The berserker trilogy th.., p.98
The Berserker Trilogy: The Complete 3-Book Epic Fantasy Boxed Set, page 98
Sheega stopped at the middle of the lake and traced a line on the ice with a razor-sharp fingernail. A crack appeared. She saw dead faces gazing up at her. She unclipped the broach from her gown, and let it drop into the ice crack. Naked, she watched as the dead eyes cracked open all at once and a skeletal hand closed over the sinking broach.
“You poor souls have suffered long enough,” Sheega said. “Rise up and join me! I will free you when your last task is complete.” The glazed eyes stared up at her, scanning her body, drinking in the naked flesh.
“Rise up, I say. Come to your queen! Share my bed, as your master once did. Each of you in turn, or all at once. Come, guard me from my foe.”
You bewitched us, tricked us.
The briny voices drifted up through the ice.
“Alas, yes, and I regret that.” She saw them wriggle beneath the ice, like white bloated maggoty worms, rising up. “But let me make amends tonight. Repay you—as I did Erlund, your Jarle.”
King Erlund has crossed—we felt the shadow of his passing.
“Again, regrettable. What choice had I? He was weak and failed me. You have much to gain by serving me again. The vengeful ghosts of your island hate you as much as me, for murdering your Jarle’s favorite son.”
That was your doing.
Sheega saw the faint shape of a man floating across the ice toward where she stood. She waited. Others drifted up like heavy steam, joining him.
“Yes, it was—but does that matter? You are trapped for eternity under that ice, unless you give me reason to free your souls. I promise I shall, if you help me one last time, and guard the hall from my enemies.”
The shadowy misty vapors surrounded her. Their icy breath soaked her skin. She saw the dead swell and ebb in lust.
“You shall have everything you desire,” Sheega told them. “I will make you warm again, inside. You’ll be men, as you once were. Warriors. Come, return with me to the Great Hall and claim your reward.” She turned and scooped up her cloak, crossing the ice swiftly without checking if they followed.
“You could have intervened earlier,” Finvar muttered, as he hunched painfully by the fire, the crackle of flame smarting his eyes.
I wanted to see what you did, how you’d stand up to her.
“She could have killed me with that fucking poker.”
Well, I would have stopped that, wouldn’t I?
“Would you? Maybe you don’t care? And don’t give me that ‘when you suffer, I suffer, too.’ We both know that’s bollocks. And you most likely enjoy the pain.”
I sense a certain attitude this evening.
“You think?”
Gunsala let you down. I know it’s sad. Women always do that. We have each other, though.
“Go away.”
Nope, I’m staying put until she returns. I want to hear what your plans are. How you’re going to implement them. Perhaps you sent Gunsala out to stab Hrelgisson? That would have been my suggestion. That way you needn’t do your own wetwork. And she’s a Vulkorye, albeit an inexperienced one. Those violent wenches don’t mind who they kill. Trust me, I know.
“I’d sooner not trust you.”
Don’t be peevish. You need to do something that convinces her you’re onboard. I’ll help you when I can, but Tyho and the other bastards will be after me, and Sheega—if you stall. It’s up to you to kill your big friend. Simple task. Do that and you’re free. Forever. That’s a long time.
“I said I would.”
Ah, yes—but I think you’re having second thoughts. I need to be confident of your loyalty to our noble cause. Can you imagine what would happen if you let me—or her—down, Finvar?
“It wouldn’t be pleasant.”
Pain and punishment beyond the confines of your weak, mortal shell. But have a cheer—I know you’re my boy. Oh, look, she’s back—and she’s brought some fishy corpses to join the party.
18
The Second Breach
Vian cursed as he witnessed the massacre. Cul Baja’s men were being cut to pieces. A dozen lay hacked or dying and the wall was breached in two places.
Roile was there, the young Cul screaming hatred beside him, tears blurring his face. Uzcara had gained the wall with two score of his men. He’d jumped down after swinging free of the rope ladder and had started hacking and slicing through the Shen defense, as though he was harvesting wheat.
Vian yelled. He couldn’t get over there, as the second breach had spilled men toward the spot where he stood, bow in hand again, loosing shafts and dodging arrows fired at him. For the second time in minutes, he tossed his bow aside. The nearest came running at him, scimitars swinging over their heads. Vian summoned calm. He couldn’t help Roile or the young Cul. That was down to them. Frustration wouldn’t help today. Breathe … slow and steady. Relax, let it find you. He slid the Jian blades free from their harness.
The first Card leaped at him, his scimitar arcing across at Vian’s neck.
Vian danced to his left, skewered the man, piercing his mesh mail below the armpit. He screamed and fell away. A second Card swung in, stabbing up and hard.
Vian blocked with a downward slam of one Jian and sliced up with the other, cutting through the Card’s neck and lower face as his chain visor fell away. Vian jumped over him and scissor-sliced with both swords, decapitating the man behind and slicing the next one’s neck, causing him to fall and quiver like a hooked-dry fish on his comrade’s corpse.
A spear jabbed at him.
Vian blocked, spun around stabbed out. Another man fell. He could hardly see, or hear their screams. He felt at ease, in the moment—the dance of death upon him. He smiled, moving forward, Jians sliding, cutting, stabbing out. The clashing song of steel. Men yelled and tumbled, weapons jabbed out at him. Vian knocked them aside, moved forward again. Lunge, stab, hew, slice.
And kill! He stopped, panting, saw the corpses piled around him. How many? He couldn’t count.
“Roile!” Vian’s voice was hoarse, and his vision blurred by the sweat streaming down his face. He unbuckled his helmet and tossed it away, allowing his hair spill free and catch the sun. The fighting had congealed into a mass of bodies thrust close, as more Cards had leaped over the wall, hearing Uzcara’s shouts. The Shen defenders had rallied, bunching over and forcing them back.
Vian glimpsed Roile cutting out with his sword.
“Roile!”
“Need help here!” the man yelled back, as Vian vaulted over the slain and ran to assist him. He crashed into the back of two Cards as they pressed against Roile, slicing through one’s hamstrings and stabbing the other in the thigh. They fell. Vian dispatched them with a backward slice.
“We can’t hold—these twats are useless,” Roile yelled in his ear. He sliced across, cutting away a man’s face and taking half his helmet, denting his curved sword badly in the process.
“Run!” Vian shouted back.
“What?” Roile glared at him, wild-eyed.
“Get help, and another sword—looks like you’ve broken that one.” Vian jammed a thrust from a spearman. He slammed his shoulder into the enemy, while Roile kicked out at his groin. The spearman lurched forward, Vian sliced down and the head rolled away. “Go!” He yelled at Roile, who nodded and made to run back to the stairs.
“Stay alive!” Roile yelled back before vanishing beneath the arch.
Vian cut and sliced, stepped forward, stabbed again. The sweat was running down his face, and he kept blinking it out of his eyes. Cards surrounded him—Vian could see the Shen were crumbling again, damn them. This time would prove disastrous, as more Cards clambered down from the ladders and soon outnumbered the defenders.
“Uzcara!” Vian yelled the name as he jumped forward, slicing across with one Jian and out with the other, taking three Cards and dispatching a fourth with a lethal backwards strike.
“Let me through,” he heard someone shout. Uzcara? Vian sliced again. This time they jumped back out of reach, parting to allow someone through. Uzcara strode out to greet him, a heavy tulwar in one hand and iron buckler gripped in the other.
“Here you are,” Uzcara’s metal wolf face stared at him. Time froze and the Cards watched as Vian felt the sweat drip down from his face, puddling the stone at his feet. “Racara was my favorite brother.”
Vian slowed his breath again, lowering the Jian blades. Uzcara’s men were holding back—he was grateful for that. Despite their faults, these Cards believed in honor on the battlefield.
“Have you nothing to say before I cut out your heart?”
Vian smiled. “I have no words for cowards who hide their faces from me.” He folded his arms, the Jian slanting out like giant scissors. Uzcara didn’t respond, but he passed his buckler to a man behind him and slid a hand beneath his helm. He unbuckled the helmet and tossed that and the visor aside. Vian saw a hard face, half-moon scar under the left eye, a second one through the lower lip. Black, oily hair and thick brows. Dark, cruel eyes. A battle-captain in his prime.
“That’s better,” Vian said. “Now I know how ugly you are.” He shifted sideways as the tulwar swung out at him with dazzling speed, its thick, curved blade trapping the sun.
Vian danced the other way as Uzcara swung again, yelling expletives and spitting. The man tossed the small shield across to his Ragan. Uzcara caught it deftly with his right hand, the tulwar still swinging in the left.
Vian jumped back out of reach, allowing Uzcara to move forward again. “I have him, boys,” he told his men. He grinned across at Vian and started swinging the heavy blade in rhythmic circlers. “Can you guess what I’m going to do to you, Red Hair?”
Vian stepped back again, playing for time. The longer he could make this encounter last, the more chance the Shen would rally and Roile would return with help. Providing there was help to be found. But it was fruitless dwelling on that. Strange how the mind works at moments like this. He smiled at Uzcara, stepping back again.
Uzcara grinned back at him. “Why not run?” he taunted, switching hands, the tulwar to his right, shield across to his left, faster than the eye could follow, then back again.
Vian glanced along the wall, feigning boredom. He saw Cul Baja, his face bloody and eyes wild, hair loose and helmet missing. There were twenty or so Chiang men bunched beside him. Like the enemy, they were awaiting this outcome.
I need to impress those poor lads. Vian lowered the Jian slowly and took a deep breath. Uzcara held his arms out wide, leaving his broad chest open, as though inviting Vian to attack. Vian held still.
“Fuck this,” Uzcara spat. “I’ve had more trouble with wagon wenches.” He jumped forward with a viscous yell, slicing across with the heavy blade, while slamming the buckler hard at Vian’s face.
Vian jumped back again. This time he answered with his Jian, slicing across and down with even strikes.
Uzcara deflected one with the buckler, the other with his sword. He rammed his body into Vian, shoved the iron shield up at Vian again.
Vian twisted, sliced up close, sawing through the narrow gap showing between Uzcara’s gauntlet and mail shirt. The cut ran deep, severing Uzcara’s right hand. He blinked in surprise at the blood spurting from his arm.
No craven, Uzcara swung at him with the tulwar. His men were yelling, about to rush Vian, seeing their Ragan hurt. Uzcara mouthed a curse and slipped in his own blood. He staggered, slipped again and fell face-first on the stone. The Cards surrounded him. A half-dozen leaped across at Vian, their eyes wild behind the mesh visors.
Vian retreated until his back was against the gatehouse wall. They surrounded him, a dozen or more. Three had spears. He nodded and readied the Jians.
I’m sorry, Rasnei. Vian closed his eyes.
Shouting, new voices from behind. Men screaming. Vian opened his eyes and saw the Cards had left him as arrows were raining down on them from the distant walls. He glimpsed Matax up there with the huge Shen, Lin Gu. The Cards were in turmoil. Cul Baja had rallied his men, and they were falling on the confused foe.
A Card officer yelled, and his men dragged the unconscious Ragan and pitched his body over the wall, where other men caught him below. The remainder ran to follow, but Matax’s archers punctured them from above.
Vian ran forward, killing and maiming with his Jians, as the last of the Cards fell back and jumped free of the walls. A few gained their horses and got away, including the knot that had gathered around Uzcara’s body. These carried him off out of bowshot.
Vian helped the newly confident Cul Baja clear the wall of enemies, as Matax’s archers took out any Cards in range. A good number had made it back to the woods and sat their horses in a circle, as some men attended the prone Ragan.
Vian saw Matax gazing down at him. He waved thanks. The general waved back and ordered his men away. Lin Gu stood for a time before nodding and turning away. Vian wiped sweat and blood from his face. He felt his legs buckle beneath him.
“We beat them.” He glanced up to see Cul Baja grinning down at him.
“You did well,” Vian told the Cul, as his heart thudded in his chest.
“You killed Uzcara,” Cul Baja said. “And these others, so many. You are a legend …”
“Bought us some time, here at the harbor,” Vian said, as weariness washed over him. It had been too close. Was he losing his knack? Uzcara had nearly defeated him. It was the Ragan’s overconfidence that had allowed Vian get that close and score the winning blow. But he should have followed up with a final strike. Ragan Uzcara would be back. Even missing a hand, he was a foe to be wary of.
Vian felt giddy, sick. He closed his eyes for a time, as the voices and movement stilled on the walls. He could hear the Cards yelling, the sound of hoofbeats cantering off. I’m so tired. He blinked and saw Cul Baja leaning over him with a flask of cool water.
“Thanks,” Vian said, and drank deeply. He felt revived by the water but still weary. “You did well, Cul Baja, your men too. I’m proud of you all.”
“We defeated them,” the young Cul said as Vian drained the flask.
“They’ll be back,” Vian said. “I hurt Uzcara badly. But his pride will cause him more pain than that missing hand. He’ll stop at nothing next time.”
“Three and a half Ragans left, and that’s counting the one in Cardalis,” Gurtei said with a grin, as Roile informed him what had happened at the Sea Gate. They’d watched from the barbican as Uzcara’s riders had carried their leader over to a cart where his body was lain. Gurtei had seen Casca ride over and gaze down at his brother. The last remaining Ragan, Calgara, had stayed and sat his horse glaring up at the walls.
“What will they do next?” Lin Gun asked him. The three of them held command of the high keep, while Dorthar had accompanied the empress to ensure she got some rest. The exhausted Vian had joined them in the palace, as the immediate danger had passed.
“They’ll rally and start over,” Gurtei said, noting how the ballistae had been pulled back out of cannon range. The walls had been pummeled, but apart from the one breach—stemmed by Lin Gu and Matax’s melee—the Cards had failed to make a sizeable dent.
“Casca needs a victory,” Gurtei said. “His men will lose spirit else. Both Racara and Casla were popular. Uzcara being wounded leaves just the Ran, and Calgara, the youngest and least experienced Ragan.”
Matax joined them and stood gazing at the enemy.
“I thought you were taking a break, general—you look like you need one,” Gurtei said. “We’ve got things covered, here.”
“I can sleep standing up,” Matax said, shaking his head. “Casca will hit us with everything, and before this day is over. Uzcara’s men will have told him what happened at the Sea Gate. Lucky you warned me in time,” he said to Roile, who shrugged. “That could have gone badly for us.”
“What are they doing?” Lin Gun said, pointing.
Gurtei blinked and gazed out. “They’re withdrawing.” He couldn’t believe his eyes. The entire Card army had started moving back across the plain, leaving the deserted machines and rams abandoned as they marched or rode back to their camp.
“Perhaps Uzcara’s dead,” Matax said, blowing out air.
“They’re up to something,” Roile said, hawking and spitting blood over the parapet wall.
His army having withdrawn, Casca stared down at his brother and tried not to smirk. “First Racara, now you. Oh, and fucking Casla got himself killed, too, while you were absent, brother. It seems like I’ll have to do everything myself. Shame, about your injury, Uz. I know you preferred the feel of your left hand.”
Uzcara glared up at him, trying to speak.
“You’re angry—that’s good,” Casca continued. “Rest some, get your strength back. After that, you can ride back west and join Genza. He’ll find something for you to do, a job suitable for redundant cripples.”
“Fuck you, Casca,” Uzcara spat back.
Casca smiled and left Uzcara with the field physicians. He walked out and watched the camp settle for evening, strolling through the tents and campfires as men gazed up at him. He spoke to a few, ensuring the captains knew what to expect.
Casca was happy today. Uzcara was neutered and one thing less to worry about. Better, he’d heard from Genza, receiving a coded bird this afternoon. The Vendeli were sending ships and men, his brother wrote. The shaman, Octaxa, had told Genza that they’d set sail from Soloza a week earlier and should be here in a matter of days. It was all the encouragement he’d needed to change his plans.
No need to rush things, as those ships would blockade the harbor and they could squeeze the enemy from both directions. Of course, if Uzcara had worked harder and not got himself crippled, the harbor could be theirs today. But aside Calgara—and he was easy to handle—Casca had none left to challenge him. That was reassuring, and he was happy to let things take their course.
