Talisman gazed down with grim satisfaction at the thirty or more bodies. An arrow flashed past his face, and he ducked. Enemy archers were now crowding around the breached gates, shooting up at the defenders. Two Nadir warriors fell, their chests pierced.
'Stay down!' shouted Talisman. As ladders suddenly clattered against the wall behind him, he swore. With archers shooting at them from the rear, and an assault from the front, the section would be hard to hold.
Throwing himself flat, Talisman squirmed to the edge of the ramparts, calling down to the bowmen on the curved wall. 'Ten of you pin down the archers,' he commanded. 'The rest to me!'
Ignoring the threat of arrows, Talisman surged upright and drew his sabre. Three men appeared at the ramparts. Leaping forward, he plunged his sabre into the leading man's face, spearing his open mouth.
In the compound below, Gorkai waited with twenty men. Sweat dripped from his face as he watched Talisman and the Fleet Ponies men battling against the warriors swarming over the ramparts. 'I should go to him,' he told Lin-tse.
'Not yet, brother. Stand firm.'
On the north wall, Bartsai and his men fell back as the Lancers gained the ramparts. With an awful suddenness the defending line broke and a dozen enemy soldiers broke dear, swarming down the rampart steps and into the compound.
Lin-tse and his men charged to meet them. Gorkai transferred his sabre to his left hand and wiped his sweating right on his leggings. The men of the Curved Horn were on the verge of breaking, and Gorkai prepared himself to rush to their aid.
At that moment, seeing the danger, Druss ran along the ramparts of the western wall and leapt the yawning gap to the northern ramparts, his huge form crashing into the attackers and scattering them. The silver blades of his axe cut into the enemy ranks. His sudden appearance galvanized the Curved Horn into renewed ferocity, and the Gothir were forced back.
Lin-tse had lost eight men, but the twelve Gothir Lancers were reduced now to four, fighting in two pairs back to back. Two more Nadir fell before Lin-tse and his men cut the Lancers down.
Gorkai swung to watch Talisman. The line was holding, but more than ten Nadir were dead and the attack was no more than minutes old. Some wounded men were making their way to the hospital, others lay where they had fallen, trying to stop the flow of blood with their hands.
Lin-tse and the remainder of his men moved back to stand alongside Gorkai's group. The tall Nadir chief glanced at Gorkai. Blood was flowing from a wound in his face. 'You can tackle the next breach,' he said, forcing a smile.
Gorkai did not have long to wait. Talisman's men were swept aside as a section of the battlements gave way, and Talisman himself took a spear thrust into the chest. Gorkai screamed a battle cry and led his men forward, hurtling up the rampart steps two at a time. Talisman gutted the spearman, dragged the broken spear from his chest and then fell. Gorkai leapt across his body as more Gothir soldiers made it to the ramparts.
Talisman's vision was blurring, and he felt a great dizziness sweep over him. I cannot die, he thought. Not now! Struggling to his knees, he scrabbled for his sabre. Darkness loomed but he fought against it.
Gorkai and his men re-took the battlements, forcing the Gothir back. Blood was bubbling from Talisman's chest, and he knew a lung was punctured. Two men took him by the arms, hauling him to his feet. 'Get him to the surgeon!' ordered Gorkai.
Talisman was half helped, half carried to the hospital building. He heard Zhusai cry out as he was brought in. Desperately trying to focus, he saw the face of Sieben above him . . . then he passed out.
The Gothir had given up their assault on the northern wall and Druss, his helm struck from his head, jumped the gap in the ramparts and rejoined the Fleet Ponies. Nuang Xuan, wounded again in the chest and arms, was sitting slumped by the wall.
The Gothir fell back.
Druss knelt down by the old Nadir leader. 'How goes it?' he asked.
'More than a hundred,' said Nuang. 'I think I have killed all the Gothir there are, and what you see outside are merely ghosts.'
Druss rose and scanned the defences. The north wall had only eighteen defenders still standing. Around him on the western ramparts there were some twenty-five Sky Riders. Above the gates he counted thirty, including Talisman's man, Gorkai. In the compound below Lin-tse had fewer than a dozen men. Druss tried to add the numbers together, but lost them in a sea of weariness. Taking a deep breath, he re-counted.
Fewer than a hundred defenders were visible to him, but the bodies of Nadir dead lay everywhere. He saw the Curved Horn leader Bartsai lying on the ground below the ramparts, three dead Gothir around his corpse.
'You are bleeding, Deathwalker,' said a Sky Rider.
'It is nothing,' replied Druss, recognizing the hawk-faced young man he had spoken to earlier.
'Take off your jerkin,' said the youngster.
Druss groaned as he eased the ripped and near ruined leather from his huge frame. He had been cut four times around the shoulders and upper arms, but there was a deeper wound under his right shoulder-blade. Blood had pooled around his belt.
'You need stitches, hey,' the Nadir told him. 'Or you bleed to death.'
Druss leaned on the ramparts and stared down at the Gothir forces, who had moved back out of bowshot.
'Take the old man with you,' said the Nadir, grinning. 'He fights so well he shames us all.'
Druss forced a grin and hauled Nuang Xuan to his feet. 'Walk with me a while, old man.' Turning to the Nadir warrior, he said, 'I'll be back before you know it.'
Talisman felt the pain of his wounds recede, and found himself lying on a bare hillside under a grey sky. His heart hammered in panic as he recognized the landscape of the Void. 'You are not dead,' came a calm voice from close by. Talisman sat up, and saw the little sorcerer Shaoshad sitting beside a flickering blaze. The tall figure of Shul-sen stood beside him, her silver cloak gleaming in the firelight.
'Then why am I here ?' he asked.
'To learn,' said Shul-sen. 'When Oshikai and I came to the land of the steppes we were touched by its beauty, but more than this we were called by its magic. Every stone carried it, every plant grew with it. Elemental power radiated from the mountains, and flowed in the streams. The Gods of Stone and Water, we called them. You know what gives birth to this magic, Talisman?'
'No.'
'Life and death. The life forces of millions of men and animals, insects and plants. Each life comes from the land, then returns to the land. It is a circle of harmony.'
'What has this to do with me?'
'Not so much with you, my boy, as with me,' put in Shaoshad. 'I was one of the Three who robbed the land of its magic. We drew it forth and invested it in the Eyes of Alchazzar; we made the land barren; we sought to redirect the random magnificence of the energy, to focus it on behalf of the Nadir. In doing so we destroyed the link between the Nadir and the Gods of Stone and Water. Our people became increasingly nomadic, feeling no love for the earth beneath their feet or the mountains that towered above them. They became split and divided, isolated from one another.'
'Why are you telling me this?' asked Talisman.
'Why do you think?' responded Shul-sen.
'I do not have the Eyes. I thought the poet might, but I think now he is merely a skilled surgeon.'
'If you had them, Talisman, would you do what is right for the land?' asked Shaoshad.
'And what is that?'
'Return to it what was stolen.'
'Give up the power of the Eyes? With them I could bring all the tribes together into one unstoppable army.'
'Perhaps,' admitted Shul-sen, 'but without love of land, what would they fight for? Plunder and rape, revenge and murder? And this army you speak of - it would be filled with men whose lives are but a fraction of a beat in the heart of eternity. The land is immortal. Give it back its magic and it will repay you a thousandfold. It will give you the Uniter you dream of, it will give you Ulric.'
'And how do I do this?' he whispere
d.
'It is not as deep as you thought,' said Sieben as Druss lay on the table, feeling the poet's ringers probing at the wound in his back. Indeed there was little pain now, except from the ragged stitches.
'You are a revelation to me,' said Druss, grunting as he sat up, the stitches pulling tight. 'Who would have thought it?'
'Who indeed? How is it going out there?'
'The big attack is to come . . . soon,' answered Druss. 'If we hold that off . . .' His voice tailed away.
'We are going to lose, aren't we?' asked Sieben.
'I think so, poet - though it hurts me to say it. Is Talisman dead?'
'No, he is sleeping. His wounds were not as bad as we feared.'
'I'd better get back to the wall.' Druss stretched his back. 'Amazing,' he said. 'I feel as if I've slept for eight hours. I can feel the strength flowing through me. Those poultices you use have great power - I'd be interested to know what's in them.'
'Me too. Niobe prepares them.'
Druss shrugged on his jerkin and buckled his belt. 'I am sorry I brought you to this,' he said.
'I'm a free man who makes his own decisions,' Sieben told him, 'and I am not sorry at all. I met Niobe. Sweet Heaven, Druss, but I love that woman!'
'You love all women,' said Druss.
'No. Truly, this is different. And what is more incredible is that, given the choice, I would not change a single thing. To die not having known true love must be terrible.'
Nuang approached them. 'Are you ready, axeman?'
'You are a tough old goat,' Druss told him, and together they returned to the battlements. Sieben watched them for a moment, then moved back among the wounded men. He caught Niobe's eye and smiled as she pointed to where Zhusai was sitting beside Talisman, holding the sleeping man's hand. The Chiatze girl was weeping. Sieben crossed the room, settling down beside her.
'He, will live,' he told her softly.
She nodded dumbly.
'I promise you,' he said, gently laying his hand on Talisman's chest.
The Nadir warrior stirred, and opened his eyes. 'Zhusai. . .?' he whispered.
'Yes, my love.'
He groaned and struggled to rise. Sieben helped him to his feet. 'What is happening?' he asked.
'The enemy are gathering for another charge,' said Sieben.
'I must be there.'
'No, you must rest!' insisted Zhusai.
Talisman's dark eyes turned to Sieben. 'Give me more strength,' he said.
The poet shrugged. 'I cannot. You have lost a lot of blood and you are weak.'
'You have the Eyes of Alchazzar.'
'I wish I did, old horse - I'd heal everybody here. By Heaven, I'd even raise the dead.'
Talisman looked closely at him, but Sieben met his stare with blank equanimity. Placing his arm over Zhusai's shoulder, Talisman kissed her cheek. 'Help me to the wall, my wife,' he said. 'We will stand upon it together.'
As they moved off, Sieben heard a small voice whisper in his ear. 'Go with them.' He swung round, but there was no-one close. The poet shuddered, and stood where he was. 'Trust me, my boy,' came the voice of Shaoshad.
Sieben walked out into the sunlight, then ran to catch Talisman and the woman. Taking the warrior's other arm he helped him up the rampart steps to the western wall.
'Well, they're gathering again,' muttered Druss.
On the plain beyond, the Gothir were once more in fighting ranks, waiting for the drum-beat signal. All along the wall weary Nadir defenders also waited, swords ready.
'Must be more than a thousand of them,' said Sieben, feeling the onset of terror.
The drum-beat sounded, and the Gothir army began to move.
Zhusai stiffened, and drew in a sharp breath. 'Put your hand on her shoulder,' ordered Shaoshad. When Sieben reached out and gently touched Zhusai, he felt the power of the stones flow from him, like a dam bursting. She released her hold on Talisman and moved to the ramparts.
'What are you doing, Zhusai?' hissed Talisman.
She turned to him and gave a dazzling smile. 'She will return,' said the voice of Shul-sen.
The woman climbed to the top of the ramparts and raised her arms. Overhead the sun - brilliant in a clear blue sky - shone down now on the woman in bloodstained clothes. The wind picked up, stirring her raven-dark hair. Clouds began to form with astonishing speed - small white puffballs that swelled and grew, darkening down and obscuring the sun. The wind roared, buffeting the defenders. Blacker and blacker grew the sky, then a clap of thunder burst above the Shrine. Lightning forked down, exploding in the midst of the Gothir army. Several men were hurled from their feet. Jagged spears of dazzling light flashed into the enemy force, while thunder rolled across the heavens.
The Gothir broke and ran, but still the lightning tore into them, catapulting men into the air. The fierce wind brought the smell of burning flesh to the stunned defenders. The Gothir horses uprooted their picket ropes and galloped away. On the plain men were tearing off their armour and hurling aside their weapons - to no avail it seemed. Sieben saw a man struck, his breastplate exploding. Those close to him were punched to the ground, where their bodies went into spasm.
Then the sun broke through the clouds and the woman in white turned and stepped back to the ramparts. 'My Lord is in Paradise,' she told Talisman. 'This is a debt repaid.' She sagged against Talisman, who held her close.
On the plain more than half the Gothir force was dead, many others suffering terrible burns.
'They'll not fight again,' said Gorkai, as the clouds dispersed.
'No, but they will,' muttered Druss, pointing to a line of cavalry breasting the hills and riding down towards the shattered Gothir camp.
Sieben's heart sank as more than a thousand men came into sight, riding in columns of twos.
'Who would have my luck?' said Nuang bitterly.
Chapter Thirteen
Premian rolled to his belly and pushed his blistered hands into the cold mud. Lightning had struck three men close to him. They were unrecognizable now. He staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady and dizziness swamping him. The dead and dying were everywhere, and the living staggered around as if drunk.
Some way to his left Premian saw the Lord Gargan sitting beside his dead horse. The man looked old now, and sat with his head in his hands. Premian had been wearing no armour - Gargan had stripped him of his rank, and had sentenced him to thirty lashes for disobedience - but the lack of metal on his frame had saved him during the lightning storm.
Slowly he made his way to the general. Half of Gargan's face was blistered and black. He looked up as Premian approached, and the younger man had to mask his horror at the sight. Gargan's left eye was gone, and blood flowed from the empty socket.
'All finished,' mumbled the general. 'The savages have won.' Premian knelt by him and took his hand, unable to think of anything to say. 'They murdered my mother,' said Gargan. 'I was five years old. She hid me under some sacking. They raped and murdered her. And I watched. I . . . wanted to help her. Couldn't. Just lay there and wet myself with fear. Then my son . . .' Gargan drew a long shuddering breath. 'Fetch me a sword."
'You don't need a sword, my Lord. It is over.'
'Over? You think it is over? It will never be over. Them or us, Premian. Now and for ever.' Gargan sagged to his right. Premian caught him and lowered him to the ground. 'I can hear horses,' whispered the general. And he died.
Premian glanced up to see the line of cavalry moving towards him and he stood as they approached. A cavalry general rode up and glanced down at the dead Lord of Larness.
'I had orders for his arrest and immediate execution,' he said. 'It is just as well he is gone. I had a great respect for him.'
'Arrest? On what charge?' Premian asked.
'Who are you ?' responded the general.
'Premian, sir.'
'Ah, good. I am also carrying orders for you. You are to take command of the Lancers and return to Gulgothir.' Swinging in his saddle, he surveyed th
e chaos. 'Your force will not be a large one, I fear. What happened here?'
Swiftly Premian told him. Then: 'Does the attack continue, sir?' he asked.
'The sacking of a Shrine? Great Heavens, no! What an utter waste of good men. I can't think what possessed Gargan to lead such a lunatic venture.'
'I believe he was under orders, sir.'
'All orders are changed now, Premian. We have a new Emperor. The madman is dead - killed by his own Guards. There is sanity once more in Gulgothir.'
'Praise the Source for that,' said Premian, with feeling.
Upon the walls of the Shrine Druss, Talisman and the defenders watched a rider move slowly from the devastated camp. He was wearing no armour, and his silver hair shone in the sunlight.
'Shemak's Balls, it's Majon!' said Sieben. 'He rides that horse with all the grace of a carrot sack.'
'Who is Majon?' asked Talisman, his face grey with the pain of his wounds.
'The Drenai ambassador. Best advise your men not to shoot at him.' Talisman relayed the order as Majon rode closer; his long face was pinched and tight, and Druss could see the fear in the man.
'Ho, Druss!' called Majon. 'I am unarmed. I come as a herald.'
'No-one is going to hurt you, ambassador. We'll lower a rope for you.'
'I am quite comfortable here, thank you,' he replied, his voice shaking.
'Nonsense,' Druss called out. 'Our hospitality is well known, and my friends here would think themselves insulted if you didn't join us.'
A rope was lowered and the ambassador dismounted. Removing his sky-blue cape, which he draped over his saddle, he took hold of the rope and was hauled to the ramparts. Once there Druss introduced him to Talisman. 'He's one of the kings among the Nadir,' said Druss. 'An important man.'
'Delighted to meet you, sir,' said Majon.
'What words do you bring from the enemy?' countered Talisman.