by Sam Hawke
“Let them through!” Tain yelled again, and this time the Order Guard repeated the cry.
“Clear the stairs!” someone cried from inside, and our people poured off to the side, allowing the retreating force to follow their comrades through the tower and over the bridge.
“What are you doing?” a rumpled and sweating Bradomir shrieked, catching up to us. “We can trap them here! Block the gate from this side and we can cut them off!”
Tain glanced over, his expression giving Bradomir roughly the regard he might have for a roach. “Aven’s here,” he said. “They’re going to be trapped between us. Now’s the time to finally secure a peace, not the time for more slaughter.” He looked up at the Order Guard on the wall. “Make sure our archers don’t shoot!”
“Are you mad?” Bradomir cried, reaching out with both arms as if to shake Tain. But before his hands came within reach, a wall of men and women stepped between them; among them, I saw with surprise, Varina. Bradomir dropped his arms, staring at them as if they didn’t belong to him, and backed away.
The rebel force retreated over the bridge. I scrambled after Tain up the stairs and into the tower so we could see what was happening on the other side.
Clear of the mist, we saw the swarm pouring over the bridge and joining the great mass on the west shore. As we watched, the mercenaries on graspads circling the outer edges of the force began redirecting massive groups of rebels up into the city. Frustratingly, the Finger wasn’t tall enough to see past the buildings of the lower city, and we could only speculate about what was happening on the other side.
“Aven must have attacked where they breached the walls,” Tain said. “They’re trapped.”
The relief carrying me until now wavered. “We have to get them to surrender,” I said. “If they fight Aven she’ll plow through them to get to us.”
“They’ll be slaughtered,” Tain agreed. He looked around the room and spotted an Order Guard emerging from the steps. “We need to get the peace flag back up. And we need to find some way of stopping the Warrior-Guilder from charging. Get me a messenger to the south gate tower; they should be able to see what’s going on.” He looked at Hadrea and me as he declared, “This war should be over. No one else needs to die.”
While the Guard dragged out the arrow-torn peace flag, Tain, Hadrea, and I went downstairs. The shore that had been a battle zone such a short time ago now buzzed with confusion. Tain was pulled away to strategize with the Order Guards, and Hadrea and I joined in the people helping carry the wounded to the hospital. The battle on the east side had been short but brutal, and the inexperience and inadequate weaponry on both sides had left more wounded than dead.
I was bent over a woman bleeding from a massive sword wound to her arm, trying to stop the flow, when I heard, “Hey! Hey!” I looked over, searching in the dusky early morning light, and finally saw who was trying to get my attention. It was a Silastian man, propped up on his elbows, one obviously broken leg twisted out to the side. “What are you doing?”
Pressing a torn ball of the woman’s shirt against the gaping wound and tying it down firmly with another strip, I squinted at the man. “Is it just your leg?” I asked. “Someone will be here to help you soon. We have to get all the critically injured people there fastest.”
“But she’s one of them,” he said. “Help your own first!”
“I’ll help whoever needs it,” I snapped back, temper rising.
“She’s a rebel! A traitor!”
“She’s bleeding,” I replied, looking back down at the unconscious woman. On a count of three, Hadrea and I hoisted her between us.
We made several trips to the hospital until I saw Tain.
“No response to the peace flag,” he told me, grim. “The rebel force is split; some are trying to defend the breached wall against Aven.” He swore, rubbing his grimy forehead. “I need to get her a message, tell her not to attack. But I don’t know how.”
We looked at each other, helpless frustration rendering us both speechless. Then Tain shuffled his helmet between his hands, looking shifty. “I … this is ridiculous. Stupid. But I don’t know what else to do.”
Someone called our names; it was Chen, approaching at a run.
“What’s stupid?” I asked Tain as we made our way toward the Order Guard, who practically vibrated with urgency. What now?
“The Os-Woorin room,” he said. “I want to use it.”
Blisterbush
DESCRIPTION: Low-growing shrub, attractive glossy green trefoil leaves.
SYMPTOMS: Contact with leaves gives immediate reddening, then blistering of skin. Ingestion symptoms include intense, localized stomach pain, increasing in intensity and coverage over time, anal bleeding, painful urination, internal bleeding, death.
PROOFING CUES: Immediate blistering sensation in mouth, unaffected by cooking or masking flavors. Typically used as a surface poison only.
30
Kalina
Fingers aching and dirt caked under my fingernails, I held my breath and listened as Garan shifted around outside. Once or twice he had started to whistle, then stopped a few notes in. But no one else had approached and he had not spoken to anyone. He wouldn’t believe me—it had been stupid to think he might—but maybe he wouldn’t rush to give me away, either. Regardless, I couldn’t stay in this tent.
I tested the hole. It was wide enough to fit my shoulders, but I couldn’t tell if it was deep enough. We’d set up in the dark, so I had no idea what my tent backed onto or how exposed it would be out there. The camp wasn’t exactly quiet, but the majority of the army was with Aven, marching on the city to prepare to take it back, not sitting around here waiting to spot a lone woman squeezing out of her tent prison. I could only be thankful Aven thought herself safe and had not considered me a threat. Otherwise I’d have been properly contained—or killed, more likely. Another “Doranite spy.”
I stretched my sore hands. My body, still exhausted and damaged from the strain I’d put it through, hadn’t enjoyed this new action. But physical weakness was nothing new to me. I took a breath. Time to try.
I lay out flat on the ground and stuck my head into the little trench, to be greeted with cooking smells and the light of the dawning day and, to my relief, not much more. The nearest people were around a campfire a distance away, their backs to me. Aven had set me up on the outskirts of camp, away from potential prying eyes. Now it made sense why the Warrior-Guilder had so badly wanted to keep me out of sight and out of contact. She hadn’t wanted anyone to mention previous “spies,” or fortunes knew what other clues that might have come my way if I’d been allowed to speak to the soldiers.
I wiggled quickly through the gap, trying not to disturb the tent fabric too much. One shoulder and arm came through, then the other. The hardest part over, I clawed at the grass on the outside and pulled up on my forearms to drag the rest of my body through.
If the rebels were negotiating a surrender, I could slip into the main body of the army and march into the city with everyone else. But what if Aven saw me? I had no idea how this would work, whether she would come back to camp before moving the army on, and check on her “guest.” I cursed myself for asking Garan for help. If I had just kept my mouth shut, let Aven and everyone else think me docile and grateful, I wouldn’t have had to run. I’d made myself reliant on his silence.
Soldiers on graspads guarded the rear perimeter of the camp, so there would be no sneaking back south and hiding until after the surrender. My best chance might be to try to blend in with the army after all. I would need to leave camp fast, before Garan checked on me and raised the alarm.
I worked from tent to tent, avoiding the little knots of people still at camp. Some assembled supply wagons and loaded spare arrows and other weapons; others cooked in huge clay pots over campfires. The smells of simple food wafted over me as I darted about in the shadows, and the warmth of the fires only highlighted the unseasonable cold of the morning. A few camp followers lounged ab
out the outskirts, chatting, paying me no attention. I drew closer to the end of the camp, trying to figure out how to cross the gulf between me and the organized force ahead. Once I crested the slight rise I’d be visible from anywhere around.
A great horn blasted in the distance, making me jump. My stomach sunk into a tight ball as I realized what had happened.
The army was charging the city.
Though I couldn’t see the breached wall from here, the roar of the army at its sudden push forward echoed over the land. There would be no surrender. My eyes burned again, anger, frustration, and confusion tearing at me. Aven wasn’t joining the rebels. So what did she want? Not that it mattered right now. Whatever her reason, she was the city’s enemy, not its savior, and there had to be some way of warning them.
But now that the army had charged the city, I couldn’t slip in along with them; I’d be in the middle of the fighting. I had no illusions about my ability to survive that. Even if I got hold of a shield and somehow survived the arrow fire I’d never make it through the open fighting.
A figure burst through the distant mass, riding a graspad, bright red sash marking him as a messenger. I backed into the closest tent and ducked behind the door flap, heart pounding. My ill-fitting uniform and soft physique wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. I waited until the big paws thumped past the crack in the tent, then, tentatively, peered through the gap.
The messenger cried out as he reined in his graspad, and people in the camp hurried over to hear the news. Fortunately, the man’s voice carried. “The rebels have refused to surrender,” he said. “The Warrior-Guilder has signaled the attack. We’re taking back the city!”
A woman with thick arms and a hammer slung over her shoulder spat out of the corner of her mouth. “And what’s our expected damage? We don’t have siege weaponry.”
“We don’t need it,” said the messenger, edging his graspad a little farther from the smith. “We’re sending troops back to transport the rest of the weaponry and moving into full attack. They never repaired the breached wall. They’ll not hold the pass for long.”
A uniformed man with a long moustache nodded. “I suppose they’ll do what they need to do,” he said. “Mayhaps we’ll be home by lunch.”
The small group let out a raggedy cheer, but I found no heart in the words. I slunk back into the tent. If I didn’t survive the day, no one would ever suspect Aven. Whatever her plans, she would have free rein at them, riding in to a hero’s welcome. No one knew the truth but one woman stuck on the wrong side of two armies. I slumped back against a crate. All this way, and what had I achieved? I’d been nothing but a helpful cog in Aven’s great machine.
The crate dug into my back. I shifted, trying to summon some thought or idea, but nothing came to me. I could just stay here, hiding in a tent full of spare arrows, and hope no one looked inside … except, I realized, I’d just heard mention of troops returning to collect additional weaponry, so someone would be back for these arrows to take to the battlefield, probably any moment now.
And then a germ of an idea wormed its way in after all.
* * *
Fingers trembling, I worked through the arrows, one at a time. The fletching was far superior to the ones we’d made back in the city; even, regular barbs, thick and straight. I counted carefully, mumbling as I broke the right barbs down.
It was stupid to think this would work. But I had no other ideas, and the arrows were right here, ready to be sent back out into the battle. My fingers were quick and sure; I’d always been able to trust my hands. Consisting as it did of only two symbols, Etan’s code was simple to recreate in the fletching, but the chances of one of the arrows finding its way to my brother were so minuscule, and the chances of him recognizing it as a code even lower.…
Still, I counted and bent, hoping. If I didn’t get out of this, at least there would be some possibility, however slim, that someone would find out what Aven had done.
The sound of approaching troops warned me. I scurried to the back of the tent, sweating despite the chill dawn air. Stay or run? I watched the tent flap, barely breathing, hating my indecision. Then I heard the cry, “Warrior-Guilder!” and my bowels turned to ice water. The shaking in my hands turned to a full-body shudder, and I wasted a few moments staring, paralyzed, at the tent flap, imagining Aven pushing it back, striding in.…
Move, you idiot! I shoved the back of the tent up off the ground, half-crawling, half-scrambling through the gap. I stumbled to my feet and looked around. Lighter than before, but still shadowy and gray. Around the edge of the tent the small group of men and women came by, followed by servants carrying dress armor. I caught a glimpse of the Warrior-Guilder’s cloak flapping crimson in the breeze and ducked back again. Aven and her lieutenants were getting into full regalia to ride into the city. She would want to lead the heroic charge, no doubt. So I had two choices. Stay in the camp and hope she did not look for me, or make a break for it now and hope not to be spotted in the long stretch between here and the wall. And then hope not to be killed in the battle, of course.
The sick feeling inside me gave me my answer. I couldn’t bear to hide here, waiting and wondering whether Aven would discover me missing. Better to take my chances now. I crept around the corner, and then, preparing to run, saw something that gave me a burst of hope.
My little graspad, separated from the others, had not been sent into the battle or used as a messenger animal. He was tied up not fifty treads away, distinctive with his shaggy, ungroomed coat and agitated pacing. On the back of a graspad, I would be faster and look more like a messenger and less like someone fleeing. I took a moment to force my curls into a rough braid and took a few steadying breaths. Keeping to the shadows and the shelter of the tents, I made my way closer to the graspad, not daring to look over my shoulder. I slowed, kept my head up, and strolled over to the little beast. My veneer of confidence wouldn’t fool anyone, not with the sweat exploding from every pore and the shaking no amount of effort could hold back, but from a distance, hopefully, it looked like I was doing nothing unusual.
The graspad greeted me warmly, licking my hands and arms as I untied him, and swishing his heavy tail in pleasure at being free. They hadn’t bothered to saddle him, but the bridle they’d used to tie him up would help me, at least. “We’re going home,” I told him, and found a note of hysteria in my whisper that turned into a giggle. “We just have to get through a few armies first.”
I clambered on and the feel of his lean, bushy weight gave me a moment of true confidence. “Let’s go,” I whispered, and urged him forward.
But I was jerked off his back suddenly and hit the ground hard on my backside, too stunned to even cry out. A firm hand pulled me up by one shoulder, and I turned, everything moving slow and thick, as if underwater. Hard eyes unblinking, one hand gripping me and the other on her scabbard, the Warrior-Guilder smiled. I had never seen anything so terrifying in my life.
“And what are you doing, little bird?” Aven asked.
* * *
Her powerful hand around my throat, Aven dragged me onto the back of my raggedy graspad and wheeled away from the army, east around the broken wall. My spine bent backward across the animal’s back and Aven’s unrelenting pressure crushed down on my windpipe so that my struggles to breathe came from both my neck and my lungs. I was paralyzed, in too much pain and fear to cry out.
We rode to the river, out of sight, and she released me suddenly, letting my bruised body slide off the graspad and onto the marshy ground. I gasped desperately for air, lying on my side, my back in agony from the short, brutal ride. “You’ve made me angry, little bird,” she said. “Your nose is entirely too much in other people’s affairs.”
“I’m…” My cry was a bare squeak. “I’m sorry. I just ran away because I was scared of the fighting. I’m not in anyone’s affairs.”
Aven shook her head, her manner suddenly maternal. The kindly side she’d shown me on my arrival played out again on her beautiful
face. “I want to believe you, really I do.” She squatted down beside me and I kicked away weakly, then more strongly as fresh panic burst free at the sight of the knife she had produced from her belt. I scrambled backward but she had my neck again in a moment, this time a vise grip from the back as she hauled me up, holding me in front of her so my feet dangled off the ground. “I was going to bring you with me, you know. We’re about to ride into Silasta and I was going to present you to your brother as another example of my triumph. And now you’ve gone and spoiled it all. Now, did you share your little revelation with anyone? Anyone but your hapless guard, I mean. You know he was terribly sympathetic to you. He didn’t like getting you ‘in trouble.’”
I shook my head. Honor-down, I wanted to show some bravado, but I was crying too hard. “I didn’t tell anyone else. I promise. And I won’t. I won’t.”
“You know, I do believe you. But like I said, you made me angry.” She bared her teeth and my tears stopped abruptly. I tried to say something, but no words came out. “A knife to the stomach is a bad way to die, did you know that? Excruciating.” My whole body shook but I was frozen, unable to fight her off, unable to even struggle. The grip on my neck was paralyzing. She walked me into the water, striding into the marshes toward the channel, deeper and deeper, heedless of her clothes.
“Goodbye, little bird,” she said. As if it had broken the spell, I screamed then, and twisted and bucked in her grip, but the knife went in anyway in a splitting, burning burst.
As she dropped me into the channel and the water rushed over my head, I almost couldn’t feel the pain.
I just felt the cold.
Beetle-eye
DESCRIPTION: Powder ground from the carapace of the cave beetle; creates a glistening, fine black powder.