Robert Hughes - The Power and the Prophet

Syth’s retreat had been more orderly than that of the Golden Throng. As a result, there had been fewer Mari casualties. Though they had further to come, his warriors were better prepared for battle. A couple of hundred Chaons preceded them up the road, eagerly following the lead of their queen. Syth honored their courage, but feared for them. If Pahd had properly marshalled his forces in the streets of the city above, these undisciplined Chaons stood little chance of surviving. Perhaps it was prejudice, but Syth thought it only reasonable that it would be his own force, skilled and experienced in the Mari way of battle, who would make the difference—assuming, of course, they were not all swept off the Down Road by some new act of sorcery.

Rocks and garbage began dropping from the cliffs. “Shields up!” Syth ordered, but most of his men had already had the good sense to cover themselves. No boiling oil or burning pitch fell yet. That made sense.

King Pahd had never expected them to advance this far, and had not prepared for such. Syth smiled grimly and raised his own shield against the fusillade of refuse.

There was now as much confusion on top of the plateau as there had been on the plain below less than an hour before. The destruction of the enemy by the tugolith had been so certain that no one had established any defensive strategy. Since there had never been any previous assault upon the city itself, the jorls and shurls loyal to Pahd were uncertain what its weak points would be. There were many things that could be done, of course, and not one of them thought for a moment that Syth and his allies would actually succeed in taking Ngandib. But

decisions needed to be made immediately—and King Pahd was not to be found.

There was no shortage of leaders shouting orders. Most prominent among them was Janos, Pahd’s cousin, who had long been Jorl of the Nethermar and was also the newly elected Citylord of Carlog. His contingent was the largest, aside from that from the capital city itself, and his intimacy with the king demanded respect. But Janos was arrogant and rude, and the men of the High City had never liked him.

Despite this present threat, they chose to wait for Pahd to lead them. A messenger was dispatched to the fortress to inform the king of these developments.

Thuganlitha had already reached the top of the road when the rider returned with startling news. He couldn’t get into the castle, but those on the walls had shouted down that King Pahd was dead. It was rumored that he’d been slain by traitors among his own palace guard. As the tugolith churned toward them, the men of the city quailed and fled. In its moment of crisis, the Mar was leaderless.

Janos was enraged, both by their cowardice and their unwillingness to accept his leadership. He barked an order, and those who served him lined up across the main thoroughfare, facing the Down Road. They didn’t have long to wait.

Chimolitha rumbled up onto the High Plateau. Not two steps behind the huge beast came Queen Bronwynn. Janos was shocked. He’d expected warriors, not a woman. Yet this woman was evidently a warrior as well. Her visage was fierce, and her tawny hair streamed from beneath a golden helmet. Her sword was out, and now she waved it toward the High Fortress and shrieked a savage battle cry. Gilded soldiers were spilling onto the plateau behind her. Janos raised his weapon and gave the command to charge.

Only a few obeyed him, for obvious reasons. Chimolitha was lumbering toward them, the golden queen at her side. Suddenly the beast stopped.

“Thug has gone back,” the tug explained apologetically to Bronwynn.

“Then go find him!” Bronwynn shouted, adrenaline coursing through her in anticipation of battle. “I’ll follow you there!”

“I can’t,” the tugolith told her.

“Why not?”

“There are men in the way.”

It took Bronwynn a moment to comprehend the problem. She glanced at Janos’s line, then cried, “Just run them down!”

Chimolitha gave the queen her most puzzled look. “I can’t,” she whined again, and Bronwynn demanded to know why. “It’s bad,” Chimolitha explained, and her huge eyes pleaded with Bronwynn for understanding. Chimolitha had two great virtues—a moral sense and a memory. If it was wrong to squash men on the field below, it was wrong to do so now. The young queen suddenly understood.

“You’re right, my friend. This is our battle. Stay here.” Bronwynn wheeled her horse back toward the High Fortress and screamed the command to attack. It was lost in the noises of warfare, for already the flanks had clashed together. She spurred her horse forward and closed the gap in the middle, riding hard for Janos. Her subjects swarmed in behind her, giving the watching tugolith a wide berth. As this wave broke on the defensive wall, the Mari warriors had to give ground. They were quickly reinforced, however, by the men of the city. Despite their hatred for Flayh and mistrust for Janos, they hated foreigners more. Those Chaons were invading their home!

Janos smirked as the woman rode toward him, expecting easy prey. He was unprepared for her shrewd handling of a blade. He had no way of knowing she’d been schooled in the arts of war by Admon Faye himself. Eventually his superior size and strength prevailed, and he was able to drive her back. He couldn’t manage to wound her, however, nor to knock her from her steed.

Bronwynn broke off and moved further down the line. Her concern was not to win individual duals, but to get through this wall of Maris and closer to Rosha. She was not a strategist. She could provide little leadership for her valiant cohorts, excepting that of example. So believing, she whirled toward a new opponent and attacked him. This man was less fortunate than Janos. He dropped from his saddle, gushing blood.

Syth and his warriors had finally reached the top of the road. A plan had already formed in his mind, and a quick glance at the situation assured him it had a chance of working. He broke off toward the right, leading his riders around the northern rim of the plateau.

Janos saw the maneuver. “Qirl! Ngarl!” he shouted to a pair of his lords still in the rear. “Mod Syth is circling! Cut him off!” Men sprang quickly to obey. The battle for Ngandib had started to radiate outward through the city.

In the midst of the struggle, Chimolitha stood calmly in her place. She gave little heed to the confusion all around her. She didn’t understand any of it, but she was used to not understanding the things that mankind did. She had done what she’d been told by a lady that she liked. That was good. And the lady had told her to wait here. She gazed placidly over the heads of the combatants at the high-gabled townhouses along the street and waited.

“Why me?” Joooms asked quietly. “Why not you?”

“Because Lord Flayh put me in charge, and I’m commanding you to do it!” Terril thundered.

“The man must be beside himself,” the dark wizard said dryly. “And so must you, to choose to battle Mar-Yilot on your own and let me play with the armies. But fair enough. I’ll be in the city, if you need me.”

“I can handle her by myself!” the twin-killer shouted, and Joooms’s only response was a chuckle that disappeared as he took his altershape. An instant later the lizard had skittered down a stairwell and was gone.

—She’s behind you, the High Fortress warned.

Terril instinctively cloaked himself and dodged aside. A sword that would certainly have impaled him whizzed on down the corridor, and Mar-Yilot muttered a new string of curses at the castle. Terril pinpointed the source of the sound. He dropped his cloak long enough to shoot a thought at a beam right above her invisible form. It ripped out of the wall and crashed to the floor, bringing a large chunk of the floor above with it. Through the dust, Terril made out a butterfly gliding upward. It escaped through the newly made hole in the ceiling into the next level, and it was Terril’s turn to swear.