Page 87 of Valdemar

He called up mage-sight . . . and got nothing. “I don’t know!” he shouted back, “but it’s not magic!”

Whatever it was . . . heat blasted up at them from the narrow gap between the roof of the turtle and the wall. The howling and babbling of the creatures didn’t let up at all, and he knew that it was having an effect upon the morale of the defenders. If anything, now they sounded eager.

“They’re burning through the main gate!” Kordas added, his heart plummeting. “They’re going to get through!”

• • •

:Ardatha says the weather is ours,:Darshay reassured Restil.

:That’s a relief. What about Jonaton and the Old Men? What about their students?:he replied to her. Restil and Starbird waited about six cart-lengths from the gate, surrounded by the other Heralds and Companions, inside a ring of riderless Companions. To either side of them were two wings of guards, butted up against the wall, so that nothing was going to be able to evade combat by going around the Companions. Storm clouds boiled up overhead as Darshay kept Restil apprised of how matters stood on the other side of the wall. And it was not good—Valdemar was not losing soldiers yet, but they would, very soon. Versus a host of horrors like that, every single soul that could wield a weapon counted.

No one said anything; they all knew what was going on thanks to their Companions. Restil had already put shields up over himself and Starbird; more shields bubbled around the other Herald-Mages, who in turn extended their shields to as many who were not mages as they could.

Thanks to Darshay, they were ready when the cluster of the dust-covered shields blundered into sight and then stopped, the maka’arpresumably loitering in place, trying to figure out what to do next. Beams of mage-light illuminated each of the maka’ar one by one from over by the Palace entry, and juddered about with every abrupt—possibly panicked—movement inside the opaque dust spheres.

“Wait for it!” he shouted, as the Companions backed up, one hoof at a time, until the ground beneath the dust-bubble cluster was clear of any living being. The clouds overhead went black, and a primal fear went through him—no matter how sophisticated Valdemarans might be, everything alive felt fear of a violent storm. His ears popped, twice. The Heralds didn’t need the warning to hold, but the guards did. Arrows and lead shot from slings would just bounce off those shields and come raining back down on them if anyone took a shot right now.

:What goes up,:Darshay said, :will come down.:

Somewhere deep inside himself, under a thick blanket of enforced calm, he was screaming. It was one thing to face a giant boar, even a dozen of them. It was quite another to face an army of horrors, backed by a powerful Adept with unknown abilities. Thus far, the Valdemaran side was winning, and even so, it made his stomach lurch.

Suddenly, lightning began striking outside the wall, and near-deafening thunder accompanied each bolt. The noise was incredible. The deep booms of the Poomers, the screaming on the other side of the wall, the shouts of the Lord Martial and the Fairweathers bellowing orders on the battlements to those who did not have the benefit of Companions. The smells, ranging from acrid shocks of smoke to, gods help him, savory cooked flesh. The very occasional Mindvoice that was Ardatha relaying information to those who did not have Companions. Somehow Ardatha managed to keep that to a sort of dull whisper, easily ignored if it was nothing that Heralds needed to know.

The clouds turned black, and roiled like a boiling pot.

He felt the magic building between earth and sky; that was Palonia. But she couldn’t do anything about the flyers yet, not unless and until the Adept dropped those shields. But by the same token, the maka’arwere blinded and useless unless she did so. They appeared stalemated.

“Wait for it!” he shouted again, just to make sure everyone heard.

And then, between one moment and the next—the dust bubbles became a cloud that blew away on the wind; the maka’arappeared, looking down at them, trying to get their bearings and pick out a target—

A dust-static-enhanced lightning bolt shot from ground to the cloud above, branching like a magnificent tree made of white light, and the maka’arwere fated to no longer be in the air.

Palonia gestured, and the clouds answered her, with a fist of roaring tempest-wind and a torrent of water slamming straight down onto the dazed maka’ar. It was a stupendous sight, because the water looked so gentle at the edges and caught the light, casting rainbows, but inside, it was raging. It was no longer a collection of raindrops, it was a cohesive, seething wall of water half the size of the Palace and a quarter as thick, coming down fast.

With harsh, strangled cries of alarm barely audible through the roar of falling water, the maka’ar found themselves slammed into the unforgiving earth.

The “splash” from the water and wind slammed into Restil’s shields, as the guards on either side of them cowered behind their very physical shields. They’d been warned that Palonia might use this spell, and his shouts of “Wait for it!” plus the state of the clouds had given them plenty of warning to brace against what was coming. Even so, it had more force than he’d imagined. The ground did more than shake, it heaved upward in reaction to the hundreds of tons of weight impacting it. People, statuary, arbors, and sheds not flattened by the shock wave of that much water’s impact were rocked by the intake of air into the downdraft and back out again.

His senses were assaulted by the blast of air that carried with it the scents of grass, mud, and a peculiar, vomitous reptilian stench that must be the maka’ar.

Now perhaps only twenty screams arose from the broken maka’ar thrashing on the sodden ground, some half immersed in the newly dug pond.

“NOW!”Restil screamed, and Ardatha echoed that command into everyone’s mind on this side of the wall. Neither the guards nor the Heralds hesitated; arrows, bolts and balls of flame, lead shot, and spears torrented into that pile of floundering wings and legs. Three Heralds atop their Companions broke to the right of him, and ran down the nearby survivors stuck to the ground, sending man-high sprays of mud with every hoofbeat.

And then, the unexpected. As the dying maka’arscreeched and flailed, the earth boiled up, carrying them with it for a moment—then they disappeared into a seething mass of dirt and grass clumps. All of them.

Everyone stopped to stare at the place where the maka’ar had been.

. . . I guess Pebble isn’t a vegetarian . . .

But there was no time for anything but that single thought, because two figures not dressed in white or Guard uniforms ran headlong around the back of the guards and headed for the stairs to the top of the wall beside the gate. Restil recognized them only at the last moment, and frantically sought for his Companion’s mind. :Darshay! That’s—:

:Lythe and Rothas. I’ve warned the others so they don’t get shot.:

All he could do was turn his attention back to the gate—which was going to be breached at any moment. The iron hinges of the door on this side—easily a handsbreadth thick—glowed a dull red in lines where the hinges had been fastened to the stone. Whatever unholy non-magical thing the Adept had cooked up to burn through the metal, it was still working, and it wasn’t going to be too long before they faced an onslaught of men and monsters.

He glanced over at Starbird, who was carefully putting the arrow she’d had nocked to her bow back in the quiver at her knee.

“Why—”

:Because they’re poisoned, and I don’t want to scratch myself or anyone else with it. I carry a seedpod with a wool ball soaked in paralytic, and in case of big trouble, I push it to the bottom of the quiver so arrowpoints soak in it.:

His face must have shown his astonishment at hearing her, but he tried answering her the same way. :Is that going to hurt Pebble?:

:It appears to be immune to poison. You would not believe what it can eat.:She gave him a sidelong glance. :I’m glad you have Mindspeech with people too.:

:I’m glad it’s with you,: Restil blurted.

:The gate is about to break. I suggest you keep your minds on the enemy.:That was Ardatha’s Mindvoice, and the dry tone made him blush and turn his attention back where it belonged.

Because Ardatha was right. The gate was about to break. The good news was that the tunnel through the wall’s gatehouse was so narrow, only a few monsters would be able to come at them at a time. The bad news was, well, that they were monsters. And that they far outnumbered the Valdemarans. And both sides knew it.