“Remain on guard,” Horatio called as he strode up and down the wall walk. “They could move at any time.”
But as the night deepened, the rumblings quieted and the distant fingers of fire thinned, then disappeared. Save for the trotting silhouettes of Garott patrols, the far fields fell still. Iliff went over to where Stype stood.
“They are bedding down,” Stype said without turning. “They will not move this night.”
“Indeed?” As Iliff looked on Stype’s handsome face and eyes that shone blue, even in dusk, he wondered if he shared his sister’s opposition to the confrontation. Still a second captain, he did not have a vote in the Assembly; and guards were forbidden to voice dissent once the Assembly had reached a decision. But as Stype turned to face him, Iliff caught the briefest shifting of his color, a dimming it seemed, though he could not be sure.
“Then I’ll meet with my crew and probably retire for the evening,” Iliff said quickly. “Please have me alerted if anything changes.”
Stype nodded. “I will do that.”
The meeting with the wall crew was short. After all, they had been preparing for the Garotts’ arrival for months. Troughs, spades, spare stones, and ingredients for mortar sat in carts along the walls, where tall ladders leaned. Teams of eight were responsible for each station and were to call to the others in the event of damage or breaching.
“I’ll coordinate from the wall walk,” Iliff told his men from a station on the south wall. “And Gilpin will do so from the ground. The walls are tall and strong, but we mustn’t presume anything. Vigilance! Coordination and vigilance! The least fissure, the least seam, must be filled at once. It is the only way we will frustrate the enemy and repulse him once and for all.”
Following the meeting, Iliff and Gilpin walked up their lane together. The events of the day had left Iliff silent and pensive. When they reached Iliff’s cottage, he looked on his friend’s aging face. Gilpin’s eyes were nearly gray now.
“No one would fault you if you decided to join your wife in the Keep,” Iliff said.
“Oh, let the missus enjoy a little respite from me,” Gilpin replied, smiling. “She’s certainly earned one.”
“You’d be safer there.”
“More likely I’d worry about what was going on out here and excite my poor heart. Besides, I’m still a member of this crew until I say otherwise. And I haven’t said otherwise.”
“All right,” Iliff said. “But if I say retreat, you retreat. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” Gilpin said with a playful salute.
“Goodnight, friend.”
Iliff watched Gilpin turn and stroll up the lane.
Inside his cottage, Iliff sank onto the side of his bed. He remembered sitting in the same spot in the predawn, gathering his resolve to venture to the far side of the lake. He had slept little, for his dreams had been like so many before them. Barren smoke-scapes where breaths climbed from the void behind him, each one harsher than the one before. At last Iliff had turned. But the creature towering above him was not Troll. It was a horrid monster, black and disfigured. When Iliff tried to cry out, the creature bellowed over him. When he tried to cover his face, it gnashed its jagged teeth and lunged, shocking him into wakefulness. Now Iliff looked at his packed bag at the foot of his bed. Before he had been able to summon the courage to lift it over his shoulder and venture out, the town’s alarm had sounded.
Iliff still could not quite believe that the Garott were here. He recalled their meeting outside the gate, the way the general had bent and touched his scarred lips to Skye’s fair hand. The recollection inflamed his thoughts. He became further incensed at what the general had said about his walls.
We will lose many in their breaching, but breach them we will.
Iliff clenched his fists until they ached. And in his sudden anger, he felt more determined than ever to keep the Garott on the outside.
* * *
Iliff returned to the west gatehouse early the following morning, where Stype stood watch. Though the young captain revealed it in neither his posture nor his steady gaze, Iliff guessed that he had remained there all night.
“It has been quiet,” Stype told him.
Iliff looked over the fields to where the Garott were just beginning to stir. Fires climbed once again, seen more by the spirals of smoke now than their flames. The smell of cooking meat wafted over the town.
“They certainly do not appear eager for war,” Iliff remarked.
“Yes, but they are planning something,” Stype said. “Though they defend their thoughts, I can feel it in their moods.”
Iliff turned and looked along the inside of the wall, where members of his crew were already positioned at their stations. Gilpin, who was standing near the west gate, raised his hand.
“Any movement?” he called up.
“Not yet,” Iliff answered. “I’ll keep you abreast.”
Iliff walked the length of the west wall before returning to Stype, who had the sharpest vision of the guard, and whose royal blood gave him the additional advantage of feeling. Iliff could tell that he was exercising his gift now, reaching into the far mass with his gaze, probing their minds and moods for any seams. His ability, though not as potent as Skye’s, was potent nonetheless.
Around midmorning the mounted Garott became animated. They gestured and shouted to the legions beneath them. Iliff watched them getting to their feet, kicking out fires, going in and out of their tents. Horatio signaled to the archers on both sides of the west gate to stand ready. But when at last the Garott moved, it was not toward the town. They descended into the wood.
“They’re leaving,” one guard said, easing from his stance.
Iliff stood beside this guard, watching the Garott flow from the thousands of tents like a dark receding tide. He glanced at Stype, who observed the same movement without expression.
“What are they doing?” Iliff asked.
Before anyone could respond, the far woods shuddered in answer. The storm of chopping came from the King’s Preserve, where the tallest and broadest trees grew. Birds took to the sky in angry bursts, their cries echoing over the town. Soon the first trees began to crash from the canopy. Wrath flared inside Iliff and he braced against the stone. He saw that even Stype was having trouble maintaining his even color. Bitter muttering rose from the guards.
“Do you see?” Lucious said. Iliff had not heard him come up. He had spent the day before in the foundry with his men, no doubt readying the catapults. “That’s the real Garott. Taking by force what they can, destroying what they cannot. Their general is well-spoken, but he’s no less vile than the rest of them.” He clapped Iliff’s shoulder. “You were right to distrust him.”
“Their destruction is not wanton,” Stype said, his stare seeming to penetrate the trees. “They are building something.”
Indeed, as the day progressed, the Garott began dragging forth long lengths of timber and getting them up into a vertical stance before their tents, one after another. The activity was curious enough that Iliff forgot his apprehension. But by dusk, when it was apparent that the Garott were constructing a defensive wall of their own, he became deeply disturbed, for this was not something he had anticipated.
“I don’t like this either,” Lucious grumbled near his ear.
* * *
The Garott kept on in this way for many days, felling trees, stripping them, and setting the timbers before their encampment. Though the Fythe guards and archers remained on alert, the Garott did not approach, and their weapons remained out of sight. Near the end of the second week, the Assembly convened an emergency meeting of members and officers of the guard.
“They are getting their wall up quickly,” Horatio reported. “I cannot speak to its strength, but with each day it hides more and more of their encampment. I would like to know what they are doing.”
The members of the Assembly voiced their agreement. The siege had set everyone on edge, subduing their colors further, re
ndering them ashen. Save for the guards, no one could go beyond the walls now, not even with escorts. The most vulnerable, the very young and old, remained confined to the bluff.
“What do you propose?” Skye asked.
“It’s hard to say,” Horatio replied. “We haven’t the numbers to challenge their position. But even if we had, they have not attacked us. Nor can we say whether they are planning to. They may simply be settling in for the long term. Their plan may be to wait until we have exhausted our supplies.”
“Then they’ll wait in vain,” Iliff said. “We have supplies to last the rest of the year, if need be, and for several months after.”
“Their supply lines are laden,” Stype spoke from the back of the room. “The Garott have come prepared. Their situation may be dire, but not so dire as they allow. I believe my sister was right in this.”
Iliff looked around the room. He found shifting faces and general irresolution. His own face prickled with heat.
“What would you have us do then?” he asked. “Wave the flag of truce? Bow before their general?” He tried to suppress his anger, but he could not stop thinking of Grier’s gesture to Skye.
“The question of truce depends on their intentions,” Horatio said. “If they are planning to wait us out, then we have time. But they might also be using the wall as cover to assemble something. Machines of war, perhaps. It would not be the first time they have used machines against us.”
“Can’t we send scouts to find out?” Iliff asked.
“It has already been tried,” Horatio replied. “Four go out through the postern gate each night, but the Garott patrol hundreds and their senses are keen. The scouts can get no closer to their encampment than a few hundred meters’ distance. Nowhere close enough to see inside it. And the scouts have no hope of approaching from the rear, where they say the Garott are especially thick and vigilant.”
The Assembly remained silent. Iliff did not need to see inside their thoughts to sense their fear and uncertainty, to know that they were questioning their rejection of the truce offer just the month before. Indeed, if another vote were held at that moment, Iliff had no doubt that the truce would pass.
“We have machines too,” he announced.
Heads snapped and there was sudden commotion among those assembled.
“Machines—?”
“Where—?”
“Did you know—?”
Though Skye was silent, Iliff could feel her gaze upon him.
“Powerful machines,” Iliff continued. “They were built as a contingency. I didn’t believe we would ever need them, but given our situation, their use should at least be considered.”
“Who approved them?” Horatio said.
“Why, you did.” Defiance hardened Iliff’s tone. He looked around. “All of you did. When I said I would do everything I could to defend your peace and prosperity, you applauded me. Do you take that back now?”
Horatio’s expression tightened. It was the same expression Iliff had often seen him take with Lucious over the years. But before Horatio could interrogate him further, Stype spoke up.
“What do they do?” he asked.
“They are called catapults,” Iliff said. He went on to describe them as Lucious had. “If we install them on the towers, the stones can be flung into their position. They can smash down their wall. Whatever the Garotts’ intentions, they will be laid bare. That’s what troubles us most now, is it not? Their intentions?”
“But that is aggression,” Horatio said. “And we agreed not to attack unless—”
“Yes, yes, unless aggressed upon,” Iliff broke in sharply. “Which is exactly why they are fit to be employed now. Or do you not consider despoiling the King’s wood an act of aggression?”
Indeed, he was echoing Lucious’ arguments, echoing the rancor of them, even. But the idea of ceding anything to the general infuriated him. And in his surging fury, Iliff felt sudden power. But before he could press his argument further, a guard appeared at the door.
“Pardon me,” the guard called. Iliff clenched his jaw in annoyance. “There is a woman here who begs your audience. She says her son has gone missing.”
Chapter 20
The small, sallow woman appeared beside the guard. Though she trembled and wept into her hands, Iliff recognized her immediately. She worked in the weaving workshop. She and her husband had been among the first to greet him when he arrived in their encampment years before. Sadly, her husband had been slain in the Garotts’ first attempt to breach the wall.
Skye embraced the woman and brought her to the bench. She sat beside her and cast comforting light around her. When at last the woman had calmed enough, she began to speak.
“We’ve been staying in the Keep these last weeks,” she said amid sniffles. “Me and my son, Newt. After supper last night, Newt went off with his friends to play in the courtyard. They play a game with a ball out there. But when it was dark and he hadn’t come back, I got worried. But then I told myself, ‘Oh, he’s sleeping out with his friends,’ because, well, because he’s done it before. But when he stayed gone through this morning, I started worrying again. I went looking for him and found his friends. I asked if they knew where he was, but none of them wanted to say. When I told them I’d get the guards, they started talking. They said he…” Her narrative became lost in fresh weeping. Skye stroked her hair and pulled her nearer. “They said Newt went… said he went through the gate.” The members of the Assembly voiced their alarm. “Said he followed the scouts last night without them knowing it.”
Horatio shook his head. “Impossible. The guards stand six to a side when the gates go up or down. Most likely your son’s hidden somewhere in the Keep.”
“No,” the woman said. She glanced around, then lowered her eyes. “He’s got a way of going unseen. He used to like to trick us with it until his father made him stop. Said it wasn’t proper.”
Iliff and Skye shared a glance. It was their first meaningful look at the other since their encounter in the lane two weeks before.
“Well, we should begin with a search of the Keep, in any case,” Horatio said to the woman. “The town too. Many of the cottages are empty now, including yours, my lady. He might have found his way into one of them.”
“And… and what if he’s not there,” she asked.
Yes, Iliff thought, what if he’s not? For he feared now what the others no doubt feared. If indeed her son had made it through the wall and gone any distance, he was most certainly in the hands of the enemy now.
* * *
The meeting broke up and the search commenced. What guards could be spared organized the effort. The search began in the basement and worked its way up through the halls, kitchens, apartments, and barracks, all the way to the topmost rooms in the towers. Cries of “Newt!” echoed up and down the stairwells and along the stone corridors. The search parties lowered lanterns into wells, cisterns, cesspits, and anywhere else the boy might have fallen or become trapped.
Meanwhile, another party combed the town. Lucious, who still commanded the militia, led this effort. Their search began at the base of the bluff and proceeded building by building, cottage by cottage, until they arrived at the defensive wall, where the guards called down that the boy was not in any of the towers or gatehouses.
By nightfall the search parties had turned up nothing. Following their third sweep of the Keep, Iliff sought out Skye. He found her in the Great Hall, where small cells lined the walls in two levels, and young and old were beginning to bed down.
“Do you feel anything of him?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “I keep trying,” she said, her gaze distant. “But it’s as though someone is covering his thoughts. Someone powerful. I am getting only traces. Not enough to place him.”
“But he is alive?” Iliff whispered.
She looked around and then gestured for Iliff to follow her. They stepped into an empty corridor out of hearing of those in the Hall. She stood before him and pl
aced her hand on his arm.
“Yes, Iliff. But he is not well. The little I feel of him is fearful and… desperate.”
“They have him.”
“I cannot say for sure,” she replied. “But I fear so.”
It’s over then, Iliff thought. The Garott will use him as a bargaining piece. The boy’s safe return for truce. The Assembly will be more than anxious to agree to the terms. Iliff leaned back against the stone wall. In spite of everything he had done—his commitment, his walls, his vigilance—the enemy had won anyway. He became faint in his disbelief.
“Come,” she said, taking his arm. “We will meet with him together.”
“With whom?”
“Grier,” she said. “The general.”
* * *
The night air swirled coldly where Iliff and Skye stood beyond the west gate. Skye had asked that Horatio and Stype remain on the wall and that only four guards accompany them out. “I believe I can better persuade him to return the boy this way,” she had said. “He may resist if he thinks we are trying to show force.” Horatio consented and ordered a guard to wave the white flag. All of them peered toward the distant wall for a response. And now it came. A series of winks—the covering and uncovering of a signal lantern.
Before long hoofbeats rumbled up the road. Iliff and Skye stepped closer to each other as the armored horses entered the light of the gatehouse. Their riders drew on their reins. Grier dismounted, but his captains remained on their mounts several paces back.
“The truce,” he said, shielding his eyes from the lantern light. “You have voted in its favor?”
“There has been no vote,” Skye said.
“Then why do you show the flag?”
“We want to talk with you. We want to know your conditions.”
He stared hard at her. “The terms of truce are as they have always been, my lady.”
Iliff could see by Skye’s sudden silence that she was as surprised as he was. When she did not speak, Grier shifted his severe gaze to Iliff. “If that is all,” he said, “then I will take my leave.”
Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2) Page 12