Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 (26 page)

23

Last Chance

ARGOTH RODE OUT of the gates with a fist of dreadmen behind him. His Fire was raging inside of him, and he felt strong enough to break timbers. Loyal of Nilliam had separated himself from the men he’d ridden out with and was waiting for Argoth alone, holding up the parley banner.

Argoth’s fist reined in their horses the same distance away as Loyal’s guards, and waited as Argoth rode up to Loyal who was so resplendent in his brilliant blue surcoat and his shining black armor worked with silver and gold that Argoth felt cheap in comparison.

“You’re a brave and foolish man,” Loyal said.

“We are not like any sleth you have ever fought,” said Argoth.

“Indeed, you are not,” said Loyal of Nilliam. “Which is why I’m going to give you one last chance. You will not prevail against us today. But it is not too late to join our cause. The dogmen are loyal to us. As is Urz. We will protect you.”

“We don’t need any protection.”

Loyal smiled ruefully. “Let us be honest men. You have no Skir Masters. But if you join us, together we can turn on Mokad.”

“I would ask you to reconsider
my
offer,” said Argoth, “but I know you’re enthralled. Beautiful and glorious, but a slave nevertheless. Would that you could break free of your bonds and fight our true enemy.”

“It is not the order of things,” said Loyal of Nilliam.

“That’s what they would have you believe. But we will not bow to Mokad or any other power that is ruled by the Devourers. If we must die today, we will do so as free men.”

“You do not want to die on this field of battle. There are more than crows and frights that gather around.”

“We are prepared.”

“How is your son?”

Argoth thought of Serah and the children heading south. “Not well. But your weave did help.”

Loyal nodded. “Not all Sublimes are the same.”

“All devour men. We cannot join you, Loyal. But maybe you can hold your forces back. Let us fight Mokad. And when we have beat them back, you can have your turn at them.”

Loyal of Nilliam shook his head in disappointment. “Is that your answer?”

“Today,” said Argoth, “mankind throws off its chains.”

A beat passed. Loyal of Nilliam’s horse took a small step to the side. “I should have liked to have fought with you at my side, Argoth, Root of Hismayas. I am sorry. By evening there will not be one of you left to mourn your dead. And you will not go to your death a free man. You will go fettered with the cries of all those you might have saved from the coming harvest.”

Argoth drew his sword and crossed it over his breast. “We are Shimsmen to the last. Break yourselves upon us.”

Bold words. A fool’s words. And yet he pitied Loyal of Nilliam, for Argoth had tasted what it was to be enthralled. He turned his horse.

Loyal of Nilliam lingered for a moment more, then turned his horse as well.

Argoth rode back to the gates of Fort Echo. Serah and the girls had snipped locks of their hair and braided them into a necklace that he wore now under his armor. He could feel the hair, smooth against his neck. May the Six bless them. If he died today, he would do it with joy, knowing they were heading for safer places.

He joined with his men and rode back toward the gates.

* * *

Sugar walked with her vine about thirty paces ahead of her body, which Urban helped steady with a hand to her elbow. He had hooded her to keep her Koramite face hidden. And it had mostly worked with the trees to give them cover. But the open field and sunshine now lay before them.

Out on the field in front of the fort were two groups of men on horses.

“Who is that?” she whispered with the mouth of her flesh. “The one looks familiar. Is that Argoth?”

“I think it is,” said Urban. “There’s some parley going on.”

“This is our chance,” she hissed.

In front of her, the soldiers of Nilliam and Urz had spread out in five battles four or five men deep and at least a hundred men across. The battles were a mixture of groups of archers, slingers, and pikemen. There were three main battles in front of her, each in loose formation, each stretching almost two hundred yards wide. The one on the left flew the colors of Urz. The two on the right were the blues of Nilliam. Two other smaller battles formed up behind the front three as a reserve. The larger was Nilliam’s. The other was a much smaller contingent of the men of Toth with a number of their dogs, which she’d made sure to steer Urban away from.

In addition to the battles of foot soldiers were a few squadrons of mounted men as well as some groups assembling shields as tall as a man that could be wheeled forward to protect archers and other troops as they approached; they were also assembling two- and four-wheeled ladders with boarding bridges that could be released to swing down onto the battlements.

Without skir, this army would need far more siege weapons to assault the fort: battering rams, an earthen ramp, siege towers to push up the ram, ballista. But they didn’t need that here. The skir would be used to keep the men in the fort down while the armies approached the walls. Then, at the last moment, the winds would cease, and there would be a race to see who could gain the battlements first—the army outside or the army within.

Sugar looked for a good way through, but didn’t see any.

Out on the field, Argoth turned his horse.

She didn’t have time to move two hundred yards to the right or left and scout a new way through. She needed to get out on the field now. She found a gap between the reserve battles and steered Urban and the others that way.

But before they’d come within thirty yards of the reserve battle, a Nilliamite captain blocked their way and accosted Urban.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re just looking for our cohorts,” Urban said. “We were scouting and got separated.”

A number of the men of Nilliam in the rear battle turned to look at what was going on.

“The Fir-Noy are in the rearguard,” said the captain.

“Aye,” Urban said and turned the group to walk down the line. “We’ll just move off this way.”

The captain looked at Sugar. “Is that a Koramite?”

“Yes, Zu,” Urban said continuing to walk away. “We caught her snooping.”

More of the Nilliam soldiers turned to look.

The captain narrowed his eyes. “Show me your wrists,” he called after Urban.

Urban held up his hand, but kept walking.

“What is that?” the captain called. “You’re not a Newlander.”

“I think I see our cohort,” Urban called back and put a little more speed into his walk. “This way, men.”

“Come back here,” the captain called.

“No, I found them. Thank you for your help. May the Six bless your Lady.”

Then Urban steered the little group back into the trees.

The Nilliamite captain watched them for a moment, then turned.

Out on the field, Argoth began to ride back to the fort.

“We’ve got to get through,” she said with the mouth of her flesh.

“Tell me where,” Urban said under his breath.

Sugar looked, the soldiers of Nilliam dark in their flesh, but there wasn’t any pathway through.

* * *

Berosus prepared to slit Shim’s throat, then stopped. If he killed him now, the soldiers in his army would reel in shock, then panic. They might bolt from the fort. They might alert Nilliam. The commotion, at the very least, would make them suspicious. It might force them to act before Berosus could warn Shaymash. They might even let Shim escape across the ford and ruin the harvest.

Better to keep them pacified until everything was in place. Better to lull them than stir the hornet’s nest.

Berosus released the hilt of his dagger and said, “I should be out there with those you sent to take the Skir Master. This was, after all, my idea.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Grandfather was right. It was my idea that led us into this mess. I should be the one to help fix it. I deserve at least that much.”

“You’ll give away their position.”

“I won’t. You left me out of the first attempt to deal with Mokad’s Skir Master. Don’t make the same mistake again.”

Shim considered. “How will you get past the dogmen?”

“Leave that to me,” Berosus said.

“I don’t know,” said Shim.

“Trust me,” Berosus said. “I know better than anyone here how Mokad’s Divines work.”

“And what if we clear the way into the mountains?”

“We’ll find you.”

“Let’s see what Argoth has to say.”

“No time for that. Besides, all eyes are on him now; it’s the perfect distraction to allow me to make my escape.”

Shim hesitated.

Berosus said. “If we’re to die, I want to do it with honor, striking out, as a man of the Hand should.”

Shim nodded. “Go and murder them.”

Berosus smiled. “By your command,” he said and bowed, and then he left Shim and made his way off the battlement.

Eresh was still making a show of his heads over by the gate. Berosus called to him and gave him a thumbs-up. The heads would give Shim’s men hope, make them think they had a chance. Keep them docile a little while longer.

He walked over to the wall by the canyon, then climbed up and found the spot where Eresh had gone over. The fort wall jagged here because of the terrain and made an alcove that couldn’t be seen from the field, which answered the question why the dogmen hadn’t seen Eresh leave the fort. He slipped over the side and dropped to the dry moat below.

He’d be back. He would strike Argoth and Shim down before the old Kish’s eyes. Then he would take the Kish. There was a weave that would house his soul nicely.

Berosus crouched and moved down a ravine that led to the river.

* * *

Argoth rode to the gates of the fort, dismounted, and handed his horse off to one of his men to lead across the maze of short trenches. Each was long enough for a fist of men to lie down in a line. In between the trenches were mounds of dirt and rock. Many of the trenches were now the requisite four feet deep, and the soldiers were filling and tying off their bags of earth. Here and there other groups of soldiers moved the stones that might be picked up by a wind and dumped them at the base of the wall.

Argoth walked over the trenches and back up to the battlement to join Shim. Out on the river Mokad’s ships sailed upstream under skir power. The lead ship’s big sail was painted with the red eye of Mokad. More galleys sailed behind, some with the red eye on their sails, others with a stylized boar’s head, the five-petaled flower of Nilliam, and other shapes.

On land, a long thin cloud of dust rose above the plain. At the head of it marched the vanguard of Mokad’s soldiers, the spear heads and helmets glinting in the sun. It took a lot of people and horses and wagons to scuff that much dirt into the sky. From the reports of the scouts and what he could see with his eyes, Argoth figured the bulk of Mokad’s army marched in that column. It was probably twenty-five thousand men, plus wagons. Such a column could easily stretch four or five miles long.

Argoth thought about Shim’s six thousand.

Without skir, it wasn’t going to be a fair fight. Not even close. With skir, it would be a slaughter.

It was true Mokad would have left a good number of soldiers in Blue Towers to protect their supply ships. And others to protect the loyalist clans. And others to conduct raids into the lands loyal to Shim. But the bulk were on the plain. And there were already thousands of the troops of Nilliam and Urz forming up on the edge of the field.

Argoth thought of Urban. His decision to leave had stoked the fires of Argoth’s anger. They had needed every loremaster in this, and he had left them. But it was now clear that Urban’s predictions had been correct.

Eresh came back from his decorating efforts and then went off to see about the passage back into the mountain. The soldiers in the courtyard hurried to finish their trenches. A number of ravens started to gather to the cliffs behind and around the hoodoos with throaty cries, knowing there would soon be meat below. Out on the field, Mokad’s mounted soldiers began to arrive. He watched the ships sail up the river under a powerful skir wind that sent the colored leaves of the autumn trees along the river bank flying.

The lead ship stopped at where he estimated the old moorings were, the top of its mast sticking up above the trees there. Argoth knew Varro would be watching, waiting for the right moment.

Eresh returned from inspecting the passage and asked what was going on. Argoth told him. A few minutes later Mokaddian soldiers appeared on the road leading down to the river. A few minutes after that a larger contingent of guards walked up from the river and took positions at various points in the wooded area and out on the field. Argoth figured this would be the moment.

But nothing happened.

Then there was some barking farther down, but it sounded more like a scrap between dogs. Moments later a dogman yelled and silenced the hounds.

“What do you think?” Shim asked.

In answer another group of soldiers crested the bank carrying a litter painted in red and gold. They carried it forth to a small rise at the edge of the field and set it down. A moment later the Skir Master stepped out.

Shim sighed heavily. “Why didn’t they attack at the river’s edge?”

“If I know Varro, they did,” Argoth said, his heart heavy.

Eresh said, “That whoreson of the Hand. He didn’t go to help them. He left to save his own rotted hide. I told you not to trust him.”

There was barking down by the river, shouts, and then nothing.

Argoth’s heart fell. It was long past time for Varro and his men to attack. Which meant Varro’s attack had failed.

Two more ships arrived, their colorful sails mixing with the leaves kicked up by the winds.

“We’re not going to beat that wind,” Eresh said.

“How are the Burundians doing on that pass back into the mountain?” Argoth asked.

“It’s a tall face of rock that’s plugging the path,” Eresh reported. “They’ve now decided the quickest way over is to build ladders. They’ll lash together a scaffold of some sort if they can.”

“Ladders will work.”