Pyrebound - 11.4

Chapter 11.4 – Pyrebound
Darun had said she looked forward to meeting with the Jatui. Ram at least thought it was worth a try—but this wasn’t the kind of meeting he’d had in mind.

“I will call back … the ladies,” Shimrun said.

“Better make it quick,” Ram told him. “Whatever’s out there, it’s not dawdling.”

“Say what?” Darun said. “You mean Piridur got somebody moving in a couple of hours? I’d have thought they’d take that long just reaching anyone who mattered.”

“An ensi … can see through his hearths,” Shimrun said. “Imperfectly. But communication is … possible.”

As seen at Urapu? “I don’t care how they did it,” Ram snapped, “they’re coming now.” He walked to the edge of the platform and looked down; it was steeper than he cared to climb, and far too high to simply jump. Not that there was any way to hide, if they made it down—three of them were indwelt. “And unless Pimna can make us a lot more stairs in a hurry, we’re stuck up here until the barque gets back. Busu! We’ve got trouble coming. Can any of your boys fight?”

“Fight?” Shimrun echoed, his brow knitted.

“Not sure, boss,” the new flamekeeper called back after a moment. “They could throw rocks, I guess.”

“So we’ve got one handmaiden, two swords, and four men with rocks against … feels like a whole bunch of haranuu. I can’t even count them from here, it’s like squinting at sand grains. They’re flying, might be more than one barque. Could be a lot of people without spirits, too. Shit.” He looked at Gelibara. “You don’t have a quick way out of here, or somewhere to hide, do you?”

The eunuch startled. “We haven’t been here half a month, Rammash dear, and—“

“That’ll be a no. Darun, any great ideas?”

“How far can the lady chuck her fire? Bet those barques would fall out of the sky pretty damn quick if she burned holes in their sheets.”

“We don’t need to … make enemies of the Jatui,” Shimrun objected. “I mean … to live here.”

“Probably should have thought of that before you started robbing them,” Darun said.

“We don’t know … that they’re hostile.”

“Pardon me, lord,” Gelibara said, “but I really don’t believe we can afford to assume that.”

“That you can’t,” Darun said. “With the numbers Ram just gave us, if they land, it’s not going to be a conversation; they’ll be in charge. They say what to do, and we do it. Either blow them out of the sky or get ready to be taken prisoner. Assuming they don’t just kill us.”

“Who we fighting, now?” Busu asked, brushing rock dust off his hands as he came out of the tunnel. He looked concerned, but not panicked.

“Nobody,” Shimrun told him. “I will not order, or allow, Pimna … to strike first. We will receive them … as an embassy. From a sister pyre.”

Ram couldn’t quite see the barques in the distance, but it wouldn’t be long. There were three, he thought—the Jatui were taking this seriously. Their own barque was coming back quickly, but it had more ground to cover, and an inexperienced crew. “Shimrun, do you remember why you had me indwelt? Or asking me if I knew war? Yes? Then listen to me: if those barques land, we’ll be outnumbered and helpless.”

Shimrun looked troubled, but mulish. “I am still Ensi here. Not you.”

Ram pressed on: “They could have Piridur and his men on board. I know for a fact that the Karagenes brought weapons along on our trip, weapons to kill people like us. If we piss off the Jatui, we can recover. We can run for it, make another plan, or smooth things over. But not if we’re dead!”

Shimrun looked at the ground, muttered, “I don’t like it,” then turned and went back inside. “Pimna? I need you.”

Ram exchanged looks with Darun. “What does that mean?“

“Ram? How do you want to do this?”

After a moment’s thought and a hasty conference, everyone but Ram went into the cave; he stood on the vestibule with Beshi in hand, watching the lights of the distant barques grow closer and brighter while he wondered, perversely, if they shouldn’t have tried to talk it out after all. Was it too late for that?

A brilliant flash of light in front of the three ships sent them scurrying; all three of them plunged toward the ground, and the barques on either side peeled off at forty-five degree angles. No doubt aiming to approach the mountain from three directions. Had that been a warning shot, or was Shimrun’s aim that bad at a distance? Or Pimna’s? He was using his power to spot a target neither of them could see, and he couldn’t have had much practice at it.

The second strike was more accurate; the barque in the middle went down to a single burst of flame, skidding and tumbling through the sands with a terrible crash. A couple of haranuu promptly disappeared; Ram told his own to shut up before it could start wailing. Handmaidens or not, they’d been coming to kill him.

Or, if they hadn’t, they were now.

The flanking barques took evasive action, bobbing and weaving—they had no untrained girls at the helm—and the next several fireballs were near misses. In the end, they forced the one on the right to ground; it landed somewhat softer than its companion, and Ram could see survivors scuttling out of the wreck as more flares exploded all around them. “It’s down!” he shouted back down the tunnel. “Go for the other one!”

The final barque was already out of sight, around the left edge of the mountain and spiraling inward on an erratic course. He couldn’t see what it was doing from where he was, and didn’t need to. There was only one way into the cave—down a rough, narrow set of stairs, right past where he was standing. Whatever they did, they’d have to come past Ram to reach anyone inside.

He turned to face the stairway—then looked back. Something strange had caught at the corner of his eye, seen but not quite recognized. The second barque was a kicked anthill, its survivors scrambling in every direction without ever seeming to go anywhere. The first had gone down harder, from a greater height, and lay still and dead. But there was another spirit moving over the sand near it … there. Something indwelt was crawling their way. Bigger than a man, still only an indistinct blotch of dark and reflective patches in the desert sunlight.

It was slow. It could wait. The last barque was closing in now, rushing up the mountainside, terribly close. Ram wondered how the hell Shimrun had let them get that close a bare half-second before he heard a terrible crash, then a volley of screams, and finally an almighty thump he could feel through his shoes. The soft claps of fire-bursts started up again before the last echoes of the crash had died away; to judge by the shouting, Shimrun and Pimna were setting off detonations across the rooftop at random, twenty feet over Ram’s head.

Ram jumped at an answering shriek from inside the cave. He turned, and saw one of the bondsmen roarng in pain, burnt scraps of shirt and skin falling off his back. At least one handmaiden was alive up there, and returning fire. Ram took the stairs three at a time, and damn the poor footing.

Glass, metal, and burning fabric were scattered across the mountaintop. Two men, or their bodies, lay on the ground not far from the busted hulk of the last barque. Two others were working to extract a third from the wreck while he groaned. The handmaiden’s haranu was hidden in what remained of the hold; Ram ran for it, then stopped flat as a sudden detonation sent fresh waves of glass and metal flying across the roof.

He flinched just in time to take the brunt of it across the side of his face, and spare his eyes. When he looked again, the front end of the barque had caved in, and the handmaiden’s spirit was gone. All three men now lay sprawled flat and still. There didn’t seem to be any point in checking on them. He could see barbed metal spikes scattered around the trapped man from where he stood.

Shimrun and Pimna had stopped firing, for want of any spirits to aim at. They’d certainly done enough. At least six handmaidens gone, and any number of men he’d never met, killed by people who never saw them. All in the course of five minutes. This was what war between handmaidens looked like. What if it came to Dul Karagi? He could picture it easily enough: like ten Urapus stuck together.

There’d be more of this in the cave below. Busu might be dead right now. Or maybe—no. He craned his head back and stared straight up into the sun. We could use a little help here, Lord of Light. Just what were we supposed to do?

A scratching noise from behind him brought him back to earth. One last spirit, it seemed, was making its way up the mountainside. Climbing. Someone was actually climbing to get to them. Damn it. He trudged back to the stairs, was halfway down when an enormous arm appeared over the edge of the “vestibule.” Ram froze. Heavy claws gouged into the rock; ocher flesh strained under black iron scales, until another clawed hand appeared. Working together, they pulled a long, narrow head over the top. It looked about, slowly, scanning the scene with brilliant crimson eyes. It didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get over the top. But murrush never hurried.

“Don’t come any farther,” Ram told it, moving down the steps as fast as he could without looking worried. He pointed Beshi at its face—from a respectable distance. “You’re Jazaral’s temple guard, aren’t you? Why are you here?”

The murrush looked at Ram, ignoring the sword. “I am Mankalussu. You trespass on Jatu land.”

“This isn’t Jatu land,” Ram told it. “We’re miles away from the green land.” Even ordinary murrush were hard enough to kill; this one was indwelt, and closer to its fire than Ram was to his. The sword probably didn’t mean much to it. The handmaidens’ fire would mean less.

“You steal the property of Dul Jazaral,” it went on. “Beasts and men. You will steal no more, and return what you have yet. Man and beast alike. You will not establish yourselves here. You will leave, and return to Dul Karagi.”

“Dul Karagi wants to kill us, you know. If we go back, they’ll murder us all. Is that what you want?”

“That is immaterial.” It strained, and pulled the front half of its body over the edge.

“Hey!” Ram swung Beshi, inches from the creature’s snout. He didn’t feel like making this a real fight just yet. “You stay where you are!”

“You cannot prevent me. You have no authority to deny me. I will move as I please, and you will obey. There will be no pyre in this place.”

“Where did you get that from? Piridur? Did Piridur come with you?”

“He did not. This is Jazaral’s affair. He will not interfere. Nor will you. I will speak with your Ensi now.”

“No, you won’t.” This was exactly what they’d been afraid of. He put himself in front of the tunnel. “You can’t even fit in there,” he pointed out.

“Bring him out, then, or I will make my way.” It probably could. It had no reason to care if it caved in half the mountain and killed everyone inside in the process. That would solve its problem just as well.

“Who are you serving, anyway? Your ensi? Is he really in charge, or a tool like ours was? Are you sure you’re obeying orders from the right person? We’re trying to … improve things. Make it better for Dul Jatu, and indwelt people everywhere.” He couldn’t think of anything cleverer to say.

“My agreement is with Dul Jazaral,” said Mankalussu, hauling up its back end. It wasn’t as big as Nusun, but still occupied a quarter of the substantial ledge with its bulk. “And you will not delay me further.” It opened its mouth, and a luminous wave of scorching air flooded out. Ram’s clothes caught fire in an instant, but he stood where he was, holding Beshi straight. His shirt and pants fell off in flakes of ash; his long-suffering boots disintegrated. Ram himself was pleasantly warm.

At length the jaws closed again. “You are a rogue bull,” the murrush declared. It might have sounded surprised, if its voice could express such a thing. Ram wasn’t sure it could even feel it.

“Is that what we’re called?”

“Suppose I am. What do you have to say to me?”

“Shimrun im-Sutiri is small and frail,” it decided. “You are Rammash im-Belemel. The Karagenes do not want you. You may go where you please, but you are not welcome here.”

“You’re not sounding so bossy now, are you?” He stepped forward, trying to pretend that he wasn’t naked, and threatening an armored beast more than ten times his weight. “Why don’t you breathe on me some more? It felt great.”

“Indwelt or no, you cannot hinder me.” Mankalussu rushed forward, faster than Ram would have expected; he swung Beshi at its face, knocking it sideways and slicing a deep gash in its snout, but it kept coming. Ram held the sword straight, and the murrush impaled itself on it, driving the point deep into its own shoulder until the ornate hilt stopped it, and Ram himself was shoved back against the stone. Manka sagged slightly, but kept its weight on the injured limb, raising the other to gouge at the tunnel entrance while he spat out fire.

“Bastard!” Ram tore Beshi free—it took some pulling—and swung at the beast’s neck. The blow was strong, but left a shallow gouge that closed up behind it. Manka paused just long enough to swing its head around, catching Ram on the chest and hurling him through the air to land at the foot of the stairs. By the time Ram got back to his feet, Manka was completely whole, rearing back on its hind limbs to batter at the entrance with both forelimbs. Shards of rock sprayed out to either side.

Golden light flashed near Manka’s head with a resounding crack. Another followed, then a third, as it snorted and staggered back, swatting at the air. Even a murrush might not care for having its eardrums broken repeatedly. But after four or five bursts it leaned forward again, assaulting the doorway once more in spite of the barrage.

Ram charged in with Beshi, putting all his momentum behind a swing at its near ankle. The blow didn’t go halfway through, but Manka went down, hard. He was careful to keep his grip, and stood aside to let its fall yank the blade free. A second later he was airborne, spending the heat Manka had given him in a flying leap. He landed point-first in Manka’s unarmored belly; again it sank down to the hilt, spurting fiery ichor from the wound. Manka roared, and rolled back over; Ram leapt free and landed on his feet.

Shimrun? I can’t end him with just my sword. He’s too damn big. Can’t get to the heart, or cut the head off. As ever, he didn’t get an answer in words, but he felt a sense of … acknowledgment?

Manka was back on his feet now, Beshi still jammed in his guts. Ram was inclined to leave it there. The wound was steadily dribbling fire, and Ram hadn’t had any luck hitting anywhere else. The murrush started to rear up again, winced, and fell down. Ram had stuck it far enough back that its front limbs couldn’t reach the hilt. Curling up to reach it was out of the question. It panted in place for several seconds, nonplussed, then stumped forward again to spit fire down the tunnel again. Incredible.

An oblong object slid out of the tunnel and clacked against Manka’s claws. It didn’t seem to notice, but Ram saw the thing shining in the light of its breath: a flamekeeper sword. Busu’s? Well, it was a start. He darted in past the murrush, grabbed the second sword, and swung it up at the creature’s throat. It flinched, and he caught it on the jaw instead.

The heat it gave off was invigorating. He struck again at the neck, slashing down the length of it, then at the muscle where it met the shoulder. It swung its head at him, slower than before; he ducked, then fetched it a heavy blow to the skull when it had passed by, crunching into the bone. Still not deep enough. Manka batted him against the rock wall with a poorly-aimed swipe of its left arm. Ram ducked again, and rolled out under its arm while it recovered.

They could keep this up forever; it was too slow to hit him, too big and tough for him to kill at a blow, and either of them could repair any damage in moments. Ram stabbed it in the armpit, just to be difficult, but wasn’t surprised when it kept spewing into the tunnel. It had to be ghastly uncomfortable in there by now—if anyone without a spirit was still alive.

Time to get Manka’s attention. He hopped easily up onto its broad back, savoring the black heat of its backplates, and set to work driving Busu’s sword deep into every joint and crevice he could find, one after another. Pimna joined in with more thunderclaps near its head; between the two of them, Manka was forced to stop. It bucked and twisted, but Ram drove the sword in and held tight. “I’ll keep hurting you until you leave,” he shouted over Pimna’s booming.

Manka reared up on its back legs, and Ram tumbled off. As soon as he got to his feet, a swing of its tail sent him flying. He landed inches from the precipice, got up to see Manka coming straight at him. A desperate leap brought him to the foot of the stairs; Manka ground to a halt, turned to charge again. Ram had the edge in agility, but it only needed to catch him once to bite his head off—

A stunning barrage of Pimna’s fires, too close together to count, drove Manka down onto his belly. Even Ram, fifteen feet away at the foot of the stairs, had to cover his ears. The murrush struggled back up, shaking its head with annoyance, but couldn’t seem to get find a footing. The ground was sagging, crumbling; Manka’s hindquarters slipped down, its foreclaws found no purchase. Cracks spread out in spiderwebs, traced with light like the fire of the sun.

The lines of light flared. Shards of stone flew in every direction. The mighty Mankalussu gave a final melancholy roar, and vanished from sight in a thundering avalanche.

When the last echoes of its fall had faded, and the dust drifted off in the wind, Ram took a few cautious steps away from the stairs. At least half of the ledge had been blasted off, and he didn’t know how far to trust the jagged brim that remained. He tested it with a foot, and a chunk fell away. As it clattered down the slope, the spirit of Mankalussu quietly faded out of existence.

Three others had appeared to take its place, floating high overhead. Ram looked up and saw their own skybarque descending, serene and untouched, onto the roof.