Raveler: The Dark God Book 3 (28 page)

The jeers on the walls faded to silence.

The front edge of the wind raced across the field, hissing as it came, shaking the scrub and kicking up a cloud of dust and debris. The stone didn’t fly in a straight line, but careened a bit to the side, dipped, and then rose. It hurtled at the fortress. At first, Argoth thought it might be headed at Shim, but its path bent for the gate.

The men on the parapets there dove away. A moment later the leading edge of the wind slammed into the fort, ripping off a few helmets and carrying them aloft. The wind whined over the edges of the stone and the hoodoos. Then the large dark stone shot past and slammed into the weathered gate with a monstrous boom and crack. Men cried out, and then the tail end of the wind rushed over the walls, full of roiling debris, and whistled up the cliff face at the back of the fort.

Bits of grass and leaves mixed with dust and flittered over the fort. The huge gate beam had held, but a large part of the thick gate itself had been smashed in.

Another one of the stone giants swung up and cast its stone into the sky. Again the trees on the far side of the river bank shook; the waters of the river flattened; the branches of the trees on the near side bent and swayed. And the skir sped this stone across the field, the leading edge of the wind marking its passage.

The wind slammed into the fortress. A moment later the second stone shot past and crashed into the gate with another boom and crack.

The third stone giant swung up. Another stone. Another rush of wind.

“How many firelances do we have at the gate?” Shim asked.

“Two,” Argoth said.

“We’re going to need more seafire. That whole host is going to try to march right in.”

The stone was turning as it flew its weaving path, but then it suddenly veered to the right, well to the side of the gate.

“Lord!” the horn blower said.

The stone was speeding directly at Argoth and Shim.

Argoth said, “Let’s not give them one target, Lord.”

“Go,” said Shim.

Argoth ducked behind the crenellations and hurried down the wall so they wouldn’t be able to track his movement.

Shim stayed where he was, his hands on his hips, facing the Divines in defiance.

The loud hiss of the skir wind grew as it approached.

“Lord!” Argoth shouted.

Shim darted to the side just as the skir wind slammed into fortress and screamed over the edges of the parapets. A moment later the boulder itself smashed with a thunderclap into the crenellation where Shim had stood. The top of the stone wall there broke, the pieces of rock crashing to the ground in the courtyard below. The men there jumped to the side, and the stones tumbled into their trench.

The wind whistled over the fort, then howled up the cliff face.

Shim stood, dust and debris hanging in the air, and gestured an insult at the Divines of Mokad.

The first stone giant had been loaded while the other two were casting their missiles. It swung up again and slung another stone into the sky.

The stone and wind sped over the field as if targeting Shim again, but it veered and smashed the gate. The gate was made of thick timbers, but it was old and weathered, and the impact buckled one side further.

Another stone giant swung up. Another stone was caught in the skir wind. It too hammered into the gate. Three more stones were thrown. The next cracked the locking beam and twisted the right side of the gate off its hinges. The last two stones finished the other side. When they were done, the gate lay in pieces, chunks of the large stones littering the courtyard. But the stone giants weren’t finished.

The next dozen stones were sent to make breaches in the tops of the fort wall to ease an attack with ladders. The last stones were sent against the hoodoos. The shorter hoodoo was thicker, and the stones merely punched a few holes in the side where the stairway was. But the taller hoodoo was thinner, and after three blows in the same area, a huge section of the side cracked and fell to the courtyard below, killing a number of men, and ruining a number of trenches. It left a gaping hole in the side of the column. Another stone crashed into the column toward the top. The rock column wavered, then cracked with a deep rumble, and the top two-thirds of the column toppled like a massive tree, falling outwards toward the field.

The men below yelled and scattered.

The huge column of rock rotated slightly as it fell, then smashed across a section of the wall and out into the field with a thunder that shook the ground.

The column obliterated the part of the wall it fell on. But it also did damage along the wall, causing a twenty-foot section of the top half of the wall to break away and tumble into the ditch outside the fort, leaving a huge gap.

A shout rose from Mokad’s army.

25

To Ground

SUGAR STOOD IN the cover of the copse with Urban’s men. There hadn’t been a way through the lines. With the eyes of her soul she had watched as the three behemoth blue urgom took turns racing across the river to the fort and then back up in a great loop, pounding the fort with Mokad’s stones.

When the large stone-wight hoodoo smashed the wall, Soddam shook his head. “An hour of this, and there won’t be anything left.”

Deadly orange skir flew in the skies over the battle, darting away from the urgom. Then one of the orange skir swooped down at the fort, disappeared a moment behind the walls, and flew back up again, carrying a soul.

A few of the other orange skir saw it and, like gulls, gave chase, trying to steal the soul away from the first.

Out on the field by the Skir Masters, three Walkers marched up from the river in their spiked carapaces holding odd shaped spears.

Sugar remembered what had happened at Blue Towers. The Walkers had appeared, and then that horn had sounded in the world of souls. “I believe they’re about to start the harvest,” Sugar said.

Another orange skir dove down into the fort to grab the soul of another Shimsman. And she realized even if Shim won, the souls of the brave men who fell would still be lost.

“There has to be something we can do,” she said.

* * *

Argoth waited for more stones to pound the fort walls.

But Shim pointed. “It appears they are not going to pound the walls to rubble after all.”

Across the field Mokaddian crews began loading the smaller throwing engines to feed the winds.

Argoth said, “It’s time to send the men to ground.”

Shim signaled his men to take to the trenches. The soldiers scrambled, and in a few moments the army vanished below their sacks and into the base of the hoodoo towers and parts of the chambers at the back of the fort. But not all hid. Two dozen stormwatchers remained above ground. These were the soldiers who signaled to the others when the attacking army was upon them and it was time to rise. These men wore bands of armor over mail over a thick coat of twenty-four layers of linen. Great helms covered their heads. Underneath them they wore brass goggles with thick glass to protect their eyes. They wore scarves over their mouths so they could breathe. Their job was to lie upon the ground in a shallow trench or behind cover and watch. Seven of the two-man teams took positions in alcoves made for arrow slits along the parapets. Another team took position in the smaller hoodoo. The rest dropped into the old ditch that ran along the outside of the fort wall.

The stormwatchers were to signal when Mokad was poised to attack, for at that moment the wind storm would lessen, and Mokad would charge the open gate and walls. The problem was that the men in the deeper trenches might be buried with a few inches of dirt, which was more than enough to muffle most sounds. But even if the men in the trenches weren’t buried, the winds often did not dissipate completely when the army attacked. The sound of a horn still might or might not be heard.

And so the stormwatchers held one end of a length of knotted cord. When they saw the faces of the enemy, they would yank three times on their cords. Each cord ran to one of the commanders—Shim, Vance, or Hardy. Each of the commanders held cords of his own that stretched out to his terrormen in their trenches. The terrormen held cords that ran to the others with him in his own trench as well as his hammermen in other trenches. The hammermen held more cords leading to their fistmen. And so the call would go out like a great jangling spiderweb.

Shim and Argoth did not take to ground, but put on their brass goggles and scarves and took cover in an alcove. Wrapped tightly about one of Argoth’s hands was a cord leading to a pair of stormwatchers in the ditch outside the fort. Wrapped tightly about his other were the cords leading down to three terrormen in their trenches at the base of the wall.

On the field between Mokad and the fort, three winds began to whirl. The men manning Mokad’s stone giants cast batches of stones into them. As with the larger, wall-breaking stones, these were not smooth and round, but squarish or even carved with concave sides. The other teams cast up scraps of metal and pieces of sharpened wood.

They fed the winds a few more batches of material, and then the winds twisted across the field in jagged lines toward the fort, kicking up billows of dust and grass as they came. They were wide winds, and by the time they reached the fort walls Argoth could barely see past them. He could not hear Mokad’s horn, but he was sure it had sounded for he saw the army begin to march forward. Then the dust of the wind broke over the fort with a howl, blotting out the blue sky, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction.

He and Shim took cover, lying head to head along the corner made by the walkway and the wall. But no sooner had he gotten into position than a stone struck him violently in the side. He sucked in at the pain. He had armor, but armor couldn’t defeat such a blow. That stone had bruised a rib, if not cracked it. He pressed in closer to the wall and was pelted by a handful of rocks.

A shield smashed into the wall, then flew past. Another stone careened off his back. Something banged against his helmet and flew off. The wind howled. Then roared. The dirt and sand in it hissed along his armor.

Some skir winds were rumored to be so strong they could carry cattle aloft. And Argoth thought about the horses. Those that hadn’t been able to be given cover in the chambers at the back would surely take a beating. He supposed most of them would die.

Through the thick glass of the brass goggles he looked out at the fort, but couldn’t see for the dust and ferocious wind. A stone struck the side of his hand, crushing the last two knuckles. He cried out in pain and cursed himself—stormwatchers were trained to ball their hands in a fist and pull their arms in, so that knees, elbows, and fingers were protected. He pulled his hands in and tried to wedge himself deeper into the corner.

The wind raged, rising, then falling, then rising again. Stones thumped and cracked into the wall about him. He thought he heard cries, but couldn’t be sure. Another stone struck him in the shoulder. Something else hit him in the leg.

The roar about him grew louder. A huge gust slammed into him, the hands of the wind grabbing at his legs. Suddenly Shim was pulled down the wall a few inches. Argoth reached out and caught his arm.

Shim grasped his other arm, then pulled himself back, the wind raging over them.

Argoth turned his head slightly, and he must have exposed a gap, for, with a whoosh, the wind suddenly filled his helm. And then the helm was gone, exposing the mail hood, goggles, and scarf. The grit in the wind bit into his exposed cheeks, and he turned his face into the corner of the wall. And there he clung to Shim and the knotted cord for what seemed like an interminable length of time.

And then the roar lessened. He waited for it to increase again, but this time it lessened again. And lessened some more. Surely, Mokad had been given plenty of time to cross the field and bring its ladders close. They would come to stand a few dozen yards outside the edge of the skir winds and wait. But he didn’t move. Many Skir Masters often made the defenders think the wind was leaving. The defenders would then rise only to have the winds descend upon them again in full force. And, indeed, a few moments later another large gust tore through the fort, but then the roar lessened and faded almost altogether.

The cord in his hand tugged three times. Argoth tugged back to indicate he’d received the message, then tugged on the three cords in the other hand. Two of them tugged back. The third did not. When he pulled on it separately, he found the cord had been cut, probably by the metal or wood flying in the wind. He tugged to let the other terrormen know, then rose. Shim rose with him.

The wind still blew. And the dust made it impossible to see more than a dozen feet along the parapet, which meant the stormwatchers outside had probably moved forward of the ditch in order to see.

A ladder banged up against the wall. Argoth peered over to see who it was and saw the stormwatchers, scrambling up. Argoth looked down the wall, and saw another team scrambling up the ladder they’d taken with them to the ditch.

The dust was beginning to thin, allowing him to see out into the field. It was eerily quiet. Nothing but the sifting dust and the stubble of dirt-drifted grass and scrub.

Below in the courtyard, a horn sounded. Then another and another. Argoth looked back. The floor of the fortress was drifted with dirt and sand. In many places, all trace of the trenches were gone, smoothed over with dirt so that it was impossible to know an army lay there. And then the dirt began to move. Men began to push the sacks away and rise from their graves, helping comrades, digging others out where the dirt had drifted deep.

The first stormwatchers scrambled over the parapet and drew their ladders up after them.

And then the horns of Mokad sounded, and their soldiers roared. It was a sound to stop the heart and melt the spine. A few moments later, the masses of Mokaddian troops rushed into view through the dust only a few dozen yards out from the walls, pushing their ladders before them.

In the courtyard men began to shout. Others began to run to the walls or gate. Shim bellowed for his soldiers to get to the walls and form up.

* * *

The wind ran at the slot canyon like a screetching she-demon, throwing dust and grit like pins into the eyes of Black Knee and the others working there. The gale of dust thumped and howled through the crevice on the cliff face, then down the path. It knocked one of the Burundians off the top of the plug of boulders. It tried to carry the scaffolding away.

Black Knee hunkered down behind a small outcropping of rock next to Russet and Fish, the other two men Flax had sent with him.

The wind continued to howl and pluck until Black Knee wondered if this was his end, and then, as suddenly as it had come, the wind was gone.

Black Knee waited a moment, then wiped the grit and dust off his face and raised his head. He felt dizzy. Felt a bit sick.

“Goh,” said Fish, but he sounded all muffled.

“Just be grateful you weren’t one of those sods out in the fort,” Russet said.

Black Knee turned his head and knocked the dirt out of his ear.

“That wasn’t natural,” he said, a huge foreboding welling up in him. “This place isn’t natural.” And he knew something was behind the boulders. Something waited there.

The Burundian the wind had knocked off the boulders lay at the foot of the ladders dead, his neck at a bad angle. Another man that had taken cover close to the trio grunted, stabbed in the forearm by a length of wood carried in the wind.

Black Knee exchanged glances with Russet and Fish. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Fish said, “I never trusted that Kish.”

“I’m not worried about him,” Black Knee whispered. “There’s something on the other side. Can’t you feel it?”

The three of them looked up at the ladders and scaffold. Commander Eresh was climbing back up, moving lively as a monkey, calling for the rest of the men to hurry back to finish the ladders.

The Burundians went back to their work, lashing together the ladders that ran up the scaffolding, fitting them with pins to keep it all stable. This side was complete, but the top was easily thirty feet up, and the men would need a scaffold and ladders down the other side.

“Shoka,” one of the Burundians shouted at Black Knee. “Don’t just stand there; fetch those poles!”

Black Knee went to a bundle of poles the army had carried for building a camp and hefted one up. Soon the way would be finished. And Shim’s army could escape.

But something about it was all wrong. Black Knee felt this deep inside him. A warning had been pressing into his mind.

Death waited for the men on the other side of those boulders.

The Famished were back there. He was sure of it. And if the men clambered over those rocks, they’d be climbing right into the hands of those hungry souls.

The Famished would enter the men and destroy their souls. Then the Famished would climb back over the ladders in the bodies of those first men.

Building these ladders would unleash that darkness upon the land. And when they’d emptied this land, they would get on ships and spread to others.

“We need to take the ladders down,” he said.

“Did something hit you in the head?” the Burundian asked.

“We’re going to die,” Black Knee said.

“If all of Shim’s men are like you,” the Burundian said, “we surely will. Now get out of the way.”

There’s no time to make them understand,
the warning in him said.
Look, Commander Eresh is climbing the ladders. A man with such power—the Famished must not take his body.

“Commander!” Black Knee called.

But Eresh ignored him.

There’s no time
, the warning said.

Black Knee’s mind felt cloudy. He shook his head trying to clear it. If the Famished were trapped in the belly of the mountain, why would they be on the path up the mountain?

There’s no time!
The warning shouted.

He imagined the Famished even now approaching the Burundians on the other side of the boulders. Fear shot through him. Flax had warned him, and the horror was unfolding before his very eyes. He carried his load to the base of the scaffold and spied a Burundian bow set to the side. He walked over to it and picked it up, nodded at Russet and Fish.

The commander must not reach the other side. Black Knee had to protect him. Protect them all.