Glen Cook - Splinter Of The Mind's Eye

The enemy broke. El Nadim's horsemen harried them back to their lines, killing scores, then flew back to their stations on their infantry's flanks, howling victoriously.

"Don't sing yet," the general muttered. "The worst is to come."

The historians would declare the honors even. Casualties were about equal. But the Guildsmen had been hurled back, and rendered incapable of delivering another massed charge.

El Nadim backed away from the brine. "Water for everyone," he ordered. "Horses too. Officers, get those standards aligned. I want every man in his proper position. See to the javelins. Slave volunteers out front with the shovels." The breeze was stronger. The sun had turned the lakebed into a gleaming mirror over which heat waves shimmered. He doubted the enemy could see him.

"Come on, Yousif," el Nadim muttered. "Don't stall."

The Wahlig decided to attack before the dust and heat completely debilitated his men. The Guild infantry began its advance.

"Now we find out." El Nadim moved up to the edge of the brine. When the enemy came in range, he ordered javelins thrown. The Guildsmen took the missiles on their shields, suffering little harm. But the javelins dropped into the water, where they floated haft up and tangled feet. The Guild line grew increasingly ragged.

The slave volunteers used slings to hurl stones over their comrades' heads, further sapping enemy morale.

"Now, Hali," el Nadim murmured. "Now is your time."

And in the distance white boiled out of the rocks and swept down on the enemy's camp and mounts and reserves. The Invincibles were outnumbered, but surprise was with them. They drove off most of the horses and slaughtered hundreds of unprepared warriors before Yousif forced them back into the shelter of the rocks.

El Nadim was pleased. Execution had been perfect, and the rear attack threat remained.

But now the Guildsmen were slogging up out of the brine. His own men were half ready to flee. He galloped across the rear of the line, shouting, "Hold them! Thirst is our ally."

The lines met. His men reeled back a step, then steadied up. Only a handful lost their courage. He chevied most back into the line with strokes from the flat of his blade.

The Guildsmen were as tough as ever. Without the heat, the sun in their eyes, the bitter dust, without their thirst, it would have been no contest.

The Guildsmen who had waded the deepest water appeared less than perfectly efficient. They had lost the cohesion of their shield wall, could not get it together again. El Nadim galloped back to his slave volunteers, ordered half to add their weight to that part of the line.

Javelins and stones rained on that sector. El Nadim's troops pushed forward by sheer body weight. The Guild line bowed. El Nadim signaled his cavalry.

The majority went to challenge the Wahlig's men, still busy skirmishing with Hali's Invincibles. A handful crossed behind the Guild line to harass Hawkwind's reserves and his least steady company.

Slowly, slowly, a fracture developed in the mercenary line. El Nadim bellowed with joy, gathered the rest of his reserves and plunged into the fray.

El Murid tried to follow the battle from a remote perch. He could tell little through the dust and heat shimmer. Nevertheless, it felt right. He gathered his officers and told them. They began placing their men.

The Guildsmen fought as well as ever they had, as magnificently in defeat as in victory. El Nadim could not rout them. But he drove them into their camp, then broke off to rest his men and water his mounts.

The victors laughed and congratulated one another, battered though they were. They had beaten Hawkwind! El Nadim withdrew them to their original stations and dared the enemy to try again.

Hawkwind and the Wahlig chose to withdraw. One Guild company contained Hali while the main force moved out, headed west.

In the gloaming a man approached El Murid. "They come, Lord. El Nadim did turn them back."

"The Lord is great." The Disciple could not stifle a grin. "Good. Spread the word."

The clatter of hooves and tramp of boots swelled in the darkness. A sour aura of disappointment reached the Disciple where he crouched, praying. A small unit passed below. The vanguard, he thought. He had to await the main force...

The time came. For a long minute terror paralyzed him. He could not shake his recollections of that fox den... Not again. Never again. Not even for the Lord...

He leapt up and screamed, "There is but one God, and he is our Lord!" And, "Attend me now, O Angel of the Lord!"

His amulet blazed, illuminating the slope. He flung his arm down. Lightning hammered the canyon walls. Boulders flew around like toys at the hand of a petulant child. The earth quivered, shivered, shook. The far slope groaned in protest, then collapsed.

The roar of falling rock obliterated the cries from below.

When the rumbling stopped El Murid ordered the Invincibles down to finish the survivors.

He settled on a stone and wept, releasing all the fear that had plagued him for days.

Lightning Strikes

C ome on, Reskird. You're dogging it."

Haroun cocked his head. That was the one called Bragi. The northern youths argued all the time. The more so since their company had cracked on the battle line. The one called Reskird was wounded. His friends ragged him mercilessly while they helped him walk.

The clang of weapons round the rearguard redoubled. The Disciple's men were keyed to a fever pitch by their success. He wished he could drop back and use his shaghûn's skills, but his father insisted he remain with his Guild charges.

This feuding between northmen was irritating. He dismounted. "Put him on my horse. Then you won't have to carry him."

The one called Haaken grumbled, "Fool probably never learned to ride. You ever been on a horse, Reskird?"

Kildragon's response was as testy. "I know one's arse when I... "

A brilliant light flared on the slope to the south. A man screamed words Haroun did not catch. Then the lightning came.

Boulders thundered into the column. Horses reared, screamed, bolted. Men cried out. Confusion quickly became panic.

Haroun retained his self-control. He faced the light, began mumbling a spell...

A fist-sized stone struck his chest. The wind fled him. He felt bones crack. Red pain flooded him. Hands grabbed him, kept him from falling, hoisted him. He groaned once, then darkness descended.

A sliver of moon hung low in the east. Haroun saw nothing else, and that only as through a glass of murky water...

"He's coming around." That was one of the northerners. He forced his vision to focus, rolled his head. The brothers squatted beside him. Haaken had his arm in a light sling. He appeared to be covered with dried blood.

Around them, now, Haroun discerned other shapes, men sitting quietly, waiting. "What happened?"

Bragi said, "Some sorcerer dumped a mountain on us."

"I know that. After that."

"We threw you on the horse and headed for the wizard just as his men charged us. We cut our way through and wound up here with the General. More men keep turning up. Your father is out looking for strays."

"How bad was it?"

The mercenary shrugged. He was floating on the edge of shock. For that matter, everyone around them seemed dulled, turned inward. It had been bad, then. A major defeat, consuming all the hopes raised by the advent of the Guildsmen.

Haroun tried to rise. Haaken made him lie still. "Broken ribs," he growled. "You'll poke a hole in your lung."

"But my father—"

"Sit on him," Bragi suggested.

Haaken said, "Your old man's gotten along without you so far."

Still Haroun tried to rise. Pain bolted across his chest. Lying still was the only way to beat it.