terms.’
Aragan opened his mouth but no words would come. And above the quorls circled, waiting, a thrumming drone promising a cataclysm of destruction for the unsuspecting city beyond.
CHAPTER XX
Of thy bones they have made a seat;
They have taken the orbs of thine eyes
Yet it is they who are blind
Warning carved on tomb entrance,
Dwelling Plain
The wooden staircase left Torvald at the rear of the rambling buildings. Paths nearby led through a slim belt of woods and courts that encircled the top of Majesty Hill. He half walked, half dragged the wounded Galene through the park-like strip. It looked as though she’d twisted or broken her leg in the crash. The blasts and echoing reverberations shook him rarely now; through the trees he glimpsed quorls diving in to deposit their riders. He knew that somewhere Seguleh were waiting and he dreaded what would happen should he run into any now. But then, neither of them had weapons drawn so he imagined at worst they’d only be captured.
His fears played out when they rounded a curve and he saw two Seguleh standing where major paths crossed. He stopped abruptly, his shoulders falling. One calmly waved him forward. Galene fumbled for her longsword but he pushed her hand aside. ‘No point,’ he murmured.
‘I have one munition,’ she whispered, reaching to her opposite side.
‘No!’
‘I won’t allow myself-’
The Seguleh spun aside raising their weapons as heavy armoured feet came pounding up another path. A column of Black Moranth charged: the first two held their wide shields up and threw something from behind. Galene yanked Torvald down.
He fell; she yelped her pain as she bent her wounded leg.
Multiple blasts buffeted him and gravel came pattering down all around. When he raised his head he glimpsed the Moranth finishing off the stunned and lacerated Seguleh. Even then there was a ferocious exchange of blows and half the Moranth were wounded.
Hands raised him and Galene. ‘We saw you go down,’ one Black said to her, ‘and came for you.’ They took her from Torvald, one to each side.
‘Take me to the main entrance,’ she ordered, her voice tight with suppressed pain.
The party formed up around Torvald and Galene and they headed to the front of the rambling complex. In the distance the staccato blasts of sharpers came and went in great volleys that shook the night. They had not gone far when they caught a glimpse through the trees of the main approach, and Galene groaned at what was revealed.
The walkways and flagged open courts and benches had been turned into one huge killing zone littered with Moranth fallen. As they landed they had formed squares or circles of interlocking shields, yet despite barrages of sharpers and crossbow volleys Seguleh had won through to slice their way into the formations, wreaking terrible destruction before being cut down from all sides.
And to one side further defences awaited in the form of a tall mage, watching, staff at his side, seemingly content to let the fighting proceed in its own course — for the time being.
Galene straightened. ‘We cannot win through,’ Torvald heard her murmur. ‘Yet he cannot be allowed to succeed. Cannot.’ From a pouch at her side she drew a tube, about the size of a baton, enamelled a deep red. She turned her helmed head to him. ‘I’m sorry, Councillor.’
Torvald eyed the tube, uncertain at first, then horror raised the hair on his arms and neck and he lunged for her. ‘No!’ A Black restrained him. ‘Don’t call it! Please don’t summon them. Wait! Just wait. That is all I ask!’
‘Very well, Councillor. For you, a moment.’
*
It looked to Spindle as though they were getting close; damned close. The depth looked right from what he remembered of the trench. So far they’d been ignored, as the Seguleh had much more immediate worries. Wave after wave of Moranth had landed, formed up, and made for the entrances to Majesty Hall, where they were met by the Seguleh. So far, from what glimpses he could snatch, despite their munitions it looked as if the Moranth were coming off far the worse. That meant that for him and Fisher time was running out.
He straightened once more to toss a shovelful of dirt only to see a pair of sandalled feet on either side of the pit. He looked up: the feet belonged to two Seguleh who were peering down at them, swords pointed.
‘Do not move,’ one commanded.
Spindle glanced to Fisher who slowly straightened, shovel in hand.
‘Explain this,’ the Seguleh demanded.
Spindle opened his mouth to answer then gaped, shocked, and threw himself flat yelling: ‘Down!’
Fisher fell immediately. The Seguleh only had time to turn before multiple eruptions blasted about the pit, sending earth flying. Spindle held his hands over his head as stones and clots of soil struck him. Fisher recovered first; he straightened, shaking his hair and brushing dirt from himself.
‘What was that?’ he demanded, speaking overly loud as everyone does after enduring blasts.
‘Just a hit and run,’ Spindle said, picking up his shovel. ‘C’mon. We’re almost there.’
But attention had been drawn; only one of the Seguleh had been taken down. The other had limped off, and now more were on their way. Spindle had barely scooped up the freshly fallen soil when another two came jumping through the low brush to glare down at them.
‘Out,’ one ordered.
Spindle dropped his shovel and raised his hands. Fisher followed suit.
‘Out!’
‘Okay, okay!’ Spindle reached up to the side.
A great war whoop erupted from the woods, freezing him; it sounded like a cross between a Barghast war bellow and a death scream. Even the Seguleh flinched. Then a huge multicoloured shape jumped the pit, two swords flashing, followed by another equally bizarre-looking fellow also wielding two swords. Even more astoundingly, they drove off the Seguleh in a dazzling coordinated attack of continuous multiple strikes.
Spindle stared open-mouthed at the astonishing apparition.
‘Ha ha!’ the huge one announced, waving his blades. ‘That is how you do it!’ He peered down at Spindle and Fisher. ‘Well? Go ahead, you two — dig away!’ He motioned across the pit and Spindle turned to see a third man standing there.
‘Ah, yes,’ the newcomer said, his voice nowhere near as loud as the huge one’s. ‘Dig.’
Half stunned, Spindle retrieved his shovel to set to it once more. Fisher, he saw, was shaking his head in disbelief as he worked. ‘You know them?’ Spindle asked.
‘It’s Madrun and Lazan Door is who it is.’
Spindle tossed a shovelful of dirt. ‘I thought those were just stories,’ he hissed.
‘No — they’re flesh and blood. As for what’s attributed to them, well … some of that is my fault.’
*
At the main entrance Jan watched while more and more of the Moranth gathered. Their strategy was simple but effective. They formed into tight squares of shield-walls from behind which the rear ranks threw their munitions. And those munitions: like the punishing heavier ones used earlier, these too demonstrated a far greater killing
