9 The Wall of Ishalem

From the parapets of God's Barricade, Omra stared at the mob of enemy soldiers on the terminus of the Pilgrims' Road. His scouts had given him several days' warning, but the size and speed of the Tierran advance took him by surprise. His scouts had not exaggerated the strength of the oncoming force; the army of Aiden could well crash through the gap in the wall and overwhelm Ishalem.

Previous Tierran attempts to retake the city had been disorganized groups of undisciplined men whose rowdy anger petered out by the time they reached the imposing wall. Kel Unwar had built a remarkable, invincible defense, and the sight of it alone was sufficient to deter most Tierran raiders.

But this was no unruly raiding party, no group of foolhardy blusterers with more bravery than brains. Omra muttered, “So, King Korastine has finally found his balls.”

“Or Princess Anjine found hers.” Kel Unwar chuckled beside him. “Tierran females are more like oxen than women.”

Omra shot him a sharp glance. “My First Wife is Tierran.” Unwar blanched and fumbled for an apology, but the soldan-shah dismissed the comment. “You will be forgiven, Kel—if your wall holds.”

“It will hold, Soldan-Shah, though I wish they had waited a few months, until construction was complete. As it is, they will try for the gap, and we have to defend it at all costs. I suggest we send men outside to hold it against the 'Hook advance. We can set up obstacles and lure the enemy into range.” He looked up and down the wall where groups of archers took their places, stringing their bows; young helpers ran along the parapets, making sure that the tall narrow baskets beside the bowmen were filled with arrows.

Omra nodded his disapproval, but knew he had to prepare for the worst. Ten thousand attackers—swordsmen, archers, horsemen! Even the wall might not be sufficient to hold back such a crush. And if they broke through the gap in the barricade and rushed into the city…

He had been prepared for this over the past few days. “Mount cavalry and distribute swords to the crew masters at the construction sites. In fact, arm all the faithful Urecari here in the city. And lock away the Aidenist slaves so they can't possibly attempt treachery in the heat of battle.”

Unwar scrambled down the scaffolding and whistled for his subcommanders to give them new orders.

By the rockpiles and construction sites, the Tierran slaves began shouting insults to their captors, but after Unwar ordered five of them killed, the rest fell silent. Guards put them into leg irons and herded them into the middle of the city, to the large pit excavated at the site of the former Aidenist kirk. The big hole in the ground would hold them, for now.

Omra paced the top of the wall, studying the colored flags of his enemy, the gleaming armor and snorting horses. From their positions on the parapets, several eager Uraban archers drew back their longbows and let premature arrows fly, though all of them fell short of the front ranks of the army. Omra shouted, “Cease firing! Hold your arrows!”

Unfortunately, the damage was already done. Those impetuous shots now clearly delineated the range of Uraban weapons, and the Tierran commander halted his horses where they were safe. From there, he could issue orders and prepare for the main charge against the wall.

The great stone barrier extended westward down to the breakwater of the Oceansea and east across the narrow isthmus to the shore of the Middlesea, seven miles away. Though the two ends of the wall had not yet met, leaving a point of vulnerability at Ishalem, the gap would create a bottleneck. Even if the ten thousand enemies breached the defenses, they would be limited in how swiftly they could flood through into Ishalem. During the turmoil, Omra's archers could inflict heavy casualties from atop the wall.

But as he watched the angry Aidenists and heard the defiant clashing of sword hilts against shields, Omra realized that heavy losses would not matter to a sufficiently zealous opponent. These Fishhook followers were fanatics who wanted to destroy the unfurling fern wherever they saw it.

The battle ahead would be a grim one, indeed.

However, now that Urec's sacred Map had been found in the vault beneath the ruined kirk, his faith had been reaffirmed. Once he got back to Olabar, Omra would analyze the Map in detail, but he would keep the discovery secret until he had dealt with these Aidenists.

A hush fell over the men atop the wall, and Omra saw a dark-cloaked figure approaching—a mysterious, ominous silhouette that wore black gloves, black robes, and a featureless silver mask. The Teacher showed no hint of his features or his physique; he was a specter, inspiring fear in those who saw him. But Omra did not fear this man. By training and unleashing ra'virs on the Aidenists, the Teacher had singlehandedly caused more damage to Tierran morale than any dozen coastal raids or military skirmishes.

The Teacher's voice came muffled from behind the silver mask as he looked out at the massed army beyond the wall. “I shall be interested to watch this.”

Nobody had ever seen the Teacher unmasked. Many claimed he must be horribly disfigured, perhaps suffering from leprosy; then again, those might have been rumors fostered by the Teacher himself. Omra considered it more likely the man merely wanted to keep his identity secret: it added to his mystery, increased fear, kept others off balance.

Omra responded with a grim nod. “It will be a bloody battle, and we will be hard-pressed to defend Ishalem. I know how well those Aidenists can fight.”

“You have nothing to fear, Soldan-Shah. Urec will take care of his faithful. Without their leaders, even an army of that size will be impotent. Tell your own swordsmen and riders to be ready to charge out onto the battlefield when the moment is right.”

“Charge?” Omra looked back at the enormous Aidenist army. “Why should I order the men to leave the protection of the wall?”

“You want to destroy the Tierrans, don't you?” With a swirl of dark garments and a glint of sunlight on the silver mask, the Teacher stalked off down the wall.

Omra stood impatiently while his servants helped him into battle armor, covered with a clean white tunic embroidered with a Golden Fern. His sword was sharp, his shield freshly painted, his olba wrapped tightly around his head. He mounted his battle-ready mare and rode to his forces crowded at the gap in the wall.

As the afternoon light took on a deeper gold, Uraban soldiers stood hooting and jeering from the safety of God's Barricade, trying to lure the enemy closer. The Tierran front lines pushed forward to stop just short of where prematurely fired arrows prickled the ground. Across the flat expanse, battlefield presters walked the lines of Aidenist soldiers, waving their hands in meaningless blessings.

Omra saw the man in the lead, obviously their comdar, with young standard-bearers on both sides carrying bright flags. The old military leader bellowed something in a challenging voice, words that the soldan-shah didn't understand. Generals and subcommanders called out to their cavalry, their footsoldiers. Swords and spears were raised.

Omra called out to his men; Kel Unwar issued orders. The Uraban warhorses trotted forward, a few hundred of them to make a stand at the gap in the wall. He glanced up at the wall behind him, saw the Teacher standing there in silhouette.

When the Tierran battle horns blew, Omra turned to his well-trained men and yelled, “Stand fast! Protect the wall at all costs.”

Before the archers could begin their deadly rain of arrows, from atop the high wall came a strange cry from the Teacher, an ululating wail that pierced the hot, sluggish air.

As the Aidenist soldiers prepared to charge, the two young standard-bearers beside their main commander drew their swords. In unison, they ran the Tierran commander through, plunging their blades between his chestplate and back guard. They found his vulnerable spot again and again, and the leader of the Aidenist army fell dead before the rest of the soldiers even realized what has happening.

Another general, bearing the standard of Alamont Reach, thrashed left and right, but his young standard-bearer thrust a blade under the older man's chin, nearly decapitating him.

It happened in an instant, throughout the Aidenist ranks. Responding to the Teacher's eerie call, fighters turned on their own comrades—young men stabbing their military leaders, killing the Aidenist soldiers on either side of them with no regard for their own safety.

Ra'virs! Omra realized that the Teacher had planted dozens of ra'virs among the Tierran troops. Serving as pages, flag-carriers, and aides, these boys had gotten close to their unsuspecting leaders. Within the first critical moments of surprise, more than half of the Aidenist field commanders were slain.

As shock, confusion, and horror stalled the enemy advance, Omra knew he had to press his advantage. The Teacher had been right. With their chain of command in shambles, the unwieldy Aidenist army would not know how to react. Now was the time to press his advantage.

He howled the command to charge, and his armed riders rushed through the gap in the wall and plunged into the sudden turmoil the ra'virs had created. He spared only one glance back at the proud figure of the Teacher atop the parapets.

Even before he struck his first enemy, Omra felt a glow of warmth inside. This battle would be a bloodbath.