Ecko Endgame (27 page)

It reeked, the smell oddly familiar.

She pulled her cloak hood across her nose and mouth, but whether to keep the smell out, or the sob in, she didn’t know.

Carefully, they eased their mounts down the slope.

As they reached the water, she gave Taure a nod and he dismounted. He went to crouch on the shoreline, his boots making scars in the scum. He picked up a fingerful of weed, lifted it, sniffed it, then flicked it back with a curse. Wiping his finger on his trews, he called back, “Smells like rot. Just like the you-know-what.”

That was the familiarity. It smelled like the fractures, like the wound at the Monument.

Gods.

“It’s not been like that long,” she said. “The lake feeds into the Great Cemothen River. The tributary was clean when I crossed it…”

Just a halfcycle ago.

Panic rose and closed her throat, her hands itched like fire.
How had it got this bad, this swiftly? How the rhez do we face this?

“Is there another way?” Triq asked. “Can we go round?”

“Too far.” Taure’s practicality was blunt as a fist. “No time.”

Triqueta shook herself, curled her hands into fists and tore her attention from the awful rot. They had to cross, and that was all there was to it.

“We’ll need smoke,” she said. “Keep insects away. One tan at a time.” Watched by Taure, she squeezed her knees and walked the palomino to the edge of the water.

At the shoreline, the little horse stopped. She lowered her head to sniff, then raised it again, her ears flat back against her skull. When Triq squeezed her thighs again, urging the creature forwards, the mare baulked, backed up.

Triq tried again, and the animal put a tentative hoof on the surface. She knew the creature’s moods – the horse was her friend, trusted companion through too many adventures – she didn’t push her further.

“She’ll cross,” Triq said, “but it’ll be an effort. She doesn’t like it much.”

“Who does?” Taure commented. “You know we can’t stop here, Triq—”

“I
know
that.” She snapped it at him, then shrugged an apology. “Sorry. I’m scared – and I’m not damned well ashamed to admit it. Every time we see things, they’re worse – and the rot is getting
quicker.
” She could see that damned wound like it was in her head, in her flesh, swollen with grief and horror and hunger. “I know we’ve got to fight – but then what? Even if we win—”

“Put a stitch in it,” Taure said. “You got a force to lead. You got to cross this lake and reach Tusien, and that’s all there is to it.”

“But we can’t just
leave
all of this.” Triqueta loved the open plains; the little death of winter had been a natural thing, part of the cycling of the Powerflux and season. This was something else, something bleak and ravenous. “Even assuming we beat the snot out of the bad guys—”

“We come back,” Taure said. “But first, we cross this water, and before the death of the sun. And then we’ll have a council. And some food. And I need a refill.” Ruefully, he shook the waterskin.

“That’ll be smart when the bweao catches you,” Triq answered him, grinning.

“Then I hope it’s pissed enough for you to catch it and wear its fangs as a hat,” Taure said. “Let’s do this thing.”

* * *

They did that thing.

No bweao came for them, but the horses hated the rank water, lifting their scum-covered knees and side-stepping, white-eyed. By the time they were all across, and the perimeter established on the lake’s far side, the sun was falling towards the distant Kartiah and the air was frosting with sharp cold. The moons were blurs behind thinning cloud, and the company was shivering in its filthy and collective boots.

But the Banned knew their mounts, knew that every animal had to be cleaned down, and checked for bites or wounds – knew that even if they’d not been harmed, there were chances of infection and worse. As the city’s soldiers set up the camp – the last one before they reached their target – the Banned did everything they could to ensure the mounts were safe.

Her palomino in good care, Triq sat by the fire, one chapped hand outstretched to the heat. Something in the back of her head was telling her that she’d never do this again – that these were the last fires, the last evenings, the very last days’ rides ahead of them. For a moment, she missed Ress’s wisdom more than she could bear – yet she almost couldn’t remember the man he’d been.

When she’d ridden out with him and Jayr, a thousand returns ago.

It didn’t seem real.

To one side of her, Taure sat on the cold ground, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. The fire made his face glow red, though his eyes were clear and cold.

Triq passed on the offer of the waterskin, and began to sketch in the dirt with a finger.

“Right,” she said. “That’s Tusien – there – on the top of the hill. It’s got two major walls remaining, a tall tower at the corner, plus a scatter of broken outbuildings, statues and other bits.” She was sketching it as she spoke. “There’s an old long barrow out to the back, grave of the builder, by legend.” The map wasn’t to scale, but it would have to do. “Amos should already be there, supplies and defences set up; Fhaveon’s force’ll be coming southwest and it’ll form here.” Another line. The soil was cold. “There’s a sort of an outer wall which should hold Vahl’s forces at bay long enough for the defence to form up and for the fun to really start.” Her grin was brief and savage. “As long as they can hold the hilltop, they’ll have the big walls at their backs and they’re good.” She sketched another line. “We’ll come in this way – if the timing hasn’t gone all belly-up, we should hit the bad guys right where it hurts. If the timing’s off…” Her sentence ended in a shrug. “Well, maybe everything’ll be already dead and we won’t have to worry about fixing the damned blight.”

It was meant to be humorous, but the jest lost its force before she finished speaking and she lapsed into an awkward silence. The map looked so simple – she found herself wondering if Ecko was really there, if Amethea had survived, if Nivrotar’s loco planning could even be fireblasted trusted…

Taure said, “What if they split their force? Do they have the numbers to fight us in both places?”

“Nivrotar didn’t know. But no commander’ll willingly fight a war on multiple fronts, you know that.”

He snorted. “Fair point. We’ll stay as out of sight as we can, quiet. We’ll be safe enough.”

She was going to respond, but she was interrupted by the cry of the archers on watch, by the sudden clattering of the camp-wide alarm.

Shit! Now what?

Her heart hammered, she was on her feet.

Bweao? Bandits?

Surely neither would be loco enough to tackle a force this size?

Her hands went to the blades at her belt, but her feet were already moving. She was running before she thought about it, running for the little mare and for the muster point that they’d marked earlier in the evening. She was shouting, could hear Taure echoing that shout – the call to arms, the command to form up.

Triqueta was Banned, had no need to go after saddle or bridle; still shouting, she was mounted and running for the camp’s centre, her orders sharp and clear. She reached the square even as the messenger from the archer tan caught her.

“What is it?” she demanded. “The bweao? It must be damned hungry to—”

“Not the bweao,” the man said. He was gasping and pale-faced – she could see the fear clawing at the insides of his throat. “Not the bweao. Centaurs!”

If there was one damned misfit creature Triqueta’d had enough of, it was the centaur. From Baythunder’s posturing death to the craftings of Amal, the fireblasted things had been with her from the beginning – they were like bad luck, everywhere, and accursed of the Gods.

And now they were here.

Not going to split his forces, my arse.

She wanted to go out after them, to scout and to see what the rhez was going on, but apparently some thoughtless sod had left her in charge and she was instead standing at the forefront of a forming line – the Banned, like her, minus tack and wanting to go, the city’s garrison slower, but drilled to efficiency.

It didn’t take them long.

As the line took shape, a second messenger reached her; in her haste the woman’s words fell over themselves. There was a whole herd of them, she said, some bore weapons and they were carrying lights like they didn’t care who saw them. They were laughing, shouting, like some road-pirate gang out for trouble. Triq asked her a few more questions, making sure she had all the details.

Then she turned back to the formed-up force, almost trembling with excitement as a plan began to take shape.

You’ve made a mistake now, you bastards.

Oh yeah. I know how to stop this…

Stifling a grin to rival one of Ecko’s, she gave the order to advance at a trot.

…if this works.

It might’ve been the biggest gamble she’d ever taken.

* * *

The creatures were easy to see. They’d made no effort to conceal themselves, and their lights blazed as they came on. There were about forty of them, younger than Baythunder had been, and raucous, kids out for trouble. They carried torches or rocklights or both, and they were oncoming in a gaggle, a ragged advance, their claws tearing and their mouths wide with threat. They were outnumbered seven or eight to one, but they didn’t care – their long manes flew like flags, and though they bore no colours, pride and ego blazed from their skin. Triq wondered if they’d been sent – or if they’d come by themselves.

I know what you’re thinking.

She was trembling, but her hands and knees were sure. For her plan to work, she needed them to stop, to pose and posture and to make all the threats. As they came closer, she rode out ahead of her own troops, her little mare arch-necked and stalwart.

The palomino was tiny compared to the great beasts that faced her. But she’d seen these monsters before, and she showed no fear.

And, as Triqueta had thought, they saw her challenge and stopped.

That’s it, good beasts. You know you’ve got to play this through…

The one that came to meet her was among the oldest. He had Baythunder’s look about him – powerful muscles and dark hide. His arrogance was loud as a shout in the night’s deep cold.

“Go back to your city, human,” he told her, baring his teeth. “Turn round, go home. This fight, this soil, this future – they don’t belong to you.”

Triq snorted, wanting him to face her, needing the confrontation. “I killed your sire, creature. Not too far from here.” She’d no idea if this creature had been sired by blood or alchemy and didn’t really want to know. “What’re you? Revenge, now? You’re a bit
late.
”

“Fortune only,” the thing said. He even sounded like Baythunder, his voice rich and dark, and now angry. “He was old, his time was almost done.” He came close and towered over her, sneering. “Another, younger, stronger, would’ve taken his place.” He bared his teeth, to show he had no doubt whom that “other” would have been. “Turn round.”

Triqueta said, “Make me.”

Behind her, the garrison’s soldiers were crashing spears on shields and shouting encouragement, the cacophony gathering volume and pace. Over it, the Banned’s war cry rose and gathered force, and then fragmented again. In response, the young stallion flushed, the skin of his face and chest darkening.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Triq told him. “I’m staying right here. And if you think you’re big enough for your sire’s claws, come and prove it. I’ll take you down just the same.”

Behind her, she could hear the combined forces of city and Banned chanting her name. The sound brought a rush to her blood like nothing she’d ever felt.

“Tri-quet-
ah
, Tri-quet-
ah
!”

I’ll take you down…

By the rhez, she’d tear this beast to damned and bloody pieces.

The young stallion raked the dirt. He bore no weapons other than his spread hands and huge claws, but he was close enough to blot out the rising moons. Sweat made whorls on his human skin; he smelled like musk and heat and fighting.

He spoke down to her, softly, “Come on then.
Human
.”

She was aware of a stirring in the centaur line, but her attention was ahead of her. The centaur grinned, whickered at the mare. The little palomino put her ears up, and Triqueta had a moment of absolute, white-cold terror…

Then the mare snorted, as scornful a noise as Triq had ever heard her make.

And in that moment, she loved the little creature more than she had ever loved anyone or anything in her whole life. Her confidence swamped her, and she laughed at the beast, taunting it. She was going to tear this thing a new arse.

Possibly more than one – seemed fitting somehow.

The young stallion curled his lip, but whatever temptation or command he’d given the mare, he wasn’t stupid enough to try it again. Behind him, his own line were calling taunts, sniping sharp comments, but he ignored them.

Triqueta’s knees gripped hard, and the mare stood straight up on her hind legs, her forehooves flashing at the creature’s human chest. He made no attempt to evade the move, instead reaching as if to catch them, but they were too fast. As the beast swiped with a clumsy hand, the little mare dropped and whirled, lashing out with both heels. Triqueta felt the impact, heard the stallion’s breath leave its body with a
whumph.

Around them, there was an utter silence.

Then her own side started to cheer, wildly calling her name. The sky filled with noise.

Old, am I? Banned over, is it? Never doing this again?

As the mare swung back around, Triq could see that the creature’s human ribs were broken, jagged under his skin. The mare put her ears back, bared her teeth. Her blood was high and Triqueta could feel her heart through their shared contact. It felt like thunder, like lightning, like a fusion of flesh to flesh – like she was a centaur herself. Even as the mare moved, she knew what the horse was going to do, could anticipate and move with her.

The stallion was laughing at them, cavernous and belittling. His force was shouting again now – they were jostling something, but Triq didn’t get time to look. The mare was pacing forwards; she came up again on her hind legs, her hooves now flashing up towards the centaur’s chin.