Time for a little faith,
he thought.
Here’s as good a place as any, I suppose.
The Temple of Death dominated the plaza, and this whole district of the city. Unlike the one in Tirah, which was larger and more impressive, thanks to all those wealthy citizens trying to buy a favourable final judgment, this was not arranged in a cross-shape around the central dome. Here they had foregone the wings tipped with prayer-towers completely, instead building a vast square edifice, with twenty or so slender stained-glass windows occupying the top two-thirds of each side. The temple had to be fifty yards in any direction.
Could they run in and defend it? Isak assumed so, but the temple wasn’t entirely made of stone and the walls were still decorated with the summer festival’s long yellow drapes. He couldn’t remember whether it was in Scree or Helrect that a group of knights had famously been martyred after they sought refuge in a temple, only to perish when their enemies burned the whole place down around their ears. The image haunted him, but they had no choice: they had to fight. The rogue archer who’d killed Mariq had made that decision easier: there was at least one person out there with his wits about him, and plenty of torches had been abandoned at the pickets.
He reached the temple and turned the corner to the western side and the wide entrance -another reason not to hide inside: Death’s house had no door, for no one was to be kept out.
They would have to fight, no matter what.
‘Where in the Dark Place are the rest?’ Isak yelled as he reached the temple entrance. He saw far too few troops for his liking. His heart sank as he saw only the wide frame of General Chotech among the Devoted, still with his massive axe resting on his shoulder, but now as tattered and blood-stained as a Chetse warrior was supposed to look. There was no sign of General Gort or the three hundred soldiers he’d had with him. Suzerain Fordan took care to salute his lord with the warhammer he carried, the same weapon his father had been renowned for using. Isak returned the gesture and muttered a quick prayer that he wouldn’t watch this Suzerain Fordan die as he had the last.
‘Anyone not here is dead, or as good as,’ said Vesna as he hurried up beside Isak.
Jachen was with him, looking considerably less fatigued in his hauberk and open-faced helm. He looked around. ‘No more than a division here,’ he commented grimly.
Vesna slid up his face-plate and did his own assessment, nodding agreement after a few heartbeats.
‘So we’ve lost two-thirds of our men,’ Isak said, running to the corner of the temple where an empty waist-high pedestal stood. He pushed a soldier out of his path so he could hop up onto the pedestal and look down on the paved ground in front of the Temple of Death. The entrance faced due east, to catch the dawn light. Isak raised an arm towards Nartis’ pillared temple to the north-east. If he could drive a trench in that direction it would cut down the ground they had to defend, without trapping them inside the temple.
‘Vesna, get these fucking men ordered and out of my way,’ he roared.
The sudden bellow caused most of the soldiers to jump and hurry out of the line he was drawing in his head, but some went the wrong way and Vesna had to shout himself hoarse to draw them back. Rapid orders followed, so quickly that Isak hardly made out the words, but these men were professional soldiers; they recognised an order to form ranks, no matter what language it was given in. A good number had already congregated by Count Vesna and their comrades rushed to follow.
Around the corner, their pursuers were only fifty yards behind, once again in a big, formless mass, though they weren’t running but advancing by fits and starts, the leading figures casting glances back at those behind and waiting to be overtaken, as though unsure about what they were doing. The imposing presence of the temples had slowed them, but he doubted anything would stop the mob. Isak set the closest alight and saw the man’s ragged clothes burst into a bright flare of light, but he didn’t wait to see whether it impeded the rest.
As the last of the infantry took up their positions and the cavalry abandoned their horses at the Temple of Nartis, Isak ran down the line he’d pictured in his mind until he was almost thirty yards along. He knelt again and reached out to the Skull fused to his cuirass. This time the magic was eager to serve as it coursed through his body and into the ground. He hardly had to command it before the vast energy running through him started to shake and twist the flagstones there.
A gigantic crash rang out across the plaza as the earth was ripped open, this time with terrifying ease. It drowned out all other sounds, and as a black gulf appeared in the ground, Isak was thrown backwards by the power. He lay sprawled on his back for a few moments while the ground continued to shake. Blinking, he looked up at the night sky. Up above, the clouds glowed red as they reflected the fires raging through the city, but in a break Isak saw half a dozen stars, shining bravely.
‘I hope you really are my bloody ancestors looking down on me,’ he muttered with a manic chuckle as the magic receded from his tingling limbs. He looked out over his feet at the jagged rip in the ground. It was wide; they’d have a problem jumping it, but it wasn’t impossible. The paving slab by his right heel upended suddenly, pitching down into the trench to crash onto the stony floor. It was followed by the patter of loose soil.
Isak jumped up and flexed his shoulders. He raised Eolis to the skies, his eyes still fixed on the faint pinpricks high above. ‘Now’s the time to do something more than watch, you bastards, ’ he called as the mob rounded the corner of the temple. Behind him he heard soldiers run up alongside and saw Jachen appear with the remaining Farlan troops. Suzerain Torl took up a position on his left-hand side and Shinir appeared on his right, sparing the time to scowl at the big white-eye. She had looped her flail around her body to keep it out of the way and now brandished a plain round shield taken from a fallen lancer. She had perfected a very simple technique now taken up by many others: she stepped straight into an attacker and smashed the steel boss of her shield into their face, then chopped into their neck with her khopesh.
He looked again at his trench. It was deeper than the last, a good ten feet down, so those who failed to bridge the gap were likely to fall and break bones. Getting out would be a damn sight more difficult too. The defenders were formed into a rough triangle, their backs to the entrance, the three wide arches that spanned the front of the temple.
Isak’s trench cut across the plaza towards the Temple of Nartis; the Farlan defended that while the Devoted had strung their shield-wall across the remaining ground. General Chotech had taken a position at the very tip of the triangle, towards the end of the trench, standing over a burly infantryman who knelt with his shield braced on the ground to act as an obstacle while the general swung the axe over him. It would be tiring work, even for a Chetse, but this was what they were reduced to.
He watched Vesna overseeing the shield-wall as the first few citizens loitered in the gloom.
‘What are they waiting for?’ shouted General Chotech.
‘Who cares?’ Vesna replied. ‘Perhaps they’re nervous of the temples -whatever it is, it’s slowed them down and buys us more time.’
The crowd began to thicken, ragged figures massing with whatever weapons they had found. Some had only discarded shields from the fallen infantry, but that didn’t matter much. Weapons blunted quickly in battle and a drawn-out fight invariably ended up as a bludgeoning match, where steel-reinforced shields were almost as good as swords. A drawn-out bellow dragged Isak’s attention back to the side he was defending and a few score of the swifter members of the mob led the charge towards him. Some carried the torches the defenders had abandoned at the pickets and Isak felt a chill at how close he’d come to ordering his men inside.
Leading the way was a young man with long gangly arms flailing wildly. He wore only a torn pair of trousers and waved a long cook’s knife wildly above his head. His face was grossly contorted by hatred, and so focused was he on Isak that he didn’t even notice the trench on the ground. Even as he pitched downwards, he was slashing for the white-eye. Isak heard the sickening crunch as the youth’s face hit the far side of the trench and snapped his neck back, but he was watching those still coming on.
The first misjudged his jump. He got one knee onto firm ground, then Jachen slashed open his face and sent him falling back. After that they came en masse, and the soldiers found themselves brutally repelling the leaping attackers any way they could. Isak had it easier than most, for he had the weight to stand almost on the very edge of the trench and use his shield to swat away those that jumped towards him. One by one they fell into the trench, and the rush towards the defenders slowed.
‘This ditch isn’t deep enough,’ Jachen yelled, crouching down to stab a man in the throat as his fingertips reached up to try and pull himself up.
‘If you think you could do any better, feel free to try,’ Isak shouted, hacking inelegantly down into a woman’s shoulder as she leapt empty-handed, clawed hands reaching for him. The magical edge sheared through her torso with horrific ease and as the two halves fell into the trench a great spray of blood spattered over Isak and the soldiers on either side.
‘Piss on you,’ roared Shinir, blinking hard through the blood covering her face, ‘that’s in my damned eyes!’
‘Private!’ Jachen shouted. ‘Keep that mouth shut! My Lord, this trench isn’t going to be enough; look at them.’
Isak had to agree. Now too many were slowing their pace and willingly dropping into the trench, clambering over their fallen and scrabbling at the crumbling edge for enough purchase to pull themselves up. The number of corpses down there would soon start to count in their favour.
From the noise he realised they were fighting on both fronts now. The mob had grown again, and fatigue hadn’t robbed them of any ferocity; his soldiers had been fighting for hours against enemies who didn’t care about their own safety.
‘This isn’t warfare,’ he said aloud. ‘In battle you know the enemy’s got some sort of sense left.’
‘Bugger that,’ Jachen said, ‘this is a race of numbers, and we’re going to lose unless we get help. The damn trench is filling up with dead and that’s got to be more than a legion queuing up to walk across.’
Isak took a moment to watch the crowd of spitting and wailing citizens only half a dozen yards away. This was the first time he’d stopped to look at them closely. They were starved and filthy, some trembling and unsteady as they tumbled into the trench towards him. They looked like the sort of people a duke should be protecting, not desperately thinking of ways to slaughter them.
‘There’s more of them,’ Jachen continued, ‘the fighting must have drawn others.’ Isak realised the commander of his guard was right as he looked over the heads of the nearest. The plaza was filling up, a bobbing carpet of heads spreading back to the break in the ring of shrines they had been defending only minutes before.
‘Then we really do need help,’ he admitted. ‘Whoever shot Mariq must have realised that as this became more desperate, I’d likely give him one of the Skulls. The effort would have killed him pretty quickly, but Mariq had more skill than I ever will; perhaps enough to burn us a path through this lot.’
‘What help are we going to get out here?’ Jachen puffed, his sword strokes laboured as he smashed away yet another salvaged spear and stabbed his attacker in the neck.
Isak stopped still for a moment, leaving Suzerain Torl to chop through the wrist of man with a cleaver at Isak’s feet. The suzerain was puffing hard too, sounding like he was feeling his age at last, but he didn’t hesitate to redouble his efforts to give Isak a moment to think. Torl had fought alongside Lord Bahl often enough to know there was good cause.
Help? Not from the ancestors above us
, he thought with a growing sense that an idea was looming. ‘Of course, bloody ancestors, ’ Isak cried suddenly.
‘What are you talking about?’ Jachen said.
‘What do we have here?’ Isak asked before answering his own question. ‘Nothing, that’s what; only the souls of ancestors in the sky and six empty temples.’
‘I hope you’ve got a point here.’ Jachen sounded more than a little concerned that Isak had gone insane.
‘More than that,’ Isak laughed. He saw the ranger, Jeil, on Jachen’s other side and raised his voice. ‘Jeil, do you remember when we got to Saroc and I had a look around to see if I could find something to help us?’
‘I—’ The ranger looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned. ‘That water elemental you woke? My Lord, you do remember that it attacked us, don’t you?’
‘A minor detail,’ Isak said cheerfully.
‘Lord Isak,’ interjected Jachen, ‘I recognise that tone of voice by now; it means you’re going to do something to worry me.’
Isak clapped him on the shoulder, causing Jachen to wince at the unintended force, then paused to drive back two attackers scrambling over the edge of the trench. ‘It looks like I chose right, then,’ he said in a more serious tone. ‘What I need from a commander is for him to worry when I forget to.’
Isak reached into both of his Crystal Skulls and his smile broadened as sizzling trails of energy began to snake over the surface of his armour. The air around him shimmered. ‘What you get in temples is Gods,’ he explained, as though to a room of schoolchildren. ‘Every temple and shrine is touched by the God when it’s consecrated -that’s what consecrated ground
is
. While the Gods might have been driven out of the city, some trace of that spirit
must
remain.’
He took a step back from the line and let two men fill his space. Behind him, Vesna ordered a company of Devoted troops to join the Farlan. The trench was filling fast, though blood and gore had made the edge treacherous. The stink of loosed bowels and perforated intestines filled the air, which shook to the sound of wordless shrieks.