screamed, even, so swift was it. I scrabbled back, horrified, as his clothing and then the skin beneath blackened and was devoured. The spear he held was a brand that dropped to the street below, soon followed by Pyrdon himself, a human torch. Where he had stood, flames licked as if in search of some fresh victim.
Keran appeared, rallying us, advising us that we were to be a flying squad, to go where commanded. I thought that we should not be enough, that all the city’s warband, all the levies of militia, should not be enough. Yet there were now only some dozen of the Sky Lords’ craft left above us, the rest downed by magic and war- engines, and of those remaining some burned and fell even as I stared.
And yet, as I crouched in the poor safety of the ravaged wall, I felt neither comfort nor confidence. I knew fear; oh, yes, in full measure. I knew, also, anger-that this city I now thought of as my own should be so threatened, that friends and fellow-soldiers should die, that the Sky Lords should dare this affront. For all my fear I knew that did a target for my rage present itself, I should attack.
Meanwhile, however, I saw the sky dark with the foul shapes of the Sky Lords’ boats, the flash and blast of magicks. I saw a war-engine consumed and topple, blazing, into the street. I saw airboats fall in flames over Durbrecht. I wondered if the city should survive.
Then orders came, and half our number was sent racing through the streets. I saw the object of our pursuit some time before we reached it: a stricken airboat descended toward the center of the city. It was pierced with bolts, tongues of flame darting about its flanks, brighter and cleaner than the bloody red of its canopy. The carrier basket beneath had been struck-I could make out the holes-but still it held its lethal cargo and would deliver those Kho’rabi knights into the very streets of Durbrecht.
It was lost to sight after a while, but the reeking smoke it trailed served for a marker and we ran toward that. A company of foot soldiers joined us, led by a commur to whom Keran deferred, and a troop of militia. I hoped there would be more. Then we emerged on a plaza filled with the wreckage of the burning airboat. Some thirty Kho’rabi had survived the landing and now stood ready to fight. At the head of our column, Keran raised his sword, halting us. The commur roared orders-that we should avoid close combat if possible, use bows and spears, that if we faced the Kho’rabi knights it should be only in numbers, that we should better employ cunning than courage. Then he waved us to attack.
I had never seen a Kho’rabi knight before. They were the stuff of nightmares, of a mother’s threat. Now they stood before me, dread given flesh. They were armored all in black so that they seemed like great beetles, carapaced and armed with sharp steel. There seemed not a soft part on them, nothing vulnerable, but all-chests and legs and arms and heads-encompassed in that glossy armor. They had no faces, for they had locked chin- and cheek-pieces in place, so that only savage eyes glared out at us. And somehow worse, they shouted no battle cries but faced us in silence, which gave them an air of dreadful implacability, as if they were not human but automatons, killing machines.
I feared my courage would fail me then and threw myself forward before I should turn and flee. Cleton was at my side, Martus a pace ahead. I heard Cleton shout, “For Madbry! For Dharbek!” I do not know if I shouted. It is quite likely I whimpered.
Confusion reigned as we students, the foot soldiers, and the militiamen joined in battle with the invaders. Those students given bows loosed a volley, and I saw the black armor was not impenetrable. Several of the Kho’rabi fell. Better, they screamed, which rendered them more human in my eyes-and therefore capable of defeat. I saw one stagger, three arrows jutting from his chest, two from his swordarm. A spearman thrust at his midriff, and Martus delivered him a blow that cracked his helmet and split the skull beneath. I vaulted the body and found myself suddenly confronted with a warrior whose eyes blazed furiously from within the shadow of his helm. I ducked, flinging myself clear as his long blade swung like a scythe intent on cropping my head. Martus brought his axe hard against the Kho’rabi’s side; Cleton parried the returning stroke; a soldier hammered at the jet helm. I saw that the black armor was not all of one piece, but segmented over the thighs and groin, joined to the cuirass with rings of black metal. I thrust my blade in there, trusting to Cleton and Martus to hold off the warrior’s riposte as I drove all my weight forward.
It is a strange and ugly sensation to feel your steel pierce flesh. A memory of gutted fish flashed brief across my mind. I turned my blade as Keran had taught me and saw the angry eyes flicker wide, the light within them going out, so that even though the orbs still reflected sunlight and flame, they grew abruptly dull as the life fled. I dragged my sword back as Martus sent his axe thudding against the dead man’s helmet. I did not know how I felt in that instant when I first slew a man, only that I wanted very badly to live.
I turned, finding chaos all about me. The archers had ceased firing for fear of hitting friends. Close by four students armed with spears drove a silent Kho’rabi slowly back toward the wreckage of the airboat. I saw men fall; heard shouts; the screaming of wounded men. The air stank of sweat and blood and sulphur; there was the sharp reek of urine. I swung my blade double-handed against a black-armored back. Martus hacked the legs. Cleton thrust his sword under the sweeping wings of the helmet, into the neck. He shouted, “Madbry!” as he did it, and his eyes were very cold, his lips spread wide in a terrible smile.
I saw a figure come at Martus from the side and screamed, “Martus! Beware!”
He turned, axe rising, using the haft to block the descending blade. From behind the Kho’rabi a spear thrust out, the blow too weak to pierce his armor, but enough that he staggered, momentarily unbalanced. Martus lifted his axe, and as he did, another beetlelike warrior sliced a sword across his belly. I saw his face go pale. The axe fell from his hands. He moaned, clutching at his wound as if pained by a belly ache. The first Kho’rabi stabbed him in the ribs. I aimed a blow at the warrior’s helm; Cleton cut at his legs. Leon-for it was his spear-stepped close and rammed the lance between the Kho’rabi’s shoulders.
The fighting surged about us, and for a while I only ducked and parried, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Cleton. Leon disappeared. I caught a glimpse of Martus. He lay on his side, his beard all bloodied, wounds gaping.
There was a parting then, embattled men drifting from us, and I saw Keran dancing backward, desperately parrying the onslaught of two Kho’rabi. Cleton and I sprang to his aid. I hammered my blade against black pauldrons. The Kho’rabi seemed unaware of my attack: I sprang at his back, left hand clawing at his helm as I sought to slice my sword across his throat. Keran stabbed him in the groin, and he made a strange, high-pitched yelping sound. I cut his windpipe and found myself tumbled down with him. I felt boots trample me and thought a blade must surely find me ere I gained my feet, or that I should be stamped to death in the press. Then a hand grasped my arm and I was hauled upright. I was surprised to find myself looking into Ardyon’s eyes. One was reddened, blood oozing from a cut on the brow. He said. “Can you not fight longer, find safety,” and I shook my head, unable to speak, but not yet willing to flee.
He nodded, and we turned in search of fresh foemen.
There were fewer now, as the sheer weight of our numbers overcame the Kho’rabi. They fought savagely and with a terrible skill, but there were not enough and in time there were none at all.
When it was done I found I was wounded. My arms and chest were cut, and a deep gash painted my breeks red. It was hard to stand on that leg. Cleton was cut about the ribs, and his left arm was broken. We tended one another’s hurts as best we could and limped together to hear our commander’s orders.
Night had fallen, albeit the darkness was colored with flame from the burning buildings. Folk came out to fight the fires, and the city was still loud with the clamor of battle. Keran surveyed us grimly and told the worst hurt to make their way back to the College. I rested my weight on Cleton and he on me, and we both swore we were fit. I said, “Martus is slain,” and Keran ducked his head and commanded we return with the wounded.
We obeyed, joining the sorry column that made its way slowly through a city ravaged by this unprecedented attack. None spoke, but many turned their faces skyward, and all flinched as magic flashed and thundered, or blazing buildings collapsed. I could see no more of the Sky Lords’ craft overhead and thought the worst of the fighting likely over. I felt horribly weary.
It was past midnight before we reached the College and gave ourselves up to Telek’s ministrations. We were not the worst hurt-five students died that night-and we waited for him to sew my thigh and set Cleton’s arm. He was aided by the Changed servants, and I saw Urt tending wounds and applying bandages with a silent efficiency. I thought then of Rwyan, and a terrible fear gripped me-that I knew not whether she lived or died. As soon I might, I beckoned Urt over.
