“Stand ready to charge,” Arnanak told his guards. That word rolled on outward through the horde where it milled unrestful. Weapons blinked in roiling dust. Arnanak trotted clear of it for a view across the territory.
Flags wigwagged at him from afar. He laughed. “Aye, I awaited this.” The east gate had swung wide and the drawbridge come down. Again he drew brand and broke into a run. His household troops torrented after.
Gallop, gallop, gallop! Light leaped fierce off armor yonder. A detachment had left the fortress to try to catch the ram crew, slay them, and bring back their tool, before it reached the walls.
Those soldiers were not few. They expected having to cut their way to safety. When they saw the Tassui bear down on them, they changed from close order to assault array and countercharged. Loss of them would sorely weaken the garrison.
“Spread out,” Arnanak called. “Zigzag. Come at them fanwise.” However much he had drilled his crack fighters, a reminder was best. Their old wild ways lay very shallowly buried.
He spoke none too soon. Portable catapults began sending whole bundles of darts, farther than a bow could reach. Through and through the sighing death he sped. He glimpsed males who struck the ground and rolled. Some got back up, limped rearward or continued ahead; some lay still, abristle, and their blood purpled a soil baked too hard to drink it. But the smitten were few, and the time was short before the Tassui were upon the southerners.
Arnanak aimed himself and eight guards at a trio of heavy troopers in armor like his. Together they shocked upon the legionaries.
Shield bosses thrust, shield edges chopped, sword or hatchet hewed from above or around rims. Arnanak and a soldier strained, pushed, sought to find or force a gap in defense. Blows clanged on the helmet cages, thudded on backplates and greaves. Companions of his rallied around. With scant mail of their own, they could not stand before one that fully protected. But while their Overling held him engaged, they hacked and stabbed through any joint, any crack, any bareness. Erelong a pike head ripped the wight’s underbelly. He shrieked when his guts spilled out, crumpled in the heap of them, and composed himself to die. His mates, worse outnumbered, were already slain.
Arnanak spied a light trooper nearby and attacked. That fellow could have outrun him, weighted as he was, but stood fast with his squad. Arnanak hooked his shield aside and slammed sword-edge into spine.
Elsewhere, too, the skilled males of Ulu had served their end. They had broken the legionary formation, on which untrained barbarians oftenest broke themselves. Arnanak sped from the strife and winded horn. In a bellow and rattle and drum roll of footfalls, the horde came at the scattered soldiers and swamped them.
As dust settled, Arnanak saw that the testudo was across his bridge, up the slope, against the wall. He heard the ram boom. “Ohai-ah!” he roared in glory, and led his housecarls that way. They must not let a sortie cut off their sappers. They’d be under heavy fire till the stockade broke; and after that there’d be only a narrow gap, desperately defended; but the Tassui would get through. This day they would be in Port Rua.
A whine pierced the sky. Arnanak looked thither. A metal shape glided down as if out of the Demon Sun. His hearts quivered.
From the vessel, something gaunt streaked at the massed warriors.
In flame the hue of lightning, heaven burst open.
Hurled on high, Arnanak flew. The noise was too great to hear, it filled him, had him. was him, and every bone of him tolled. He struck ground which heaved like the sea. The feel of his burns overtook him. His soul splintered in a scream.
Yet a part held fast. It was a stone called Arnanak, and though fire seethed over it in tide after tide, at its core lived the will to be a lodestone. Across a white-hot blindness where monster winds ran, it dragged home the tattered and destroyed soul of Arnanak. After a million cycles of the Cruel Star, he was.
He drew aside from agony and raised his eyes. He lay on an earth gone ashen quiet—for he could not hear the mangled whom he saw struggle amidst the heaped dead, he could not hear a sound. From the field a cloud lifted, taller than belief and on the top spread widely out, the phantom of an enormous phoenix. The town stood unharmed, ram abandoned beneath ramparts. I must have been near the edge of the blast, dripped through him.
I will go find my sons. But his hindquarters would not stir. When he saw how spearheads and knife points of bone stuck out of the seared flesh, he knew why. He hitched himself onto hands, rowed with forefeet, dragged the dead half of him along.
“Tornak,” he tried to call, “Uvemi, Akio, Tatara, Igini,”—no, Igini died on the gentle sea, didn’t he?— “Korviak, Mitusu, Navano”—his sons who had been here in pride and honor, but he could not remember the rest of their names—“Kusarat, Usayuk, Innukrat, Alinark” —friends, wives, everybody dear all whirling together while darkness ate at the edges of awareness—but he couldn’t hear if he had any voice left.
“Humans, why?” maybe he called. “I would have been your friend, too. I would have brought you my dauri and the Thing.” Peering aloft, he was unsure if the slaughter ship hovered, as dim as his sight had grown. Nor was he sure if the corpse beside which he must stop, because he could go no further, belonged to anyone he knew. He thought in the maelstrom that it might be Tomak’s but it was too cooked for him to tell. Was he near the middle of the weaponstrike?
If he could reach that far in his weakness, then… then not everybody was slain. Belike most had lived to flee, most would return home and some outlive Fire Time. If the humans did not vengefully follow— Why should they? The humans had no need. They were almighty.
Arnanak sighed and lay down to rest. The Night came on. Too swiftly for a death dream? No. It must not. He would not let it. He was no animal that merely died, he was the Overling of Ulu.
He rose and drew blade. “Give me my honor,” he told the faceless. Light flew off the steel. It struck at the black wings which stormed around and around, rang against beaks and talons. They wailed, those winds.
Arnanak walked toward. He was on a whistling gray heath where cold blew till his sword sang with it. Claw grew there and raked at him, but he was well buskined. Packbags balanced across his back, armor secured above them, shield slung from shoulders so his hump took the weight, head high and eyes held steady, right front-left rear, left front-right rear/
The Zera had joined them, for a bridge must be forced. “What a winterful country I picked to be born in!” Larreka said, an obscenity bouncing after. “Best thing about Haelen is the ship that carries you away from it.”
“You won’t like mine any better,” Arnanak warned.
“No. I didn’t. We had to get through the world somehow.”
“Are you sorry?”
“Of course not.”
“Nor I.”
