David Farland - Brotherhood of the Wolf

Now the people of Carris all heaved forward as one. With a great roar they charged for the mainland. The fell mage’s spells of fatigue seemed to be forgotten temporarily.

All along the walls and all through the city streets, men picked up whatever arms they could carry and hastened to join Saffira and the Earth King.

Raj Ahten watched in amazement.

This was a mistake, he knew. Hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children in Carris would race to attack; the vast majority of them were only commoners.

The reavers would have them for dinner.

Yet they charged.

He could not say what drove them. Whether it was a belief in their Earth King or the desire to heed Saffira’s call. Perhaps, it was neither. Perhaps they fought only because there was nothing left for them to do.

He himself raced down the tower steps, shoving aside slower men so that he could join the battle. His heart hammered and pulse quickened. Invincibles surged from alleys to back him.

On the road to Carris, time and again Borenson had wondered about Saffira. Would she have the courage to stand up to Raj Ahten? Did she truly want peace? Would she betray Gaborn and his people?

Yet now, with danger all around, this woman—hardly more than a child really—rose to Gaborn’s defense.

Saffira finished her song. For a breathless moment Borenson sat enthralled, unable to think, unable to do anything but mourn the fact that her song had ended.

Cheers arose from the city, thunderous cheers like the voice of a distant sea, assuring that the people of Rofehavan would heed her call.

Saffira’s courage had been sufficient. In that moment, Borenson loved her as fully and innocently as he could love a woman. His heart pounded, and he wanted nothing more than to stand in her shadow, to breathe her sweet perfume, to gaze at her ebony hair.

She sat tall in her saddle, breathing hard. The fight in her eyes was a marvel, and as she sat listening to the cheers from Carris, she bowed her head in silent exultation.

“Come, my friends,” Saffira called, “before it is too late.” She spurred her mount north, galloping downhill toward Gaborn, but not making a direct charge.

She was angling west, away from the main force of the reavers.

Smart girl, Borenson thought. She’s pretending to charge, hoping to divert the reavers’ forces from Gaborn, even as she races west past Bone Hill. From there she would angle back around from the north, come at Gaborn from behind.

Ha’Pim and Mahket struggled to catch up, to ride at her side. Ahead lay Bone Hill, the fibrous cocoon around it gleaming dully like icicles in the evening, the fell mage at its crown gleaming from the opalescent runes tattooed into her carapace.

The great reaver stood with her citrine staff raised to the sky; the philia on her broad head rose and waggled as she sought to catch a scent.

Suddenly her enormous head swiveled toward Saffira, as if she’d taken notice. She pointed her staff toward Saffira’s entourage.

She thinks we’re attacking! Borenson realized almost too late. He did not know if anyone else saw her response. “Veer left!” he cried.

The fell mage hissed and light pulsed in her crystalline staff. The air around it exploded as a dark green cloud issued from its tip.

Saffira charged sharply left as the green haze pulsed out and slammed into the ground on her previous trajectory. The cloud carried an odor of rot so foul, so abominable, that Borenson did not merely smell it, he could feel his body struggle to respond, as if his skin would slough away and flesh decompose as he watched.

Saffira covered her face with a golden silk scarf, weaved a course perilously close to the nearest reaver. The ground trembled.

Pashtuk and the green woman were unceremoniously dumped from their mount.

Pashtuk grabbed the wylde and quickly tried to remount. The wylde struggled lightly in his grasp, as if eager to battle the reavers.

Saffira looked back, saw his predicament, and stopped her own horse, waiting for him.

“Watch out!” the child behind Borenson cried out. A blade-bearer rushed Saffira’s back. Her guards shouted, warning her.

Saffira lowered her head, wheeled and spurred her charger, as if hoping to draw the beast away from Pashtuk.

Almost casually the reaver swung its great talons, talons that gleamed wickedly on a forepaw that was as long as a horse.

The reaver smacked Saffira’s mare, breaking the horse’s neck and slapping it backward. Saffira tumbled over the top of her horse, bounced against one great claw, and vaulted into the dark recesses behind the reaver.

Three other reavers raced toward the spot.

Ha’Pim shouted in dismay and drew rein, leaping to dismount. A blade-bearer smacked him with a glory hammer as he landed. Blood and gore spattered Borenson’s face.

Mahket rode full of furor into the reavers, swinging a great battleaxe. He leapt into the mouth of the reaver that had struck Saffira, delivered a tremendous blow through its upper palate, and danced back out, swinging at another monster’s leg. His body was a blur of motion.

Pashtuk quit trying to mount his horse—simply hurled himself toward the closest charging reaver. He leapt up several feet in the air, struck down with his battle-axe at the base of the monster’s neck.

Borenson reined in his horse. There was a slim chance that Saffira would live. The blow she’d taken might only have broken a few bones.

Yet if she lived, she was now behind three reavers—or under them.

If they did not kill her outright, she’d be crushed.

“Get us out of here!” the child behind Borenson cried, clutching Borenson’s waist. The odor of rot that the fell mage had exuded was filling the area, gagging him.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. He was Saffira’s guard. She owned him more completely than he could ever imagine himself being owned again.

Yet he was also bound to Gaborn. He knew where his duty lay. Borenson had the wizard Binnesman’s wylde at hand. She was a potent weapon. Borenson needed to deliver her to Binnesman.

Weakly, Borenson heard Saffira cry out in Tuulistanese, “Ahretva! Ahret!”

Though he could not understand her plea, he now knew that she lived. The power of her Voice was more compelling than cold logic. The woman who had so courageously charged into the midst of the reavers to deliver her message now held his heart too firmly for him to resist.

So, Borenson thought dully, this is where I will make my battlefield. This is where I make my stand. It is not a battlefield I would have chosen.

With no endowments to aid him and with no apology to the child who rode behind, Borenson leapt from his mount and charged into battle.

Averan sat on her horse for half a second in dismay. Borenson and Saffira’s bodyguards had abandoned their mounts—all to defend Saffira.

The green woman remained in her saddle. A reaver’s blade arced overhead as two monsters raced toward her.

Averan shouted, “Foul Deliverer, Fair Destroyer: blood, yes! Kill!”

The green woman leapt from her horse onto the nearest reaver so swiftly that Averan almost did not see it. Spring slammed a fist into the reaver’s brain, shattering its skull, as if she’d finally figured out that this was the quickest way to get some of the goo that she liked.

Ahead of Averan, the two Indhopalese guards lopped the forearms off a reaver. The creature reared; tried to back away, while with terrifying slowness and clumsiness—or at least compared to warriors with endowments—Sir Borenson rushed up under its belly and started trying to chop between its thoracic plates. The guards turned to a reaver at their backs, trying to hack a path to Saffira.