of
that brute of a sergeant? Not sweet, gentle Gi, whose clever strategy with the
archers had saved them in the upper clearing! But it was and, remembering all
the good times they had shared together, Nish clenched his fists in impotent
fury. Oh, for a bow and a quiverful of arrows.
The sergeant saw him and bellowed. ‘It’s Cryl-Nish. After
him!’
Nish took off, roaring, ‘Run! Run for your very lives, that
way!’ and pointing towards the vine-tangled upper wall of the forest.
The militia were all staring at him, but no one moved. The
roaring of the flood echoed down the valley, far louder here. The enemy troops
whirled and stared at the river, which was rising rapidly, but they could not
comprehend the magnitude of the horror bearing down on them.
‘Run!’ Nish bellowed, forcing more speed from his exhausted
legs. He was above the level of the outcrop now, and some hundred paces away.
A wall of water, trees and rocks exploded down the river,
smashing the trees in its path to splinters. Passing well below the lowest of
the enemy, who must have thought they were safe, it slammed into the narrow
slot of the gorge, damming it in an instant. The water behind it piled up and
up, then flooded out in the only direction it could go, sideways into the
clearing, and up the slope.
The first wave took the lower third of Klarm’s troops.
‘Go, you fools!’ Nish screamed.
The militia could not have heard him over the cataclysmic
sound of the flood, but they could see the danger now. They ran for the forest
above.
The second, much higher wave took the rest of the enemy,
including the sergeant with his gruesome trophy, while the third wave raced up
the slope almost to the base of the outcrop. But a far larger surge was rolling
down the river to crash against the dammed gorge, and anyone who did not make
the forest before it bored its way up the clearing was doomed.
Nish ran as he had never run before. To his left, the militia
were scrambling into the trees as fast as they could force their way through
the tangled vegetation. Maybe half were inside now, with half to go. They
weren’t moving fast enough but there was no more he could do for them. He put
his head down and drove himself upwards.
The great surge was hissing up the steep slope, carrying a
few floating enemy with it. It overtopped the outcrop and kept going, only
twenty paces behind him now, and slowing, but so was he, for his calf muscles
felt as if they were tearing apart. He kept going and, as the water struck the
backs of his knees, dived head-first through a gap in the vegetation, caught
hold of a sturdy vine and wrapped it around himself.
The surge came through the trees in a series of streams, its
force almost spent, then rose over his head in seconds and began to flow the
other way; if he’d not held onto the vine he would have been carried with it.
He swung in the water, clinging desperately as it drained away, carrying
branches, leaves and all too many militiamen with it, then it was over.
There were other surges, though none as powerful, and after
the third they no longer reached the trees. Nish pushed deeper into the forest,
calling the survivors to him, and led them on until they were well beyond sight
of the clearing. He stopped beneath a gigantic strangler fig whose host tree
had completely rotted away, leaving a hollow inside the fig’s ropy trunk.
‘To me!’ Nish panted. ‘Gather everyone in.’
They pressed up to him. He scrambled onto a knotted root and
had just begun a count of the survivors when he heard the air-sled shrieking
across the forest lower down. ‘Quiet! It’s Klarm. Don’t move.’
They waited, silent and still, while the air-sled circled
the clearing several times.
‘He’s got an army on the other side of the mountain,’ Nish
reminded them, ‘and he’ll call them in as soon as he’s finished here, so we’ve
got to stay hidden until he’s gone. Let him think we’ve all drowned. Now stand
still while I
that brute of a sergeant? Not sweet, gentle Gi, whose clever strategy with the
archers had saved them in the upper clearing! But it was and, remembering all
the good times they had shared together, Nish clenched his fists in impotent
fury. Oh, for a bow and a quiverful of arrows.
The sergeant saw him and bellowed. ‘It’s Cryl-Nish. After
him!’
Nish took off, roaring, ‘Run! Run for your very lives, that
way!’ and pointing towards the vine-tangled upper wall of the forest.
The militia were all staring at him, but no one moved. The
roaring of the flood echoed down the valley, far louder here. The enemy troops
whirled and stared at the river, which was rising rapidly, but they could not
comprehend the magnitude of the horror bearing down on them.
‘Run!’ Nish bellowed, forcing more speed from his exhausted
legs. He was above the level of the outcrop now, and some hundred paces away.
A wall of water, trees and rocks exploded down the river,
smashing the trees in its path to splinters. Passing well below the lowest of
the enemy, who must have thought they were safe, it slammed into the narrow
slot of the gorge, damming it in an instant. The water behind it piled up and
up, then flooded out in the only direction it could go, sideways into the
clearing, and up the slope.
The first wave took the lower third of Klarm’s troops.
‘Go, you fools!’ Nish screamed.
The militia could not have heard him over the cataclysmic
sound of the flood, but they could see the danger now. They ran for the forest
above.
The second, much higher wave took the rest of the enemy,
including the sergeant with his gruesome trophy, while the third wave raced up
the slope almost to the base of the outcrop. But a far larger surge was rolling
down the river to crash against the dammed gorge, and anyone who did not make
the forest before it bored its way up the clearing was doomed.
Nish ran as he had never run before. To his left, the militia
were scrambling into the trees as fast as they could force their way through
the tangled vegetation. Maybe half were inside now, with half to go. They
weren’t moving fast enough but there was no more he could do for them. He put
his head down and drove himself upwards.
The great surge was hissing up the steep slope, carrying a
few floating enemy with it. It overtopped the outcrop and kept going, only
twenty paces behind him now, and slowing, but so was he, for his calf muscles
felt as if they were tearing apart. He kept going and, as the water struck the
backs of his knees, dived head-first through a gap in the vegetation, caught
hold of a sturdy vine and wrapped it around himself.
The surge came through the trees in a series of streams, its
force almost spent, then rose over his head in seconds and began to flow the
other way; if he’d not held onto the vine he would have been carried with it.
He swung in the water, clinging desperately as it drained away, carrying
branches, leaves and all too many militiamen with it, then it was over.
There were other surges, though none as powerful, and after
the third they no longer reached the trees. Nish pushed deeper into the forest,
calling the survivors to him, and led them on until they were well beyond sight
of the clearing. He stopped beneath a gigantic strangler fig whose host tree
had completely rotted away, leaving a hollow inside the fig’s ropy trunk.
‘To me!’ Nish panted. ‘Gather everyone in.’
They pressed up to him. He scrambled onto a knotted root and
had just begun a count of the survivors when he heard the air-sled shrieking
across the forest lower down. ‘Quiet! It’s Klarm. Don’t move.’
They waited, silent and still, while the air-sled circled
the clearing several times.
‘He’s got an army on the other side of the mountain,’ Nish
reminded them, ‘and he’ll call them in as soon as he’s finished here, so we’ve
got to stay hidden until he’s gone. Let him think we’ve all drowned. Now stand
still while I
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