The Tormentors stalked in their stilted gait past those screaming and fleeing, to the surface’s fresher air and better light. Once the last shrieks had been silenced in the bunkers the only sound was the constant creak creak creak, magnified many times, as death from beyond World’s End climbed at last to the surface and poured out freely onto the streets.
At the city’s northern gate, those posted in the many nooks and battlements keeping watch on the mountain pass fancied for a moment or two that the wind bore the sound of screaming. But it was so faint they weren’t sure, until those few people out and about at night — vagrants, night-workers, whores and their customers — saw dark, stalking shapes in the gloom, some of them huge.
A bustle of activity began amongst the soldiers. A horn blew, followed by another. Braziers were lit and the place was filled with the orange glow of firelight. All troops were now awake, thousands soon in formation. Orders were shouted. Metal hissed a thousand times as weapons were drawn. Most turned towards the gate, thinking the screams that came from within the city were from artillery fire, missiles catapulted over the city walls and over their own heads — yet, why had no warnings sounded from the mountain pass? No one posted in the high places outside had blown his horn to signal enemy sighted.
A clear enough sign came suddenly behind them. A tall shape — surely beyond six man-heights — swept with loping, swinging arms between two buildings. Those who saw it froze for a moment in disbelief before a rain of arrows flew at the lumbering beast. Arrows that struck it skittered off its hide. It stopped and swung its head their way, the enormous mane fanned out behind its head rattling, and stared at them. Another rain of arrows flew and fell; the sound of them glancing off the beast’s hide then onto the cobblestones below was like hail on a rooftop.
A whole company rushed over to meet it while it watched them, still motionless. Screams began to sound more frequently from deeper within the city as hundreds of the beasts, smaller than the giant one but almost always bigger than any man, poured towards the waiting soldiers from the shadows with fast jagged strides and turned the area into a churning sea of death.
The huge one ambled over too, as though convinced at last by the screams of fear and pain, and the ring of blades striking hard hides, that it too had a role to play. Arrows from the high wall still glanced off it harmlessly as it reached down into the crowds of men.
58
A hand shook Anfen’s shoulder with urgency, rousing him from the deep dreams of his spell-made sleep. If they were supposed to be pleasant dreams, Loup had got the spell wrong, or else the magic was too thin for him here. Anfen had seen nothing but death painted in vivid, sickening colours and marching to horrible music. On waking, his new sword was drawn by old instinct, and he was surprised to see it was Siel by his bed, whose hand usually calmed the instinct to draw his blade when she roused him. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said.
‘War has broken,’ she replied in a voice of forced calm. ‘An emissary came for us. They are evacuating the Mayors, all officialdom, and us. We leave now. No time to pack, they say.’
Anfen was on his feet, slapping his own face to shake off the effects of Loup’s spell. His thoughts were sluggish. It was still dark. Out the window there were fires burning below. He could make out part of the city’s northern wall at a distance and saw the braziers had been lit. There wasn’t much else to see down there, except -
‘By all the Spirits! Siel, look at that!’
The huge Tormentor — he recognised it as such at once — strode past the gate. It slowly reached high up the wall and plucked an archer off the shelves up there, while others could be seen leaping to their deaths to avoid its touch. As they watched, it carefully impaled the squirming man it had grabbed on the spike of its left shoulder as though it were placing an ornament on itself. Anfen was sickened to see, in the braziers’ light, writhing shapes of other men still alive but similarly impaled on the many long spikes all down the beast’s body. Spears and arrows were fired at it from the ground and from the high wall, but it was hard to tell if anything had stuck into it. The beast thumped huge hands against the gate, making it shudder and boom, then ambled away with lurching steps till it was hidden from their view by buildings.
Gazing further across the city, Anfen saw one, two other huge shapes moving about, their outlines lit by fires which had begun to spread through the streets. Horns began to blare as the city wakened from sleep into a nightmare. Anfen was partly awestruck by what he’d seen. ‘Valour help us,’ he whispered, not even realising he’d said this prayer; having brought such shame to himself with sword in hand and cries to the Spirit on his lips, he’d sworn never to speak Valour’s name again.
Siel pulled him from the window, otherwise he might have watched on until it all played out to its end, helpless to look away. ‘We must go,’ she said.
Anfen came back to himself with a start. ‘We’re not going with the Mayors. You and the others. Get horses and follow me. We have a new mission.’
He grabbed his things then rushed through the luxury inn with its marble walls, trickling fountains and scented air. Many guests waited in confusion in the lobby, self-important foreign officials among them. He saw one such in the colours of Yinfel, having a heated argument with a girl doing the luggage boy’s job, since he’d likely been called away to the gate and handed a bow and arrow to defend the city. Anfen ran over and grabbed the bloated, red-faced man, who reeled back, startled and angered. ‘Listen close,’ said Anfen. ‘A message for your Mayor, Izven. The discussed cargo to be delivered now, directly five miles west of the end of the great dividing road. Not a footstep beyond. Your Mayor alone to hear these words and hear them soon, or I will hunt you down. The message comes from Anfen of the Mayors’ Command.’
He ran outside to the high shelf and forced himself not to look down at the chaos. The first light of day began to turn the sky white. Men with pikes were erecting a barricade at the top of the long ramp down to the city, to keep the Tormentors and refugees away from the city’s tall shelf and its precious tunnels out, so the officials could more easily escape. A last group of people escaping the carnage were allowed to flee past before the pikes and spears went up. Those trapped on the ramp wailed and screamed; some passed young children over. The guards took the children and tossed weapons back over the barricade for the rest to defend themselves and defend the ramp.
Anfen ran for the stables, not caring whose horse he was about to steal — the tired scrawny things that had brought them here wouldn’t suffice. Siel and Sharfy spotted him and followed, against the heavy flow of people rushing for the secret exits through the caves. Neither of them spoke as Anfen shoved past the protesting stable hands and got up on the finest steed he could find. ‘Get yourselves horses,’ he ordered.
But Siel had an arrow drawn and a tear sliding down her cheek. At present, the bow pointed at the ground. Anfen looked at her, amazed. ‘What is this? Look outside. Tell me what you see.’
‘We serve the Mayors’ Command,’ said Siel, ‘not you. Wait for their permission. Whatever happened in the night has surely changed their view of things.’
‘There’s no time left for their blather. Put your arrow away.’
Siel’s arrow rose to point at his chest. He tried to gauge from the look in her eye whether or not she’d shoot him if he rode past her. Probably. So be it. It would count as an honourable death. He flicked the horse’s reins.