by Sam Hawke
“There is an army at our gates, Credo,” Bradomir said, a sharp slope to his eyebrows. “I rather think it’s as serious as it could be.”
“If we just listen to them—” Javesto began.
“With respect, Credo, we have tried listening,” Marco interrupted him, big hands spread palms up. “They shot a peace emissary. They don’t want to talk. There’s nothing to listen to. I agree we cannot be certain this is a rebellion, and we should not underestimate these attackers on the assumption that they are mere farmers. We do not know what is hiding behind those veils; all we know is that they are well armed and disinclined to negotiate.”
“What should we do first, Honored Chancellor?” I made my voice as loud as I could without shouting, and shot a thankful glance at Marco when he stopped talking and stared attentively at Tain. Budua, Eliska, and the gentle-eyed Artist-Guilder, Marjeta, did the same, and the chamber settled into uneasy silence. Tain pulled the map across the table, and I hoped only I caught the tremor in his hands as he did.
“I see two priorities,” he said. “Getting word out to the army directly or via one of the cities, and holding Silasta until help can get here. I’d like suggestions for both.”
Marco spread his hands over the map, smoothing it and knocking aside the other Guilders’ hands like crumbs. Our city, reduced to flat shapes and colors. “They have us surrounded,” he said. “The biggest forces are here, on the west side of the city.” He gestured around the semicircle of the west side, split by the three main roads running roughly south, west, and north. “But my Guards have confirmed there is a small force this side of the river on the north and south, here and here.” The east side of the city, Silasta’s original footprint, stretched from the lake to the mountain, bordered on either side by the old city walls. No gates or roads remained on that side of the lake, but if the army outside had neglected those sections we could have sent messengers over the wall and through the countryside to bypass them altogether. Marco’s fingers lingered at the south end of the map. Well past its borders, our impeccably trained army waited, out of reach.
“Send birds,” Lazar suggested, then his eager expression crumpled like paper as he remembered: no birds.
“When does the Warrior-Guilder expect to return?” I asked Marco. “How long will it take her to realize something’s wrong?”
Marco rubbed his forehead. “Warrior-Guilder Aven will not return until the conflict with the Doranite groups is resolved. She will send progress reports, but she would not expect a return bird from us as a matter of course. Unless someone alerts her directly, it could be weeks or more, depending what the Doranites do.”
Tain sighed. “So we need to send someone in person.”
“We’ve only two dozen trained fighters.”
“More than that. Certainly a proportion of my servants are also trained for my protection.” It was easy to forget; although the Chancellor required protection as a matter of practicality, tradition dictated that such protection be subtle, almost invisible, so as not to suggest distrust or fear. “That must be true for some of you, too.”
“Even so,” Bradomir acknowledged stiffly. “We need them all here.”
“I could go,” Marco suggested.
“Not a chance,” Tain said.
“I may be older than the Guards, Chancellor, but if I run into any trouble, I can handle myself.”
“I know.” Tain gave him a wan smile. “But we can’t afford to lose you from our defense. My Warrior-Guilder is far from here and no one around this table, me especially, has seen anything of war. Who but you can help defend the city?”
“With respect, Honored Chancellor, you must learn. Silasta will look to you to save her.”
“It might,” Nara said, acerbic. “But he won’t have much chance at that if our only military mind leaves the city.”
“What about one of the runners?” The others stared at me. “An athlete, I mean.”
“Excellent thought, Credo,” Marco said. “A swift runner could reach the army quickly, without costing us a Guard.”
Tain shook his head. “That doesn’t answer how they get past the army in the first place.”
“They haven’t completely surrounded us yet. The contingent east of the river is farther away and they’re still organizing into formations. A quick person using the mountain paths might find a way to get through without engaging.”
Marco nodded. “If we do not send someone quickly, while our enemy’s army is still preparing, then they will never make it. Our only chance is to risk it now, before we are in a full siege.”
“I can’t send some poor sod out where people will try to kill them,” Tain retorted, crossing his arms.
I swallowed, remembering the sight of the peace emissary riddled with arrows. I knew many of the best athletes in Silasta, and I didn’t much care for the thought of any of them in that situation. But I was nothing if not adept at appearing calm while pushing down horrific mental narratives. “They’d be doing their duty to Silasta,” I said. “Just like all the other people who aren’t fighters but are going to be stuffed into armor that doesn’t fit them and told to use weapons they can barely lift.”
“There’s a difference between helping people defend themselves and sending them out into half-certain death.”
“Perhaps ask them, then, Honored Chancellor,” I said, dropping my head. Undermining Tain’s fledgling authority now was the worst thing I could do. “Ask for volunteers.”
Tain glanced at me with reproach, but around the table the other Councilors nodded. “Volunteers, then,” he said stiffly.
Eliska tapped the south end of the map. “Let’s send several. If even one runner makes it through the perimeter they could stay off the roads and make their way to the army or at least to the closest city. Whoever it is out there, they can’t be patrolling the whole country.”
“Well there are bloody peasants all over the country, aren’t there?” Nara said. “That’s rather the point of them.”
“If it’s a rebellion, which we still cannot say. It’s still possible this is a fast-moving invading army and it’s gone through one of the border cities already.”
Lazar sat forward. “Through one of the other cities?” he croaked. “What of our families?”
Cold hands squeezed around my ribs, and the air seemed to get very heavy. We had been in Telasa only a bit over a week before and seen family there; could that lively place have been overwhelmed by invaders only days later? In the shock of the attack, I hadn’t thought about who else might have been a victim of it already. “We sent messengers to the cities and estates,” I said. “Has anyone heard back? Credo Javesto? Anyone?”
Heads shook around the table.
“You saw smoke,” Javesto murmured to Nara, stricken. “The other day. In the direction of my estates.”
Whichever way we looked lay grief. Had we lost a city, or had our own estates risen against us? All the Credolen had family in the other cities, and often out on the estates as well, albeit generally more distant relatives. If, indeed, the people had risen in rebellion, what had they done to the stewards and other estate managers? Or if a city had fallen—though surely, surely, some word would have reached us—that could mean even more dire consequences. I thought of Mother and Alozia and all our cousins, growing tea and living a peaceful life absent intrigue.… What had become of them?
A high cry escaped Nara. “My little ones,” she whispered, her face a rictus of pain. I’d never pitied the old bastard before, but sympathy ran over me now in a hot wave. The Ash family, diminished through years of producing mostly male children, all doted on the little twin girls finally born well past when the last childbearing heir had expected it. I’d seen bitter old Nara around those girls, and she was an entirely different woman, caring and playful. Lazar, too, quivered with silent emotion; he was famously close to his enormous family, who spent the year trudging between Silasta, Moncasta, and one of his estate plantations. We all felt it, to varying degr
ees, and the shared emotion around the table smoothed some of the lingering tension between us. We were all in the same position here.
“We can’t do anything for our families if we can’t defend ourselves,” Tain said, and this time everyone responded to the quiet authority in his voice. “Marco, Eliska, can we hold the city?”
“The perimeter walls are sound,” Eliska said. “Thirty treads high; forty on this side of the lake. And I’ll have that gate permanently secured.” Silastians liked to pretend that we had always been a beacon of peace, trade, and tolerance, but our ancestors had built a country and its capital expecting to have to defend it with force. We’d forgotten that, over the years, but perhaps the rest of the country had known better than us after all. “Unless they have full siege weaponry, they’ll have to resort to coming over the walls.”
Marco nodded. “Today’s attack was opportunistic, hoping to catch us off guard. But this is no spontaneous attack. Whoever is out there is organized. They took out our communications, and they may have … neutralized … our settlements outside the city to reduce the chance of someone getting word to our army. We must assume they could be working with one of our neighbors; I do not wish to speculate, but if the Doranites are involved, it is possible the intention is to keep our army busy in the south with these small raiding forces while they take the city.” He looked at the shocked faces around the table. “I … I do not mean to alarm you more. This could be a benefit. If they are confident that no help will be returning for some time, they may intend to try to starve us out rather than storming the walls.”
“The harvest,” said Marjeta, the quiet Artist-Guilder. “We thought it was bandits but they delayed the harvests. We are at our lowest in food supplies.”
“We’ve barely any weapons, not enough food, no soldiers.… What’s going to happen to us?” Fear quivered behind Varina’s haughty tone, the stiff toss of her braided hair, and the shake in her shoulders.
“We can make weapons,” Eliska said. “We have stockpiles of peat fuel, oil, metal, and stone. I’ve got workers in my Guild who can craft a stairway out of metal that looks like it’s made of lace. If the Warrior-Guilder will work with me, I’m certain they could fashion whatever defensive weapons or machines we need.”
“I have a number of sculptors in my Guild who could assist,” Marjeta offered.
Practical suggestions seemed to lift the mood.
“The Craft Guild can help with leather work and armor.”
“It’s not just Order Guards who can shoot a bow. Athletes, anyone who’s been hunting, anyone who took military classes at school.”
“So we’ll need bows, slings, and anything else we can shoot at them.”
“And shortswords to use for when they breach the walls,” Marco added. “Not too heavy, just something everyone can swing and stab.”
I wondered if I was the only one to mark how he said when, not if.
* * *
Night fell fast, spreading its shadows over the buildings and gardens with a sudden chill uncharacteristic of the season. Or perhaps it was just in my head. The hours blended together in a mass of huddled conferences, scrawled plans, and suppressed panic. The army outside our walls had taken no further action, which heightened the tension as we waited to see what it would do.
The air felt heavy around us. It was the darkest part of early morning, and Tain and Marco were giving the five brave volunteer runners their last instructions. Tain spoke to them all individually, thanking them and wishing them luck. He looked much better than I felt.
The two smallest had the unpleasant exit through the sewer tunnel that opened up downriver in the marshlands to the north. Though they perhaps had a greater chance of emerging unseen, their path to our army would be far longer. I would assist the other three, lowering them over the south-east wall where it met Solemn Peak, and they would use the mountain itself as cover. The south side of the city was riskier, but if they got out undetected they could reach the army in days rather than weeks. My sister’s admirer Edric was the only Credo among the five, and guilt suffused me as I regarded him; cocky but warm-hearted, he was a truly decent young man. The others I didn’t know well but recognized from sporting events. Their families would rise in honor and recognition of this feat. Their loyalty to their city and country made my throat tight with emotion. Silasta was a place worth loyalty, worth risk. Such a visceral reminder of its importance was a balm at a time when everything in the world seemed to have fallen to despair and treachery.
We had done our best to disguise them, though not knowing exactly who made up the attacking army, we were only guessing. We had dressed them as ordinary farmers and hidden their tattoos with cosmetics from the Performers’ Guild. Under the country-style baggy pants, scarves, and shirts, all in pale, nondescript colors, our runners wore hardened leather breastplates and thigh-guards. Enough, perhaps, to give them a chance of getting through alive. We dared not armor them more heavily for fear of attracting attention and weighing them down.
I scanned their nervous, solemn faces and tried not to imagine the worst. The disguises would not pass close scrutiny, but if they could slip through the heavy shadow of Solemn Peak in the dark, we had a chance.
Eliska had spent all night with her engineers and builders crafting a giant weapon that looked something like an oversized sling. She would stage an attack at a different location to draw the army’s attention while our runners crossed that crucial open space between our walls and the army. When I’d last seen Eliska she’d been poring over the device, sprung with nervous energy. I admired her composure and capabilities; she was one of the youngest Stone-Guilders in generations and she was demanding things of her Guild no one had considered for centuries. Silastian builders and engineers were lauded across the continent for beautiful buildings and cunning technologies to enhance our lives, not weapons. Yet she hadn’t faltered.
And we needed her not to falter, because distracting the patrols outside depended on the success of that machine.
“The hopes of the city lie upon you. Be swift and fearless,” Marco said. He gripped the shoulders of each runner in turn as he walked before them. They straightened, renewed in their resolve by the big man’s quiet words.
“You three are with Credo Jovan at the southeast wall,” Tain said, dividing the volunteers between me and Chen, the Order Guard who had first rung the attack bell earlier today. “You two are with Chen. Marco and I will lead the diversion attack. Timing will be everything.” That last he directed at me, and I nodded. I disliked the idea of being away from Tain during this first strike, but someone needed to judge the moment to send the runners, and I didn’t want to leave this most vital task to anyone else. If the runners didn’t make it … well, I didn’t want to think about that, either.
“We should begin, Honored Chancellor,” Marco said.
I silently wished them luck as they melted away through the predawn dark; Chen and her runners to the north, Tain and Marco across the bridge to the western tower, where Eliska’s catapult waited. “Our turn now.” We stuck close to the walls, avoiding the streets, and came eventually to the partially repaired cote, its jagged white shape silent in the dark. Temporary laddering for the repairs made it easy to get to the roof, but we needed ropes and tools to scale the mountain face up to its connection point with the city wall. The runner ahead of me shimmied up, barely needing the climbing tools, while I scrambled between handholds, sweating and suppressing grunts.
Edric grabbed my arm to help me up the last section, and gave me his familiar earnest smile. “If I don’t survive, tell your sister to remember me fondly, won’t you?” False reassurance seemed like an insult; the words jammed in my throat, so I merely nodded.
* * *
Outside, a few fires twinkled in the predawn and figures shifted about in the dark mass of the sleeping army. The smaller force this side of the river had only three watchers. We needed their attention anywhere but this dark southeast corner of the city. Faces pressed t
o the edge of the parapet, rope tied and ready, we watched and waited.
A crash splintered the night. Even expecting it, I jumped. Shouts and cries broke through the silence as the first projectile landed. We had bound containers of oil around the rock and now flaming arrows would follow, intended to catch the spills alight. Sure enough, a burst of red flared up to our right. I kept my eyes on the black mass ahead, scouring it, following those tiny black sentries. One, two, moving off to the west, trying to see, no doubt; the other back in to the mass, perhaps to report. Now. On my whispered signal, we dropped the rope over and the runners followed it in silence. One, two, three, they went over.
Time trickled, and still the rope jerked and wobbled in my hands as I steadied their descent. I used the burn of the rope against my palms as a distraction from the doubts bubbling inside me. Eventually, the rope shook one last time and the pressure suddenly fell away as the last runner transferred from rope to mountain face. I pulled it up swiftly, then waited, pulse pounding in my ears. It was hard to resist peering over the wall to check on their progress, but the less movement I made, the better. Mouth dry, I searched the darkness, listening hard. My nails cut into my palms waiting for some sign a sentry had seen them, but the stirring forces cried no alarm in our direction.
I stayed there a while longer, but as the light slowly improved, no movement was visible along Solemn Peak or anywhere else. I opened my palms and shook my hands to loosen knotted forearm muscles. I barely dared say it to myself for fear of somehow jinxing it, but maybe, just maybe, help was on its way.
Bluehood
DESCRIPTION: Herbaceous perennial in mountainous regions, with a hood-shaped blue flower. Flowers believed to be a sign of a spirit’s blessing; used extensively in Darfri rituals. Green parts of the plant poisonous if ingested.
SYMPTOMS: Nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea; burning, tingling, or numbness in the mouth and face, developing into motor weakness and numbness in limbs; paralysis of the heart or lungs, causing death.