She turned. Talin was standing at the top of the rubble strewn stairs.
“No. I thought you’d know where to find me; this roof’s become my second home. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got something to tell you…”
“I know they’ll try to use me if I’m taken, but with Oli and my mother safe, I’m resolved to deny them any advantage. If I fall into their hands I know what I must do.”
Alyda shook her head. “No. The people—your mother, they’ll need you.”
Talin laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
She smiled and kissed him. It was a while before they parted, both lost in the pleasure of the moment, far from the reality of their situation.
“I’m sorry, Tal. You can’t ride out with us for a dozen reasons you already know. No one will think any less of you, least of all me.”
“I don’t give a screw what people think of me. I just can’t bear the thought of you being out there without me.”
“Please, just do as I ask.” She didn’t add that although she couldn’t command him she could order her knights to lock him up with his mother until after they’d gone.
“Very well, Captain Stenna, I will do as you ask. You know, not so long ago I wouldn’t have been so obedient, not for anyone. What have you done to me?”
“Nothing you didn’t enjoy.”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said.
She didn’t have an answer so she pulled him close and kissed him again.
Tomas gazed up at him, his bright blue eyes full of wonder. The joy of the moment was made more precious by the thought that this might be the last time that he held his son.
It had been the happiest day of his life when Beri told him he was going to be a father, and such a shock when, nine months later, Tomas arrived. He looked like his mother, thank the gods. His eyes were the same shade of blue and he had her thick, dark hair and her adorable, angry pout. Tomas grabbed his chin and giggled. Cassian kissed him before handing him to his nurse. The girl was on the verge of tears, but somewhat hypocritically, Beri had already scolded her for sniffling. She bit her lip, curtsied and left the room. When the door closed, he and Beri rushed into each other’s arms. He held her close, as tightly as he dared, she smelled of roses.
“No matter what happens, never forget; you and Tomas mean everything to me,” Cassian whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
“Stop that, you foolish man. You’re going to make me cry.” She pushed him away and tugged the scarf from her hair. “Here, take this for luck.” She tied it around his arm. The delicate blue silk looked incongruous against the battered armour.
Cassian smiled. “Do you remember the first time you did that?”
“How could I forget? It was at the joust in Weyhithe, you almost broke your neck. I thought it the most miserable luck. I’d finally plucked up the courage to give that handsome, if rather serious looking knight my favour and he’s gone and got his head knocked off.”
He laughed, the memory of the impact still eluded him, but waking up in the infirmary to see her beautiful face staring down at him was as clear as though it had happened yesterday, as was the angry lecture that had followed.
“I remember waking up and you telling me that I’d been sloppy, reckless, and stupid.”
She laughed through tears. “Well it was true, you were reckless.” She gripped his hands, they were both shaking. “You can’t be reckless today. You see, Tomas and I will be riding with you. Anything that happens to you, happens to us, so you must be careful.”
A cold certainty gripped his heart. No matter what sweet lie he told her, no matter what promises he made, he felt sure that he would not return.
He couldn’t stand watching the knights preparing to ride out. So rather than hang around in the bailey, Talin climbed up onto the wall walk. While he was up there, he talked with the others who would be staying behind to defend the walls.
Most were civilians; people from all walks of life and possessed of every shade of character, rank, and occupation. They had forged strong bonds during the brutal fighting, and now bakers stood shoulder to shoulder with dressmakers and veteran knights, all proud to call each other comrade.
Talin was humbled by their courage and felt profoundly guilty for all the years he’d wasted taking his life of privilege for granted. He swore that if he survived he wouldn’t spend another hour in idleness—not that Alyda would allow him to sit on his arse even if he wanted to. Alyda. He thought of the short time they’d had together and the promise of the years that that lay ahead, and how close they were to losing everything.
Bear hailed him and came over. “You ready for this, Highness?” she said, her bloodied buckler hanging from her belt, the heavy falchion casually resting on her shoulder.
“No, but I don’t suppose that’s going to change anything. How about you?”
She shrugged, gave a wry grin. “Oh, you know me.”
“I know you could leave if you wanted.”
She yawned and scrubbed at bloodshot eyes. “Aye. Over the wall and gone like a fart in the wind. Lucky for you, I’ve decided to stay. Purely for selfish reasons, you understand. I mean, without me you’d only go and get yourself killed and I’d lose a drinking partner.”
He sighed. “Are you ever serious?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “I think you know when I’m being serious.”
“I don’t know how to do this, Iris. People are looking to me for reassurance, can you believe it?” He laughed.
“No, not really, if I’m honest.” She laughed and punched him on the arm. “I don’t think anybody knows how to deal with this, Tal. People like Alyda just hide their fear better than most. You’ll do alright. I’ve been watching you; I’ve seen how you are with people, like up here, just now. You’ve lifted their spirits, made them smile, and forget for a moment what in the Void’s going on, and that’s a bloody good trick at a time like this. My advice is, don’t think about it too much. Just keep doing what you’re doing. You know thinking isn’t one of your strong points.”
“You just did that thing again: being nice and a bitch in the same breath.”
“Yes, Highness, I know.”
“I could have you executed.”
“No you couldn’t…”
An hour after they were ready to ride, the first volley of stones hammered into the Arth. Alyda held Lyco steady while they waited for the bombardment to ease. When the stones stopped falling, the weary defenders returned to their posts. The Guthani were massed on the far side of the moat, and a new battering ram had been dragged to the bridge ready to assault the barbican. Archers on the wall loosed at the ram, but their arrows failed to penetrate the thick cowhide screen.
The ballista could have pierced the mantlet, but Alyda had ordered them not to loose just yet. She wanted the ram closer. Cassian was at the head of the Black Lancers, Beria’s scarf tied round his arm. Alyda felt a sharp stab of guilt. Cass would have surrendered; he would have saved the garrison and not put everyone through this…
Enough!
“Hard as iron, cold as stone…” she whispered.
They had to ride out, flatten the enemy and return. Something they’d done a thousand times before. Her fingers tightened around her sword hilt. She lowered the visor of her borrowed helm, gathered her reins and signalled the Guard Sergeant in the winch room. Battle standards were unfurled; they ripped and snapped in the sharp wind. The portcullis bared its fangs and the gates yawned open. Horns blared and the sound of thundering hooves echoed in the barbican as the Hammer and the Black Lancers rode out.
The knights drove their mounts over the bridge, and ploughed through the mantlet protecting the ram, trampling those beneath it. Swords flashed and the trapped ram crew were quickly dispatched. Alyda led the knights left, between the moat and the nearest earth bank.
A sea of shocked faces turned to see the wrathful knights bearing down on them. Some of the attackers scr
ambled up the banks; others dived into the corpse-choked moat. Crushed together in the narrow defile, most could only raise their shields or couch a spear as the Hammer and the Lancers roared towards them.
Let them know fear, thought Alyda as she drove Lyco on, let them feel despair. She spared a glance over her shoulder. Defenders piled out of the Arth and heaved the ram and its carriage into the moat, clearing the way for their return. She laughed.
This is what you were born for, said the voice in her head.
It was right.
A group of battle-hardened Guthani formed up, interlocked their shields and set their spears. Alyda heeled Lyco in the flanks. The world whipped past in a speeding blur. They smashed into the Guthani, splintering shields and crushing warriors into the dirt. Alyda saw a destrier impaled on a sheaf of spears. It fell screaming, taking its killers and its rider with it to the grave.
Death surrounded her, sharp and bright, eager to claim its dues. Not yet you don’t. The Guards hurtled along the moat, hacking a bloody swathe through the penned attackers. When they reached the end of the earth bank, Alyda looked back at the destruction they’d wrought and it filled her with a savage joy. Just as it should be. They’d punished the enemy’s arrogance, and stalled their advance. Now, with speed and a little luck, they’d get back to the Arth before the enemy had a chance to rally. She amended that to a lot of luck as the trebuchets were turned towards them.
The first volley of stones missed and crashed into a group of mercenaries mustering in front of them. The second hit some of the Lancers and some Guthani. After that, Trenham’s engines fell silent.
They rounded the end of the earth bank—a trail of mangled corpses behind them. Cassian’s gaze fell on the trebuchets. Despite his orders, despite Beria’s plea, his blood was up and the damn things were unguarded, just begging to be attacked. Before his horse had taken a dozen strides in their direction, he came to his senses and signalled for the company to turn back and follow the Hammer. The trebuchets were too tempting. As they wheeled away, he saw the trap and bellowed a warning as the mounted Guthani burst through the brush screens cunningly hidden in the tree-line.
The Guthani poured from the woods and around the trebuchets. Cassian saw one of ponies bolt and run in front of the engines. The ground gave way beneath it, and they vanished into a pit, suffering the fate that was meant for them. He thanked whatever gods had granted him the sense to pull up, and at the same time cursed his impetuous heart.
Like the Lancers, the Guthani cavalry wielded slender-bladed spears. Instead of swords they had long-handled axes strapped across their backs and painted shields hanging from their saddle bows. They were led by a warrior in shining mail and a dragon-crested helm.
The Hammer didn’t try to attack his engines, even though he’d left them wide open. Instead they’d scythed through the hirths who were waiting to cross the moat. Trenham was angry and his pride was dented. His machines weren’t as important a target as the Guthani. That mis-calculation had cost them, but it wouldn’t change the outcome.
The knights had dealt a savage blow to the warriors by the moat, but they wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy their victory. He should be pleased, it was almost over, but he wasn’t. If anything, he was ambivalent. In contrast, Thorgulsen was murderously furious. He didn’t blame him; his woman had gone missing and he’d just watched his hirths being pulverised.
“You were right about them coming out, but wrong about their choice of target,” Thorgulsen growled. “Many of my hirths will be sleeping in the Void tonight because of that mistake.”
“I told you the Antians weren’t predictable.”
“You talk out of your arse, boy. You said they would attack your fucking engines. I was looking forward to seeing them and their fat nags impaled in those pits. Now that lackwit Hanser get’s to finish the job. I’m not happy, Trenham and that is never a good thing.” The Thane gave him the dead eye and walked away.
As if I give a fuck. The Guthlander was in danger of thinking he could bully him like he could Telvier. That could prove to be a costly mistake—for all concerned.
Trenham checked his quiver before pulling on his coif. He didn’t know what Ali Stenna was up to. It might be nothing more than a final act of defiance; a glorious suicide, but his gut told him there was more to it. Whatever her plan, it was doomed. Hirths were blocking the road ahead of the knights, and Hanser’s cavalry was closing in behind them. This whole sorry mess would soon be nothing more than a footnote in some poorly scribed history. He should be pleased, but truth was, he liked his enemies far more than he liked his employer.
A unit of hirths had formed up in their path. Alyda bellowed her orders at Della, who relayed them with a trilling blast on her horn. All the knights, including the Lancers, increased their speed. Lyco’s footfalls echoed the thunder of her heart as they hurtled towards the Guthani.
At the last possible moment, just before his long stride took them too close to manoeuvre, she turned sharply to the left. The destrier pivoted on his powerful hind quarters and sprang away, followed by the Hammer. The Lancers mirrored the manoeuvre and split right. A handful of horses skidded in the mud, lost their footing and went down, delivering their riders to the enemy, where death was waiting, sharp and swift.
Alyda took the Hammer around the Guthani and charged for the road to the Arth. Cassian took the Lancers towards the bulwark.
Kilner couldn’t bear to be in the cellars a moment longer. The knights had ordered everyone to stay inside and keep the doors bolted, but he had to get out. Eventually he made enough of a fuss that the housekeeper who held the keys was only too pleased to be rid of him. Outside, under the blessed open sky, he was rewarded by the kiss of a cold breeze.
The gut-twisting panic eased, his heart stopped pounding quite so hard. The air reeked of death, but it was a huge improvement on the stink of fear and ceaseless, pitiful crying that had driven him from the cellars. He just wanted the fighting to stop, but the bloodthirsty bastards wouldn’t be satisfied until everyone was dead. As he stood in the bailey, pondering his fate, a warrior fell screaming from the wall. She hit the ground, bounced—burst, and broke on the jagged rubble.
Kilner almost fainted. He had never seen death so raw, so visceral. He wasn’t safe here, but he couldn’t go back down into the bowels of the Arth and wait to die with the others. He tried to gather shadows and hide himself, but his mind wouldn’t hold the spell. Another body plunged from the wall and smashed into the gore-drenched ground.
Fear set his feet to flight. He ran blindly across the bailey, desperate to flee the mayhem. He collapsed behind the keep tower and crawled between the buttresses. He could see the stables from his hiding place. He wondered if the horses knew that their riders were probably dead. More likely they didn’t care and just wanted to get away from this madness, but like him, they were trapped. He thought about trying to climb the west wall, take his chances in the Galerun, but he didn’t have much of a head for heights and he didn’t like water—all those fish… He shuddered. Something soft caressed his chin. Startled, he looked down to see that he was still clutching the scarlet feather.
It was beautiful, so delicate, so out of place amid all the ugliness. He wondered what kind of bird it had come from, something exotic from a distant land. He’d always wanted to travel, to see the world beyond Antia’s tame borders. There were so many wonderful places he’d read about and dreamed of seeing, and now he never would because he was going to die here.
It isn’t fair! Hadn’t he always been careful to avoid the slightest whiff of danger? He’d never even allowed himself to fall in love because he was too afraid to risk his coward’s heart. All that sacrifice, the denial of a life half-lived, and he was still going to die a violent and untimely death. It was too much. Kilner broke down and sobbed a flood of tears.
By the gods’ good grace, they had beaten the enemy to the bridge. Cassian called a halt before the ruined gatehouse. The defenders on the barbican were screaming fo
r them to get inside. He looked at Griga. She had lost her helm; a cut on her forehead bled fingers of scarlet down her face.
“What are your orders, Captain?” she asked, leaning heavily on her pommel, her spear slick with Guthani blood.
The Lancers were less than a hundred paces from the Arth. Beria and Tomas were waiting for him…So close. Through the heaving sea of spears, Cassian saw the Hammer’s standard fluttering above the jagged tide.
“We stay and hold the bridge,” he said.
The Black Lancers were valiantly trying to hold the bridge, but the Hammer was cut off. Alyda was cut off. Where did the fucking cavalry come from? Driven by helpless rage, Talin fought like a man possessed and tried to drown his fury in the blood of the enemy swarming over the wall. He hacked wildly, blindly swinging his sword at whatever came before him. Something heavy fell across his back, taking him down.
An arm flopped beside his head; he was pinned under a body. He struggled to throw it off. A hirth saw him, raised his axe and charged. Nevenna hobbled between them. The Guthani yelled his fury and swung. She raised her halberd, but the injured knight stumbled and mis-timed the block. The Guthani’s weapon struck her polearm and bounced off at an angle, shearing through her neck guard before burying itself in her shoulder. She screamed and dropped her weapon. Blood sprayed from the terrible wound, her right arm fell useless. Snarling a curse, she spat a mouthful of blood in her attacker’s face. He recoiled.
The dying knight grabbed the horse tail plume on his helm, and dragged him towards her. Off-balance, the Guthani stumbled, clawing at the strap fastening his helm. With the last of her strength, the Knight Herald threw herself back off the wall, taking her killer with her to the Void. Talin crawled from under the corpse and picked up the halberd.
At first, the dreams that came to Kilner were a jumble of meaningless images. But as sleep dragged him deeper under its thrall, they began to change. He was in a vast, empty land of dark, rolling hills beneath a grey sky. Under his feet, a web of silver shone through the short, purple-tinted grass.
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