Obsidian

by Lindsey Scholl

  Since Alisha’s tone did not allow for further discussion, Bertrice took her leave. Alisha watched her go, took another brisk look at her surroundings, then ushered the children into the tent. The first thing was to get some sleep; the children had not slept for almost twenty-four hours. Three thin mattresses and three heavy blankets had already been provided. She tucked them both in as well as she could, prayed with them, and kissed each of them on the forehead. Then she set herself up outside of the door to await the cart and Lady N’vonne, if the latter should decide to come by for a visit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Though the defenders had greater range for their engines than the attackers did, the bombardment was still severe. For several hours, boulders a little larger than a man’s head rained down on the city, tearing down walls, crushing rooftops, and crushing to splinters Lascombe’s own siege engines. Chiyo was furious. Forced to take cover with some of his generals at the base of the thick eastern wall, he started to pace like a cornered animal.

  “How many engines do they have? Our crews are working like animals and still three boulders come in for every one we put out! And what in Rhyvelad is Kynell doing?”

  General Tengar fought the temptation to swear. He had served under Relgaré in his campaign against the Cylini, had been present to witness Corfe’s conversion, and had done his part to march the Sentries into Lascombe. Only last night he had been told that Corfe had abdicated his position of power. Then Kynell had shown up. Not to win the battle, apparently, or even to fight it. No, the Prysm god, the Deliverer of All Ages had posted himself with the soaking crew and refused to do anything helpful. He had not even come up to the battlements since his arrival.

  Yet Tengar was also frustrated with himself. He knew he was partially to blame for the city’s desperate situation: if he had understood the true nature and imminence of the threat, he would have done more to prepare against it. Instead, this blustery Western general comes in and begins acting like he owns the place. He knew Chiyo was a good man and obviously the man to galvanize the city into action. Still, it galled him that King Relgaren and Prince Lors had so little spine that they let themselves be commanded about first by Corfe, and then by Chiyo.

  Relgaren had, admittedly, taken more responsibility for his city in the past few hours. After joining the leaders in the Great Hall, he had offered his full support to Chiyo, claimed he was willing to meet with and publicly endorse Vancien, and even sent his young brother Lors to take shelter and pray with the other Patroniites. Then the arrival of Kynell had changed everything. With one phrase, he had swept aside all Advocate authority: “They are no longer my Advocates. I will be your Advocate now.”

  It was hard to overestimate the effect this statement had on the city’s defenders. It was as if, at the dawn of an invasion, the king had disbanded the Square, claimed all power for himself, and then holed himself up in the palace. The only thing Tengar could think that would have been worse would have been if Kynell had added, “Oh, and don’t pay attention to General Chiyo either.” Indeed, if it hadn’t been for Chiyo’s iron grip, the men would have had no leader at all. As it was, they were energized by Kynell’s presence, but confused as to what to do about Amarian, Vancien, and Corfe. But Vancien and Amarian had made themselves so useful (and Corfe had made himself so scarce) that no one had much of an opportunity to react to them one way or another.

  Old Relgaré, meanwhile, had encouraged his wife to go underground with the other evacuees. She had resisted, of course, but Tengar knew Relgaré was a man not to be refused. The last anybody saw of her was her entering a small grocer’s shop a stone’s throw away from the palace. Tengar had been a member of her escort from her chambers to the evacuation point. She had borne herself like a queen, but he could tell that the past few days had taken her toll. She looked lost, following the gentle guidance of Captain An-Sung with an aura of fearful innocence. Tengar’s heart had gone out to her. He had heard the report that Prince Farlone and Princess Dorylen may be dead, may be alive, or may even be with the Chasmites. He knew his own teenage girl, along with his wife, were alive and safe underground. But what would it be like not to know?

  Chiyo was saying something to him. Something about a sortie. “I’m sorry, general!” he shouted over the crash of the boulders. “You wish to attack?”

  “How else are we going to stop this barrage?”

  “Sir, it would only be a massacre, unless we send out our whole force now.”

  Chiyo smiled as the dust from the roof showered down on them. “I was thinking of a particular type of attack. Where is Vancien?”

  Vancien was not hard to find. He and Amarian were mending a tower on the northeast corner. Bedge was with them, running in and out of the rubble, digging out valuable materials when directed and using her delicate hearing to warn them of incoming missiles. Both brothers were soaked with sweat and bleeding in various places. Vancien looked upset.

  “This is ridiculous!” he spat over the crash of yet another boulder. “The city is being reduced to rubble!”

  Amarian, who was more trained in the ways of war than his brother, just shrugged and helped Bedge shove a boulder off of a pile of bricks. “They’ll run out of boulders soon enough, Vance. When they do, they’re going to have to rely on less wieldy objects, such as tree stumps. Those will be less accurate and take them longer to load,” he grunted as he and Bedge gave the large stone one last push, “which will give our guys more of a chance.”

  “Amarian’s right,” Chiyo said, announcing his presence. Both men snapped to attention. “At ease,” he added, though he was surprised to get such an acknowledgement from Amarian. “On the other hand, we don’t know how much ammunition they brought with them. It could be days of bombardment. We’d prefer not to wait that long.”

  “Big rock coming!” Bedge shouted. A second later, they, too, heard the warning whistle and ducked for cover. This one crashed into the top of the tower, sending debris raining down on them.

  “Vancien!” Chiyo barked through the dust clouds. There was no more time for conversation. “Come with me! Amarian, keep up the good work! We need this tower in fighting shape!”

  Amarian shouted an affirmative as Vancien’s shape emerged through the haze. Soon he was trotting next to Chiyo as they headed away from the rubble.

  “What is it, General?”

  “Where is Thelámos?”

  “He’s in the stables west of the palace. Why?”

  “I have an idea about how to slow down these cursed boulders. I think Thelámos will help.”

  When they arrived at the stables, they found the Ealatrophe in a restless condition. Bren was trying to calm him, but to no avail. He looked relieved when he saw Chiyo and Vancien.

  Chiyo couldn’t help but shiver as he entered. Outside it was a warm, early autore day, but that made little difference in the Ealatrophe’s presence. In fact, the beast seemed even more frigid, if that were possible, since Kynell’s arrival.

  “Bren, you can go for now.” Chiyo said. “We will take care of Thelámos.”

  When Bren had left, shedding extra layers as he went, Chiyo turned to Vancien. “You can see that this beast is ready for action.”

  Vancien nodded, laying a soothing hand on his neck. “He’s been going crazy ever since the boulders started. Kynell…” His voice drifted off. If he started thinking about the implications of the night before, he would never be able to focus. “What can one Ealatrophe do against an army like that?”

  “A lot, I think.” Chiyo pulled Vancien over to a clear spot on the floor and started forming a map with sticks and bits of hay. “This is Lascombe here.” He pointed to a block of wood. “Here are the Easterners.” He indicated a semicircle of hay partially encircling the block. As he positioned little upright twigs among the hay, he pondered his creation. “We need to find a way to take out those engines,” he said, indicating the twigs.

  Vancien was beginning to catch what he was saying. “But we can count at least ten of
the trebuchets and undoubtedly more catapults. I might be able to take down one or two, but they’ll target me before I can get to the third.”

  Chiyo nodded. “Which is why we will coordinate your attack with an ambush on this flank,” he indicated the hay bits that stretched toward the southern end of the city. “How strong is Thelámos?”

  The Ealatrophe seemed to understand the question and screeched an indignant answer. Vancien seconded his response. “He’s strong enough to do what’s required. Which is what?”

  “Is he strong enough to grab the tip of one of those things and pull it over?”

  “I should think so.”

  “Great. So here’s what I’m thinking.”

  Even Thelámos bent low to listen as Chiyo outlined his plan. It would be their first foray into the enemy camp and Vancien’s first battle since he had fallen to Amarian.

  __________

  The attack had to take place at night, preferably in the darkest hours before orbrise. That meant the city would have to suffer a full day of bombardment. Even with rotation, their own siege crews were getting tired—the living soldiers, that is. The Risen Ones drew from an unlimited supply of energy.

  The enemy army had stationed itself in a shallow valley between two wooded hills. The trees on the periphery of the army had already been cut down for security reasons, but thick groupings of timber were still standing about a hundred yards from the main force. Some intrepid scouts had already gone out and returned with the news that small regiments of Easterners were starting to infiltrate the woods, hoping to skirt to the north and south of the city. Fortunately for the Lascombians, the Easterners were not practiced in stealth. Even the Sentries, who in their waking lives had been able to disappear into shadows at will, fidgeted constantly. This made them noticeable to the scouts, who reported their movements.

  Chiyo had already appointed Ruponi head of extramural activity. Despite the old king’s beefy appearance, he was a clever, calculating soldier who could move as quietly as a yemain. The ground around the city had been cleared of tall grass and outbuildings as much as possible to prevent the enemy from approaching the city undetected. This posed a problem, however, for anyone who wanted to leave the city unobserved. Ruponi solved this by leading his men out the west gate, skirting south to the cover of the foothills, and then creeping into the tree line where it joined the hills. Another group was performing a similar maneuver to the north, although without the aid of the undulating hills. The leader of the northern sortie was a Risen Sentry, of all things, who surpassed even Ruponi in the art of stealth. Chiyo had given the two only one order: keep the Easterners from surrounding the city or else send up a warning if they could not stop them. Ruponi had every intention of stopping them.

  Two munkke-trophe scouts were sent out to find these parties and advise them that a larger force would soon be joining them in the woods. There was no need to contact these newcomers, unless reinforcements were absolutely necessary. Ruponi and Brag, the Sentry captain, were to allow them passage, then return to their mission of containment.

  That evening, after Chiyo had ordered him to go and get some rest, was the first time Vancien had a chance to think about what had happened the night before. Though he was bone-tired, he could not sleep yet. Instead, he kept replaying the events of Kynell’s arrival over and over in his mind: his ride on Thelámos, his own reaction to him, his healing of that man’s son, his words…that last brought a hard lump to his throat. “They are no longer my Advocates,” he had said. And then, as if Vancien and Amarian meant no more to him than any common Lascombian did, he had stepped down from the Stoa into the soldiery. Vancien had heard him say something about soaking down the city, and then he had disappeared. Vancien remembered looking back at Amarian, stunned. His greatest hope—the one around which he had built his life—had stripped him of everything, then left. And since every delusion of virtue had been shattered, he had no justification for calling it back.

  Amarian must have read the pain in Vancien’s eyes, for he had hurried to his side. Having had dealings with Zyreio, he had not expected Kynell to act much differently. “It’s okay,” he said.

  “I’m not an Advocate? Am I anything?”

  Telenar was also quick to join him. He, too, had looked dumbfounded. “I don’t understand,” he was muttering. “I don’t understand.” He had absentmindedly clapped a hand on Vancien’s shoulder, then wandered off toward the palace.

  If not for Amarian, Vancien had no idea what desperate thing he would have done. As it was, Amarian forced him into service, ordering him to check minor problems here and there, keeping him far away from other men, when possible. Before Vancien knew it, his mind was too tired and his body too sore to do anything but put one foot in front of the other. Then Chiyo had come, explained to him his assignment, and distracted him even more.

  He had thought that he could figure it all out if he could get a moment to himself. But now that he had that moment, in the quiet next to Thelámos’ stable, he only felt the pain of Kynell’s rejection. What had he done wrong? Everything, as Kynell had silently reminded him. The other things Kynell had said, something about serving well, were fuzzy and unimportant. But that one phrase, “They are no longer my Advocates,” hammered again and again at his brain. It made him angry. He clenched and unclenched his fist, wanting to break something. He had never been seriously angry at Kynell before, but now he wanted to let him have it. That night, up in the mountains, when he had determined to follow the Prysm no matter what, had Kynell even heard him? Or if he had, perhaps he had just checked off Vancien’s name under the category of “easy victories.” But his anger was mixed with guilt, which reminded him with brutal force that any real service was impossible for him—that it had always been impossible. His own inadequacies made his commitments paltry and delusional, little more than a speck in the plans of either Obsidian or the Prysm.

  A quiet knock on the doorpost interrupted his thoughts. It was Amarian. He looked battered and tired, but composed.

  “Telenar sent me to look for you,” he said, as if apologizing. “It’s been so crazy today. He wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  “I could ask the same question of him.” Vancien’s voice was harder than he had intended. He couldn’t blame Telenar. They were both caught in the same trap. “I mean, how is he doing with Kynell…” He wasn’t quite sure how to finish the question, but Amarian knew what he meant.

  “It’s hard to say. He’s not talking about it.”

  “Why didn’t he come himself?”

  Amarian sat down beside him. Vancien could smell the dust on him. “Chiyo has him counseling the soldiers. They all have questions. Relgaren is with him, too, trying to keep them at their posts instead of flocking to the soakers.”

  “Maybe we should flock, too.”

  Amarian gave him a look, but did not respond. After a moment, he picked up a piece of hay and started splitting it down the middle. “When I was with Zyreio, he always acted as if he didn’t need me, as if he could barely stand me. I always thought he was a little ashamed of having an Advocate. Maybe that’s why he despised me so much. Maybe Kynell feels the same way.”

  “Kynell is not Zyreio.” Vancien replied.

  “Of course he’s not. But they’re not like us. Kynell is a god, just like Zyreio seems to be.” That sounded awkward, he knew, but he also knew Vancien’s sensitivity on the point.

  “I just don’t understand,” Vancien broke in. “I don’t know what I am to him. If anything.”

  Amarian was about to answer, but he was interrupted by Chiyo standing in the door.

  “I figured you might still be up,” he said to Vancien. “I wasn’t kidding when I said to get some rest.” He looked at Amarian. “Vancien needs to get some sleep.”

  Both of them nodded, but not without feeling the shame of being ordered about like ordinary men. Amarian got to his feet. “I’ve got to find Bedge anyway. I think she was going to try and sneak in with the soakers.”
Yet when he reached the door, he stopped. “They’re just not like us,” he repeated, then left Vancien to his sleep.

  Vancien did try to rest, and he finally succeeded, although it felt like he had just closed his eyes when he heard Chiyo’s voice again.

  “Vancien, get up. It’s time.”

  As he rubbed his bleary eyes and yawned, he noticed that Chiyo was carrying a bow and a quiver full of arrows in one hand. In the other, a deep bucket.

  “Take this bucket and strap it to Thelámos,” Chiyo began, not waiting through another yawn. “Make sure it’s within easy reach. Thelámos does not get nervous around fire?”

  Finally waking up, Vancien shook his head and led the Ealatrophe out of his stall. Then he started lashing the bucket above Thelámos’ right shoulder. “I don’t think so. I’ve never tested him.”

  Chiyo did not say anything. Instead, he pulled out some flint and in a few quick strokes, had the hay burning at Thelámos’ feet. With a shout, Vancien jumped to put it out, but Chiyo held him back. Thelámos, meanwhile, fixed a disdainful eye on Chiyo, then on the small blaze. Delicately moving his claws away from the heat, he bent down and breathed over it. The fire disappeared, leaving only a tendril of smoke from the ashes.

  Chiyo nodded with satisfaction. “Telenar was right. Okay, then…” He clapped his hands together and turned toward Vancien.“The bucket you just put on Thelámos is lined with casing tar, which is non-flammable. At the bottom of bucket is a thick layer of gruel, which is a sticky, flammable substance that one of our fine chemists has cooked up. The ends of these arrows,” he pulled one out of the quiver, “have been wrapped with rags to soak up as much gruel as possible. Before you take off, you need to light the gruel. Its burn is low but intense—the bucket is deep enough to hide its glow, I think. Then, as Thelámos starts tipping each machine, you dip an arrow into the gruel and stick it on to whatever part of the machine you can reach. When the slightest amount of wind comes in contact with lit gruel, it will burst into a full flame. That’s great once it is on the machine, but be careful when you pull the arrow out at first.”