The Silent Army (28 page)

Toast’s son Emnol was a good boy, but just barely. He looked the part of a girl and more than once he’d been warned to keep his eyes alert when boats came in. He was thin, had his mother’s fine face, and was too trusting at the age of ten.

“Aye, Dad!”

“Go find the City Guard. Tell ’em we might have refugees coming in.”

“What’s a refugee?”

“People looking for a place to stay that can’t afford to ask.”

The boats were still at a distance, but they came quickly. The sails were stretched and took the wind, the oars stroked hard and the vessels fairly jumped with each sweep of the long oars, and along the sides of the vessels stood the shapes of men.

And now Toast could see more clearly, the figures were the stuff of nightmares. Great shapes dressed in leathers and armor, carrying every imaginable type of weapon.

The boats came closer still, and from their decks he could hear the sounds of men calling, bellowing the same word again and again, “Durhallem,” with every beat of the oars on the water.

From behind the boats tremendous wakes spread, and despite the hellish passengers aboard the boats, the water caught the dockmaster’s eye and would not let it go.

“Where the hell are those City Guard?”

“If I knew I’d surely tell you,” commented his friend. “What is it that stirs the water so much? Are they towing other boats?”

“No. It doesn’t make sense.” He shook his head. “Besides, we have other concerns. We need to get away from here before they make shore.”

The boats did not slow down, but instead veered left and right, running alongside the docks and revealing the reason for the odd wake: several long ropes ran behind each of the boats, with hands holding onto those ropes from the additional Sa’ba Taalor that rode along. The people swimming toward the docks were the enemy he had been hearing about.

“This can’t be real.” Meggs’s voice was strained. “What are they?”

“They are the enemy of our people,” Toast’s voice was strained. “We need to leave here. We need to alert the City Guard.”

Meggs nodded his agreement and the two of them moved a few paces back, not quite daring to look away from the hell of flesh coming their way.

The ones holding onto the ropes let them go and then swam hard for the docks, grabbing at the wood or swimming alongside the edge of the docks until they could reach ropes or ladders.

The first of them that rose from the waters was not as large as some of the demons on the boats had been. Toast would easily claim this one was little more than a boy in stature, but that did not make the leather-clad creature any less frightening. It had horns running from its jaw upward and its exposed skin was deathly gray.

He was still looking it over when the thing pulled knives from sheaths at its hips and moved toward the two of them.

Toast shook his head and stepped back again.

The creature did not seem to care. If anything, it ran faster. It had taken but five long paces before Meggs was running, his body turning toward the distant hills and his legs pumping furiously.

The shape moved past Toast and he saw one scarred arm moving forward, releasing a knife that slid through the air as gracefully as any arrow had ever flown. The knife rammed to the hilt into Meggs’s skull and his friend flopped to the wooden dock and did not move.

Toast looked at the creature and it, in turn, looked toward him.

He shook his head, silently begging.

The creature’s eyes glowed inside his horned helmet. No, not his. The way the hips moved, the shape of the body. Not a boy at all. A woman.

She held up the bloodied knife in her hand and then pointed to his lower body. The wound was in his thigh. The blood ran in a torrent down his leg and the dockmaster felt lightheaded as a fine clear note rang in his ears.

He did not die as quickly as his friend, but Toast died just the same.

By the time the City Guard arrived, the Sa’ba Taalor had climbed to the docks, either from the waters or from the boats.

Most of the cargo holds held the mounts, and their riders went to them quickly, grabbing armor and weapons.

Tusk looked at Stastha and smiled. “As promised, first kill for seeing to the mountain raid.”

“I am glad. I did not want to go to the city. I wanted to be here, for this.”

Tuskandru nodded his head and hefted his axe.

“I prefer to stand on the ground myself, Stastha. I do not like falling.” The king looked toward the head of the dock, where several men in armor and one young boy were looking back. “Time to kill this place.”

He started walking and each step he took had the dock groaning under his heavy tread.

“Do we sound the horns, Tusk?”

“No.” he shook his head and readjusted his helmet. “Lead the new followers of Durhallem for a while, Stastha. I feel a need to kill.” The words were spoken cheerfully enough and she understood. Now and then leading was a task. Sometimes it was best just to find a target.

The City Guard stood and prepared themselves for the man coming their way. Tusk’s tread increased in tempo and by the time he’d reached the guards he was running.

The assault was as brutal as one would expect from the head of Durhallem’s army.

The boy ran. The soldiers did not. The first of them tried to meet Tuskandru full on, sword against axe. The man was skilled, and blocked the first blow Tusk aimed for him. While he was recovering from the shock of metal on metal, the king leaned in and smashed him in the face with his great helm. Fangs from a dead Pra-Moresh carved a wound in the guard’s face. As he staggered back screaming, the axe finished him.

Tusk grinned and swept the axe in a wide arc, catching another guard in the hand, slicing fingers away.

The guard screamed and reached for his sword with the other hand, his face a mask of pain. Tusk’s body smashed into him, sending him staggering. The sword came free at the same time that the guard fell to the ground.

The guard never had a chance to rise. By the time the slaughter was done Tuskandru had moved on, heading for the city proper and any target that might strike his fancy.

Stastha chose to follow after him. He did not need protection, but best not to divide the army this early on.

The hills above Goltha were littered with mansions and villas. The view they afforded of the vast lake, the city itself and the surrounding towns was spectacular.

King Kordis Neiller did not live on the hillsides above the town. He lived in a castle deep in the heart of the city as his ancestors had for quite some time.

The horns sounding to the south were not a surprise. He’d known of the black ships for some time and had made preparations should they make their way through the river gate.

It was the messengers coming with new notes of alarm that caught his attention. First, the City Guard to the east had not sent a runner. That was hardly a cause for alarm by itself, as the man in charge of the Guard was often lax in his reports. It was the culmination of other situations. The north was quiet as well. The soldiers sent that way to keep an eye on the Sa’ba Taalor who’d escaped the river assault had not reported back yet, and that was a problem.

The court sorcerer was a capable man named Theran. He was often aloof and seldom pleasant, but he was capable and that was enough. The wizard didn’t much look like a wizard. He was too young and did not carry a staff, a wand or any signs that he could perform sorcerous deeds. He was also as humorless as any man Kordis had ever met. He gave daily reports about the approaching Canhoon and shared the latest information and theories as to where it would land and how much potential devastation might occur as a result of having a city the size of Canhoon dropped on the lake, or worse, dropped on the city. The results of the latter would be horrid, of course.

The results of the former would be, well, they would be slightly less horrid.

Theran said that the Sooth anticipated vast troubles in Goltha today. To that end the military was ready. The City Guard, well, he was hopeful.

The city was as prepared as it could be.

“Are you quite finished?” He looked to his cousin, who was currently working to fasten the last of the straps on the king’s breastplate.

“Almost. I should rather you not die because I can’t pull a leather strap, your majesty.”

He took a deep breath and felt the way the armor constricted. Enough to let him know he was secure, but not enough to steal his breath. “You’ve done well.”

The king looked out the window of his room and faced the west. He could see a disturbance near the docks. It was not small.

To the north, there was calm. To the west, there was–

“What goes on to the west, Arthun?”

“Have the soldiers returned from routing out the gray-skins?”

“No.” he frowned and looked on. “I don’t think so.”

There was motion near the very top of the hill that hid the city from everything to the east. The people were far enough away to look like little more than ants, but whatever it was they brought with them was larger, easily seen as it came to rest.

He turned to Arthun for answers. “What are they doing up there?”

“Are they building something?”

The first of the rocks fired from the catapult missed the king’s palace but shook the earth and then rolled on to smash a hole in the eastern wall.

“By the gods!” King Kordis Neiller shook his head and moved toward the window, not believing what he was seeing. The Empress had sent messages of mountains exploding, armies of the dead and far stranger things and he could look east and see the City of Wonders with his naked eye, but this was a different affair. This was a machine that threw rocks the size of an ox and shattered walls.

“Go! Sound the alarm! We are attacked!” That last was a redundancy, of course. The city was already attacked, but this was closer than he cared to think about. Hearing about attacks on Canhoon, or retaliation from the archers under his command, that was all quite different from watching a wall destroyed only a hundred yards from his window.

Kordis’s heart thundered as he moved to the stairwell leading to the main courtyard. People were screaming and he knew they would be.

“Where is Theran?” he bellowed his question even as he strode into the courtyard, feeling the thump of his sword against his side, the slap of his axe closer to his hip.

“I am here, sire.” Theran’s dark eyes looked at him from near the stables. The man was dressed in regular pants and a decent jacket. He didn’t look the part of a sorcerer. That was part of the problem, of course. A wizard should look like he could cast a thousand different sorts of death at an enemy and the man was just there, with his dark hair and dark eyes and a face that still couldn’t gather a proper beard after months of trying.

“Speak to the messengers as you can, and let them know we are attacked. Let Canhoon know that we are under siege from at least two directions. There isn’t a damned thing they can do to help us but they should know what they are facing if they come this way.”

“Yes, sire.” Damn, but he didn’t like the sorcerer. The man was polite. He was obedient. He still made Kordis angry.

Theran’s eyes grew wide. “Sire!”

He looked in the direction that the mage was staring and faced his death. From the west a vast stone came toward him. It rolled in the air and froze him to his spot. He should have run. He should have prayed to the gods, he should have done so many things, but all he could do was stare at the impossible sight. The stone was growing larger by the instant and his legs refused to move.

The sorcerer stepped to him and held out both arms. The rock came closer, faster and then bounced in the air without touching either of them.

The missile rolled across the air and then smashed into the side of the stables, scattering shattered wood and hay as it rolled on.

Kordis looked at Theran. The sorcerer trembled with strain, even now doing his best to push the stone to where it would do the least damage.

Theran spoke with a voice that trembled from effort. “My liege, I suggest you get away from here before the next stone comes. I don’t know that I can do that a second time.” Suddenly Kordis liked the man better than he had before.

He also took the advice given and ordered his horse brought to him. The great rock might have taken most of his attention but he was aware of other men in armor joining him. It was time to make themselves known to the enemy.

“Where is the greatest gathering of the enemy, Theran?”

“To the north, sire.”

“The north?”

“Yes, Majesty. There is a very large army coming from the north. Smaller from the west, and we have heard no reports from the east, but we can make assumptions.” The wizard was eyeing the hills dubiously. “I shall do what I can about that.”

“I thought you were not to fight my war.” It was a point of contention that the sorcerers were only to offer advice and information.

Theran gave him a dark look. “Well, yes, but I live here too, you know. I would rather not just watch on and die if I can do something to prevent that.”

“Remind me to continue this conversation if we both live through the day, sorcerer.”

Without another word he mounted the horse and gestured to one of his soldiers who was carrying a horn.

The alarm was sounded, and the king turned toward the north and away from his city. There was a battle on all sides and he aimed himself at the largest force.

Goltha was a large city, with broad streets and a very large military force. Though it was true that every male citizen of Fellein was required to serve in the Imperial Army, Goltha also demanded service. No one could own land in Goltha without serving. No one could marry, no one could survive the taxes levied if they did not serve. The difference here was that the rule applied to men and women alike.

When the alarm was sounded the cavalry responded. The first horn had them dressing for battle. The second had them lining up at the royal stables – what was left of them – and gathering their horses. The third horn saw them assembled, the king in the lead.

And then they rode north, charging along the main road, lancers at the front, spearmen directly behind, and archers after that.