WayFarer

by Janalyn Voigt

  Outside in the sunshine Euryon touched Kai’s arm and placed in his hand a leather band with a single sapphire at its center. “Give this to Aewen’s daughter when she’s older. It was her mother’s.”

  The sapphire band blurred, and Kai heaved a breath. “I will.”

  Euryon turned to lean again on Inydde. The two moved off along the path to the castle. Kai did not follow. He wanted nothing of the funeral feast that waited in the great hall. A sudden longing seized him for the untainted air of the open road.

  ****

  As Elcon reached the battlements above the gatehouse, the stair gave a faint but perceptible vibration.

  Craelin looked up from his examination of the water pot nearest the eastern tower. As Elcon watched, the shining surface quivered and stilled.

  He lifted a brow. “Miners?”

  Craelin gave a brief nod. “We’re sure they mean to collapse the gatehouse towers. We’ve already started a counter shaft.”

  Elcon put a hand on the back of his neck and kneaded the knotted muscles there. The days had settled into a monotonous exchange of missiles from the catapults, the constant threat of arrows from ensconced archers, and the attacking armies’ steady infilling of a portion of the moat with stones and rubble. Sheltering beneath a makeshift roof, the foot soldiers made progress despite the arrows, debris, and pots of slaked lime and boiling oil rained down upon them. Elcon pictured the siege tower that waited beyond the reach of Torindan’s catapults and heard again the cries of the wounded. “When will our miners break into their tunnel?”

  Craelin squinted against the sun’s glare. “It’s a guess but three days, maybe four. We’ll meet them with dragonsfire.”

  Elcon sucked in a breath. Dragonsfire, a mixture which ignited upon contact with water, burned with such fury it eradicated all life in its path. The guardians had perfected a pump system that spewed water and the volatile mixture from hand held tubes. The resultant blaze flared forth with such intensity it resembled its namesake. “Let us hope we alone possess it.”

  Catapults twanged anew and a barrage of rounded stones flew over the walls. One of the merlons in the parapet gave an awful crack and exploded into shards. As debris caught the edge of his eye, Elcon put up a hand.

  Craelin placed himself between Elcon and the parapet. “Here, let me see.” He stepped back. “Just a cut, but Praectal Daelic should treat it.”

  Elcon stepped back. “Daelic has enough to concern him these days without worrying about a simple cut.”

  A pained expression flitted across Craelin’s face. “True enough.” He hesitated. “Lof Shraen, perhaps you should not venture here. Why not let the priests hide you?”

  Elcon resisted the temptation Craelin’s words stirred. “Don’t ask me to shirk battle.”

  “But if you fall the Kindren will lose heart.”

  Elcon’s sweeping inspection encompassed those positioned to defend walls, barbican and gatehouse. He spoke the truth but not without a pang. “They have no heart now.” In a sense they had already seen him fall. “If I fight with them, they may rally.”

  “They stand ready to die for the privilege of preserving your life. Will you cheat them?”

  He sighed. “I will fight.” He touched the corner of his eye, now sticky with blood, and grimaced. “Inform me of any developments. I’ll be in my chambers.”

  “Of course.” Archers approached from farther along the battlements, and Craelin walked toward them. “We’re well. The masonry took the worst of it.” Craelin’s words followed Elcon onto the stair. “I’ll set a guard outside your chambers. You might let Weilton escort you whenever you leave them.”

  Elcon grimaced and put a hand to Sword Rivenn’s hilt in a brief caress but made his way to his chambers—for now. He salved his cut eye and then stretched out, falling at once into the oblivion of sleep.

  An almighty roar woke him. He sat up in darkness, but light flared around the edges of the window hangings and sent the shadows on his chamber walls into a macabre dance. He stumbled to the window and fumbled at its coverings.

  His dressing room door creaked open. “Let me, Lof Shraen.” Weilton, who slept within, stepped forward to complete the task.

  Bright fireballs with streaming tails lit the sky as they shot over the walls. The cookhouse’s thatched roof already blazed. Screams arose but soon died to nothing.

  Torindan waited in quivering silence.

  Flames from the cookhouse fire showed the stronghold’s catapults rocking in retaliation. Stone missiles launched in the face of the enemy’s dragonsfire. Ineffective as the effort seemed, an uproar outside the walls indicated some small success.

  Shrieks filled the air. Winged death blackened the fire-lightened sky. Elcon drew a shaky breath.

  Welke riders.

  More screams. Voices raised in uproar. Weilton shoved him out of the window opening just as an arrow whizzed past his cheek.

  Weilton slammed the shutters shut. His voice carried over the rasp of the metal latch. “Forgive me, Lof Shraen. I meant no disrespect.”

  Elcon scrambled in new darkness to find Sword Rivenn. Near his bedside, his hand encountered its scabbard. He hoisted its weight. “Pray don’t concern yourself with such niceties, Weilton.”

  A tap sounded at the outer door. Anders met them in the outer chamber, a lighted lanthorn in hand.

  Weilton approached the door. “Who goes there?”

  “It’s Eathnor. Craelin sends word to Elcon.”

  At Elcon’s nod, Weilton cracked the door but stepped back as Eathnor burst into the room. “You’re well, then?”

  Elcon lowered his sword and inclined his head in acknowledgment of Eathnor’s belated bow. “Well enough. And Craelin?”

  “He’s uninjured, but we lost several archers on the wall and three who manned a bastion.”

  “Can we not return dragonsfire of our own?”

  “We have not had time to replenish our supplies, and what we do have is marked for use in the tunnels. But I’ll ask your question of Craelin.”

  Elcon could ask Craelin his own questions. “Give your report.” His words snapped out, sharper than intended.

  “They’ve filled in the moat and will soon wheel the siege tower next to the wall. Craelin expects its advance by morning. Our footsoldiers and archers stand ready to meet it. Their masonry sappers work under an iron roof to weaken the wall below the ruined bastion. Its thickness should deter them for a time, at least, but we may need to make a foray to stop them. Progress on the counter tunnel halted when our miners encountered bedstone, but they’ve rerouted.”

  “And what of the welke riders?”

  “I don’t know what Craelin intends to do about them. They showed themselves just as I ducked into the keep.”

  Elcon turned away to hide tears. Craelin would send wingabeast riders in response, as he’d done during the previous siege. How many would they lose before the rays of morning banished the welkes to their roosts?

  “Craelin suggests you seek the priests’ protection at once.”

  “I’ll not hide while my people die.” Elcon jerked open the door and ran from the chamber. He took the stairs to the battlements above the guardhouse two at a time.

  Craelin descended to block his way. “So. You’ll not preserve your life.”

  Elcon’s gaze did not waver from Craelin’s. “Not at such a cost. What would I save myself for, anyway? If Torindan falls, I’d subsist by wandering—an exiled shraen without a raven—until they hunt me down. If I stand with my people, there’s a chance we can hold the fortress until reinforcements arrive. If not, I’d rather die in battle.”

  “As would I,” Weilton spoke from behind Elcon.

  Elcon turned with a smile. “You followed me.”

  Weilton smiled back. “I’m assigned to protect you.”

  The steady thumping of the battering ram gave way to a splintering crash.

  “They’ve entered the barbican!” An archer called from his position at the parape
t. Craelin took the stairs upward, and Elcon followed to look out from an embrasure.

  “We’ll give a hearty welcome to all who enter the gates of death.” Elcon read the truth in the pained expression that belied Craelin’s brave words. They might hold the barbican, with its three gates, for a time. But already the siege tower swayed against the sky as it rolled toward the filled-in moat, pulled by teams of muscular bovines.

  Eathnor joined them from farther down the battlements “Foot soldiers now ascend the barbican with grappling hooks and ladders.”

  “Besides toppling the ladders, we can still greet them with pots of slaked lime, stones, and boiling water.” Craelin raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Provided our stores last.”

  Eathnor gave a swift nod. “They will hold, for now.”

  “We must halt the wheeled siege tower.” Elcon’s brow furrowed as the tower rocked closer to Torindan’s outer wall. Once in place, archers behind the siege tower’s merlons could shoot their arrows downward, and a ramp would lower to provide the enemy access to Torindan’s cleared walls. Craelin moved closer to Elcon. “It advances with such speed terror strikes those on the wall.”

  Elcon clutched the rough stone at the edges of the embrasure. “Shoot the beasts that draw it. That will at least slow its progress. Craelin’s eyes widened and then respect settled across his face. He turned to Eathnor. “Go at once and give the Lof Shraen’s instructions to the archers on the outer wall.”

  Eathnor ducked his head and set off to obey.

  Elcon scanned the horizon. “No sign of reinforcements?”

  “None.”

  “Let us hope we can hold out.” Fear winged into Elcon’s mind and found its roost, talons curving to claw his soul. The smell of death breathed over him. Pain twisted in his mind. Sorrow struck his stomach. He doubled over with a cry.

  Hands caught him, preventing his fall. “May Lof Yuel protect you.” Craelin breathed.

  Elcon gripped the stone of the parapet until Freaer’s touch slid away. He stiffened. Distant figures streamed from the canyonlands toward Torindan, and Elcon’s heart beat double-time within his chest. He shouted above the renewed thumping of the battering ram. “Garns approach.”

  The look of horror on Craelin’s face told its own story. “We’ll never stand against so many.” He turned his head. “You may soon fulfill your wish to die in battle.”

  19

  The Ice Witch

  Aewen’s baby, held in the crook of Murial’s arm, stared at Kai with bright eyes as he gave the sapphire band into the old servant’s free hand. Even here, in the dim light of the inn’s hallway, the stone at its center gleamed. Murial tilted her head in question, and he closed her hand around the ornament. “It’s from Euryon—for Syl Marinda. I want you to hold it for her until I return from Torindan. I must go now to find Elcon.”

  “I’ll keep it safe.” Murial’s hand tightened around the band. He thought she took his meaning. He had no idea what he would find when he arrived at Torindan or whether he would return for Elcon’s child.

  The babe grasped his finger and drew it toward her mouth. Murial laughed and shifted away. “She’s a hungry little thing and keeps me busy. It’s well Quinn and Heddwyn keep a goat for the milk it gives.” She smiled but her eyes filled with tears.

  He touched her shoulder. “Look after her safety.”

  Her dark eyes gleamed. “Aye, and look to your own as well.”

  In the common room, Quinn delivered a platter of bread and cheese to a grizzled huntsman and then glanced at Kai. “You’ll be on your way, then?”

  Kai signaled for Quinn to join him outside. When the door banged shut behind them, he leaned close to Quinn. “Thank you for keeping the babe in comfort and safety.”

  Quinn gave him a level look. “None besides us need know the truth about her parents.”

  Kai nodded. “That’s well, then. I’ll try and return soon.”

  Quinn’s face warmed in a smile. “Don’t worry about that. Heddwyn be overjoyed to keep the child. She can’t bear offspring of her own, you see. That babe fills her arms and soothes her aching heart.”

  Kai turned to go but at the touch of a hand on his arm, looked back into the innkeeper’s rugged face. Quinn cleared his throat. “Godspeed.”

  ****

  The last gate splintered and crashed. A shudder went through Elcon as many voices raised a visceral battle cry. The enemy now occupied the barbican. All who had defended it must have fallen. They’d held out against wave after wave of footsoldiers. They’d even managed to light fire to the siege tower as it lurched toward the fortress with garns in the place of the slain oxen. But they could not hold it forever against such numbers.

  Craelin squinted at him, his blue eyes nested in lines. “With the enemy so close, only a fool would linger here and risk a stray arrow. Let the archers defend the battlements, and we’ll put our heads together in the guardroom.”

  At first Elcon stared at him without comprehension, his thoughts centered on Eathnor, whom he’d ordered to carry a message to the archers. Had he sent him to his death? He could only hope the young tracker had already returned across the drawbridge, now lifted, that spanned a deep channel of the moat between the barbican and gatehouse.

  A small thud followed the hiss of flight feathers. Craelin jerked, then doubled as if he’d taken a stomach punch. Elcon reached him in two steps. Weilton met him at Craelin’s side. Together, they pulled him upright. Blood seeped in a spreading patch on the shoulder of his surcoat around the shaft of an arrow that projected there. He groaned.

  Elcon threw Craelin’s good arm over his own shoulders. Weilton supported him on his injured side. Together, they half-dragged, half-carried him down the stairs. Dorann, just passing, halted. Elcon jerked his head without slowing. “Summon Daelic!”

  They laid Craelin on his bed, and Weilton broke the shaft of the arrow with care. Even so, Craelin gritted his teeth and moaned. Already blood stained the sheet. Weilton looked across Craelin to Elcon. “The arrow’s gone through his shoulder. Let him grasp your hand so I can push the rest of the shaft out.”

  Elcon lifted a brow. “Shouldn’t we wait for Daelic?”

  Weilton glanced up. “There’s no telling where Daelic may be right now. I know what I’m doing.”

  Craelin grasped Elcon’s hand as he moaned again. “Don’t waste your time on the dying.”

  “You can’t die.” Elcon squeezed Craelin’s hand to emphasize his words. “I have need of you.”

  Craelin gave the ghost of a smile. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Weilton turned him on his side and pushed the broken shaft through in a sudden movement. Craelin cried out as beads of sweat stood on his forehead. His eyes closed and he went limp.

  When Craelin’s iron grip relaxed Elcon massaged his own hand. “He’s unconscious. Let’s get his surcoat and chain mail off. The arrow slipped between the plates.”

  Weilton tore the bed sheets into pieces which he pressed against Craelin’s wounds. “We need to staunch the flow of blood. He’s lost quite a bit already. If pressure doesn’t stop the flow, we’ll have to cauterize the wound.”

  “Weilton, as second in command, you must act in his place. Send another to help tend Craelin.”

  “I mislike leaving him or you.”

  “I can look after Craelin and myself, but keep me informed. It’s only a matter of time before they breech the wall.”

  “Don’t worry, Lof Shraen. We can shoot fire arrows and use catapults. Of course, the thickness at the base of the walls will deter them, at least for a time. We have enough pots of quicklime, oil, shards, and stones for a good defense.”

  Elcon asked the question most pressing his mind. “Can we hope to hold them off until our reinforcements arrive?”

  Weilton’s eyes gleamed. “There’s always hope—and prayer.”

  ****

  The stable boy, emerged from the far end of the stable, pitchfork in hand. Kai had come to know and trust Hael. He was a cheery fellow wi
th apple cheeks and brown hair. Hael knew his way around a horse, whether it had wings or no.

  “Help me, will you? I must leave this day and take all the wingabeasts.”

  Hael gave him a bright look but asked no questions. With measured movements he approached Raeld, while Kai turned to Fletch. Ruescht whinnied in inquiry and the boy laughed. “She’s a might concerned about being left behind, I think.” He patted her neck.

  Once Fletch and Raeld were saddled and bridled, Kai led them outside and left Hael to follow with Ruescht. He squinted in the sunlight, blinded after the dimness. Beyond the stableyard, cleared pasture land sloped to the White Feather River, which roared and boomed against its banks. Kai mounted Fletch as Hael joined him and offered him Ruescht’s lead rope. Kai shook his head. “Tie it to her saddle horn, as I’ve done with Raeld.” He laughed at Hael’s look of surprise. “They’ll not stray.”

  “I didn’t know the wingabeasts obeyed so well.”

  “They are trained to it.”

  Hael stepped away but waited. Kai smiled and nodded a farewell. Hael never seemed to tire of watching wingabeasts lift into flight. After commanding the other two wingabeasts to follow, Kai signaled Fletch. Powerful wings lifted and then beat downward as the wingabeast sprang upward. Raeld and Ruescht arched into flight over the White Feather River, which roared and foamed below. The peaks of Maegrad Ceid jutted skyward before him as Fletch climbed toward the passes. They needed to gain height to cross in safety, for wingabeasts flying over the Maegrad could encounter wind shears and vagrant currents. Kai was used to navigating them whenever he returned for visits home to Whellein, but he never quite relaxed until he’d cleared the passes.

  He smiled at the sudden memory of teasing Shae about the Ice Witch. In truth, an ancient legend about Erdrich Ceid warned of the arts she employed to freeze solid those who strayed into her icy domain. His smile widened. Shae had believed the tale. How strange that thoughts of Shae brought him only joy now. He would always love and miss her, but somehow the pain of his loss had eased.