Illengond Read online

  With them went the most skilled huntresses to have roamed the Plains in many generations. Her bow rested against the rock. She wielded only her knife and a rope. But she had little to do. So fierce was the onslaught of the prince and his officers, along with Armas and Kayam, that even though the enemy still had the greater numbers they were overwhelmed. What remained of the enemy line crumbled. Only a handful of them survived long enough to go tumbling back down the hill to their irate captain.

  The companions gave chase for a few steps before Dhan called them back, ordering them to return to the safety of the boulders before the enemy could mount another attack and trap them in the open.

  “We won,” Lyn shouted exuberantly when Kayam arrived back.

  Dhan shook his head as he wiped his bloody blade in the snow. “No. We have only repelled the first assault, and even that we did only with unlooked-for aid.”

  “But—” Lyn protested.

  “We survived unscathed,” Dhan continued. “And for that I am grateful. But we are still besieged and outnumbered. Only a fraction of the enemy host fell in the flood, and they will not give up. A long battle awaits us before victory can be claimed.”

  38

  WAR ON ILLENGOND

  Tienna knew the battle was far from done. She did not need the prince to tell her. She looked down the slope and saw Golach already reorganizing his troops for another assault. As quickly as it had come, the flood had passed down the mountain leaving only a swath of mud and a small stream running out of the new gash in the mountainside. Yet she now felt a glimmer of hope. The odds against her people had diminished, if only slightly.

  She heard the clash of swords near at hand and spun her head to the left. What she saw made her pulse quicken yet again. Some of the armies of Citadel had avoided the path of the flood and had come upon Braga and the defenders on that side. One of the captains—it must have been El-Phern—sat astride his horse urging his soldiers from behind. At first it looked promising for the defenders. Braga’s archers had been more successful than Dhan’s, several Citadel soldiers lay on the slope, stuck with white-feathered shafts. And those who avoided both arrow and flood to reach the top fared little better. Namha seemed to be everywhere. Tienna watched him move in among the enemy as freely as if he were one of them. Leaping. Kicking. Striking in close with hands and feet. Striking from a distance with his knives. Turning enemy weapons upon their owners. Wherever he went, blue uniforms fell.

  And the Undeani fought furiously, too, making amends for the betrayal of their people. Hard-pressed and outnumbered though they were, they were skilled with their spears and battles-axes, and they held the upper ground. The Citadel troops appeared ill-used to these weapons. The defenders were winning.

  But Namha was only one Amanti, and the soldiers of Citadel kept coming. Tienna saw that the Undeani defenders were soon beleaguered. Even as she watched, Arreg lost his grip on his ax. He went down an instant later, opening a gap in the defense. Tienna cried out, in part for the loss of Arreg, and in part because she saw what his loss would mean to the others. Kreeg took a half step to his right to fill the void. At once he exposed his own left side and was beset by three soldiers. Nahoon stepped from behind a large rock just in time to remove the arm of one of Kreeg’s attackers, but he opened his own side to a sharp slash from a Citadel sword. With a cry of pain, Nahoon fell clutching his ribs. Seizing the opportunity, another blue uniform stepped forward, sword raised to take off the head of the fallen Plainsman. Nahoon could do nothing to ward off the blow. Tienna watched in horror, unable to help.

  Yet just as the blade started down, the soldier tumbled over backward. Namha stood behind him. He reached down and pulled an Amanti knife out of the fallen soldier’s back. Three others backed quickly away from him. Still gasping in pain, Nahoon dragged himself behind the rocks. He still lived, but from Tienna’s vantage it did not look good. He did not rise. Already, two of the defenders were down, and with each defender who fell the gaps in their circle grew bigger.

  Still more attackers came.

  By the time Thimeon crossed the scree and reached the trees just behind Jhaban, he could see a line of sheepskin-clad warriors spreading out among the trees ahead and below them. Some on the far side of the woods appeared to be working their way uphill, probably to get above the companions and attack them from behind. The nearest soldiers were only fifty yards away, and would be upon his companions in seconds. Thimeon looked around frantically for a place to hold in defense, and wondered what Jhaban would do.

  He did not wonder for long. Jhaban paused only briefly and looked over his shoulders. “They will not expect an assault. Now, while they are still scattered, let us attack and drive them out from the woods. Make them afraid to return.”

  He thinks he’s leading trained soldiers, Thimeon thought. He has forgotten who is with him. But Jhaban didn’t wait for a reply, and Thimeon had no time to object or even to look around at his other companions. Jhaban lifted his blade and charged at the nearest soldier.

  Thimeon gripped his own blade more tightly and rushed into battle at Jhaban’s side. He was aware of Bandor a few steps to his right, running alongside him. He had no time to look behind him for the others. Suddenly they were in the midst of the enemy.

  The Undeani were taken by surprise. They were still spread out, trying to gain the woods and prepare for an attack. The sudden rush of Jhaban’s company took them isolated in ones and twos. Before Thimeon could even swing his sword, two sheepskin clad warriors lay on the ground, felled by Jhaban’s blade. Jhaban rushed onward, shouting as he went. All around, he heard the clashing of blades and shouts of anger or fear. He looked briefly to his left. Theo, Noab, and Anchara had turned downhill. Several Undeani were now fleeing before them back through the trees down the slope. Jhaban turned uphill. Noaem, Lluach, Bandor, and Gaelim ran at his side. Enemy soldiers screamed. Some fled. Some sought shelter behind trees.

  Within two minutes, twelve Undeani warriors lay on the ground, dead or dying. Thimeon stopped in the middle of the trees and looked around at the bodies. He had not even swung his blade. He found no satisfaction in their quick rout of the enemy. He wanted to stop the killing. And he knew his own people were still badly outnumbered. “Stop,” he yelled out. “Theo!” he called. “Noab! Anchara!”

  Forty yards down the hill they heard him and stopped. “Back to me,” he yelled. “Quick.” He knew that Jhaban was in charge, and knew far more about battle than Thimeon did. Yet his sadness had turned quickly to fear. His own companions were now the ones spread out. The enemy soldiers, who had fled at the first assault, were stopping, turning, regathering. Jhaban had pressed too far. “Back to me,” Thimeon yelled again. Theo, Noab, and Anchara now started quickly back up the hill.

  Thimeon turned and looked back to his right where the rest of his companions were still pressing the attack with Jhaban. Undeani warriors, who had been cut off from their band—perhaps now realizing that they outnumbered their attackers—turned suddenly as one and charged back down the hill. Thimeon saw it all from forty yards away. Bandor fell with a spear through his right shoulder even as he impaled the attacker with his sword. Noaem, dove out of the way to avoid a similar fate, only to have a sharp rock open a gash on his right shoulder as he landed. Another four Undeani lay on the ground with mortal wounds, but Jhaban, Lluach, and Gaelim were born back down the hill.

  “To their aid,” Thimeon called. He, Theo, Noab, and Anchara rushed up the hill and arrived just in time to keep the others from being overwhelmed. Each of them rushed at one of the enemy warriors. Three more fell. The last three turned and fled.

  “Curse me as an idiot!” Jhaban shouted at himself. “That was a foolish move.”

  Thimeon barely heard him. He and Theo raced back up the hill to where Bandor lay on the ground. They half lifted and half dragged their wounded friend back to the edge of the trees where Jhaban now was forming a line of defense. Noaem stru
ggled along behind them, grimacing in pain, his arm hanging limp at his side.

  As Thimeon and Theo laid Bandor down, Jhaban examined his injury. The spear was still protruding from just below his shoulder, and his garments were soaked in blood. “It’ll have to come out,” the lieutenant said. Thimeon nodded. Jhaban tore a piece of fabric off his own shirt and pressed it around the spear. Then, with a single hard pull, he yanked the spear free.

  Bandor screamed and fainted. Thimeon shoved the bandage into the hole to stop the bleeding. Then the whiz of an arrow past his head brought him back to battle. He turned to warn the others, and to his horror saw Lluach pinned to a tree with an Undeani arrow through his neck. He shuddered once, and wondered what he would tell Lluanthro if ever he saw him again. How many fathers would lose their sons? Then, leaving Bandor, he leapt once more to his feet and prepared for what remained of the battle.

  Dhan braced himself for the second attack. Golach would spare nothing and nobody, he thought, and there would be no flood to save them this time.

  His thoughts proved correct. Though the prince had the steep slope in his favor, the earlier battles had depleted their supply of arrows. They had only a few left. “Use them well,” he told the archers around them.

  The enemy charged—a hundred or more soldiers in a big mass. Golach screamed at them from behind. They plodded up the steep hill, heedless of the danger, so close together the defending archers didn’t even have to aim. Several of Golach’s men fell, ten, fifteen, maybe more. It didn’t matter. Others stumbled over the bodies and kept coming. Soon all the defenders’ shafts were expended. The front line was only thirty yards away. Dhan prepared for the onslaught. It came with a vengeance.

  Dhan was a commander. Even as he wielded his own blade with expert precision, he remained aware of the movements of his men, constantly adjusting his strategy, preparing to give some order that might save the battle. Or lose it if he gave the wrong command. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware when Keet, who had never in his life wielded anything more dangerous than a fishing rod, fell at once to an enemy sword. He saw Falien take a blow to his left leg. Dhan knew that it bit to the bone. As Falien fell back, two attackers leapt forward to breach the hole. Dhan could do nothing. He had just felled one enemy soldier, dropping his sword upon a helm like an ax on wood, only to have another blue uniform step in to take the fallen soldier’s place. They would have succeeded in breaching the gap, and Falien would have met his death, had not Tienna come flying through the air from the top of one of the rocks. With agility that amazed even the prince, she caught one of the men in the head with her foot and he crumpled. She was barely on the ground when she whipped a rope around the other’s ankle and pulled him off his feet. Falien, from his knees, was able to finish him.

  On Dhan’s other side Cathros also fought valiantly. Yet, although he held his ground, he could not help any of the others. Corandra wielded her blade superbly, but the sheer strength of her bigger opponents was against her. Twice she was born backward, and she took a terrifying gash to her right shoulder before a quick twist of her blade sent her opponent’s weapon flying.

  Elynna, Beth, Siyen and Hrevia kept close together and managed just to stay alive. Lyn, who had begun near his sister’s side, took a few token swings of his blade before once more retreating several yards back up the hill to wait at Jhonna’s side.

  Only in the middle, where Dhan himself stood beside Kachtin and Banthros, did the attackers suffer significant loss. And all the while the screeches of the Daegmons reminded the prince of the greater threat that still awaited them.

  “Dhan,” Cathwain shouted, over the din of battle. “Thimeon calls to me. They have lost Lluach. Noaem is wounded and can barely fight. And Bandor is badly hurt. He will die soon.”

  The prince heard, but he could not answer. A loss of concentration meant death. A minute passed before he was able to call back. “They must hold their ground as long as they can.”

  “I will tell them,” Cathwain said.

  Braga had seen Arreg fall. He knew Nahoon was badly wounded. He was dimly aware that farther along the hillside, the prince was under attack. Yet he was much more aware of how precarious their own situation was. They would have fallen in the first assault had it not been for the strange and powerful figure of Namha—the one he had feared almost as much as the tiger from the moment he had first come to the aid of Elynna and her people. Even with Namha’s aid, he didn’t think they could hold out much longer. The mass of enemy soldiers pressing up the hill seemed endless.

  A sudden movement caught Braga’s eye. One of the attackers had slipped behind the line of defense. Krag and Jama both spun around to fight him, but in doing so they opened a gap. Before they could return to their positions, their line was broken. With a great war cry, the enemy soldiers rushed in, driving the rest of the Undeani defenders back from the boulders. Kreeg went down beside Nahoon. All gave way except Namha. Soon the Amanti was alone, surrounded by enemy soldiers. He stood facing them without a weapon. From between two rocks, the enemy captain himself stepped forward with his banner-bearer beside him. El-Phern, the prince had named him. The name flashed across Braga’s mind just as El-Phern screamed his order. “Kill him.”

  Braga could only watch, helpless. The Amanti warrior, the one he had both feared and respected, had little hope now. Four blue uniforms rushed forward. The nearest one lunged, the tip of his sword aimed at Namha’s heart. Another stabbed at his back, his sword-thrust following just a fraction of an instant after the first. “No!” Braga shouted.

  Yet the tall warrior spun in such a way that the weapons seemed to pass right through the Amanti as if he were air. Surprised, the soldier stumbled. Namha grabbed one of the men by the elbow and yanked him forward. An instant later two Citadel soldiers lay on the ground, each impaled by the other’s sword.

  El-Phern cursed and drew his own blade. “I’ll take care of this one,” he commanded to his men who were now swarming up around. “Don’t let the others escape.”

  This captain from Citadel did not know the Amanti warrior, Braga thought. In his arrogance, he could not fathom that his skill was nothing against Namha. He learned quickly his error, but did not live long enough to benefit from that learning.

  Yet still the soldiers kept coming. While a half dozen of them kept Namha occupied, a dozen more rushed around and drove Braga backward. Once more he fought for his own life and could no longer worry about Namha.

  In moments, if the Undeani could not stop them, the enemy would be at Dhan’s back and all would be lost.

  Three Daegmon’s shrieked in terrible glee at the decimation of their enemies. Two more looked on, reveling in the destruction. Their plan had succeeded. The battle was theirs. They could sense the impotency of the Powers they had fought against for so long—Powers that meant nothing in a battle against mortals. They could send wave after wave of human soldiers against the gifted. They were tools. They were disposable.

  They have done our work for us, the Daegmon-Captain said. They did not need sounds to speak, for they could read each other’s thoughts.

  When can we taste of their flesh? asked one of the smaller Daegmons.

  Be patient, said the Captain. The battle will be ours without fighting. If we go down too soon, we risk rousing the Powers.

  Why do we have to fear? said another. Our Lord cometh even now.

  How much greater will be our reward if we have won before he arrives, said the Captain. His eye was upon Elynna as he spoke. Her outward shape he did not know, but he could sense her spirit more clearly than he could sense any of others, even of the gifted. Her demise he especially sought. He watched with the eagerness of his coming victory as several blue uniforms broke through the line of Undeani warriors and approached her from behind. Her last futile defense was broken. In a few seconds, the soldiers would be upon her. And upon the meddling prince.

  But as the Daegmon-Capta
in watched, something caught his eye: something that made him hiss with sudden anger. Just a few yards away from Elynna’s back, fractions of a second before she could be cut down from behind without even knowing what struck her, the foremost of El-Phern’s men suddenly collapsed with an arrow protruding from his neck. Then a second of the soldiers fell beside him. What was amiss? Were his minions failing him once again?

  39

  TERRID

  Somehow Terrid had managed to approach the battle unseen. He could see his prince in the thick of battle off to the right, his attention on Golach and the assault coming at him from below, unaware of the enemy soldiers who had snuck in behind him. A mix of fears and strategies raced through Terrid’s thoughts, but he had no time to sort them out.

  Many days earlier Dhan had left him in the mountains west of Gale Enebe. The young lieutenant had not even waited for his prince to depart before turning with his men and galloping eastward back down the trail toward the narrow cut where he would set his ambush and make his sacrifice. He did not fully understand his prince’s mission, but he understood his own. If the skulking spy Lyn was not lying, then El-Phern was coming with a hundred or more men. Terrid had twenty-four. His ambush would have to be well set, and even then he didn’t hold much hope that any of his company would survive. But that mattered little. Ever since escaping the dungeon and leaving his friend Llatru to die, Terrid had been ready to make amends by giving his own life. If he could waylay El-Phern long enough—if he could weaken El-Phern’s company and give his prince a sufficient lead in his flight toward Mount Illengond—then the sacrifice would be worthwhile.