Broken World Book Two - StarSword (11 page)

Kieran clasped
his empty scabbard, longing for the sword that should have been
there. He had searched all night for his weapon, and now he wished
only to escape this doomed city. Below him, a dozen soldiers pulled
a Hashon Jahar down, its horse falling under the weight of the
attack. The men, armed with axes and hammers, pounded the writhing
black warrior, cracking flexible rock flesh. Oil oozed out, and the
Rider's sword was smashed from its hand to skitter across the tar.
It came to rest against a nearby wall, and Kieran stared at it
longingly.

As he was about
to leap down and grab the weapon, a clatter of hooves made him
pause, and he looked up the street. A phalanx of Hashon Jahar
charged into the road, swords drawn. The Truemen soldiers tried to
scatter, but the houses hemmed them in, and only a few escaped. The
Black Riders thundered through them to cut down the warriors in an
orgy of gore and anguished screams. Brave soldiers who braced
lances against the walls and impaled the galloping steeds brought a
few Riders down, perishing themselves when the falling horses
crushed them. The majority fled up the road, seeking shelter whence
to fight, some vantage that gave protection from their enemies'
swords.

Within minutes,
the street was deserted, but for groaning wounded and the still
forms of defeated Riders and their steeds. Kieran quit his roost
and picked up the sword, leaping aside as a fallen Rider lashed out
at him, unable to rise on smashed legs. Leaving the Rider to crawl,
he sprinted up the street, searching for a way out of the city.
Turning away from several roads in which battles raged, he ducked
down a quiet street, then glanced back at a clatter of hooves. A
group of Riders entered the road behind him and galloped up it,
gaining rapidly. He looked around for a means of escape, a wall to
leap over or a doorway to duck through. Rounding a corner, he found
a Trueman barricade before him.

The soldiers
who manned it shouted encouragement as he raced towards them, the
Riders so close that he swore he could feel their mounts' hot
breath on the back of his neck. With a mighty leap, he reached the
top of the barrier and scrambled over it, pulled by many helpful
hands. Even as he tumbled over the other side, the steeds hit the
barricade with a terrific crash, lifted the overturned wagons
loaded with stones and pushed them several feet up the road. The
sliding wagons caught Kieran, and poles stabbed him in the ribs and
belly. His armour saved him, and he rolled away, grimacing. Someone
grabbed him and hauled him upright, thrusting a tough, leathery
face close his with a gap-toothed leer. The officer pushed him
towards the barricade and turned to raise his sword.

The Black
Riders rode their horses into the barrier, pushing against it as
they cut and slashed at the men who defended it. Soldiers stabbed
the horses with lances, wounded some and sent them crashing to the
ground. Their Riders leapt off to attack the barricade on foot,
climbing onto the wagons as they laid about them with
indestructible swords. The barrier would only hold for a few
minutes, and Kieran turned away from the doomed battle. The officer
grabbed his armour and yanked him around, glaring up at him.

"Where do you
think you're going, laddie?" he growled. "You'll stay here and
fight with the rest of us, like a man!"

Kieran stared
down at the man's pugnacious face pityingly. "Let me go."

"Where do you
think you can run to, eh? Ain’t nowhere to go, fool!"

"I have to get
a horse and warn the next city."

The officer
shook his head. "Won't do them no good, either. The best we can do
is kill as many of the bastards as we can!"

Part of the
barricade disintegrated with a great crash, the smashed wood
knocking aside the defenders as a steed forced its way through.
Desperate to get free, Kieran shook off the clutching hand that
clung to his armour and smashed his fist into the officer's face,
sending him sprawling.

"They don't
die!" he shouted as he swung away, glimpsing the despair in the
man's eyes.

Sheathing his
sword, he ran up the street, leaving the barricade and its hopeless
defenders to their fate. He skidded around a corner and headed up
another deserted road. Bodies strewn along it told of a battle
already fought here, the fallen mostly Truemen. Reaching a dead
end, he hurdled the wall into an alleyway choked with bodies,
mostly women and children. His hatred of the Hashon Jahar swelled
at the sight of the slain innocents, and he swung away, unable to
look at their twisted faces.

Rounding the
corner at the end of the alleyway, Kieran almost collided with a
Rider galloping past. Springing aside, he drew his sword as the
Hashon Jahar pulled his steed to a skidding stop and turned to
clatter back towards him. Kieran stood his ground, as if to block
the Rider's way, then leapt aside at the last moment, ducked the
slash of the Rider's sword and plunged his own into the steed's
flank. The horse went down with a crash, skidding on its knees and
nose until it hit a wall, its rider flung off to roll down the
street. Kieran turned and sprinted away, dived into a cross street
and raced up it as fast as his legs would carry him.

A wide road
crossed the one he ran along, apparently deserted, and he sprinted
across it without a pause. Something huge loomed beside him, the
scrape of hooves loud on the tar. A solid shoulder crashed into him
and sent him rolling into a wall. Pain shot through his shoulder
from the impact, and a Hashon Jahar turned its panting steed
towards him. Kieran tried to raise his sword, but his arm did not
work and the weapon fell from his numb fingers. The steed reared
over him, its hooves clipping the air inches from his head as puffs
of steam jetted from its flared nostrils. Kieran rolled away
instants before its hooves crashed down where he had been,
scrambling to his feet. Pain flashed through his shoulder as he
avoided the Rider's slashing sword and turned to flee.

Talsy looked
around with a frown. Her nape hairs prickled and her stomach
clenched with uneasiness. Her glance flicked over Shern, who dozed,
with the rest of the chosen, propped up against a tree. The
uneasiness would not go away, and she turned to gaze at the smoke
that rose from the distant city, wishing that Chanter would return.
Without him, she was exposed and unprotected, a sensation that did
not sit well with her stomach. Turning back to the sleeping people,
she froze in shock.

Four black-clad
riders emerged from the forest, and her heart leapt into her
throat, pounding. Then she noticed that their faces were Truemen
and their armour silver-edged. Long cloaks draped their horses'
rumps, and handsome studded breastplates moulded their chests.
Their attire reminded her of Kieran’s, being almost identical. She
stepped back as the leader turned his horse and rode towards
her.

"Shern!"

The seer jerked
awake and gaped at the strangers who converged on Talsy. With a
yell, he roused the others and leapt to his feet, but the riders
moved fast. The leader grabbed Talsy as she turned to flee and
dragged her onto his pommel. She kicked and yelled, punching
whatever she could reach, but the armoured knight ignored her puny
blows. He swung his horse with a vicious jerk of the reins and
spurred it into the trees, his companions following. The chosen
gave futile pursuit, but were soon left behind, only their shouts
of anger and frustration following the kidnappers into the wood's
green gloom.

Talsy struggled
as hard as she could, but the iron arm that held her did not give
an inch, and she only succeeded in hurting herself. Pinned to his
armoured chest, she panted in fury as she was borne away.

Chanter hovered
on the icy wind, holding position just beyond the black web. Still
he had seen no sign of Kieran, and the battle in the city raged on.
Piles of bodies choked the streets, Truemen and Hashon Jahar,
although the Riders were only incapacitated for the moment. More
people had fled onto the web, safe there while the Riders sacked
the city. Some had brought carts, and these lurched away down the
road, overloaded with refugees. Those left behind gathered to weep
and wail, mostly women and children. Chanter tilted his wings and
swooped low, skimming the ground, then used the momentum of his
dive to sail high over the trees again.

Kieran’s
failure to appear bothered him. The day wore on, and he should
return to the chosen and lead them away. The city was taking a long
time to fall. The Truemen's fiery weapons were more effective than
swords and lances, and had taken a heavy toll. The Riders that had
first fallen to the flames outside the city were starting to
recover now, remounting their steeds to join their fellows within
the broken walls. The fire in the moat had gone out, but thick
smoke still rose from within the city as flamethrowers spurted
liquid fire over the Hashon Jahar. He tilted his wings again and
sailed around the city, a few swift beats speeding his flight.
Kieran must emerge soon, or he would have to abandon the
warrior.

Kieran stumbled
down a narrow alley, the Black Rider close behind. Aware that he
was about to be overtaken, he flung himself flat against the wall.
The Hashon Jahar cantered past and slid to a halt, but the horse
was unable to turn in the alley. Its Rider dismounted and strode
towards Kieran, its sword raised. Kieran turned and darted back up
the alley, the Rider clumping after him, slow and ponderous on
foot. He raced into a broader road in time to join a fleeing crowd
of civilians and enrolled in the wild run. Soon, he realised that
the people were heading in the wrong direction and peeled off to
run down another road, heading for the city wall.

Coming across a
group of soldiers building a barricade, he stopped for a moment to
rest, clutching his wounded shoulder. The men made no comment about
his inactivity, his obvious inability excusing him. Some shot him
sympathetic glances as they worked. He was now one of the
honourably wounded, he deduced, one of the many who only waited for
death, pitied by those who could still fight. A young soldier, no
more than a boy, gave him a flask, and he sipped the strong wine
before handing it back with a nod of thanks. Having regained his
breath, he hurried on towards the wall. His arm flapped at his
side, the pain slowing him and adding to his fatigue.

Two streets
further on, he stopped beside a wall as a group of Riders thundered
past, chasing a young man who ran with panting gasps, at the end of
his stamina, and his life. As soon as the road was clear, Kieran
darted across it, only one street away from the wall now. The
grating clatter of a steed's hooves spurred his aching legs, but
his strength had all been used up. A blow jolted his shoulder and
hot breath blew against his neck as he was lifted off the ground.
The steed's teeth clamped the shoulder pad of his armour, one black
fang sliding past to impale his flesh with burning agony. Kieran
bellowed and raised his good fist to beat at the steed's muzzle,
but the horse shook him, sending waves of pain through him.

With a flick of
its head, it hurled him against a wall, bashing his broken
shoulder. Kieran gave a choked cry as he slid down in a heap,
certain that death was upon him. A group of Truemen boiled into the
street and charged the Hashon Jahar that loomed over him, swords
raised. The Rider swung to face its new assailants, and Kieran
crawled away along the wall while the Truemen warriors clashed with
it. Within a few minutes, a dozen sword wounds in its flanks
brought the steed to its knees, and the Rider leapt down to engage
the warriors on foot. The Truemen fell like wheat before the
scything sweeps of its sword, and Kieran struggled to his feet,
desperate to get away before the Hashon Jahar came after him
again.

Kieran loped
down the street, leaving the few remaining warriors to delay the
Rider. A final road to cross, and the mutilated brown wall loomed
before him. Gasping with pain and exhaustion, he scrambled over the
tumbled slabs and stones, sliding down the steep bank into the
moat. The oil, thickened by the fire that had swept it, gave way
under his feet in a thick, viscous ooze that clung to his boots.
His first step brought him to his knees as the sucking oil trapped
his legs. With one hand for support, he struggled across the thin
layer of tar that covered the moat, breaking through it to become
ensnared in the hot oil below. It soaked through his boots and
gauntlets to burn his skin, goading him with fresh pain. He
floundered through it, using his remaining strength recklessly in
his struggle to get free.

As his hand
touched the soil of the far bank, a shadow fell on him, and he
looked up, expecting to find a Rider looming over him. Instead, a
group of civilians, women and children in it, reached down to help
him out, hauling him free by his armour's straps. Gasping with
relief as the oil on his legs cooled in the chill air, he lay down
to regain his strength as the people urged him to get up. They
clustered around him, and he realised that they thought he could
protect them. Cursing his empty scabbard and useless arm, he made
no effort to rise.

A shadow passed
over him, and, with a great clank of armour and grating of hooves,
a Hashon Jahar leapt the moat to plough into the group. Its sword
slashed and blood flowed as the screaming group fled. The severed
head of a young girl thudded to the ground beside Kieran, spouting
blood into his face as it rolled past into the moat, its eyes open
and mouth stretched in her final scream. Shuddering with horror, he
raised his head to watch the Black Rider pursue and cut down the
people, leaving their bodies sprawled in its wake. Galvanised, he
struggled to his feet and reeled towards the forest.