by Pam Uphoff
"So I see. No point in keeping all of you here, is there?"
"No, sir." Private Richardson hesitated. "We've been taking over more of the wall, so the east gate militia and the people on the west wall can concentrate themselves."
"Good. I think I'll swap militia units in here, and split you between east, west and north. They'll attack one of those walls, next."
Chapter Fifteen
Friday, March 13, 3493 AD
Jeramtown, Arrival
"The militia reports 'hearing things' at the west wall north side."
Kurt returned the Lieutenant's salute. "It's got to be tempting, that long wall without a tower or anything to make defending it easier."
Lieutenant Seigal was the youngest of the officers, and the least known to Kurt. "Show me."
The west wall was just a wall, no parapet or walkway. Half a mile long, straight in a wavy sort of fashion. Wide enough to walk if one wished to, but completely exposed. "The Baron's man, Master Hatcher, who organized the watch, not the foot soldiers or archers, assigned people to this stretch who live here abouts. They talk to all the people along here. A bunch of the wives and grannies have started watching on their own, from their roofs. They report anything and everything they see to the official watchmen, who check and then report it to us."
"If it works . . . I really hate it when people build their houses right up against the walls." He surveyed the staggering row of thatch roofed huts. "And it's a fire hazard."
A knot of people were standing out in the road three quarters of the way down the wall, and Kurt lengthened his stride down the dirt path. He was kicking up a fair amount of dust with every step. "Kinda dry, this spring, isn't it?"
"Beats mud." Seigal said, but he frowned a bit. "I wonder how the wells are doing? That stream through town, Criers River, is flowing good."
"Something else to worry about."
The people in the street drew back, except for one bent and wrinkled old woman, and a nervous young man wearing one of the bronze helmets the lady had made for the militia.
"I went up on the roof, but couldn't see anything," he said. "Miss Frouth here says she's heard them whispering."
"Well let's take a look." He edged carefully into the hovel.
"Ere, what'er you doing inside? Get up ona roof!" The little old lady grabbed a broom and shook it at them.
Kurt studied the rear of the single room, spotted the sag in the dirt floor, the tiny new cracks and drew back. "Sappers. Time to fetch more men."
The floor crumpled. Kurt scrambled backwards, as the ground caved under him and he slid down into the sappers' tunnel. His hand scrambled for the pommel of his sword, as he kicked the head of a sapper picking himself up out of the collapsed dirt.. Then he pulled his knife, instead. It was much more suited to the very close confines. He was in between Arbolians, and they were dropping shovels and grabbing knives as Seigal jumped down to protect his back.
As the dust started clearing Kurt lunged with the knife, making the sappers keep their distance. A pick swung and he jumped back, then lunged in and grabbed the pick head, stabbed the wielder with his knife, grabbed the pick handle and swung it underhand.
"Seigal, how you doing?"
"Got the last one. The tunnel ends here." His voice was tight with pain.
"Good, let's get out of here." Kurt backed up. One glance at Seigal, a hand on his bleeding belly and he knelt. "Up you go, now!"
The lieutenant actually had the sense to not argue, and climbed his commander and heaved himself painfully over the edge. Kurt chopped two quick holes in the dirt wall and leaned the pick against the wall. Nothing coming through the tunnel yet. One foot on the pike handle, a hand in one of his hasty holes and he was scrambling over the edge. He rolled away as a figure emerged from under the wall, crossbow in hand. The bolt zipped across his shoulder, then the old crone was there.
"You ruint me floor!" The pot of boiling liquid hit the man square and he screamed in agony.
Kurt grabbed Seigal and hauled him out of the hovel. The fastest looking boys were sent both directions for more guards, and Kurt started throwing everything on hand down the hole. Starting with the table. The old crone's bed.
Fortunately any troops behind the sappers hadn't been prepared for an assault, and obviously thought better of throwing away lives for a doomed enterprise.
"They'll dig again. In fact they're probably digging in half a dozen places." Kurt panted. "Seigal, can you walk? Swear I'm going to start carrying some of the lady's wine around with me."
"It's a gut wound, sir. It has been an honor to have served under . . . "
"Stop right there, damn it. I refuse to listen to such utter drivel. You are not going to die. Not when we've got the Dark Lady on our side."
Running feet from the south, and Jenner arrived with a winded squad.
"Excellent. We had sappers, they appear to have decided that they don't want to try it tonight. We need rocks, the littler the better, to fill the hole. You guard, I'll find a work detail and get Seigal some help."
More running feet and Kurt grabbed two men to carry Seigal and sent two more for a work crew.
At the tavern, he had Seigal carried all the way to the corridor outside the Lady's room, and knocked quietly.
Liz opened the door.
"I have a man with a bad gut wound, can you ask the lady if . . ."
The lady walked out, unselfconscious in a thin shift. "Yes, the wine will work, but the cleaner the wound the faster the recovery. Hmm, not good, the gut is leaking inside." She returned with a glass of wine, a pitcher of water, and a bundle of cloth under one arm. "Drink this, Lieutenant."
She poured water over the wound, and into it. She mopped up the mess, thrusting fingers inside to hold open the wound while she rinsed. "Roll him toward me." She mopped up more mess, then reached in to pinch something. "Roll him back." More water. "Towards me." Mopping. "All right, everything is sealed up on the inside. Let's see how long it takes you to heal, Lieutenant." She took her fingers out of the hole and grabbed a deep handful, squeezing sliced muscles together. She finished by pinching the skin closed. It stayed closed when she took her hands away, a raw line, but not bleeding.
Kurt shivered, horrified, fascinated . . . Seigal ought to be dying in agony. His own innards twinged in sympathy.
"Put him to bed, and nothing but tiny sips of water until I look at it again tomorrow." December staggered as she rose, and Liz grabbed from the other side as Kurt grabbed her arm.
"M'lady, are you all right?"
"I'm weak from loss of blood. Nothing more. Damn that assassin, I should be out there. Doing something."
Kurt snorted. "Oh, let us fellows have some of the glory."
She smiled dryly. "Go have fun chasing glory then, I'm going back to bed. No, wait. Liz, give him one of the bottles. Just a tiny bit, Captain. Too much can overwhelm a person's conscience and make them rape. If it runs low, just get a bottle of any wine and add a bit of this. The spell will spread to the whole bottle. Water will work, but the spell will break down in a few days."
He blinked at the bottle. "Right. Very small amounts."
"The worse the injury, the more the power of the spell tilts toward healing." Her eyes crinkled. "So don't worry too much, when the injury is bad."
"Right. Rest, M'lady. There's a whole raft of tactics they haven't tried yet, and some we may really need help with."
***
Liz helped the Lady back into bed, then gathered up all the nasty messy diapers and all the bloody clothes and headed for the laundry. It was crowded, and all the women were a bit nervy. Old Cynthia Frouth was telling everyone all about the ruination of her home, with emphasis on the number of Arbolians the brave Prince had killed, and her own throwing of the boiling broth. Liz helped, and as soon as the bloody diapers were seen had to tell the tale of the Lady's magic healing. The diapers were duly boiled, wrung and hung, and then the Lady's dress with the slash where the knife had stabbed her was examined. It w
as washed reverently, ironed and stitched carefully back together by the most capable seamstress in the town.
They all discussed illnesses and injuries around the town, and who could be trusted with a healing potion that could change a dying man into a ravening brute. Two women were selected, from opposite sides of town, and they came back to the tavern with her.
"What an excellent idea." The Lady eyed the women with approval. "See if anyone has more red wine. White wine will keep the spell for a few months, water only for a few days. In red wine, it will keep nearly forever. This is at least twenty-four years old. They say the Goddess of Fertility and Healing got drunk with the God of War and Wine, and this is what they cooked up. Use it carefully."
"That's heathen talk."
The Lady shook her head. "Sarcasm. At least they say that's how it started. What we call gods are just people with incredible amounts of magic. We know that they aren't really gods. They worship God the Creator." She leaned back. "I would love to get one of them to come here, to talk with your priests."
She gave a bottle to each woman, and sent Liz out to try and scrounge more. It was expensive, but she returned with six bottles.
"Excellent." The lady had Liz pull all the corks and added just a bit of the healing wine into each bottle and recork them. "Ordinarily this is a horrible thing to do to a good wine, but these won't go to vinegar."
Well supplied for disaster, they spent the rest of the day and all of the next with nothing to do but worry. The lady walked upstairs to check Lieutenant Seigal, and found Kurt in attendance. Liz hovered in the doorway.
" . . . so only three more, so far. Good morning M'lady. Come to check your patient?"
"Indeed. I hope that wasn't three more tunnels?"
"It was. We don't have an engineer with us, so we're just blocking them as soon as we find them. So far they haven't defended them very hard, just back off and dig elsewhere."
The lady bent her head over the lieutenant's bare torso. Liz could see that he was quite hairy. Kurt's chest had been so bloody, she couldn't remember . . .
"Lieutenant, this looks very good. I'll tell Madam Cordes to send you some broth. One trusts, Prince Kurt, that you haven't fallen down into any more of these tunnels?"
"Ouch! Now I'm reduced to Prince. That's even worse than Captain, you know?"
"I know. That's why I used it."
"Well, if you are going to be rude, I insist that you and Liz join me for dinner." He shot a hopeful glance at Liz.
"Certainly. Lieutenant, you're going to be fine. But rest for a few more days." The lady shook her head at Kurt's proffered elbow. "I thought that elbow belonged to Liz? Try it and see if it fits."
Liz blushed. "December!" But she took the elbow and it fit very well, all the way to a table in the main room.
"I didn't hear any excitement today." The lady smiled at the serving girl. "Just a bowl of soup please."
"Whatever Madam has prepared, and a small ale, please." Liz approved of the tavern's sudden change to frugality.
"The same, please." Kurt propped his elbows on the table and studied the Lady. "We're taking bets on whether they'll try fire or contaminating the stream next. We're stockpiling water and sand everywhere."
The lady winced. "All these thatched roofs. You might tell your guards to start sealing in the horses, and I'll try to show people that if they seal themselves into those bubble houses, no fire or smoke can touch them. The children . . . Heavens, I've been so tempted to seal Quail in so I don't have to worry about her for days, or even months. I'll talk to Lucy about what to do, if there's a serious fire." Her forehead creased. "Mind you, I think I can do something magical about fire . . . but I feel so weak, right now."
Kurt smiled. "Rest, then. I can't wait to see what you do to a fire. I think without you, the town would have surrendered within days. Anything you can do to help will be appreciated."
The girl returned with two plates and two bowls. "Mum said the greens would be strengthening." She scurried away.
"So, what have you been doing all day?" the Lady asked, poking at the green mass.
"Organizing an engineering squad. I hadn't thought to, before I had a sudden hole under my wall. So far it's four old men, two donkey carts and some sources of rock and broken brick. Miss Frouth is still sharing her curses between me and the Arbolians."
Liz giggled. "She was at the laundry yesterday. She is not pleased with the state of her floor. She made the whole fight sound quite lurid. Did you really kill three men with a pickaxe and two with your knife, not even bothering to draw your sword?"
Kurt choked. "Swords are pretty useless in really tight spaces like that. I, umm, one knifed, one pickaxed, one kicked in the head. I have not the faintest idea if they lived or died."
Liz and the lady snickered.
Liz chewed a tender chunk of lamb and frowned. "It seems like they'd try fire first—make us use up our water fighting it, and then . . . what could they do to the river?"
"Either dam it, up stream somewhere, or dump a bunch of cow and sheep carcasses into it. Maybe both, depending on how successful their damming operations are."
The lady rubbed her head. "That sounds bad."
"We have one advantage over them, and that is you, Lady December. We need you strong enough to make a corridor to somewhere upstream, so we can attack their engineers."
"Ah. Yes." She polished off the greens. "And with that goal in mind, I'll seek my bed early. Goodnight, Kurt, Liz."
And then she was all alone with Kurt. Well, alone at a table in a room crammed with people having dinner. His eyes flicked around the room, and he sighed. "I'd run away with you somewhere, but then they'd really talk." His head came up and she followed his gaze. He stood respectfully, "Mr. Richover, Mayor Kline, would you join us?"
The Mayor frowned at her a little dubiously, but Mr. Richover smiled. "I suppose under the circumstances asking if you've kept up your studies would be silly. It's good to see you again, in any case, Liz."
"Thank you." She knitted her brows. "Goodness I didn't even think about church last Sunday."
He chuckled. "The rocks crashing about our heads rather messed up all of our schedules, not to mention sleep. And this Lady of yours was taking all your attention, from what I've heard. The assassin was never caught?"
Kurt shook his head. "No. And considering the number of witnesses who saw him, I think he must have had a way over or under the wall."
Mayor Kline scowled. "We're doing well enough now. That ploy with the Dark Lady was brilliant, Prince Kurt. It has the whole town bucked up. But they're going to try an all out assault sooner or later."
Kurt leaned on his elbows, trying to project calm and competence. "I talked to Master Byrne and Master Gaston. They've gotten every warm body possible and are training them to fight, to shoot a bow, or make arrows. But it's going to be a near thing. My messengers were sent off two weeks ago. We may get help at any time—if Vista can send troops."
"If the Arbolians aren't blocking the roads, laying ambushes and so on."
"Yes. There is always that problem." Kurt shrugged. "At the moment, the longer the standoff lasts, the better for us. So we'll be acting against these sappers, maybe a few raids on their rear guard, just so they don't start thinking about concentrating everyone on the wall, but we won't push. We'll wait, and hope for relief."
Mr. Richover stirred. "I know this is a bad time to bring up the question, but . . . what sort of being is this Lady December Quicksilver?" His eyes sought Liz.
"She is the sort of being that cares about people, that formed a fast loyalty to this town when it treated her fairly and with welcome, despite her oddities. She will work herself to exhaustion for us, fight for us, heal us . . . she cares about people. Her theology was formed elsewhere, but I would suggest that what is needed is education not judgment."
"But she is very powerful."
"Yes."
"And she worships other gods."
"No. There are people she ca
lls gods, but she says it is just the name they use, that they are not the Creator. She does not worship them." Liz scuffed her feet. "She may well be one of these very powerful magic users. If so, I understand how they could be called gods—lower case. Perhaps what we need is a different word to use."
Mr. Richover nodded. "I'll think on that."
Chapter Sixteen
Tuesday, March 17, 3493 AD
Jeramtown, Arrival
The Arbolians had moved the trebuchets when they abandoned their assault on the south gate. One was now east of town, the other north. When their crews started winding them down, the watch sent a message to both militia and guards. When they started wrapping rocks in tarred rags, the messages flew again.
It was getting dark, which would further confuse fire fighting.
Liz brought both horses around. She might not be much help, but she was determined that December was not going to be alone.
The lady dressed in her dark suit and mounted Phantom. "I promise I won't overdo. I'll let Phantom do the leg work."
Liz rode Moxie, and loaded her saddle bags with wine and bandages. Moxie pranced like a horse half her age, but settled quickly.
The trebuchets fired as the sun set. The lady raised a hand and pointed at the flaming rock as it fell. The fire flickered out, but the rock still fell.
"Too far away," the lady muttered.
Liz bit her lip. They'd been out all day, showing people how to seal their children in safely while they fought fires, but Liz rather thought most of the people were going be on the inside when they sealed them up.
"How about arrows? If they fire flaming arrows, you won't be able to get hardly any of them, will you?"
"A mass volley wouldn't be too hard to cool. Let's move north. Did the other trebuchet fire?"
They craned around but didn't see any smoke. A hundred sparks flew over the wall, and the lady made a brushing motion. The sparks died.
"Hurry. I missed a lot that were behind buildings, that I couldn't see." Phantom trotted down Cooper's street to Main. And they could see smoke starting to rise in several places. The lady galloped for the nearest, and spread a hand toward the flames spreading and growing in the thatch roof, as if trying to conceal the sight from herself. The flames sank, winked out. The smoke blew away and only blackened reeds were left.