The Wayward Knights

Chapter 19

Pirvan and Haimya were the first to wade ashore from the boat, and nearly the last. They had just reached the hard-packed sand below the tide line when they heard screams behind them.

They turned to see dark, sinuous forms rippling through the water. One was clinging to the calf of a man knee-deep in the water. He drew his sword and slashed down; the snake divided in two. Blood clouded the water for a moment-then the severed tail of the snake grew its own fanged head, and both halves returned to the attack.

Meanwhile, blood trickled from the man's eyes and nose. He stared wildly about him, then coughed, bringing up more blood. His eyes widened, he clawed at his chest, and fell into the water with one snake still clinging to him.

Another man who'd climbed from the boat behind Pirvan and Haimya had gone farther and was luckier. One of the sea snakes wriggled onto the sand, pursuing him, but only struck his boot. The heavy leather turned the fangs, and he spun about, bringing the other foot down hard on the snake's head. It went limp, and the head did not grow afresh.

Pirvan cupped his hands and shouted, "Strike for the heads! They can't revive if you take their heads!"

How many heard him, above the shouts and screams of wading fighters bitten and dying horribly, Pirvan never knew. But he saw boats backing oars, pulling wading people into them, while those in the water dashed frantically for land. Many of them reached it safely, but for those bitten on the way there was only one end. The snakes' poison worked too swiftly for healing, even had there been a healer on the beach for each bitten man.

In time, Pirvan stopped shouting and started counting. Close to four hundred fighters were ashore, with their weapons and armor but scantily equipped as to water and food. The knight doubted if there was anything to eat or drink on the island, or at least anything that Wilthur could not make poisonous.

Forty or more bodies washed back and forth in the low surf, some still trailing blood. Pirvan wondered how long it would take the blood to attract some of the seaborne predators who would drive themselves aground, drawn by the scent of fresh blood. At least a school of sharks or sea pike might find the snakes to their taste.

Pirvan looked out to sea. The boats farther offshore were resting on their oars. Twice he saw steel flash in the watery sunlight, as sailors fought sea snakes trying to crawl aboard.

Tarothin hurried up, followed by Sir Niebar, who actually looked fit to be out of bed and ashore, if not wielding a sword in desperate battle. The Red Robe looked grim. "Are we cut off from help from the sea?" he asked.

"I'm sure there's a spell that will end those snakes," Pirvan offered. "If you don't know it, then try to reach Lujimar or Lady Revella."

"I can try, and probably succeed, But what of Wilthur listening to what we say?"

"Do what you think best," Pirvan said. "Certainly we do not wish to make a gift of our secrets." He looked along the beach. "Better yet, can you levitate a few rocks and logs onto that sand spit, the one just below the grove of horn-fruit?"

Tarothin frowned. "A very few, yes, but why-oh, I see. A pier, so the men can walk ashore dry shod?"

"Yes," Pirvan said. "Those snakes seem to be bound with water magic. They're slower and weaker out of the water, and perhaps they can't regenerate on land. If you can't make a safe pier without exhausting yourself, we can try boats lined up abreast with planks over them. The knights have used that for landing horses more than a few times."

"Why don't we try both?" Tarothin said. "Sir Niebar, if you can organize a floating pier, perhaps I can try levitating the materials for the other one."

Pirvan was about to caution Tarothin about giving orders to Sir Niebar, when he caught sight of the older knight trying not to smile. Niebar knew the ways of wizards, and besides, he was back on a battlefield. For that privilege, he looked ready to take orders from Pirvan's daughter Rubina.

With a safe landing once again in prospect, Pirvan turned his attention to the men already ashore. It would be as well to get them out of the sun, but anything large enough to provide shade Wilthur could also turn against them.

At least there were patches of ground, cleared in the last battle and not yet regrown. In these, the fighters would be out of reach of any remaining plants and could see any animals coming at them in time. But sooner or later they would have to break new trails, in the face of the worst Wilthur could hurl at both men and minotaurs. If either Darin's band slipping in under the Smoker or the fighters marching overland faltered, Wilthur could throw all his strength against the other.

Darin scrambled out of the water and reached down to help Rynthala follow. She did not need the help, but sprang onto the rock as if she were Dimernesti herself. The shelf of rock where they stood lay at the base of the inner wall of a large sea cave. With the tide where it was now, the cave's mouth rose twice the height of a man above the water. Through the mouth, half a mile across the sun-gilt water, Darin saw Red Elf.

From the ship to the cave mouth ran a waterborne trail of boats and swimmers. The boats carried mostly humans, although more than a few humans had chosen to swim. The boats also carried the supplies for the landing party. On either flank of the boats swam sea otters, most of whom could not be Dimernesti, unless the shallows-dwellers were far more numerous in these waters than Darin had been led to believe.

A sea otter shot in through the cave mouth, slid up onto a rock, and transformed. Mirraleen then dived off the rock and swam up to Darin.

"We have word from the beaches, human and minotaur," she told him. "Wilthur has conjured poisonous sea snakes."

"Can the sea otters guard our swimmers?" Darin asked. Then, at a cough from Rynthala, he added hastily, "That is, without putting themselves too much in danger?"

Mirraleen frowned. "Some are agile enough, I am sure," she said. "But it would be wiser for the humans to enter the boats, however well they can swim. Word is that the snakes are clumsy out of the water."

"Very well. Then we should send word."

Mirraleen crouched by the water and barked like a sea otter. Two furry heads broke the surface; she barked again. The otters flipped end for end like acrobats and dived for the cave mouth.

The news that Wilthur was striking back seemed to lend wings to the oars and new strength to the swimmers. They rushed toward the cave mouth, and within minutes Darin saw a mirror wink from Red Elf. The last of the landing party was coming ashore, but the ship would wait until all were safely within the cave.

Torvik was in the last boat. As it passed through the cave mouth, he sprang overboard and swam to the rock shelf. Then he and Mirraleen embraced, as chastely as possible considering how little either of them was wearing.

Darin himself would have preferred, if not armor, at least more clothing between his skin and the rock. But he could not deny that wet clothing weighed a swimmer down, and there could be much more swimming between the cave and Wilthur's lair.

The black rock of the cave was now tinged with orange, as humans and sea-elves busily lit glowballs. They were a Dimernesti gift to the band, tightly-packed wads of seaweed soaked with some kind of oil that burned, seemingly, forever. They need not fear darkness even in the lightless bowels of the Smoker.

Darin studied the cave more closely, now that he had more light. Several cracks in the wall offered passages upward; one ran level, and a black mouth yawned behind one boulder, seemingly leading down. If the directions put into his memory by Mirraleen held the truth, it was that black mouth that marked the first part of their underground road.

A wave larger than usual washed in through the mouth of the cave, extinguishing several glowballs. Everyone who did not fall on the supplies and glowballs to drag them to safety drew steel. A wave that size came from no sea snake, not even a school of them. Had Wilthur saved his Creation for them?

Then the shriek of rock against rock tore at their ears, and the echoes went on doubling and redoubling the shriek until Darin and many others were clapping their hands to their temples. A crack appeared in the rock, just above the cave mouth.

It widened. A slab of rock the size of a small temple tilted, then fell free. It splashed into the water at the cave mouth. A higher wave rolled over the shelf, knocking some men off their feet. This time the sound was like a dwarf's pick striking rock, but ten times louder. Another slab of lock, even larger, fell atop the first one. A third followed, then boulders and gravel rained down into the swirling chaos at the cave mouth, until murky waves clashed and splattered all over the cave.

Humans and Dimernesti alike stood as far back from the water as they could, watching in horror and disgust as their retreat was cut off. Darin had drawn his sword, but now sheathed it as his band crowded more thickly around him. Only Mirraleen and Medlessarn remained close to the water, so close that murky water swirled about their ankles. Mirraleen even knelt, with her hand reaching into the dirty foam. Darin finally pushed through the crowd to join the Dimernesti, and drew his sword again. If the Creation did thrust a tentacle out of the swirl, neither Dimernesti had more than a dagger to meet it.

By the time the waves from the rockfall died away, a dozen other humans and as many Dimernesti had joined Darin, ready to fight whatever enemy might present itself. All stared at Mirraleen when she stood up and announced: "I do not believe this is Wilthur's doing."

Darin would never have lived down saying no more than "Uh?" if half a dozen others had not said it loudly enough to drown him out.

"If Wilthur wanted to send his Creation into the cave, he would not have blocked it," Mirraleen explained. "Whoever made the rock fall wished to guard our rear from the Creation, and from anything else that cannot slip through the last gaps in the fallen rocks."

"But the rockfall blocks off reinforcements and supplies," Torvik said. His voice sounded like that of a man who wants to gibber but knows he must be calm for the sake of those he leads. Darin knew the sensation.

"We shall not need either, with all we have here," Medlessarn reminded them. "As for water, there are fresh springs within the mountain, and we can even catch fish and you humans can cook them in the hot springs. For as long as we shall need to be here, we are well fitted. If Wilthur had wanted to use the rocks to defeat us, he would have brought the cave down on our heads, not closed its mouth."

That seemed convincing, except to one man, who voiced a question that Darin admitted was in his own mind: "If Wilthur didn't bring down the rocks, who did?"

"The passage of time, as like as not," Torvik said. "But also let us remember that the True Gods are no friends of Wilthur. If Reorx made the fire we all saw, perhaps Habbakuk can work with sea-worn rocks to aid us more directly."

Torvik did not mention to all what he had mentioned to Darin, that the Dimernesti at least thought Zeboim herself was a foe to Wilthur. That would have unleashed panic, and even Darin found himself chill at the thought of that goddess at work anywhere near him. The name for Zeboim, in the minotaur tongue, was translated, "The Great Treacherous She-Turtle." It was also said that if one had her friendship, one should at once seek the safety of an enemy.

From the wall of Tirabot Manor, Gerik could see not only the smoke to the south and east, but closer by, the flames at the base of the smoke clouds.

At dawn the smoke had still been scrawled across the sky, like the runes of an apprentice wizard writing down his first original spell. Now, at noon, the sky looked more like parchment on which the apprentice had carelessly spilled the ink bottle. Blackness ate at the sunlight, and at Gerik's soul.

He remembered Rubina asking, as the last party from the castle-save for the rear guard-assembled at the gate: "Gerik, will we ever come back here again?"

His answer was the best he could contrive, and he hoped the truth as well. "When there is justice against our enemies," he said, "so that we do not have to live sword in hand and back to the wall every moment, we can think about it. Until then, we must think about making our homes in Vuinlod."

Rubina swallowed and blinked, looking for a moment as if she wanted to cry. Gerik would have been glad to see her let her grief and fear out, if it would not have unmanned him. Then Rubina said, "Is Lady Eskaia honorable?"

"She is, but why do you ask?"

"If she has married again, and there is no one else to give me a home until I am grown and can-"

"Hush," Ellysta said. "Don't speak ill-luck words. Your mother, father, and sister may be at war, but they were alive the last we heard. Your brother may ride with the rear guard, but he is a brave fighter and he will not be alone."

"No, but-oh, it would be ill-luck words again, I suppose." She stood on tiptoe to kiss Gerik, and said, "Take care. Brother. And bring Grimsoar back with you. He has promised to teach me the sailor way of knife fighting." She hurried off to join Ellysta's band.

Gerik stood looking after her when she was long departed. It had been the right touch, those last words, and worthy of one years older than Rubina.

"Good sir!" Wylum called from below. "It's time to ride."

It was indeed. The air was hot and still, with hardly a breath of wind, but Gerik could still smell the smoke of the burnings. He fancied he could even smell roasting meat-the gods grant it be trapped pigs or chickens.

Gerik nearly stumbled on the stairs when he saw what Bertsa Wylum had tucked in her belt.

"Zixa?"

"Is that what Rubina called it?" The sell-sword captain handed the straw-stuffed doll with an elven face to Gerik, saying, "I found her in a hall, when I was leading the final search for stay-behinds."

"It must have fallen out of Rubina's pack in the dark," Gerik said, clutching the doll as if for dear life. "No wonder she was trying not to cry. She's had Zixa since she was five."

Now it was Gerik's turn to swallow and blink. Wylum laughed. "I won't hold it against you if you shed a few tears, Gerik. But Ellysta will put a dagger between my ribs if I don't let you cry on her shoulder first."

Gerik straightened and said, "How is the village?"

"As we expected."

The village had largely emptied itself once the smoke clouds began rising, but not completely. There were those who thought they were in favor with the kingpriest, or even genuinely believed in the reign of virtue. There were those who thought they had knowledge to sell, or who knew they had children or parents too young, too old, or too ill to move. Finally, there were those who simply would not believe that private war could come again to Istar, and be dangerous to them as well.

Gerik feared they would learn otherwise, when House Dirivan or whoever was now sending the riders came. They might not survive the lesson, either. But he had done what he could for them. Four guards with kin among the stay-behinds had offered to join them, and some of the villagers bore arms as well. Anyone who wished had also had Gerik's written permission to enter the manor and barricade themselves behind its walls.

That might be enough to fend off the wildings and the blood-drinkers, until the enemy's captains restored discipline. If they did not wish to do so, then the gods help those who stayed behind, because Gerik could not.

"How is it on the wall?" Wylum asked.

"No one in sight to the east, everyone out of sight to the west."

"Good. I hope the kender were telling the truth, about knowing the whereabouts of all the bandits between here and the border."

"They would know," Gerik said. "But they might not have remembered to tell us everything they know."

Zeskuk took the lead of the main column when the minotaur advance divided on the slopes of the Green Mountain. It would encourage anyone shaken inwardly (no minotaur would show it outwardly) by the sea snake attack.

Minotaur hides were thick, and more than a few of the waders had worn leggings to fend off attacking thorns and branches on land. Two thicknesses of bull hide could defeat the fangs of anything short of a dragon, and those minotaurs splashed ashore angry but unharmed.

Others came ashore over an improvised pier of boats laid bow to stern. Very few of the Destined Race were bitten, and not all of those took a lethal dose of venom. One who had seemed to was Thenvor, but Zeskuk's rival had rallied amazingly with nothing but a home brewed potion his son gave him. He would not lead or fight today, but he would live.

The sea snakes were still darting about in the shallows, and Zeskuk only hoped that the sea otter friends of the Dimernesti would stay away. Fur was nothing like leather at keeping out fangs, and sea otters could die from a drop of something needed in cupfuls to kill a minotaur.

"Signal from Juiksum, lord," the apprentice wizard attached to Zeskuk said. "He is in sight of the outpost. They have lost only two fighters. The vegetation has regrown, but seems to lack its old vitality."

No surprises there. Wilthur was a mage, and a human one at that, not a minotaur, let alone a god. He would have more demands on his magic today than it could very well meet.

Juiksum would advance to the outpost and then down the north side of the Green Mountain. Zeskuk would lead his column along the south side. Meanwhile, the humans would be carving their own path up between the two mountains to meet the minotaurs in the valley.

So far the minotaurs had advanced farther, which was as it should be. The humans had not only suffered more delay from the sea snakes, but had a longer route with less of it already cleared. Zeskuk drew his clabbard. He doubted he would need it for at least a hundred paces or so, but it felt good to have it in his hand, and looked more fitting for a chief.

Bellows from half a dozen throats made him raise the clabbard and take a fighting stance by sheer instinct. He almost made a fool of himself, looking around, before he saw someone pointing. Then his first instinct was to shout for the archers.

In wedges of five or seven, more than a hundred great birds were flying in from the sea to the north. They flew over the outpost and Juiksum's column too high for the archers, then began slanting down as they crossed the island. Each bird shone with blue feathers so fine and so glossy that they seemed almost like scales, and had a long white crest and bright yellow bill and claws. They called to one another as they flew, and as they passed overhead Zeskuk saw they had sharp teeth in their beaks.

The whole hundred and more passed over the minotaur column as if they were no more than rocks on the slope. Zeskuk realized that they were flying for the human beach, and ordered the archers to make ready on the right. It it would not look well if the minotaurs ignored the birds and gave them a free attack on the humans.

The birds flew on over the humans with the same sublime self-absorption as they had shown the minotaurs. Only when they reached the sea did they halt. Now they formed a vast semicircle, nearly blocking the human beach from seaward. Then, almost as if a single mind controlled a hundred bodies and a hundred pairs of ten-foot wings, the birds dived. They plunged into the water, then leaped sky-ward again in showers of spray.

"They're catching the snakes!" someone shouted.

In moments, Zeskuk could make out the birds dipping and rising, and each time one rose, it held a snake in its beak Sometimes they gripped and crushed the head straightaway. Other times, they flew side by side in pairs, one bird holding the snake while the other crushed the thing's head.

Only two birds fell from the sky, bitten by their prey. The rest went on with their deadly dance from sky to sea and back again, and the shallows began to foam with snakes desperate to find safety.

"Forward!" Zeskuk shouted. With their rear freed of the snakes, the humans would be advancing faster than ever. It would never do to let them outpace minotaurs, even if the humans had Fulvura and six picked minotaurs at their spearhead.

A bush some fifty paces uphill seemed to quiver in a way Zeskuk did not trust. He had nothing to throw, but a fist-sized rock lay at just the right distance. His clabbard whirled, then sang through the air. The toothed blade hooked the rock and flung it up the hill, into the heart of the bush.

Branches writhed, showing white where the stone had broken them or stripped off bark. The bush tried to pull itself out of the ground, roots and all, but fell over like a kender drunk on dwarf spirits. It rolled down to within reach of more clabbards than Zeskuk's. When they were done, only splinters remained.

The birds were not circling over the human beach, as the human rear guard slaughtered the snakes. Zeskuk saw one human leap back, holding a spear on which wriggled no less than three snakes. Before they could wriggle up the shaft to bite him, he thrust the spear into a tar barrel someone had set afire. The smoke turned from black to the color of putrid wine, and the stench reached Zeskuk even far uphill.

He was still sneezing when a bolt of fire lanced from the Smoker. It held all colors and none. It struck one of the birds, and consumed it in a moment as the tar barrel had consumed the snakes. Zeskuk could not even be sure he saw ashes floating downward on the breeze.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" he roared. "I said, 'Forward!' "

Wilthur did not know from whence the birds had come, and would not have withheld his fire if he had. He did know that the birds' coming had doomed the snakes, but perhaps that could be the end of the injury they wrought against him. So the fire went out, and the birds drifted downwind as fine ash.

All his magic and all his wits aimed at the birds, Wilthur spared not a thought for his Creation. Nor did anything else on Suivinari Island now have more magic than he had already put into it.