Journey into the Void (23 page)

Dagnarus gave the Black Veil their orders, which were not complicated: when the horns sounded at sunrise, the taan were to mass in front of the main gate, there to await entry. All the taan were to enter the city, including the taskers and the children, not just the warriors. The Black Veil were surprised at this, for generally the taskers remained behind in camp to make ready for the warriors' return.

“This time,” Dagnarus told them through his interpreter, “all the taan will celebrate the day, the taskers included. There is enough wealth in this fat city for all. And it will be instructive to the young taan, to see victory firsthand.”

Once inside the city, the taan were free to take what they wanted—slaves, jewels, armor, whatever they could find.

“Thus will I subdue the proud hearts of the Vinnengaeleans and give them cause to fear me,” Dagnarus said.

He asked that the Black Veil and the taan nizam be among the first to enter, to walk at the head of the taan army, dressed in their full regalia, in order to strike fear into the human hearts and destroy their morale. The Black Veil agreed with pleasure. Making their obseisances, they left Dagnarus's presence and went to rouse the slumbering taan.

Having planned the attack, Dagnarus hastened back to Vinnengael to defend against it. He felt not unlike the Punch-and-Judy puppeteer, who, armed with a puppet in each hand, gives battle to himself.

D
AY DAWNED. THE WORD TO ATTACK CAME TO THE TAAN, FINALLY.

Led by the six shamans of the Black Veil and the nizam who were in command of the battle groups, the taan surged across the river on floating bridges that had been ready and waiting for days. Hooting and shouting, they massed in front of the city gates and around the city walls. The taan were not in prime fighting condition—most of the warriors were feeling sluggish and stupid after the previous day's battles and the night of carousing.

They would have never been permitted to go to war in that condition, but then, they were not going to war. They were going to enter a fat city of derrhuths, seize the strong for slaves, slaughter the helpless, and burn and loot.

Tasgall and Dagnarus watched from the battlements. They were the only two up there, or so it appeared from below. The battlements were manned, but the archers and swordsmen lay flat on their bellies, their weapons in their hands, awaiting the signal.

Wrapped against the morning chill in a heavy cloak of black velvet, Dagnarus said he'd slept well that night. He was rested and ready for the day. He made a final inspection of the city, expressed his pleasure in the hard work that had been done during the night, and took time to speak personally to many of the soldiers and battle magi. He then climbed the stairs leading up to the battlements to join Tasgall, who had been waiting there since long before dawn.

Tasgall looked down with grave mien at the taan army, whose warriors could be seen shoving and pushing, jostling and elbowing, and in some cases fighting each other in order to be among the first to enter the city. He was reminded of squirming maggots consuming a rotting corpse. The stench was like that of a rotting corpse. It twisted his stomach. He was sorry he'd eaten breakfast.

“Do not let your magi or the soldiers fall into complacency,” Dagnarus lectured him. “A taan warrior at half his fighting strength is a match for any human warrior fully rested and prepared. And these taan, once they realize that they are trapped, will fight with the ferocity of a cornered dragon.”

“I assumed as much, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall. “I have warned my people and the commanders of the military.”

“As we have planned, the battle magi will take out the Black Veil and the nizam first, depriving the taan of their leaders. That will not help much, however, for the taan have never relied on their leaders in battle anyway, each taan seeking to earn glory for himself.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tasgall replied.

Dagnarus had told them this in the meeting yesterday, but Tasgall had not truly believed it, not until now.

He looked down at the snarling, shouting, jeering taan, waving their gruesome battle standards, some of which bore human heads or other body parts, and he felt the hair prickle on his spine. He had never known fear before battle, but he knew fear now. He feared the taan. He feared his new king. Had Dagnarus betrayed them? Were they to be given over to these savages? Were ten thousand more taan warriors massed somewhere beyond the horizon, waiting for the city gates to be opened to them, waiting to swarm inside?

“Your Majesty,” said Tasgall respectfully, “you should return to the palace now, to a place of safety. I have posted guards—”

Dagnarus smiled, shook his head. “I sent my guards off to fight, Tasgall. They will be of more use in the battle. I have never been one to command from the rear, and I will not start now.”

Dagnarus twitched aside a fold of his cloak to reveal a splendid breastplate, made of steel inlaid with gold, worked into an intricate knot pattern. The workmanship was exquisite; no one did such fine work these days. Tasgall had seen such pieces of armor, but only in the palace armory
or in some noble house, where they resided on stands and collected dust and spiders.

“This was my father's armor,” said Dagnarus with fond pride. “I have never worn it before. I swore I would not wear it until I could once more stand with my people and wield my sword to defend them. So I swore on his tomb, where I found it lying amidst the ruins.”

“You went back to Old Vinnengael?” Tasgall asked, amazed.

“I did,” said Dagnarus, and his eyes were haunted, shadowed. “I went there as part of my penance. It is not a place to which I would willingly return.”

“Are the old stories about it true?”

“I do not know the old stories,” Dagnarus returned, his voice grim. “But if they speak of a place whose evil has drawn every loathsome creature that crawls upon Loerem, then, yes, the stories are true. I do not know if the evil can be driven out and the city reclaimed, but I would like to try. I would like to make it a fitting memorial for those who lost their lives, including my mother. She was in the palace that night. She was mad, quite mad. My doing—I drove her to madness. Someday, I'd like to make it up to her. To her and to my father.”

Tasgall knew himself forgotten. Dagnarus spoke to shades hovering somewhere on the verge of his memory, shades whose accusing eyes were always fixed on him, shades whose accusing fingers always pointed at him. Tasgall might have thought this a deceit, a lie meant to cozen him, but the pain he saw twisting the handsome face and heard aching in the voice was too real to be assumed.

“Are you ready?” Dagnarus asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Tasgall, trusting at last. “All is in readiness.”

“Give the signal to open the gates.”

 

The great wheels turned. The gates of New Vinnengael, a marvel of engineering, slid up into the double archways that divided the enormous road leading into the city—one side for egress, the other for entrance. The taan entered through both of them.

The members of the Black Veil came first. Eager as the taan were to start their rampage, the taan held the shamans of the Black Veil in such fear and awe that they dared not surge ahead of them. The Black Veil walked in silence, wrapped in the black robes that concealed the ritual
scarring of their bodies and the valuable gemstones buried beneath their hides. These gemstones powered the Void spells of death and destruction that each shaman could taste upon his tongue. The Black Veil turned their heads, looked at Dagnarus, also wrapped in black, who stood upon the battlements. They bowed to him and appeared to think that they were supposed to join him, for they prepared to start climbing the stairs up to the battlements.

Dagnarus made a sweeping gesture, pointed to the heart of the city. The Black Veil bowed and went on. Tasgall let out a low whistle. He could feel the power of the Void rolling off those shamans, flooding the city like dark water. He hoped his magi were up to the task.

After the shamans came the nizam, the elite taan warriors who had earned their rank through heroism in battle. They surged through the gates, jeering and clashing their weapons together, shouting challenges to the xkes to come out from their hiding places and fight them and die. Looking up at Dagnarus, the taan cheered and whooped and promised him that they would slay many thousands this day and dine on their hearts in his honor.

Dagnarus understood them. Tasgall did not, which was just as well, or his faith in his king might have been shaken. Dagnarus said nothing, merely gestured, indicating that the taan were to proceed as planned.

The rest of the taan warriors came rushing in after their leaders. They surged forward eagerly, pushing and shoving, each taan fearing that another would beat him to the prize.

The city was silent, seemingly deserted. But the taan could smell the xkes, smell succulent flesh and the warm blood. The humans were nearby, hiding behind their walls like the sweet meat of the zarg nut hides behind its shell.

The city of New Vinnengael was a planned city, not one that had grown up from a village. As such, Vinnengael's streets were straight and wide, not twisting and narrow. Prominent buildings such as the palace and the Temple were located in the center, with residential areas in certain locations, shops and businesses in others, and it was even predetermined which businesses should go where.

The buildings nearest the gate contained shops that catered to those first entering the city, selling everything a visitor might need from mapsto cunningly designed purses guaranteed to thwart pickpockets to can
died ginger for a sweet tooth. The shops were empty, for the plan was that the taan were to be lured farther into the city. The first taan to reach these buildings kicked down the doors and ran inside. Finding nothing of value, they left in disgust.

The taan continued to pour through the gates, a floodtide of bodies that soon spread down every street. Tasgall waited tensely for the first sounds of fighting. This was the critical part. As many taan as possible must be lured into the heart of the city.

“I fear, Your Majesty, that the moment fighting breaks out, the taan will realize that they have fallen into a trap, and they will flee,” said Tasgall.

Dagnarus laughed. “That will never happen. A taan warrior who flees battle would be disgraced. The tribe would strip him of his possessions, torture and kill him. He would not permitted to enter the afterlife. His soul would be consumed by the Void. No, I guarantee to you that will not happen.”

“Even if they know it is a trap?” Tasgall asked.

“Especially then,” Dagnarus said carelessly. “The more hopeless the battle, the greater the glory.”

Voices began to speak in Tasgall's ears; the battle magi communicating to him magically what they were seeing. The taan warriors had been given leave to rush ahead of the nizam and they were now running down the major streets, searching for a fight, and becoming increasingly frustrated. Several began kicking in doors and ripping the shutters off the windows. Inside some of those buildings were Vinnengaelean archers with arrows nocked, ready to fire, backed up by soldiers prepared for hand-to-hand combat.

The nizam spread out, joining in the rampage, not taking any sort of leadership role that the magi could see. The shamans of the Black Veil remained together, and it seemed to those watching them that they were starting to grow concerned. They huddled together in deep discussion, ignoring the taan who flowed around them.

Tasgall reported all this to Dagnarus, who nodded and said, “Be patient. Now is not yet the time.”

Last to enter the gate were the taskers, holding small children by the hands, carrying the youngest on their backs. Tasgall looked down at the taan children, skipping and dancing and laughing like any child on a holiday.
The thought had not occurred to him that he would be slaying children. He told himself that they were children who would grow into savage beings, but he still felt an aversion to slaying those weaker than himself, those who couldn't fight back, those who had no understanding why they were dying.

“Do not fool yourself, Tasgall,” said Dagnarus. “Those children have already developed a liking for human flesh.”

The question “And who gave them their first taste of it, Your Majesty?” was on Tasgall's lips, but he swallowed it. Now was not the time to go mucking about in politics. He had a job to do. He cleared his mind of all emotion, all doubt, so that it held nothing but the clean-burning fire of the magic.

The last group of taan taskers was crowding inside the gates when shrieks and fierce howls arose from within the city proper.

“The taan have broken into one of the buildings, Your Majesty,” Tasgall reported. “The archers are firing into their midst. And, Your Majesty, it appears that the shamans of the Black Veil have turned around. They are heading back this way.”

“Give the signal,” Dagnarus ordered.

Tasgall motioned to one of the novice battle magi who had been crouched in the shadow of the wall. Rising to her feet, she spoke words of magic and passed her hand through the flame of the fire burning in a nearby brazier. Her hand seemed to scoop up the flame into a ball and, in one sweeping motion, she hurled the fiery orb into the sky, where it blazed a brilliant orange. The bright ball of flame would be visible to all those on the rooftops, who were waiting and watching for it. Selecting their targets, the battle magi began to chant their spells.

The men manning the wheels that lowered the gates jumped up from their hiding places. Guarded by men-at-arms, the men turned the wheels, and the gates began to lower.

The taan taskers heard the rattle and the creaking and turned to see what was going on. Those near the gates, who could see what was happening, looked alarmed and cried out. Unlike the warriors, taskers do not fight unless hard-pressed. Their role was to ensure the survival of the tribe, and many of them had just come to the realization that such survival was imperiled. Grabbing the children, several taan began running toward the gate, shouting out warnings as they ran.

“The gates fall too slowly!” Dagnarus cried, watching the ponderous descent of the heavy gates. Leaning over the wall, he bellowed, “Cut the ropes!”

The men working at the wheels stared stupidly, not understanding. One astute young soldier heard the command, saw the danger. Leaping forward, he sliced through one of the ropes with a single stroke of his battle-ax, all the while calling for his comrades to assist him. Knights and men-at-arms fell on the ropes with a will. The gates came thundering down, but not before several taan taskers and their charges had managed to escape. The archers rose from their hiding places, fired a volley of arrows after them. Every shot told. The taan stumbled and fell to the ground. Some stayed where they had fallen, but others leapt up and kept going.

The archers stared. They could see the feathered shafts protruding from the backs of the fleeing taan, but nothing seemed to stop them. Their officers shouted orders. The archers fired again and again. At last, all the taan were stopped. Almost every corpse had at least three arrows sticking out of it. The archers were round-eyed and amazed.

They had no time for rejoicing. The taan taskers realized that they had been betrayed, that this was a trap. They raised their voices in unearthly howls that were not wails of despair, but were warnings, meant to alert the other taan to their danger. Grabbing up anything that came to hand for a weapon, the taskers and even the children launched a furious assault on the battlements.