The Silver spike (34 page)

Alarm horns tore the guts out of the quiet.

The men on the bridge took off.

Torque said, “We better get
back . . . ”

“Wait!” There was a nasty gleam in Raven’s
eyes. “Exile will be busy with the Limper. We get that man to
tell us where the spike is, maybe we can get to it
first.”

Smeds had gotten back to his starting point. He put the two bags
into hiding with his pack, except for a couple of army blankets, a
heavy coat, a knife, food, and a bottle of brandy. He stuffed,
warmed his veins, listened to the horns. They were going berserk up
there.

A noise from down the culvert shocked him. He listened closely,
figured it had come from about where the corpse lay, and had been
made by something a lot bigger than a rat.

He rose carefully, filled his coat pockets with food, laid his
blankets in atop the treasure—and froze.

A man stood silhouetted in the nearer end of the culvert. One of
those Rebels. Fish had been right. The bastards just wouldn’t
let up.

The man was coming in.

Smeds lifted himself into the hole with his plunder. It was a
tight fit and a pathetic attempt at concealment but he was counting
on the man’s vision needing a long while to adjust from the
brightness outside.

Absolutely.

The man was still moving tentatively when he came abreast of
Smeds. Smeds reached out and cut his throat.

The man made an injured-rabbit noise and started thrashing
around. Smeds climbed down and walked to the mouth of the culvert.
He paid no attention to the noise made by someone stumbling toward
him from behind. He looked out into the glare, his eyes smarting.
He moved out carefully, ready for anything. And found himself
alone.

The ditch bank was almost vertical there, faced with stone,
twelve feet high, spotted with ice. A lot of snow had blown into
the ditch. Smeds floundered through it.

An angry bellow from inside the culvert gave him added incentive
to make sure of his hand and toe-holds as he climbed.

He heard the man come out as he rolled over the lip of the
ditch. He got to his feet and waited.

An angry face rose above the brink. Smeds kicked as hard as he
could, caught the man square in the center of the forehead. He
pitched backward. Smeds stepped to the edge, looked down at the
figure almost buried in the snow. He caressed the knife in his coat
pocket, thought better of going down there because two women and
several children had paused near the footbridge, watching.
“I hope you freeze to death, you son of a bitch.” He
kicked loose snow down, turned, and walked away.

He felt better than he had in a week and right then did not much
give a damn what the future held.

Darling was foaming at the mouth when the alarm horns brayed.
She had discovered Raven and Bear missing and was as thoroughly
pissed off as I could imagine her getting. Whatever she had in
mind, whatever she was making us get dressed up for, she had
counted on having more bodies backing her.

Right then she had me and Silent and Bomanz and Stubby Torque.
Paddlefoot Torque had died a half hour earlier. She stomped her
feet and signed, “I do not need him. I survived without him
before. Get moving. Get those horses ready.” She pulled a
knee-length shirt of mail over her head, followed that with a white
tabard. As she buckled on a very unfeminine sword she snarled and
grimaced so nobody argued.

Bomanz helped us both mount up. Stubby Torque handed her a lance
he’d jury-rigged from junk from around the stable. She had
her banner tied to it, furled. If her wound bothered her she
didn’t show it.

Silent finally got his balance enough to try arguing with the
whirlwind. The whirlwind almost rode him down and there was nothing
for him to do but jump onto his own animal and try to keep up.

Darling paused once, in the street outside. She looked at the
sky, seemed pleased with what she saw. When I looked up all I saw
was a gliding hawk, very high, or an eagle, higher still.

She took off. She hadn’t bothered to tell any of us what
she was going to do, probably because she figured we would have
tied her up to stop her.

She was right.

We kept busy now keeping up and sorting ourselves out so the two
wizards were closest to her, able to guard her with their
skills.

She headed in the direction the alarms said the threat lay. The
madwoman.

The imperials had several minutes’ jump on us but we made
most of that up. As we moved into that part of the city near the
southeast wall we overtook hundreds of hurrying soldiers. Silent or
Bomanz conjured an ugly sound and set it running ahead of us, to
scare everybody out of our way. We burst out into the cleared space
behind the wall. Darling headed straight for a long ramp that had
been put up so heavy engines could be dragged to the ramparts. She
headed up it, making soldiers jump to get out of her way.

I told myself it had been an exciting past year and now it was
time to die.

Soldiers scampered away as we hit the rampart. I glimpsed Limper
walking toward Oar, all by his lonesome.

Darling made her mount rear and scream. She unfurled her
vermilion banner with the white rose embroidered in silk.

Utter silence. The imperials gawked, petrified. Even the Limper
stopped his implacable advance and stared.

Then the shriek of the eagle—it was an eagle!—ripped
the air. The raptor came screaming down. Before it lighted on
Darling’s shoulder, with what had to be bone-rattling impact,
she pointed out at the land beyond the walls.

All heads turned. Three, five, six, seven, eight! The windwhales
rose into the sky. Squadrons, troops, battalions of centaurs came
cantering out of hiding, the drum of their hooves a continuous
thunder despite the muting effect of the snow. Whole sections of
woods started moving toward the city. Mantas began to slip off the
backs of the windwhales, scouting for updrafts. More glided over
the city from behind us, just to let the world know the place was
surrounded.

Darling rose in her stirrups and surveyed her surroundings,
searching for someone who did not agree that this was the day of
the White Rose.

The snowfields erupted and talking stones began appearing,
assuming posts along predetermined lines, forming the skeleton of a
wall that would close the Limper in.

Damn me! The tree god must have started on the buildup clear
back when we first hit Oar.

Darling settled into her saddle. She was pleased with herself.
Everybody watched her for a cue, even the Limper.

Bomanz faced north, a resolute sentinel, never letting events
behind him distract him from his watch for trouble. Silent remained
as fixed on the wall to the south while Torque and I tried to keep
a lookout everywhere at once. Bomanz said, “Case, tell her
Exile is coming.”

I backed my horse till Darling could see my hands without having
to surrender her attention for the Limper and her continuing
dispositions. She nodded. I told her I had spotted Gossamer and
Spidersilk sneaking around north and south of us, respectively. She
nodded again, unperturbed.

Exile approached us at a normal walk, careful not to give
offense before he understood the full scope of his predicament. I
was surprised that he looked so young despite the fact that I had
seen the Lady, who was at least four hundred and looked a well
preserved twenty. I noticed the old guy who stuck me and Darling
drifting along in Exile’s shadow.

Exile came up and looked the situation over. He showed no
special response except to look at Gossamer and Spidersilk as if
warning them to behave themselves.

He came to us. “Most impressive.” He did not look
impressed. “You quite took me by surprise. I am Exile. Who
are you, and who speaks for you?” Just a stranger chance met,
making casual introductions.

Bomanz and Silent were busy. Torque still didn’t have the
lingo so good. That left old Case. I was elected. “I’ll
do the talking.” I indicated Darling. “The White
Rose.”

“So I see.”

I didn’t figure on naming anybody else, but Bomanz decided
I should. He said, “Bomanz. The Wakener.”

Exile showed a little surprise at that. Bomanz had a reputation.
He was also supposed to be dead.

I indicated Silent. “Silent. Formerly of the Black
Company. I’m Philodendron.” I didn’t name Torque.
Seemed a good idea to leave something to nag on Exile’s
imagination.

“I suppose you’re here for the same reason everyone
else is?” He kept one eye on the Limper, I noticed. Right
then the Limper was eyeballing the situation and counting up his
options.

I signed at Darling. She signed back. I told Exile, “The
silver spike. The tree god will not allow it to fall into the hands
of anyone who wants its power. Whatever the cost.”

“So I see,” said Exile. It did look like the Plain
had belched up all of every one of its weirdnesses. I wondered who
was at home keeping the shop spooky. “That thing out there
might have something to say about that to all of us.”

Darling signed some more. I said, “We will destroy it if
you can’t. The tree has concluded that it has tormented
itself and the world long enough. It will be destroyed.”

Exile started to say something but never got the chance. I
reckon Limper heard us well enough to get pissed because everybody
wanted to put him into the past tense.

He had something all ready to go. But as he was about to cut
loose, Spidersilk beat him to the punch, hit him from the side and
knocked him ass over appetite. His spell went screaming straight
up, making a sound like the biggest bullroarer in the universe.
Gossamer hit him from the other side. A missile storm pounded away
at him. Glowing red balls arced in from the fields to the south and
for the first time I noticed a group of black riders down there,
all mounted on the nastiest-looking critters I’ve ever seen.
I thought I recognized our old buddy Toadkiller Dog. When the red
balls came down they hit the ground like a giant stomping, leaving
steaming black holes pounded into the snow and the earth
beneath.

Exile just stood there with his hands in his pockets,
watching.

None of my bunch did anything either.

The Nightstalkers came marching into the cleared area behind the
wall, all spit and polish, neatly in step, their band playing. They
began taking over positions as though this was nothing more than a
changing of the guard. Brigadier Wildbrand, all squeaky-clean, came
marching up to report to Exile.

The uproar died down. Nobody had done much damage to the Limper.
He hadn’t done any either.

Wildbrand glanced at us. I winked. That startled her, so I tried
another trick, pixie that I am. “What you doing after work
sweetie?”

She snubbed me. Not good enough for her, I guess. Just as well.
She was too old for me.

A shadow fell on us all as she and Exile talked tactics. A
granddaddy windwhale had moved into position overhead, not all that
high up. I was impressed.

Exile and Wildbrand checked it out. He seemed the more
perturbed. They went back to tactics. I glanced at the world
outside. Limper was getting set to try something. The black riders
had dismounted. Their steeds had disappeared. Toadkiller Dog was
among the missing, too. The riders were walking closer. I noticed
that talking stones, walking trees, and centaurs had gotten in
behind them.

Limper charged the wall, a dark cloud forming around him.
Everything cut loose again. And didn’t bother him at all. He
jumped up and kicked the wall—and knocked a hole in it fifty
feet wide. Exile joined the party, somehow pouring on an endless,
torrential shower of fire.

Limper hadn’t much liked fire last time we saw him. He
didn’t mind it now, except he had trouble seeing straight. He
wanted to knock down the wall where we were. He hit it two more
times, once to either side of us, then backed off to think about
what to do next. Exile gave up with the flames. They hadn’t
done much.

The Nightstalkers were busy repairing the gaps already.

I knew what I’d do next if I was the Limper. I’d
prance through one of those breaches and start taking out my top
enemies.

Being almost as smart as me, he figured it that way himself.

The snow was pretty torn up out there now but he strayed onto
some virgin stuff while he was making up his mind which breach to
charge. About fifty slimy green tentacles shot up out of it,
glommed on to him, and started trying to pull him apart. The snow
all around erupted. A whole pride of monsters piled on Limper.
Toadkiller Dog got his head in his jaws and tried to bite it off.
Something else shoved a hoof in his mouth so he couldn’t do
no hollering. The people who had ridden those monsters ran toward
the excitement.

Exile and the twins paid no attention. They faced the city now,
making concerted, complex come-hither gestures. What looked like a
flock of birds rose from deep in the city and headed our way. Close
up I saw it wasn’t birds at all but lots of chunks of
wood.

The flock settled outside the wall, neatly building a monumental
pyre. Did they think they were going to roast Limper? They’d
tried fire already.

No.

A giant pot followed the wood, sloshing, settled amidst the
pyre. A big lid followed. It just hung around in the air,
waiting.

The black riders got in on the fun down below. Everybody and
everything was trying to cut the Limper up or tear him apart. I
asked Torque, “You got an onion we can toss in?”

Brigadier Wildbrand said, “That’s the spirit.”
She winked when I looked at her.

The spirit? I didn’t have no spirit left. This
wasn’t even my fight, when I thought about it. And my hip was
hurting so bad I expected to fall off everything in a minute.