by Pemry Janes
“Beastling!” At last, he stepped forward, and his sword whistled as it came around in a powerful strike. Her dagger came up to block, but her arm buckled under the force and she caught the rest of the stroke on her bracer. Her left arm went numb and she hissed at the pain.
Yet this was her opening. Her blade went up as if to strike even as she pushed his sword to the left. His shield came up—he’d expected this move—and tried to batter her blade out of the way. It wasn’t there, however, but coming around, down, and into the man’s foot.
She left the sword there and used her now-free hand to keep the shield out of the way and stepped into him, her dagger slicing across his throat as his last breath struck her face. He wasn’t dead yet, though, but his attempt to bring his sword around was feeble and easily batted away. The Irelian slumped to the ground, one foot still pinned to the ground by her blade.
Her eyes roamed the battlefield. It was quiet again, only the sobbing moan of a dying man drifting through the night. Where was Rock? She spun around, forcing her left arm up. There he was, no sign of the wall he’d raised. There were some lumps on the ground around him; not all were made of rock and dirt.
“They’re all dead,” he said, his hands raised. “None of them got away.”
She strained her eyes, but it was too dark to see his expression. “Yes, but we did not do it quietly. There are bound to be more around, and some of them will have heard this battle. We’d best leave as soon as possible and make haste toward Glinfell.” She pulled her sword out before kneeling next to her last opponent.
There was a design on his surcoat, but grime and age conspired with the dark to hide the details. Taking a hold of it with her hand, she began cutting it up.
“I thought you said we needed to make haste?”
“Yes, but putting your blades back in their scabbard without wiping off the blood first will ruin both. Could you retrieve my throwing spikes? Watch the point, the poison might not kill you but I can’t carry you to the city.”
“All right.”
First, she wiped her dagger with the cloth. It wasn’t very clean, but it was dry. Next came her sword. Leraine eyed her downed opponent and noticed the state of his mail. It had been a fine piece at one time, but it had been repaired often and poorly. Leather laces had been used to close one of the holes.
She could have risked a stab at his chest, and it probably would have gone through. And his blade, it was enchanted once. Leraine had been taught to recognize the sigils. But that enchantment had run out some time ago. She’d wager he was one of the Deposed, using old heirlooms because he couldn’t afford any better. But how had the enemy gotten in front of them?
“Here’s everything I could find,” Rock said, offering the projectiles in one hand and her pack in the other.
“Thank you.” Putting her weapons away, she wrapped the spikes in the cloth and put it in her pack. “Sense anybody approaching?”
He closed his eyes for a moment then shook his head. “Nobody nearby, but there’s a large group camped out north of the city. It makes it harder to listen for any smaller groups coming from that direction.”
“North of the city.” It could be refugees. Her eyes strayed to the corpses. “How large a group?”
Rock rubbed his chin. “Hundreds, at least. But at this distance, I can’t tell how many of them are people and how many are animals.”
“I think it would be best if we avoided them either way. Lead the way.”
Chapter 15
Turmoil Within
They left the main road and made their way along footpaths and through fields of ripened wheat waiting to be harvested. They didn’t meet a soul, though once they hid underneath some bushes when they heard horses coming closer. But that group never stopped and never got close enough for Eurik to see who they were.
Nothing stirred within the darkened farms and houses they passed. One door hadn’t been shut properly, and it whined as the breeze played with it.
With the moon high in the night’s sky, they reached their destination and Eurik looked up the wall. “How do we do this? Knock on the gate?” They could do so; there was no moat or ditch, though his senses told him that had once been different.
“Actually, that is precisely what we do.” Silver Fang didn’t stop and walked up to the gate, striking one of the iron bands with the pommel of her knife. She hammered it three times before placing her empty hand at her mouth and calling out something in Irelian.
Eurik had gotten better with the language after spending so many weeks around the Gored Axes, but all he got was the end, when Silver Fang told them to wake up.
Silver Fang stopped shouting and came back to him. “And now we wait. It should not be long. Though they should have challenged us when we came up to the wall.”
“I’m not an expert in sieges, but I expected a certain amount of . . . vigilance as well.” He frowned. “Would they really let us inside? We are strangers and have no proof that we are who we say we are.”
“Not without being well guarded until I can offer the proof. At least we should,” Silver Fang said. “There are only two of us. They’ll have a mage on guard as well to stop any magical trickery.” She looked over her shoulder. “What is taking them so long? Are they truly sleeping?”
“If they are, your yelling should have woken them up,” Misthell said. “I’d worry more about who else heard it.”
Silver Fang’s reply was preempted by a shout from above. A lot of shouting, all in Irelian and incomprehensible to Eurik, by someone who held up a lantern that shone with a steady blue light. Silver Fang shouted back, but whoever was up there didn’t sound happy to hear it; neither did she.
***
“But we are here to help! I’m Silver Fang, daughter of Raven Eye. I’m here to uphold my mother’s oath.”
“I don’t care if ya are the daughter of the emperor of Linese,” the Glinfeller shouted back. “The gate stays closed between sunset and sunrise. That’s the law!”
“And what are we supposed to do while you sleep? You may not have noticed, but there is an army camped outside your walls!” It was the only explanation for the deserted farms, fields full of crops ready for harvest. If these people were worried about the army coming up the Road they would have been in the fields, gathering as much as they could. The only thing that would stop that was an army already in the vicinity.
She could see shadows move on top of the wall; they were gathering a crowd. Good. Perhaps one of them would be more sensible.
However, for now, she was still dealing with the guard who seemed to be eager to come up with one dumb excuse after another. “And how do I know ya ain’t one of them? Ya could be a spy!”
Leraine pointed at the ground at her feet. “Why don’t you come down here and make that accusation to my face?”
“Ya can’t trick me! The gates ain’t opening for anybody for any reason. Ya want in, ya can come back at dawn.” The guard leaned back, and the mage lamp disappeared behind the battlements.
“You may want to rethink that, Corporal Oversteene,” a familiar voice rumbled. “I can vouch for her, she is who she says she is.” The reply was too soft to hear, but a moment later Captain Slyvair’s face appeared over the parapet. “And that insulting her is a bad idea. Good evening, Silver Fang.”
“Captain Slyvair? What are you doing here?”
“Do you really want to hold a conversation like this?”
She looked around. “Well, I would love to hold one inside but someone won’t open the gate.”
“And I still won’t, even if . . .” Oversteene’s speech stumbled to a halt after the sun-man looked over his shoulder, and his next few words were a lot quieter. “Ah, I mean, even though you are an ally.”
“And I can’t do it either.” Slyvair’s fingers drummed on the parapet. “Not without his permission, or I’m out of my contract.”
Leraine looked around, an itch developing between her shoulder blades. The enemy was out there in the
dark and all this shouting and yelling was sure to draw hostile attention. They couldn’t stay out here. Should they risk one of the other gates? Surely someone could be more reasonable about the rules.
Her eyes fell on Rock, who was still looking up at Slyvair. He obviously hadn’t expected to see the sun-man here either. Perhaps there was a way out of this predicament. “What does the law say on allies going over the wall?”
A moment later Slyvair’s laugh echoed off the wall. “Well, Corporal, can they come over the wall or will you have to arrest them afterward?”
Oversteene leaned over the parapet again. “Are ya daft? Ya can’t climb up this wall, it’s been kept in good repair!”
“That’s not an answer,” Leraine replied. “Give us permission to go over the wall and let us worry about how to do it.”
“And when ya fall down and break ya fool neck, I’m the one that’ll face the heat.”
“Captain Slyvair can testify that you warned me about the risk and I did it anyway. So is there a law against it?”
“Against idiots trying to climb the wall?” He scratched his head, then shook it. “Of course not! Fine, come on up. Not like ya will get high enough to break anything anyway.”
Turning away from them, she approached Rock. “How much of that could you follow?”
“Oh, everything,” Misthell said. “Don’t think Eurik caught it all, though.”
“I didn’t. I gather that there was a problem, but you have a solution.”
Leraine nodded. “They would not open the gate, some law about it staying shut while the sun is down. But we aren’t barred from entering the city, thanks to Captain Slyvair. Can you do what you did at the Road and lift us up to the battlements?”
Rock scuffed his foot over the grass and hummed. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
They hurried over until they were right beside the wall. Rock bent his knees and remained still for a moment before slowly lifting one arm up. The ground beneath her feet followed suit and soon enough they were stepping off of the patch of grass and onto the top of the wall.
Oversteene turned to an older man dressed in a muted red doublet with yellow embroidery. The man had a graying beard and his chin was nearly resting against his chest as he stared at the retreating pillar of dirt. “I thought ya went over the wards this afternoon? Are ya skimping on the work?”
The man, who had to be a mage, tore his eyes away from them. “Skimping? You haven’t paid me yet! And the wards didn’t stop it because that was not magic, you ignorant waterdrinker!”
Oversteene still held the mage lamp so Leraine could clearly see his cheeks flush as the mage’s words hit him. “And ya can expect not to get paid if ya keep running ya mouth like that. Not if the enemy can just conjure up a ramp like that and march into the city. Fix the problem.”
“There’s no problem to fix!” The mage threw his arms up. Then he pointed one finger at Rock. “You, how did you do that?”
“My friend doesn’t speak Irelian,” Leraine said. “But from what I understand, his power has nothing to do with magic. It is mystical.”
“Mystical?” The mage narrowed his eyes. “I’ve seen your shamans at work, my lady, and their rituals have much more in common with my art than . . . than . . . whatever that boy just did.” He waved a hand at Rock, then froze. “And is he carrying a living sword?” His voice rose with every sentence.
Oversteene seized the mage by his shoulders and forced him to face the corporal. “I was talking here. And what do ya mean, not a problem? People aren’t supposed to just step up on the wall like they’re going out for an evening stroll!”
Slyvair had sidled up to them. “Shall we leave before they remember you are here?”
Turning her back to the two arguing, who were getting louder with every exchange, Leraine looked up at the sun-man. He was decked out in his armor and axes, the same as when they went after the elves. “Yes. Do you know where Mayor Rozenbruk is?”
“Going straight for the man in charge of it all.” Slyvair indicated the stairs leading down off the wall. “What makes you think he will see you? It is late and he has much to do.”
Leraine waited until they were walking down the steps before replying. “I’m here to represent my mother and uphold the agreement between our people. And as you said, it is late. I have no desire to waste the rest of the night trying to convince people I am who I say I am. He has met me, though I was still a child back then.”
***
Eurik trailed the pair as they navigated the maze of wood and brick that was the city of Glinfell. It was dark, darker than he expected, the houses blocking most of the light from the moon and the stars while the only other source of light he’d seen was back on the wall.
This place reminded him more of Darui than Linese, though there were many differences. It was bigger than Darui, for one, and the streets were cobbled rather than muddy. He’d glimpsed only a single tower when he’d been on the wall; it had a big circle at the top with numbers on it illuminated by mage lamps. Yet it wasn’t something he saw or heard that had him thinking of the city of bones.
The streets were choked with carts laden with anything and everything. People were sleeping under and on top of them, some without so much as a blanket. Others stirred at their passing. And there were a lot of animals—they passed one alley that had been turned into a pigpen by the simple expedient of placing a cart at either end of it.
There was a threat hovering over Glinfell. But unlike Darui, this was a fresh threat. And he’d walked right into the danger.
“I did not expect to meet you here,” Silver Fang said. “I would expect Ghajir has need of your protection. The journey to the Dwarghoss can’t be safe now.”
The orc chuckled. “More dangerous than you think, in fact. We’d left this city scarcely an hour before when people came fleeing down the road, warning of an army at their heels. The merchant didn’t trust it so he decided to turn the ships around and head back here. That was yesterday.”
“Yesterday? And from the east?”
Slyvair nodded. “I heard they crossed the Glinster at Nekke’s Peunt, a thousand cavalry. So once we got back I offered the services of the Gored Axes to help in the defense of the city. No fools, they had us reinforce the guard on the gate that’s the least threatened.”
“While you ensure your men get fed.” A cat gave them a luminous stare before speeding up the side of a house. “Do you really think the siege will last long enough for that to become an issue?”
The orc grumbled. “It might not have been the best decision. Lots of rumors flying about and I can’t get anybody in command to tell me much.” He looked over his shoulder at Eurik. “Did you meet the Immortal?”
Eurik’s lips twisted. “Yes.”
When he made no attempt to explain further, Slyvair rolled his shoulders and turned to Silver Fang again. “But why did you sound so surprised about the besiegers coming from the east?”
“Because I didn’t know the city was already under attack until we met some of them a few hours ago. I came to warn about the army coming up the Road.”
Slyvair spit out a few words in orcish. “So those rumors are true. Was wondering how Griffenhart planned to take the city with only a thousand men.”
“I’d imagine the way most do,” Silver Fang said. “Treachery.”
“Would get him in,” Slyvair said. “But this place is big enough to swallow a thousand fighters whole and spit them right out. He’d need to bribe or convince at least a quarter of the people to side with him and I don’t see that happening. Not when he’s championing the cause of the Deposed.”
The road curved before spilling out into a large open square, most of it now filled with makeshift fencing and herds of animals. Goats, pigs, cows, horses, even geese. A rectangular building four stories high dominated the space. It had a single tower, the same one Eurik had seen from the wall. It was this building Slyvair led them to, though he bypassed the entrance at the front. The orc gave
a short nod to the two soldiers guarding that door before striding along the side of the building and knocking on a small door.
It took a while before the door swung open with a soft whine. A stooped man raised the mage lantern a little higher as he squinted at Slyvair “Ja?”
***
Leraine stepped up beside Captain Slyvair, one hand on the pommel of her sword. The people of Glinfell might have left the Irelian Empire more than a generation ago, but they still shared many customs and expectations. One of them was how people in power were supposed to act when addressing servants.
“Silver Fang, daughter of Lady Raven Eye, is here to see your master.” He opened his mouth, but she plowed through. “Given the situation, I doubt he’s asleep and he will wish to see me.”
The older man’s eyes swept up and down her body. She could see the doubt. He could see she was Mochedan, but he wouldn’t be able to tell a member of the Crocodile tribe from the heir of Red Antler. Her clothes weren’t what he would expect a wealthy person to wear. They hadn’t been expensive to begin with and months of travel had turned them worn and filthy.
“My lady, the hour is late and as you yourself remarked, the current situation has left Mayor Rozenbruk quite busy. I can pass along a message, though I don’t know when he’ll be in a position to respond.”
“You might not, but she will see him now,” Captain Slyvair said.
There was another beat as the man tried to place the sun-man. “Captain Slyvair, I’m not sure—”
“My employer has been to Raven Eye’s household. She is who she says she is and Commander Neijroode will want to hear what she’s seen.”
“Ah, if Merchant Aldhoub vouches for her identity I suppose . . .” He tapped his lips, then stepped aside and swept the mage lantern away from them. “Please wait in here while I announce your presence.”
“I better head back to my men and make sure the wall is still standing,” Captain Slyvair said. He gave them both a nod and strode away.
The old servant closed the door behind them and turned on a mage lantern at a table before shuffling off. He closed the door leading deeper into the building as well, but Leraine didn’t hear the lock rattle shut.