Sea of Souls, page 32
Toryn withdrew as Uleva perceived his scrutiny. He called down to Amyndra. ‘They’re forming. Recall the scouts.’ She gave the signal and three riders raced across the grasslands, soon to disappear over the escarpment that led down to the Borrund Road. A horn blew from the tower. More defenders ran to the ditches to douse the bales with more fuel. Toryn watched the knights of the First Horse lead their mounts to the rear of the town. Their horses had no experience of Ormoroth’s spiders and would be tethered well out of harm’s way. Today, the knights would fight on foot alongside the Archonians and reserves. Today, it would be a fierce scrap. Skill with a blade would count for little. It would be brute force and stamina that determined who survived. The Amayans stood outside the gate, ready to take their position in front of the ditch. Following the first strike, they would return to fight on the stockade and boost the morale of the defenders. And, as Toryn hoped, they could identify the beasts Uleva commanded to keep the masses under control. Unlike the other horses, the Amayans’ mounts would be kept ready at the gate. Should the battle be going their way and an opening appear, they would ride out to assail Uleva. It would be a great blow indeed if the Amayans could defeat her, but much depended on the initial clashes. Eryn had emphasized the first encounter with an aralak was the most important. To survive one, gave you courage to take on the next… and the next. But how long before exhaustion blunted their blows, skewed their aim, and slowed their strikes?
The first Archonians and archers arrived at the parapet. They greeted Toryn with a resolute nod, but they could not conceal the fear in their eyes. And who could blame them? While crucial, Eryn’s instruction had done little to ease their battle nerves. Most of the defenders had fought only training bouts against two-legged opponents. Tackling an eight-legged beast that could spit poison in your face, then leap at your throat, was an entirely different challenge.
The crackle and smell of burning braziers reminded Toryn of his first taste of battle at Drunsberg. That fateful day, he had stood alongside the veteran fighters of Hamar and Elwold. Today, aside from the Amayans, he was likely the most experienced fighter on the parapet. But at this moment that counted for nothing. He had spoken long into the night with the Amayans, trying to find a way he could thwart the aralaks using the Song. But whenever he attempted to enter, he found his way obstructed. And now he knew it was Vordrak, the same warlock commanding Uleva. To commit such forces, revealed their enemy regarded this as a vital battle in the wider strategy of the war. This was more than just a fight for resources. The Amayans knew the enemy’s ultimate objective was the Singing Stone in the South Forest.
Toryn turned to focus on the coming conflict. His eyes were drawn to the ridge as three riders raced down the gentle slope, eager to get behind the stockade. Another appeared but stayed on the crest. The three weaved their way through the ditches and approached the gate. One called up to report the aralaks had yet to emerge. But Toryn sensed it was imminent. Four leagues lay between the two forests of Ormsk, but the spiders could cover that distance in little time.
A dog barked. Toryn looked up. A company of riders galloped along the road from the west. At their side raced a black and white dog. Toryn’s spirits rose: Shepra! He bound down the steps and through the gate as she raced to meet him. He bent and ruffled her fur as she licked his face. ‘Good to see you, girl.’ The horses caught up. Toryn stood and beamed. ‘Captain Gundrul. Of all the people I didn’t expect to see today.’
The captain slid from his saddle like a seasoned rider. ‘Ha! This is a most welcome reunion.’ He grasped Toryn’s forearm. ‘Glad to see you made it out of the tunnels. I feared you’d never return.’
‘It was a struggle, but that is a tale for another day.’
Gundrul released his grip. ‘And one I look forward to hearing.’
Elrik joined them and slapped Toryn on the back. ‘It seems like we can’t get away from you.’
Toryn frowned. ‘What brings you here? I thought you were heading for the pass.’
Gundrul’s smile faded. ‘The spiders got there first. From a distance, I would say we still hold the pass, but I wasn’t keen to take on those creatures out in the open. Those fleeing told us of more heading for the North Forest, so we came here to lend a hand.’ He nodded to the wall. ‘And I’d rather face them on the other side of that.’
Toryn grasped Gundrul’s shoulder. ‘Then you’re just in time. They’ll be here all too soon, and the more swords, the better.’ A horn blew on the ridge. The last rider hurtled down the slope. Toryn’s heart raced. ‘Get your horses to the rear. You’ll find the First Horse have theirs stabled at the south gate. They’ll be set free if we’re… overrun. And ask the guards on the parapet to give you a quick lesson on how to fight these brutes.’ Elrik’s face paled. Toryn tried to reassure him. ‘According to the Amayans there are ways to kill them. Not easy, but they can be beaten.’
The scout from the ridge rode in as Amyndra directed the new arrivals to their positions. The Amayans stood inside the gate. Their eyes shone with a faint blue light, and Toryn was convinced they were taller. Eryn touched his arm. ‘Will you stay at the gate and see us in?’ She glanced to the sentries. ‘I fear they may panic and leave us stranded when they see the horror coming their way.’
He nodded. ‘You can rely on me. We can’t risk losing you out there. You’re needed—’
She clasped his arm. ‘If we get overrun, close the gate. I don’t foresee it, but don’t sacrifice the town for our sakes. If those beasts get inside, you’re finished. You cannot fight them front and back. You’ll get ripped apart in no time if caught between two spiders competing for your flesh.’
Toryn looked to each Amayan in turn. ‘Then please, don’t let it come to that. Don’t sacrifice yourselves for our sakes.’
The three warriors turned and strode to the ditch. Toryn wished he could stand with them but knew he would serve no purpose. They took a position in front of the ditch, bowed their heads, and lowered the tips of their swords to the ground. The murmur on the walls above him stopped. An eerie silence descended on the stockade — only the whisper of leaves could be heard as they danced in the breeze. Toryn turned away from the Amayans and looked up. Defenders lined the parapets two deep, with a third line held in reserve on the ground. The tactic was for the front line to kill three aralaks, then the second would take over while the first recovered. It was a sound plan, one that would help focus their minds on the grisly task, but whether it would work in the heat of battle, remained to be seen.
Toryn took his place alongside the sentries, poised to swing the gates shut and heave the thick beams into place. He checked his sword and dagger in his belt. His skill with a blade had improved with Elodi’s tuition, but today’s fight was all about the cut and thrust to keep your place in the line. The defenders looked resolute, but none had encountered what was about to stampede over the ridge. And none knew how they would fare, or whether they would see the end of the day. But it would not be a quick death by sword, or even a drawn-out end following a mortal wound. Those who fell faced the appalling threat of being dragged away and consumed by a ravenous spider. Or possibly worse, becoming fodder for an egg sac. Toryn wondered how many Guard’s deaths would be readily meted out today to save many from that fate.
The hairs on the back of Toryn’s neck tingled. The ground trembled as if remembering the horror of old. A sound akin to rain hammering on a tin roof, echoed over the ridge. With dread, he looked up as the horizon turned gray and a dark smudge poured down the slope at frightening speed. Toryn stared aghast at the hundreds still emerging over the crown — it was if the world had been flipped upside down and a storm cloud rolled in across the earth. Their clawed legs tore up the grassland, churning up a billowing cloud of dirt as if the ground caught fire. As they drew ever closer, individual spiders within the mass took shape. Through the farsight, Toryn had only seen shadows and outlines, whereas now he saw them in the flesh. Black, spindly legs pulverized the ground as they scuttled at the speed of a galloping horse. A swollen, gray abdomen bobbed behind their bony heads. From a distance, it looked as if a small rider sat upon a fat pony, but a pony with eight legs. Toryn shuddered as a large aralak in the front rank, fixed its cruel eyes on the Amayans. A cluster of three moist, black eyeballs glowered on either side of an almost human face. Beneath, its slit mouth quivered and drooled at the prospect of its prey.
Ahead of the horror, the Amayans stood defiant. Toryn wanted to cry out a warning. They appeared undaunted by the squall of dust, legs, and unblinking eyes hurtling towards them. A handful of guards attempted to sing their battle song, but throats were dry, hearts raced, and it soon petered out.
Beyond the ditch, Eryn’s voice could be heard above the cacophony. Her clear voice recited words from a distant time. The earth hummed beneath Toryn’s feet. But this was the Amayans’ doing. He knew their mind. They reached out to draw upon the power of the nearby Singing Stone. The ground beneath the three sisters burned blue. But it did not seem to trouble the spiders. The aralaks’ front ranks raised their forelegs and twitched their claws, anticipating the treasured prize of sweet, Amayan flesh. Eryn yelled. They raised their weapons. A blinding, blue fire burst forth and formed a single blade. The air crackled as their blazing sword of light scythed through the first line. Legs, heads, and bloated bodies were flung in all directions as the aralaks were sliced to pieces. The defenders cheered. The Amayans reset and aimed at the next rank. Many disintegrated, but more readily took their place, not to be denied the quarry on hand. For a third time, they swept the lightning blade, but Toryn noted it had dimmed and caused less havoc.
He yelled to the sentries. ‘Stand ready!’ The Amayans turned and sprang over the ditch. Drained by their efforts, Toryn feared they would be caught by the spiders scrambling over the smoldering ridge of charred bodies.
Above, Amyndra bellowed. ‘Archers! Release!’ They let loose their first volley of flaming arrows. The ditched ignited. A wall of flame flared, scorching the first ranks swarming over the spikes. Toryn clenched his jaw as the burning spiders screeched. The fire failed to stop them, but it slowed the advance, allowing the Amayans time to reach the gate. Eryn nodded and grasped Toryn’s hand. ‘We’ll need a moment. Get to the wall. It must hold.’
The gates swung shut and sent a shudder along the stockade. The sentries threw the bolts and wedged thick trunks into place to bolster the old gate. But the battle would be won or lost on the parapet. Toryn gagged on the stench of burning spiders as he raced up the steps to take his position. The archers released volley after volley, desperate to thin their numbers before they could gain a footing at the wall. The heat from the bales drove the smoke at the defenders. Toryn’s vision blurred as the noxious fumes stung his eyes. He wiped away the tears and blinked. If he had hoped the efforts of the Amayans and archers would win the day, he was to be disappointed. The fire in the ditch had died, and the smoke had cleared. The opening skirmish was done. The battle for real was about to begin. A seething mass of spiders, enraged by the fire, surged towards the barricade.
Amyndra called out. ‘Cover!’ The first line ducked as the bearers behind thrust their shields over their heads. Gouts of foul, green liquid spewed over the top of the parapet. Most splattered onto the raised shields, but some found the eyes of an unfortunate few. They staggered back, desperate to avoid the attention of their predator. The shields held as the front line crouched and thrust their blades through the gaps. Toryn’s sword hand tightened, while the other clenched his dagger. Six eyes of an aralak locked onto him. Toryn froze as he read its mind, bent on feeding off his flesh. It sprang. Its legs splayed, its claws twitched, as it fought for space in the air crammed with leaping spiders. Toryn braced. His blade held true. The spider shrieked as it impaled itself on his sword. Its eyes bulged just inches from Toryn’s as he drove deep into its soft belly. Eight clawed legs snatched at his sword arm. Blood streamed from his wounds, but he felt no pain. He plunged his dagger in and out, in and out, stabbing at anything within reach. The clustered eyes burned deep into Toryn as the reflection of his own pale face grimaced back. He kicked out at the spike as the spider tried to pierce his gut. The guard to his left fell. Another rushed to take his place. But he also fell as a volley of saliva splattered into his face. But Toryn had no time to help. This was a battle to be fought alone; one-on-one, repeated a hundred times along the parapet. The aralak’s grip loosened. It dropped with a sickening thud, curled into a tight knot and perished.
Toryn had no time to celebrate his victory. He ducked as the next spider spat out its claim. Wearily, he set his stance. The creature sprang, but this time Toryn’s blade failed to find its belly. Two pincers clenched his throat. He dropped his sword and grabbed the legs. The sharp hairs cut into his hand as Toryn wrestled to free its grip. He thrust blindly with the dagger as six beady, black eyes filled his vision, and its fetid breath clogged his throat. The guard behind slammed the edge of his shield down but struck the hard shell of its back. The aralak’s eyes bulged, sensing victory. But Toryn was not finished. He twisted, pulling his left arm over his head, then plunged his dagger at the spider’s eyes. It shrieked. A dark fluid splashed onto him, scorching his forearm, but the pressure on Toryn’s throat eased. He crouched, grabbed his sword, and slashed down at its thin neck, severing its head with one blow. The aralak’s body flopped; its leg sagged like old rope. Toryn shoveled both his victims off the parapet with his feet. Then, gasping for air, he squatted as the next aralak launched its attack. One more. Just one more. Then he would take his place in the second line.
The defenders fought bravely on, but their lines thinned as exhaustion took its toll. Toryn killed his third and made way for his replacement. He turned to see many aralaks now fought each other over their dwindling supply of food. His spirits rose as he dared to think they might yet repel the attack.
Hoarse voices cried out as the Amayans returned. Toryn marveled at how they ran along the railing of the parapet, dispatching swiftly any spiders who dared to snatch at their legs. He glanced over the wall to see only dozens remained. But they were driven by lust and appeared undaunted by their losses. Toryn flinched and ducked as another singled him out. He cried out a curse as it coiled and sprang. He felt his sword pierce its gut, but Toryn lost his grip on the blood-soaked handle. The dagger was knocked from his other hand, and he tumbled back under the weight of the largest spider he had yet faced. Toryn’s head hit the boards hard. The spider’s dark eyes widened as it fell upon him. He twisted away as its drooling mouth and pincers snapped at his throat. Toryn’s hands bled as he tussled with its legs, but his strength was failing, and his attacker was too strong. Its mouth gaped, baring shiny, black fangs. Toryn stared into its wet throat. Was this the end?
An eye burst, spurting warm, sticky liquid into his face. Sharp, white teeth gnashed at the creature’s eyes. Shepra! She yanked back hard, tearing at the aralak’s skull. It gurgled and slumped onto Toryn. He struggled to breathe under its weight. His eyes and skin stung with the fluids oozing from the dead spider. Shepra dragged it off and flung it from the parapet. He clambered to his feet to find a space had opened. Shepra gagged and spat but looked unharmed. Toryn hugged her and panted his gratitude.
To his left, Eryn yelled. ‘Archers! There!’ Toryn grabbed the stockade and pulled himself up to peer over. Eryn pointed to a large, squat aralak by the ditch. Its head shook, its body twitched, and its legs flailed at the ground. Toryn guessed it was one of the creatures Uleva restrained to command the others. And now the ranks had thinned, Toryn spied three more aralaks on the smoldering bales. They convulsed, fighting to free themselves from Uleva’s hold to join the attack. But her will was strong, and Toryn was certain the spiders would rip themselves apart before Uleva released them.
Flaming arrows streaked from the parapet towards the largest aralak. Four bounced off its back, but the fifth struck the eyes. It recoiled, exposing its belly. The archers were quick to exploit its weakness — they did not miss. The beast twisted, grasping at the air with its long legs as if trying to find a tree. Then it collapsed, twitched, and died. The aralaks’ left flank paused. The line of command had gone. Some fought on, clutching their precious prey in their claws. But others scattered, perhaps searching for easier plunder that did not fight back.
More arrows flew. Another large creature was taken. Uleva cried out and gave up the battle. The last two aralaks under her command, collapsed, exhausted from their efforts. Then, like chastised dogs, they skulked up the ridge to lick their wounds. With her control broken, those without a kill in their sights, duly followed. The defenders with air left in their lungs, cheered. The Amayans rushed to their horses. ‘Open the gate!’ Toryn wiped the slime from his face to see the Amayans jump the ditch and race after Uleva. He wanted to cry out and recall them, but he knew they would not pass up the opportunity to take out an enemy commander.
Toryn’s skin burned. His vision blurred as he struggled to breathe. He slumped against the wall as Shepra nuzzled his neck. He fought against the fatigue seeping through his body, but this was a fight he would not win.
44. THE SETTING OF THE BOARD
Elodi stood as close to the edge of Roth’s Doom as she dared. In years past, a fence had prevented visitors from meeting their own doom as their curiosity got the better of them. But while the fence had long since fallen into a state of disrepair, few took the trouble to visit the chasm following the fall of the Seven Realms — the danger had become all too real once more. The myth was known to all, and although none truly believed it possible, it did make for a good story. At the height of his power, Ormoroth sought to free his Master from the dungeon beneath Caranach. Perhaps inspired by the feat of Tunduska to separate his kingdom from the south, Ormoroth forged a great axe of iron, mined from the seams beneath his ice fortress. It was said even the peaks of the Caerwals shuddered when Ormoroth split the bedrock. But his might proved too much for the craft of his blacksmiths. On reaching the foundations of the mountains, he swung with such force, the axe head shattered. His once fair face was disfigured by the splintering iron, and as the tales claim, the scars still pained him when Dorlan expelled him from the realms.
