Blood Ties (32 page)

“Any idea how we're going to go about doing that?”

“There's really only two ways, isn't there?” he said mirthlessly. “Either we push at them from the perimeters. Or we find something to put in the middle to attract them in.”

“You realize,” I said slowly, “that Page is willing to provide that attraction for them. And there's a very good chance that it'll work. She was brought past them on the way to Reaver's arena. They have her scent already, so they might well be drawn to her. Of course, you can say the same for me,” I added after a moment's hesitation. “So either of us can lure them in if that's what it takes.”

“Understand that that is merely the backup plan,” Thorpe said firmly. “My men are going to stop these things before they get over the walls.”

“What we need are vats of boiling oil that we could either pour down on them or even use to slick up the walls.”

“I don't disagree,” Thorpe said. “Three problems with that. First, we don't have enough of either the vats or oil we'd require. Second, oil-filled vats are incredibly heavy, and the parapets don't look sturdy enough. And third, I'm reasonably sure we don't have the time. Listen . . .” And he put up a finger to indicate I should be silent.

I listened.

There was no attempt at stealth this time. In the distance, I could hear their howling, their snarls, and their fury. They'd arrive within seconds.

I scrambled up the ladder to the parapets. As I did so, I glanced toward the main gate, where I saw that the soldiers and the people of Blackholm were working together to reinforce it. They were piling whatever barricades they could in front of it since the creatures had breached it so easily during the previous encounter.

I saw that Page had taken up a position on the wall. She had two rifles and a box of what I assumed to be additional ammunition at her feet. She was scanning the woods, looking for a target. Quickly, I moved down the parapet toward her, stepping past Russell, who looked up at me for what I could only think was encouragement. He reached up, and I clasped his hand once firmly, a power grip. One of the warlord's men was alongside him, and he looked at the two of us with just the slightest trace of mirth. “You two want to be alone? Because I'm sure the oncoming monsters won't mind waiting if—”

Releasing my grip on Russell's hand, I said sharply to the soldier, “You watch his back. His father was a great man. He has potential.”

The soldier glanced at me mirthlessly. “Yeah? That's what my father said about me. Look how I turned out.” Then he turned to Russell, who was angling his rifle into position. “Pick your targets carefully. Don't rush. Make every shot count.”

“Yes, sir,” said Russell.

I scanned the horizon line. The sun had not yet set. The Half-breeds could have waited for the cover of darkness to make their assault that much more effective. The fact that they apparently weren't doing so spoke volumes.

I drew near Page. She was watching the surrounding forest, and yet, apparently, she was aware of my approach without even looking. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” I wasn't really thinking about having to listen, because the howls they were making were easy enough to hear.

“The trees. The trees are shaking.
Get ready!
” she shouted, raising her voice so that it carried all along the parapet.
“Watch the trees! You can track their progress!”

She was correct. As the Half-breeds moved, they were simply shoving trees out of their way, banging against them, or ricocheting off them. The branches were shaking violently in response, making them easy to follow.

“Not exactly the most subtle bunch, are they?” she said, casting me a sidelong glance.

“They were before, actually. On their first attack, they snuck up on us. We didn't know they were near until they fired arrows at us.”

“They were armed?”

“Some of them. That was probably their human aspect, or maybe Reaver's influence, which caused them to approach us that way.”

“So the question is,” she said slowly, “does their lack of human control make them less dangerous . . . or more so?”

“Let's hope we keep them at enough of a distance to find out.”

I took up position next to her. Any moment they would be bursting out into the open area between the edge of the forest and the perimeter of the wall.

In a low voice, I said, “You know, I think that Captain Thorpe fellow likes you . . .”

“Shut up,” she said.

“Right.”

I had my rifle aimed, ready to start firing shots at the oncoming horde. It was going to be seconds at most before I was going to have to contend with the biggest problem still awaiting me: How in the world was I going to be able to distinguish my brother from the rest of the oncoming wave of hostiles? For that matter, even if I was able to, what was my realistic option? Did I shoot to kill? Shoot to wound? They always say that there is no more dangerous creature than a wounded animal. Did I really need to make my brother even more dangerous than he already was?

Then, with what seemed like a collective roar, the Half-breeds burst into view, and the time for thinking and second-guessing was past.

I didn't even bother to try to figure out which one was William. I just started shooting. Page did the same. From all around me, I heard guns blazing, soldiers and citizens shooting as one in defense of what had become, in however unlikely a fashion, a mutual home for them.

A number of the first wave of Half-breeds went down, then, to my horror, got right back up again. They'd been hit. I could see that they'd been hit. There was blood trailing from their legs, their chests. One had a piece torn away from his scalp and was shoving the freely flowing blood from his eyes. They were slowed, but they weren't stopped, and there were more of them coming in right behind them and moving even faster.

“Stay on them!” Page shouted as she reloaded. She wasn't talking to anyone in particular; it was just the sort of encouragement that embattled people called out to each other.

Wave after wave of ammunition rained down upon the oncoming Half-breeds. Meanwhile, I heard them slamming against the gate; they were trying to crash their way in through it, just as before. This time, though, we had been ready for them, and the reinforcements of the gate, as hasty as they had been, appeared to be holding steady.

Again and again we blasted away, and again and again we managed to knock back more of the Half-breeds. They couldn't get any traction on the wall the way they had before because there were so many more people with small-arms experience firing away at them. We were managing to beat them back, and the bodies of Half-breeds were starting to pile up. They were able to take more punishment than any human foe could, but bullets were starting to find their hearts or their brains, and that was putting paid to them as quickly as it would a human being.

I heard concerted howls, barking, but it didn't come across to me as if they were making random sounds. Instead, it sounded as if orders were being relayed.

Suddenly, they started peeling away, dropping from the walls and darting this way and that as if they had abruptly lost their taste for combat.

“It can't be that easy,” said Page, “it just can't be.” Yet the way she was saying it carried the implication that she was indeed hoping it in fact could be. The problem was that I didn't think it likely either.

My head whipped around toward the gate, and suddenly I realized the one thing that we had overlooked.

The positioning of the parapets enabled us to shoot straight down at our assailants as they approached us.

But there were no walkways across the tops of the main entrance. To put them there would have impeded the ability of the main gate to fully swing wide.

“They're going to come over the top of the gate!”
I shouted, and started running along the perimeter of the walls.
“Reposition! Get over there!”

And suddenly the men who were already on station on the parapets that came closest to the gate were shouting,
“They're here! They're all here!”

They started firing like mad, but I knew even before I got there that it wasn't going to be enough.

I could see it in my mind's eye without even having to witness it in real life. The Half-breeds moving en masse, like a great sea of ants, crawling like one great gray shaggy carpet up the gate, sinking their claws into the wood. Our defenders would be able to shoot at them, yes, but only at angles. The creatures at the edges would provide natural cover for the ones toward the middle. It would mean that the entire middle of the swarm would be well protected and able to reach the top before anyone could stop them.

Page was right behind me, then she shoved me aside and was in front of me, moving faster than I would have thought possible. Impressively, she was reloading her rifle as she went. Even I couldn't reload on the run. She was so dexterous of fingers that I had to think she missed out on her calling; she would have made a very credible cutpurse.

Just as we drew within range, it was too late. The Half-breeds came up and over the gate, roaring their defiance as they dropped down upon the soldiers and townspeople who had been attempting to maintain the blockade. The fact that the gate wasn't opening was no longer a help to us. The gate wasn't keeping the Half-breeds out; instead, the sturdy barricades were serving to keep us in with them.

We fired again and again, but accurately targeting the Half-breeds became a hideous problem as they poured over the gate and descended into the midst of the populace. We couldn't shoot at the Half-breeds without hitting our own people.

It was now hand-to-hand below us. The soldiers, the citizens who served as soldiers, and even complete civilians—I spotted a man who poured drinks at the local tavern and a woman who I knew to be the schoolteacher—had swords in their hands and were fighting side by side with the soldiers of the warlord. Blood covered soldier and citizen alike, and still the Half-breeds were attacking.

Soldiers from the parapets were spilling down the stairs that led to the ground below to aid the others in their fight. Page was a few feet ahead of me, and she was shouting, “Once I'm down there, you drive them toward me! Even over all the bloodshed, they'll pick up my scent!”

“I'm not going to let you sacrifice yourself!” I yelled right back at her.

“This isn't up to you! It's up to—!”

And suddenly my brother vaulted over the wall, landing squarely between Page and me. While the others had chosen to focus their attentions on the main gate, William had made his own way around and, during the distraction, had come right up the east wall, and none had been the wiser.

Page saw him, turned, and brought her pistol right up to his face. She pulled the trigger.

It clicked hollowly. Misfire. We simply had to start carrying a better class of weapons.

Her sword was already in her other hand and she started to bring it around, but too slowly, far too slowly in the face of the animal speed that William possessed. He lunged in before the thrust, grabbed her by the throat, and lifted her off her feet.

“William!”
I screamed.
“Not her! Face me!”

William spun and slammed her against the interior of the wall. It shuddered from the impact her skull made against it. Her eyes rolled up, and William released her. She slid down and lay on the walkway of the parapet, unmoving, her head slumped to one side.

He came right at me. I brought my pistol around and fired. Any other opponent would have been a dead man, but William moved with speed that was beyond human, beyond even balverine. He twisted around, dodged the bullet, then leaped through the remaining distance between us. Before I could fire again, he batted aside my pistol. It flew from my hand and off the parapet.

My rifle, Vanessa, was still slung over my back, my sword in its scabbard.

I grabbed for the sword, cleared it from the scabbard halfway, then William was upon me. He slammed into me, drove me backwards, knocking me off my feet. I fell heavily, and William pressed his advantage, landing atop me, snarling into my face, the foul stench of his animal breath washing over me with such force that I thought that alone was going to kill me.

His teeth were slowly descending toward my face. I grabbed at his throat, digging my fingers in, trying with all my strength to push him back.

It was not how I imagined this going at all. I was sure that there would be something of William left. That I would be able to get through to him, to convince him that he could be salvaged, that he could triumph over this monster that had been unleashed within him. Instead, I was fighting a losing battle against, not my brother, but a berserk creature that was going to tear out my throat inside of about two seconds.

His jaws and slavering teeth were right above me, and I knew that this was it, this was how the great Ben Finn was going to meet his end, ripped apart by a brother he had long thought dead, and suddenly William brought his jaws down and to the right of my head. His body was trembling as if he was physically fighting some sort of inner urge, then his barely human voice emerged hoarsely from his lips.

Then, just like that, the pressure was gone. I sat up, bewildered, unable to process what was happening.

William, still moving in a feral crouch, had gone over to Page's prostrate body. He propped her up slightly and yanked the bandoliers filled with grenades from her. He started draping them over himself.

“No! William—!” I started to shout.