by Tad Williams
So many of the walls had collapsed that nearly all the torches that had ringed the inner keep were gone. White Foxes seemed to be all around, but Aelin was grateful to see fewer of them than he had first feared. Still, there were hundreds inside Naglimund now, and it took him and Jarreth no little time to make their way past the keep, moving from shadow to shadow. The Norns were already leading prisoners out of the innermost buildings, but they were also killing male prisoners on the spot; it was all Aelin could manage to keep moving. We can save none of them, he told himself. We would simply die ourselves, and then nobody would carry the word away. But knowing that did not ease the terrible ache. The High Throne must be told what happened here! These deaths must be avenged.
With the attention of the Norns on the center of the keep, Aelin and Jarreth managed to reach the stables without having to fight, although several times it was a near thing; once they had to crouch in shadow and watch the corpse-skinned Norns behead several captured Naglimunders, one of them a weeping, struggling woman, and it felt to Aelin as though he had swallowed slow poison.
Inside the stable, Maccus Blackbeard and Evan the Aedonite were saddling and harnessing the horses as fast as they could without giving themselves away to the white-faced warriors ranging the courtyard outside.
“Is this all of us who are left?” Aelin asked. He had brought eight men to Naglimund.
“We saw none of the others,” said Maccus. “It’s mad out there. Mad!”
“I know. We can only try to escape into the forest. Anywhere else and they’ll see us and shoot us down. The White Foxes are fierce bowmen.”
“I saddled your horse, Sir Aelin,” said Evan.
“You have my thanks.” Aelin patted Connach on the withers and the stallion stepped anxiously in place. The smell of smoke and the noises outside had all the animals badly frightened, and Aelin hoped they would be able to control them once they left the stables.
“Lead the horses out and stay away from the main keep,” he said. “We don’t know what we’ll find out there, so don’t mount up until I say.”
As the only one of noble birth, Aelin insisted on being the first through the door in case the Norns were waiting. Connach balked in the doorway but Aelin gave a firm pull on the reins and leaned in to whisper words of encouragement; after a moment, Connach gave in and followed him.
The borers’ attack had collapsed many of the walls around the central keep. Most of the huge beasts seemed to have withdrawn back into the ground afterward, but the gaps in the stonework had been filled with Norn soldiers, so Aelin and the other Hernystiri kept to the shadows as best they could. There were far too many White Foxes to fight against, but Aelin was still surprised he didn’t see more.
Still, he thought, they do not need such numbers as we do—they have their fairy magicks, their great wall-smashing hammers and their digging monsters. But even as he thought it, he finally understood something that had puzzled him. There had been so few of the hammer-wielding Norns attacking the castle that he hadn’t been able to imagine how they would bring the walls down without being shot down by the castle’s defenders.
Those hammer-fairies were never meant to bring down all Naglimund’s walls, he realized—only a few, enough to get inside the keep. Then they used the hammers to summon the great digging monsters that could do the task in a few moments.
Satisfied that there were no Norns immediately outside the stables, he told his men, “Mount up, but pull your hoods down low and perhaps we will pass for Norns. We must head for the eastern wall against the hillside, then find one of the breaches and make our way out. After that it’s up the hill and over into the Oldheart Forest on the other side. Now ride!”
They burst out onto the uneven ground of the courtyard and sped past the back of the residence. Capering shadows surrounded it, wildly magnified by the uneven firelight, and he saw Norns in many other places around the inner keep, but for these first few moments at least, Aelin and his men went unnoticed.
They managed to escape the inner keep through a shattered wall, and as they approached the outer wall Aelin saw that it had been breached between the postern and the guard tower at the corner, but that no White Foxes seemed be guarding the gap. A moment later he saw the great cave-borer that had burrowed under the wall and brought it down had collapsed so much of the stone that the massive creature had trapped itself; its blunt upper body swung helplessly from side to side in the middle of the gap, and its legs scratched at the night sky as though it tried to climb to Heaven itself, but the pile of fallen stones held the monster tight. It was a way out, but Aelin could not imagine how to get past the struggling borer without being snatched up in those dark jaws and crushed.
Then Aelin saw a long pike one of the castle’s defenders had dropped, and had a sudden idea. “Jarreth,” he cried, “hand me that pike. The rest of you—behind me!”
Jarreth clearly did not understand what Aelin planned, but slid out of his saddle and snatched up the pike, twice as long as he was, and carried it to Aelin.
“Now get back on your horse.” Aelin did his best to couch the pike in his right arm like a proper jousting lance. Without waiting to see if Jarreth and the others were following him, he spurred Connach forward toward the massive shape of the thrashing, trapped borer.
He could see no eyes—and why would there be on a creature that lived in the blind earth?—so the hooked jaws seemed the most likely place to aim as he spurred up the pile of rubble. He struck, and for an instant he held onto the pike so tightly that the long wooden shaft began to bow, then the iron spearhead popped free and the pike itself snapped back straight and leaped out of his arms. Aelin himself was sprung sideways out of the saddle; he flew a short distance before a painfully hard landing that knocked out his breath.
For a moment the flames and the red-splashed light on the walls seemed to teeter from side to side around him, as though some even greater borer was undermining the entirety of Naglimund. Then Jarreth helped him to sit up and Aelin realized it was only his dizzied brain making everything sway. The great earthwick was still wriggling in the rubble; Aelin’s attack had not budged it a hand’s breadth.
“It chews through stone,” he said out loud.
“What, lord?” asked his squire. “We have to do something—some of the White Foxes have seen us!”
He was right: a group of shapes near the residence had detached themselves from the larger crowd and were hurrying toward them, but Aelin only noted them and turned back toward the borer. “I’m a fool! It chews through stone with that mouth!” he said. “Why did I think I could harm it there?” He scrambled to his feet and went to retrieve the long pike. He was grateful to see that its shaft had not broken. “Tell the others to be ready!” he shouted to Jarreth.
Aelin did not mount his horse again, but climbed up the unsteady pile of stones toward the eyeless monster. This time he did not attack it from the front, but got behind it and shoved the head of his pike in beneath the overlapping armor plates that covered its body, pushing the iron point in until he felt resistance. A moment later the borer felt the attack and heaved its front end upward, jaws clacking. The sudden jerk yanked Aelin from his feet, but he immediately got up and grabbed the pikeshaft, then shoved the point in even deeper. Jarreth and the rest had seen what he was doing now and made their way up the shattered wall as far away from the beast and Aelin as they could manage, Jarreth back on his own horse and leading Aelin’s Connach by the bridle.
Aelin began swiveling the shaft from side to side, trying to cut as deeply as he could and inflict as much pain as possible to distract the many-legged monster while his men climbed past. A dozen Norns were running toward them—Aelin knew he had mere moments before he and his men would be caught and killed.
Just as he dug the pike head in again, the great borer made a last effort and heaved itself halfway out of the pile, sending chunks of rubble as big as hand-barrows wh
eeling past him. He heard a cry behind him, but had no time to look because he had shoved the pike in deeper than ever before and the borer was desperately trying to shake it free. The creature reared upward and half a dozen more of its limbs waggled free in the air, each leg a jointed horror nearly as long as Aelin was tall.
Then the whole of the shelled beast swung to one side and tugged the pike shaft from Aelin’s hands as easily as a man might snatch a twig from an infant, but in its fierce thrashing the borer struck the postern gatehouse. The stone structure shuddered all the way to its roof, then fell to pieces and collapsed. The borer, still held by its lower half, vanished beneath the stones of the falling structure.
Aelin had no time to gloat: the onrushing Norns had all but closed the distance. Maccus and Evan were already on the other side of the ruined wall, so he turned to take Connach back from Jarreth and saw that only his horse now stood there, eyes wide and legs trembling. A great chunk of postern wall had fallen and Jarreth was gone, nothing left to mark where he had been but one bloody, bootless foot showing beneath the broken stones.
Blinking away tears, Aelin put his foot in the stirrup and swung up into Connach’s saddle.
You have stolen from me once again, Hugh Gwythinn’s-son, he thought as he rode down off the shattered remains of the wall, then spurred his horse up into the dark hillside. You have taken a man close to my heart.
I will see you pay for this. Unless the gods themselves make me a liar, I swear I will take your life for these crimes.
34
Cutting Reeds
Morgan staggered back to the flat spot on the riverbank, lurching through mud almost to his knees. When he got there he dumped the bundle of reeds he had been carrying and groaned. “It’s hot. How can there even be mud when it’s this hot?”
Tanahaya did not look up from her work. “By the time the rains come again it will all be dry. So does the wheel turn.” She had assembled several bundles and was lashing them together with rope she had made from other grasses while Morgan had been out sloshing along the river’s edge, dulling his sword-edge on the long, waving reeds. “Help me put this up on the logs,” she said.
He helped her lift the long, loose bundle of bound reeds. The boat looked as though it would be about twice his own height in length. “Will that hold us both?”
“Since you are always complaining of not having enough to eat,” she said without even a trace of a smile, “then I think you will now be light enough for us both to be carried in it at the same time, yes.”
Morgan couldn’t tell if she was joking or actually unhappy with him. He had done his best not to complain, but hacking at reeds in the bright sun was exhausting work, and he was covered all over with the bites of small winged creatures. He watched as she tightened the ropes that held the bundles together. “But will it be strong enough? The water is fast out in the center of the river.”
She gave him another unreadable look, then went back to tying, her fingers nimble as bees humming from flower to flower. “True. There are places where T’si Suhyasei moves very swiftly indeed. We will need paddles as well. Perhaps when you are searching for more reeds you could also look for branches that would serve the purpose.”
“More reeds?”
“Yes, Morgan. But not too many more, I would say. Another bundle of the size you have just brought. Still, there is no hurry—the boat must dry in the sun for at least a day or so before we try to put it in the water.”
“Another day?”
Now he could see that she was both amused and annoyed. “Yes, Prince of Questions. Unless you would rather try following the river on foot all the way to Da’ai Chikiza. But I think you have learned something of how difficult that is in your search for reeds. Still, as I said, you need not hurry too much. These you have brought will keep me busy for some time. You can go out again when the sun is lower and the air is cooler.”
* * *
In the first moments after waking, as with every other day, Simon thought he would turn and find Miriamele sleeping beside him, her fair hair disarranged, her breathing so loud he often teased her about it. But even before he rolled onto his side the silence reminded him that she was not there, that she was many, many leagues away.
It was strange to wake each day from his empty, dreamless sleep to the same ache of missing her. It made no sense. They had been separated for months at a time when he was fighting in the Thrithings, and this time she had left for Nabban in Tiyagar-month and it was now nearing the end of Septander. How could he not have grown used to her absence by now?
He sat up and pushed himself back against the pillows and headsheet, then pulled the bed hangings back along the nearest side. Even with her gone such a long time he slept in the same spot every night, just as if she had been there. They had been given the ash wood bed by Isgrimnur and Gutrun at least twenty years ago—or could it be thirty? It was astonishing to consider the swift flight of time. To Simon, who had been raised sleeping on the floor among the other scullions, and had been thrilled the first time he was able to stretch out on his own narrow cot, the gift had felt as if the duke and duchess had given them an entire castle. Sometimes he lay half-awake and looked at the linen curtains and imagined he was in a ship with billowing sails. But now that he was the only passenger it sometimes felt like a ghost ship, doomed to wander the seas forever.
Irritated by his own gloomy thoughts, he sat up and reached for the cup on the small table beside him. As he raised it to his lips a face suddenly appeared over the foot of the bed, startling him so that he spluttered watered wine all over his nightshirt.
“Do you need anything, Majesty?” Young Avel wiped his eyes and tried to look as though he had not awakened only moments earlier. Simon had forgotten about the young servant sleeping on a trundle at the foot of the bed.
“By Saint Rhiap, you startled me, boy.” He looked down at his stained shirt. “I need some clothes I haven’t covered with wine, that’s what I need.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Avel hurried to the standing dresser and began rummaging through it. “Shall I call for Lord Jeremias, sir? He would be best to help you choose the day’s outfit.”
Simon sighed. “No, that’s not necessary. Just get me something clean and kingly. I have much to do today.” And he did, and that was why he felt so little urge to climb out of the high bed-ship and descend to the dry land of duty. He expected a dispatch from Osric on the Thrithings border, and plans had to be made for the visit of Countess Yissola, old Streáwe’s daughter, who doubtless planned to scold him over some nonsense stemming from her feud with the Northern Alliance. Simon had never met the woman, and from what he’d heard about her iron will and short temper, he had no urge to.
God, how I wish Miri were here, he thought. I’d let her deal with this Perdruinese she-wolf. The queen, he knew, would never let anyone get the best of her, especially not another woman. But Simon knew that he was not good at arguing with the fairer sex, that his worries about being discourteous got him in trouble more often than they did him good.
“How about this, Majesty?” asked Avel, holding up a thick tunic of green velvet.
“For the love of God!” Simon yelped. “I apologize for taking the Holy Name in vain, but what are you thinking, boy? The sun will be hot enough today that even the trees will be looking for shade.”
“That’s funny, Sire,” said Avel. “Trees looking for shade. I’ll have to remember it.”
Simon grinned and the day felt a tiny bit better. “Old Shem the groom used to say that. Always made me laugh, too. Another one of his was, ‘It was so hot I saw two trees fighting over a dog.’”
While the lad puzzled that out, a knock came on the chamber door. A guard stepped in and said, “The Lord Chamberlain.”
“I am cheered to see that you’re awake,” Jeremias told him. He looked to the page, still holding the heavy velvet tunic. “Oh, well-chosen, lad! The gre
en velvet is exactly the right tone to strike, I think. But let me find a jeweled chain to go with it. That heavy silver one should do nicely. Very impressive, very royal.”
Simon closed his eyes and silently wished he could go back to bed. But there were things to do, so very many things to do. His people needed him and he was the only High King in the vicinity.
* * *
“Well, old friend, what matters of state are before us today?”
The king was trying to sound cheerful, but Tiamak did not like what he saw. Simon, one of the tallest people he knew, slumped in his chair like a man twenty years older, and the dark circles under his eyes told of another night he had not slept well. Tiamak looked briefly to his wife, whom he had brought along for reasons of his own, and saw that Thelía, too, was studying Simon closely. “Much and much, as always,” he answered. “First and most important, of course, is reviewing the castle’s defenses and the readiness of our soldiers, and Sir Zakiel wishes some of your time for that, but I believe he is planning to come to you after the midday meal. And I am still trying to round up the leaders of the Northern Alliance because they badly want to speak to you before Countess Yissola’s visit.”
Simon sighed. “Of course they do. Yes, I will certainly see Zakiel. As to the Northern Alliance merchants, I will leave it to you or Pasevalles to arrange things.”
Pasevalles, who had been sitting quietly with his lap full of documents, nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Tiamak was quite willing to pass that chore and most others along to the Lord Chancellor. He had more than enough on his mind. Work on the great library had ceased because of the concerns about the Norns and the bizarre, frightening news from Hernystir. Because of that, Tiamak’s and Thelía’s chamber was still full almost to overflowing with books that he had hoped could soon be moved to the new building; many more volumes were scattered about the castle in such places of temporary storage as Tiamak had managed to wrestle away from the butlers and chambermaids. The fact that some of those books were hundreds of years old and irreplaceable seemed to make no difference to the castle’s servants, who saw greater utility in things like extra brooms and spare wall hangings and sealed barrels of fish sauce that had sat unbreached (but were likely spoiled anyway) since the early days when Simon and Miriamele had been crowned.