by Matthew Ward
"Unless we've obligingly whittled the numbers down," Karov finished heavily. "You're right, of course, you have to be."
I should have been cheered at his acceptance, but I took no joy in any of this. "It's worse even than that. Ever since Skyhaven left this city, it's been heading east, directly towards Tregard. Our army's deep in the Contested Lands. The border outposts can hold an invader at bay for weeks, or even months if need be..."
"Unless the invasion comes from the skies above," Karov interrupted.
I nodded. "You know what my people are like. As long as the Emperor lives, we're determined, even indomitable. If we lose him..."
"It'll be chaos," he finished. "The Empire will splinter. The serathi won't even have to finish you off. You'll be conquered piecemeal by us, by what's left of the Thrakkians, and maybe even by the Ith'najim, if they stir themselves to it."
"There'll be nothing left for Ashana to call upon," I agreed. "In the meantime, Tressia will contend not with an Empire at war, but scores of unpredictable warlords. Our chaos will be yours."
Karov sighed. "There is something to be said for the predictability of the current situation." He was doubtless thinking of the difference between formalised war and the border raids of desperate men. If the former didn't have rules, it at least possessed conventions that bound honourable warriors from performing dishonourable acts. The latter would be blood and terror in the dark for everyone within ten leagues of the border. "But why the hurry? Why not wait until this Light of the Radiant has been restored?"
I'd wondered about that. "It may be such a thing isn't possible. And I think Azyra wants this business done." It was strange to be discussing the annihilation of my people in such calm. Perhaps it was the only way to reckon such things without going mad.
Elspeth nodded. "She's impatient. She's waited thousands of years to triumph. All she lacked was a suitable host for the Radiant."
"A suitable host?" Karov echoed.
I could see his mind working. Another minute, maybe less, and he'd reach the answer for himself. "Arianwyn," I said flatly.
Karov closed his eyes and sank into an armchair. For a moment, he was as unmoving as his still-dreaming butler, and I realised Arianwyn's fate meant a great deal more to him than anything else I'd discussed. Karov and I finally had something in common.
"We have one chance," I told him. "Many serathi, perhaps most of them, don't agree with what Azyra is doing. They're following her out of loyalty, and habit. She rules not out of right, but because she took the throne by force. If another challenges Azyra, and defeats her, all of this can be stopped. There'll be no Radiant, and no Reckoning."
Karov didn't open his eyes. "And you know of a serathi that is prepared to do this?"
"I do."
In fact, this whole plan had been Adanika's idea. Before I'd found her in the Cathedral, I'd just known that I'd somehow have to storm Skyhaven. Adanika's plan was better. Not only would it avoid the crushing loss of life that mine demanded, it also had at least a slim chance of success.
Karov opened haunted eyes. "Then why do you need my help?"
"Skyhaven is deep in the Empire," I replied. "It may even be at Tregard. The only way to get there in time is to use the stepping gate, and to do that we have to kill the graces. I don't want any of your people trying to stop me, and I'd rather they didn't get caught in the crossfire."
He shook his head slowly, as if in a dream. "There are six graces guarding the gate. You're going to fight your way through alone?"
"Not alone," I corrected. "Elspeth is... more dangerous... than she looks. Two serathi have pledged to fight with me. There's also one other I can rely on..." There'd be more if Zorya could convince the other sentinels, but I dared not allow myself much hope of that. "That's five... Six, if you count Jamar."
"Against six graces?" Karov laughed without humour. "You're insane."
I couldn't argue. "Possibly. But as you said earlier, I can be very single-minded." I stepped closer. "Arianwyn told me you were a good man, that I've always misjudged you. Time to prove it, Lord Karov."
The Tressian sighed. "You do know... You do know that if I help you in this, it will be the end of me. My people regard the angels as their salvation. I'll be seen as the worst kind of traitor."
"Perhaps," I allowed. "I think you misjudge your people. Once they learn how they've been used..."
"They'll still find a reason to blame the Empire," Karov interrupted. "That distrust is burnt into their bones, though I might wish it otherwise." He rose and walked over to the balcony door. After a brief frown at the lock, he stared out across the courtyard. "My family has served this city for seven centuries..." He tailed off and faced me, his features hard. "I will not do as you ask."
"You must."
"I am a Lord of the Tressian Republic. There is little that I must or must not do."
"A fine waste of time this was," Elspeth muttered.
"You misunderstand," said Karov. "I will not do as you ask, because I will not throw away everything that my family has built in order for you to commit suicide in grandiose fashion. If I'm to be remembered as a traitor, I'd like it to count for something."
"What are you saying?" I asked cautiously.
"I'll have Jamar released, as you asked. I can't agree to the rest, but let me tell you what I can agree to..."
Eleven
An hour before dawn, I stood in a courtyard off Radjast Street, which itself lay just off the palace square. I was not alone. Elspeth stalked back and forth behind me, Adanika and Elynna circled somewhere overhead, but that was not the extent of the company I had that cool night. Despite my fears, Karov had come through, and in a manner far grander than I could ever have hoped.
Jamar was again a solid presence at my side, resplendent in Hadari royal green, released by Lord Karov himself two hours earlier. Jamar was in fine spirits, and had been quick to point out that he had in no way been mistreated. He was, however, appalled when I told him of everything that had happened since his incarceration. I couldn't tell whether he was more outraged at what had happened to me, what lay in store for our homeland, or what Azyra intended for Arianwyn. I knew only that he was angry – not the desperate fury of a berserker, but the cold, calculating determination of a man readying himself for necessary and well-deserved vengeance.
It wasn't until after Jamar's return that the full scope of Karov's generosity became plain. He'd despatched a herald as we'd left his estate – an action I'd been sorely tempted to countermand – but had refused to tell us to where or to whom the messenger was headed.
That question had at last received an answer as Karov led us to Radjast Street and a short column of some thirty Tressian soldiers, all armed with shouldered crossbows and swords buckled at their sides, stood waiting. Some were praetorians; most wore the plainer garb of regular troops. At the head of the column, her left arm still in a sling, was Emmeline Orova.
The squire greeted me with unrestrained joy. Then, she looked up into my face for the first time and went quite pale – almost as pale, I suspect, as myself. She wasn't afraid, that much was clear from the cast of her eyes, and the thin line of her mouth. Unless I missed my guess, her mind, like Jamar's, walked paths that boded no good for Azyra.
"Who did this to you, Edric?" she asked, too quietly for the soldiers behind her to hear. "The serathi?"
"Azyra," I replied, "with a little help from Magorian."
Emmeline's brow twitched once, then she turned to address Karov. "This was all I could muster so quickly." She paused. "I hope we're not summoned thus to offer further harm to the ambassador."
"You forget your place, Miss Orova," Karov snapped. Whatever the lord had decided over the last few hours, he still wasn't happy being threatened by one he saw as an underling.
"I forget nothing," Emmeline said, unabashed. "Whatever happens from here, my first loyalty is to the ambassador."
"Even over the Republic?" Karov asked, but with a trace of humour.
"My master insisted I serve as the ambassador's bodyguard. He has not withdrawn those instructions. Until he does, my loyalties are clear."
"So I see. It would seem I have chosen well. No offence to you, Miss Orova, but I would have preferred Commander Torev, but he's still dealing with the aftermath of Halmede. Even if a messenger could reach him, he'd certainly not be here in time for the job I need doing."
"And what would that be?" Emmeline asked, her suspicion plain.
"The ambassador desires to reach Skyhaven. It is your job to see that no one stops him."
Shortly after, I found myself explaining my travails of recent days. Emmeline was no less angered by events than Jamar, and was irrationally of the mind that my fate could have been averted had only she come to Skyhaven with me. No. To describe Emmeline's feelings thus was to do them a great disservice. Somehow, I'd earned her abiding loyalty. Like Jamar, I think that she'd have followed me willingly into the most hopeless of battles without hesitation. It was a humbling discovery, and a gift I did not deserve.
While we talked, Karov addressed the troops Emmeline had brought, granting his full authority to our cause. What that authority would be worth in a few hours, I'd no idea, but it did us no harm to have it.
Unfortunately, there was no sign at all of Zorya. First light, we'd agreed, but neither she nor any of the other sentinels were there. Was she still trying to convince them to take a stand? Had they prevented her from leaving out of a misguided sense of what was best for her? I knew only that I couldn't afford to wait much longer.
Even so, I delayed the decision until dawn had crawled past, and I realised that the streets would soon be full with the morning's traders. Karov had already left to ensure that the constabulary blocked all access to the square – and I daresay to make what preparations he could to save his political career – but the task facing the constables would grow increasingly difficult as the sun rose. If we wanted to get this done, it would have to be now.
While I'd fretted on things I could not change, Jamar and Emmeline briefed the Tressians. They, at least, would not be an unusual sight in the palace square, and their presence shouldn't be sufficient to alert the graces to our intent. The same could not be true of myself, Jamar and Elspeth – nor of Adanika and Elynna.
Sadly, whilst the serathi could continue to wait in the skies above, the rest of us could only approach safely once the attack was underway. Elspeth was sure the graces would sense her divine presence if she drew too close – her words, not mine – and there were too many of them for her to get close enough to set them dreaming. As for me, Elspeth had warned that the graces would sense the presence of a fallen, and I'd reluctantly concluded that my presence in the square was an unacceptable risk. Jamar could have joined the Tressians, had he not made it absolutely clear he had no intention of letting me out of his sight.
Protectiveness didn't prevent him from warning the Tressians of what to expect. He spoke of what he had observed of the serathi fighting style, and how best they could counter it. I was struck by how readily the Tressians acquiesced to the advice of a foreigner – a citizen, furthermore, of a realm with which they were once again at war.
I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised. Most had fought at Jamar's side at some time or another in the last six months. More to the point, I suspected many of them didn't understand why the ancient war had been renewed, and remembered well the times they and my kinsmen had fought as brothers against the threat of the fallen. These things alone would never have been enough to settle the matter, but Karov's blessing and the presence of Emmeline tipped the scales.
All in all, our small party moved out a little after dawn. The Tressians left first, in a column of two files with Emmeline at its head. I was surprised – and not a little humbled – when a handful clasped their fists to their chest in salute. They knew I was now a fallen, for I'd made no effort to hide the pallor of my skin. Nevertheless, it seemed that despite recent events, despite the fact that I was now seemingly the very thing they'd fought for survival, I still had their respect. It gave me hope, as brilliant as sunlight, that it was still not too late to end the enmity between our peoples.
Jamar, Elspeth and I trailed after the soldiers. We would wait around the corner until we heard the first volley of crossbow fire, and then throw ourselves into the same meat grinder.
We halted outside an artist's workshop, still boarded up at that time of day. My straining ears sought the rhythmic pounding of feet on cobbles. I stared up into the pale blue sky and sighed. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, though some of us would likely never see its close.
"Column! Halt!"
I heard Emmeline issue the order, and risked a glance into the square. The column had stopped some sixty paces ahead and to the right of me – thirty paces or so in front of the palace steps. This left a slightly longer distance between the Tressians and the stepping gate's guards.
For their part, the graces appeared oblivious anything was amiss. As before, they stood around the gate like points of a star, each gazing sightlessly out across a different section of the open square. Behind, their backs to the stepping gate, sat Arianwyn's two guardians, still patiently awaiting their mistress' return from Skyhaven.
No sooner had I taken in the sight than I heard Emmeline issue the order to salute. This gesture of respect was not unusual for Tressian soldiery in the presence of allied dignitaries, but in this case it meant something quite different. It was the order to open fire.
Two files made a quarter turn to the right. Crossbows slid from shoulders into aimed, two-handed grips. It was a beautifully precise manoeuvre, and spoiled only by the failure of a single metal latch.
The Tressians had long ago outstripped the Empire in technical artistry. They had crossbows, we preferred to use longbows; they had cannon, we relied on trebuchets on those occasions we couldn't simply avoid a siege altogether. One of the smaller successes of the Republic's artificers was a metal latch which, when engaged, prevented a loaded crossbow from firing. This seemingly insignificant invention had done much to compensate for the crossbow's long load time, and guaranteed that Tressian marksmen could embark on long marches with weapons loaded and ready.
This latch was the only reason why what Emmeline was attempting – a brutally close-ranged volley of bolts – was even possible. The graces would hardly have tolerated a company of soldiers painstakingly loading their crossbows with obvious intent. Unfortunately, one of the latches was defective, or had not been properly set.
Before the crossbows had even cleared their shoulders, there was a sharp twang and a bolt sprang skyward.
The graces' heads snapped towards the sound. Six swords scraped free of scabbards.
Good soldiers as the Tressians were, they didn't pause in horror, but followed their manoeuvre through.
Twenty-nine triggers depressed. Twenty-nine bolts sped towards the knot of graces. But the heartbeat's warning had taken its toll. Quicker than my eye, six pairs of wings furled shut across six bodies. One bolt penetrated the plumage. Most simply clattered to the ground. Raging at wasted surprise, I ran forward, sword drawn, to join the fight.
"To the gate!" I shouted. "One of us has to get through!"
The Tressians ignored me. They were supposed to. My words were for the graces alone. Adanika had assured me that the graces were too arrogant to believe they could be overcome by such a small force, and would not flee back through the gate or send one of their number for reinforcements. I trusted her on that, I had to, but I'd another concern. If the graces took to the skies, they'd pick us off with disgusting ease – I wanted to keep them close to the gate, ground-bound and fearful that a moment's laxness would let us meet our goals.
It was a childish plan, but it seemed to work. Three hung back by the stepping gate. Three met the attackers' charge with one of their own.
Somehow I'd forgotten how swift an angered serathi could be.
The first grace reached the line of Tressians. One stroke of her swo
rd sent blood glinting the morning light. Three men collapsed, their throats taken by the blade's point. The backswing parried a thrust from Emmeline's blade.
The front rank of Tressians abandoned their crossbows, their swords coming free of scabbards. Another grace fell upon them, and two more blue-tabarded soldiers went down. The third grace hit, the strike of her blade sending bodies spiralling away. Jamar's heavy footfalls thudded behind me, his powerful legs driving him on. A dozen Tressians were down. Some screamed in agony, others lay deathly still.
Our attack was over before it had begun.
A blur of white shot past my right shoulder. Suddenly Elspeth was in amongst the Tressian ranks. Her empty hand struck the flat of a grace's sword. It knocked the blade clear of its intended victim, sending as clear a challenge to the wielder as she could have hoped.
The grace's posture shift as she realised who – or perhaps what – had challenged her. She forgot her mortal opponents, and struck at Elspeth. That blow never landed, and nor did those that followed. Each time the blade came around, the Daughter of the Moon was simply somewhere else, always within reach, always unharmed. She'd played the same game against revenants, but it was still incredible to witness. Each time Elspeth dodged a blow, a chink of amber light gleamed through the grace's robes. I caught sight of the dagger in Elspeth's hands several times – a dagger I'd not known she possessed – but my eyes were too slow to see her attacks land.
Twenty paces to go.
Emmeline landed a lucky blow, slicing deep into a grace's arm, and was buffeted aside by a flailing wing. The squire fared better than the woman next to her. She took the grace's sword-point in her ribs. It wasn't a fatal strike, not at first. The grace whirled her sword once around her wrist, and hacked down to finish the job.
There was no battle cry, no warning, but suddenly Adanika was there, a thunderbolt from a sunlight sky. She dove headlong, alabaster hair unbound and streaming behind her. Without slowing, she seizing the grace from behind, clasping the masked head in both hands.