Fortress Draconis (30 page)

As the fire flowed down to the water and raised steam, the bowl shuddered and contracted. Black splotches appeared on the bowl.and fire flowed around and drained through them. Suddenly the fire geysered back out through those holes, then the bowl evaporated as a thunderclap tightened the water and battered the island. Debris, some flaming fragments, other dark bits of things unidentifiable, stippled the water, holed other ships, and bounced from the cliffs.

All that was left of the dragonel ship was a smoking hole in the water that closed fast in a wash of froth and flotsam.

The circle of debris sprayed out far enough to carve into some of the gibberers, but left the bulk of them alone. The black dragon swooped low, but spat no fire. Will hoped it might snatch a clawful in passing, but it did not do that, either. Instead it continued out and away from Vilwan, dipping low enough only to snatch the downed gold from the water and haul Chytrine’s dragon away in its claws. The gold protested, but another nip quieted it.

The departure of the black might have heartened the invaders, but not nearly as much as the loss of the dragonel ship breathed new hope into the defenders. Men who had cowered beneath the walls now rose, shooting arrows, casting stones or spells down on the horde. Combat Adepts plied spells that raked magickal fire over the Aurolani forces toward the rear. While vylaens might use magick to douse the flames, singed fur still stunk, burned flesh still blistered, and the screams of half-broiled gibberers inspired fear in their comrades.

The horde fragmented. The back ranks fled to their galleys and streamed over them like ants over rotten fruit. From the courtyard arced more barrels ofnapthalm. Stones flew, clicking and clacking their way down the cliffside. More spells split mantlets or loosed demons that lashed out with unbridled ferocity.

At the gapmeckanshü surged forward, driving a wedge deep into the gibberer front. The close quarters meant no one had space to swing a weapon effectively, but themeckanshü were as much weapon as they were human. Mechanical hands closed over faces and crushed muzzles. Sharpened metal claws stroked throats and pierced chests. Gibberer blows that would have flayed flesh or lopped off limbs clanged from metal, leaving themeckanshü unhurt.

At the water, gibberers cast away weapons and stripped off armor. Will had no idea if they could swim or not, but plenty made the attempt. Their hope lay in the galleys that had towed the landing craft behind them, but the Wruonin captains of those vessels seemed ready to weigh anchor and pull for their distant home. Between the gibberers and these ships, dark shapes coursed through the water. Will knew what lay beneath the triangular fins splitting the waves.

Themeckanshü and other warriors drove the gibberers back to the cliff’s edge. Ranks toppled backward, some of them rolling downhill and cutting down others of the horde. The stalwarts in the front lines fought as hard as they could, but the implacablemeckanshü would not be denied. The last of the gibberers died at the top of the hill, leaving the Vilwanese and their allies in sole possession of the heights.

From the tower top, Will watched the remainder retreat to the sea. At least one vylaen survived long enough to magick a galley off the shore. Gibberers swam to it hurriedly, undaunted by a cask ofnapthalm exploding at the shore and coating the water. Other shots missed the ship, allowing the defenders to watch a comedy of tangling oars as the boat bumped its way through burning hulks. Somehow it did get going north and started crashing its way through waves with its blunt prow.

From the gate, a blue jet of flame stabbed into the night. It resolved itself into something resembling a crossbow quarrel. It moved slowly but heavily through the dark, kissing shark-gnawed corpses with cold light as they bobbed in the water. Finally it arced down and in at the base of the ship’s forecastle. Decking burned for a moment, then the ship went nose down. The helmsman spilled from the wheeldeck and gibberers clung screaming to oars as the aft came up and the black waters greedily sucked the ship down.

Will glanced at the gap and saw Jarmy standing there. His staff, still glowing white-hot, pointed toward the sinking galley. His shot had clearly blown open the landing hatch, letting the sea pour in.But why?

Then Will remembered. The pirates had slain some of those who had been fleeing Vilwan.He said no quarter given, but that was just murder.

Looking around at the bodies in the water, sliding down hills, and hearing the cacophony of the wounded pleading for succor or death, Will got his first glimpse of the future.Her attack here was insane, and failed horribly. Launching it made no sense.

He shook his head. Senseless or not, her attack left people broken and bleeding and dead. He clearly understood why Crow opposed her and would always oppose her. That he should want to do the same struck him as right, but the slaughter told him that was madness.

He hoped, when tested, he would have the strength’to make one choice or at least the luck to avoid sinking into the other.

fPhe pain attendant to a cough brought Kerrigan to con-I sciousness, but the sharp stab of a finger in his chest is J. what snapped his eyes open. He looked up into a broad bestial face with pebbled flesh of a mottled green-brown. The tall ears had tufts of black hair on them, and a shock of black hair covered the crest of the creature’s head. Its dark eyes widened in surprise, as did Kerrigan’s eyes. The magicker screamed and the creature jumped back.

The scream made Kerrigan cough again, which sent pain shooting through him. He rolled onto his right side, clawing weakly at the sand with his left hand. His robes were soaked, and the dawning sun had not yet risen high enough to have dried them. He coughed yet again and spat, but only saw a little blood on the sand.

The creature that had awakened him leaped over him, landed, and turned, spraying sand around with its thick tail. It squatted on its haunches, with clawed hands on its knees, and canted its head to the side to study him. Then another of them joined the first, and a third—with the last two looking slightly smaller and hiding behind the squatting one.

Kerrigan’s mind raced. He recognized the creatures from his studies, and this made his heart sink. The Panqui were known for being savage and cruel. He would have tended to discount the stories he’d read of them, but every so often a ship bound for Vilwan fell prey to Panqui pirates.

The pain in his chest drew him back to the battle against Chytrine’s pirates. A piece of the arrow still remained in him, with about an inch of it tenting his robe. He recalled having smashed the pirate ship, but after that, after the black wave of cold water had overturned the boat, he had no memory. He glanced back along the beach, and past the Panqui, but saw no other bodies and scant little flotsam and jetsam.

Orla, dead. The girl, dead, all of them, dead because of me.He hammered a fist against the sand. Any of a hundred spells could have destroyed the pirate ship without raising a ripple in the water. Properly employed, the spell he’d used to destroy the pirates could have boosted his boat out of the archers’ range. He could have shielded them against arrows and magick.

But he had not.I killed them. I killed them all.

The Panqui approached on knuckles and short bandy legs. It sniffed, then reached out a finger and poked Kerrigan’s ankle. The Adept drew his foot back. He tried to scoot backward, but had the success of a beached whale at gracefully shifting his bulk.

The other two Panqui started hooting, then moved out and around away from their protector. They darted in at Kerrigan, slapping at his thighs and head. He ducked one blow, then snarled as an openhanded slap smacked his left thigh. He rolled onto his back, then a cuff caught him across the head.

The smaller Panqui grabbed his arms as he raised them to protect his head. They hauled him to his feet and spun him around. The world swam, so Kerrigan staggered.

Another cuff over his right ear drove him higher onto the beach, into drier sand, then another spun him around and sent him back toward the sea.

The larger Panqui moved in and bellowed at Kerrigan. The magicker yelped and retreated. One of the others shoved him hard. Kerrigan stumbled and went to one knee, then a kick in his back drove him onto his face. He tasted sand, felt it grit in his eyes, then coughed yet again, spitting out bright red blood.

That made the Panqui hoot and holler louder. Their shrieks rose to a panic pitch, as a grunting built, then exploded into a furious roar. The ground shook as something landed before him, scattering the three Panqui. The two smallest screeched and scrambled into the water. The larger one backed away, barking angrily.

A growl answered him.

Kerrigan blinked his eyes, letting tears wash the sand from them, and looked up. A fourth Panqui towered over him, easily half again as heavy as the smaller ones, and a head taller than the larger. Whereas their scaled flesh had been pea-green, his had a deep evergreen hue, with faint spots of dark brown and black dappling bony plates. Silver stripes worked down the bony-armor scales on his spine and tail, and the occasional silver hair appeared on his ears and head. The creature glanced down at Kerrigan and the human read no compassion in the Panqui’s dark eyes.

The first Panqui bellowed a challenge and charged. The larger one answered and rushed forward. The smaller one aborted its charge and started to turn when the larger swatted it, spinning it down into the sand. The first Panqui rolled and came up to its feet unsteadily, then flopped onto its back, with its thick tail coming up between its legs to curl over its genitalia and stomach.

The largest stood over it and screamed. It sprayed sand over the downed creature, dumping it in handfuls, kicking it, and sweeping it along with its tail. The smaller Panqui mewed helplessly and curled into a ball, hugging its head with its hands.

Kerrigan levered himself up and got his knees under him. He did his best to suppress a cough, but it squirted out of his mouth. Bloody spit dribbled down his chin and he smeared it into a sandy red paste with the back of his hand. His breath came short and laced with pain.

The youth had no idea when his savior would turn his attention back to him, but he entertained no illusions about how quickly the Panqui would dispatch him. His only chance for survival lay in being able to use magick to defeat the beast, but with a piece of wood in his chest and his lung bleeding, he couldn’t concentrate enough to cast the battery of spells needed to save himself.

He raised his right hand to the piece of arrow and tried to poke the broken end back through the hole in his robe. He couldn’t quite get it, and even the slightest pressure on the stick caused enough pain to make him gasp. He closed his eyes to concentrate, then something shut the sun out. He opened his eyes to find the big Panqui seated there before him.

Without ceremony, the creature reached out, grabbed the robe, and ripped it open. The Panqui’s nostrils flared as it sniffed, then closed again. “Woundsour.”

Kerrigan’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Woundsour. You die.” The Panqui settled back on its haunches. “No life woundsour.”

“Not true.” The youth winced as he tried to get a good grip on the arrow fragment. Part of him wondered what he thought he was doing, since he knew he had neither the courage nor the strength to pull it free. He could barely get his thumb and two fingers on it. If he cast a spell to pull it free—the same spell he’d used to destroy the ship would do nicely—he didn’t think he’d have the strength he needed to heal himself.But I do this or I die.

The two smallest Panqui emerged from the water and clung to each other, tittering. The largest snarled at them, then looked to Kerrigan again. “Stick gone, woundsour remain.”

“It has to go.” Kerrigan started to tug on it, then moaned and his fingers slipped off bloody.

The Panqui regarded him closely, then leaned forward. His right paw fell heavily on Kerrigan’s shoulder, holding it rigidly in place. The Panqui’s left hand came up and its left thumb and forefinger slid along the shaft. Pure agony ignited in Kerrigan’s shoulder as the Panqui pressed the skin back, exposing more of the shaft. The creature grasped it firmly and then, with a little twist, ripped it free.

Kerrigan shrieked and hunched as far forward as he could. Sobs shook him and tears poured down his face. He gulped in air, then coughed it back out. His pain and terror redoubled as bloody bubbles accompanying a hiss burst from his shoulder. Pus and blood dribbled down over his chubby breast. He opened his mouth in a wordless cry, his lower lip quivering, then found himself shoved roughly back.

The Panqui towered over him. “Soulsour.”

The abruptness of the shove shocked Kerrigan. He sniffed and wiped his nose on a sleeve. “What?”

“Woundsour, you die. Soulsour, you dead.” The Panqui snorted dismissively. “Not worth Lombo’s time.”

The Panqui sat back down, then turned his face away, showing Kerrigan his strong profile and jutting muzzle.

“No?” The mage struggled back to his knees. “Watch, Lombo.”

Kerrigan cleaned his right hand off on his thigh, then pressed it to the wound. The hole in him ached and bubbles broke against his palm. He forced himself to press hard, and bit back a gasp at the pain. Breathing in through his nose as deeply as he could, Kerrigan closed his eyes and ordered his mind. He took the jagged edges of the pain and smoothed them into the flowing twists of an elven healing spell, sucking more and more pain into it to power it.

The spell cast did as it was supposed to do and sped healing. In doing so it exacted a price, and that price was Kerrigan’s feeling every bit of pain and discomfort he would have if the wound had healed normally. Months of agony condensed into ten seconds, then twenty. A half a minute passed with the pain getting stronger and more intense, but Kerrigan held steady. He dug his nails into his shoulder to keep his hand in place even though it felt as if a red-hot iron shaft was being thrust into his shoulder to burn the wound clean.

A minute and the pain still built. He ground his teeth together against it. His body shook and he wanted to vomit, but he kept that in, too. Another heartbeat and another. Sweat burned into his eyes and seeped salty into his mouth. He lifted his head and snarled, but refused to cry out.