Chapter Twenty-Six — Resistance
8 – 9 February
To an untrained eye the view from the gatehouse roof was spectacularly grim. The traitor knights and their motley companies had been swept into a loose mass near the fin by a stream of Scanran troops making camp at a respectful distance from the walls. These were veteran regulars, setting about their business with practiced efficiency, and by the time more ragged conscript companies began joining them a pattern had been established even greenhorns could follow. The wagon train was still several miles away, with a group of giants ambling beside labouring mules; a larger group with the tallest giants—twenty-five footers—were standing by the river, bellowing defiance. Several hundred feet above, skimming the underside of grey cloud, stormwings circled lazily and no-one could doubt they had plenty to feed on.
To the trained eye things weren't much less grim but Kel knew the flaws to look for. The stormwings had done their best to map the column, and she could match visual cues to their guide. The conscripts were obvious, with the poorest armour and weapons and the least clue, but coerced troops who made up the bulk of the van could be told from loyalist companies forming the core. It was subtle—slight differences in uniform, close similarity of weapons, a prevalent style of officer's cloak, and a certain swagger in loyalists—but once seen distinctive, and as Kel worked it out she observed aloud, knowing Ebony would relay to her captains. Battle was battle and niceties disappeared fast, but loyalists would be targeted by preference.
The baggage train was trickier, and at the rear with giants was a section of lumber wagons that tempted Kel. It was probably siege engines and getting rid of them might save much grief—but she had plans for anything made of wood or even metal, and the other possible target was too important. The forty wagons at the front of the train, loyalist companies fore and aft, were unmistakably a commissariat—eight cookwagons, two with cauldrons and tripods, and thirty piled with supplies—and the whole assemblage of loyalists and food would be nicely bracketed by the four rockfalls on that side of the valley. Food didn't burn as well as wood and couldn't be replaced in a wet northern February. The company in front of the first wagon was nearing the weed concealing the most southerly fall and Kel straightened, murmuring.
"Ebony, please ask Shale to tell the King and General Vanget they should look at the wagon train, just south of Haven."
She crouched to open the box of mageblast keys, and carefully took the right set, checking the lettering on each, Rockfall West and a number, 1–4. The keys were too thick to snap all at once, and she paired 1 and 4, 2 and 3, setting them carefully on the crenel. A check through the spyglass showed she had a couple of minutes, and she watched for one before setting the glass down and picking up the 1-and-4 pair. The morale of her own people was going to matter, so she put her free hand to her lips in a sharp whistle; as heads turned she raised her arm and swung it down, regretting with all her heart the mules and sending up an apologetic prayer to their god as she tensed her fingers.
"So it starts."
The cracks of keys snapping were barely audible beyond the gatehouse roof but to Kel echoed loudly. The mageblasts were too far away to be heard, but she could see greenery start to shiver. Then the slope above men and wagons slid into lines of motion, still in silence, throwing up a haze of dust and fragments as its tide flowed to engulf them, and sound began, a great rumble felt as well as heard that continued for long seconds after visible motion ceased. The dust made it hard to see but frantic men left standing between falls and companies breaking formation to run back was evidence enough, and Kel became aware of cheering and Brodhelm's grim smile beside her. Her nausea was balanced by a satisfaction more than professional, for men who had enabled Maggur's necromancy and wanted to kill her people were dead, but she knew the mules would haunt her dreams.
Besides casualties and what Kel hoped would be a critical loss of food the road was blocked, and if troops north of the fall could detour through fields laden wagons could not. But the Scanran response was impressive, desperate individual efforts swiftly superseded by lines of soldiers passing rocks to dump beyond the road, and others pulling out injured and more often dead, laid in a growing line in the field. As the rescuers reached smashed and jutting timbers, giants were called in to help; dead mules began to be pulled out. Dented cauldrons and bent tripods might be serviceable, but grainsacks had been torn open and work slowed as the Scanrans recovered what they could.
Cloestra had agreed to observe and was circling a hundred feet up when she abruptly rose, climbing sharply away to circle briefly at much greater altitude before heading back. All the stormwings aloft had risen too, evidently wary. Kel stood back and Cloestra glided in to land on a merlon, claws scritching on stone.
"What did you see?"
"Mages, Protector—one who is strong, and another. The strong one has the Carthaki spells to control immortals and let us know it. We will not be able to fly as low as we had hoped. But just now that mage's more important task is to gather spilt grain and roots. Your blow was shrewd."
"And casualties?"
"Sixty-one dead I counted, and more yet beneath stone. As many more with broken bones and twice as many who bleed and limp."
Some of those dead would be cooks but most must be from loyalist companies, and even in a force of seven thousand, two-hundred-and-fifty casualties would be felt. There was also the delay.
"How long before they can clear the road?"
"Two hours at least, Protector. Magic may sift grain from dust but sacks are yet required." Steel teeth glinted. "And those mages may find their concentration interrupted."
She dropped from the merlon, flapping into a climb and disappeared round the fin as Kel glared after her, question stillborn. There weren't a lot of options, but who knew what stormwings might think up? There had been venom in Cloestra's voice when she mentioned those spells, and Kel turned to Numair. "Does that tell us anything we didn't know?"
"Maybe." Numair shrugged. "Only a red or black robe can cast those spells, though others can then use them, and not every red robe knew how—just Ozorne's special pets. But Gissa of Rachne and Tolon Gardiner were on my list already—Gardiner's only a yellow, but he was at Dunlath where those spells were used. There are at least two more reds and five or six yellows unaccounted for, but one red probably died in Sarain, and the other is thought to be with pirates in the southern Emerald Ocean."
"So you think it's Gissa and Tolon?"
"I'm beginning to, Kel. That remark of Runnerspring's sounded like he'd heard someone boast, and they're more likely to talk that way than anyone I don't know."
Kel knew enough of Dunlath to understand—the Arram Draper Carthakis had known as a hopelessly impractical student was not Numair Salmalín after twenty years' service to Tortall, but first impressions died hard. "Even after you turned that other one into a tree?"
"Perhaps—I think both were fleeing Dunlath by then."
Brodhelm blinked. "You really turned someone into a tree, Master Numair? I'd heard the story but thought it a tall tale."
"I did, I'm afraid, Brodhelm—a mage called Tristan Staghorn. He was threatening Daine and I had no time for anything fancy."
Brodhelm blinked again. "Treeifying isn't fancy?"
Numair smiled, though Kel could tell the memory was painful. "Not really—a word of power does it. And turns some poor tree into a person. It took me a year to find him, in western Jindazhen."
"Huh. What kind of trees?"
"Apple, both times."
Kel left them to the improbable conversation, returning to her spyglass, and found patience rewarded by the return of Cloestra with other stormwings, circling above labouring mages and soldiers to release ordure with surprising accuracy, and by one and then another soldier falling to plunging arrows. The fire from the treeline above the rockfalls was deadly accurate, and could only be from centaurs who'd come along the ridgeline, presumably prompted by Cloestra. Spells that worked on stormwings must threaten centaurs too, and if their fire was no more than sniping it slowed things further, forcing the Scanrans to post shieldmen. Two squads were despatched to take direct action, struggling up the steep slopes and disappearing into the trees. They would be lucky if all returned, Kel thought bleakly, and a while later a hoarse scream that rose and faded told her she'd been right. Nor had men blundering through the trees stopped the fire, and watching carefully she decided there were four centaurs at work, all of whom knew exactly how to take advantage of the angles they were creating moving back and forth along irregular eaves and crags, and of their height advantage.
The delays became great enough that Kel began to think it would be tomorrow at least before the Scanrans were in any position to mount any attack. Even when those lumber carts could continue siege engines would need assembling, and that might take a day or two. For all his cunning and superior forces brought to bear Maggur's window of opportunity was limited, and tactics to slow him ran in her mind alongside need to bleed his forces, especially loyalists; there were also questions about accumulating delays and the morale of his men. Eyeing the expanding Scanran camp she had Ebony ask Seed to tell the sentries in the Eyrie to find out how far their bows would range from that height, and though she didn't see anyone hit the arrows that began to plunge among bedrolls and half-erected tents caused satisfactory panic, with rippling effects. The orderliness of the growing camp disappeared as incoming companies milled about, and the regular layout became warped as its lines had to bend away from the fin. Disputes broke out that eventually called someone senior from attempts to recover food.
Kel studied the officer's bearded face, committing it to memory and having her captains do so as he brought harshly renewed discipline to the mêlée. He didn't resemble Stenmun, though blond hair and beards made many Scanrans superficially similar, but his hard competence and ready resort to controlled, effective violence were familiar. It wouldn't be fair to ask Stanar but she'd bet he could put a name to this man, and that he stood high in Maggur's regime.
Once he was done bringing order and had marked out a camp-line fifty yards further back than the longest arrowshot the sentries had managed, he strode over to the knot of Tortallan flags in a notably messier bivouac Genlith's traitors had established at the edge of the Scanran camp. Kel's professional admiration rose with her fear and regret. In thinking there would be no assault before dawn she'd been reckoning on experienced Scanran commanders, not Tortallan knights fuelled by resentments, blinkered by misplaced confidence, and fired up by having openly crossed into treason. Watching the bustle the Scanran started she realised they were stupid enough to do what he must be asking, and wouldn't even realise he'd expect—want—them to be killed.
But there was to be an interlude. As mixed troops began forming up, the colours of Genlith and Runnerspring prominent, two knights started towards the moatbridge, the one behind carrying a truce-flag on a lance. As they came nearer she identified Guisant and Garvey; even at this distance they looked cocky, but as the glacis and palisades began to loom above them their faces became set. Kel raised her voice.
"Hold your fire. We'll hear what they have to say." She leaned through a crenel to watch them. "Any instructions, sire?"
There was a pause before she felt Ebony's head brush her ear.
"King say carry on. Say traitors better dead. Trials messy."
"Oh he needn't worry about that, if they attack up the roadway."
"General say to King you right. Scanrans use traitors first, make you use traps."
It hadn't occurred to Kel she could eavesdrop on Vanget and the King as easily as they on her. "I'm not sure you should be reporting what Vanget tells the King, Ebony, unless he means me to know."
"Only if interesting. What traps?"
"The roadway's a killing field. But hush now. They're nearly here."
Guisant and Garvey reined in at the turn of the roadway. She considered going down, and had the Scanran accompanied them would have done so, but there was no parlaying with traitors and nothing much she could learn from either knight she didn't already know, so she waited, looking down until their heads tilted back enough to see her.
"Sir Guisant, Sir Garvey. Have you thought better of your treason?"
The polite enquiry carried along the alure, as she'd meant it to, and she saw Garvey's flush and the anger on Guisant's face.
"You won't be joking soon, bitch. You're finished, you and our weak, stupid king. But we don't want to kill men only doing their duty. Surrender now, you and the King, and we'll leave everyone else alone. Otherwise we'll be through your gate before nightfall and everyone goes to the sword, so you'd best go get someone competent to decide."
Kel felt a kind of pity for a warped, bone-stupid man who had no idea he'd almost certainly be dead very soon. She kept her voice grave, and let it carry. "There are problems with that plan, Sir Guisant, besides the facts that as a manifest traitor you cannot be treated with and that I command here. Only a fool would trust you or Maggur, and only an honourless man would turn over comrades to an enemy. It's also surpassingly stupid to think we'd hand you a victory Maggur desperately needs when we can hand you bloody defeat, and will if you attack. Have you asked yourselves why that Scanran wants you to make the first assault? Or why he's brought six thousand men to try to do what you think you'll manage with five hundred?"
"They'll be heading south, fool, while this place smoulders in ruin."
"Really? To Corus, perhaps? Or do you still believe Maggur wants only the lands King Jasson conquered? What would you be doing in his shoes, Sir Guisant?"
To her surprise Garvey spoke, trying to sound sincere but only managing an oily unpleasantness. "Keladry, I know we've never got on, but you must see reason. You can't want everyone slaughtered and we know how few soldiers you have. Think of the children. Spare them at least."
Rage glimmered in Kel's vision. "By handing them to a king who planned to have them all raped and killed by a necromancer, Sir Garvey?"
"That's just a wild story. They'll be looked after, we promise."
"A wild story? Do you remember who killed Blayce the Gallan, Sir Garvey? And who else was there? Perhaps you think all six hundred of us made it up and burned Haven and Rathhausak to pass the time." She was weary of them and this delay accomplished nothing. "Unless you will surrender and plead for mercy, get you gone."
Guisant's face darkened but Garvey spoke again. "Then I would speak with my father."
"I imagine you would, but I'm afraid he's confessed his treason and is imprisoned so that's not going to happen."
Garvey's veneer peeled away. "I'll have him free by nightfall and then we'll see what's going to happen."
She ignored him, pulling away from the crenel and hearing their horses' hooves as they turned back down the roadway. "Brodhelm, the men on inner west and both off-duty west companies to outer west, please. Master archers should target knights and officers first, but if they really come straight up we'll be aiming for a clean sweep. No special arrows, and no-one fires before I do. I'll use blazebalm bombs and keep the pit-traps in reserve."
"Ay, Lady Kel. They should be enough for this lot."
He walked away, giving quiet orders Biscuit would relay, and she saw men beginning to move towards the north tower. Her orders would put four hundred men along the outer alure—not one man per crenel but four, and the fire would be continuous at short, well-practiced range. They could kill all the attackers that way but the expenditure of arrows would be dangerously high, and despite visceral reluctance she knew she had no choice but to use some of New Hope's concealed teeth even though that was exactly what the Scanran wanted.
The keys for the bombs had posed a problem. Each was small, a long splinter of wood, but with bombs every fifteen feet along more than nine hundred feet of roadway there were over sixty of them. Five or ten could be broken in one go, but holding them was fiddly, so most had been loaded into three dowels, each drilled to hold twenty keys securely with one end projecting like teeth in a comb. Each dowel had keys to every third bomb, numbers carefully inked at the base of each—1, 4, 7, 10 …; 2, 5, 8, 11 …; 3, 6, 9, 12 …—so any individual bomb could be used on its own or all twenty detonated at once. Kel hoped one full dowel would be enough, and the regular pattern of exploded bombs, every forty-five feet, should not suggest that for every one used two remained. Carefully she lifted the first dowel from its slot, and taking godbow and quiver went down to the gallery in the fin. Only one squad was assigned there, and she stopped as she turned into it, seeing Alanna, Raoul, and Wyldon leaning against the wall. Alanna glanced up.
"Hi, Kel. We were getting in the way on the alures—supernumerary to your excellent system, and none of us good enough archers to warrant displacing anyone. Mikal suggested we come here. Are we in your way?"
"Not at all. Do you have bows?"
"Oh yes—borrowed but good."
Alanna picked hers up from the shadows and as her eyes adjusted Kel saw Wyldon and Raoul had theirs beside them. She heard grunts of effort as they were strung, and smiled apology at a soldier as she asked him to move to another crenel and set the dowel down. The godbow was warm in her hand as she braced it to slip the string over the nock.
"With fourteen bows here I can let more of them past Chargy before the bang. If the knights are leading—or Genlith, if he's stupid enough—it's better we four take them down. More fitting, I suppose. The King wants them dead, not captured for trial."
"What bang, Kel?" Raoul grinned, teeth gleaming. "Are we going to have some nice explosions?"
She held up the dowel. "Twenty blazebalm bombs packed in rock fragments and gravel. All the way along."
"How much blazebalm?"
She set the dowel on the rock before her. "A pound apiece."
"Gods, Kel, it'll be brutal."
"Yes. And the King thinks treason trials will be messier."
"You've spoken to him?" Wyldon was frowning. "I haven't seen you leave the gatehouse roof."
"Yes, we spoke. He said to carry on."
Alanna cocked her head. "Um, do I take it you told him about …?"
"Yes, he knows and is probably listening."
"Ah. Cavall and Raoul do know they exist, by the way."
"That what exists, Pirate's Swoop?"
"Darkings. Some decided to volunteer. Kel and her captains have one, as do Barzha and Quenuresh, so we're in touch."
A thought bloomed in Kel's mind and she flushed as she turned to Raoul. "That's how Barzha reported. I'm sorry I lied—I'd promised to conceal their existence for as long as possible."
"Oh. Well, needs must. Don't worry about it, Kel. Darkings, eh? I remember Goldstreak alright."
She looked gratitude and he winked as Ebony squeaked in her ear.
"Say hello now?"
"Why not?" The dismounted knights were still organising men to rush the roadway, so she had a few minutes and part of her had always hated the secrecy, especially from friends and her own people. She took off her bascinet, shaking sweat dampened hair. "This is Ebony." She felt her collar twitch as his head extruded. "Meet Alanna of Pirate's Swoop, Wyldon of Cavall, and Raoul of Goldenlake. My teachers."
She heard squeaks of greeting and their replies, and was aware of soldiers gawking. She might have ordered them to get eyes back where they belonged but curiosity was better satisfied, and her gaze was locked on the men assembling beyond the moatbridge, seeing a formation take shape. Hired men, understandably, were reluctant to take the van, and from the look of it several knights would be there, with others among liege-troops and mercenaries. Did they suppose they could push the gate open, as they seemed to suppose the fire they'd face would be paltry? Even they couldn't be that stupid, and a careful look through her spyglass showed two pairs of thickset men just behind the van, carrying little barrels that looked heavy. The traitors had blazebalm of their own and she interrupted Ebony's squeaking to point out the carriers, passing her spyglass so everyone could look.
"I'll try to get them with bombs but if they get past Chargy they're priority targets. And if you do hit one watch where those barrels go. We don't want anyone picking them up to carry on."
"Right you are, Kel." Raoul passed her spyglass back. "If that's blazebalm, though, it'll probably go up with the bombs."
"Let's hope." Her voice slipped into command mode and she put her bascinet back on. "Eyes front. They're coming."
She was deeply grateful that even the knights were on foot and she wouldn't have to kill horses, but the scale of slaughter she knew she would inflict was a lead weight. Images of Runnerspring's leaking hand and dead mules floated in her mind. Sixty-one and however many had seemed a lot to add to her personal bodycount, but when she snapped these keys those numbers would be dwarfed. The dowel should be burning her hands but the wood was cool in her fingers and she wasn't even sweating, coldly determined to do whatever was necessary, whatever the cost. As she watched knights labouring up the roadway in half-armour, kegmen and straggling column behind, she spoke her prayer of apology for the Black God's mercy aloud, asking it for herself who held the keys, and her people with all who fought alongside them, and traitorous or misled or hired fools running to doom. She knew her friends were surprised but her soldiers weren't, and a choric 'So mote it be' affirmed trust in her, who in turn trusted the god whose face she'd seen despite the weight squeezing her heart.
The knights had almost reached Chargy, and she identified Guisant, Garvey, and Belar of Heathercove, Quinden a little behind. The kegmen had dropped back, labouring under their burdens, and men with Genlith's badge and Torhelm's passed them, a gap opening up before the Grotens with liegemen and hired men trailing. She watched the knights stagger round the turn and push for the gate, ragged, whooping breathing clearly audible, but her eyes were on the kegmen, half-a-dozen strides short of bomb number 4, sixty feet below Pizzle, and the dowel was in her hand, keys against cool stone. Two, one, she bore down, feeling the sudden, rippling snap, and the roadway disappeared into fire and sound.
Light blinded her and she felt rock tremble as roaring thunder battered her ears and echoed across the valley. A vast ball of glowing black smoke obscured the roadway and the stink of blazebalm burned her nose. She felt stunned, as she had when she'd first jousted and felt the hammerblow of Raoul's lance on her shield; the hand that held the dowel ached fiercely but then the godbow was in it, warm and singing, and wrenching her eyes from the burning cloud she could see the knights who'd been in the van and the score of liegemen who'd made it with them not fifty feet away, gaping horror. Her first arrow took Guisant in the throat, her second punched though Garvey's breastplate. She was aware in some part of her mind that he was the second fellow-page she'd killed and of his father's blood as a shrieking stain on her conscience, but there were enemies at her gates and the godbow was eager. She fired three times more before the roadway in front of the gatehouse was clear of the living, and her gaze tracked down, seeing Belar and Quinden riddled with arrows and came to the long straight, heart hammering.
The smoke had spread and lifted and the whole killing field she'd designed was becoming visible again. Fires—people—burned along its length, and she could smell the rank sweetness of charring flesh amid blazebalm stink. Every bomb had worked and every one had devastated, chopping great gaps in the running soldiers. Bodies lay tumbled; some had been blown over the outer edge to fall to the abatis or into the moat. Of the kegmen and their burden there was no sign, and from the glowing carnage where they had been she assumed their blazebalm had exploded too. Isolated groups left standing, singed and splattered, were being ruthlessly cut down from the alure and the gallery beside her; few had plate armour and at this range needlepoints went through chainmail and leather as if they weren't there. Those at the very base and the lucky few who hadn't made it over the moatbridge were pelting away, weapons abandoned in frantic haste, and she swallowed bile, working her mouth to wet it, and shouted the ceasefire.
Where there had been more than five hundred men breathing and running a moment before perhaps thirty were still alive, scattered in ones and twos from two or three hundred feet below Pizzle to the base of the roadway. As they realised the murderous fire had stopped they began stumbling down, staggering round bodies and through bombzones, slipping on blood and viscera. The scraping of metal on stone when they fell seemed to echo in terrible silence, the faces of her people on the alure still as they absorbed what they had done and smelt the charnel-house she had created. Her eyes followed the rearmost man until she could bear it no longer and leaned through the embrasure to look across the valley. The Scanran soldiers who'd assembled in front of their camp to watch the charge were silent, rows of white faces in the long shadow of the fin. Before them was a knot of officers, the man she'd watched earlier among them. His face was turned towards her, and though she knew it was absurd at this distance she felt they were looking into one another's eyes. His hand rose in a salute and he turned away, saying something; men began coming forward to meet the lurching survivors and gather the spooked horses the dead had left behind.
Jonathan had only seen the lookout post crowded with Councillors and found it more spacious than he remembered, with a warmth in the air he traced to blocks of heated stone. There were others to sit on and Tobe had brought cushions. There were also two soldiers with magemarks, but after offering an awkward bow one left; Tobe introduced the other as Sorin Carter, explaining that with them here the duty watch was reduced to one, and went to make tea.
"Wiv the lads in the Eyrie we're not so important, sir—Yer Majesty, I means—an' we knows where the enemy is anyway."
"So we do, Carter. And don't worry with the Majesties, please. We're all Lady Kel's men today."
Carter smiled, pleased with the sentiment if dubious of the claim, but his eyes were on the approaching army and Jonathan busied himself settling on a cushion. Vanget had done the same and caught his eye.
"Like you and Her Majesty in court, sire, perched on either side."
"I was thinking the same." He blew out a breath. "How bad is it?"
"Not good, not hopeless. So much treason's a bitter blow, and gods know what'll happen when that news gets out, but militarily Kel's right it doesn't make much odds. And she's been right all down the line about what Maggur intended. Mmm. Is that darking available?"
"Yes, it's in my—"
Shale popped out of Jonathan's pocket and onto his legs. "I here."
"So I see. Can you tell me how long you've been at New Hope?"
Shale seemed to consider. "We come Midwinter."
"With Lord Diamondflame?" It was the only explanation that made sense to Jonathan.
"We volunteer. Dragonlands all talk, think, sleep. No doing. No fun."
"So you've been here a month. Are you spying on Maggur for Kel?"
"We not spies. We communicators."
"She wouldn't conceal that, Vanget. But opportunistic recruiting once I dropped her in it? From somewhere completely impossible and without a word to anyone? That's Lady Keladry all over."
"True. But I don't understand why she concealed them so long."
"That's my fault, I think. After the Immortals' War I had visions of a darking network feeding me perfect information from everywhere, and Daine took it badly—told me to my face I was being no better than Ozorne and more or less ordered them all to the Dragonlands to learn about choosing. Now they've chosen someone Daine trusts to look after them. That speech of Lady Keladry's was a relay, I'll bet, and the message the same as before—hands off."
Jonathan was aware of Carter listening avidly and snatching glances at Shale but didn't care, and Vanget was nodding.
"Alright, sire, that makes sense, in a Kel kind of way. I suppose I should be used to it by now, but every time I think I've got a handle on what she's doing she pulls something else out of her helmet. Commanding her's like being on a runaway horse, you know."
Jonathan grinned. "I suppose it must be. Daine was the same, but her power was more … personal. About being Godborn and a Wildmage. Lady Keladry's is different—she's clearly blessed by more than one god but her power's got no magic in it, for all magic's involved, and she's operating more politically." He hesitated but they were going to come to it sooner or later. "I'd not expected what she did today, though."
"Mmph. You didn't see her execute Rogal—she chucked after that too, and just like today stood back up, wiped her mouth, and carried on. Black God's grace or no she hated it, as she hated today, but if New Hope's at stake and she can take the cost on herself she'll do it in a heartbeat." Vanget leaned back against the wall. "I'm not sure I've ever seen anything braver, or done in colder blood. Carolan's no coward, and always a confident man, but she broke him in what? three minutes?"
"Not much longer. But I think you're wrong about cold blood. I've heard her voice go flat like that … four times—after Joren's trial; when she told Tirrsmont if he insulted her again she'd cut out his tongue; when she called three gods to strike Torhelm; and when she told me this last Midwinter I was playing a fool's game with her people's lives. It's utterly controlled rage, and she can use it like her glaive."
"Huh. That's what Wyldon thinks, so I expect you're both right. I haven't learned to see through that Yamani mask the same way, only enough to have some sense of what it costs her."
Tobe brought tea, with cups for Carter and himself, and sat on the steps. "Is there anything else I can get you, sire? General?"
Vanget shook his head. "I'm good, thank you Tobe. This is your duty station too while we're here?"
"Yes. Everyone under twelve is confined to the caves during action unless ordered otherwise, so Ma said to make myself useful fetching and carrying. If there's a sally call I've to saddle Alder."
"Fair enough. Your Ma likes things well organised, doesn't she?"
"You don't get nowhere in a muddle, and then people die."
"I wasn't complaining. Tell me, did you know about the darkings?"
"Yes. Ebony tells me stories about the Dragonlands, when I'm going to bed, and shows pictures."
"They can do that?"
"Oh yes." Jonathan leant forward. "They can show what any darking has seen. Odd perspective, often, but useful. Can you show us, Shale?"
"What see?"
"Where Lady Keladry is, and what's happening."
Shale rolled up the wall under the opening, flattening into an uneven rectangle. Colours swirled and a picture formed of the valley with a long tube sticking out—Keladry's spyglass as Ebony saw it.
"What's she looking at?"
Vanget heaved himself up, looking towards the gatehouse then across the valley. "Scanran wagon train. Just past Haven."
He sat, reclaiming his tea and scowling. "There's a lot of Scanrans, sire—Maggur must be using everything he's got."
"Too many?"
"Maybe. Depends what their mages are like and how cleverly they fight. It's not going to be pretty. I need to get to the spellmirrors, young Tobe, to find out how far Ferghal's men have come."
"You must tell Ma if you leave here."
"I will. But it can wait—they'll not be dawdling and I'm only fretting. It'd be good to—hello, what's up?"
Shale reblobbed. "Kel say, look at wagon train south of Haven." Both men were up in an instant, Tobe between them. "Kel break sticks."
"Kel do wh—?"
Tobe cut in. "Mageblast keys. It'll be the rockfalls—look!"
They saw the distant hillside move and heard the deadly rumble echo across the valley. Vanget was hopping up and down and Carter offered him the duty spyglass, which he snatched. Jonathan waited his turn to make out the chaos that had engulfed the Scanrans, and men beginning to try to rescue comrades. Vanget and Carter were sharing soldiers' pleasure at a successful blow but Jonathan wondered about the men who'd died and what Keladry must feel about their slaughter. Her face had been terrifying as she broke Runnerspring but once he'd started talking it had been stricken, and when she'd returned after retching she'd looked as miserable as anyone he'd ever seen; not that it had stopped her breathtaking efficiency.
"Beautiful, beautiful. That was his commissariat—a blow in the tripes and most of two companies as well. It's going to keep them busy a while, so I'll go talk to Northwatch, sire. They need to warn Riversedge to beware foragers. Shale, tell Kel I'm going to the spellmirrors."
"Telling."
He stalked off and Jonathan saw troubled eyes. "What is it, Tobe?"
"The General shouldn't give Shale an order like that. He didn't say please or thank you, but Shale's not under his command."
Jonathan suppressed a smile. "True. He's used to giving orders."
"So are you but you say them."
"Not problem."
"It's not right, Shale."
"No, it isn't, and I'll tell him when he gets back. He's just worried."
"So's everyone. That's no excuse."
"True. Can you tell me about those rockfalls?"
If it weren't for Scanrans and traitors massing it would have been a pleasant afternoon for Jonathan, eliciting stories of what Tobe had seen at New Hope. The boy was innocent but not artless: royal failure to check Tirrsmont had been keenly felt but Tobe skirted it, and if what he said was rich in implication he was reticent about his Ma. There were glimpses of a wounded woman in his fierce protectiveness but his portrait was of a fabulous commander, not someone who tucked him into bed, and in the spaces he left you could have hidden an army. It was admirable but frustrating, for Jonathan badly wanted to understand the woman on whom he'd felt compelled to risk so much, and whose refusal to accept what to everyone else seemed inevitable was regularly standing Tortall on its head. He knew he had consistently, hopelessly underestimated her and was still doing so, hard as he tried, as if she were a test he was failing; part of his problem was her sheer potency, for if she could make Tortall a vastly safer place for Roald and Shinko to inherit she could equally cripple it. It had taken a long time and much persuasion by Thayet, Alanna, Raoul, and Wyldon for him to accept that the Keladry who'd emerged from Rathhausak wasn't a plotter or planner but one of those far rarer people who did things in a way that made others follow, around whom the gods were strewing blessings to ease her path. And once he did accept it, it did him little good, for he loathed prophecy with all its impossible compulsions and uncertainties but she had never doubted what Shakith had meant; even now, when he'd joined her in trying to ride the timeway, whatever it was, and forced things to this gamble in hope of exposing the sapping treason into which his southern and eastern mercantile lords had fallen, he found himself blundering along behind her sure stride.
Vanget returned, reporting that as Kel had predicted the besiegers of Northwatch, Mastiff, Giantkiller, and Steadfast showed little inclination to attack, and that Ferghal's men were moving. "Not as fast as I'd like, mind, but in the right direction."
The additional delay occasioned by arrows from the Eyrie cheered him, and Shale showed them Seed's view from beside the archers, but the subsequent stir among Tortallan traitors had both men sitting straighter. Even though Jonathan had known in his gut Runnerspring and Genlith were conspiring and others must be involved, confirmation hit him hard, and the sight of so many knights riding against loyal troops was a twisting pain. The banal bigotry involved was expected, and he understood the economic changes that were the real cause of an attempt to preserve personal wealth and privilege by arms, but coldly agreed with Lady Keladry that their trust in Maggur was grossly self-deluding and knew he harboured royal and personal rage at the price these men thought it worth others paying for their gain. He saw the two knights with a truce-flag just as the walls blocked them from view, and studied the force assembling.
"Are they really going to attack like that, on foot?"
"I'm beginning to think so. That officer's stirring them up."
"Isn't it suicidal?"
"It should be."
"Kel ask, instructions?"
"Just to carry on, Shale." He looked at Vanget. "At least some of the traitors will die. Frankly, I hope they're all killed. It'd be cleaner and better than gods know how many messy treason trials."
"If they try a rush you might get that wish, sire. I'm beginning to think Kel was right, again—that Scanran's using them as an expendable probe to make her use her defences."
"And leave fewer Tortallans for Maggur to reward if he wins."
"Huh. Yes, he'd like that."
Shale couldn't relay speech as it could the image of Sir Guisant and Sir Garvey, but Jonathan could read their lips—a useful skill Sir Myles taught—and there was sneering contempt in both faces. When Keladry withdrew Shale reblobbed to repeat her orders and they watched with Carter as men began moving to the outer alure. The darking reflattened to show the roadway from straight on and above.
"Where is … oh, that gallery in the fin." Vanget rubbed his hands, face grim. "A grandstand view we'll regret, I think. You might as well watch, Carter, instead of sneaking glances. No-one with line of sight is going to be looking anywhere else."
Sheepishly Carter came to stand beside them and Jonathan looked at him curiously, sensing his confidence. It wasn't blind or bloodthirsty, nor did he think it had much to do with traitors; the man was scared of the larger situation and what might happen, but possessed of absolute conviction New Hope would not fall to this attack. When Shale showed the dowel it was Carter who explained. Vanget swore.
"Every fifteen feet? Gods. How big are the bombs?"
"Dunno, sir. Wasn't in the squad what made 'em. They was in jars."
He measured with his hands and Vanget swore again.
"One pound, I bet. And packed round with rock chippings, you say?"
"What I 'eard, sir. Didn't see one before it was sealed up, though. Is that a lot, then? I never used no blazebalm."
"One pound's a goodly size. Twenty pounds together with rocks is … more than I've ever seen go off."
"Ah." Carter nodded sagely. "Lady Kel likes to be thorough. No point makin' yourself future work, she says." A grin lit his face. "Wish I'da thought like that when I was plannin' 'ow to rob ol' man Raxley of 'is savin's, but then I wouldn't be 'ere, would I?"
"And that's good? With all these Scanrans about?"
"Oh yus. It's bin the best year of me life 'ere, sir, an' not just the grub. 'Smade me grow up, my da would say if 'e weren't too drunk. That's why I'll be stayin', if I can. An' for all their numbers I'd rather be in 'ere keepin' them out than out there tryin' to get in."
He fell silent as the attack began. Hearing Thayet in his head Jonathan rested a hand on Tobe's shoulder, squeezing when they saw Keladry brace the dowel against stone, hand whitening. As seconds passed and Sir Guisant reached the gate, then Sir Garvey and a dozen men, his nerves were screaming and only Vanget's narrowed eyes kept him from stupidly asking, shouting, why she was delaying. Then he saw keys snap in a split-second ripple as the dowel cracked down.
The blaze of light from Shale had them all stepping back, eyes smarting. Sound crashed across the valley as the darking showed flaring swirls and spheres of orange and red, and beyond them void air littered with debris, burning men and parts of men turning as they fell. But that sight slid to one side as knights and men at the gate came into view and the image trembled when the top of a great bow filled the foreground and arrows shot away to strike Guisant and Garvey, and others. Then the oranges and reds burned away, or fell to the roadway in clumps, and he saw his bitter wish had been granted a dozen times over, and still arrows flew. He went to the opening, seeing the swift rotation of archers at each crenel, stepping forward to fire and back to nock in a fluid, interweaving motion so pure it was a shock when it halted, men crowding around crenels to look down. Shale showed what they were seeing and he made himself look. Port Legann had been a bloody horror but he'd never seen such swift carnage, by weaponry or magecraft. This war had begun with the gods-cursed killing devices, and Keladry had met them even before she was a knight, beheading their maker less than a year later; now she returned their essence upon what had lain behind them a hundred fold—death by machinery, cold planning, and ruthless execution. The thought pierced him with a blinding understanding of what gods angry enough to intervene might rejoice in as justice; a dozen things, a score, fell into the new perspective and the terrible laughter echoing through it in the gods' voices scalded him.
"Gods."
"Oh yes, they're about." Tobe's voice was an old man's. "Irnai said Shakith was hovering, and others won't be far off, I reckon."
Jonathan sat, feeling his age and intensely wanting Thayet to hold and be held by. Thoughts turned and he gestured the boy across so he could murmur. "Listen a minute. I don't want to pry but if … your Ma has someone here, a friend—the kind she can cry with—go tell them she needs them, now. Tonight. She's … had to do hard things today, even before … killing all those soldiers with the bombs. A bad, necessary thing, like executing Rogal. I'll try to get her to stand down in a while—there'll be a lull." There would have to be after that carnage. "Make sure she looks after herself as well as everyone else?"
The old man looking through Tobe's eyes nodded, and a small hand rested on his arm. "Yes, sire. I'll bring you food first."
"Not yet, please. I don't think I'll be eating for a while."
A smile warmed the boy's face. "Ma would tell you to eat your vegetables. I'll be a bit anyway—folks'll want to know what's happening."
Carter had resumed his post and Vanget, turning from silent contemplation of Shale's images, heard this.
"Point, young Tobe. You should talk to people, sire, during this lull. Kel's circulating for exactly that reason but I doubt she'll get to the civilians here, so you should. I imagine Wellam and Nond would be glad of news as well." He grinned. "St'aara had 'em telling the children stories last I saw, with a dozen fellow greybeards looking on. Quite a sight!"
It still was when Jonathan saw it an hour later, and he was careful to apologise to the children for taking their storytellers away for a moment. Telling Turomot no treason trials would be needed and that Heathercove, Groten, and Runnerspring were all now vacant fiefs while Torhelm and Marti's Hill lacked heirs, he saw terrible satisfaction in the old man's face. Nond was shocked speechless, but Turomot's grave bow and murmured thanks to Mithros were a different kind of laughter, reminding him in another crackling extension of perspective that the Lord Magistrate had been Keladry's second instructor in her Ordeal, driven by his indignation with Joren's behaviour. She'd pulled him to her cause, as she'd pulled Raoul and Wyldon, and every knight of her year bar the one who'd just died, and immortals—basilisks, ogres, spidrens and stormwings, even dragons and darkings. And her rage, created over and over by insult, assault, and prejudice, too often with his complicity, was the tool gods were using to scour away those who paid no heed to their laws. How much of her would be left when they were done? He didn't know where Piers might be, and was selfishly glad to be spared whatever Keladry's father must be feeling at his daughter's day's work.
The civilians in the caves were no less pleased by the news, though first-hand accounts from soldiers coming off-duty in search of food sobered them. So did Lady Kel's decision no attempt should be made to clear the roadway—the Scanrans had made no request and obstacles were obstacles, but the contrast with her treatment of Freja's and Rogal's bodies was on all lips, with pity for the distress it must cause her and wonder at the stormwings' restraint that turned to crude, relieving jokes about preferring raw meat. Morale was excellent, and Jonathan's presence superfluous in that respect, but he found himself cornered by Fanche Miller and Saefas Ploughman and asked about the outcome of the inspection, if any. It took him a moment to realise the traitors' arrival had aborted the Council session only that morning, and no announcement had been made; he told them what they wanted to know and seeing the news spread like dawnlight among mortals and immortals alike forced himself to a cheerful round of greetings. New Hope's approval was the warmth of a fire and another part of the social as well as military structure Keladry had created here unfolded in his mind.
When he returned to the lookout post Tobe brought food with a wink and Vanget told him he'd ordered Kel to get some sleep while she could, saving him the trouble. Carter had been replaced by a dourer man, also magemarked, who kept sharp watch despite the darkness and said nothing until Jonathan went to stand beside him, wondering what he thought to see scanning so carefully. The sight made him draw breath—gleaming icelight etched alures and reflected on sentries' backplates. For the first time he could imagine what the lower city would look like with these things installed and the revolution they represented sank home—a change as radical as treaties with spidrens and as much a fruit Keladry was trying to glean in the shadow of the gods' harvesting. Beyond New Hope the stonebridge and its road gleamed, but the fields were dotted with fewer campfires than he'd expected and he glanced at the soldier beside him, eyes still flicking in a regular pattern.
"Do you search for something particular?"
He received the briefest glance. "I checks the alures, Yer Majesty, an' wevver there's anythin' on 'em there oughtn'ta be. Lady Kel thinks they might try gettin' a small group in. The men 'ave bin warned but it's belt an' braces wiv Lady Kel, an' I'm the braces."
Jonathan laughed softly. "Good for Lady Kel. I don't like it when my breeches fall down."
"'Oo does, Yer Majesty? No one likes a draft there." There was a ruminative pause. "'Im in the cell, wiv 'is 'and gone and talkin' to Lord Gainel, would 'e 'ave found 'is breeches fell down?"
"You could say that. He felt Lady Kel's draft, certainly."
"Ah."
There was no reason to tell this man the story of Runnerspring's treason—he didn't even know his name but found himself talking about what he knew and thought had happened. There was much he couldn't say but the great fracture of Duke Roger's deaths was common currency, and the soldier, eyes never still, showed a shrewd grasp of the pressures that had eroded the political power his father and grandfather had by default granted lords who paid for one's neverending wars of conquest and the other's dearly purchased reputation as a peacemaker. The man also understood a surprising amount about what Keladry had come to represent for those lords, and Jonathan's questions revealed the Corus knowledge of one who heard what Palace servants said and, more recently, something that had to be called research, driven by exposure to the woman herself. Clearly a collective endeavour with pooled results, it produced a sharp picture of a deadly fighter who stood by her word no matter to whom she'd given it, a new noble who knew what so many old nobles had forgotten, a woman infinitely kind and polite unless you crossed the line but implacable if you did, and whose blazing success had enraged any number of rich people a poor one had excellent reasons to dislike. It was a testimonial unlike any Jonathan had ever heard but another aspect of why people followed Keladry as they did unfolded in his mind with a renewed sense of the gods' ironies and what might happen when they became manifest as justice and retribution—a convict teaching a king being the least of it.
Vanget had laid bedrolls against the wall, and was snoring. Tobe had bedded down in the guardroom, his back to the embers of the fire, and Jonathan quietly built it up and pulled the boy's blanket up before settling in his own bedroll. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept so rough—even on that interminable Progress he'd had soft linens and Thayet beside him, and his thoughts wandered back to days while his father lived and he'd ridden with Alanna among the Bazhir. The memories chased him into dreams where he followed Keladry across a sea of sand and the gods looked on, laughing at his inability to catch up.
He woke before dawn, cold and stiff. Vanget and Tobe were gone, to wash and see to horses the sentry said, eyes still tracing alures; Shale was a blob beside him. Jonathan rekindled the fire and made tea, bringing the sentry a cup and receiving gruff, surprised thanks. The man was tense and didn't turn his head at Jonathan's query.
"It's bin quiet, Yer Majesty, but there was a lotta people movin' among the Scanran fires a while back, an' the darkin' said the mage says there's cloakin' spells bin cast so Cap'n Uinse put us on extra alert."
"Numair?"
"Yus, the black robe."
"Can't he lift the spells?"
"I dunno. If 'e can 'e 'asn't."
"Have the alures been reinforced?"
"Yus. Reserve's on duty an' Lady Kel called." The man gave a sidelong glance. "Cap'n said yer might fight from 'ere, Yer Majesty, wiv magic."
"If there's a target." The Dominion Jewel was heavy beneath his shirt. "I could just about reach the alure."
"Huh."
"You're surprised?"
"I knows yer a mage, Yer Majesty, but … I dunno, I don't think of yer as one, some'ow."
"No robe, no silly hat. And I've done little more than truthspells and firespeaking since the Immortals War. But I can blast if I have to."
"Ah."
They watched in silence. The first hint of false dawn was dimming stars and Jonathan realised the sky had cleared. Would better weather be good or bad news? Bad, he thought, for Scanran archers wouldn't have to be careful with bowstrings while New Hope was better placed to endure rain, with rock to walk on and extensive shelter, and boggy ground, damp bedding, and chafing clothes made fieldlife miserable. Were the gods bothering to influence things or was it just luck of the strange season? He didn't know enough to guess, and Keladry's sense of what the divine would choose to do remained a mystery, though Alanna might have some idea. He wondered where she and Raoul were, and about the sweep of events that had brought them from page days, when Raoul insisted they'd been puppies in a basket, all paws and tails, to this extraordinary fort with half-a-dozen knights and five hundred men rotting at its gates. How far back did a possible future begin on the timeway?
His musing was interrupted by the sentry's movement and a second later he heard shouts from the gatehouse, a blast of Numair's magic and hoarse, furious bellowing. It was too dark to see anything icelight didn't cover but men on the eastern alure were nocking arrows and producing slings that whirled and blurred as they fired at something in the hidden dark beyond. He was turning to ask Shale if it knew what was happening when a shout beside him brought his head back round to see a monstrous hand and arm reach over the alure by the gatehouse, crushing a man and scattering others as it gripped and heaved, and the bellowing head of a giant rose above the wall.
Vanget's order to rest had been unwelcome but Kel knew he was right, and felt exhaustion pulling at calves and thighs as she walked the alure with Alanna, grimly congratulating archers and sending off-duty companies to eat, reminding visiting men the main kitchens had moved into the caves. She needed food but her stomach churned at the thought and she dreaded the dreams sleep would bring. Still, an order was an order, and already she could feel the combat rhythm she'd learned with the Own—sleep and meals snatched when you could get them, long periods of waiting when you might fatally let concentration lapse and feared to relax but had to if you were to survive the explosive bursts of action that could approach steadily or leap at you unawares. There was a reduced shift of cooks in the messhall, providing for duty men, and she went there, unable to face crowds and questions in the caves. The cooks made her up a plate, respecting the solitude she sought, and she forced food down, making herself think of poor Einur, hanged by Stenmun, and another army cook she'd known who made the best morning porridge, and anything except Runnerspring's hand and the feel of the dowel in her own. Her behaviour terrified her, and the certain knowledge she'd do it all again, as often as she had to, that she could do anything at all to save her people, however vile, and vomit herself free of conscience afterwards, was a constant nausea. The Cow, The Lump, The Girl had missed it completely; only Mother had come close to her ferocity, and The Torturer, Slaughterwoman, Monster would have been truer. The Merciless. Tea washed claggy bread down.
Her dark reverie was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder and Yuki slid onto the bench beside her. "Keladry-chan. How are you?"
"I'm surviving, Yuki. Are Neal and Ryokel alright?"
"They're fine. Baird and the company healers are with us but there's been no-one to treat, thanks to you."
She thought of green fire sealing a stump. "Only Runnerspring."
Yuki's breath was sharp. "Him, yes. Baird says he is sleeping. He will live to stand trial. I was looking for you. So is Dom."
"Dom? What's wrong at the corral?"
She tensed and Yuki laid a hand on her arm again. "Nothing, Keladry-chan. He wants to see you, not the Commander. Tobe sent him."
"Tobe?"
"Yes. He thought you needed company, and he was right. Come now."
She let Yuki lead her out while she tried to process this and protested as chill air roused her. "Yuki, if there's nothing wrong it must wait. I can't—" Yuki interrupted and she blinked. Yuki never interrupted.
"Hush. You need rest, Keladry-chan, and should not be alone. Come." She towed Kel on, releasing her at the headquarters building. "Go. You have the darking. You will be called if anything happens."
Kel could hear someone moving in a guest room, Wyldon or Raoul perhaps, but her side was deserted and her footsteps loud on the stairs. It was odd to see Tobe's room empty and she was wondering again about what Yuki had said when her door opened and Dom was there.
"Yuki found you then. Gods, Kel, you look all in. Have you eaten?"
"Yes, in the messhall." She swallowed. "Dom, I … you don't want—"
A pace brought him to her and she tried to step back but he grasped her in a fierce hug to which she couldn't respond and steered her inside. He'd lit the fire but only one lamp and she let him unbuckle her breastplate, welcoming lightness while feeling renewed vulnerability. The gloom made it easier not to look at him, even when he sat beside her and rested hands on her taut shoulders, kneading tight muscles; not looking made it easier to speak, if not to say what she knew she should.
"Is everything alright at the corral?"
"All well, Kel. Some cavalry came to have a look but kept their distance and they've posted a picket force just round the fin. We might have to do something about that if we decide to sally."
"Right." Another mental note joined the long, long list. "And Button's kept you informed about what's happened on this side?"
"Beautifully. Good job with the rockfalls and getting the archers to try from the Eyrie. It showed me the attack, as well."
"Showed you?"
"Yes. I saw their picket disappear round the fin and Button said an attack was about to happen so I went to my office."
"You saw that carnage?"
"I did, Kel, and I've never seen the like. But better them than us, and you said we'd have to bleed them. It was necessary."
"Yes, I know." Her voice nearly broke. "The King should be pleased. He thought treason trials would be messier."
"Gods. There speaks a king. But I can't say I disagree. I never thought to see knights ride against the army, and I'm very glad they're dead and gone."
Enough of her shared that relief that she couldn't argue, even with an image in her mind of raw, disbelieving horror on Guisant's face. "No problems with Disart or Macayhill?"
"None. They were all grim—asked what they should do and did it. Lord Imrah's an excellent officer and the others seem disciplined enough. And the lads quite like having lords with them, oddly. All in it together, I think."
It couldn't be avoided; he should know what he was touching. "I imagine they were grim, Dom. Watching torture will do that."
His hands didn't pause. "Runnerspring, you mean? Uncle Baird told me." Her gorge rose and she swallowed, forcing it down. "He said he didn't think he'd even seen anyone more dangerous than you, or braver."
She twisted, emotions heaving. "Braver? To chop up a helpless man? I told the elemental knights should be more than butchers in mail—torturers with fans or … and I—"
She couldn't bear what she'd done to Cricket's imperial gift and she knew there was something wrong with that thought. But his hands were pulling her to him and his human warmth, his strength, and she clutched him back as tears broke and the awful, impossible guilt and self-loathing spilled out with them. When she quieted his shirt was wet under her cheek and she felt as if she were floating an inch from everything, but his arms held her, his voice a quiet rumble.
"Brave Kel, as brave as anyone can be. And cleanly purposeful, efficient, merciful, whatever you think. Hating yourself is probably necessary, like combat nightmares, but wrong too. And don't think anyone else does—that's silly. If your Cricket knew she'd be glad her present helped, as Yuki was, and Neal and me. Your glaive didn't mind killing Rogal and your fan won't mind this. Nor the gods, I bet. They're admiring you tonight, as I am. Lady Kel, my Kel, so strong, so kind, so beautiful. Shh, yes you are. A bit blotchy at the minute, and sleepy after those tears, I hope. I'm here, and Ebony, so rest. Shh. Shh."
The muzziness in her mind was warm, the dark enticing. She woke an hour later, still in his arms, feeling purged. He had dropped off but woke as she sat, and she gave him a fragile smile and stood to make tea while he built up the fire. The fine Yamani porcelain and clean lines of the side-handled teapot were a blessing in her fingers, and the ritual of the ceremony the beginning of calm. They drank in silence, eyes on one another, and afterwards she let him undress her, too tired and grateful to protest. She didn't think her body could be roused but the brush of fingers made her tingle and butterfly kisses forgave the horror she'd made of herself, tracing firelight on her skin until passivity drowned in need. At first it wasn't so much the pleasure as his desire to give it, affirmation that she still stood among the loving and need revolt herself no more than she revolted him, but as heat banished tiredness her body insisted on her own desire as proof and way of being alive. This was what soldiers sought after combat, after killing others and courting their own deaths, and he recognised it—had anticipated it, she realised, marvelling—and understood she had to lose herself in him, taking his heat to fill her own shocked emptiness.
When she woke again, the fire warm on her back through the blanket they'd pulled over themselves, it was to Ebony's insistent squeak.
"Awake? Uinse say, movement in enemy camp. Not know what. Tell people, be alert. Ask, you come?"
Smoothly she sat up, feeling ease return and the restoration sleep had brought. "Yes, I'll come. What time is it?"
"Not dawn. Moon low."
If the moon hadn't set it was two hours at least until sunrise. Dom had woken too, and reached to cup her breast. "Trouble?"
"Uinse says movement in their camp and he's called an alert."
"I'd best get back to the corral."
"Are you hungry? I'm starving." They were dressing as they spoke, and there was a different pleasure in the ways they'd learned to co-operate, his deft assistance with the final tuck of her breastband she'd always found awkward repaid in her ease with his brace. "Let's grab food from the messhall. If something happens it could be hours."
He paused in buckling her breastplate. "People will know."
"Good."
She kissed him fiercely, though armour made embracing awkward, and stooped to pick up Ebony. If he could accept her, love her, after what she'd done, she was through denying him in public. The only people who mattered who didn't yet know were Neal and her father, and after what her father had seen her do pretending to virtue seemed pointless. Nor did she care about politics, and a cold part of her mind pointed out that most of those to whom scandal would seem opportunity were dead, and no remaining lord who might disapprove was going to utter a word. She wasn't sure Dom understood but he didn't object and while the mood was on her she swept aside another secrecy and told Ebony it need hide no longer. When it squeaked surprise she shook her head.
"I'm done with hiding, Ebony. There were reasons to be careful but now the King knows and Maggur's men are at the gates it's pointless."
"What say? People ask."
"You're a friend who's come to help us. And whatever else you want."
"Friend?"
"Yes, a good one. Now we must go."
The messhall kitchen was busy, Uinse having ordered tea and food brought to men on the alures, and they took mugs and rolls and left, parting with a handclasp and her murmured, hot-hearted thanks. He limped off without looking back, and she trotted to the gatehouse. Uinse was by the parapet with Numair and Harailt, tension in his body.
"Lady Kel, there was noise and movement an hour back in their camp, then it cut off and I called Master Numair. He said it was a cloaking spell so I called the alert."
"Quite right. Numair?"
"It's a strong spell, Kel—a red robe at least. And it's tied to the earth somehow, holding itself down. I can't break it at this range, and it's blocking the griffin bands."
"It'll have to come closer, and then it'll be easier to break, yes?"
"Probably. There's odd magic in it—old blood magic, I think. It won't be easy."
"Alright. Will you sense it coming closer?"
"Yes."
"Sing out when it does. Uinse, tell section sergeants on the outer alures to get keys to the rocknets. Use them at their discretion—if something's sneaking up it's still got to get over the walls. Griffin-fletched arrows for master archers. All military personnel on duty, but don't wake everyone else yet—wearing ourselves out does no good. Except, maybe"—she thought hard—"yes, ask the basilisks if a couple will come to the inner alures. If there's something magical in the attack rock spells might hold it."
"Lady Kel."
She turned to the mages. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"Nothing useful." Numair's eyes were half-lidded in concentration. "I could explain blood magic, but it makes no odds. Gissa always liked blood spells. She could be adapting something learned from a shaman. They like blood spells too."
"Mmm. But it's just a cloaking spell?"
"As far as I can tell."
"Harailt, can you detect it?"
"Oh yes."
"Numair, will you need Harailt to break the spell?"
"Not if it comes close enough."
"Then go to the tower, please, Harailt, and watch the eastern side. Maggur likes two-pronged attacks—tickle and stab."
He nodded and went, and an uneasy silence came to the roof. Even usual night sounds were absent, Kel realised, nocturnal animals hiding from magic they'd sense. She risked a trip to the gatehouse privy, and returning through the guardroom saw a bundle of bloody arrows and an assortment of swords and spears with scorched shafts. Uinse was back on the roof and she summoned him with a crooked finger.
"You recovered arrows?"
He looked sheepish. "It was quiet, Lady Kel, and I've lads who are quick with hands and knife. They didn't go far but got what they could—fifty-odd arrows and what weapons they could find. They was volunteers, my Lady, and the wicket bolted behind them."
She wasn't sure it was a risk she'd have taken but couldn't object to the gains. "That can't have been pleasant. Thank them for me."
"It's a mess out there, Lady Kel, but the ones outside the gate were alright. I did wonder about armour but movement started."
She shook her head. "Breast and backplates, yes, but otherwise leave it, Uinse. Move them away from the gate if you get the chance, though—over the glacis is fine. We can do without rotting bodies."
He nodded and they returned to the parapet. The pre-dawn air was chilly and Kel snagged another roll and fresh tea from the older children distributing them. Still concentrating, Numair flicked her a glance.
"You look better, Kel. Good to see."
"Yes, I had help. Yesterday was … difficult."
"There's an understatement. Were the gods present?"
"Not that I know and Irnai's said nothing. I think they've done all they're going to do and are just watching now."
"Spectators at a joust? I can imagine that."
"More like parents in the Chapel of the Ordeal, maybe. Though the Black God must be busy enough."
"True." He looked at her carefully. "You sound sorry for him."
"I am, Numair. I can't begin to imagine the burden he bears."
"If anyone else said that, Kel, I'd say 'of course you can't'. That's why he's the god. But I suspect you say it because you can begin to imagine, so I'll just say thank you, for myself, and Daine and Sarralyn." She nodded, grateful for his kindness, and he smiled. "Perhaps he gets his daughter and her pets to help when there's a rush."
She couldn't help her laugh and looked at him accusingly. Slaughter must surely have been present, and if one hyena, why not more? And for all the blood on her hands the satisfied part of her mind had no problem at all with Guisant and Garvey meeting them on their way to the Black God's judges, nor with making the Hag bestir herself.
"That's a thought. Though what Cloestra told me about Ozorne's fall made me think better of hyenas. And Daine was a fine one."
"Wasn't she ju—hang on. It's moving in, fast."
"Uinse, full alert. Tell me when it hits the moat, Numair." She could hear arrows being nocked and raised her voice. "Slings too, people."
"It's splitting up, Kel—eight, a dozen prongs. One's at the moat below us, over it, climbing. Others at the base of the roadway."
Even with her griffin band on Kel could see nothing. "Break the spell." She felt thudding vibration in the stone beneath her and raised her voice. "They're coming—fire as you can."
Sparkling black fire streaked down, splitting into crackling streamers. One struck something on the glacis below the turn of the roadway in a coruscating welter of stars and streaks, others further along the glacis, and Numair shouted a word that made the air scream around her as the cloaking spell broke. Blackness cracked to reveal a dozen giants climbing the glacis, driving thick spikes to haul themselves up and stand on, roaring now they were exposed. Arrows were flying and she fired herself, godbow warm in hand, and heard a giant bellow, clutching the shaft in its eye, but no arrow could penetrate a giant's skull and hitting shoulders and arms didn't even slow them. Stones were more effective, producing roars of pain, but weren't going to stop these creatures.
A ball of magic shot from Numair to strike a giant's head as it rose above the roadway, clinging rather than exploding; that giant fell, arms windmilling, and something broke with an ugly crack as it hit the abatis. But the nearest one was still climbing, and she saw a huge foot gain the turn of the roadway. The gatehouse was too high even for a giant but the outer palisade wasn't, and with two strides it planted a foot against the base of the wall, one great hand reaching for the merlon nearest the gatehouse. Running for the parapet on that side she heard a ghastly scream and saw fingers smear a soldier against stone. His head was rolling towards her and recognising the section sergeant she dived for the case of keys, flipping it open and snapping the thin sliver labelled West–Merlon 1 in its slot. Scooping up West–Merlon 2 to 7 she stood again, to be deafened by an appalling howl as two hundredweight of rocks smashed into the giant's feet, knocking it back to the roadway, skinned knees resting on the glacis and face flung skyward as it keened. Its throat was exposed and she slapped the mageblasts flat on the crenel, the godbow leaping to her hand from where she'd dropped it in her haste, and her arrow punched into the pulsing skin alongside another from the alure, then her second and third and more from elsewhere and the howl was cut off as it slumped, tumbling beyond the roadway out of sight.
Numair and Harailt had killed at least one more each, the glacis trembling as falling bodies struck it, and more howls of agony, audible even through the ringing in her ears, told her others were using the rocknets. She used West – Merlon 6 and 7, then the bow again, sending an arrow directly into a cavernous mouth as it turned towards her and seeing a rock that must be from Ventriaju smash into its temple at the same moment; it fell, rolling away to bounce from the roadway into the darkness beyond. But at least two giants had firm footings on the edge of the shelf, towering over the palisade and sweeping men from alures with hands as big as horses' hocks, knocking them through and over the railings into the killing field between the walls. She was aiming at the nearest for the second time when she saw Raoul and Alanna running towards it. The Lioness's sword flashed across the back of the giant's hand, slicing tendons, and it howled, lifting the hand away as Raoul came past to bring his warhammer down on the point of its chin. Its head jerked forward and his return blow, two-handed, slammed into the base of its nose, slapping the head back, silver blood trailing in air and wounded hand flailing as it fell, head striking glacis with a vile crunch.
Beyond them, more than half-way to the north tower, the other giant had cleared the alure as far as it could reach, and resting both hands on the parapet drew itself up, swinging its leg high to jam it into a crenel and stand. It towered into the sky, head well above the men on the inner alure, and Kel realised it would be able to leap clean over the killing field. Numair was summoning a fireball but taking too long, power drained by breaking the spell, and as arrows flew from the godbow to strike its side, no more than pins to a bear, she didn't think he'd be able to stop it in time. It roared triumph, kicking ponderously to send men flying, and was reaching for the inner alure when the shrieking, crashing rumble of the rock spell thrashed the air. Var'istaan had gained the inner alure and was stalking along it, mouth wide, and the avalanche of sound went on and on, the notes within it rising beyond hearing, and the giant was still. Open-mouthed, Kel saw greyness spread over its face and chest, accelerating down arms and torso with a crackling sound like treetrunks splitting in counterpoint to the noise of the spell. The last visible flesh at the ankle rising above the crenel vanished and the rumbling died, leaving the night abruptly silent.
Blinking and shaking her head Kel swallowed to pop her ears, and saw the two giants still climbing the glacis above the base of the roadway had stopped, mouths open as they stared at the statue towering twenty-five feet above the outer alure, and she turned to Numair, seeing him arrested too, fireball dwindling in his hand.
"Topple it outwards, Numair—now!"
Shaking himself he nodded and swung his arm, the fireball curving away to pass over the inner alure and accelerate back to crack into the statue's head, splitting the top away. The chunk of what had a moment ago been skull and hair screamed into the darkness and hearing distant shouts she hoped it had landed on watching Scanrans, but her gaze was locked on the statue. Infinitely slowly it was moving, tipping back, the foot jammed in the crenel acting as a pivot, and with outstretched arms utterly, weirdly still the head swung through a half-circle to slam into the glacis above the roadway and shatter explosively. Fragments whined away, producing a howl from one of the other giants as the stone foot at last came free of the crenel and the headless torso slid onto the roadway, pivoting over the jagged stump of neck and jaw to crash onto the glacis below and break into a hundred pieces that tumbled down to splash into the moat or bounce into the field beyond. The last giants howled and slid to the roadway, turning to lumber down and crash across the moatbridge, and the attack was over.
Shaking with relief Kel drew a shuddering breath and rested a hand on Numair's shoulder. "Thank you."
Her voice was hoarse and when she caught Var'istaan's eye she bowed, seeing soldiers on the alure echo her movement. Uinse came to her side, offering a flask and she nodded thanks, swilling her mouth and drinking thirstily before passing it to Numair.
"Alright, people." Her voice still sounded rusty but it was carrying. "That was way too close but we've beaten them back. Good work, everyone. Sergeants, check sections and get injured to the infirmary." She swallowed. "Dead to the gatehouse. Sentries, eyes out—it's just the time for them to get sneaky. Captains, gatehouse in half-an-hour and we'll take stock." She saw Raoul wave lazily. "My lord?"
"Just to say you're all giantkillers now, Lady Kel. It's a great relief to share the title."
Laughter and hoarse cheers sounded along the alure, and she smiled at her knight master who'd taught her so much, and so often had the right thing to say. "Thank you, my lord. Delighted to do you a favour. We've a way to go before we can bang them on the nose with warhammers." Cheers swelled but a raised arm cut them off. "Get to it, everyone—wounded can't wait."
Dawn revealed a grim tally. Seventeen men had died, six on spikes between the walls. Pulling them off was a vile job, and men who'd taken a full blow from a giant's hand were pulverised, bone rippling under skin and blood leaking sluggishly as they were rolled onto stretchers. Another thirty were injured, five with broken longbones or skulls, the rest with cracked ribs and severe scrapes where they'd been sent skidding. Harailt was unharmed but so drained he was comatose, and was carried away, Ettenor and Numair trailing anxiously. More than half the casualties were Uinse's men, duty watch when the alarm sounded, and the rest from the company Wyldon had brought. Both were with Kel as she saw coffins stacked between gatehouse and fin, and accompanied her to the infirmary. It was hard for Uinse who'd never lost so many before, and it didn't occur to Kel she'd never done so herself, even at Rathhausak; she seemed to have been killing and burying for ever. Wyldon had been here too many times, and while she knew it never got easier Kel was glad of his strength and brisk manner.
In a way the infirmary was cheering. No injured were in danger and some had already been released. Harailt was astonishingly better, as was Numair, who explained he had a bag of opals in which he'd been storing power and as well as refuelling himself had managed to refuel Harailt—a possibility discovered rigging the opal for Kel. The room was brighter for Yuki's presence with other women, bringing food and imposing civility. Kel gratefully drank tea before heading back to the gatehouse.
The scene was even worse than yesterday. Burned corpses had been smeared by giants' feet, and hulking bodies lay scattered. One was across the roadway half-way up, another near the base; the rest had fallen to catch on the abatis—or not. Two floated in the moat, beginning to bloat. Fragments of the stone giant were caught in the abatis and decorated the field beyond. Besides the smell that would soon rise the giants in the moat were a risk, for men might cross on their bodies. The thought was driven from her mind as she saw Scanran shieldmen and archers advancing, and a moment later a volley rose. Her shout had men dropping for cover, but at least one wasn't fast enough, taking the arrow in his shoulder. More volleys followed, forcing sentries to drop into the angles of alure and parapet. One volley ranged further, arrows clattering onto the messhall, and even people on the main level had to seek cover. Wyldon joined her with a grim face.
"They're getting sensible. The traitors were a probe and the giants a surprise that might have worked. But it didn't, so now it's a proper siege, wearing us down. Volleys on and off all day, all round." His point was proven as shouts from the eastern alure announced another. "All night too—the range will be familiar and they'll sneak in to try pot shots. And range in—they don't know people have withdrawn to the caves."
"I'll warn Uinse. And the children running food and drink will be at risk, and the animals unless …"
Wyldon raised an eyebrow. "Unless what, Keladry?"
"I was thinking about canvas."
"Canvas?"
"Run some over sticks from the messhall to the steps …"
"Canvas won't stop arrows."
"Petrified canvas will. Let's go talk to Var'istaan."
"Petrified canvas?" He shook his head. "It's an education to fight with you, Keladry. And an honour."
It was another forgiveness of what she'd done to Runnerspring and the knights and men who'd followed him. "Thank you. It doesn't feel as if it should be. Bombs and butchery aren't what the code recommends."
"Protecting the innocent is, and the code says 'in every way possible, while breath remains'." He brushed away a hair clinging to her cheek. "I haven't seen you break it yet, Keladry, in word or deed. Now, where will we find Var'istaan? I'd be glad to thank him anyway—I thought that last giant was going to jump right over the inner wall. Remarkable."
Too full of emotion to speak she slipped her arm through his and they went to seek Var'istaan and the others.