Sennar's Mission (31 page)

Nihal could feel the blood rush into her temples as she opened her mouth to respond, but the general nodded at her to keep silent. “Your plan strikes me as feasible, given our needs. And Nihal has repeatedly proved herself a valiant warrior. For which reason, we’ll be entrusting her with this mission. That’s my decision, and that’s final.”

Ido shook his head in disapproval.

Nihal’s spirits were soaring. “Thank you for trusting in me, General.”

The meeting broke up and the knights went their separate ways. Nihal, though, remained in the command room to discuss the particulars of the mission. It was the first time she’d been assigned a garrison, but that wasn’t what had her reeling. She couldn’t wait to go.

It was late by the time she arrived at her tent, and Ido was sitting out front, puffing away nervously on his pipe.

“Care to explain to me what in the world you’re so worked up about?” Nihal raised her voice. “It’s a mission, just like any other.”

The dwarf hurled his pipe on the ground, waving his arms drastically in the dark. “No, it isn’t, Nihal, and you know it damned well!” he shouted, red in the face.

Nihal stood stock-still. They’d gotten into their share of arguments, but she’d never seen him so beside himself.

Someone shouted. “Keep quiet, for heaven’s sake!” and a few others poked their heads out of their tents.

Ido bent down to pick up his pipe, fixing Nihal in a cold stare. “Do as you please. Go get yourself killed if that’s what you want,” he muttered, and walked off toward his tent.

The following morning, Nihal made her way over to Ido’s tent and asked if she could come in, but there was no response. She repeated her request, but all she heard from inside was a dense silence.

A few hours later, she and Laio took off.

Nihal had one hundred soldiers at her command, far more than she’d imagined. For a moment, she felt overwhelmed. The mission seemed far beyond her capacity. And when she caught herself wondering whether she had leaped into it merely for revenge, she felt even worse. Yes, revenge. Suddenly the full gravity of the situation bore down on her. Maybe Ido was right.

“Can I ask you something?” Laio said, his voice earnest.

Nihal raised her defenses. “What’s that?”

“What made you want to put yourself in this situation?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, feigning indifference.

“The last time you attacked Dola, did you not come out of it half dead? What are you after? What is it you’re trying to prove?”

“Do you agree with Ido, Laio?” Nihal asked, unnerved.

Laio shrugged his shoulders. “No, Nihal. No.”

When the troops at the Herzli Forest encampment noticed an army approaching with a woman at its command, some were angry, others laughed, others abandoned all hope.

An air of death pervaded the encampment. Everything seemed pale, bloodless, as washed out as the sky after heavy rains. There were twenty or so tents in all, and all of them the same nameless, muddy shade of brown. Many of the men were wounded, and those well enough to fight seemed fatally exhausted. In all the camp, not a single woman or child—only men in the solitude of war.

The general accompanied Nihal on a tour of the site. He came off as one of those men who have seen too much in life. He was thin and not all that old, judging by his athletic build. And yet his face was carved with numerous wrinkles, his shoulders hunched, his eyes grey and depleted. A man tired of blood, of war, a man who’d had enough of life. He introduced himself as Mavern.

The site was by no means ideal for a battle camp. Nihal had never fought down among the brush, and the surrounding woods were dense. She remembered them well, those woods: they were the woods she’d crossed when she’d fled from Salazar, the city devoured in flames. Pricking up her ears, she could hear the mighty roar of the river Saar.

Soon they came to a hilltop, and from there Nihal formed a clearer picture of the situation. Part of the woods appeared to have been stripped of its skin, the bare earth scourged and scarred. The woods radiated outward from a black center, the enemy’s base. It was a well-ordered encampment built around a squat tower. Most of the Fammin were stationed in the camp, though doubtless many others were hiding in the thick of the woods.

“The encampment was there already. And it was ours, up until a week ago. The tower, though, is Dola’s addition. That’s where he lives, he and that hellish black monster. For two days now he’s been holed up in there. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t attack, nothing. He just waits,” said the general.

So that’s where he was. The man who’d made ashes of her city was in her reach.

“Which is to say, we’ll be the ones to rouse him,” Nihal added.

The general wasn’t so quick to share Nihal’s enthusiasm. His men were weak after many hard-fought battles, the losses staggering, their injuries numerous.

“There aren’t many of us left, and we’re at the end of our strength. We can’t pretend to hope for victory.”

“My men are fresh,” Nihal retorted.

“It’s sheer madness, Knight.”

“Tomorrow night is a new moon. We’ll attack them in their sleep. As far as Dola’s concerned, don’t worry—he won’t touch a hair on a single one of your men. You just focus on raiding the camp and fending off the Fammin. But you’ll need to be lightning quick. The element of surprise is the only advantage we’ve got.”

The general regarded her skeptically.

“I promise you we’ll regain control of the camp,” Nihal declared.

The following day passed calmly, though Nihal knew she’d projected a false certainty in her discussion with the general. She crept off into the woods, leaving Laio with the task of polishing her sword and preparing her armor. She traveled farther and farther from the encampment, until she could no longer hear its bustle, drawing ever nearer to the Saar’s majestic roar. She blocked out all thought, convincing herself that it was a mission like any other, and nothing else.

But deep inside she knew that what awaited her was no battle of the Free Lands against the Tyrant. It was not for the dead of Salazar, nor for the population of half-elves. It was her own battle. And she, Nihal the Dragon Knight, was going to carry out her mission, on her own terms. At all costs.

It seemed night would never come.

When darkness finally invaded the summer sky, Nihal retreated to her tent and sat on the floor cross legged. Her sword, polished by Laio with his usual fastidiousness, glimmered at her feet. A chill ran up her spine. It was time to recite the spell. She wiped the sweat from her brow and noticed her hands were trembling. She was afraid.

She thought back to the first time she’d tried to conjure the Inextinguishable Shadow. What if she lost control of the enchantment? What if she plunged, crazed, into the abyss?

She closed her eyes and attempted to calm herself.
Clear your mind
. Her sprinting heartbeat slowed.
Clear your mind
. She was breathing regularly again. Only then did she call forth the Blade of Light. She sat there staring at the little ball of fire as if she were seeing it for the first time: a perfect sphere, a pale, innocent blue.

Then, in a hoarse tone, she began to chant.

The hellish visions assailed her instantly. Disfigured faces, deformed limbs spiraling toward her, batting up against her.
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro.
Monstrous howls and squawking laughter erupted in her head.
Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro. Vrašta Anekhter Tanhiro.
Nihal could feel the darkness tightening around her. Several times, she flicked open her eyelids, but open or closed, it made no difference. She was pervaded, possessed. An unbearable horror, one blink of an eye from madness. She fell backward, gnashing her teeth. She felt her consciousness slipping. Then she yelled, she yelled, and again she yelled, tearing herself from the darkness with an inhuman force.

When she reopened her eyes, bathed in a cold sweat, a black sphere rotated slowly above her palm.

“What is that thing?”

Laio’s voice reached her as a whisper.

Standing in the doorway, he observed her with bulging eyes. Nihal was seated in the center of the tent, pale and stiff, her neck wrenched awkwardly, her eyes rolling in the back of her head.

The unnatural light carved shadows into her face. “I heard you yelling,” he murmured, “so I came in, and …”

His face was so pale it almost glowed in the dark of the tent.

“Everything’s okay, Laio,” Nihal reassured him, her voice faint, the Inextinguishable Shadow singeing her skin.

She stretched her hand toward her sword and the sphere disappeared into the blade, fusing itself with the crystal’s black. Then she stood, trembling uncontrollably. She was aghast, exhausted by the intensity of her brief horror. Each time she resurfaced from the abyss, a part of her was lost forever to the depths below. She walked uneasily toward Laio and wrapped him in her arms.

“What just happened?” he asked, bewildered.

“I recited a spell. A spell that’s difficult to recite, and somewhat … painful.”

Laio remained silent, clumsily stroking her back.

Once she’d regained her calm, Nihal took a step backward, doing her best to avoid Laio’s gaze. But he grabbed her by the arm. “What spell, Nihal?”

“Laio, trust me. This is the only way to defeat Dola. Everything’s fine,” she replied, loosing herself from his grip.

“How can you tell me everything’s fine? When I walked in, your face was … it wasn’t you! You looked like a ghost, Nihal!”

Laio went on staring at her, wide eyed.

Nihal sank back onto her cot and wiped her face, still shaking. “I need you to support me Laio. I need to know you trust me, that you believe I can do this.”

Laio gave no reply. Instead, he took a seat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders.

When the troops had reached the top of the hill behind the enemy encampment, Nihal approached the general. “All will go according to plan. I ask only that you cover me while I keep Dola occupied.”

Mavern nodded.

Nihal lowered the visor on her helmet and all sound was muffled. It was time to attack. It was time to concentrate, to sweep away all thought except battle. The general raised his sword to the sky, and when he lowered it Nihal and Oarf took off in rapid flight.

Nihal made without hesitation for the central tower. Though on the one hand she was reeling with the desire for battle, part of her maintained the impossible hope of seizing Dola by surprise and taking him down with no duel at all.

The whack of Oarf’s tail against the tower sent a pile of stones tumbling toward the ground. Nihal heard the Fammins’ guttural howls as they were crushed beneath the debris, followed by the battle cry of her advancing troops.

Had Dola already fled the tower? Nihal scanned her surroundings in search of him, but the dwarf and his black dragon were nowhere in sight. Oarf roared, lashing against the tower once again.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, you worm.

Nihal made two wide circles around the ruins, though still nothing. Then she heard something moving. A low, heavy panting, as if from an enormous bellows, rose from among the ruins. Two massive embers lit up the night sky. A black head erupted from the rubble. The dragon burst forth in a shower of heavy stones, stomping to pieces the tower’s remains. The outline of Dola was visible on its back, brandishing a long lance.

“I’ve come for you, Dola!” Nihal shouted, anger clapping like thunder in her chest. “I’ve come to take your head.”

The warrior paused for a moment, his weasel eyes aimed up at the sky. From beneath his helmet came an insolent groan. “You’re tenacious, little boy. And stupid.”

“That remains to be seen, you slime,” Nihal muttered under her breath. Then she drew her blade, and in that simple motion, a gesture she’d made a thousand times, all the malignant whispers clouding her thought, all the exultation in her heart, all her desire for revenge, all was swept away. In her remained only a knight’s stone-cold conviction.

Suddenly, the black dragon took flight and Dola came barreling toward Nihal, his lance couched. Oarf dodged the attack and Nihal was quick to strike the black beast as it passed, its wide-open jaws just above her.

Dola looped back and rushed in again, but this time Nihal was prepared. The battle was officially on.

Nihal was already well aware of the dwarf’s inhuman strength and his superior speed, but to confront them all over again left her breathless. All she could manage to do was block his every attack, and even that required an enormous effort. She began using both hands, straining to keep her balance on back of Oarf as he wrenched himself in one direction and then another, dodging the black beast’s jaws.

Only a few minutes had passed when Dola’s lance caught her by surprise. With ease, his jab penetrated her breastplate, cracking the black crystal and scraping her shoulder. She was forced to retreat momentarily, trying to catch her breath.

Dola remained motionless in his saddle. “I was too nice to you last time,” he shouted, waving the point of his fire-red lance in the air. “For now, I’ll appease myself with just a little taste of your blood, but by the time I’m done with you, I swear I’ll have snapped every limb off your pathetic body, little boy,” he cackled.

Nihal’s blood boiled. “I’m a knight. Don’t call me little boy,” she shouted back, spurring Oarf forward.

Now the dwarf was well in her sights—every piece of his armor, every vulnerable gap into which she might sink her blade. Once again gripping her sword in both hands, she redoubled the speed of her movements, parrying every strike with precision. Still, she found no room for attack. Patience was what she needed, patience and persistence. She was oblivious to the happenings below, could not even hear the sound of battle, only the clash of sword and lance. Now and then one of Dola’s thrusts pierced her skin, loosing a stream of blood beneath her armor, but the pain was transitory, not enough to slow her down. She’d already seen hell, and just for the special purpose of defeating Dola. She dodged yet another in an endless series of attacks and again she was forced to retreat. But the dwarf was on her heels. The dragon unleashed a torrent of fire, then another, and another, Oarf meanwhile batting his wings manically to rise above the flames. Soon, they were both soaring upward through the sky. Nihal caught her breath, only to hear Dola’s lance whiz by a moment later. Oarf wasn’t able to move in time to dodge it, and a thin gash opened up along his hip. The dragon roared with pain, bucking violently as he changed direction. “Steady, Oarf, steady,” Nihal murmured, though she knew the battle couldn’t go on like this much longer.
I have to strike back. I have to attack him now!