‘I see.’
‘Also, there are reports of one among them anchoring their lines. He carries a weapon… witnesses call it white or yellow, like ivory. None is willing to face him.’
Ussu’s gaze snapped to the distant bridge where a horde of soldiers pressed, pikes and spears waving like a small forest. White or yellow… bright… the weapon he saw? No doubt. Did this one deserve his attention? But he was exhausted from being caught like a fly in the confrontation between the Lady and the Enchantress. He simply was not up to it.
A grunt from Borun pulled his attention to the slope. There a band of black-clad priests descended, staves striking the ground as they paced. Soldiers flinched from their advance. Ah! Abbot Nerra and his three assistants. This fellow on the bridge had also drawn the Lady’s attention. She would now take a hand. He should get closer; this could prove quite instructive.
‘I would witness this,’ he told Borun.
The Black Moranth commander grunted his disinterest. ‘If you must. I will remain.’ He waved one of his aides to accompany him.
Ussu descended. Or rather, he attempted to; the soldiers did not cooperatively part for him as they had for the priests. And it was a terrible press as thousands jammed in towards the bridge to reach the enemy. In the end he settled for following in the wake of the Moranth as he — or she? — forced a way through.
*
Suth could stand; if he gritted his teeth hard enough and concentrated. Urfa’s binding was as tight as a winding-sheet and she’d wrapped with it a poultice that stank of fat and urine and other things he didn’t want to think about. But it was supposed to be proof against the wound’s suppurating.
He was reserve now, of course. Rear rank. Bending over stiffly, he picked up a spear. The front lines had all scavenged shields and now fought a stubborn defence. All except the Adjunct, who watched from behind, ever ready to push in where needed. No archer could reach them now, unless he dared step out from the enemy’s front lines. In which case they still had their crossbows.
When the Adjunct happened to be standing near him, Suth asked, ‘Do we retreat?’
The young man smiled behind his moustache. ‘Not unless we can take our wagons with us.’
This close Suth wondered why he had ever considered the officer young. He was no younger than himself, surely, nor a good portion of the entire army. This was a young person’s calling. Probably it was the rank: the fellow was slim in years to be second in command to a High Fist.
The Adjunct’s gaze narrowed, the cross-hatching of wrinkles all around almost hiding the eyes — a plainsman’s gaze. ‘Trouble,’ he breathed, then, gesturing, ‘Goss, Twofoot, to me.’
Suth strained to look: men in dark robes advancing. Pressure eased along the twelve-foot width as the Roolian soldiers backed off. Four more priests of the Lady, just as at the temple in Aamil. He remembered his throat constricting then, his stolen breath. Would that happen again? And would the Adjunct be able to counter it as before?
The four stamped their iron-shod staves to the timbers and stood waiting. Flanked by his sergeants the Adjunct stepped out to meet them.
‘I am Abbot Nerra,’ one of the priests announced. He did not wait for the Adjunct to reply; indeed, it was clear that he did not want any response. ‘You are trespassing. Retreat from this valley and you will be unmolested. You have the word of the Lady. Such is her infinite leniency and forbearance.’
‘Generous of the Lady to offer territory we already hold,’ the Adjunct answered.
The Abbot appeared to have expected such an answer. ‘Surrender now or be driven before the Lady’s wrath like ash before the wind.’
‘Is this the leniency or the forbearance?’
The Abbot was untroubled. ‘Her patience is without end. Mine is not.’ He signalled to his fellows.
At the same instant the sergeants signed as well and from behind the upturned wagons saboteurs jumped up to fire crossbows. Multiple bolts slammed into the priests, some passing through entirely to speed on and strike soldiers behind.
The four staggered but none fell. The Abbot raised his eyes and something more seemed to glare from their depths that fixed them all with their rage. ‘Blasphemers! Your essences will writhe in agony!’
Energy detonated between the priests in crackling arcs and filaments. The timbers shuddered as if pounded by a charge of cavalry. Everyone flinched: the Adjunct, the sergeants, even the Roolian troops. The robes of the priests began to smoulder and smoke. A chain of the energy lashed out, striking one wagon in an explosion of shards sending men and women flying. Suth remembered the spear in his hand and took one step to launch it. The leaf-blade disappeared into the torso of a priest while the haft immediately burst to ash. The priest seemed unaffected by what was certainly a mortal wound.
The four advanced a step, staves held horizontal before them. The wagon Suth hid behind slid backwards, almost knocking him from his feet. He staggered, yelling his pain with every hop of his injured leg. Another chain of energy lashed the lines and soldiers fell, smouldering, charred and withered.
Then the Adjunct lunged forward, rolling. A priest fell, his leg severed at the knee. Another swung his stave and the Adjunct caught the blow on his sword, two-handed. The stave was severed in a blast that sent the youth spinning to slam into the bridge’s side. The eruption flattened a score of the nearest Roolian soldiers as well. That priest fell, his arms and chest in bloody ruins, his hands gone. The remaining two pushed onward, seemingly uncaring and unaffected. The wagon slammed backwards into Suth once more.
‘Drop!’ Urfa called, and she straightened to throw a fist-sized orb. Suth hunched behind the wagon. Normally the crack of the munition would have made him flinch, but now the blast was lost in the maelstrom of wrath unleashed before them. When the woman peered up again she gaped, snarling, ‘Shit!’
He peered, an arm shielding his eyes, to see the two still advancing despite countless slashing wounds — one’s face a bloom of blood from a mortal head wound. The Adjunct appeared to be unconscious. Suth hobbled over to him, and found Goss examining him. ‘What do we do?’ Suth shouted.
‘Don’t know!’
The pale yellow blade lay on the timbers. Both Suth and Goss eyed it. ‘Should I touch it?’ Suth asked.
‘Don’t know!’
‘Oh, to the Witches with it!’ Suth picked it up; it was warm in his hand and not quite as heavy as an iron weapon. Nothing seemed to happen to him. The curved blade looked more golden than pale yellow, translucent at its edge. He turned to the remaining priests. They were ignoring them, intent upon forcing everyone back up the bridge. He glanced at Goss, who wore a thoughtful frown.
‘Maybe I should…’ the sergeant offered.
Well, he was wounded. A great yell snapped their attention to the priests. A soldier had leapt from cover swinging a two-handed sword. The trooper wore a long mail coat and a helm whose visor was hammered into the likeness of a snarling beast. Suth recognized her as an officer he often saw with Fist Rillish. Her heavy blade crashed into a blocking stave, triggering an eruption of energy that crackled and lashed all about the bridge. But she hadn’t come with them! What was she doing here?
A second arcing blow slipped under the stave and slit one priest across the gut almost to the spine. A spin and she brought the weapon swinging up to catch the second at the groin, tearing a gash up to his sternum. Even then neither priest fell. Smoke now plumed from them as if driven by a ferocious wind; it appeared to Suth that they’d been dead for some time. Enraged, her mail blackened and scoured by the energies, the woman kicked one of the priests. He fell corpse-stiff in a clatter of dry limbs.
The crackling power snapped out of existence; the staves lay consumed to blackened sticks, iron fittings melted. A crowd of troopers from the Fourth washed over them all. They came dragging carts and equipment that they heaved up into a barricade. Suth and Goss helped the groggy Adjunct up.
Goss offered a wink. ‘Have to be the hero another time, hey?’
Suth examined the pale blade. ‘I guess it takes more than just a sword.’ He picked up a torn cloak and used it wrap the weapon.
The sergeant was nodding his serious agreement. ‘Yeah. Looks more like a question of timing to me.’
The Adjunct was standing on his own now. He rolled one shoulder, wincing and hissing his pain. Suth offered him the sword. He took it and shook his head. ‘Fat lot of good it did me.’
‘You’re still alive, sir,’ Goss pointed out.
