Dark Foundations (81 page)

As Luke began to pray, men and women kneeled or bowed their heads. As Merral bowed his head, he caught a glimpse of Azeras, standing defiantly upright against his banner.

Luke ended his prayer with a firm “Amen” that was echoed across the lines.

“Men and women,” Merral cried out, “take up your positions. Whether we be granted victory or defeat, let us fight well!”

There were eddies of movement along the ditches as people made last-minute adjustments, drank water, or checked weapons. Colonel Lanier moved along the line to take up a position at the western end. There were few words said.

Merral made his way to the crude trench that lay just in front of the great banner of the Lamb and Stars. He tightened his helmet, slung his rifle off his back, and checked to see that he had a full magazine and a spare on his belt.

“You ready, Sergeant?” he said, turning to the big man laden with belts and cartridges just behind him.

“Yup. Whatever happens, I plan to kill a few of these things.”

“Good. Very good.” Merral suddenly found himself struggling to find the right words. “Ah, Lloyd, at this point . . . well, let's just say . . . many thanks for your help.”

Lloyd grinned. “It's been . . . interesting. And, sir, we ain't dead yet.”

“No.”

A soldier came over. “Any room here?”

For a second, Merral didn't recognize the voice. It was only when he glimpsed a strand of reddish hair sticking out from under the helmet that he realized who it was.

“Anya,” he said, “I didn't recognize you.” He paused. “Oddly enough, I'm glad to have you here.”

They stared at each other. In a flash of insight he realized that both were unsure whether to adopt an attitude of flippancy or gravity.

“Two things, Merral,” Anya said quietly, as Lloyd moved a short distance away.
Tactful to the last
. “First, I don't expect you to protect me.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. And don't you worry about me. I have Lloyd for that.”

“And second . . . sorry.” Anya's face flushed. “I've been unfair to you. In fact, I've been far too bitter.” She shrugged. “Anyway, now seemed an appropriate time to mention it.”

“I suppose it is, isn't it? And you have my apology. I haven't really handled our relationship well.”

“Thanks, but you apologized before. I forgave you, remember?”

Merral nodded, then looked up. Halfway up the slope above them, the wide Krallen line came to a halt. There seemed a new note in their howling now.

“Not long now,” he said quietly to Anya.

“They're creatures of habit. They do like to be all neatly lined up.” Anya's face puckered into a grim smile. “Yeah, as an authority on Krallen behavior, I felt I ought to experience coming face-to-face with them.”

“Don't forget to take notes,” he said, and reached for her hand. For a moment their gloved hands clasped.

Merral looked around to find Azeras standing alone by his own banner. He smiled and received a solemn stiff salute from Azeras in response.
I read that
as the gesture of a man who knows his time is up. Lord, have mercy on him and us this day.

On the slope, the Krallen lines continued to adjust themselves. A slight figure, apparently ill at ease in full armor, approached him. It was Vero. Merral beckoned him over.

“A bad mess,” Vero said, shaking his head. “V-very bad. I should have realized that they might be able to do this—”

“Don't say it,” Merral interrupted. “You have apologized enough. You don't need to do it again.”

“Okay. Life's too short.” Vero made a grimace. “Hmm, perhaps an inappropriate expression under the circumstances.”

“You need to keep at a distance to allow me to swing my sword without the risk of hitting you,” Merral said, trying to keep the tone conversational.

“Right.” Vero took a step aside. “Sorry. You know it will be my first fight since Carson's Sill?”

“That seems a long time ago.”

Vero looked up at the hillside. “I thought the odds were bad then. I guess I was naive.”

“We are a lot wiser now.”

“Absolutely. Live and learn.” There was another grimace. “Ow. Perhaps not the best expression either. Anyway, it's good to have you with me here.”

“Somehow appropriate.” Merral nodded.
Well,
all stories must end and perhaps this is our ending. The secret is, as Perena said, to end it well.

He stared at the slope. The Krallen line now was perhaps twenty deep and a kilometer long.
At least
the coming conflict will have the merit of brevity.

“You know,” Vero said, in a wistful voice as he craned his neck skyward, “in the old stories something turns up at this point. Like eagles.”

“Eagles?” Merral shook his head. “No. Not today. Not in this story.”

He twisted his head to look southward at the hazy blue of the sea.
I have never spent enough time at the sea
.
One minor, last-minute regret: too many trees and not enough beaches.
He swung his gaze over the bay, the village, its vineyards and olive groves, grieving that this might be the last time he saw such things.

A hundred meters or so away, he saw a white bird flying eastward.

As he saw it Merral felt oddly certain that there was something about its movement that was striking, even significant. But what was it? He watched it, recognizing that far from being an eagle, it was merely some sort of small tern. Yet he was still sure that what he was seeing was critical. Then, in a flash, it came to him:
the bird was struggling against the wind.

“The wind!” he said and as he spoke, the flags began to twitch and tremble into life.

Merral turned southward again, seeing far away lines of white foam on the sea, noting the leaves on the remaining olive trees quivering and sensing a breeze on his face.

“That's better,” said Vero.

The banner of the Lamb and Stars fluttered clear from the flagpole and streamed out wide and noble.

What had Jorgio said? “I am specifically to tell you, from the Most High, that in half an hour, there will be a strong wind off the sea.” But, why tell
me
?

He turned to the slope in front of him, a sudden, wild idea flooding his mind.

“Colonel, Captains,” he ordered into his microphone. “We have to set fire to the trees! Quick—send the fastest people you have. Set fire to the trees, the bushes, anything that will burn!”

In moments, soldiers were racing over the dug-up ground, their feet kicking up dust that blew after them.

Now, above the cries of the men, the pulsing howls of the Krallen, the taut snapping of the flags at the poles, Merral could hear the mad, wild roar of the wind.

The first soldier had reached the trees now and was setting fire to the undergrowth. A single tongue of yellow flame licked out and then another. Fire began to sprint through the dry brush.

A second man set fire to a pile of dead twigs and the golden flames raced upward. In a second, dry sap-filled branches caught fire. Elsewhere, more soldiers fired the undergrowth.

The wind continued to strengthen. Overhead, the flags flapped with a manic energy, and beyond the ditches, loose dirt from the excavation of the defenses rolled and bounced toward the forested hillside.

High above, the Krallen still howled, but with a change in note.

Merral pressed his microphone stud. “Betafor,” he said, “can you tell me if there is any alteration in the Krallen signals?” He paused, hearing only silence. “Betafor? Betafor?”

There was no answer. A communication link down, he decided, and turned his attention to what was happening on the mountainside.

Fanned by the growing wind, an angry line of yellow fire was spreading rapidly up the slope.
How strange.
What I once feared as a forester has become something that may deliver us
. In places, the fire crawled from twig to twig, but elsewhere, driven by the rising wind, it jumped and leaped from branch to branch.

Smoke billowed and eddied up the slope, carrying sparks with it that started new fires. Now, at the base of the slope, there were no longer individual patches of fire but instead, one great smoky wall of flame that swept upward with an irresistible force, turning trees into flaming torches within seconds. The few firebreaks were leaped with ease and within a few minutes of the first fires being lit, the whole lower part of the hillside had become a vast roaring furnace.

I have seen many fires in my life
,
but none of this ferocity.
Indeed, there was something extraordinary about this conflagration, as if it was not the simple act of combustion, but a living elemental creature
Fire
let loose on earth.

In a few more moments, the first tongues of flames had raced to within a dozen meters of the Krallen front line.

Around Merral, men and women cheered, wept, or prayed.

The Krallen line seemed to undergo some sort of readjustment.

“The Krallen are retreating!” Vero cried as he waved a clenched fist high in exuberant joy. “Yah hey!”

Then in a single, terrible moment, everything changed.

As if a dam had burst, the Krallen line plunged headlong down the slope. Down they rushed through the flames, bounding, tumbling, and rolling over the rocks and tree trunks in an attempt to burst through the fire. With urgent cries, soldiers who had flung down weapons snatched them up again and threw themselves against the defenses.

At first, Merral felt certain that the Krallen were moving so fast that most of them would pass through the flames unharmed. But as he watched, he saw that the roughness of the slope worked against them. Some mysterious and ancient process of erosion had gouged out furrows and ridges on the slopes and—inevitably—in their mad descent, the Krallen were forced into the valleys. Here they pushed together, tripped each other up, and, intertwined, fell into the roaring blast of the flames. And as the gullies became increasingly blocked by burning and melting Krallen, those that tried to follow were slowed down long enough for the flames to take hold of them. Others, apparently disoriented by the smoke, tumbled off crags into flames. Still other Krallen erupted in spectacular chains of explosions that set fire to yet more trees.

Yet although most of the Krallen perished in the crackling inferno of the mountainside, a few hundred—a ragged line of blackened and smoldering figures—burst out of the smoke and raced toward the lines.

A volley of rockets from the XQ guns took down many of them, but still dozens made it to the ramparts. Yet for once, the attackers were outnumbered and the Krallen perished rapidly. Merral slashed a charred Krallen as it tried to surmount the parapet in front of him and almost severed its neck completely. Lloyd thrust the barrel of his shotgun into the mouth of another and blew its head off. Another Krallen, its tail smoldering, slipped over the parapet and ended up at Anya's feet. Wielding the blade with both hands, she swung it deep into its chest. As the creature slumped to the ground, she pulled out the blade and then thrust it down with such force that the creature's head was pinned to the ground.

“That's a lady with attitude,” Vero murmured.

Merral looked around. The attack was over. Ahead, perhaps fifty Krallen were left in front of the flames, trying to regroup, but showing evidence of being disoriented.

Filled with a new and spirited defiance, Merral clambered on top of the ramparts, waving his sword and feeling the wind on his back. “Come on! Let's finish them off. Charge!” he yelled and then ran forward.

“Not so fast!” he heard Lloyd gasp behind him, but he didn't slacken his pace.

He was first to reach the remaining Krallen, but the others were barely steps behind. With shouts of “The Lamb!” “Tantaravekat!” “For Perena!” “Tezekal!” and many other cries, they cut and hacked away until the last Krallen lay still.

Merral D'Avanos turned his back on the still-flaming mountain, took off his helmet and gloves, and amid the cheers of his men, strode back to where the Lamb and Stars flapped proudly in the wind.

As he stood there, Merral felt almost overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. He felt exhausted yet filled with an extraordinary energy; depressed at the losses yet elated at the victory. He wanted to both weep and sing.

But he did neither.

He gave a prayer of thanks and, reminding himself that there was work to be done, walked back to the command center.

27

M
erral and Colonel Lanier walked onto the roof of the command center to assess the situation.

A glance at the awesome inferno of flame and smoke still boiling in front of them on the mountainside confirmed to Merral that the main Krallen force had been utterly destroyed. Through the great billowing columns of smoke, perhaps a few hundred Krallen were trying to escape westward along the summit, apparently intent on returning to Langerstrand. Merral was doubtful that they would make it.