She set her footing in the muddy bottom and boxed away the nearest before drawing her close-work dagger. Ram, Dextra, Martin, and a Redguard whose name she didn’t know formed a diamond formation around Brennus and started pushing toward shore. She went for their hands first; grab with her left, sever at the wrist with her knife, cut the side of the neck, move on. She was slower in the water, but so-thank Mauloch-were they.
She saw Ram had one on his back and cut its arm off at the elbow, ruining its grip, but then another hail of arrows dropped into the water and Ram went down anyway, screaming soundlessly and gripping at a shaft in his sternum.
Mazgar felt a pleasant shock, and then the wormies fell away from them, moving off to other targets. She was relieved-because that meant Brenn was alive-but turned to confirm it anyway. He nodded at her.
By the time they reached the shore, the survivors of the first two waves of boats had formed a double line, one to face the enemy coming from the sea, the other looking landward. Sound came back-battle cries, screams of pain, terse orders passed up and down the lines. She found Prossos and he put her in the front line, which suited her fine. She drew Sister, which was more suited to this sort of work.
And work it was going to be.
She had started the day with five hundred soldiers. Their job was to cross Lake Rumare from the north, there to join with a massive push toward the northwest side of the city. That’s where the enemy was massed most deeply, and lately had begun actively trying to break through the gate that led to the Imperial prison. It was also where Umbriel would arrive, if it continued on the course it was presently following.
Now she stood with something between two and three hundred comrades. They looked to be lined up against three times that.
Still, they gained ground steadily. The land was pretty flat here, and the archers who had plagued them earlier either seemed to have been dealt with or more likely couldn’t make decent shots with ranks so close. As they pushed forward, their line formed a wedge, to prevent the wormies from outflanking them with their numbers and rolling them up. After that, they settled into a bloody pace. Someone off to her left starting bellowing “General Slaughter’s Comely Daughter” a little off-key, and a few heartbeats later the whole cohort was shouting the response, and it started to feel like a party.
A blond man to her right dropped with a leaf-shaped spear pushed all the way through him. She felt a tap on her shoulder and nodded, dragging the wounded man back as an orc half again her size filled the gap.
In the empty center of the phalanx, she yelled for a healer, but it was clear Blondie wasn’t going to make it.
He knew it, too.
“It’s okay,” he managed. “Just be quick.”
She nodded and closed his eyes. Then she took off his head with a single blow, followed by both hands and feet. Sometimes they came back, even without heads.
She took her ten-minute rest and had a long drink of water while watching the huge bulk of Umbriel draw ever nearer.
Brennus fell in with her.
“I know that’s hard,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to do it.”
“Orders are orders,” she said. “Especially when they make sense.”
“I know,” he said. “That doesn’t make it easy.”
“How long before it gets to the walls, you think?” she asked, jabbing her tusks toward the flying city.
“Hours,” he said, “unless the Emperor has some tricks to try still.”
“I heard from that rat-face, Solein, that they made two more tries to invade by air.”
“We’re not supposed to spread it around, but yes, both just as unsuccessful as that first one. But the wall might be a different matter; the Synod and the College of Whispers will give it all they’ve got, you can be sure of that. And they’ve had a long while to prepare defenses.”
Mazgar handed him the skin. “I’ll let them worry about that,” she said. “I’ve got my own job to think about.”
She clapped him on the shoulder and went back to take her place on the line.
EIGHT
“Attrebus.”
He opened his eyes at the sound of the voice and found Sul’s crimson gaze only inches away.
He felt stone beneath his back and was soaking wet. Behind Sul he saw a rough, faintly luminescent wall.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“We fell in the lake in the center of Umbriel,” Sul replied. “This is some sort of cave above the waterline.”
Attrebus remembered then.
“Did you do it? Did you kill him?”
“No,” he said. “Do you think you can walk?”
“What happened?” He pushed, shaking water from his ear. “You had him.”
Sul didn’t answer, but instead stood and reached an arm down. Attrebus took it and let him half pull him to his feet.
“You know more about this place than I do,” Sul said. “Where do you think we are?”
Attrebus felt his face flush as he finally understood.
“You came after me instead,” he said. “You saved my life.”
“I failed,” Sul said. “After all this time-” He broke off. “You were right-something is wrong with him, and it’s no doing of ours. The sword didn’t hurt him much, if at all. It certainly didn’t reclaim anything of Vile’s.”
“Annaig’s poison, then,” Attrebus guessed. “That must be it.”
“It seems likely, and that means Vuhon will be trying to stop her, to reverse whatever she’s done.”
He turned, and Attrebus saw Umbra was sheathed again.
“Wait,” he said. “How were you able to put it away?”
“I almost wasn’t,” Sul admitted. “Next time-”
“There’s no reason for a ‘next time,’ ” Attrebus argued. “If it doesn’t work, why take the risk?”
“I have a feeling about it,” Sul said. “Leave it at that and talk to the girl-we’re wasting time.”
Attrebus nodded, pulled Coo out, and flipped open the little door. A moment later Annaig’s face appeared.
“Attrebus,” she said. “Where are you?”
“We fought Vuhon. The sword didn’t work, but something’s wrong with him.”
“I may have distracted him,” she replied.
“Your venom is working?”
“It’s doing something. Where are you?”
“We fell in the lake in the middle of this place, and now we’re in some sort of cavern just above the waterline.”
“You’re in the skraw caves, then.”
“If you say so.”
“Stay where you are,” she said. “Keep Coo open.”
She closed the locket and then turned to Glim.
“The sword didn’t work,” she said. “Our only hope is my poison. When the trees start to die, we may get a chance to escape. Fhena can come with us.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Glim insisted.
She closed her eyes, tired of his persistence. “I need you to go down to the skraw caves and bring Attrebus up here,” she said.
Glim’s pupils dilated wide and his fighting musk filled the air. She inched back a little.
“No,” he said.
“They deserve a chance, too. You need to hurry.”
“I said no,” the Argonian said, in a quiet but firm voice. “Not unless you save the trees.”
“I’ve told you, that isn’t possible. Most of the poison is in now-”
“If you know how to make the poison, you know how to make the antidote,” he said.
She stared at him for a moment, then reached into her pocket and produced a long, stoppered tube.
“This is the antidote,” she said. “This is for us, when we’re affected, if we are. It’s not nearly enough to counteract what I’ve pumped into the roots.”
“They’re already fighting it,” he said. “If they taste that, they’ll know what to do-they can produce enough antitoxin to save themselves.”
“And the lords, and Umbriel,” Annaig said. “Then the Imperial City is destroyed, and we don’t escape.”
“No,” Glim replied, his voice measured. “I’ll help the trees go home and take the city with them.”
“You really believe you can do that?” Annaig asked.