And we have bigger things to worry about, now.
“The first ward has been breached,” Forn said quietly, not waiting for Jofrey to question why it was they had sought him out. “Elber and I were both alerted.”
Elber nodded in confirmation. “Several of the men and women we recruited to assist us in the spellwork seemed to have experienced the same warning,” he said in a low tone. “I’m sure Jerrom will say the same, if we can find him.”
For a few seconds Jofrey’s strained face became suddenly tighter, the implications of this information bearing down on him all at once. Quickly, though, he composed himself, closing Gálos Br’hest’s journal with a snap and pushing himself to his feet. Waving a hand to catch the attention of a passing library attendant, he gestured the acolyte over.
“Have these brought to the High Priest’s quarters,” Jofrey told the girl, indicating the journal and a half-dozen other books piled to one side of the desk. “I will complete my perusal of them there. The rest can be returned to their shelves, if you please.”
The acolyte bobbed her head once, moving to obey even as Jofrey indicated for Elber and Forn to follow him. He started for the library door immediately, cutting through the shelves and readers with long, quick strides. As they made it into the hall, Jofrey didn’t stop walking.
He did, however, give the pair behind him a glance over his shoulder.
“Explain.”
“It happened about twenty minutes ago,” Forn began at once. “The first ward extends as close to the base of the stairs as we could manage. The edge that crosses the path is about an hour up from the bottom of the mountains.”
“And someone triggered it?” Jofrey asked, eyes set resolutely forward as they continued through the Citadel halls. “Do we know who? Or how many?”
Men and women of all ranks and studies moved out of their way as the three of them hurried by, pulling aside children and the unwary to leave the way unhindered for the interim High Priest and the council members.
“No,” Elber answered with a shake of his head. “The ward is far overextended as is. We can’t even tell you if it was broken along the stairway, at least for the time being. It’s the first line of the defense, a warning toll. If something is indeed coming up the mountain path it’s going to be a while before we know what.”
“How long?”
“Assuming it takes them the usual half-day or so to climb, several hours,” Forn replied. “Likely more, as the steps are well-choked by snow. The second ward extends halfway down the stairs. The third is halfway again to that.”
“And they’ll be able to tell us from where they’re coming?” Jofrey asked, leading them around a sharp turn down the incline of a long ramp, their shadows flickering against the wall to their left, cast by the scattered blue and white candles set in small alcoves in the stone to their right.
“Yes, the second will tell us from where,” Elber said in agreement. “The third what, and how many. There are a fourth and fifth, layered over one another along the very top of the stairs. They’ll blind anyone who steps onto the outer courtyard beyond the gate, and set fire to the stone. We crafted the spells carefully. The magics will burn through leather and fur and scald the skin. Anyone would be fool to brave the flames.”
Jofrey waved the details aside.
“The outer wards,” he said with the air of a man fixed on a single problem. “I think it’s safe to assume that the snows will slow anyone witless enough to make the ascent. That means we can’t expect to glean any more information until after sunset, and that’s if they push through the night.”
“That would be imprudent,” Elber said thoughtfully. “Traveling by torchlight would be beyond dangerous this time of year. Footing is already precarious without reflections on the ice, not to mention the risk of the flames going out if there’s a strong enough wind.”
“Agreed,” Jofrey said with a nod as the hall opened up into a larger corridor they all recognized. “All the same, we shouldn’t assume anything. If the tribes are making a play they would want to move fast. They aren’t aware we know they’re coming, and the risk of a few dozen lost to the mountain may seem worth the advantage of surprise. If the Kayle is sending an offensive force he will likely march them straight, without pause.”
“Why would he attack, though?” Forn asked. “He has us trapped. All he has to do is stay put along the base of the path.”
Jofrey frowned. “I don’t know. Baoill seems more than patient enough to wait out our stores, but there might be other factors at play. The most obvious reason I can think of is that he doesn’t want to give the other valley towns time to form an alliance. I imagine he ideally wants to push south as soon as possible. Laor knows if that’s even the entirety of his army down there. It might just be a contingent, tasked specifically with ensuring we stayed holed up.”
“All the more reason not to press,” Forn kept on. “They risk losing their advantage, trapped on the path.”
“Unless they don’t stick to the stairs…” Elber said darkly. “They’re mountain men. The slopes are their homes. Just because we don’t have a prayer of managing the mountain faces doesn’t mean they can’t.”
A collective shiver passed through all three of them at that thought, each imagining the disaster of the Citadel surrounded, encircled by ten thousand campfires scattered among the cliffs.
“It’s a moot point,” Forn said eventually. “There’s nothing we can do either way. In a few hours we’ll know what’s coming, and from where. All we can do is wait.”
“No,” Jofrey disagreed. “That’s not all we can do.”
He stopped them, at last, in front of a large, well-known archway. Every acolyte, for as long it took for them to be granted their staffs, spent a portion of every waking day within the honeycomb of halls and rooms beyond.
The practice chambers of Cyurgi’ Di, after all, were where every future Priest and Priestess came to understand the dangers of the world, and learned to defend themselves accordingly with every advantage at their disposal.
Without another word Jofrey turned and stepped under the archway, hastening down the main hallway as Elber and Forn followed dutifully behind. To their left and right, doors and other vaulted openings entered onto rooms of various shapes and sizes, some full of practicing acolytes under the watchful eye of older instructors, some with a scattering of Priests and Priestesses busy keeping their skills sharp, and some dark and empty. Quickly the maze of spaces filled with the sounds of mock battle, shouted directions mixing with the booms and cracks of magic and the clang of steel on steel. Heat expelled itself from rooms here and there, following flashes of white that flared like thunderless lightning. There was the crunch of breaking wood, and Elber caught a glimpse of a group of students practicing shaping their gifts into forceful discharges, using the created spells to throw the abused forms of straw and timber dummies across the floor, sometimes smashing them against the far wall.
“Too much force, Ela,” he heard an instructor say kindly as they passed. “You’ll kill someone with a blast like that.”
After a minute or so of winding their way in and about the chambers, peeking through every door they came across, Jofrey finally stopped. Together the three stood outside the entrance to a massive arched space, the ceiling and walls illuminated by a trio of simple hanging braziers that were suspended in a staggered pattern from the timber beaming. Below these, evenly spaced over the wide stone floor, a dozen or so pairs of men and women were sparring, apparently alternating between using their staffs and choosing from a multitude of dulled iron replicas that had been forged in the image of the weapons all Laorin might eventually face out in the violent world of man. They wielded them in practiced engagements, reviewing well-learned techniques and strategies of defense against the various instruments of war, combining unarmed combat, the steel staffs, and imitated motions of spellcasting to feign the disarming and incapacitation of their opponents. Along the walls, shouting encouragements and
feedback, several instructors in sleeveless cloth tunics paced back and forth, their gazes shifting from pair to pair.
It was towards one of these men that Jofrey moved, signaling Elber and Forn to stay put. As they waited patiently, watching some of the sparrers look up in surprise at the appearance of the interim High Priest, Elber thought he saw one of the other instructors staring in their direction.
He turned to meet the man’s gaze, but Reyn Hartlet looked away quickly, returning to his work.
Half a minute later Jofrey returned, Cullen Brern in tow. The Citadel’s master-at-arms looked as though the last ten-day had not been easy on him. There were bags under his eyes, and his usually rigid form seemed oddly diminished, as though exhaustion were pulling him down into a slouch.
“What’s going on?” he asked Elber and Forn. “Jofrey says the first ward was triggered?”
As one the two nodded, and Elber let Forn relay once again what they had already told Jofrey.
“Lifegiver’s saggy fucking balls,” Brern swore, reaching up to wipe a sweating brow with the back of one hand as he stared at the floor, taking in this new information. “This could be bad. If the Kayle is pushing for the Citadel…”
“We don’t know what he’s doing,” Jofrey said firmly. “We shouldn’t assume a full assault without more information. It could be a scouting party, or even envoys.”
“Is there a chance it might be Talo and Carro?” the master-at-arms asked. “Maybe they snuck past Baoill’s camp, somehow?”
That struck Elber. It was a thought he hadn’t given the slightest consideration.
Jofrey, though, shook his head.
“We’ve discussed this. If Talo saw the predicament the Citadel is in, I can’t imagine he would be so foolish as to try and sneak past the Kayle’s forces just to join us in this mess. He alone has the clout right now to get us the assistance we need from the towns. It’s my genuine hope that Talo is already on his way back to Ystréd as we speak, and hopefully working on a plan that doesn’t end in our starvation come the summer months.”
There was a momentary silence, which no one dared fill with the doubts that flashed across each of their minds.
“Then the Kayle’s men it is,” Brern said with a sigh. “What are our options?”
“I suggested we wait,” Forn offered tentatively. “The second ward will tell us if something is approaching from the path, as I said. Jofrey seems to have a different idea, though…”
Jofrey nodded. “I’m not sure we can afford to be patient, given our predicament. The highest wards offer us some passive defense, but it’s limited, and the magics will drain quickly if Baoill keeps pushing forward.” He looked at Brern. “My thought is that we could use something else to a much greater advantage: the path itself.”
To Elber’s mild amusement, the master-at-arms didn’t look the least bit surprised by this suggestion.
“Aye, I’ve had the same notion, of late,” the man said, looking pensive. “The rules of engagement against a foe that is larger and more powerful than you are simple. First: run. Avoid the fight. Failing this: limit the opponent’s movement and ability to use their greater strength to their advantage. Similar tactics apply to the concept of great numbers, rather than greater strength.”
“Trap them along the path,” Elber said, catching on. “Make it impossible for them to use the sheer mass of the army against us.”
“Precisely,” Brern said as Jofrey nodded to him, indicating he should continue the explanation. “It wouldn’t take much to push them back, truth be told. Even less to stall them. There are half-a-hundred positions along the steps where twenty unassuming soldiers could arguable hold off ten times their number just by using the high ground to their advantage. Priests and Priestesses wielding magic… A handful would do.” He frowned suddenly. “It wouldn’t last forever, mind. As far as the tribes go, I doubt they’d be as hard-pressed as we are to handle the mountains if they have to.”
“We had the same thought,” Jofrey said quickly. “We don’t like it, but forcing the Kayle’s men to manage and attack from rougher terrain is a victory in and of itself when compared to simply allowing them to flood the courtyard from the stairs, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Brern agreed, bushy eyebrows rising in realization. “Quite a win, in fact. Forcing them into the cliffs would have a hefty impact on morale, I imagine. Even if they’re accustomed to it, I can’t believe the mountain men would prefer to lay their siege among the storm and rocks compared to the relative shelter of the Arocklen and the ease of the mountain path.”
“So we do what?” Forn asked, seemingly a little lost. “Attack them before they attack us?”
“Something like that…” Jofrey paused, thinking. “I don’t think there’s any need to prepare a full assault just yet. Still, assuming your ward was indeed triggered along the path, it would be better to inform ourselves as soon as possible, rather than wait for the other spells to go off. Ideally we could send a group small enough to move undetected, but large enough to provide the firepower necessary to slow down any assault.”
“A dozen would do it,” Brern said gruffly, crossing his arms and jerking his head over his shoulder into the room Jofrey had pulled them out of. “And I could have them ready in the matter of a quarter-hour.”
“Good,” Jofrey said. “Then take what you need. If someone is coming up the path, find them. If it’s an envoy, or a parley group, relay it to us with a messenger spell and return. Leave them be. If the Kayle is attacking, inform us the same way, and we will send reinforcements with all haste.”
Brern nodded his head briefly.
“I’ll make a call for volunteers right away,” he said, letting his arms fall and making to turn back into the practice chamber. “I can’t imagine it will take long to—”
“I volunteer,” a young man’s voice interrupted him, and Reyn Hartlet stepped out from around the corner of the wall behind which he had snuck, undetected, to eavesdrop.
“Dammit, Reyn!” Brern yelped, startling involuntarily. The younger Priest had stepped directly into his path. “That’s the second time you’ve barged in on—!”
“Let him be, Brern.”
Jofrey’s voice was firm, his eyes on his former student. The master-at-arms fell silent at once.
“Reyn,” he said—too gently, in Elber’s opinion—, “I won’t have you turning this into some witch hunt. This is a discreet mission, we’re speaking of. Combat is a last resort. Do you understand?”
Reyn’s posture stiffened, but he nodded.
“I understand,” he said, his voice hard. “I still volunteer.”
“Then it’s up to your superior,” Jofrey replied, looking to Brern again. “Assuming he’s willing to take the command, of course.”
“Like it crossed my mind not to,” the master-at-arms snorted, his eyes still on Reyn. “But aye, I’ll have him. He’s a hardheaded fool, sometimes, but there’s no better fighter. I might just need him, if things go bad.”
He stepped forward suddenly, bringing himself nose to nose with the younger man. Both stood tall, within an inch of each other, but Brern’s heavy brown beard and broader shoulders won out against Reyn’s clean-shaven good looks and muscled build.
“You hear that, Hartlet?” he breathed into the Priest’s face. “I’m giving you a chance to show us all you can control yourself. Think you can manage it, for once?”
Reyn’s face stayed tense, but he nodded at once.
“Yes,” he said quickly. “I swear it.”
“Good,” Brern said. “Then make yourself useful—” he jerked his head to indicate the other pairs still sparring behind the Priest “—and start gathering the rest. I want another ten. The best you can find.”
Reyn nodded again, looking a little relieved to have been accepted. He was about to turn back, moving to follow Brern’s instructions, when he paused.
Looking back, he gave the four of them a brief, rigid bow, eyes on one in particular.
&n
bsp; “Thank you, Jofrey,” he said to his former Priest-Mentor.
Then he was off, booming voice already calling for a halt to the mock combat and requesting that all eyes fall on him.
“Sure that was a good idea?” Elber asked Jofrey and Brern as they watched the thirty Priests and Priestesses start to migrate towards Reyn Hartlet, now standing along one wall. “He’s been hot-headed ever since Syrah was killed.”
Jofrey stiffened at the comment, but made no reply. The master-at-arms, though, scratched at his beard.
“He’s a good lad,” he said. “He’s just got nowhere to put the anger. Letting him out of these damn halls for a night will do him a world of good.”
No one said anything to that, but as Brern stepped back into the chamber, moving to add his voice to Reyn’s, Elber thought he heard the aging Priest add a grumbled “Hopefully…” under his breath.
XXVI
“When you pause to think about it, there is really no greater madness in the world than the Citadel path. Six thousand crafted steps, twisting their way up the sheer sides of the Saragrias Ranges? What sort of devil possessed the maniac who looked at that mountain and thought ‘Hmm… Yes. This looks like an excellent spot for a stairway’?”
—TALO BRAHNT, AFTER A FEW TOO MANY DRINKS
Damn these stairs!
Raz—though he would never say so aloud—prided himself on his physique. On the one hand his body was the tool by which he plied his trade, the one instrument he would never be able to do without. On the other, his lithe frame, strength, and speed made up much of the thread from which his infamy had been spun, woven into the subliminal fright behind every mention of the Monster of Karth, the Scourge of the South. It was a legend that had won him a solitude he had enjoyed for so many years, a peace and quietness he had started to miss again after the deaths of Lueski and Arrun.
At the moment, though, Raz himself felt his own understanding of that legend tatter and fray, imagining what he looked like now.
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