Dark Crusade (23 page)

A third of Ceddi was rubble. Kane noted with chagrin that the Prophet's tower yet stood, tilted from the blast. But Orted would laugh no more. His god had forsaken him.

There was no hope now except in headlong flight. Kane pulled himself to his feet, relieved to see that Angel had escaped injury as well. Not all of his guard had been so lucky.

Kane swung astride the black stallion, unsheathed his blade from the scabbard at his shoulder. "All right, you bloody bastards!" he growled. "Off your butts, and let's ride! We're not wanted here any longer, and you won't want to wait around to complain to Jarvo for your back pay!"

When the explosion flung her off her feet, Erill had been calculating her chances in slipping past the guards at a rear gate of the fortress. She had decided her chances were about zero--but that it would not be much longer before someone looked to see what lay beneath the scarlet waters of the golden bath. While Erill was not worried about the consequences of her action, now that she had carried out her little vengeance, she had no particular desire to make atonement.

The blast flung her about as an angry child throws her doll. Luck and her training as an acrobat saved her a broken neck. The guards at the gate had neither advantage.

Not bothering to speculate, Erill was dashing through the wreckage even before the earth ceased its heaving. She kept running through the frightened confusion in the streets beyond the citadel. By the time her legs were aching from the strain, she had reached the city wall.

The ramparts were manned by the dead. Orted had ordered the bulk of his troops to attack Kane's cavalry regiments as they slept in their barracks. Only a skeleton force had been left to man the city walls. Jarvo had been closer on Kane's heels than Orted had gambled.

Erill clung to the shadows, studying the battle with an experienced eye. The dead men on the wall were struck down by arrows--probably in the first moments of the assault. Coming upon a city torn apart by treachery and unleashed sorceries, Jarvo had attacked instantly with only the vanguard of his troops. Now the battle appeared to be centered at the main gates further. From the signs, it apappeared that the Combine's army had already forced entry. In that case, Ingoldi, Ceddi, the Satakis, and the Dark Crusade were doomed.

It amused Erill. The world was crashing into final and utter chaos. It seemed she had survived.

An abandoned watchtower was not likely to be disturbed again this night. Erill slipped within, opened the cannister of powdered coca leaves she had plundered from Esketra's chambers. It was the final act of the game, and she had a splendid view.

Kane had ridden only a short way, when the full realization of the disaster struck him.

The city was in arms against the noochee traitors of Kane's cavalry. Bloodied bands of his men met him as he rode--telling gruesome tales of massacre. Not suspecting suicidal treachery from the Satakis, Kane's exhausted men had flung themselves down and slept soundly. Orted's soldiers had set fire to the barracks, slaughtered the cavalrymen as they stumbled forth from the smoke and turmoil.

For all that, Kane's men were hardened fighters, and quick to grasp their danger. Frantic knots of men had broken through the trap, enough to swing certain massacre into a pitched battle. With the city raised against them, the desperate mercenaries had rushed the main gate, thinking to escape into the forest. In the darkness and chaos of battle, they had not realized they were only opening the city gate to Jarvo's army.

Reeling back from this new attack, Kane's once invincible army was cut apart and ground under. The Combine's troops were staying all within the city--while the fanatical Satakis were determined to slay the noochee traitors to the last man.

Kane was trapped in a vice, and the jaws were closing too rapidly for escape. There was a shaky chance to survive if they could retreat across Ingoldi, force the rear gate, and reach the forest. The Combine's troops could never hunt down all the scattered fugitives. Some might escape, eventually flee to less hostile lands.

Then new word from the other bands of stragglers. Orted Ak-Ceddi, injured by falling stone but still deadly, had ordered the fanatical Satakis to destroy Kane and all that remained of his army--to sell their lives that not a single inuchiri traitor should escape the dying city.

Ahead of them, Jarvo and the army of the Grand Combine. Behind, the Sataki fanatics who had escaped the holocaust.

Death glowed in Kane's eyes as he turned to what remained of his command. The men knew their doom was upon them, but waited to learn if Kane could pull off one last miracle.

"Let's see if there's any wine left for us in Ceddi," Kane growled. "Then I'll see you all in hell--and let's make certain the place is crowded."

They wheeled their mounts about, and rode back through the death-laden streets of Ingoldi, toward the smouldering wreckage of Ceddi. A last few hundred soldiers--all that remained of the powerful Sword of Sataki. Exhausted, wounded, armed with whatever weapons they'd had time to seize, wearing mail and odd pieces of plate armor--riding horses equally battle-weary. They were professionals who had lived their lives by the sword.

And this was the last battle.

They drove off the milling townspeople as they rode--frightened fools who had been caught up in a nightmare beyond their understanding and beyond their control. They fled, and found death elsewhere.

Kane's men did not have to ride far to come upon the mass of Sataki fanatics who trailed them. No time for thought, no time for fine points. Kane spurred Angel, and they hit the Satakis at a gallop.

The night became a nightmare of smoke and stench, of flashing steel and snarling faces, of blood and sweat, of tiny wounds you barely felt over the ache of fatigued muscles. The wound that counted was the one you never felt at all.

Kane drove through them like a vengeful juggernaut, until Angel's frothy flanks were as drenched in blood as his crushing hooves. Men rushed at Kane, and Kane struck at them, smashing them to the earth with as little thought as a harvester wields his scythe. Their blades and bare fists tore at him, gouged flesh, chewed apart his mail hauberk. A flung stone carried off Kane's helmet, and a suicidal assailant tore away his buckler by dragging it down as his fellows chopped at Kane's arm. Carsultyal broadsword in his left hand, Kane caught up a cavalry sabre in his right, It was no longer a matter of slash, thrust, and parry; it was kill and kill and kill until death put an end to even berserker rage.

One by one, Kane's men went down. He no longer saw their faces either. Kane was beyond grief or anger. Emotion required energy, and Kane's entire being was concentrated on destruction.

They had reached the leaning walls of Ceddi now--Kane and the last of his personal guard. The Satakis would not fall back before them; they had to cut a path through them each step of the way. They were but a handful now, but the Sataki dead were like drift in the wash of a flood. Red-coated Defenders, black-robed priests, peasants and city dwellers--one united by fanaticism, united now by death.

Kane had but one great wish--to reach Orted and tear his black heart out with his bare hands. But Orted was not with the last of his faithful. Nor was he in Ceddi, when Kane forced his way into the rained fortress. Kane knew where Orted would be. The Prophet had ordered his fanatics to throw away their lives in holding the battle away from Ceddi--while with characteristic cunning, Orted Ak-Ceddi had fled with whatever he might carry off.

That knowledge drove Kane to new fury. It was one thing to die in a hopeless battle; it was another to know that the enemy whose mad treachery had brought this doom upon him was making good his escape.

Kane reeled in his saddle, fatigue and a score of wounds leeching his strength. He was a lion, being pulled down by a horde of rats. He slew all in his reach, but there was a limit even to Kane's endurance, and his enemies were beyond numbering.

An instant's lull in the battle gave Kane pause to see that there were new foemen in Ceddi. The first wave of the Combine's army had swept through the city, the invaders were now streaming into the ruined citadel. Kane slew them with the same impartial efficiency he slaughtered the Satakis.

Spurring Angel out of the overrun courtyard, Kane saw that Ceddi was encircled. Jarvo's army, little concerned as to what awesome force had shattered the Prophet's fortress, was pouring over the last of the Sataki fanatics. And as Kane looked about, he saw the last of his personal guard had fallen.

No time to draw breath, let alone for contemplation. Kane charged into the Satakis who mindlessly clawed at him. A child rolled under Angel's hooves, thrusting with a spear. Angel screamed and crumpled--throwing Kane over his neck. Kane landed on his feet, cut the boy in half with a backward slash.

For an instant the mob closed over him. Kane's two blades flickered like crimson flame. They fell back from him, torn and reeling. Kane staggered away, bleeding from yet more wounds. He fought his way along the fortress wall, using it to guard his back. On foot the end was imminent.

There was a note of savage hatred in the shout--enough to draw Kane's attention to its source. Jarvo.

Kane snarled defiance. His enemy had recognized him from the light of the burning fortress.

In a frenzy, Jarvo was trying to cut through the melee that separated them. On horseback, armored, with his men about him, Jarvo would ride him down like a dog.

Kane lurched backward, wondering if he might seize a riderless horse. He was a dead man trapped here in the open.

Then darker shadow touched him like a chill breath as be turned. He had fought his way to the Tower of Yslsl.

Even in the rush of battle, the tower stood empty, its door standing open--a few bodies close by. Why venture within? There was no place to hide, not even a way to defend it.

Jarvo's shout, and the clash of hooves. In another instant it would all be over. Kane wondered if he could take Jarvo with him. No chance. Jarvo was too good a warrior, and Kane was too cut up even to get out of the way.

The doorway beckoned. There was a second, stranger doorway within, at the head of the stairs...

Kane had often wondered. How true were the legends? Could he remember how the doorway was to be opened?

It was hard to think any longer. Hard even to stand up.

Another second, and he could rest.

Kane stumbled through the doorway, heaved the iron-bound door shut, worked the stiff bolts even as the ancient door shook to an impact.

Kane steadied himself against the cool darkness. Were there stars far overhead? If so, they were spinning.

The door thudded under new impacts. Dimly he could hear Jarvo's angry voice, shouting for a ram.

Kane began to climb the stairs.

One instant the stench of the burning city, the cool fusty smell of the ancient tower... One instant the chaotic roar of the battle below, the inexorable smash of the ram against the splintering tower door... One instant the hard pressure of Kane's gore-streaked flesh against the cold black sunburst of stone...

Then the cold was all around him, and he was engulfed in infinite darkness. Kane was falling... Blind mote of consciousness falling timelessly...

And something thrust a thousand ice-tendrils into his soul...

Never... From nothingness the ice-whisper crawled through his consciousness... Never shall I have feasted as now...

HUNGER

And substance emerged from nihility...

Kane was in a passageway--greylit, its edges cobwebby vague, reminding him unpleasantly of a spider's tunnel-web. His steps drifted dreamily forward, silently, without volition. Ahead of him the corridor stretched grey and endless. Behind him--he slowly forced his head around...

Behind him the corridor dissolved into emptiness--a precipice upon infinity that followed upon each step. Unbidden his feet groped forward, and the precipice slid a step closer. There seemed to be stars glowing far below in that abyss...

Kane fought vertigo and shuffled forward...

The polar bear reared in the ice-cavern. Its angry cough tumbled into a challenging roar as its wrathful eyes recognized the intruder. With deceptive clumsiness the bear rolled toward him on its hind legs. Its taloned paws reached out to crush him to its furry chest.

Reacting automatically, Kane ducked the lethal swing of its forepaws. He darted back from the bear's rush, and his boots skidded into emptiness. With catlike agility he flung himself clawing forward onto the ice-ledge. For an instant he skidded toward the edge--then his desperate fingers clutched cracks in the glacier. He struggled back onto the ledge, and his thrashing boots sheared away clods of rotted ice that fell silently into the abyss, into the mists that shrouded the glacier's base a thousand feet below.

The polar bear shuffled forth from its lair even as Kane scrambled to his feet on the narrow ledge. Kane felt for swordhilt, but the scabbard hung empty. His knife remained at his belt--but against half a ton of feral strength...

The ledge snaked along the misty palisadesto--too narrow, too slippery for escape.

The bear towered above him. Kane snarled, and the blade was a blue flicker as he lunged.

Almost three hundred pounds of human muscle and bone slammed into a thousand pounds of white-furred beast, and the impact staggered the bear's killing rush. Kane's dirk, a foot of honed steel, sliced hilt-deep into the beast's massive chest. Kane twisted the blade free--a rib had turned it from the heart. A gout of blood washed over blade and hilt, made it slippery as he stabbed again against the crimson-blotchcd chest.

Then tearing claws, finger-length, spike-tipped, made tatters of his thick fur cloak and leather vest, gored through the flesh of his shoulders and back. Kane hissed in agony, stabbed yet again with his blade. Breath shuddered from his lungs as the awesome forepaws began to enclose him in an irresistible death-hug. Teeth champed into his shoulder, numbing one arm.

Howling against the pain, Kane hacked his blade yet again, deeper still into the gore-matted shaggy chest. Blood shimmered mistily on the ice about them; mist pulsed a roaring throb in his skull.