by Marc Turner
A Gilgamarian woman on the ramparts leaned out and pointed her weapon at the stone-skins. Before she could shoot it, though, its bolt fell out of its slot and spun down to clang off a shield. Then shouts started up from the battlements, and the soldier disappeared. A deepening hiss reached Ebon, as of a dozen waves of water-magic drawing closer. The waves carrying the enemy fleet? He was sure of it.
Time was running out.
He looked for the Revenant leader. At the rear of the group stood a man with his arms crossed. He was listening to a companion with an unruly beard and cheeks so red they looked flash-burned. As Ebon came near, he heard their conversation.
“… been shouting up to the Gilgamarians,” Beardy was saying. “Tried to get them to drop a rock on the stone-skins’ heads—they got a damned catapult up there, for Shroud’s sake—but I may as well have been talking to my old lady for all the sense I got back. They don’t know if the stone-skins left anyone in the tower to stop them raising the portcullis, but they sure as hell ain’t coming down to check.”
“Then let’s get this over with,” the leader said. “Gonna be like tryin’ to pry a limpet off a ship’s ass, but if we can double up on the flanks—”
“I can put a dent in their ranks,” Ebon cut in.
The leader turned to look at him, and Ebon found himself staring into the blue eyes of a young man with a faceful of bruises. “Who are you?”
“The introductions will have to wait. I can put a dent in the stone-skins’ ranks, but you’ll have to get your men closer to take advantage.”
The mercenary moved his tongue round his mouth, then looked at his bearded companion. “I reckon we can do that.”
Beardy squinted at Ebon. “You a sorcerer? ’Cause I ain’t smelling anything coming off you.”
“I am a sorcerer—of a kind. Now, are we done talking here, or should I pull up a chair and get comfortable?”
The leader chuckled. “We’re done. Just make sure you wait for my signal before unloadin’ on the stone-skins. Steepness of that ramp, we ain’t gonna be skippin’ the last way into the breach.”
“One more thing,” Ebon said. “You’ll want to find a place in your front rank for my friend here.” He nodded toward Vale.
The two Revenants gave Vale a look.
“He’s an Endorian,” Ebon explained. “A timeshifter. If you need someone up that ramp fast, there’s no one quicker.”
The leader grinned like Ebon had offered to double his back pay. “Endorian, you say? Well, first rank it is, then.” He slapped Vale on the shoulder. “Name’s Twist. Reckon you and me are gonna need a word when this is over, eh?”
Vale stared at him blankly.
“Got ourselves some free help, boys,” Twist said as he took his place in the front rank and accepted a shield from one of his men. “Up here with me, Endorian, don’t be shy. You want a shield, or is that just gonna slow you down?”
Vale shook his head to the offered shield before moving up to flank Twist. Ebon took a position directly behind his friend. When the time came to unleash his power, the closer he was to the stone-skins, the harder his strike would land. A man to his left kissed a fish-bone charm around his neck, while a woman beside him settled a full-face helmet over her head. Ebon found himself looking for the animal etched into its cheek-piece, but these were no Pantheon Guardsmen, he reminded himself. Home felt suddenly very far away.
The man on Vale’s right looked the Endorian up and down. To Twist he said, “You want me to open a book on him now, chief?”
“Up to you,” Twist said. “But you might wanna see what punch he packs before you set the odds.”
“Whose money are we taking this time?”
Twist’s answer was lost beneath a scream from along the harbor wall. The second tower had already fallen, and that scream doubtless signified that the stone-skin attack on the Chain Tower had begun. Ebon couldn’t actually see that attack because the second tower was in his way. He could, however, make out a Gilgamarian officer atop the Chain Tower’s battlements, waving his sword as if he were about to lead a charge over the parapet. Easy to be brave, though, when you had a wall and a portcullis to hide behind.
And yet didn’t the defenders have every reason to be confident? With the portcullis down, the stone-skins would be forced to assault the battlements. The narrowness of the wall would give them only a limited front along which to attack, and they didn’t even have ladders that Ebon had seen. How could they possibly hope to overrun their target?
Something told him they would find a way.
Ebon looked back at Twist to find the man watching him in turn. “Are we ready?” the leader asked.
“We are.”
Twist glanced at the mercenaries to either side of Ebon, and it was only now the prince realized that he stood between the scantily dressed twin sisters.
“Recruits,” Twist said to them, “you’re responsible for our friend here. Try to look after him better than you did your last employer.”
The twins scowled at Ebon as if he’d been the one who had spoken.
“I am Tali,” the sister to his right said.
“And I am Mili.”
“Be sure you don’t mistake us…”
“… we shall be testing you later.”
Twist raised his voice to carry to his troops. “Okay, listen up. Here’s what’s gonna happen. Our friend here”—he nodded to Ebon—“is gonna punch a hole in the stone-skins’ ranks, then the race is on to see who can fill it first. Keep them engaged on the flanks and make our numbers count. Word is these stone-skins know their business, but let’s see for ourselves.”
“What if the bastards charge us?” someone said.
“Then we throw them back, of course. And don’t go worryin’ about them havin’ the high ground. Just makes it easier for us to get our weapons under their guard, right?” He started up the ramp, and the troops around him lurched into motion. “Nice and steady,” Twist said. “Keep the line straight. Fun don’t start till we get in close.”
Ebon followed Vale. His heart was thumping. He’d never stood in a shield wall before, and never imagined he would, either—even if it was only in the second rank. Such was the gradient of the ramp, his leg muscles burned after only a handful of steps. From the direction of the Chain Tower came more shouting. It was the Gilgamarian defenders who made the noise. There was an eerie silence about their red-cloaked foes that put Ebon in mind of the Vamilians in the Forest of Sighs who had fought and fallen without a sound. From among the stone-skins at the top of the ramp, there were no orders shouted at the Revenants’ approach, no words spoken to give encouragement. But unlike Mayot’s undead charges, these stone-skins could die. Ebon had seen the man crushed beneath the portcullis, witnessed two more shot down as they ran along the wall.
There were nine stone-skins in the enemy wedge. The woman at the center seemed to be looking straight at Ebon as if she knew what was coming. He had to fight an urge to draw his sword even though he knew he wouldn’t need it.
Twenty paces.
The Revenants inched up the punishing slope, saving their strength for the last dash. Where their line overlapped the stone-skins, the mercenaries edged forward to envelop the enemy formation. Beside Ebon, one of the twins—he’d already forgotten who was who—whistled a merry tune.
Fifteen paces.
The three stone-skins who’d been holding their shields high swung them forward to join the wedge. This would have been a good time for the Gilgamarians to shoot their crossbows, but no one appeared at the parapet. Perhaps they were all staring at the approaching enemy fleet.
Ten paces.
Ebon gathered his power so he was ready to strike the instant Twist gave the order.
Any moment now.
“Go!” the leader shouted.
Ebon lashed out at the woman at the center of the stone-skin formation. His power crumpled her metal shield and lifted her from her feet. She was hurled back into the portcullis with a force that
set the gate rattling. Her helmet flew from her head. Then she flopped forward and hit the ground face-first, unconscious. The man to her left was punched from his feet, while the one on her right was sent staggering back to collide with the tower. His shield fell from his grasp. Even the enemy warriors standing outside them felt the force of Ebon’s strike. They grunted and shifted, their shields clanging at the impact like they’d taken a blow from a mace.
Vale was already halfway to the shattered line, Twist a step behind. The Revenants to either side roared as they surged forward, leaving Ebon alone with the twins. The clash was as good as over before it had even begun.
Or it should have been.
There was something unreal about the way the stone-skins responded to Ebon’s attack. There was no moment of disbelief or panic, nor were any orders given. Yet the two stone-skins who had taken the imaginary mace-blows moved smoothly across to fill the space vacated by the men driven back. Meanwhile, those two warriors—already recovering—returned to the ranks in new places. As if they had practiced this scenario a thousand times in training. Against any foe other than Vale, the stone-skins might have re-formed the wedge in time to meet the Gray Cloaks’ charge. The Endorian, though, was too quick for them. He parried a spear thrust, then burst between two shields and into the space beyond.
Even then the red-cloaked warriors reacted with an unnatural unity of purpose. The woman on the extreme right turned to engage Vale while her companions shuffled round to close the gap she had left. For an instant it looked like Vale might be vulnerable, isolated within the stone-skin wedge, but then the Revenants came surging up against their formation, stopping any more of the enemy from turning to attack the timeshifter. Twist was the first to reach the red-cloaked warriors. He swayed around a spear tip before dipping his shoulder and driving his own shield into that of the stone-skin in front of him.
Ebon gathered his power again, ready to strike if Vale needed him. The woman facing the Endorian had dropped her spear and drawn a shortsword. Of the hundreds of opponents Ebon had seen his friend fight, the majority had managed no more than a single block before falling to his blade. The stone-skin, though, parried once, twice, then attempted a shield-bash. Vale side-stepped. That step brought him up against the portcullis. If there had been stone-skins on the other side, they could have attacked him through the bars. But the tower must have been empty, for no spears stabbed out from the gloom. Vale aimed a cut at his opponent’s neck, and the woman was slow to raise her shield. She fell in a crimson spray.
Heartbeats later, the clash was over as Vale cut down the remaining stone-skins from behind.
Ebon climbed the slope to join him. Twist, holding a sword with a hooked tip, was frowning at a dead stone-skin as if he might have seen the man before. The mercenary had emerged from the fighting unscathed, but there were plenty among his companions who had taken injuries. Ebon saw Beardy crouch next to a woman with a bloody froth at her lips and a hole in her side. The mercenary’s face turned white as lederel milk as the wound closed up to a furious scar. Three Revenants lay unmoving on the ramp. The remaining mercenaries tipped the stone-skin corpses off the ramp and into the harbor, or shouted up to the Gilgamarians on the battlements to come down and raise the portcullis.
Ebon looked along the wall toward the next tower. One down, one to go.
Assuming they could take the second tower before the third one fell, of course.
* * *
Senar strode toward the Alcazar. A crowd of soldiers had gathered outside to watch the fighting on the seawall. As yet there was no sign of them going to help their companions, but Senar was sure they’d be sending moral support. Nothing like moral support, after all, to shield you from an enemy’s blade.
Inside, a group of men in wigs stood in a circular entrance hall, awaiting their turn in front of whatever council was convened behind a door to Senar’s left. The Guardian swung into the corridor leading to the South Wing. A female servant was coming the other way, alternating between a brisk walk and a trot. Senar had to suppress an urge to break into a jog himself, but if the fighting had already spread to the Alcazar, wouldn’t he have heard it? Wouldn’t the Gilgamarian guards be doing more than simply gawking at the wall?
Like running away, perhaps.
Senar increased his pace. Things came together in his mind. The assault on the wall meant the Augerans were trying to lower the chains, which in turn meant their fleet must be on its way. There were too many stone-skins on the wall to have come from the Eternal, suggesting the bulk of the attackers had entered Gilgamar in a second ship—a ship from which Hex had shrewdly drawn attention by arriving in a steel-clad vessel that caught the eye like no other. So was the wall the Augerans’ only target here? Senar doubted it. Because if Hex’s party had intended to link up with their kinsmen, there would have been no need for the group on the Eternal to disappear. Their target must be a different one to the chains.
Avallon. And that would mean striking at the Alcazar.
So where was Hex now? The assault on the wall was surely his signal to attack the emperor, yet the corridors around Senar were still. The only sounds were the squeak of his boots and the distant clamor of combat from the harbor—a clamor that rose as he passed each window, before falling away again. It couldn’t last. The stone-skins would be close. Maybe they were even inside the Alcazar. With the South Wing empty but for Mazana’s and Avallon’s delegations, there were plenty of rooms to hide in. Yet how had the Augerans managed to infiltrate the building without a soul noticing? The same way they’d sneaked off the Eternal, probably.
Whatever way that was.
Senar turned into a corridor bright with trapped sunlight. Ahead, two Revenants holding spears—a man and a woman—barred his way. Their expressions were bored. A reassuring presence, to be sure. But there’d been four Gray Cloaks guarding the Eternal, and they had died without even putting up a fight. As Senar approached, the mercenaries parted for him. The woman had a ring through her nose; the man a scar that ran over his scalp, parting his hair.
“Trouble?” the woman said as the Guardian strode past.
He nodded. “And we’re next.”
Senar’s mind drifted. How many Revenants were stationed in the South Wing? Two dozen? Three? There was also the executioner, of course, as well as a sizeable number of Breakers. Not to mention Kiapa and the emperor’s bodyguard, Strike. Any stone-skin party would have to be strong indeed to overcome such a force. Yet Senar still found himself wishing he’d asked Twist to accompany him back to the Alcazar, rather than sending him and his men to the wall. On the other hand, if the subcommander had been here, he would probably have been too busy fighting his own side to pose any threat to the enemy—
The Guardian’s musings were interrupted by a crack behind, as if the two Gray Cloaks had slammed the butts of their spears into the ground. Senar swung round, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
And stared.
A portcullis had dropped across the corridor behind the mercenaries—a portcullis he was reasonably sure hadn’t been there moments ago. There wasn’t even a hole in the ceiling it could have come from.
A close thing, the portcullis falling when it had. Only time would tell if it had been good luck or bad that he’d ended up on this side.
“What the shit?” the female Revenant said.
More cracks sounded from behind Senar, and he turned to see bars descending over the windows. As each one fell, the light in the passage faltered. A deeper darkness gathered beyond the next intersection. It crept toward Senar, bruising the walls, floor, and ceiling. A new world was unfurling, he realized. His first thought was of the portal that Romany had opened yesterday, not far from here. But through that gateway he had spied another land entire, whereas this realm was overlapping the Alcazar rather than replacing it.
Behind him the portcullis rattled as the Gray Cloaks tried to lift it. Senar did not go to their aid. There would be no escape that way, and he wouldn’t have even taken
it if there had.
The darkness from along the corridor rolled toward him.
As the gloom washed over him, he shivered. About him the walls had darkened to the color of old blood, and there were speckled black patches like mold spores. It was as if the Alcazar had decayed a hundred years in as many heartbeats. Senar lifted his hand, half expecting to see his skin tarnish in the same way. For now, though, it remained hale. He peered along the corridor. The windows were bright squares on the walls, but the sunlight couldn’t pierce the shadows in the passage. In the distance, the faintest smudge of red enlivened the gloom. A scraping noise reached the Guardian, like a sword being dragged along the floor.
Then over that suddenly came the clash of weapons, a chorus of competing shouts, one giving way to a scream.
Drawing his sword, Senar set off into the murk.
“Come with me,” he said to the two Revenants, but they made no move to follow. He didn’t stop to reason with them. If they meant to stay put, he couldn’t force them to change their minds.
That darkness along the corridor was a good deal more threatening than he would be, after all.
* * *
Ebon looked out through the archway in the Key Tower to see an enemy catapult-stone coming toward him. He ducked back, and it glanced off the side of the turret, setting the stronghold juddering. Splinters of rock pattered down onto the wall. The ship that had loosed that stone was positioned opposite the tower on a wave of water-magic. Ebon could make out the faces of the archers on its decks, see three warriors heave another rock into its catapult’s cup. Beyond, the fleet of stone-skin ships stretched out in two lines along the length of the wall. A vessel beyond the Buck Tower had secured lines to the parapet so the foe on board could cross to the wall. No one was making the traverse now, though.