His mouth fell open, but no sound issued. After a short time, he shook his head slowly. “Part of being a good burglar is knowing when to run. I’m no hero, Reiwyn. I’m just an urchin, and as long as we don’t have that treasure, that’s all I’ll ever be.”
She looked down and pinched the bridge of her nose. Antioc tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked back and walked away from him. We stood in silence well beyond the sinking of the sun and the rising of the moons, still full enough in the sky to bleach out most of the stars. The forest insects and night birds were beginning their song when she came back to us with her fists balled tightly at her side.
“I don’t care about the treasure, and I don’t care about going home. When I was a river pirate, I had a family. I lost that family when the Empire captured my ship. I escaped the hangman’s noose only because I was a woman. I came here to start over. To have a new family. I met all of you, and I thought I’d found it.” She shook her head. “I was wrong. All you lot care about is yourselves. That’s not family to me. I’m staying. I’m going to protect this colony, and if I have to die to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.” She gave me a savage look. “And this time you can’t blame it on me having a man in my life, Lew.”
I crossed my arms and looked at her. “We still need you, Reiwyn.”
She shook her head and jerked her breeches down from her hip. “No, you need this . . ..” Then she drew her dagger. “And I’m happy now to give it to you.” She pressed the blade to her soft, tanned flesh above the imbedded disc.
We all jumped toward her. “Whoa, stop!” I said, my hands out.
“Why? Why do you care?”
“Don’t cut yourself, Reiwyn,” pleaded Blackfoot.
“Yes, we can work something out,” said Uller.
She held the blade stiff against her thigh. “Jetsam! I will brook no compromise. I’m staying. You either stay with me and we go together, or you leave now and go without me.”
Then it occurred to me. I put my hands on my hips. “This is nonsense, Reiwyn. You expect me to believe the old graybeard put that thing inside you without telling you how to get it out?”
She stared at me, then roared and sheathed her dagger. “Jetsam!”
“Still don’t know what that means.”
Reiwyn put her head in her hands and breathed, fast at first, then slower until she’d reached a healthy stride. “It’s what you throw from a ship to keep it from sinking. Like garbage, stowed gear you don’t need, things like that.”
I stared at her. “Are you on board with us now, river woman?”
She took her time, but eventually nodded.
“Good,” I said, looking over the group with a smile. “Then let’s go tell Arn. We’ll depart in the morning.”
The Sand King was leaning over his map table when we entered his yurt, drinking un-uo from a wooden mug. He smiled when he saw us. “Lew! I’m glad you’re back. I was just thinking about what you said before about lines of contravallation, and I had an idea I wanted to discuss with you and your friends.”
“Yes, well,” I said, before clearing my throat. The rest of the group were there, too. Gargath, Hratoe, Front-Strider, and Zin, all standing around probably discussing how they were going to weather the coming storm. They’d be fair. I kept telling myself that. Even if we stayed, it wouldn’t make a difference. They didn’t need our help. I kept telling myself that, too. I got so caught up in telling myself those things, that I lost track of how long I’d been standing there until Arn stepped in front of me and waved his hand across my face.
“Still with us, wall builder?”
“Oh yes, sorry.” I forced a chuckle. “I think it’s important that you know . . . um . . .” I looked over my shoulder at the others, but got little support. They all had their heads down, staring at the dusty floor boards. I would be dealing this blow alone.
“Yes, what? Do you have something you need to tell me?”
“Yes, actually.” I looked into his blue eyes and took a deep breath. A fire sparked inside me. Small at first, but it fanned rapidly until it was a twisting column of flame and heat. I looked past him at the map of the colony, then back at our friends, all standing there like they expected something brilliant from me. Or maybe they just expected something good. I took another breath, closing my eyes for a moment before looking at Arn again.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Arn. I’m going to need a lot of help if I’m going to be able to do this.”
I didn’t see them smile at me, but I felt it on my back. Antioc clapped me on the shoulder as Reiwyn wrapped her arms around me from behind. She pressed her face to my back as I turned into her embrace. I smiled and breathed in the sweet scent of her raven black hair. She looked up at me with proud, almost tearful eyes. It was worth it, if just for that look, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason I’d done it.
Still, it was nice.
27.
“It’s not a catapult!”
“What is it, then?” asked Blackfoot as he ran his eyes over one of my creations. It had a wooden frame with a sinew wrapped crossbeam providing the tension supplied by pulling the firing arm back with a rope-pulled rod with a pulley wheel at the end. A metal wheel with angled teeth on the other end of the pulled rod locked the firing arm in place until the lever was pulled, releasing the firing arm until it struck a padded break at its fore, launching a stone projectile on its merry way until it landed and crushed some filthy Scumdog on the other side of the wall. Two of my workers were sanding off the sides of it. I’d made three of them, and I was quite proud.
“It’s called an onager.”
Blackfoot shrugged. “Looks like a catapult to me.”
“Well, it’s a kind of catapult.”
“Then why not just call it a catapult?”
“Because . . . that cheapens it.”
“Wall builder!” someone behind me shouted—because I guess that was easier to say than Lew. I turned and found Friyesse and some of the other women standing around a pair of wagons full of big, smooth stones from the lagoon. I walked to them, and she lifted one of the stones with both hands for me to look at. “Are these big enough?” she asked, straining under the weight.
I took it from her and immediately knew why. “Yes!” I gasped, dropping it at my feet. “But try to separate the roundest ones. The oblongs go to the wall. The round ones place beside the onagers.
“The what?”
I rolled my eyes. “The catapults.”
I hurried toward the gate. In the opening was a large square-crossing grate. A man stood on either side of the gate, turning a spoked wheel that pulled a rope that connected to a suspended rod at the top of the wall. This was attached to a second grate above the first, which was fitted with iron spikes I’d had forged by the blacksmiths. This grate swung up and down, much like a book would if you held it sideways.
“Outstanding, gentlemen!” I patted one of them on the arm. “Now, lock it in place and let’s see if the gate still works.”
They pushed the belaying locks into place and leaned down to another set of wheels below the first. As they turned them, an inner set of ropes pulled a second rod beneath the first. The lower grate whined as it ran along the tracks on either side of the gate, lifting and opening the colony to the outside world. Once it reached its apex, they pushed the handles to lock them in place and stepped back cautiously, as if they weren’t sure this would work. I couldn’t blame them, I wasn’t sure it would work either.
I ran through and stopped at the other side, well past the grates, and turned. “Fair, gentlemen. Now, drop the inner grate.” They pulled their levers at once, and the inner grate slid down the tracks to the ground with a wooden crash. “Fair. Very fair. Now, release the wolf.” They pulled the first set of levers and the top grate swung down on the metal joints on the frame, crashing into the bottom grate with a most satisfying clamor.
“Daevas!” I shouted, pumping my fist in the air and jumping in place. I lau
ghed until I heard the sound of applause behind me. I turned and saw Antioc there, his maul slung across his shoulders like a farming yoke. The clapping came from behind him, from the two dozen soldiers he’d hand-picked to train as his skirmishers. They were the biggest men—and a couple of women—in the colony, each with his or her own stone-headed maul.
I put my hands on my hips. “Well, this certainly is a formidable lot you’ve assembled. Have you got a company name yet?”
“Sure have, Lew.” Antioc made a fist. “The Wrecking Crew!” With that, they all shouted “ayroo!”
I shook my head. “That’s terrible.”
Antioc shrugged. I grinned and turned back to the gate. “All right, gentlemen. Reset the mechanism.”
Uller met me just outside of Arn’s yurt. I’d hoped to make it there without disturbance. It was the only place in the colony I could go without someone following me around to ask me a question. Uller ruined that.
“Something to report?” I asked as I stepped past the curtain.
He followed me. “Yutan and I have scryed movement from Drullcove,” he said, for my benefit as much as for those gathered around the map table. Arn, Sharkhart and Melvon looked up at us as we entered.
“What manner of movement?” asked Arn.
Uller was able to scry close to Drullcove because he’d been there. With his hedge wizard─witch’s─help, he was the single most effective intelligence gathering tool we had available. No army would be leaving for our borders without us knowing about it, thanks to Uller. As such, he was chokingly full of self-importance; which, I supposed was a little well deserved.
“I can’t get an exact count, but they’ve gathered at least five-hundred, and more coming.”
“Five hundred men?” said Melvon, pounding the table with his meaty fist. “Almost three times our number.”
“And more coming,” repeated Uller.
“It’s fair,” I said, stepping to the table and pointing. “We’ve got the wall.”
“A wooden wall that’ll come down when they get a good blaze going,” grunted Melvon.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were an engineer.” I bowed to him mockingly.
“You don’t gots to be an engineer to know what fire does to wood, wall builder!”
Arn made a downward gesture with his hand. “Gentlemen, calm down.” He took a cloth from his pocket and wiped sweat from his brow. “I believe the wall will stand and the gate will hold as long as it needs to. Lew, are the fighters ready?”
“About that . . .” I rubbed the back of my head. “Reiwyn almost has all the archers she needs, including some of the stouter females she was able to train to use a bow. And Three-Step has trained six teams to fire the espringals—”
“The what?” asked Melvon. I’d about had enough of him.
“Those box-framed, torsion-powered arrow-firers I built along the top of the wall.”
Arn nodded. “Fair. So where lies the problem?”
“Well, the problem is we don’t have anyone assigned to lead the ground troops once the Scumdogs bring down the gate. And if they’re bringing over five hundred men, they will bring it down eventually.”
“I thought I would be leading them,” said Arn.
I scrunched up my face. “With all due respect, sir, do you have any experience leading men in battle?”
“No. I just thought it was my responsibility.”
“That’s very noble, but I’m afraid we’d do better with someone who has some experience in such matters.”
“I thought Antioc would lead them,” said Sharkhart.
“Antioc is good for leading a small team of skirmishers, but for commanding a large group of men in the thick of battle, we really need a trained officer, someone whose led men before and isn’t afraid to march them to their death, if need be. Antioc’s a capable soldier, but he’s common born so that kind of training was never available to him.”
Arn nodded. “Do we have such a man in the colony?”
“Actually, we have two.”
“You want us to what?” Claster stared at me. I’d found him and Horvis in the yurt they shared. Apparently, being exiled nobles had given them some degree of kinship; enough at least that they could share a living space.
“Believe me, I’m not happy about it either, but you’re the only two officers I know who can lead men in battle.”
They exchanged uncomfortable looks. “Do you know why we’re here, in exile?” Horvis asked. I shook my head. “We disobeyed a direct order from a general.”
“We were ordered to send a detachment of fifty against the flank of some Illyrian heavy infantry,” continued Claster. “While the general took them head on with two dozen knights and about a hundred of his own heavy infantry.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said.
“A flank guarded by an auxiliary of about a hundred Ushish barbarians.”
“Oh . . .”
“Oh, indeed,” said Horvis. “Our men would have been a costly distraction.”
“One that assured a glorious victory for the general,” added Claster.
“But cost us the lives of our men.”
I looked at Claster with a sneer. “What did you care? You’d be leading from the rear, right? Hardly any chance of you dying.”
Claster cast his eyes down. Horvis answered for him, “Listen, Lew, we don’t pretend to be the noblest of men. We’re guilty of a great many things, but being careless with the lives of the men under our command isn’t one of them.”
“We weren’t about to sacrifice a hundred men just so some general could get another medal and have a song written about him.”
I looked him in the eyes. He was telling the truth, or seemed to be. He really hadn’t wanted to waste lives. I could respect that. Though I wished he’d exercised such sentiment before lying about Antioc. Though, if he had, we might not have met, so maybe the Daevas had this planned all along.
“How did that get you exiled, though?”
“Instead of supporting his attack as planned, we brought in our men to augment his. He took the field, but lost a quarter of his knights and a fifth of his heavy infantry.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It wasn’t,” said Horvis. “By all accounts it was a glorious victory, but it wasn’t quite as decisisive for his men as he wished, and some of the knights he lost were his personal friends.”
“We were brought up on charges of insubordination. Normally, we’d have taken discommendation and possible decommission, a small price to pay to save the lives of so many. But, the general was livid. He called for our heads in punishment. Our only real choice was exile, or death.”
Added Horvis, “So you see: we’re not really that willing to lead men into battle to die, after all. You should find someone else.”
“Two reasons. First of all, your story convinces me that you’re exactly the right officers to lead our men in battle. There are no vainglorious generals with petty egos to appease here. Only a colony of desperate exiles fighting for survival.”
They exchanged looks again. Claster seemed to ask what Horvis thought with his eyes, to which Horvis nodded and turned back to me. “What’s the other reason?”
“You’re the only officers we have.”
28.
The Scumdogs came a week later. We knew they were on the march well before that, thanks to Uller’s scrying. They set up a camp just around a bend where distance and the forest would shield them from our arrows and stones. Uller counted close to seven hundred of them. We had two hundred able to fight, at best, not including the twenty or so I’d apportioned for operating the onagers.
Sometime in the late day, a party of them approached the wall holding a white flag at the end of a spear. I’d climbed a ladder and taken up a perch near the gate next to Reiwyn, who held her bow at the ready. Same with the two-person teams I’d assigned to manage the espringals.
I recognized the barrel-chested, black-bearded one hol
ding the spear as Burlone. “I could take him right now,” muttered Reiwyn. I placed my hand on her shoulder and shook my head. There weren’t a lot of rules in war, but one of them was anyone who approached under the white flag of parlay was to be untouched. In any case, until command was given to begin hostilities, no arrows would be loosed.
Burlone wore a suit of studded leather with a pair of axes hanging from his belt. He had his beard tied in tails that parted over his chest. To his left, the Umbrish hulk, Noosh, stood in a simple breastplate that looked like it had been hammered from wrought iron. To Burlone’s right, Ferun stood, with his eye-patch and longbow, a curved saber hanging from the belt of his thick leather tunic. An olive-skinned Ketish man stood a little farther back. He wore black leather armor that opened at the chest, and had a single lock of red hair tied at the crown of his skull, flowing in the cool autumn wind. His face and neck were covered with tattoos that trailed down over a lean, muscular chest. He could only be Quanglee.
I was most interested in the one standing directly behind Burlone. He seemed rather out of place with the rest of the Scumdogs. He was short, with clean-cut brown hair. He didn’t wear any leather or chain armor like the others.
I heard Arn call my name. I looked over the edge of the wall into the colony and found him standing at the gate with Antioc, Sharkhart and Claster. “You’re with me,” he said. I nodded and slid down the ladder as two guards turned the wheels that lifted the grate. Arn gave me a look when he slid the key into the lock. “What do you think they want to talk about?”
“Maybe they wish to surrender?” That made him smile.
We met them in the field west of the lagoon. Arn stood at the fore, with Sharkhart and Antioc close by. They were the most formidable fighters in the colony, so it made sense they would escort our leader. I kept my distance but got close enough to examine the brown-haired man, to see the hammer on his belt next to a small dagger, along with a few other tools jutting out of pockets and pouches on his vest and belt. He was captivated by my wall. I knew what that meant . . . they had an engineer, too.
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