'If there's a priest around, he'd have to have real balls to complain,' Vesna laughed.
That sounded strange to Isak, as if the count's laughter had no place here. That was a sound from times past, from quiet, dull days, when he would growl at his companions out of boredom. Only now did Isak realise how much he'd missed it, and how much he'd come to rely on Vesna and Tila to keep him sane in this strange life of privilege. Their laughter provoked his, and that kept the anger at bay. In Scree there had been no place for laughter.
'A trench you'll have, then,' Isak called with a grin neither could see. His pace quickened as though a weight had been lifted, but that didn't stop half of his guards overtaking them a dozen yards later. He glanced back. Still only a handful of people had managed to get out of his trench and were limping after them. The rest of the infantry were close behind him, none as hampered by full armour as Count Vesna. He began to be confident that they'd make it to the temple in time to turn and prepare for the next attack. In the darkness it was hard to see across the plaza but a bobbing torch indicated that at least one of the other defending units had got the message.
Time for a little faith, he thought. Here's as good a place as any, I suppose.
The Temple of Death dominated the plaza, and this whole district of the city. Unlike the one in Tirah, which was larger and more im¬pressive, thanks to all those wealthy citizens trying to buy a favour¬able final judgment, this was not arranged in a cross-shape around the central dome. Here they had foregone the wings tipped with prayer-towers completely, instead building a vast square edifice, with twenty or so slender stained-glass windows occupying the top two-thirds of each side. The temple had to be fifty yards in any direction.
Could they run in and defend it? Isak assumed so, but the temple wasn't entirely made of stone and the walls were still decorated with the summer festival's long yellow drapes. He couldn't remember whether it was in Scree or Helrect that a group of knights had famously been martyred after they sought refuge in a temple, only to perish when their enemies burned the whole place down around their ears. The image haunted him, but they had no choice: they had to fight. The rogue archer who'd killed Mariq had made that decision easier: there was at least one person out there with his wits about him, and plenty of torches had been abandoned at the pickets.
He reached the temple and turned the corner to the western side and the wide entrance – another reason not to hide inside: Death's house had no door, for no one was to be kept out.
They would have to fight, no matter what.
'Where in the Dark Place are the rest?' Isak yelled as he reached the temple entrance. He saw far too few troops for his liking. His heart sank as he saw only the wide frame of General Chotech among the Devoted, still with his massive axe resting on his shoulder, but now as tattered and blood-stained as a Chetse warrior was supposed to look. There was no sign of General Gort or the three hundred soldiers he'd had with him. Suzerain Fordan took care to salute his lord with the warhammer he carried, the same weapon his father had been renowned for using. Isak returned the gesture and muttered a quick prayer that he wouldn't watch this Suzerain Fordan die as he had the last.
'Anyone not here is dead, or as good as,' said Vesna as he hurried up beside Isak.
Jachen was with him, looking considerably less fatigued in his hauberk and open-faced helm. He looked around. 'No more than a division here,' he commented grimly.
Vesna slid up his face-plate and did his own assessment, nodding agreement after a few heartbeats.
'So we've lost two-thirds of our men,' Isak said, running to the corner of the temple where an empty waist-high pedestal stood. He pushed a soldier out of his path so he could hop up onto the pedestal and look down on the paved ground in front of the Temple of Death. The entrance faced due east, to catch the dawn light. Isak raised an arm towards Nartis' pillared temple to the north-east. If he could drive a trench in that direction it would cut down the ground they had to defend, without trapping them inside the temple.
'Vesna, get these fucking men ordered and out of my way,' he roared.
The sudden bellow caused most of the soldiers to jump and hurry out of the line he was drawing in his head, but some went the wrong way and Vesna had to shout himself hoarse to draw them back. Rapid orders followed, so quickly that Isak hardly made out the words, but these men were professional soldiers; they recognised an order to form ranks, no matter what language it was given in. A good number had already congregated by Count Vesna and their comrades rushed to follow.
Around the corner, their pursuers were only fifty yards behind, once again in a big, formless mass, though they weren't running but advancing by fits and starts, the leading figures casting glances back at those behind and wailing to be overtaken, as though unsure about what they were doing. The imposing presence of the temples had slowed them, but he doubted anything would stop the mob. Isak set the closest alight and saw the man's ragged clothes burst into a bright flare of light, but he didn't wait to see whether it impeded the rest…
As the last of the infantry took up their positions and the cavalry abandoned their horses at the Temple of Nartis, Isak ran down the line he'd pictured in his mind until he was almost thirty yards along. He knelt again and reached out to the Skull fused to his cuirass. This time the magic was eager to serve as it coursed through his body and into the ground. He hardly had to command it before the vast energy running through him started to shake and twist the flagstones there.
A gigantic crash rang out across the plaza as the earth was ripped open, this time with terrifying ease. It drowned out all other sounds, and as a black gulf appeared in the ground, Isak was thrown backwards by the power. He lay sprawled on his back for a few moments while the ground continued to shake. Blinking, he looked up at the night sky. Up above, the clouds glowed red as they reflected the fires raging through the city, but in a break Isak saw half a dozen stars, shining bravely.
'I hope you really are my bloody ancestors looking down on me,' he muttered with a manic chuckle as the magic receded from his tingling limbs. He looked out over his feet at the jagged rip in the ground. It was wide; they'd have a problem jumping it, but it wasn't impossible. The paving slab by his right heel upended suddenly, pitching down into the trench to crash onto the stony floor. It was followed by the patter of loose soil.
Isak jumped up and flexed his shoulders. He raised Eolis to the skies, his eyes still fixed on the faint pinpricks high above. 'Now's the time to do something more than watch, you bastards,' he called as the mob rounded the corner of the temple. Behind him he heard soldiers run up alongside and saw Jachen appear with the remaining Farlan troops. Suzerain Tori took up a position on his left-hand side and Shinir appeared on his right, sparing the time to scowl at the big white-eye. She had looped her flail around her body to keep it out of the way and now brandished a plain round shield taken from a fallen lancer. She had perfected a very simple technique now taken up by many others: she stepped straight into an attacker and smashed the steel boss of her shield into their face, then chopped into their neck with her khopesh.
He looked again at his trench. It was deeper than the last, a good ten feet down, so those who failed to bridge the gap were likely to fall and break bones. Getting out would be a damn sight more difficult too. The defenders were formed into a rough triangle, their backs to the entrance, the three wide arches that spanned the front of the temple.
Isak's trench cut across the plaza towards the Temple of Nartis; the Farlan defended that while the Devoted had strung their shield-wall across the remaining ground. General Chotech had taken a position at the very tip of the triangle, towards the end of the trench, standing over a burly infantryman who knelt with his shield braced on the ground to act as an obstacle while the general swung the axe over him. It would be tiring work, even for a Chetse, but this was what they were reduced to.