Part 30 (1/2)

More arrows and shot whisked past his ears and flung two Skythians back, screaming as they writhed on the ground. Three more leaped over them, rough blades at the ready. These were weapons manufactured from hammered metal, twisted rope for handles and blades already dulled from combat. They were nothing like the Spike swords a many-folded, much-forged works of art that would take a thousand impacts before any sign of wear.

Yet the Skythians' faces were twisted with anger and hatred, and for the first time it crossed Sol's mind that their mission here had already failed. Maybe these are the Kolts! he thought. But he had read accounts of those mad, d.a.m.ned things and what they could do, and heard stories pa.s.sed through the ranks, both up and down, upon news of their posting. Kolts would fall and rise again, limbs missing and torsos punctured by a dozen arrows. Kolts could wave arrows aside and bend swords with a look. Kolts were Skythians cursed to kill their own. Before him were a people furious about the invasion of their land, but when an arrow or blade hit them they stayed down.

'Legs!' Sol shouted, because he realised the rush of enemy was too much. The spear women knelt and swept their weapons left and right, slas.h.i.+ng tendons and muscles, tripping their a.s.sailants. Sol and the swordsmen stalked forward and finished the fallen, then raised their blades to face those following on behind. Sol slashed one man across the guts, stabbed another in the groin, ducked a heavy blade. A Spike's arrow killed the blade wielder, and Sol shoved the falling body back to trip up his comrades.

A warm spray of blood splashed across his face and blurred his vision, and as he wiped his eyes he felt something strike his hip. He grunted, twisted violently to the left. His flesh ripped and metal sc.r.a.ped across his hip bone, and he roared in agony as he brought his own sword around in a killing sweep. He felt the resistance as it entered flesh, and as he blinked away the blood he withdrew his blade and stabbed forward.

The dead Skythian still clasped the spear that had pierced Sol's side. Poison, he thought, but if so, there was nothing he could do. He and the other Spike soldiers forced the flow of enemy back onto the bridge, ten against a hundred. They walked over the bodies of those they had dropped, some of them dead, many still writhing beneath their boots. They were invincible.

Sol's vision blurred from the pain, and he bit his lip and screamed in rage. As the rush of enemy seemed to diminish a not only in numbers, but also in confidence a something made him turn around.

He could see Gallan and the others making headway, but beyond the battle, beneath the trees where the firelight barely reached, something was moving.

We won't fight off more of them, he thought. Resignation hovered close by, but he would not allow it to settle. A Spike soldier never gave up, and as their Blader he would fight until he had spilled his blood and shed his limbs.

Away from the bridge by one of the fires, Gallan turned, some finely honed sense telling him that his attention was required. He caught Sol's eye, and Sol pointed out towards the trees. Gallan looked in that direction ... and paused.

Sol looked again. The shadows had manifested, lit pale by reflected firelight. Such stillness seemed out of place within the sounds and smells of battle. And such stillness he had seen before.

'Lechmy Borle,' he said, speaking the name of his love as blood soaked his bare leg. She sat on a huge s.h.i.+re, a man on a similar beast beside her. From this far away Sol could not make out her expression, but he did not need to. He would love her silhouette. He would love the idea of her, the memory, and all the s.p.a.ces she had ever filled.

The man beside her held something in his hand. As he lifted it, the fighting ceased.

There was no gradual falling away of the battle. One moment metal clashed and bodies fell; the next Skythians dropped their arms and went to their knees. Spike soldiers killed a few more, and then paused in their a.s.sault, confused.

Surrender, Sol thought, and he knew that his Blade must honour such a gesture.

But then he realised that he was wrong. This was nothing like surrender. He turned back to the enemy he had been facing, all of them kneeling on or beside the bodies of their fallen brethren littering the old stone bridge, and they all stared past him with a strange expression in their eyes.

Wonder.

And awe.

They had galloped into the night, the s.h.i.+res pounding at the snow-covered ground, fine snow stinging Bon's face and blurring his vision, Leki gripping her reins in one hand while the other arm was tied tight across her chest, and Bon had followed her without question. She knew where they were going. And he carried what they would need when they arrived.

Now they stood at the edge of the clearing before the river, and Leki seemed transfixed by the scene before them.

Bon had never witnessed anything like this. He could smell blood and smoke on the air. Several large bonfires illuminated the river bridge and the areas at either end with dancing light, and it seemed to make the people there a dead, kneeling and standing a quiver and dance. Snow had been churned into a muddied mess. Weapons glinted. He saw the pale leather of Spike uniforms, and they looked so out of place.

'The Engine?' Bon whispered.

'Not here,' Leki said, still motionless. 'But Sol.'

'Your husband.' The way she spoke his name ... That should have told him everything. And yet he sensed a tension in her, and as he urged his s.h.i.+re forward to draw level with Leki, she glanced sidelong at him. She looked sad.

But this was beyond both of them, and she looked at the thing in his hand.

'They already sense it,' she said. 'The slaughter has stopped.'

'Let's hope we can keep it that way,' Bon said. 'Leki ...'

'Bon. Not now.' She seemed terribly pained. He wanted to hold her. But the pressure of events weighed heavy, and there was no time to waste.

'Your arm,' he said.

Leki smiled. 'The pain led us here. Small price to pay if we can stop ...' She nodded past him at the frozen battle.

'That, and everything else,' Bon said. 'Will you ride with me?'

They moved off together, s.h.i.+res side by side. The animals snorted and sweated, and Bon discovered a new respect for the creature that had carried him so far, so quickly.

They crossed the river's flood plain, and soon the snow turned slushy, and then dirtied with mud and blood. They pa.s.sed the first dead bodies, and their wounds were shocking, gaping, exposing insides to the fire-lit night. No one should ever see that, Bon thought, but as the s.h.i.+res walked closer, he saw so much more.

He held the object handed to him by Venden, his not-quite-son, and knew that it was the focus of attention. That such an object could exude so much power confused him, and he imagined the false G.o.ds of the Fade kneeling and trembling before him, as these Skythians did now.

But this was not fear the Skythians were displaying, and perhaps not even homage. They watched him and Leki with respect, and hope. His own hope was that they would not kill the messenger.

A gift from Aeon's heart, Venden had whispered. Bon had not known his son's voice at all, though his imagination had let him place a little boy's voice in that alien mouth.

They paused by the furthest fire from the bridge, and Bon raised the bone object in one hand.

A whisper ran around them, like shadows cavorting just out of sight. The Skythians watched, almost hypnotised, and the whisper came from them. Not their mouths, or the slight movements in their nervous stances. This whisper was the intensity of their regard.

'What are we supposed to do with it?' Leki asked.

'He didn't tell me,' Bon said. The bone seemed suddenly heavy with potential, his arm muscles locking, cramping. He knew that he needed to think of something quickly.

The Spike soldiers were taking their enemy's fascination as an opportunity to regroup. They walked among the kneeling or p.r.o.ne Skythians, stepping over the dead, keeping a wary eye open, and gathered together not far from where Bon and Leki sat on their exhausted s.h.i.+res. The soldiers kept close to one of the large fires, ready to s.h.i.+ft behind it should the Skythians attack again. They would not wish themselves silhouetted against the flames.

A man and two women broke from the group and walked towards them.

'Your husband?' Bon asked softly.

'Don't speak,' Leki said. 'Not a word.'

Bon examined the trio. The limping man was tall, strong, handsome, everything he imagined a Spike Blader should be. One woman was short and slight, vicious looking, with a blood-soaked bandage around her throat. Her companion was heavier and pretty. She carried a thick wooden spear, its handle wet and dark.

Blood. They were all covered in it, perhaps theirs, more likely their victims'. Their eyes glared from smeared faces. Firelight glinted.

'I need to tell him about-'

'Let me do the talking, Bon.'

The two women held back slightly, turning their backs on their Blader and watching the shadows. Leki's husband a Sol Merry, she'd told Bon, a name so unsuited to this blood-soaked daemon that he almost laughed a strode directly to their s.h.i.+res and stood between the creatures' heads, glancing back and forth between Leki and Bon.

'Who is this?' Sol asked. His voice was surprisingly soft, yet it commanded attention.

'Bon Ugane,' Leki said. 'He's been helping me.'

Sol nodded, eyes fixed at last on Leki. 'You look different, Leki. Yet it's still so good to see you.'