Child of Flame (Page 387)

“They’re bringing ladders and planks!” Ulfrega’s powerful voice rang out from the cleft, where she had taken charge of the defense. “Spears, stand your ground. Archers, hold until they’re closer!”

The sorcerous mist rose as a cloud near the village. A second thump sounded; the second pot of bees arched up from the catapult and fell precipitously, but this time the Cursed Ones were ready for them as they charged out of the mist to escape the bees behind them. Fire bloomed in two more of the village houses. Cries and shouting and screams echoed everywhere. Tendrils of smoke obscured the fields. Thunder cracked, and clouds pushed in from the west, ominously dark.

“Alain!”

Sos’ka galloped up, sweat running all along her flanks, her expression grim. “There was another force waiting in ambush apart from the one you saw. They’ve almost broken through on the eastern slope, by the sacred threshold to the queens’ grave. Come quickly!”

He scrambled down the ladder, leaping off the fourth rung to the ground, almost landing on the corpse. He grabbed a pair of girls, not much younger than Adica, who were cowering under the walkway. “You! Go to Ulfrega. Tell her she must hold the entrance now. You! Run up to the Hallowed One. She must find a way to counter their magic, if she can.”

He jumped up, got his belly over Sos’ka’s flank, and swung a leg over.

“Stay down,” said the centaur.

He clutched her mane, head ducked low as she trotted along at a jarring rate, negotiating barrels of water and cider, stores of grain, shelters, and four wounded men who had crawled away from the palisade. At last she broke free of chaos and opened up to a gallop. The sounds of battle roared around them, shouts echoing behind and before. She knew her way well through the maze of the ramparts, blind alleys, and earthen mounds that made up the hill’s defenses. Fighters manned the palisade walkway, thrusting with spears or heaving rocks over the side. Now and again they passed a zone of unexpected calm, where nervous guards waited, craning their necks to get a look down the palisade to knots of fighting.

He had heard these sounds before. Memory dizzied him.

The Lions hold the hill as Bayan’s army retreats across the river. The first cohort stands the rear guard, and Alain keeps step with his comrades as they retreat up the hill with their fellows. The ramparts lie in a maze around them, ancient embankments curling around the hill’s slopes.

He remembered these embankments, but when he had seen them last they had been so old that they had fallen in ruin and were half washed away under the brunt of time and wind and rain. He had fought in this place before. Yet the earthworks around him now were newly raised; any fool could see that.

He had fought here before in the time yet to come. This is where the Lady of Battles had killed him.

The curve of the ramparts brought them into sight of a ferocious fight. Cursed Ones had gotten over the palisade, and now Sos’ka’s centaurs and a score of White Deer warriors grappled hand to hand, pounding with clubs, thrusting with knives. A roan centaur parried a spear thrust with her staff, flipped her opponent to the ground, and stove in his head with a well placed kick. Fire licked up the palisade. A shout rose from the enemy, unseen on the other side as they pushed forward.

A woman with her animal mask torn free slid over the posts, dropping to the walkway. She braced herself, met the charge of a man with the cut of her bronze sword, then dropped to one knee as she lifted her other arm high and spun a sling briskly around her head. Let fly.

“Down!” cried Sos’ka.

He ducked. A kiss of air brushed an ear as the stone shot past his hair. The second bounced off his skrolin armband with a snap. But the third slammed into his temple without warning.

Pain stabbed through his head as he tumbled off Sos’ka’s back. The ground hit harder even than the stone.

“But 1 swore to serve you,” he whispers, astonished, because he really never thought that this of all things would happen to him. He never thought that he would be the one to die on the battlefield.

“So you have served me.” The voice of the Lady of Battles, as low and deep as a church bell, rings in his head. “Many serve me by dealing death. The rest serve me by suffering death. This is the heart of war.”

“Adica!” He bolted up, straggling to sit, gaze blurring as the sun glared in his face. Familiar hands pressed him back.

“Hush, my love. Lie down.” Her tears fell on his face. “I feared for you.” She kissed him. For a moment, he saw two of her, his dear Adica sitting next to the Hallowed One in her antlered garb, haughty and aloof as she knelt before him.