Reaping the Aurora

by Joshua Palmatier

  On the roof of the Temerite embassy, Kara choked on a gasp and staggered, someone catching the spyglass as she crumpled forward, leaning on the lip of the roof for support.

  “They slit their throats,” she gulped, “and threw them . . . from the tier . . . onto the steps.”

  Hands were supporting her—Allan’s, Marcus’, Lienta’s—she didn’t know. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The world had gone dark; or perhaps it was simply that the sun had set.

  “Breathe, Kara,” Allan said into her ear. Someone pounded her on the back. “Breathe.”

  She sucked in a breath, coughed it back out, then tried again. After a painful hitch in her lungs, she began to breathe normally again. She straightened slightly, then suddenly stiffened. With a lurch, she batted away the concern and grabbed Marcus by the shirt, dragging him close.

  “I know you and Cory don’t get along, but you’d better do everything in your power to save him while I’m gone, to save all of the mentors and their students. Do you hear me?”

  “Of course—”

  Kara shook him. “Don’t give me the age-old platitudes, Marcus. I know you too well. Swear it. Swear on Korma or Bastion or even the gods-damned Kormanley if that’s what you care about, but swear you’ll get Cory and the others out of there alive.”

  Marcus met her gaze, held it. “I’ll get as many of them out alive as I can. I swear it.”

  Kara held him, her arms trembling, then thrust him aside. She stalked back to the stairs, her sight blurring. She moved without thought, without emotion, until someone caught her shoulders in the middle of the corridor where the Temerites had given them rooms. Hernande had halted her, Artras and some of the others behind him.

  “What is it?” Hernande asked, stark fear in his eyes. “What’s happened?”

  “Ty and Bryce are dead. Dalton had them killed on the tier and threw their bodies onto the steps of the temple.”

  Then she broke Hernande’s grip, stepped into her room, and closed the door behind her.

  Sixteen

  “YOU’LL HAVE TO LEAVE at night. All of you.” Lienta spoke in general, but he looked toward Allan. “We’ve been watching Darius’ patrols since they seized control last evening. He has men on the walls, but not that many patrolling outside the Needle.”

  “Why is that?” Allan asked.

  Boskell answered. “Our best guess is that there’s too much going on inside the city. He doesn’t have the men. At least half of his enforcers are on the wall or overseeing the reconstruction of it. They’ve elected to seal up the southeastern gates, with masons working since last night’s execution. All of their efforts appear to be in preparation for a fight.”

  “Dalton believes in his visions,” Marcus said. “He’ll take them as fact. To him, the dogs and snakes are coming. He’s getting ready for them.”

  “As long as it benefits us.” Allan turned back to Lienta. “So how do you propose we slip past the patrols and those who are standing watch on the walls? The Needle is dead center in the middle of this crater, with no appreciable cover between the walls and the outer ridge.”

  “The patrols will be easy. There’s a pattern, with enough space between groups that they won’t be able to see you in the dark. Evading those on the walls is a little trickier, but if you leave through the gates and follow our own walls toward a specific location near the second tower on the left, then the temple and Needle itself will block your path from nearly everyone on Darius’ walls. We’re also planning on a diversion at my signal.”

  “What kind of diversion?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Boskell said. “As soon as it starts, we’ll head straight out from the wall as fast as we can without calling attention to ourselves. We should be over the ridge in fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.”

  “And then we travel.”

  Allan, Lienta, Boskell, and the Matriarch faced Kara, who straightened in her seat. None of the others present—Morrell, Grant, Drayden, and Okata—had said anything during the short planning session.

  “Then you travel,” the Matriarch agreed, “as swiftly as you can, because three weeks does not give you much leeway if something goes wrong. And experience shows that something will always go wrong.”

  Everyone around the table stirred. No one had touched the food or drink the Temerite servants had put out. Kara looked resolved, although still haunted by the collapse of Tumbor and the deaths of Ty and Bryce. Morrell was moody and introspective, her eyes downcast.

  “How long do we have?” Allan asked, searching his daughter’s face.

  “Three hours. That’s when the moon will be lowest and the darkness most complete.”

  Allan stood. “All right. Three hours, then. Everyone pack whatever you plan on taking with you, if you haven’t already, and meet at the Temerite gates.”

  The group disbanded, all but Morrell and Drayden drifting away, Lienta and Boskell in discussion over final details, Grant with a word saying he’d ready the Wolves. Kara hesitated the longest, before noticing that Morrell hadn’t moved. She left with a quick backward glance of understanding.

  Allan moved down the table, closer to Morrell’s seat. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. No. It’s hard to tell.” She looked up finally, the fear evident in the lines of her face. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  Allan sat on the edge of the table. “Yesterday, you were confident you could.”

  “Yesterday. Now I’ve had a night to think about it. Everything relies on me succeeding.”

  Allan took her hand, busy shredding a slice of bread into tiny pieces. “I know you can do it. You’ve always done what’s necessary before.”

  “Like what?”

  “Healed Cory and the others, repaired the wall for Hernande. Reverted Drayden from Wolf back to man.” Drayden huffed at his name. “Mostly.” Drayden growled, and Morrell’s mouth twitched into a smile. “The point is, you do what’s necessary. You’ll be fine. Think of it as healing the land.”

  “Do you ever doubt yourself?”

  “All the time. I’m better at hiding it than you, though.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “Go collect your things. At least some food, if nothing else. I need to do the same.”

  Morrell pushed her chair back and stood, heading toward the door to their rooms at the far end of the embassy. Drayden lingered long enough to murmur in his rough, wolfish voice, “I will take care of her,” before following her.

  Allan watched them both, until Morrell paused and turned back.

  “I miss Janis and the Hollow. Maybe, when this is over, we could go back there again?”

  He didn’t think she meant simply to visit. “Of course, poppet.”

  She made a face at the nickname, but said nothing.

  When they were gone, Allan stared around at the empty room, then rapped his knuckles on the wooden table before rising to collect his own things.

  Lienta was waiting with Boskell, Okata, Grant and his Wolves, and two other watchmen when Allan, Morrell, and the rest arrived at the gates, escorted by the Matriarch, Janote, and her own guardsmen. Hernande, Artras, and Marcus stood beside her as the rest of them each claimed one of the horses off to one side. The small group was sparsely lit by torches. Night had fallen two hours before, so the light kept most of them in flickering shadows as they moved about. Allan’s horse snorted as he approached, then snuffled his hair and ear as he snagged the reins and brought it forward. Kara said something to Marcus, but all three of them responded, Hernande and Artras giving the Wielder a hug. Then Boskell called them all to the gates and within moments they were passing beneath the stone wall and outside into the night.

  Grant’s Wolves slipped out into the darkness, merging with the shadows within the blink of an eye. Grant and Drayden kept back from the main group, so as not to spook their mounts. Boskell cut immediately right, taking them alo
ng the wall, its immense height looming at Allan’s shoulder, close enough he could touch it with an outstretched hand. They passed the first tower, but drew up short of the second.

  Then they waited.

  The animals shifted restlessly, leather saddles and straps creaking, even though no one had mounted up yet. Their scent was strong. Allan stroked his own horse’s neck as he stared out at the plains. Clouds obscured most of the sky, leaving the stone and grass beneath heavily shadowed, but the moon broke through in patches and stars were occasionally visible. He thought he caught sight of one of the Wolves once, but couldn’t be certain.

  “Mount up.”

  Boskell’s voice from the shadows gave Allan a start, but he pulled himself up into the saddle without a word, the others doing the same around him.

  “How will we know—” Kara began, but then three distinct cracks sounded from the far side of the wall, muted by its bulk. Silence followed, but Boskell said, “Go, go now! Straight onto the plains!” and they were moving.

  Within thirty feet of the wall, something in the city behind them exploded, followed an instant later by two more explosions. Shouts began to fill the night, strangely distant. Halfway to the ridgeline ahead, the atonal bell at the Needle’s gates began to clang, the shouts growing louder, even over the thud of the horses’ hooves surrounding Allan and the wind in his ears. He didn’t dare look back to see what was happening, not without risking losing control of his horse’s pace, but as they reached the ridge—the lead riders climbing up and over, then out of sight—he heard another few cracks and two more explosions.

  Boskell didn’t pause on the far side. He rode them hard deeper onto the plains, the Needle and the activity there falling behind and out of sight. At one point, Allan realized they were being paced by the Wolves, Grant, and Drayden on either side, they and the rest of his group only distinguishable when they passed through a patch of moonlight.

  Half an hour later, Boskell slowed. They hadn’t been racing, but the horses were lathered with sweat and needed the break. Allan immediately slipped from his saddle and found the Temerite lieutenant.

  “Were we followed? Did they see us leave?”

  “We weren’t followed,” Grant said, emerging from the night with one of his Wolves. “My Wolves made certain of that.”

  “But were we seen?”

  Grant shrugged.

  “They should have been distracted by our attack,” Boskell said.

  Allan turned back to him. “You attacked? With what?”

  “Catapults. Nothing more.” Boskell began checking his horse for injury. “We built them for the outer wall, but moved them to the lip of the chasm last night. That should have kept the Kormanley’s attention on their own buildings, not the plains.”

  “You had catapults?” Kara asked. Allan hadn’t heard her approach. He glanced back, but the rest of their group were keeping their distance, checking their own harness and saddles, Boskell’s few watchmen eyeing the open plains.

  “We’re more prepared for an attack than you might think. Initially, it was for our own protection and for the Gorrani threat you warned us of to the south.” He picked a stone out of his horse’s hoof and tossed it aside, letting the animal’s leg go. “But if we need to use it against the Kormanley, all the better.”

  “You’ve given up a distinct advantage,” Grant muttered, “revealing you have catapults.”

  “Lienta and the Matriarch felt it necessary. They both believe that you, Kara, and Morrell represent our only chance at repairing the ley. You had to escape the Needle. There was no other option.” He raised his voice, so that everyone could hear, although not so loud that it would easily carry across the grassland. “We’ll walk the horses to a creek to our west, give them a rest and feed and water them. Then we’ll split up, my group heading south, Allan’s group north.”

  The night felt suddenly still and cold. Allan moved to his horse and patted it down, the animal musky with sweat, his motions mechanical. They shifted to the stream to let them drink, and he dipped his hands into the chill water until they were numb.

  Then Boskell called an end to the break.

  Morrell came to hug him, and he pulled her in tight, drawing in the scent of her hair in a deep breath. She broke away first.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice only quavering a little.

  Then she turned and mounted up, hesitating before Boskell kicked his horse into motion and he, Morrell, Drayden, Okata, and the two watchmen with them faded into the dark.

  “She’ll be fine, you know. She’s stronger than she looks.” Kara stood at his side, but he didn’t dare turn, could barely bring himself to speak.

  “She reminds me of her mother.”

  Kara said nothing, but Grant cleared his throat. “We should leave. Three weeks is not long, and we have far to go.”

  Allan forced himself to look away from where Morrell had vanished. He knelt and tossed some of the frigid water onto his face to shock himself into focus.

  Then he stood. “Let’s move.”

  “The Wolves will scout ahead for signs of Devin’s forces,” Grant said as Allan and Kara mounted up.

  “Let’s hope Boskell and his watchmen can keep Morrell safe from the Gorrani,” Allan added.

  They kicked their horses into motion, headed to the north, with Grant falling into a loping gait behind them.

  Hernande stood in awkward silence with Marcus, Artras, the Matriarch, Lienta, and Janote at the gate to the Temerite section of the Needle after it closed. He chewed on the end of his beard as men raced back and forth on the walls above, eyes narrowed. He caught the signal as it passed from the wall to the inner buildings along the chasm that split the city, but even so, he jolted when the first three catapults launched.

  “What was that?” Artras asked, shaken.

  “Catapults,” Hernande answered, before either Lienta or the Matriarch had a chance.

  The three volleys exploded in the city, immediately followed by shouting, the panic escalating, until the clang of the main city’s gates filled the night.

  “How did you know—”

  “I didn’t know you had them. But I recognize the sound of their launch from my days in the Demesnes before I fled to Erenthrall.” He listened as the second volley launched. From their vantage beneath the gates, he could only see a brightening of the darkness as the fiery projectiles reached the peak of their arcs before falling back into the city, brighter flares following when they struck. “Light catapults by the sound of the release. Pitch-filled shells?”

  “Designed to explode on impact and spread the fire over as wide an area as possible.” Lienta contemplated the flicker of orange light from the attack on the bottom of the clouds as three more volleys were launched. “They’ll continue this for the next half hour, as a diversion and as a warning, if Dalton was considering an attack on our enclave.”

  Hernande turned back to the gates, once again chewing on his beard in apprehension. “Did they make it out unnoticed?”

  “I have men watching them and how Dalton reacts. We should know something shortly.”

  Marcus hadn’t turned away from the continued catapult attack. “How many catapults do you have?”

  “Five light catapults, with three more under construction.”

  “What other long-range weapons do you have?”

  Lienta eyed Marcus, then glanced at the Matriarch.

  She waved a hand. “We have three weeks to plan an attack on the Needle that will get these three into the Nexus. They’re going to find out what our assets are at some point.”

  Lienta’s shoulders tensed, but he said, “We have ten ballistae as well. We are somewhat limited on spears for their use, but we have plenty of pitch-pots for the catapults.”

  “And how were you expecting to get us inside?” Artras asked.

  “We’ve
done little planning so far, but the general idea was to attack their weakest point, the secondary gate that you used to escape.”

  “They will have sealed it or rebuilt it by then,” Hernande pointed out.

  “But we have you and Artras and Marcus. If you can’t burn it out with the ley as you did when you escaped, then Hernande can use the Tapestry to blast it open again or blast our way through another section of the wall.”

  Hernande tugged on his beard in annoyance. “Someone told you about how we got in the first time, I see.”

  “Secrets such as that are hard to keep,” the Matriarch said.

  “I suppose. But don’t you think Dalton will have anticipated an attack on the secondary gates? Even the main gates? And you forget that there are two other armies out there, converging on the Needle as we speak. In three weeks, we may not have access to those gates, or even the outer walls. We may be surrounded by the Gorrani, or Devin’s men, or both.”

  “What do we do then?” Artras asked.

  The Matriarch motioned to Lienta. “Have our scouts returned from the north and south yet? Do we know how close the Gorrani or Devin’s men are?”

  “No. According to Allan, the Gorrani were within two weeks’ march of the Needle. That report was a few days old.”

  “And Devin?”

  He shrugged. “We have no word on his men at all. He may not have even left Erenthrall. We saw him last fighting the Gorrani outside our old enclave in the city. But if he left now and pushed hard, he could make it here with an army within three weeks.”

  “It’s unlikely that he’s waited until now to follow us. We killed a significant number of his men during our escape. He would have left as soon as he felt his hold on Erenthrall secure.”

  “Then we can expect him to arrive before we can act to take the Nexus.”

  “That could be useful,” Marcus interrupted. Both Lienta and the Matriarch faced him as he continued. “Devin or the Gorrani could be the diversion we need to get into the temple. If Dalton and Darius are occupied on the walls, defending the Needle, we can slip in during the chaos.”