltha were as prepared as they could be for the attacks that they knew would come their way. Alarms were sounded and the Gerhaim Gates were tended to. There seemed no issues from the north, east or west, but the Southern Gates were drawn against the black ships heading for them. Rumors of the ships had long reached the city, of course, but the reality was unsettling.

The gates were massive affairs. The walls that held the mechanical wonders were eighty feet in height and blocked off a portion of the river itself on each side. Many a brave soul had walked out along those stone barriers over the years simply for the view the gates afforded. The gates were seventy feet in height and were checked regularly by the sorcerers to make certain that everything functioned as it should. There were parts to be oiled, of course, and the metal itself, while enchanted, still required a good cleaning now and then. That was, as far as most sorcerers were concerned, why apprentices existed.

When the alarm was sounded and the gates were sealed the noise alone would have scared off the dead. Horses had to pull the latticework from below, down in tunnels along the waters. They were strong animals, and the apparatus was well kept, but still it took time to work the defense. The rumble and squeal of metal on metal as the pieces were drawn across and locked in place was a din that only a few ever heard and forgot.

That was all the alarm needed to have most of the people at the smaller towns around the river’s end looking on in anticipation.

The first of the massive vessels turned and collided with the great iron gate. The ship shook, the gate shook. Nothing fell apart.

The figures that came off the ship and started scaling the sides of the gate were unexpected. The gate itself was a massive affair and while some marveled at the thing, few ever consider scaling it, at least when they were sober.

The gates were not solid. If they were, water could not pass through and the city would suffer. There were rather substantial holes in the gates but the bars used to forge the entire thing were thick and, as has been mentioned before, crafted with sorcery to back up their strength.

Once every six months the gates were closed and examined to make certain their integrity held. In all of the years of repairs and examinations it never occurred to anyone that invaders might try to climb the deterrent. The metal was harsh and uneven; holding on would be painful at the least. Handholds could be had, but not very easily and one would have to reach a great ways to grasp the next spot.

The Sa’ba Taalor scaled mountains with regularity. The gates were not a challenge.

Archers were deployed. Because the gates were important, there were always soldiers to look after them. The archers took positions atop the walls of the gates as quickly as they could and waited.

The Sa’ba Taalor had arrows too. Those atop the gates braced themselves and fired at the archers, keeping them busy. The Fellein used crossbows for the most part but here, the archers used longbows. The range was better and the speed was a blessing. Also, the king of Goltha, Kordis Neiller, preferred longbows, as he was a hunter.

More ships rammed against the wall with no noticeable damage to either side. More of the Sa’ba Taalor scaled the gates.

Further out, on both sides of the river, the armies that had previously been disgorged and now had the newly anointed with them continued on, unwavering.

The Fellein marked by the gods had made their decisions and the Sa’ba Taalor kept them to those choices. They were made to run with the People of the Forges, to eat with them and to fight with them. Those who did not fight well died. Those who fled suffered a far worse fate.

The Daxar Taalor did not brook cowardice. The first warning came in the form of crippling pain to any who tried to escape or to betray their new gods. Crippling pain meant just that, and the traitors died quickly. Those who survived did not usually try again. If they did it was time for a short lesson in what angry gods can do.

There were no dogs in the Taalor Valley. The Sa’ba Taalor encountered the creatures quickly enough and came to respect the animals for their loyalty and savagery. The freshly anointed who failed the Daxar Taalor were made into the equivalent of hounds. They were bent until their shape was that of a dog and their jaws were reformed, their teeth made long and vicious.

They suffered, as naughty children often do, and were told that the only escape was death, or to prove their loyalties once and for all.

The hounds led the way into combat, willing at last to prove themselves to their new gods.

Their feet and hands ended in long, thick claws. Their faces were warped into nightmarish lumps with too-long jaws and wide, sharp teeth. It is hard to say if the Daxar Taalor enjoyed creating the nightmares, but the Sa’ba Taalor loved setting them on the people ahead of them.

The hounds ran ahead of the armies, and they reached the gates while the soldiers from Fellein were still trying to keep the Sa’ba Taalor from the black ships at bay.

The screams of the people below made a few archers turn their attention from the approaching gate walkers.

While the fight was forming on two separate fronts, more of the Sa’ba Taalor from the ships attempted to use the gates to gain entrance to where the great locking mechanisms were housed.

Alarms were sounded and reinforcements charged to assist before the black ships could make their way inland.

In the chaos it was understandable that boats coming from the Parmahar got past without even being noticed. They had little in common save that they were all designed for fishing. They sat low in the water, a sure sign that their holds were heavy with fish, and while there was cause for panic to the south of the city, there was business to tend to in the east and on the docks.

Meggs, a dockworker with connections in all the right places, looked to Dockmaster Toast and shook his head. He spat and snorted in the cold air coming from the waters.

“You seeing this? What do they plan to do, sell fish to fishermen?”

Toast looked at the boats with no real concern at first. “Not like they’ve much of a choice, is it? Where else they gonna sell fish? In Canhoon?” He pointed to the small speck in the air to the west. “Way I’m hearing things, that dot up there is Canhoon. Can’t sell them fish if they can’t reach them.”

Toast spoke with a bit of pity for the bastards. They’d come all this way and all they were going to get for their efforts was being taxed by him before they could settle in. That was the way of it. The docks were expensive to keep, and with the fuss going on to the south he doubted he’d be seeing much business from that direction, either.

“Could be refugees.”

Toast shook his head and followed Meggs’s example. He spat at the waters. “Emnol!”