Karada lifted her eyes to the sky. The storm showed no signs of abating. Indeed, the clouds fast approaching from the south were even lower and blacker than the ones currently dumping heavy rain over the entire valley.
At this point, a nomad named Patan, who rode in Bahco’s band, galloped to Karada.
“What news?” she demanded.
“Bad! The raiders hit us before we reached the top of the knoll,” said Patan, breathing hard. “Bahco is down, maybe dead! Kepra now commands, and he sent me with word!”
“Pakito, ride to Kepra’s relief!” Karada said quickly. “You’ll have to swing ’round and take the raiders in the back.”
“How many are there?” Pakito shouted above the din.
“Two hundred, seems like,” said Patan.
While Pakito’s band worked free of the ogres and made its way south to help their embattled comrades, Karada urged her mount back into the melee. She found Beramun, on foot, handing spears to nomads in front of her to throw at the ogres. The girl’s face was covered with blood.
“You’re hurt!” Karada yelled.
“It’s not my blood.” Beramun handed two recovered spears to the nomad ahead of her. These were passed forward until they reached the fierce struggle surrounding Ungrah.
“Give me those,” said Karada when the girl was handed two more spears. Beramun did so.
Karada dismounted and tied a rag around her forehead, under the visor of her dented elven helmet. Hefting the spears to her shoulders, she started toward the ogres.
“Wait! Your horse!” Beramun cried, catching the reins of the sorrel mare.
“No room.” Karada cracked a smile and disappeared, shouldering her way through the crowd.
Panic shot through Beramun. Lifting her face skyward, the rain mingling with her tears, she froze in fresh surprise. Something huge and dark wrestled with the heavy clouds. Thick, serpentine coils appeared and disappeared in the lowering storm. As she looked on, spellbound, the pain in her shoulder flared to life, lancing her sharply.
Jolted from her daze by the sensation, Beramun put a hand under her buckskin shirt, expecting to find blood or broken skin. Instead her skin was smooth and cold to the touch. She knew then what it was: the green mark. It had never given her any twinge before, but now...
Her gaze lifted skyward once more. Though she’d seen the strange aerial vision for only a moment, she knew now what it was. Despair welled up in her heart like a great dark wave.
Sthenn had returned.
13
The raiders streamed by, a wall of men and horses. Amero and his small band waited to see if any turned back to deal with them, but none did. If Zannian saw them, he discounted any threat from a handful of villagers on foot.
Balif and the elves came out from behind the ramp. The villagers who’d run up the ramp hastened down again, and the mixed band of elves and humans slogged after the raiders. It was hard going. The rainfall was heavy, and the terrain itself obstructed progress. Beneath the walls the ground was broken by ditches and pits intended to hamper raider attacks. The pits now brimmed with muddy water, and ditches had collapsed in the downpour. All semblance of order was lost as the humans and elves were forced to pick their way through the morass.
By the time they got to higher ground, Zannian’s men had reached the stony knoll and attacked. The momentum of the column punched through the thin line of riders screening the hill and carried down the other side into Bahco’s waiting force. The raiders drove deep into the waiting nomads, their long spears giving them an advantage over the nomads’ shorter weapons.
The fighters on foot ran up the gentle slope to the top of the knoll. A fantastic sight greeted them: Spread out across the valley northward was a sprawling battle, with waves of nomad riders charging a ring of stoutly fighting ogres. Scarcely more than a dozen ogres were holding off two-thirds of Karada’s band, some four hundred seasoned fighters. Behind Ungrah-de, a small band of raiders was thoroughly tom to pieces, their riderless horses galloping from the scene.
Amero waited until his people and the elves were together atop the knoll. “Let’s attack!” the Arkuden shouted to Balif over the rain.
“Not wise,” the elf lord countered. “We may slay a few, but when they realize how few we are, we’ll be swallowed up like those raiders behind Ungrah-de!”
Lyopi shouldered by the elf to stand beside Amero. “You need not come!” she said to Balif.
The villagers ran down the back slope, aiming at the end of the raiders’ column. Balif watched them slip and skid on the wet gravel. His soldiers bunched around, waiting for the word to follow.
Ten steps from the raiders, Amero raised his spear and let out a yell. The little band of villagers echoed his cry, then fell upon the enemy. The nearest raiders were speared in the back before they could face about. Behind them, the rest of Zannian’s men had time to turn and meet the new threat. Amero’s people quickly found themselves in desperate straits, dueling with a ruthless mounted foe that was better armed. Surrounded, the villagers coalesced into a circle.
When Balif saw the raiders encircle Amero, he finally gave the order to advance. Twenty paces from the enemy, the elves paused and lobbed their metal-tipped javelins. These emptied many horses. Then the Silvanesti resumed their advance.
To the raiders, it seemed as if waves of enemies were materializing out of the rain, and their exact numbers were impossible to judge. They had developed a grudging respect for the tenacious fighting abilities of the people of Arku-peli, so some of the raiders tried to pull away, seeking room to maneuver. However, they were hemmed in by all the disparate forces.
Zannian trotted in front of his men. “What’s this?” he demanded. “Why are you bunching together like a herd of frightened elk?” His horse reared, as the villagers advanced. Hoarsely he yelled, “Mud-toes? You gave way to mud-toes? At them, you gutless dogs! Trample them into the mud they live in!”
Driven by his exhortations, several dozen raiders charged toward the two leaders, Amero and Balif. The elves locked their shields together and crouched low, spears bristling in front of them. Seeing the hedge of bronze points, the raiders angled toward the less-threatening villagers.
Lightning flashed overhead. Amero knelt, presenting his spear to the enemy. Lyopi and Hekani followed suit, as did the rest of the villagers, making a formidable thorny square.
Amero swiped a hand across his face, slinging rainwater from his eyes. The raiders’ horses seemed to slow as he watched, each hoof rising and falling in strangely languid fashion. Small sounds rang loudly in Amero’s ears, while great noises faded. The sound of the storm diminished, and he heard every breath Lyopi took. Hekani, nearby, muttered, “I think I like fighting from the wall better.”
Lightning crackled across the sky again. The charging raiders were closer now, looming hugely in the downpour. This is it, Amero thought. Here is where I die.
After all this time? You’d better wait just a bit longer!
The voice filling his head was unmistakable, but for a few heartbeats, Amero did not believe it. It was a dream, the waking dream of a doomed man. It couldn’t be Duranix!
The raiders’ were closing in. The voice spoke again.
I’m a little busy at the moment, but I’m not far away. Try to stay alive, will you?
Amero jumped to his feet and shouted. “Duranix!”
A spear plunged toward his chest. Feeling as though he was swimming in honey, Amero brought his own weapon over to deflect the thrust. Wood met wood for an instant, then Amero’s feet suddenly slipped out from under him. He fell flat on his back in the mud.
Surprised by his victim’s tumble, the raider failed to adjust and blundered past, narrowly missing tripping over Amero. Hekani brought his spear around in a wild, wide swing, striking the raider across the shoulders. Down he went. Then many other riders crashed into the villagers’ square. One by one the villagers went down, knocked off their feet by colliding horses.