“Wait.” Her brother Luka was there beside her, carrying the fish gaff in one hand and a pike in the other.
She stood where she was, wondering what he wanted to do. He said nothing more, only watched the pikemen in their orderly retreat toward the path, and she realized he was letting them go.
Everybody saw this. All around them, the crowd was whooping, cheering themselves, slapping backs, declaring victory. The circle of pikemen reached the foot of the path and began its awkward two-by-two ascent. Jeering and whooping, people came out on the roofs of the porches, on the ledges of the cliff rooms, throwing insults and garbage.
His eyes on Luka, Jeon walked across the common; his face was drawn. He had his bow on his shoulder and arrows in his hand. Tirza reached out toward him, but he ignored her; he went straight to Luka.
“Let me shoot, before they’re out of range.”
“No.”
Jeon went red as cow meat, and exploded in a yell. “Why are you not killing them? They killed us!”
Still watching the pikemen, Luka said, “I don’t want any more death than there has to be.” He switched his gaze to Jeon. “They would do that. Harry beaten men. I am not like them.” His head swiveled again, turning his eyes back to the path.
Jeon’s face was locked in a snarl and Tirza’s skin prickled up at the fury in him. She put her hand on his arm. He turned toward her with a jerk, his face set. That look startled her, and she stepped back.
Then a smile softened him.
“You led them, out there,” he said. “While we talked you did, Tirza.” He slung an arm around her and hugged her.
Luka said, “There. See?” He pointed to the top of the cliff.
Tirza saw what he saw. At the top of the cliff, more soldiers stood looking down at them. The men Luka had allowed to escape rushed up the path to join them. As they gathered together, the mass of striped doublets drew back again, out of sight behind the rise of the cliff.
Luka turned abruptly, looking around him, saw Amillee, the brewster’s daughter, and beckoned to her. When she came up, he said, “Get some of the women together; fill up some buckets with slippery stuff. Fish guts, latrine slop, oil, anything. Quick.” He straightened, his gaze going back toward the cliff. He was already planning something else, Tirza saw, with a thrill of admiration. She hopped in place, and he noticed her again.
“Tirza,” he said, and went to one knee, face-to-face with her. “Jeon is right; you led this. I love you all the more for that. Now I need your help again. This is not over. I want you to get back into the castle, to Mervaly and Casea, and all of you do what you can there.”
She nodded. Her cheeks flamed with excitement. He needed her help. She was part of this. Turning, she raced away toward the rocks below the castle; behind her he was calling for Jeon.
* * *
Oto saw no reason to be courteous with these men, who had just been humiliated down there on the beach: he stared into the sergeant’s face until the man dropped his eyes, and said, “You put up no more fight than that? You are an Imperial soldier, and you let a flock of peasants beat you?”
The sergeant gnawed his lips, his face reddening and his shoulders round. A great bruise was spreading over his cheek and one sleeve of his doublet was gone, exposing the steel rim of the armhole of his breastplate. Behind him his men were squatting on the ground around the two wounded. One of those was groaning, so he was well enough, but the other looked dead. Oto brought his gaze back to the sergeant.
“I need more of you than this. His Majesty the Emperor expects more of you.” Oto stepped back. “Let’s see if you can force your way back down again, and redeem yourselves.”
The sergeant jerked upright. “My lord—”
Oto walked back to the top of the path. “Get some bows up here. Let’s make them hop a little.” At the bottom of the path, on the beach, the townspeople swarmed like insects. Two women with buckets were climbing up the path. He wondered if they were within bowshot: he wanted to skewer them. As he watched they emptied their buckets onto the walkway and another woman hauled a bucket in each hand up toward them.
“Glory to the Empire.”
He turned; the sergeant had brought two of the soldiers, armed with bows. Oto stepped back smartly, his hands tucked behind him, to see how they did. “Shoot anything on the path.”
The sergeant cleared his throat, gave him a quick look, and nodded to the bowman. They knelt, drew their bows, and shot. The arrows sailed off into the lower air; Oto could not see where any of them went, but one of the women with the buckets slipped and went down. Oto was unsure if an arrow had struck her or if she had simply fallen on the path. A moment later another of the women got her by the arm and half-carried her down to the beach. The next volley of arrows sailed away. At the foot of the path, the crowd stood watching him, unafraid, so the arrows were not reaching them.
He lifted his head and looked off down the cliff, the way his brother had gone. Oto could see Broga’s little army far down there, not each man, but the whole, moving along beneath a white puff of dust. He studied the path down the cliff again. Perhaps he should revise his thinking. Broga would get down there and harry the people. They could only escape by coming up this way. Then the narrowness and steepness of the path, and whatever they had spread on it to confound him, would work against them. Oto saw no reason to go into a bottleneck if he could simply stopper the bottle. He had the castle, and the women, which in the end would matter most.
He turned to the sergeant again, his voice crisp. “Yet I fear you would not be up to the task.”
“My lord,” the sergeant said. His face was taut. “We live only to serve the Emperor. We will do what you order.”
“I hope so. Now I am saying we should post a watch here, and take these hurt men back to the castle.” He glanced over his shoulder again; now he could see only the faintest trace of Broga’s dust. “Form up. I have orders to give.” The sergeant unhooked his horn from his belt and put it to his lips, and the little band of men made neat, even lines before Oto. He clasped his hands behind his back, surveyed them critically a moment, and began.
* * *
Tirza was leaning out the window beside the seagull, avoiding its numerous droppings. From here she could see the flat top of the cliff south of the castle and she was watching the Imperials divide up into parts. One part, the bigger, was going off to the south, but the other waited at the top of the path down the cliff. Maybe they would attack again. The angle of the cliff top cut off the near part of the beach from sight, and she could see nothing of what was happening there. Her skin crawled; she imagined leaping from the window, flying down, fighting beside her brothers.
Mervaly said, “We have to do something. Luka expects us to help. Oto and Broga are both gone, and a lot of their men. We could shut the gate on them.” She glanced at their door. “Is there a guard out there?”
Casea put her ear to the wood. “Yes. Only one, though.” She tugged on the latch; the string was on the far side of the wall.
Mervaly said, “They must have taken nearly all their men away. This is our only chance.”
Tirza looked out the window again. Faintly she heard a horn blow. The pack of striped doublets at the top of the cliff was not moving down the path to join battle. They were lined up, not facing down but this way. They were coming back to the castle. Her back tingled.
Casea went over to the bed and picked up the water jug. “Make the guard come in here. I’ll hit him and we can lock him in. Otherwise, if we leave, he’s behind us.”
Mervaly was watching out the window beside Tirza. She said, “No. Oto is coming back. There’s no time. Hurry. Tirza, find the way.”
* * *
The townspeople were cheering and hugging one another and slapping hands and chests, already drunk with their victory, and Lumilla had her swampers dragging a keg out into the middle of the beach. Soon they would be beyond the reach of orders. Luka moved backward down the beach, until his heels were pressing
into damp sand. He could see much of the top of the cliff from here, enough to see a little band of riders and men on foot trudging toward the bridge into the castle.
Jeon said, “They are giving up.”
“No,” Luka said. There should have been many more Imperials in that march, if all of them were going back to the castle. Oto had many more men than that. “This is just a false fire. The rest of them went south. They’re going to come down onto the beach somewhere and try to attack us from that side.” He turned to Jeon. “Just be quiet, for once?” Although Jeon had said nothing. “We have to gather everybody up again. Men, women, anybody who will come who can carry a weapon. We have to meet them where we have some advantage. Hurry, before they tap the kegs.” He clapped Jeon on the shoulder. “Here’s where we can break the Empire. Let’s go.”
6
Her sisters behind her, Tirza went at a run down the passage, which led into the empty antechamber. On the landward side the big, round room opened out to the gate yard and she went out to the stoop there, where three steps led down to the paved yard.
It was empty, all the soldiers gone. All this yard was made of dressed stone, not really part of the castle; the grey walls were like round arms encircling the space between this stair and the gate itself, a massive lintel on great square columns, where the hanging spikes of the portcullis showed at the top like a row of teeth.
Out the gate, across the bridge, she could see, down on the road, the little knot of Imperial men coming toward them. Oto, riding his horse, was leading them. On the bridge one lone soldier lounged against the stone railing, his back to her, his pike tilted in the crook of his arm. She ran across the inner yard to the winch that lowered the portcullis. Her sisters were only a step behind her. From the drum of the winch a stout chain led up to the top of the gate; Mervaly caught hold of it, taut as an iron bar.
“Help me!”
On the side of the winch the capstan bar stood up from a little wheel with teeth, which moved the drum; a chuck of wood was jammed into the top tooth. Tirza beat at it with her hand. Bracing herself against the wall, Casea hauled at the capstan bar. Mervaly went to help her, and the little wheel clicked reluctantly one notch tighter. Tirza knocked the chuck flying.
The little wheel spun, chattering, and the chain began to roll off. At the same moment a yell went up from beyond the gate. Tirza skittered backward, looking out there, through the shadow of the gateway. The Imperial from the bridge was running toward them. She looked up into the top of the gate: even with the chain loose, the portcullis hung a moment, stuck in its long rest. She turned and looked wildly around, saw the capstan bar lying on the pavement, and caught it up in both hands. The Imperial charged off the bridge toward them. With a rattle the iron grating began to travel down its tracks. As it clattered down, the soldier dove under it, landing on his hands and knees just inside the gate, and Tirza ran to him, and whacked him across the back with the capstan bar so he went facedown, his pike flying across the pavement.
The great spikes of the portcullis banged into the paved threshold of the gate. She swung back that way. Mervaly called out sharply behind her. Out through the dark grid of the portcullis Tirza could see Oto on his horse galloping up to the bridge, his men hurrying after. She shouted triumphantly at him through the bars.
Casea shouted, “Tirza, get away from there; you’ll be hurt!”
Out there, Oto reined in, his fancy sleeves flapping, turned, and bellowed. His men rushed panting up behind him, into the outer yard, and at the wild swinging of his arm they charged the portcullis. One had a bow. An arm snaked through a square of the grid, grabbing for her, and she smashed it with the bar. The man with the bow had an arrow nocked, and Oto rode into him and knocked him down.
“No! You idiot! I need them alive!”
Tirza heard that, and rushed toward the portcullis, to hammer them. Behind her, Mervaly screamed, “Look out! He’s getting up!” and Tirza stopped and whipped around.
The soldier she had struck down was struggling onto his knees. She had not killed him, she saw, disappointed. Mervaly had seized the fallen pike, and she jabbed at him with the point.
Still on his knees, he caught hold of the pikestaff and tore it from her grip. Mervaly sprang back. Tirza rushed at the kneeling soldier and swung the capstan bar at his head, and he thrust up the pike between them and with the haft knocked the bar flying from her hand.
“Tirza! Come on!” Casea cried. “There’s more of them!”
Out the door from the castle another striped doublet flew—the guard they had left at their bedroom door. He bounded down the steps and ran for the capstan bar. The first pikeman had lurched to his feet, was brandishing his pike at Mervaly, in front of him, who backed away, her hands spread. Casea was pulling on Tirza’s sleeve.
“Run! Run!”
The portcullis grated, its chains squealing. The man with the capstan bar had reached the winch, was hauling the grid up. The rest of Oto’s men were charging through before the spikes were hardly off the ground. Casea screamed Tirza’s name again and grabbed her arm. Mervaly was already running for the stair. Tirza raced after her on Casea’s heels, up the stairs into the castle, and into the antechamber, and into the wall.
* * *
“How did they get out? You were standing guard over them, at the only door! You let them out!”
“My lord, I never knew—They didn’t come out the door, I swear—”
“They flew out the window? Keep hold of him, Sergeant!”
Dawd had the guard by the arm. They stamped up the narrow, uneven stairs to the women’s room, and Oto flung open the door.
All around the walls the birds began to flap and beat their wings, and a seagull lifted away off the windowsill. The men all pushed into the room, and Dawd let go of the guard’s arm and went to stand by the door, out of the way. The women were gone, of course. Oto turned toward the guard, who was still babbling behind him. Oto’s face was like a shard of flint. He said, “You let this happen.”
“My lord, I swear, I never—”
“Throw him out the window.”
“No!” The guard went to his knees. “My lord, please—” Dawd stood rigid, but the two other men with him stepped forward, lifted the guard up, carried him to the window, and pitched him out, his wail disappearing after him.
Oto locked his hands into fists. “I must have those women.” A raven cawed and flew at him and he ducked and the raven sailed out the window after the body.
Dawd was motionless; his breath had followed the raven. Oto paced by him, circling the room, and then on his heel spun toward Dawd.
“He was lying. How did they get out? Except that he let them out.”
“Yes, sir,” Dawd said.
He knew how they escaped, but he could not tell this; he thought of her coming with her light to save him, and he could not betray her. If Oto would even have believed it. Dawd watched the lordling pace around the room. He could see Oto’s problem very well: Broga was gone to a great victory, and when he returned, Oto would have no leverage at all, without the women in his keeping.
The birds all around the room rustled and murmured, their eyes glinting. Another flew out the window. Oto, looking around at them, was abruptly calm, his eyes moving up to the ceiling.
“Well, now,” he said. “I have an idea. Get some rope.”
* * *
All afternoon, Luka led the townspeople down the beach, a loose pack of fifty-odd, mostly women. He looked them over as they went; he expected a few to drop out, but none did. Each of them carried something, a shovel, an axe, and many had made packs of their shawls, or had baskets on their arms, to bring food. Lumilla, walking alongside her daughter, was frowning as she walked, her face set. Osa the potter’s widow sang some of the time, and a few of the others with her. Up in front, Aken marched along, still wearing his bloody apron, the great block of his body in his striped shirt like a moving tree trunk. The fisherman Freo, beside him, looked like a wisp.
They came to Sinking Cove. Here the coast bent inward, cupping a beach of fine, dark sand littered with driftwood and seaweed. The water was pale blue far out beyond the surf line, the shallows studded with jagged black rocks like rings of teeth that broke the surge of the waves. Luka sent the people off to the high side of the beach, to rest and eat. With Jeon and the butcher Aken and some others Luka walked around the beach awhile, watching the sea.
“Where’s the tide?” Luka said.
“Full high, by the drift.” That was Freo, who did a lot of clamming here.
“Good. Build a wall here. Use all this driftwood. It doesn’t have to be solid, just enough to slow a horse. Down to the tide’s edge.”
Jeon fingered his bow. He thought this would be much easier if Luka had killed all those other soldiers, back when he had them at his mercy. The cliff loomed up over them. On that highland, if Luka was right, thirty or forty Imperial pikemen were marching along. Up ahead, Jeon knew, a creek inlet through the cliff made an easy way down to the water’s edge.
They would charge all at once. Many of them had horses. But the beach here was narrow; that might slow them down. Jeon gave a look around at the townspeople—more numbers than the soldiers. He wished more of them were men. They had gone to help Luka and Aken build the wall, piling up driftwood, hooking the bare grey branches around one another, jamming pieces into the crotches of other pieces. Aken made a rude joke and they all laughed.
Luka went around talking to people, helping with the wall, giving orders, and Jeon trailed after him, waiting to be told what to do. The tide was sliding away down the beach. To the south, against the blue sky above the beach, a faint brown haze rose into the air.
The ebb of the tide had left a bare stretch of sand below the end of the wall, but when Aken and his boy started out to build the wall down to fill it Luka stopped them.
“No. Leave that.” He put out his arm and held Aken back.
Dragon Heart Page 10