Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 (25 page)

The man fell backward off the parapet to the courtyard below.

A third Shimsman swung a maul at the dogman. But the dogman brushed the attack aside and struck the man in the face.

Another Shimsman charged from behind, and the dogman turned and hurled the lance, skewering the man through his leather armor in the belly. He picked up the maul from the man he’d struck in the face, turned to face more soldiers, but another Shimsman charged from behind with a lance and drove it through the dogman’s armor and into his back.

The dogman arched and howled. He twisted around, struck the Shimsman with his maul. But another Shimsman was there, stabbing the big man’s thigh. And then another two lancers rushed forward.

The dogman growled, lunged for one man, but another Shimsman hit him with the hammer end of an axe, and the big warrior dropped to his knees, then tumbled off the battlement to the ground below.

Outside his maulers barked furiously.

The archers on the walls turned their attention back to them and began to rain down arrows. The armor on their backs and muzzles clanged, but these were extreme close quarters. And the armor was not thick enough to defeat all the arrows. The dogs began to cry out in pain.

The dogman yelled out an order. He yelled it again.

The maulers paused, then turned and ran, retreating as fast as their limps would allow.

Down in the courtyard, the men crowded around the dogman to finish him off.

“Leave him!” Shim shouted. “Leave him!”

The men acted as if they didn’t hear him. One kicked the dogman. Another pulled his axe back for a killing blow.

“Leave him!” Shim shouted again.

One of the other men finally heard and grabbed the man’s arm before he could swing.

“He might have information,” Shim said. “Tie his hands and feet.”

The men shouted for some rope, but didn’t lower their weapons or take their eyes off the dogman.

Argoth knew that Mokad used the dogmen mostly in scouting and patrol roles. And he was happy that’s all they used them for because after seeing the power of just this one, he would never want to see the result if a cohort of them were sent against this fort. Praise the Six for Mokad’s arrogance.

“Surely there’s a tribe of dogmen somewhere,” Argoth said, “one that chafes under their current rulers. A tribe willing to ally themselves with free men.”

Shim looked over at him. “You think you can make a dogman into an ally?”

“Anything’s possible.”

Shim said, “You do that, and I’ll step down and follow you as commander.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Argoth said.

Shim turned to the men below. “Take him back to the cave. Give him water. I want to see if we can keep him alive.”

Flax looked at the dogman below. “They’re a fabulous breed. If you could only just rid them of their musk. But every time you breed it out, you lose the size.”

Argoth looked at him.

“It’s true,” Flax said. “Many in Mungo and Cath have tried to breed their slaves with a bit of dogman.”

But Argoth thought it was still an odd comment. Was Flax a slave trader? Argoth didn’t like slavers much; it had been his experience that they never really looked at you without gauging how much you’d bring in a market somewhere. He’d had to chase down an acquaintance once that had stolen a niece. If Flax bought and sold on the side, it would drop Argoth’s estimation of the man.

Eresh climbed up to the battlement a pole in each hand. Atop one pole was the head of the dogman. Atop the other was his mauler. “I’m thinking these will do nicely by the gates,” he said.

“Well done, Grandfather,” Flax said.

Eresh stopped. “You will call me Zu, or you will call me nothing at all.”

Flax smiled and shrugged. “Well done, Zu,” he conceded.

Eresh turned to Shim. “The Carvers had the right of it. We’re going to eat their dogs.”

“As long as you’re cooking,” Shim said.

Eresh turned and raised the poles high so the men along the walls and in the courtyard could see. “Remember!” he shouted. “They bleed just like any other!”

Out in the courtyard the men cheered.

Eresh shook the poles, then made his way toward the gates, the men on the battlement cheering him as he passed.

Down below the injured dogman looked up at the poles, pain and hatred in his eyes.

Shim said to Argoth, “Good luck making allies with that one.” Then he turned to the men in the courtyard. “We’ve more than dogmen to contend with!” he shouted. “Get your trenches dug. Quickly!”

The men turned back to their work, their leaders getting after them, even though they’d been watching the spectacle too.

Out on the plain, the whirlwinds seemed to be weakening. Then one disappeared altogether, leaving a cloud of dust and debris to fall to the earth. A moment later Argoth watched as that wind passed over a number of trees, bending branches and sending autumn leaves flying. It made its way toward the mouth of the river where a number of Mokaddian galleys were waiting. Then the second and third winds dissipated as well and followed the first.

The debris they had whipped up began to flutter and fall to the ground. Argoth waited, hoping to see sign that some of Vance’s men had survived, but the thickets and copses of trees on the plain where the men had been caught in the wind stood silent.

Farther out on the plain, the first of Mokad’s army crested a swell. Back along the foothills the banners of another column could be seen. With the skir winds gone, branches had stopped cracking and clattering, and the sound of Mokad’s march could be heard.

Mokad’s soldiers were singing a battle song. The melody was distant and low. In the column that was closer, the one with the blue and white banners of Nilliam out front, a horn blew. It was met with a shout, and then Nilliam’s column began to split in two to deploy on the east side of the fort.

22

Traitor

SUGAR WATCHED AS the dogmen ranging out from Mokad’s column came close enough to see the banner waving above the wagon, then wheeled away.

“Goh, those dogs,” Sugar said, trying to shake the memory of the ones that had threatened her back at Blue Towers.

One of Urban’s scouts waited for them ahead. The ground here was churned with the passage of many hundreds of men and horses. The limbs of the trees on both sides of the road had been broken with their passing.

Urban drove the wagon abreast of the scout and pulled the reins and stopped the horses. They were on a rise and could just see above the tops of the trees.

The scout said, “The fort’s about a mile away. But you’re not going to get through.”

“How bad is it?” Urban asked.

“Like ants. Half of Mokad’s army is down that road. The other half is spreading out on the plain.”

Sugar motioned at the hills, “What about up there?”

“Sheer slopes and plunging ravines. But even if you could get up there and make your way across, the fort backs up to a cliff.”

“Maybe a few of us could pose as Fir-Noy,” Sugar said. “The Mokaddians won’t know the difference.”

“Aye, except I saw a lot of these Fir-Noy colors up ahead,” the scout said and pointed at the banner above the wagon. “They’ll mark you for sure. Unless one of us can fly, I don’t think there’s a way through.”

Sugar said, “Mokad’s guardian is going to kill them all. We must get through.”

Urban and Soddam looked at each other. Then Urban said, “Let’s move a bit closer. Even when they form up into battles, there will be gaps. Maybe we have a chance there.”

* * *

Berosus watched the forces of Nilliam spread out. He estimated that Mokad’s main column as well as the ships carrying Shaymash the Skir Master and his implements of war would arrive in another half hour or so. The trap about Shim was almost closed.

He reached out through his link to Black Knee to see how the clearing of the path into the mountains was going. It was the slightest of links, yet still gave him access to Black Knee’s focus. The path into the mountain where Black Knee stood was maybe eight or ten feet wide, in shadow, with rock rising up hundreds of feet on each side. A little farther down the path stood a group of Burundian quarry men in their armor.

Ask them how far along they are
, he whispered.

Black Knee asked. The Burundian leading the operation told him to take his stupid questions back down to the fort.

Ask him if he wants that put in the report to Lord Shim.

Black Knee said, “It’s going to take you a day, isn’t it?”

“It will take what it takes.”

“We need to know how to prepare.”

Another man said, “If we find a good seam, we might split it in an hour. If not, that’s a lot of rock. And it’s not like we brought a full complement of wedges and feathers.”

Black Knee nodded. “Can I help?”

“No,” the leader snapped.

Berosus whispered again.
A man being attacked by one of the Famished can have a wicked anger.

Black Knee said, “Maybe you’ll need someone to fetch some water later. I can do that.” Then he turned to one of the men with him. “We need to watch the leader.”

Having planted the suggestion, Berosus pulled back and turned to Argoth. He said, “How do you think your wife is faring?”

“Well, I hope. Serah is a smart and strong woman.”

“Yes,” Berosus replied. “Let us hope things are going better for them than they are for us.”

“It’s not over yet,” Argoth said. “We’ve a few surprises of our own.”

“I don’t think the firelances are going to do much against that wind.”

“I’m not talking firelances,” Argoth said.

Across the field a horn blew, then a fist of the men rode out of Nilliam’s line toward the fort. Their helmets were removed. Tied about the lance of the first man was a scarf of white, the banner asking for parley.

Berosus recognized the man as Loyal, Nilliam’s chief Divine.

Shim said, “I was wondering how long it would take him. Tell him our intentions.”

Berosus narrowed his eyes. Intentions?

“Indeed I shall,” said Argoth. “If we take Mokad’s Skir Master, maybe Nilliam will see the prize.”

“Aye,” said Shim, then ordered a white banner raised. “Get out there; talk to your friend.”

Argoth sent a man to fetch his horse and a fist of his men, then left Berosus with Shim.

Berosus looked out at the field again. Nilliam was forming up its battles. Toth, their long-time ally, had a good number of packs around the perimeter. Under the power of the skir wind, the Skir Master’s ship was sailing at a good clip up the river. It would make it here before the bulk of Mokad’s army.

A small alarm sounded in Berosus’s mind. If he lost his Skir Master, Nilliam would be in a perfect position to turn on Mokad’s army. He looked to the sea and saw ships in the distance beyond Mokad’s vessels.

All this time he’d been waiting for some machination from Nilliam and had been disappointed. Was this finally their move?

He turned to Shim. “How are you going to take the Skir Master out on the river?”

“We’ve put men in place,” said Shim.

Where would that be? Not along the river, for the skir wind would disrupt any missiles shot from shore. And Shaymash wouldn’t allow any Newlander in a boat or canoe close.

“He’ll just blow the arrows back in their faces,” Berosus said.

“We’re not going to shoot him with arrows. It’s going to be close and personal. I’ve sent some of our best men.”

The Skir Master would tie up at the dock and send his guards to make sure the landing was secure. When they reported it was safe, he would debark so he could see the field of battle because you can’t direct skir into places you can’t see. His servants would probably carry him off in a litter with the minor Skir Masters walking behind.

And if a hammer or more of dreadmen fell upon them, well, that would be a blow indeed. A crippling blow.

He reached out to feel the Glory to warn him so he could arm the Skir Master, but the link was too thin. He reached out to the captain of his dreadmen. The man answered, but they were toward the back of the column with Legs. Which meant he was the only one close enough to warn the Skir Master.

Well, well, he thought. A little excitement. He smiled, put his hand on his dagger, and turned toward Shim.

* * *

Sugar and Urban’s crew abandoned the wagon, but kept the Fir-Noy banner just in case. Then they moved forward until they took up a position in a thicket of scrub and trees. They were close enough to see the cliffs at the back of the fort and the hoodoo towers rising above the scattered thickets in front of them. They were close enough to see the trees along the foothills break and give way to the field and cohorts forming into battles. They were close enough to see the Fir-Noy in Mokad’s army that had been left to guard the baggage train. And another group of the men of Nilliam doing a much more disciplined job of guarding their wagons and horses closer to the slopes of the mountain.

Mokad would want to put its men in front, in the position of honor. And these Fir-Noy didn’t seem to like that they’d been relegated to the back. One complained louder than the rest.

“They’re going to fight an arrow’s shot away,” he said, “and we won’t even be able to see the show.”

“It’s a fort full of sleth,” the hammerman said. “You want to fight sleth?”

“They won’t be able to contend with those winds,” a man said. “And if any get out, I want to be there to catch one of them. We deserve some of the loot. A fine bow and sword from a sleth would bring a good price.”

“You wouldn’t get a sleth sword,” the hammerman said. “A big lout like you will just get his belly slit.”

“We deserve a chance as good as any other man.”

“If they attack the wagons, you can lead the way.”

The loud Fir-Noy didn’t like that, but he didn’t move off. He and two others simply stood together to plot and grumble.

Urban said, “I don’t want to risk any of these recognizing you. So we’d have to go past the men of Nilliam. Not all of us. Nobody is going to let Soddam past. But you, me, maybe a few others. We’re going to need a clear path, one that skirts around the groups of soldiers, especially the Fir-Noy.”

“Would it be better for me to go alone? Won’t that attract less attention?”

“No, lass,” Soddam said. “You’re going to need to be in a fist or squad. One woman walking alone would attract far too much attention.”

Sugar nodded and reached out to her mother’s weave, cringing at the pain she knew she’d feel. She found the mouth, then fed it some fire. A moment later, the pain tore all along her bones, and she sucked in her breath at it.

“Goh,” she said.

“Are you okay?” Urban asked.

“It’s getting worse.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this. Withers said—”

She cut him off. “There’s no other choice.” Then she stepped out of her body, still wincing at the pain. In the sky above her, the sickly orange skir darted about, thick as the crows and ravens that had started gathering above the battlefield in the world of flesh.

She put on her skenning and felt some relief. Then she looked around for any sort of weapon. Stone and wood were beyond her ability to pick up. There was nothing but some dark viney thing running through the grass. She pulled up a length of it. It wouldn’t stop anybody, but swinging it in the face of an attacker might give her a moment.

“I’m ready,” she said with the mouth of her flesh.