Dark Foundations (95 page)

“It's not good, is it, Commander?” the warden said, looking up from a street map.

“No.”

“This creature—”

“A baziliarch.”

“Can it be defeated?”

“Not by force. Not by us.”

“I see.” Enatus closed his eyes for a moment and muttered something under his breath that Merral took to be a prayer. The warden opened his eyes. “Well,” he said. “I suppose there is no shame in losing to an unbeatable opponent, is there?”

“None.”

“How long do we have?”

“I don't know. They seem to be taking their time. I suspect no more than twenty minutes. We can't expect the third-circle defenses to hold for long.”

Enatus stroked his mustache. “Very well. I'd better order the closing of the refuge doors and prepare to make a last defense. I wish Isabella were here to come up with some sort of stirring speech for me.”

“The Lord of the Assembly measures deeds, not words,” Merral said, feeling that he hadn't done very well on either score.

“True.” The warden picked up his sword and hefted it. “But, to tell you the whole truth, Commander, I always rather liked a good speech.”

Merral and Lloyd walked across the grim and smoky square to the command post at the new gate. As they did, sirens sounded and loudspeakers ordered all nonessential personnel to enter the refuges immediately. Across the expanse of the square, men and women filed past the equipment and the wreckage of the
Emilia Kay
to the twin doors of Congregation Hall.

At the gate, Merral went in search of the lieutenant in charge of the irregs and had the latest update. It was as he feared. Despite heavy resistance the Krallen advance was unstoppable. Whenever they encountered any obstacles, the baziliarch came over and the defenses were instantly overwhelmed.

Merral went to the gate entrance. There he stood looking out to where the flash of weapons fire was most intense, trying to master his thoughts. But soon he heard a familiar voice cry out, “Commander!”

He turned to see Luke. “Chaplain,” he said, “I was worried about you, among others.”

“And I was worried about you. How are you doing?”

To his surprise, Merral felt himself smile. “Our defenses are failing. We all face death in minutes. And you ask me how I'm doing?”

In the gloom, Luke's face acquired a look of rueful amusement. “Yes, a bit of a silly question really. But you know what I mean. How are you?”

“I have . . .” Merral hesitated, trying to determine his exact feelings. “I feel almost defeated, but I have a degree of peace about it. Ironically, I'm more at peace than when I saw you earlier.” He gazed past the chaplain at the disorder of the darkened square. “Luke, we've done what we can. Our defense now rests with the Lord. If he chooses to deliver us, we'll praise him here. If he doesn't, we'll praise him in glory.”

“Well put.”

“There's not much else I can say, is there?”

“No.”

“I had hoped the envoy would turn up.”

“I know, but his presence is at the Lord's command, not ours. And the King always does what is best for his people.”

“I don't complain.”
Not now
.

There were shouted warnings by Congregation Hall. The doors of the refuge were closing.

“Do you have any advice for me?” Merral asked, hearing the fierce hiss of the great pistons as the massive doors slid into place.

“None.” The chaplain paused for a look through the gate. “Only that if this thing comes here, I think you ought to challenge him.”

“He's going to take little notice of me.”

“Yes, but it's not just you. You belong to the King. And that's someone he's afraid of.”

“Might as well.” Merral said, marveling at how matter-of-fact he sounded.

Suddenly, he heard a soft swishing sound in the air above him. He looked up in time to glimpse the dark shape of a slitherwing as it wove its way around the bell tower.

“The enemy is all around, Luke.”

“And so is God's grace. But I must be about my duties.”

“And I mine. God bless you, Luke.”

“And you, Merral.”

In the gloom, they saluted each other.

Not long after Luke departed, there were fierce cries, heavy explosions, and a volley of shots from below them. The third-circle defenses were being attacked. Within five minutes, weary and bloodied soldiers began to walk or stagger up the road to the gates. The defenses had been breached.

Merral, waiting by the gate, gave the order for any uninjured regulars to wait inside on the square. But the numbers of those who ran or tottered up the final part of Island Road were fewer than he had hoped. Among them he saw no sign of Vero or Balancal.

Soon, the flow had almost dried up and one door of the gate was closed. The second door was closing, when a handful of soldiers turned the bend below and, seemingly on the verge of utter exhaustion, jogged slowly up to the gateway.

Among them, Merral found one of the faces he was looking for. “Sentinel Enand,” he said.
Thank you, God. He's safe.

“C-Commander.” Vero shook his head, sat heavily against the wall, and put his head in his hands.

Merral squatted next to him and put his hand gently on his friend's shoulder. “Balancal?”

Vero looked up and shook his head. “Dead.” He handed Merral Balancal's flare gun.

“I'm sorry.”

“Commander D'Avanos . . . ,” Vero said slowly, his eyes full of tears. “I wish to report that the irregulars have performed . . . as expected.” He buried his head in his hands again.

Merral, moved almost beyond speech, patted him on the shoulder. “Well done,” he murmured. “Well done.”

He looked up to see the doors being barred.

Not long now
.
Not long at all.

Beneath the wall, Merral assembled the remaining regulars—barely eighty soldiers. He was down to two captains, including Karita, whose sniper team was now reduced to six.
I brought a hundred and fifty men and women here this morning. Now only half that stand with me.
He felt a bitter sadness.

I have to say something to them.
But what? We stand at the edge of defeat. Do I simply say it's all over?
But as the despairing thought came to him, it was driven away by a surge of defiant resolve.

“You have fought well,” Merral called out. “There's no shame in failing against such forces. The Assembly will be proud of you. Now I want us to go upon these ramparts and fight hard. And if these defenses are breached, I want us to assemble in front of Congregation Hall and defend it till we all fall. There are thousands inside.”

He paused, surveying the weary and bloodied faces before him. “The Assembly has endured twelve thousand years and as far as you or I know it may easily last as long again. You and I have been privileged to take part in its greatest battle. And however long the Assembly
does
last for, we want to be known as those from Ynysmant, the least town of the farthest world. Those who, when faced with overwhelming odds, did not fail either the Assembly or her Lord.”

There was no cheering—he had expected none—only determined nods and murmurs of assent. Merral was moved to speak again. “It has been a privilege to fight with you.”

With Lloyd at his side, Merral took his place on the wall above the gateway at the edge of a tower from which flags hung. He gazed out, seeing the whole northern half of Ynysmant below him.

The mist had lifted now and the dark waters shimmered dully, reflecting the flashes and flames that lit up the town. There was a slight, cooling breeze off the lake. Merral looked up, hearing the flags rustle and seeing the Lamb and Stars palely gleaming above him.

The fighting was closer now. A flash revealed the gray lines of the enemy moving steadily along Island Road. There was constant howling and whistling, and from down among the houses, ghastly rattles echoed up as a giant grotesque shadow slipped and swayed over roofs.

In a few seconds, the Krallen advance was in range.

“Fire at will!” Merral shouted, and there was a chorus of shots in response.

The Krallen charged. In seconds, they were at the walls, scaling them with hard strokes of their sharp claws. As they climbed, those in front were hewn down or shot, but more followed.

Behind them, the great shadow of the baziliarch lurched forward with a relentless malevolence and as it approached the gates, the Krallen advance stopped. The Krallen on the walls dropped back to the ground where, doglike, they circled behind the monstrous form.

The howling and hooting ended.

As the baziliarch advanced, its vast legs making scratching noises on the ground, Merral sensed the men and women on either side of him shuffling nervously.

There was a flap of the wings and the creature leaped at the wall. There were yells of terror as barely a dozen meters from Merral, the baziliarch hooked claws on the top of the wall and pulled itself onto the parapet.

This close, he could smell it now, a dreadful odor of rottenness and death.

Now the baziliarch lashed out with its terrible jointed limbs and soldiers fled in panic. The terrible eyes, glinting in the flashes and flames, swung this way and that and the light glimmered on the silver crown.

“Back!” Merral shouted, but realized as he said it that the command was pointless. Fear, not orders, now ruled.

Shots were fired—a XQ round whistled past Merral's ear—as the creature, high and terrible against the night sky, flailed out with limbs and wings. Merral glimpsed the weapons fire penetrating the creature and vanishing through it.

All around, soldiers tumbled or jumped off the wall.

Merral ran to the stairs and, followed by Lloyd, slid down them to the gloomy square.

“The hall!” he cried, but his words seemed to vanish in the chaos.

He ran across the dark square, men and women with him, trying to avoid tripping over the debris and pitted paving stones left by the morning's bombardment.