For one instant, the Eater refused to advance, refused to consume one more bite of earth. Then, the pitchfork jaws ground into the soil, tore out the rich dirt. The iron spikes fed the nearest pail, and the chains groaned forward, pulling the iron container back, away from the wall, away from the Swancastle.
And the Swancastle fell.
Not the entire wall, Rani realized when her ears had stopped ringing. The gap in the curtain wall was probably no wider than six men riding abreast. That was enough, though. A troop of soldiers could scale the ruins, could break into the unprotected underbelly of the keep.
“Yes!” Davin shouted, his ancient voice made strong by his excitement. “It works!” The old man threw his scrolls to the ground.
“Crestman!” Shea wailed, and the old woman surged past Rani, ignoring the dust, ignoring the screaming, cheering boys, ignoring the stones that even now were coming to rest on the hillside.
The sun need not have worried, though. Crestman had leaped back at the last possible instant, sparing himself from the undermined wall. Now he stood at the edge of the rubble that had once been a proud castle, shaking his head in amazement. He looked up at the ruins and opened his mouth, closing it sharply, as if he were trying to clear a ringing noise from his ears. He was still shaking his head when Shea fell upon him. “Crestman!” the old woman sobbed. “Are you harmed? Were you struck?”
“I’m fine, Shea,” the boy croaked, pushing away her attentions. Crestman rolled his eyes in annoyance, glaring at Rani and Mair. Rani understood the order there – the girls were to gather up the distraught woman. They were to free the commander for his work. “I’m fine, Shea. Just let me finish. Leave me alone, woman!” he bellowed when she would not restrain her inquisitive fingers. As the old sun’s face crumpled, Crestman turned back to the Little Army, harnessing what was left of his voice. “All right, men! Into the keep! Watch for traps, and round up the traitors!”
The boys cheered as they surged into the ruins, drawing their curved knives and their strange, short bows.
The air was filled with blood-curdling screams as the Little Army conquered its own, playing out the last act of its risky game. Even as chaos echoed above her, Rani found herself drawn to Shea. The old woman stood where Crestman had left her, still stretching a shaking hand toward empty space.
For just an instant, Rani remembered her own mother, standing beside the hearth in the large room behind their merchant shop. Deela Trader had reached for her eldest son, for Bardo, with precisely the same expression on her face. Bardo, though, had been in a hurry, heading out to the marketplace, or to a pub, or to some other, darker pleasure. Rani’s mother had recognized her loss, recognized that her son was leaving behind more than the hearth where he’d been raised.
Rani shook her head, hoping that she never longed for anyone so desperately. Then, Mair stepped forward, grabbing at Rani’s arm. “Cor! Did ye see that? An army o’ little boys, ’n’ they managed t’ bring down a castle wall, all i’ a mornin’! Rai! Did ye see!”
“Aye, Mair. I saw.”
“Just think, Rai! Think what ’Alaravilli could do wi’ one o’ these!”
Rani thought, but she realized that Sin Hazar was prepared to do far more. For Sin Hazar had Davin. He had the Little Army. He said he was after Liantine, to the east. But Sin Hazar could change his tactics. He could change his goals. Sin Hazar could bring the Eater to Morenia any time he chose.
Mair was still chattering that night, as the Little Army gathered to celebrate its victory. “I’ve never heard a noise like that, Rai. Have you?”
“No, Mair. I’ve never heard a noise like that,” Rani answered for the hundredth time.
Mair’s amazement, though, was cut short by Davin, who loomed out of the darkness, as if he’d been conjured by the man-high bonfire.
“Little Army!” the man proclaimed.
“Da-vin! Da-vin! Da-vin!” The boys pounded on the ground as they shouted each syllable.
The old man flapped his hands in the air impatiently, signaling the children to silence. When the chant had trailed off enough that Davin could be heard, he cleared his throat. “Little Army! You’ve served your king well today! With your bravery and your hard work, you have tested the latest of my war engines. When you set sail for the east, you will be prepared to fight King Sin Hazar’s greatest enemies. You will be armed with an Eater three times the size of the one that you tested here today. You will bring glory to King Sin Hazar in Amanthia and across the ocean!
“To King Sin Hazar!” one boy shouted.
“To Amanthia!” cried another.
“In honor of your service, Little Army, I declare tonight a feast night. Captain Crestman! You may breach three barrels of wine to honor your king and liege lord! Drink to your liege as you complete your maneuvers at the Swancastle! Long live King Sin Hazar!”
“Long live King Sin Hazar!” The Little Army swarmed around Crestman, gathering him onto their shoulders as they stormed around their bonfire. For just an instant, a handful of boys stepped toward Davin, as if they would include him in the celebration, but the ancient man waved them off. The boys, more intent on celebrating than giving appropriate credit to their elders, quickly abandoned the attempt. Davin turned to walk down the hill.
“Your Grace!” Shea shouted, her voice almost lost in the boys’ revelry.
“What?” Davin’s irritation was clear to Rani as he turned to face the old woman.
“Your Grace, that wine needs to last all winter. You shouldn’t have told them they could break out so much tonight.”
“Don’t speak about things beyond your ken, old woman. My Eater works. That’s cause for celebration. Besides, that captain of yours needs to cement his bond with his soldiers. He needs to be their leader.”
“He needs –” Shea broke off her own protest, and then started again. “I’m a sun, Davin, the only one you’ve got here. I’m trying to run this camp, as a sun ought, and I’m telling you there won’t be enough wine to last until spring.”
Davin barked a laugh as harsh as a fox. “These boys won’t be here till spring. The king will send them over the sea before midwinter.”
“You can’t be serious! They’re children!”
“What did you think we meant by the Little Army, woman? They’re all children. They fight without fear of losing their own lives; they fight with more energy than grown men. They’ve never seen death, not on a battlefield. They’ll use my engines to win Sin Hazar’s war without a thought to what the battle might cost them.” Davin scowled at Shea. “Don’t get attached to soldiers, sunwoman. The Little Army is worse than lions – this division’ll be gone in two months, your captain too. More boys will take their place. There are always more boys.”
The gruff old man trudged down the hill, tossing his black hood over his snowy hair and melting into the darkness. Rani saw the mother-loss spread over Shea’s face, and she limped to the old woman’s side. “Shea –” she began.
The sun fumbled at her rough dress, clutching the fabric across her chest. “I’m tired, child,” she said, her eyes staring across at the bonfire. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Shea, you can’t worry about them. They’re not sailing yet.”
“I’m not worried, child. My Crestman will be fine. He’s a captain. In the Little Army.” Before Rani could think of a comforting lie, the old sun turned and staggered down the hillside. Rani thought that she should follow the woman, at least to make sure that she arrived safely at her cottage. Before Rani could move, though, Mair grabbed her arm.
Rani turned back to the bonfire, only to see Crestman swaggering toward the girls. “So,” he croaked, his voice still hoarse from his morning’s exertions. “You’re lucky to have been here today. You got to see our enemies’ nightmares.”
“We’re honored,” Mair said dryly, and Rani looked at her friend in amazement. Hadn’t the Touched girl been crowing for the better part of the evening? Hadn’t she been amazed by Crestman’s feat?
Crestman grinned at Rani, but there was no mirth in his expression. The firelight glinted off his teeth. “I’m their captain. Davin’s seen to that. With a pair of leather shoes and the power of command, he’s seen to that.”
Before Crestman could elaborate on his grim words, a shout went up from the fire. “Captain! Captain, it’s time to judge the prisoners!”
Crestman took a deep breath, letting his eyes travel down the hill to the darkness that had consumed Davin. “Excuse me, ladies. Duty calls.”
“Captain!” Mair snorted, as the boy stalked away. “He doesn’t know the first thing about leading a group of children! He’s only doing this because Davin ordered him to.”
“Hush!” Rani said, taking a step closer so that she could hear what transpired by the fire. The boys had fed four huge logs onto the flames, stoking the bonfire higher than it had been when Davin addressed them. For just an instant Rani imagined capturing the scene in glass, building spikes of red and orange and yellow in a lead framework, tilting the planes of color so that sunlight would make them glow.
In the bonfire’s light, Rani could see that the victorious soldiers, the ones who had manned the Eater, had smeared their faces with something – earth from the fallen Swancastle? Ash? Something streaked dark across their cheeks, covering the scars where their tattoos had been carved away.
As Rani watched, one of the younger boys danced up to Crestman, reaching up to daub the dark substance across the captain’s face. Crestman accepted the attention earnestly, lowering his head so that he could bear the same marks as his men.
Only when he was decorated did he turn to the dozen boys who huddled in a pile, too close to the leaping flames for comfort. Those boys were stripped to their smallclothes, and they were lashed together cruelly. The arms of each child had been tied in front of him, his wrists wrapped tightly with leather thongs. Each boy’s arms had been tugged between his legs and lashed to the throat of the boy behind him. Any child who tried to ease his own aching shoulders was likely to strangle at least one fellow prisoner.
The children could not stand; they twisted about in a ghastly series of half-crouches and desperate squats. Rani’s own shoulders ached at the thought of their torture, and she tried not to stare into their pale, pale faces. Crestman, though, did not seem disturbed. He crossed to the largest of the bound boys and punched him hard on the arm, sending the blond child twisting onto his side, out of his dangerous equilibrium. As the boy fell, the soldier behind him choked for breath. That boy, in turn, pulled back, trying to ease the pressure across his windpipe. His motion served only to saw the harsh rope up between the legs of Crestman’s chosen victim.
“Varner!” Crestman barked at the blond boy, his eyes glinting out of the black mask smeared across his cheeks. His words were more ferocious for breaking across his rasped throat. “You call yourself a soldier?” The captive only stared ahead, ignoring his bonds, unblinking. “I’m speaking to you, boy! Do you call yourself a soldier in the Little Army?”
“Yes.”
“Then what sort of showing did you make today? What sort of fighting man do you think you are?”
Silence. Crestman knotted one hand, crashing his fist into Varner’s face. Rani heard the crack of the prisoner’s nose, and blood streamed down his bleached face. “I ask you again, boy. What sort of fighting man do you think you are?”
“A loyal one,” Varner spat. “Davin needed someone on the walls to test his machines.”
“Davin needed someone to defend the Swancastle! It does him no good to test his engines against a bunch of sniveling babes!” Rani could just make out the half-swallowed sobs of the other trussed-up captives. The larger group of boys, the black-painted ones, must have heard the sound as well, for they began to whisper among themselves. “Da-vin. Da-vin.”
Crestman dug his booted toe into Varner’s side. “We might as well fight against kittens!”
“We did as we were ordered, Crestman.” Varner’s words were slurred by the blood that dripped from his nose.
“How can we trust you, Varner? How can the Little Army trust anyone weak enough to lose a castle to a group of boys?”
Varner glared at his tormentor, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “Enough, Crestman. Name our punishment. My men and I will meet it. We’re loyal to the king.”
Crestman scarcely hesitated before stepping back from the fire. “Free them,” he barked, gesturing to two of his soldiers. The pair of victorious boys hooted as they cut the ropes that bound their captives. One of the released boys staggered to his feet and stumbled a few steps away from the firelight, only to be harried back with the flats of his brothers’ blades.
“Choose a man, Varner. Choose your best man.”
The blond boy glared at Crestman, but he barely hesitated before he said, “Stand forward, Monny.”
Rani caught her breath as a boy stepped up to his leader’s side. This must be the smallest child in all the Little Army! He could hardly be eight years old. The boy’s red hair was darkened with sweat, wiry where it had come loose from his warrior’s clout. Freckles stood out across his unmasked face.
“This is your best? This is the best you can offer King Sin Hazar?” Crestman’s harsh laugh was echoed by his men.
“Monny.” Varner barely whispered the boy’s name, but the red-headed child nodded. Faster than Rani’s eyes could follow, he hurtled his full weight at one of Crestman’s guards, catching the older boy completely by surprise. Before the larger soldier could regain his footing, Monny had captured the boy’s arrow-launching device. He scraped the knife-edged arrow across his erstwhile guard’s throat, reached down to scrape some of the black paint from the older boy’s face and deposit in on his own cheeks, and then he turned the weapon on Crestman. He closed one eye as he aimed the short bolt at his captain’s heart, and then he froze, testifying mutely to the damage that he could cause.
Crestman’s soldier was swearing, sucking his breath between his teeth as his own sweat stung his slashed throat. Monny had moved carefully, though; the boy’s wound was more bloody than deep. Rani watched Crestman register his approval, a slight lifting of his eyebrows and a slow nod of his head. “Drop your weapon, soldier.”
Monny complied immediately, shouting out, “In the name of King Sin Hazar!”
The cry was taken up by Crestman’s victors. “Sin Ha-zar! Sin Ha-zar!” The boys stomped on the ground with each syllable, and they moved forward ominously, encircling the unfortunate children who had been ordered to defend the Swancastle’s walls.
Crestman barked his orders so that they fell between his army’s cadence. “On the ground, boy! Spread your arms! Spread your legs!” Monny answered each order immediately, breathing heavily, but doing nothing else to betray any apprehension.
Rani stepped forward as Crestman signaled four of his men to his side. She had seen the cruelty of children; she had seen military discipline at its worst – in the Brotherhood of Justice, infractions were considered blood debts. Before she could speak, though, before she could distract Crestman from his deadly mission, Mair gripped Rani. The Touched girl shook her head once and dug her fingers into the meat of Rani’s arm.
Meanwhile, Crestman gave a curt nod, and each of his four soldiers knelt beside the red-headed child, putting his full weight on a limb. Crestman waited until his men were settled before he turned back to the assembled soldiers. He thrust one fist into the air, momentarily stilling their chant of the king’s name.
“King Sin Hazar relies on his soldiers to be the best in all the land! He relies on us to serve his cause, easy or hard, just or unjust, right or wrong. King Sin Hazar rules Amanthia by the right of all the Thousand Gods. By all the Thousand Gods, King Sin Hazar will come to rule the world!”
The army cheered Cre
stman’s words, all of them but Monny and Varner. Crestman drew his short sword, brandishing it above his head until the boys fell silent. The captain’s eyes glowed from behind his mask of black soot; the paint had smeared down his face and across his lips. “Sin Hazar demands our complete faith. When we do not understand a command, it is because we are only soldiers, because we are not king. Long live King Sin Hazar!”
“Long live King Sin Hazar!” rose the boys’ shouts. Monny’s voice rang out, shrill and piercing, loudest of all the children. Rani swallowed hard, her heart pounding as she dreaded whatever would happen next.
Crestman stepped over the red-headed boy, scarcely acknowledging his own kneeling soldiers. The captain came to stand chest to chest with Varner. The defeated boy glared at his leader for a moment, but then dropped his eyes. Crestman took the vanquished soldier’s hand, closed it around the hilt of his own curved sword. He waited until Varner had accepted the weapon, until the boy had met his eyes.
“Shave him.”
“What?” Varner laughed, the sound incongruous in the charged air beside the bonfire.
“Shave him.”
Varner laughed again and crossed to the restrained Monny. He knelt beside the boy and shook his head, raising the curved blade to the child’s sweat-dulled red locks. “In the name of Sin Hazar,” he began, and Monny smiled too.
“Not his head,” Crestman interrupted.
“Not –”
“The king has enough soldiers. He needs more nightingales, to sing to him. To ease his mind, as he plans our next battle.” Monny had frozen beneath his captors’ hands, his grin still gaping incongruously against his filthy skin. “Geld the boy.”
Varner stared at Crestman. “You’re mad.”
“I’m your captain, soldier! I’m the king’s voice on this battlefield!”
“But he’s just a boy! He’s too young even to be in the Little Army!”
Glasswrights' Progress Page 17