The Silver Lake (54 page)

The fighting continued throughout the day. Wave after wave of Yuruk riders charged the village of Serin-Koy and, by noon, hand-to-hand fighting had broken out all along the God-Wall. Despite the battle-seers’ efforts, gaps began to appear in the lines as, hopelessly outnumbered, the defenders began to crumble. As the sun dipped toward the western mountains, the Yuruk finally broke the line at the storage sheds. Villagers scattered before a full banner of torch-carrying riders that surged over the wall, cutting down anyone who stood against them. Exhausted militia hurried to close the breach, but it was too late; one by one, the buildings went up in flames.

On the rise, Graize gave the signal and standing in the saddle, Rayne swept her yak’s tail standard up in a great arc, calling the banners of the Khes-Yuruk waiting in reserve forward into battle. As they thundered over the hills, whistles sounded across the field, and the engaged kazakin of the Rus, Wes, and Irmak-Yuruk now flowed together to form one solid wedge that drove itself toward the paddocks and the thin line of militia guarding the herds of frightened livestock. The heavy wooden gates held for less then a moment, then splintered inward and the kazakin surged inside, some making straight for the defenders, while others began to drive the flocks and herds out into the fields.

Long out of arrows, Brax hurled a fist-sized rock at the head of the rider barreling down on him, then snatched up his sword and vaulted onto the wall. The man swung a huge, curved blade toward him and Brax ducked instinctively, nearly toppling over backward as the weapon whistled over his head. He struck back and missed and then the enemy’s blade was streaking toward him again, moving unbelievably fast. He barely got his own sword, two-handed, up in time. As the weapons connected with a clash of steel, he felt the God-strength within his arms hold fast and then the man gave a wrenching twist and Brax’s left elbow twisted with it. He heard a crack, felt a shock of pain shoot up his arm, then, as his sword went spinning off, he fell, hitting the ground beyond the wall so hard it knocked the air out of his lungs.

Graize saw him fall and, standing in the saddle, he sent a scream of triumph into the air. His enemy was down and the Gods’ ancient defense lay writhing and shrieking in his newly awakened sight like a mortally wounded snake. It was time to chop both their heads off. Now. Raising his arms, he summoned the Godling to him.

It streaked from the clouds above with all the speed and power of a blazing comet, trailing a legion of spirits behind it in a trail of silvery fire. Graize allowed It to flow around him and through him, filling him with an icy cold power that nearly froze his breath in his body, then Godling and wyrdin together raced toward Yildiz-Koy. When they reached the pasture fields, they kept going, scattering the remaining defenses as they went, aiming for the single figure staggering to his feet before the wall.

On the battlements of Orzin-Hisar, the smell of burning wood and wool drew Spar to his feet. Holding the wall like a vise, he watched Brax’s death hurtle toward him. He felt numb and heavy, unable to think or even feel. The tower voice had done its damage and gone, leaving him wide open to a constant barrage of images that battered against his mind like a whirlwind.

Something.

Above him, the sky darkened perceptibly as a new power streaked from the clouds toward Orzin-Hisar. It filled his mind with a screaming howl of hunger and his legs gave out from under him as blood began to trickle from his nose and ears. He fell against the battlements to lie, staring upward, unable to look away, as the vision played out in front of his eyes gone a pale, misty white.

The power enveloped Brax in a swirling mass of silvery teeth and claws. In its midst, Spar saw Graize ready his bow; as he fired, a legion of spirits swarmed in to catch the spray of blood that shot out to cover the setting sun in a veil of golden fire. The power caught Brax in an icy embrace, newly formed teeth tearing frantically at Estavia’s protections. Screaming in fury, pain forgotten, Brax fought them both with all the strength and rage his fourteen years on the streets of Anavatan could summon, but as his body weakened, the juvenile wards on his arms and chest faded.

And Spar began to cry, knowing that this time he couldn’t save the older boy, feeling as if everything since Cindar’s death had been leading up to this one final moment when he would be left all alone. Deep within his blistered mind, he felt the tower voice rise up again and, with a gesture of almost gentle triumph, draw back a curtain of darkness to reveal a fine, silver light that undulated in the distance.

No longer caring what it wanted in return, Spar closed his eyes, and reached for it.

And paused as a hand touched his. Opening his eyes, he stared up at a blank-faced man sitting propped up against the battlements, iron-braced legs splayed out before him, a heavyset youth with Bayard’s features lending him a shoulder for support. He seemed somehow familiar and Spar frowned as Kemal’s words filtered down to him from far away.

The name came slowly.

“Chian?”

The corners of the man’s dull eyes crinkled in response. With a featherlight touch, his mind reached out to still the flood of images, then brought one single vision forward.

Recognizing his purpose, Spar shook his head, jerking up the rest of the vision and almost throwing it at him.

With a dismissive mental shrug, Chian played the final unseen image out before them like a skein of wool.

And Spar’s clouded eyes suddenly brightened with hope as their abayos’ words echoed in his mind.

A surge of new energy drew him to his feet and he nodded excitedly. Kemal had called up Estavia that night to save them from the spirits on Liman Caddesi.

Kemal could get Her here to Serin-Koy and, once here, She would save Brax.

Below him, Graize swept his sword down again, the image of the streets of Anavatan shimmered into being, Brax cried out, his call shooting through the mist like a blazing arrow as it had that very first night, and Spar and Chian joined their minds together to hurl their co-joined abilities out with all their strength to amplify his past and present desperation.

The pure force of his belief hurtled along the streams of possibility, slamming into Kemal’s mind with all the power of a hurricane. It ricocheted off the Battle God’s lien within him, then, sucking up enough energy from every warrior on the field to stagger them, it blazed across the sky.

Estavia froze in mid-strike, Her feral visage snapping to the south as She saw what it revealed: the village of Serin-Koy on fire, its militia dead or overrun, and Brax,
Her
Champion, unarmored and unprotected, fighting a savage creature of power and need that hammered against Her wards.

Against
Her
wards.

With a scream of rage that deafened every person on the field, the Battle God exploded out of being, the shock wave flattening half the fishing huts on the western shores of Gol-Beyaz.