Winged Magic

15

Afer and Marron came back just before sunrise and woke the lovers in time to return to camp. The four of I hem walked back together, feeling very pleased with each other. Helmar and Sayyed stopped near the tents, not willing yet to end their time together. This was dawn of the first day of Janas. There was no more time to save the Shar-Ja or Kelene and Gabria. They had to attack Cangora today, with or without the clans, and the gods only knew how the day would end. Arms entwined, they looked to the east, where a pale gold band of light illuminated the flat horizon.

They were so engrossed by the beauty of the coming day, they did not see a dark shape come swooping out of the west. An eerie, shattering cry broke over the predawn’s hush, and suddenly the valley was filled with the screams of terrified horses. The two camps awoke to stunned life. Guards came running; men tumbled out of their tents.

Sayyed and Helmar whirled in time to see a huge creature dive from the sky, its wings folded, its talons extended. Howling, it dove among the Turic horses, and with a sweep of its big paw broke the necks of two animals. The rest fled in a maddened stampede away from the horrendous beast. They charged in a panicked mass up the valley and, blinded by their own fear, plowed directly through the Kirmaz-Ja’s camp. The thundering of hooves and the screams and shouts of men filled the valley.

The gryphon growled with satisfaction. Hooking a dead horse in her claws, she flew heavily away, back toward Cangora and the man who had summoned her.

The valley was left in chaos. Through the dust kicked up by the stampeding herd, Sayyed and Helmar could barely make out the shambles of the Turic camp. The hazy forms of men ran through the pale light. Others lay motionless on the ground.

Helmar took one long look and became a chief again. She quickly squeezed Sayyed’s hand and ran into their camp, shouting for Rapinor and her warriors. Snapping orders, she quickly organized them into parties and led them across to the Turic camp.

Sayyed watched her go. She was so different from his quiet Tam, and yet the two women shared the same strength of character, the same ability to coolly handle a crisis. He thought for just a moment about their night and the box in his heart he had opened. The contents had turned out to be something he would treasure for as long as he had left to live. He put his hand on Afer’s shoulder. “Go,” he commanded. “Gather the Hunnuli and round up those horses. Zukhara started the hostilities this morning, but we are going to finish them.”

Afer and Marron neighed their agreement and galloped away to do his bidding. Hajira found him then, and the two brothers hurried to the Turic camp to do what they could to help. In the middle of the wreckage stood the Kirmaz-Ja, unharmed and punctuating his shouted orders with fierce gestures. Mohadan was in a lowering rage that turned his dark eyes to black fire and his face to a mask of insulted fury.

“He thinks to stop us,” the Turic snarled to Sayyed and Hajira, “by driving off our horses and occupying us with disaster. But I will attack Cangora today if I have to crawl there on my hands and knees!”

The dust slowly settled, and the Turics and the Clannad worked to bring some order to the chaos. They were relieved to find there were not as many dead and wounded as they had feared. The first cry of the gryphon had alerted most of the tribesmen, who had managed to get out of the way of the stampede in time. In all only six bodies were placed together under a tree lor burial, and fourteen men had to be treated by the healers for abrasions, lacerations, and broken bones. A broad swath of the camp lay in trampled ruins, and it look several hours to sift through the debris for enough clothes, weapons, and battle gear to equip the men able to ride. The sorcerers helped as best they could to repair or transform the needed equipment, but it still used more time than they had to spare.

The Hunnuli soon calmed down the Turic horses and herded them back to the mouth of the valley. Eager warriors brought their mounts in to the picket lines and began to saddle them.

As order slowly returned, Mohadan calmed down. A cold, deliberating anger replaced his earlier temper, and he gathered his officers, Helmar, Hajira, and Sayyed for a meeting.

“There has been no word from the clans,” he said bluntly. “We must assume they cannot arrive today. Yet this is our last day to save the Shar-Ja. By sunset he will be dead, and Zukhara will sit on the throne. We are all that stands between that madman and the power of the crown. Do we attack today or wait until the other tribal leaders join us and the clans arrive?”

“Today,” Hajira said forcefully.

“Even with the reinforcements and the Clannad, we number barely eight hundred. The Gryphon has amassed closer to seven thousand, and he holds the fortifications.”

“We know that, Kirmaz-Ja,” said one of the officers. “But I would rather die attempting to save our rightful ruler than sit by and let that usurper murder him.”

Mohadan glanced at the lady chief. “Are you still willing to ride with us?”

Dirty, disheveled, and still dressed only in her light tunic, Helmar’s authority and self-confidence shone as clearly as any accoutrements of war. “Of course. Our objectives may be slightly different, but our destination is the same.”

“So be it,” the Kirmaz-Ja stated. “We ride within the hour.”

A sudden clamor made them all jump. “It’s coming back!” a guard bellowed just before several horns blared a warning. Everyone froze, their eyes searching the sky.

“There!” shouted Hajira.

Faster than an eagle, the gryphon had circled around to attack the camp from a different direction. She dove on the picket lines, screaming her ear-piercing cry. The horses erupted into a rearing, pitching panic.

“The horses!” shouted Mohadan, and his men shook themselves from their motionless fear and awe and raced to defend their animals. Archers armed their crossbows with the short, barbed quarrels that could pierce armor. They fired a deadly flight, but the gryphon swerved at the last minute and roared her derision at the puny missiles. She swooped again over the meadows and harried the horses into terrified flight. Only the Hunnuli ignored her attempts to panic them and stead-lastly tried to hold the frightened herds together.

The gryphon saw the white horses and understood what they were doing. She stooped low, her wings humming in the speed of her dive, and sank her claws into the back of one white Hunnuli. Before she could get it off the ground, three others and Afer charged her. I he black, larger than the others, bared his teeth and drove his hooves into the gryphon’s shoulder.

Hurt and furious, the gryphon let go of her prey. She crouched, ready to pounce on the black that had hurt her when another force hit her in the side and knocked her off her feet. Her baleful eyes sought the source of this new hurt, and she saw a man fire a blue blast of magic at her. Catlike, she twisted to her feet and sprang into the air. She was all too familiar with the effects of that powerful force. More bolts chased her into the bright sky.

Helmar and other Clannad magic-wielders joined Sayyed, and together they kept up a barrage of magic that forced the gryphon to circle higher and higher above the camp.

One rider, tears running down his face, ran to help his wounded Hunnuli.

Meanwhile, the Turics and the Hunnuli calmed the other horses enough to get them saddled and ready. The gryphon still circled the valley, but as long as the magic-wielders continued firing at her, she did not dare approach any closer.

“God of all,” Sayyed gasped when he paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “That creature is strong. The Trymmian force hardly rattles it.”

Helmar agreed. “It will be tough to shake it if it chases us all the way to Cangora.”

“The Turics will be ready soon,” Sayyed pointed out, eyeing her inadequate clothing. “You’d better prepare the Clannad.”

She graciously accepted the hint, kissed him on the cheek, and took half the warriors with her. They came back shortly, dressed in mail and fully armed, and sent the rest back to do the same. By the time the Turics were mounted and ready to ride, the Clannad had whistled in their Hunnuli and waited to join them.

Sayyed looked around for Hajira to say good-bye. Hajira had chosen to keep Tassilio in the camp, despite the boy’s pleas, and Mohadan had wholeheartedly agreed. A city consumed in desperate fighting was not a good place for the Shar-Ja’s last son. But Hajira came running out of their tent, hurriedly buckling on his sword and looking so mad he could have spit lightning bolts.

“He’s gone! And that mangy dog with him!” the guardsman yelled. He grabbed a saddle and threw it on the nearest spare mount with such force the frightened horse jumped out from under it, and Hajira had to calm it down before he could try again.

“What do you mean? Wasn’t he here earlier?” Sayyed demanded.

“I thought he was, but things were so crazy, I don’t know now. His bed is empty, those rags of his are gone, and he and that dog of his are nowhere in camp. I’ll wager my next ten years of life he has gone to Cangora.” Hajira’s voice was laden with both anger and frantic concern. He managed to settle the skittish horse and mount without too much difficulty. “If the Fel Azureth don’t kill him, I just might,” he growled and kicked his horse to join the others.

Flanked by the magic-wielders, the Kirmaz-Ja led his small army out of the valley. The gryphon, seeing them leave, dropped close to harry the column, but the sorcerers drove her back with oaths and spheres of blue energy.

Hajira, Sayyed, and Helmar joined Mohadan at the front. “The Copper Gates will probably be enspelled with wards and be the most heavily guarded,” Sayyed said. “But the straightest, quickest road to the palace and the citadel runs from there.”

The Kirmaz-Ja nodded, his grizzled beard jutting from beneath his helmet. “We’ll attack there.” He glared at the sun, now nearly overhead. “Damned gryphon. It delayed us too long. We had no time to get anyone inside, and now it’s almost noon. The Ritual of Ascension was always begun when the sun reached its zenith. We have very little time to fight our way through. At least it is a long ritual.”

“And we probably do have someone inside,” said Hajira irritably. “For what little good it will do us.”

The column left the valley behind and trotted down the hills to the broad vale where the level fields rolled up to the foot of the city’s wall. The gryphon wheeled and screeched overhead. The sun beat on the men’s armor. The column spread out into a long line, eight horses deep, and moved forward at a canter. The yellow banner of the Kirmaz-Ja floated over the head of his standard bearer.

Sayyed hesitated a moment; then he unrolled some-thing he had brought with him. A gold clan cloak spread over his knees. He fastened it on, glad at last to be able to wear it openly and proudly before the Turics. A flash of color caught his eye, and he turned his head to see Helmar pinning a cloak to her own shoulders. The cloak did not surprise him, since the Clannad had been clan at one time, but its color did. Bright and bold and fiery red, Helmar wore the color of Clan Corin. He gaped at her, wondering why she had chosen that color; then she drew her sword in a signal to her riders and yelled a piercing war cry that was immediately echoed by a bellowed Turic command.

The horses, Turic and Hunnuli alike, stretched out their necks, pinned back their ears, and sprang forward into a gallop straight toward the gates of Cangora. Horns blared on the city walls. The tribesmen and Clannad answered back with horns of their own that sang a challenge that reverberated throughout the city. The Turics lifted their voices in a wild, high-pitched ululation that sent chills down Helmar’s back. The polished gates, already closed and barred, gleamed like a beacon in the sun.

The Clannad warriors, those most talented, drew together behind Sayyed and Helmar. Others spread themselves along the charging line. As the horses thundered closer to the city wall, the magic-wielders drew on the omnipresent magic and shaped it to their will. At Helmar’s command, they fired as one at the massive Copper Gates and at selected places along the wall.

The wards Sayyed had predicted were in the gateway, and they were even more powerful than the sorcerer had feared, yet they had never been meant to withstand the sustained power of so much magic. The wards groaned and sparked and held for several precious minutes until at last, in a thunderous explosion, they gave way, and the attackers’ magic blew out huge sections of the towers on either side of the gate. The copper doors themselves sagged and slowly toppled to the ground in a resounding boom. Other sorcerers breached the wall in two more places, opening new entrances into the city.

The Kirmaz men roared with triumph and charged to the breaches. The Clannad followed more slowly. They had expended much strength fighting the gryphon and destroying the wards, and they were starting to tire.

Stunned by the blasts, Zukhara’s forces hesitated a few vital minutes, allowing the attackers to gain a foothold just inside the wall. The Fel Azureth, already accustomed to Zukhara’s sorcery, recovered first and rallied their forces into action. Men from every quarter of the city rushed to beat back the invaders at the wall. All too soon the Kirmaz-Ja’s charge bogged down under the overwhelming numbers of rebel troops that surrounded them. The warriors were forced to dismount and fight hand to hand in a vicious, bloody struggle to maintain their positions. Archers fired down on them from sections of the wall and buildings nearby. Swordsmen charged their defenses. A small mangonel was brought down the main avenue and used to batter the Kirmaz-Ja’s force with chunks of rock and deadly spiked balls.

Only the sorcerers of the Clannad kept the tribesmen from being decimated. They were spread out among the three attacking groups along the wall, and they desperately worked to deflect missiles, provide cover fire, and protect the loyalists as best they could with defensive shields of energy. But the magic-wielders were tiring from the unending struggle. A few had already had to stop and rely on their swords for protection; several had already been killed.

In the Kirmaz-Ja’s troop, Sayyed felt his energy flagging. He had not imagined the Gryphon’s forces would be so relentless. They pushed forward, regardless of the cost, and slowly but steadily wore down the loyal Turics. Try as they might, the Kirmaz could not move forward or backward. They were trapped in a steadily shrinking circle that could end only in death.

The war song of the horns soared up the mountain’s bay, carrying farther and longer and louder than any other sound from the battle at the city wall. The citizens heard it in the streets and in their houses. Some answered the call and marched down to join in the fighting on one side or the other; some listened to it and barred their shops and homes.

One boy, dressed as a beggar, lifted his head for the blink of an eye, the mindless grin on his face slipping to reveal a shining flash of excitement. Clutching his bowl, he ambled up the road, closer to the palace.

The music soared on ever higher and lapped against the high walls of the palace where the Gryphon’s guards heard it and readied themselves—just in case.

Zukhara paused once in his preparations and recognized the horn music for what it was. The puny loyalist force had somehow evaded his gryphon and come knocking at his door. Let them knock, he sneered. His army and his gryphon would soon annihilate them. He had more important things to do this day of days.

In her room high in one of the palace wings, Kelene flung open her window and leaned out on the sill. “Listen, Mother!”

Gabria joined her on the window seat. Her smile lit even her dark-ringed eyes. “They’re coming,” she murmured.

Kelene stared down toward the gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of something or someone, but all she saw were the sandstone buildings marching down the slope to the distant wall, where smoke drifted above a few rooftops. A winged shape floating over the lower city caused her to catch her breath, and her fingers gripped the sill. “The gryphon. He’s set the gryphon on them,” she cried, torn between her fear for the attackers and for the gryphon. She hadn’t seen the wild creature since Zukhara locked her and Gabria in their room, and Amara only knew what he had done to the beast since then.

“She will be unharmed,” Zukhara’s voice said from the doorway. “I would not endanger a thing so precious without some protection.”

Kelene spun around, ready to heap four days’ worth of frustration and anger on his head, when she saw him and nearly choked on her words. The counselor stood in the doorway in front of a retinue of priests, officers, and supporters. He wore ceremonial robes of royal blue velvet tipped with white fur and decorated with hand-sewn pearls and silver threads. A silver mantle draped his broad shoulders, and a simple crown ringed his jet-black hair. Tall, slim, and elegant, he looked to all who beheld him the quintessential monarch. Only the icy glitter of his impersonal eyes gave any hint of the cruelty beneath.

“Are you ready, ladies?” he said without preamble. He held out his hand to Kelene.

Kelene forced back her temper and did not demur. She was dressed now in a red gown trimmed in gold, ready for whatever would come. The sorceresses looked at one another in silent understanding, and Kelene gave her mother an almost infinitesimal nod. She ignored Zukhara’s hand and took Gabria’s arm instead to help her mother out the door. They walked down several flights of stairs and to the south end of the palace, where the throne room sat in sunlit splendor.

The room was part of the oldest wing of the palace, built nearly three hundred years before Zukhara’s time. Its architect had used white stone to build the walls and designed the floor into a mosaic of tiny tiles of lapis lazuli, agate, and marble. Delicately carved buttresses held up a vaulted roof tinted black and ornamented with paintings in blue, white, and silver to represent the firmament—from whence came the name, the Celestial Throne. Between the buttresses were long, narrow windows that had been thrown open to the morning sunlight and wind. Light poured in brilliant bars into the room, reflecting off the gleaming floors and shining on the great sun throne of the Shar-Ja.

Hunkered over a broad dais, the heavy wooden seat was covered entirely in beaten gold that reverent hands had polished to a brilliant sheen. In the wall behind it was a huge, round stained-glass window that depicted a golden sun. Blue hangings were draped above the throne, and two men, dressed in the blue of the Shar-Ja’s personal guard, stood beside it. It wasn’t until Kelene had passed through the shafts of sunlight and stood at the foot of the throne that she realized the two guards were dead and merely propped there before they accompanied their slain ruler to his grave.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t know if the clan gods would be present among a people who did not believe in them, but she prayed fervently that Amara could hear her plea. “Help me find the right moment,” she silently begged the mother goddess.

Zukhara’s voice startled her out of her reverie. “Welcome, Shar-Ja. Come, sit on your throne.”

Three men entered from the big double doors. Two were garbed in the black and gold of the Fel Azureth, the other was the Shar-Ja, struggling to stay on his feet. They hustled the old man up the steps of the dais, set him on the throne, and tied his arms to the armrests.

The priests with Zukhara set quickly to work, lighting pots of incense and sprinkling the throne with water and sand to bless the proceedings in the name of Shahr, the Living God, and his prophet Sargun. Their chanting filled the room with their low pitched voices.

A small crowd of servants, Fel Azureth, and spectators from the city began to gather in the throne room near the entrance to witness the ancient rites. No one paid any attention to the boy in the stolen shirt and baggy pants who slipped into the rear of the crowd to see what was happening.

The priests ended their prayers and blessings for the throne and paused before beginning the next rite to purify the Shar-Ja for death. In that brief moment of aching silence, Kelene strained to hear something, anything, outside that could help her choose her moment to act. Her heart skipped a beat. She tried not to react, but her fingers tightened around Gabria’s arm. The chanting began again and drowned out anything she could have heard on the wind. But it had been there, she would swear to it. Faint and far away she had heard the unmistakable clarion call of the Clan horns.