The first attack came in the darkness, and the twistedmen were even more horrible in the flickering, waving light of the torches. Most were the skinless bastards Darya knew well, but there were plenty of the frog-mouthed creatures and gaunt figures whose heads were only beaks full of teeth. At irregular intervals, wearing shining armor over elaborate robes, she saw things that looked almost human in form, except their faces were melted and, if you watched too long, the melted bits moved independently. The mage she’d killed a few months back over an enchanted chalice, in what had apparently been an early sign of all this, had been one of those, which was a moment of recognition she could have done without. There were plenty of the korvin, carrying a couple passengers each, and near the very back, orange and gray standards flapped in the wind.
An accurate count was impossible, but it looked like thousands. Soldiers moaned in terror as the first ranks came out of the forest, or called on the gods, and even Darya felt fear dry her throat and wet her hands.Oh, bugger, this is really happening.
Amris assessed the approaching horde, then slowly turned his back on it and faced the troops on his section of the outer wall—including Darya, who crouched on the highest tower. “Our foes are many, yes,” he said, his voice pitched to carry to the ranks, “and terrible. I’ll not deny that, nor will I make promises. But think, now, not only of what faces us. Think of what—and who—wait behind us. Think of those who depend on us.”
Faces pale with fear stayed pale, and tears still ran down some cheeks. But jaws set, and shoulders squared, and a far-off look came into most of the weeping eyes, like the minds behind them were picturing familiar, well-loved faces.
I’d never heard him speak like this,Gerant said.I was always well behind the lines. I would’ve envied his troops, had I known.
Over on the other section of the wall, Hallis was speaking, though Darya couldn’t make out the words. Amris glanced over to him quickly, then delivered his final statement. “We’ll give them as much chance as we can buy, by the gods. Now, archers ready—”
He hadn’t even looked at the twistedmen as they started to advance. Darya supposed he’d seen it in the reaction of the soldiers he was addressing. She lifted her bow and nocked an arrow.
“—draw—”
A hundred arms went back: some with twenty or thirty years of expertise, some with the shaking hand of the new recruit.
“—loose!”
The arrows flew.
Height gave them distance, and the plummet down toward the advancing army added to their lethal force. No few found targets in strange flesh. Darya saw one of the twistedmen hit through the eye and topple, another groan and fall back as it got hit in the shoulder, and a korvin squeal and rear, throwing its riders.
Even the ones that weren’t lethal right off did more damage. The herbalists knew plenty of ways to harm as well as heal, and Darya, impervious to poison, had spent a few hours coating arrowheads with the most lethal mixtures they could manage. She noticed a toad-thing fall back, shriek with pain, and begin to tear at its own flesh, and she smiled.
There was little time for joy, even cruel joy. She was nocking another arrow before Amris could give the next order, waiting only to shoot in unison with the others. Gerant was silent in her head, but that didn’t bother Darya; she knew he was directing all of his attention to the magics that would protect her, should the need arise.
The dance had begun. Though there were more partners than usual, still the steps remained.
* * *
As Amris had suspected, the arrows took their toll, but not nearly enough to stop the advance. Across the field they came, filling every inch of space with warped flesh, barbed teeth, and eyes full of malice. When their comrades fell, most of the twistedmen left them, or walked over them. A few, farthest from the scrutiny of their commanders, stopped to wrench off a limb or pluck out an organ; an army marched on its stomach.
He heard a few of the soldiers being sick. Best they do it quickly. Amris didn’t remonstrate, just kept up the pace of draw and loose, draw and loose again, until he saw the ranks of the twistedmen halt and caught motions from those just behind the front.
“Down,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and suited actions to words as a volley of crude arrows arced up from the ground.
Some flamed as they went. Those didn’t fly as high or hit as hard, but Thyran’s generals doubtless didn’t intend them to. They struck the outer walls, where wood normally would have sparked to deadly life. Instead, most sputtered and died as they struck the fresh animal skins draped over the logs, kept damp by the efforts of mages and young men.
A few places did begin to spark. Tebengri made a quick gesture and, one by one, the bits of light sputtered and died.
Amris heard cries of pain—the scouts were shooting from the ground, and the soldiers had ducked in good time, but an arrow or two almost always seemed to find flesh, no matter what the advantage on one side or another—but the cries sounded like those of pain and surprise, not true danger. He spared a glance, saw a young man with an arrow in the shoulder being helped down by a friend, and nodded.
“Archers ready,” he began again, picking up his own bow and reaching for an arrow. Archery had never been his strong suit, and he was far from a match for Darya, but every set of arms helped.
“Draw—” The timing was almost instinct, save for the need to watch the twistedmen and adjust as needed. The rest of itwasinstinct by now: the breath came up from deep in the belly, the sound formed in the chest, and the word released on the breath out, just before an inhale to repeat.
A commander kept a steady volume that way, and a steady pace, to keep going without losing breath or voice. In time the throat would feel the pain of such work. When battles went long, Amris had often come back to his tent unable to talk at all.
He watched the arrows strike, and watched the twistedmen advance regardless, some hiding behind shields, some ignoring wounds that weren’t deep enough for the poison to take effect, and some merely coming in fresh to replace the fallen. Amris couldn’t see the ground between the bodies as they squirmed forward.
This was going to be a long fight. Hewantedit to be a long one—his throat be damned. Delay was their only chance.
* * *
Bodies made decent walls. Behind them, or atop them, the twistedmen dug in.Korvin cut deep trenches in the earth, swallowing soil and spitting it back out. Troops with hands stacked logs, stones, and flesh, giving themselves cover from arrows while dozens of them got hit and died, screaming.
Darya would have cursed them, but she didn’t want to waste the strength, not even to think it. Besides, they were plenty damned already. She just kept firing, targeting eyes on things with too many and necks on whatever had them. Sitha’s blessing let her edge far out onto the tower, and from there, she tried to target the back ranks, and the creatures that she thought served for officers.
