CHAPTER
TWENTY
BY THE TIME NIKLAS AND CARR RETURNED TO the camp at Mirdalur, the wind had become a force to fight against. Freezing rain began to fall, and the temperature had grown colder. The gray sky was dark, though it was still early in the day, far too early for Dolan and the Knights to be awake.
“Let’s get the horses inside,” Niklas said. “It’s time to hunker down.”
Niklas and Carr shook off the worst of the rain and headed into an old stone barn that had been patched up to serve as a barracks. Niklas’s men had shored it up with enough repairs to make it habitable for the time it took to make Mirdalur ready to anchor the magic.
“There are a couple of card games going if you want to join in,” Ordel, the senior healer, said in greeting.
Niklas managed a tired smile. “Depending on how long we’re stuck in here, I might just be tempted.” He looked up as the timbers overhead creaked and groaned as the winds battered the structure. “How long do you think the repairs will hold if the storm gets worse?”
Ordel shrugged. He was a decade older than Niklas, and the hardships of the last few years had taken their toll. To Niklas’s eye, Ordel looked tired.
“We’ll see,” Ordel replied. “The walls weren’t in good shape, and we didn’t have time to really repair them.” He sighed. “You know what they say, ‘Only a fool fights the wind.’ ” He paused. “How is it, up above?”
Niklas shrugged. “Winds are almost too strong to stand against. Freezing rain.”
“Let’s hope the ice doesn’t put too much weight on the roofs.”
Niklas grimaced. “I can only worry about so many things at once.” He walked over to where the mages clustered together in one corner of the room. “Any news?” he asked.
Dagur looked up. “All the signs point to a long run of storms, some from the north and others coming up from the coast.”
Niklas nodded. It was what he had expected, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “If you can’t shift the storm, can you protect our men and supplies?”
Dagur brightened. “That we’ve done. We’ve placed a preservation spell on the supplies, and protection spells on the barns.” He grimaced. “Problem is, the magic is flickering like a candle—probably because of the storms. So we’ve placed the wardings, but there’s no guarantee they’ll hold.”
Ayers walked up from behind Niklas. “Glad the two of you made it back,” he said with a nod toward Carr. “Everything go well at the wedding?” One look at their expressions, and Ayers gave a low whistle. “Well then, maybe we should discuss something else.”
“I didn’t get the chance to tell you everything I found out on my last scouting trip,” Carr said, lifting his chin defiantly. “There are Tingur, plenty of them, on the move.”
Niklas turned his full attention to Carr. “How close? How many? Headed where?”
“When I spotted them, they were headed northwest, toward the Solveigs’ lands,” Carr reported. “I shadowed them for as long as I dared. They’re a tight bunch, and I didn’t think that I could infiltrate them, even if I knocked some bloke over the head and stole his robes.”
Thank the gods for small favors, Niklas thought. He had noticed that Carr had fresh bruises on his face and raw scratches on his hands when he showed up at Glenreith, but at the time, Carr’s prisoner had been the focus of attention. I’m betting that Carr had a closer call than he’s letting on.
“Here’s another thing,” Carr added, and his expression gave Niklas to suspect that Carr had withheld this bit of information to get himself back into his commander’s good graces. “There were messengers going back and forth between Lysander’s camp and the Tingur. That’s how I found the Tingur in the first place.”
“Do you think they were headed here?” Niklas asked.
Carr grimaced. “It’s possible. But if they stayed on their course toward the Solveigs, I’d bet Glenreith is a more likely target.”
Niklas swore under his breath. “So one way or the other, we’ll be fighting them soon.”
“There’s food and ale near the fire,” Ordel said, with a nod in the direction of where Niklas’s soldiers had added a fireplace and chimney to take the chill from the damp old barn. The small hearth was no match for the large space or the frigid wind outside.
As Carr walked away, Niklas noted that his limp was more pronounced.
“That boy has a real strong death wish,” Niklas muttered.
Ordel sighed. “I suspect that’s true.” He paused. “We have very little knowledge of how the Madness affects survivors. He might not be fully in control of himself.”
“I feel like I’m watching him attempt suicide over and over again until he gets it to work,” Niklas said, running a hand back through his hair. “If it were anyone but Carr, I’d say that he was bucking for a promotion. Or that he was showing off for the rest of the troops.”
“Carr’s young,” Ordel replied. “I suspect you had a few reckless moments yourself.”
Niklas shook his head. “This is different. It’s like each time Carr does something foolhardy and it doesn’t kill him, the next time he ups the stakes. And sooner or later, he’ll get his wish.”
Ordel jerked his head toward the large, open barracks. “Go on. Do a walkabout. You’ll feel better.”
The barn had been nothing but old stone walls when Niklas and his men arrived at Mirdalur. It lacked a roof, and the floor of the loft had long ago rotted completely away, as had many of the supporting timbers. There were actually two parts to the old barn: the main section, which once had a high loft, and a single-story side building that was probably used for tack or storage. The soldiers slept in the large barn, while Niklas and the mages had claimed the smaller building as a command center. Niklas was glad he had put his soldiers to work shoring up both the barn and a nearby stable, since their tents would have been no match for the brutal storm, and their horses needed shelter.
Still, as the winds howled across the roof, Niklas watched the old stone walls with a wary eye. Those walls have stood for a long time, he argued to himself. If they outlasted the Great Fire, surely they’ll make it through a few more storms. The timbers creaked again, and the wind outside howled, a worrisome sound.
Niklas was just about to head from the small building into the larger barn when there was a loud crack followed by the roar of falling rock. Men screamed, and rock dust billowed through the large open area.
“What in Raka was that?” one of the guards asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Niklas said. He set off at a run as men crowded toward him, choking and waving at the clouds of dust. Ordel appeared out of the mayhem at his side.
“I figure you’re going to need a healer,” Ordel replied.
Niklas and Ordel fought against the tide of frightened soldiers. Niklas nearly gagged on the thick dust. “Clear the way!”
“Roof’s falling in on us, Captain!” one of the soldiers said as Niklas pushed past him. “Rocks coming down—one of the walls just let go.”
Niklas made it halfway across the barn before the cause became clear. “Sweet Esthrane and Charrot,” he groaned, looking at the heap of rubble. Part of a wall had collapsed with a tumble of building stones and timber. More was in danger of falling with every icy blast of wind, and their shelter against the elements was now open to the rain and cold.
“It’s the ice,” Ordel said. “Those walls weren’t in good shape, and after all they’ve been through, the ice was probably the last straw. All it would have taken was for the magic to flicker when the walls were under stress.”
“We’ve got men under there,” Niklas said. “We’ve got to get to them.” He looked around. “And we need to get the others to shelter.” He sighed. “Whether Dolan likes it or not, I say we send them into the tunnels down below.”
By now, Ayers had caught up to them and was swearing under his breath as the extent of the damage became clear. “If we’re not careful, we risk bringing more of it down on top of us.”
“We’ve got to get in there,” Niklas said. “There could be survivors.” He looked to Ayers. “Get half the men to shelter in the tunnels—try to keep them away from where the Knights are sleeping for the day. We’ll take shifts, one group digging while the other group gets warm and rests. And send me the mages. Maybe they can help.”
Ayers nodded and headed off, shouting orders as he went. Three soldiers shouldered their way through the crowd, and Niklas recognized them as being his best engineers.
“What can we do to get through to the men on the other side?” Niklas asked. “We’ve got to get in there, but I don’t want to bring more of the roof down on us.”
One of the engineers turned toward Niklas. “It’s the wind and the weight of the ice that brought the wall down,” he said. “The problem is, we could begin digging, and have more rubble fall.”
Niklas nodded. “If we wait until the storm passes, we’re not likely to pull anyone out alive.”
Signar, the senior engineer, was a broad-shouldered man with graying temples who looked more than a decade older than Niklas. He stroked his close-cropped beard as he thought. “It would help if we could get a team outside,” he said. “What we really need to know is whether there’s another wall waiting to fall in.”
A gust of wind blasted through the opening in the wall. “No one’s going to be able to stay out long, between the wind and the cold,” Niklas said.
“You had the right idea,” Signar said. “We’ll work in teams, take shifts.”
“You’ve got a team,” Carr said from behind them. “I’ll go.”
“Me, too,” another voice answered.
“And me.” Voice after voice echoed the phrase.
“I’ll go with them,” Signar said. “If there’s another wall waiting to collapse, we either need to shore it up or bring it down in the opposite direction. Then we can start removing the rubble.”
“I don’t want to lose men to exposure on top of what we’ve lost to the cave-in.” Niklas replied.
“Neither do I,” Signar said. “I’ll do my best not to let that happen.” He looked to his fellow engineers. “Kornus and Poul—stay here with the captain and see what you can do.”
“I need some of you to circle around and see if anyone got out on the other side,” Niklas ordered. “Those are your friends under there. The sooner we get to them, the more men live through this. Go.”
Niklas paced and then he stopped and looked at Ordel. “Does your healing magic tell you if we’ve got wounded in there?” he asked.
Ordel closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Several.”
“And dead?”
Ordel paused for a few moments. “Harder to sense. But… there aren’t as many alive as there should be.”
“Damn.”
Ordel opened his eyes. “It may not mean the rest are dead,” he cautioned. “Perhaps they managed to escape.”
Signar returned after half a candlemark. “Well?” Niklas demanded.
“One of the walls of the barn partially collapsed, bringing a section of the roof with it,” Signar replied. “The others aren’t in good shape. We think we’ve got them supported enough to hold while we dig for survivors.” He eyed the beams overhead. “I think it’s wise to move the men underground. The less time we spend here, the safer we’ll be.”
Niklas drew a deep breath. “All right. Go. Make sure you give the same news to the men on the other side. And let them know I’ll send up fresh troops in a candlemark or so.”
Signar nodded, then took off, shouldering his way through the crowd.
Niklas turned to the others, who had gathered close, trying to hear. “Listen up! We’re going to form two lines, and we’ll pass the rocks hand to hand to clear the area.” He moved to the front of one of the lines. Ordel moved to the back of the area with the other healers to prepare to care for the wounded.
“Put your backs into it!” Niklas said, handing a heavy chunk of rock to the man behind him, who turned and passed the rock down the long line of men. From the grim looks on their faces, Niklas could see that the men understood the urgency.
“Got my shoes and got my pack,” one of the men behind Niklas sang out above the howl of the wind.
“Headed out, ain’t comin’ back,” the others responded.
“Got my sword and got my shield,” the soldiers on the left side of the corridor sang.
“Left my home and left my fields,” those on the right responded.
The call-and-response was an old one, well-known to soldiers in the Donderath army. Hearing it lifted Niklas’s heart. No one knew how many verses there were. That chant had carried them from the Meroven border, mile upon weary mile. The verses ranged from silly to obscene, but the cadence was a comforting heartbeat. And today, as they passed rubble down the line, it was the defiant chorus that refused to give in to death itself.
Niklas lost track of time. One of his lieutenants came forward to relieve him. Exhausted, Niklas nodded in agreement, but instead of resting he stood to one side, watching the line, determined to remain part of the rescue effort until he was certain of the fate of the men trapped by the cave-in. Dagur and the other mages walked up and down along the walls that remained, reinforcing their wardings.
After a while, Ordel led fresh troops to relieve the men in the lines. “Go get warm and eat something,” Ordel ordered. “You’ll be coming back before long.” He looked at Niklas. “I sent a relief team outside as well. You should go for a while, too. You can’t stay here all night,” Ordel said when he reached Niklas.
“Watch me.” Niklas’s hands were white with rock dust and streaked dark with blood from dozens of places where the sharp stone had cut his skin.
“You’ve been at this for three candlemarks. Let someone else take a turn, and come back when you’ve rested. You’re no good to your men half-dead,” Ordel argued in a low voice.
Niklas gave him a sidelong glance that let Ordel know just what he thought of the advice. Niklas’s shoulders and back ached, as did his lower body from bending and lifting. His hands were a cut-up mess. “Just a little while longer,” Niklas said. “The men underneath—they don’t have much time left.”
“It may already be too late,” Ordel replied. “In which case, killing yourself won’t help.”
Niklas nodded, and shook a sodden lock of hair out of his eyes. “I know that. But we’re going to keep digging as long as there’s a chance we’ve got men alive in there.”
Ordel nodded. “We’ll patch up the other group and send them back in a candlemark or so,” he replied, heading back toward the tunnels.
“Watch out!” the man behind Niklas shouted. The pile of rubble shifted, and men scrambled back.
“We’re getting closer, Captain,” the soldier shouted. “Not much longer now!”
The men behind Niklas gave a weary roar of triumph. Niklas was bone tired and every muscle ached, but the thought that they might be close to success gave him a surge of energy. Behind him, the soldiers swung into a new chorus of the cadence.
“Get back!” Dagur’s voice barely carried above the rowdy chant. “Get back now, all of you!”
A loud boom sounded, and more of the damaged wall began to tumble toward them. Niklas gave the men behind him a shove with all his might. Chunks of stone rained down on them. Hoarse screams and shouting carried above the wind. The cold air was choked with dust.
“Move back!” Niklas shouted, ending in a fit of coughing as the rock dust filled his lungs. The dust was thick enough that it was almost impossible to see. Somewhere in the blinding grit and lashing winds, Niklas could hear men scrambling for safety, cursing and shouting. He stumbled blindly, and his feet caught on debris that might have been stones from overhead or the bodies of fallen comrades.
Something hard and heavy slammed into Niklas, catching him low in the back and sending him sprawling. He probed over his head with his fingertips, only to find two large timbers that both sheltered him from the worst of the collapse, and trapped him beneath it.
Niklas smelled blood and urine, and the pungent odor of entrails. He put a hand to his aching head, and his palm came away sticky with blood. Niklas carefully shifted, seeing how much room he had to move his legs. The effort sent pain arcing down his back intense enough to make him cry out. He gasped, then choked on the dust. Somewhere in the darkness, he heard men calling out for help.
“Can you hear me?” Niklas shouted. “Sound off if you hear me!”
“Jacobs.”
“Renden.”
“Jonsen.”
“Pattersen.”
One by one, men called out their names in the darkness until Niklas had counted eight other men trapped in the new collapse.
“Can’t move my legs, Cap’n,” a man called back. “Can’t feel them, neither.”
“I can move, I think,” another soldier answered. “But I’m wedged in and I’m scared I’ll bring the rest down on me.”
“Sit tight,” Niklas responded. “Ayers and the others know we’re here. They’ll come after us.”
Rubble blocked out wind and light, and Niklas lost track of time. Overhead, he could hear rocks grinding and falling. The air beneath grew warm and stale, and Niklas’s body cramped. Even if he could shift, he was afraid it would worsen the collapse. Fatigue eventually won out and allowed him restless sleep.
He woke with a start, and fought down panic. It was too quiet. Niklas wondered whether the others were sleeping, dead, or unconscious. Lying amid the rubble, Niklas let dreams take him. Memories of his boyhood at Arengarte seemed as fresh as if they had happened yesterday.
“Got a shovel, got a pick,” distant voices sang out.
“Dig in deep and make it stick,” other voices answered.
“Gonna get the captain free,” the first voices responded.
“Pour some grog and one for me,” came the reply.
The impromptu verses shook Niklas out of slumber. “Wake up!” he called, his voice a dry croak. “Did you hear that? They’re digging for us!”
“I think we’ve lost Jonsen, Cap,” Renden said. “When I gave him a shake, he’s cold and he didn’t say nothin’.”
“Let them know we’re down here,” Niklas said. “Give a shout!” They called out as loudly as they could, coughing and gagging in the dust.
“They’re alive down there!” Ayers’s voice carried, muffled through the rock and debris. “Pick up the speed, boys. Let’s get them out.”
Metal scraped on rock as the rescuers pried the rubble loose. Niklas ducked at a shower of small stones and dust that tumbled down from overhead. Please don’t let them get us crushed, he thought. Not when they’re this close.
Fresh, cold air rushed into the space where Niklas and his men were trapped, and they greeted it with weary cheers. Every stone the rescuers removed sent a shudder through the precarious support that held up the timbers over Niklas’s head. He tried to wriggle forward, but the pain made him gasp. Night had fallen.
“Be careful. If those timbers shift, we die,” Niklas rasped.
“Don’t worry, Captain. We’re working on it.” Niklas recognized the voice. It was Liam, one of the talishte soldiers.
“Hold still,” Liam said, carefully wriggling through the hole the others had cleared. He maneuvered so that he had his back against the timbers that angled over Niklas’s head. “All right,” Liam called to the rescuers. “Go ahead. I can hold this.”
Stone by stone, the opening grew larger until Niklas could make out the shadowy shapes of men in the torchlight.
“There were eight of us when the roof came down,” Niklas told Liam. “Take the worst-off first.”
Liam shook his head. “We’ve got to take you out in the order we come to you, Captain. The mages are helping hold this pile up, but it’s been shifting, and the storm hasn’t helped. They’re going to have to start nearest the entrance and work their way back.”
Even as Liam spoke, Niklas saw two figures carefully lift a man’s body and carry it out through the hole the rescuers had made in the debris.
“Watch the arm! I think it’s pinned,” Renden cautioned as the figures returned for him. Niklas heard the sound of rocks grinding against each other, and the timbers groaned ominously as the rescuers tried to free Renden.
“It’s crushed. I can get you out, but I can’t move the rock without bringing everything down on our heads,” one of the rescuers cautioned.
“Do it,” Renden replied. His voice trembled. “Just do it.”
A moment later, Niklas heard the dull thud of steel on bone and a man’s raw scream. Soldiers carried Renden out, the bleeding stump of his arm soaking his dust-caked shirt. Patterson crawled out, followed by Jacobs.
“Time to go,” Liam said.
“There were eight of us,” Niklas said.
“Only five alive,” Liam replied. “Sorry.”
Two talishte soldiers crawled through the cramped space to get to Niklas. “When we take you out and Liam lets go of those timbers, this whole place is likely to come down,” one of the soldiers said. “We’ve got to be fast, so we might not be gentle.”
“Understood,” Niklas said, bracing himself.
Pain shot through his body as strong hands pulled him free. Niklas cried out. The hands tightened their grip, and then he was moving fast, supported by powerful arms, as the rubble roared down behind them.
In the next heartbeat, Niklas lay in the corridor on the hard stone floor, staring up at the ceiling. He was shaking from pain and cold, but he was alive. Ordel knelt next to him. Down the corridor, Niklas could hear the voices of the other battle healers. Ordel put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t move. I’m trying to figure out what you’ve done to your back. If you stay still, you might get to walk again.”
“How are the others?” Niklas could taste rock dust and blood in his mouth.
Ordel’s expression was grim. “We lost Jonsen. The rock opened up a gash in his leg and he bled dry. Renden lost part of his arm, but I think he’ll be all right.” He grimaced. “Except for the arm.”
“And the others?”
“Don’t you think you should be worrying about yourself right now?” Ordel said.
“Not until I know. What about the others?” Niklas argued.
Ordel sighed. “We got five of you out alive. The other three might have been alive after the cave-in, but they didn’t make it long enough for us to get to them. I’m sorry.”
“Damn.” Niklas paused. “How did the talishte soldiers get here?”
“Dolan woke when our men went into the tunnels. We’re lucky he looks before he strikes,” Ordel added with a grimace. “Ayers explained what happened, and as soon as the sun set, Dolan sent the talishte to help.”
“I owe him. Ayers was right. We were running out of time.”
Ordel nodded. “The mages told Ayers none of you would make it out alive if we kept digging without the talishte.”
Niklas shivered. “Even so, it was too close.”
Niklas fell silent as Ordel worked on him, struggling with himself to ask the question he most feared. “What about my back?” he asked finally.
Ordel nodded. “You took a hard wallop. You’re purple from your waist to your ass. Everything’s bruised to a pulp, but you didn’t break your back and your spine’s not damaged.” He shook his head in amazement. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
“Is the storm over?”
“Pretty much,” Ordel replied, bandaging a deep gash on Niklas’s leg. “The worst of the storm ended about a candlemark after the wall fell.”
Niklas listened, trying to make sense of what he heard. Wind no longer howled past the chimneys and the vents. But instead of silence, the air was filled with the shouts of men and the clang of swords. He tried again to sit up, and once more, Ordel pressed him back.
“What’s going on?” Niklas demanded.
Ordel swore under his breath. “Damn Tingur. Carr must not have spotted them all. They were waiting for us when the storm ended. Don’t ask me where they sat out the wind. That’s all I know.”
Niklas cursed. “I should be out there.”
Ordel fixed him with a glare. “You should be thanking the gods that you’re alive and still able to walk. The Tingur are a dangerous nuisance. Trust your men to do what you’ve taught them to do.”
“I should still be out there with them,” Niklas growled.
“You’re bruised enough,” Ordel observed, sitting back on his haunches. He took a flask from his belt and helped Niklas sit up long enough to take a drink. It burned down Niklas’s throat.
“Let me give you something for the pain—something stronger than this,” Ordel said, gesturing with the flask. “It’ll let you sleep, and you’ll heal faster.”
“I want to see what’s going on,” Niklas insisted. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to a seated position, then gasped at the pain. Still, he waved away Ordel’s restraining hand. “I may not be able to fight, but I want to be where my men can see me.”
Ordel let out a long, frustrated breath. “The only way you’re going to get up those stairs today is if someone carries you. You’re in no condition for crutches. I’ve been working on you for two candlemarks, and you could undo everything. For what?”
“My men are up there. I should be with them,” Niklas said. He tried to stand, and fell back with a curse.
Ordel glared at him. “You’ve made your point. Sit down. I’ll get someone to help you, if you don’t mind bruising your dignity along with your ass.” He strode down the corridor and returned a few minutes later with a soldier and Walker, one of the healers.
“Take the Captain up where he can see what’s going on outside,” Ordel ordered. “Make sure he stays under cover. He shouldn’t be on his feet, let alone fighting.” He looked at Walker. “If he tries to join the battle, knock him out. I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t make it too comfortable for him. He needs to be down here resting.” He fixed Niklas with a glare. “The longer you stay up there, the longer it’ll be before you’re actually healed enough to be any good to anyone. Your choice.” With that, Ordel turned and walked away, snapping orders at the other healers.
“I’m going to need some help,” Niklas admitted. The pain nearly made him pass out as the men lifted him to his feet.
“Sir? Do you want to sit back down? You’ve gone pale,” Walker asked worriedly.
“Just get me up there,” Niklas muttered between gritted teeth. It took all his concentration not to black out. Every step hurt, and his ribs ached from the strain of being supported by the two men. They made their way to the outside and stood in the cover provided by the ruins of the barn. Whether the winds had flattened part of the stockade wall that surrounded the camp, or whether the Tingur had brought it down while the camp was undefended, Niklas had no way to know, but through that break in their defenses streamed dozens of ragged, wild-eyed men.
Above the fray, Niklas could hear Ayers shouting orders. “I need a better view,” Niklas growled, frustrated by the ruined wall that both protected them and blocked their line of sight.
“Ordel was very clear—”
“I heard what Ordel said,” Niklas snapped. “But I’m your captain, and I want to see what in Raka is going on!”
“Yes, sir.” Walker helped Niklas shift position. The soldier who had accompanied them was standing guard.
“How many of them do you figure there are?” Niklas muttered.
Walker’s eyes narrowed as he counted. “Hard to tell, but at least a few dozen that we can see, probably more.”
Niklas cursed under his breath. “Can’t you bring them down with dysentery or make them break out in boils or something?”
Walker looked horrified. “Maybe some healers can, sir. I’m not that powerful. And we’re not supposed—”
“I know you’re not supposed to use your magic to make people sick,” Niklas snapped. “But making the enemy sick stops them from making our boys dead. Is there something you can do?”
“I’ve never tried to do anything like that before, sir,” Walker replied.
“Just try,” Niklas replied. “And you can tell Ordel that I ordered you to do it.”
Walker stared at the breach in the wall where the fighting was most vicious. His face grew taut with concentration, and his eyes took on a glassy look. “The magic’s not good,” he murmured. “It’s flickering. I’m having trouble holding on to it.”
“Try.”
Ayers was near the forefront of the fighting, shouting insults at the attackers and orders to his own men. The Tingur were armed with farm tools and clubs, but what they lacked in proper weapons they made up for in rage. They fought like wild men, shouting their devotion to Torven, caught up in ecstatic fury.
Walker raised one hand, his eyes still fixed on the break in the wall, and began to chant. The cords in his neck grew visible with the strain, and his chant grew faster. One of the Tingur screamed and collapsed. Another, and then another dropped to the ground, writhing and vomiting blood. Niklas’s soldiers gave a shout and pressed forward. Niklas glimpsed Carr at the forefront of the fight, stepping over the bloody bodies of the fallen Tingur to give chase.
If he comes back alive, I’m going to kill him, Niklas thought, watching as Carr ran bellowing after the retreating Tingur.
Ayers and the soldiers surged forward as the Tingur forces fell to their knees in surrender or ran in disarray. Even as they turned and ran, some of the Tingur collapsed as Walker’s magic found them. They dropped to the ground, flopping like gigged fish, blood fountaining from their mouths, streaming from ears, eyes, and noses.
“They’re gone,” Niklas said, too exhausted and in too much pain to feel exultant about the victory.
He turned to Walker, who stood stock-still, arm upraised, unmoving. Tears streamed down Walker’s face, and he had gone pale. His voice was rough as he continued his chant.
“You can stop now—they’re gone,” Niklas said, worry beginning to prickle at the back of his neck. “You did it. You turned the battle for us. We won.”
Walker’s chant rumbled on, reaching a crescendo as if he had not heard a word Niklas had said. He wrested his outstretched hand closed in a fist in a sudden, violent movement, and gasped. His head fell forward, chin to chest, and his arm lowered, but otherwise, Walker was motionless except for heavy, labored breathing.
Niklas watched Walker carefully. “Walker?”
Walker lifted his head slowly, and his expression was baleful. “I did what you ordered, Captain. Only because the magic isn’t right, the working went wrong. I meant to make them ill. But that’s not what happened.”
Niklas felt a growing cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He glimpsed horrors in Walker’s eyes. “What did you do?” Niklas asked quietly.
“The magic ruptured their bellies and ripped their entrails apart,” Walker replied, his voice tight with his struggle to hold on to his sanity. “I ripped them apart,” he added, loathing clear in his voice. He was breathing shallowly, trembling.
“So at the end—” Niklas started. Walker cut him off.
“At the end I finished what I started,” Walker said in a voice that sounded nothing like his own. “They were suffering. They could have lain there for candlemarks, dying in agony. So I snuffed out their light.”
Walker’s eyes had the wide-pupil, glazed look of someone in shock. He had not heard Ordel come up behind Niklas. He glanced at Walker, who appeared more unhinged with every passing moment, then to Niklas, then beyond them to the dozens of bloody corpses that littered the camp near the break in the wall. He shot an icy glare at Niklas, and approached Walker carefully.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Ordel said gently. “Let’s get you down below.” He reached for Walker’s arm, but Walker wrenched it away and backed up a few steps.
“Don’t you understand? I didn’t mean to kill them,” Walker said pleadingly. “I only wanted to bring them down. It wasn’t supposed to work like that.” He swallowed hard, his voice ragged. “I didn’t even know that could happen until I felt them tearing apart.”
Ordel nodded. “It’s not your fault,” he soothed. “The magic is unpredictable. There’s no way you could have known. Please, come below. I can help you forget.”
Walker was shuddering uncontrollably, his breath coming in sobs. “I don’t deserve to forget,” he snapped. “I should be out there burying those bodies myself. I did that to them. I’m supposed to be a healer, and I ripped those men to shreds.”
“I take responsibility,” Niklas said. “I gave the order. I forced you to do it. And you saved lives—you saved our soldiers.”
“I felt them die,” Walker whispered. “I felt the first one die, and I didn’t stop. Torven take my soul, I didn’t stop and I knew what was happening.” He wavered on his feet as if he might collapse. Ordel had moved several steps closer. He grabbed Walker’s arm.
“Sleep,” Ordel commanded. Walker’s eyes rolled up toward the back of his head and his body fell to the ground.
“What in the name of Torven did you make him do?” Ordel snapped.
Niklas was leaning against the ruined wall, trying to remain on his feet. He stared at the fallen healer, and let out a deep breath. “I ordered him to slow down the Tingur,” he replied. “I didn’t expect him to kill them. I just wanted him to make them sick.” His legs were shaking so badly from the strain of standing despite his injuries that he let himself slide down the wall to sit, and even that brought a gasp of pain.
Ordel knelt next to Walker. “He’s a healer,” he said reprovingly. “He wasn’t even an army healer. He’s never seen action before.”
“I was trying to save our men,” Niklas said, and the pain, weariness, and self-reproach came out as anger. “I didn’t know. And he did save lives on our side. First blood is always the hardest.” Sweet Esthrane, I sound hard and bitter, Niklas thought.
Ordel picked Walker up in his arms like a wounded child. “I’ll see what I can do for him, blur the memories, try to make sure he wakes up in better shape.” His feelings about the subject were clear in his face. “I’ll send someone back up for you.”
Ayers came around the side of the wall just as Ordel disappeared in the cellars. “Glad you’re alive, Captain,” he said. “But you don’t look so good.”
Niklas let out a deep breath, and tried to ignore the lancing pain. “How did it go?”
Ayers grimaced. “I don’t have a count yet. Fewer dead than wounded—on our side, at least. The Tingur come at us like wildcats just let out of the bag, but they’re lousy hand-to-hand. I think they get most of their hits in because they’re so damn unpredictable.”
He paused. “What happened, at the end? All of a sudden, the Tingur went down and started purging blood. It scared me shitless.”
Niklas told him. Ayers was silent for a moment. “War goes like that,” he said finally. “If you live through the battle, the dead get their vengeance in your dreams.”
“What about the rest of the Tingur?” Niklas asked.
“The ones who didn’t die ran off. They’re not much more than a mob,” Ayers said. “I don’t know what Lysander’s promised them, or how they think that getting themselves killed in battle helps out Torven, but it’s a bit like slaughtering mad dogs. Easy and horrible at the same time.”
“There’s one more thing,” Ayers added. “Carr and a handful of men went after the Tingur. I called for them to stop, but they kept going. There weren’t enough of our men to run the Tingur to ground, but they might have wanted to shadow them back to their camp.”
“Damn.” Niklas paused, trying to catch his breath when a spasm in his back nearly made him black out. “When Carr gets back, I want to see him.”
“If he comes back,” Ayers replied. “He didn’t bring all his gear back to camp with him, so my bet is he’ll go out scouting again. How do we know the difference between when he’s out spying and when he’s gone rogue?”
“Good question.” Niklas shifted, and bit back a curse at the pain. “I think Ordel is going to leave me up here as long as possible to make me suffer for what happened to Walker,” Niklas said. “I’d be much obliged for some help.”
Ayers got under his arm and Niklas choked back a cry of pain as he rose to his feet. “I have a flask down with my things,” Ayers offered. “Let’s get below, and I’ll fetch it for you.”
“Much obliged,” Niklas grated through clenched teeth. “Whiskey will help,” he said. But it won’t, not really, he thought. Because when you sober up, the dead are still just as dead.