Vixa had lost track of Gundabyr. A Dargonesti rushed her. She ducked under his sword arm, turned, and kicked his legs out from under him. Because of their height and unfamiliarity with dry land, the sea elves were somewhat clumsy. Their reflexes and balance were both affected.
She picked up the fallen sea elf’s sword. It was a sailor’s cutlass, streaked with rust. Just the thing for a mad melee like this! Yelling her war cry of family names, Vixa tore into the Dargonesti who were just getting off their scaling ladder. She slew one before he had time to defend himself, then felt a slash across her back. Her steel cuirass saved her life, but the end of the blade caught her shoulder. Stinging blood poured from her wound as she turned, seeing that the Dargonesti who’d struck her was still standing with his sword upraised. Before she could counter, he crumpled, an arrow sticking out of his back.
No order existed anywhere along the embattled wall. Unable to call upon their powerful mages, the Silvanesti were forced to deal with their foe in a primitive manner: they had set up siege engines on the flanking towers. These raked the scaling ladders with lead missiles and fist-sized stones. The flow of Dargonesti was nearly choked off.
Vixa got her bloodied back against the rear of the parapet so no one else could strike her from behind. The fight had lessened in intensity as the number of able warriors on both sides diminished. Panting for air, the Qualinesti princess scanned the scene. Something white caught her eye. She wiped sweat from her eyes, bringing the image into focus. It was a helmet decorated with shells and gemstones.
Coryphene.
“Hai! Ambrodel! Kanan!” Her war cries were lost in the general uproar. Vixa dashed back into the press, slashing right and left to clear a path. She bored through the disorganized battle until she was only a few paces from the helmeted figure.
“Coryphene!” she screamed.
He turned. “Princess! You did not die at Thonbec?”
“Stupid question!” She sprang forward, aiming a cut at his face. He parried it deftly. “You’ve lost, Coryphene! Everything!”
“The whine of the defeated!” Quick as lightning, he counterattacked. He moved with astonishing speed, though he didn’t reach her. Vixa edged toward the parapet on the city side of the wall and presented a formal fighting stance. Under his elaborately decorated helmet, Coryphene smiled.
“You are a brave fighter. I’m glad you escaped,” he said, saluting with his blade. Her blade, she fumed silently.
Vixa hissed, “My friends and the other slaves were not so fortunate!” The cutlass she held had a sharply curved blade, no good at all for thrusting. He held her off without even shifting his feet. “You murdered them,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Only the weak,” he replied coolly. He disengaged his blade from hers in a nimble riposte. His sword whispered close enough to her throat to leave a hairline cut. He laughed.
Fate, in the form of a Silvanesti catapult, played a hand in their duel. Catapulters on the more southern tower had aimed their engine and flung two hundred pounds of lead weights at the Dargonesti ladders still standing. The sea elves were trying to carry firelances to the battlement. The catapult missiles smashed the ladders and set the firelances crashing to the ground. Fire exploded among the ruined ladders and wounded Dargonesti.
A great gout of flame soared up behind Coryphene. The heat singed him, and he leapt to one side to avoid being burnt. Taking the advantage, Vixa took her cutlass in both hands and swung. The rude iron blade bit through his shell armor and into the flesh of his left arm.
With a howl, Coryphene dropped his sword and flung his right hand out. There was a flash, bright as the noonday sun, and Vixa found herself falling over the wall. One thought filled her astonished brain: I didn’t know he could do that!
Expecting to die on the paving stones of the street, Vixa felt herself hit, not hard marble, but a sloping roof. Breath whooshed from her lungs, and she rolled wildly down the incline. Then she was falling once more. Cold water slapped her back, and she was sinking. She fought her way to the surface, gasping for air. Hands seized her. She would’ve fought them as well, but had no strength left for the struggle. The hands dragged her out of the water.
She had landed in a fountain. The hands that held her belonged to two wide-eyed Silvanesti soldiers who’d been bathing their wounds in the fountain’s pool. They hoisted her to the side of the pool and stood by, regarding her with awe.
“That was-that was amazing!” one of them breathed. “You fell forty feet to that rooftop, rolled down, and dropped another twenty feet straight into the fountain!”
The Qualinesti princess tried to stand. Her legs buckled, and she fell, knocking her head against the rim of the fountain. The warriors, still with awestruck expressions, obligingly hauled her up again. The Qualinesti princess sat on the cold green stone of the pool rim, holding her throbbing head and groaning at the pain of her cut shoulder.
The blaze started by the gnomefire spread rapidly among the docks. The Dargonesti reeled away from the searing heat. The Silvanesti closed in on those remaining atop the wall.
Coryphene rallied his fighters, with Dargonesti fighting on two fronts, toward each of the guard towers. The Protector shouted encouragement, but even as the more powerful Dargonesti were pressing the Silvanesti back, the elves in the towers readjusted their siege machines to bear along the wall.
Whomp! A boulder flew in a high arc over the Silvanesti fighters and crashed down among the Dargonesti. For the first time since gaining the wall, they wavered. Coryphene commanded them to capture the catapult, but the mass of Silvanesti between them and the machine was a powerful dissuasion. The catapult hurled a second stone, which bounced along the parapet, wreaking fearful havoc among the closely packed ranks of Dargonesti.
At this juncture, a lone figure appeared on the roof of the southern tower, climbing onto the stout timber frame of the catapult. Cupping his hands to his mouth, the Speaker of the Stars yelled, “What are you waiting for? Take them, my brave Silvanesti!” His gold-bordered white cape whipped back from his shoulders, and the Crown of Stars on his head flashed in the torchlight.
A screaming cheer rose from the throats of the Silvanesti elves. They drove forward on two sides. The enemy from the sea fought stubbornly, but couldn’t hold out against deadly boulders, masses of patriotic warriors, and the runaway fire that threatened them from below.
The surviving sea elves, including Coryphene, fled down the remaining ladders. Even that did not save all of them, for when the defenders regained control of the wall, they pushed the heavily laden ladders over, sending scores of Dargonesti into the flames below.
By the first hour after midnight, the battle was over. The western waterfront was a smoking ruin. Hundreds of elves on both sides were dead or wounded. Vixa worked her way through the clogged streets to the southern tower; she’d been told the Speaker was there. She climbed the steps to the roof to see the catapult that had turned the tide of battle. Its crew was gathered in a tight group, and she called out praise to them. The elves said nothing, but stood aside, revealing a terrible sight.
The Speaker of the Stars lay by the catapult, a spear in his side. The dark gray slate around him was stained red with his blood.
“Great Speaker!” Vixa exclaimed, rushing to him.
“Cousin,” he said weakly. “What luck, eh? The battle won, and I stop a javelin.”
The spear stuck out below the ribs on his left side. A healer was working feverishly over him, but the Speaker’s pale face was waxen from loss of blood.
“You must live, Majesty,” Vixa said, pressing his cold hand. “Victory will be yours in a few days!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he whispered. His eyes closed; his head lolled.
The young priestess pushed sweat-dampened hair from her face. “He will live,” she said tiredly. “He only sleeps from the potion I gave him, to spare him pain.”
Speaker Elendar was carried away on a litter to the temple of Quenesti Pah, goddes
s of healing. As the senior priestesses were still engaged in the great invocation to lower the Thon-Thalas, the younger healers would have to attend to him as best they could.
Vixa questioned the catapulters. “What happened? How did the Speaker of the Stars get wounded?”
The elves were in shock. One of them shook his head in bewilderment and tried to explain. “He climbed atop our machine to rally the warriors. As the last of the enemy was going down the wall, some of them cast spears at him. One struck.”
Vixa clapped the brave elf on the shoulder, then wearily made her way back to the palace.
Just a few more days, she told herself fiercely. Soon, Coryphene will have to know the river is falling. Already it was more than six feet below normal. The middle channel, the deepest part of the Thon-Thalas, now carried but fourteen feet of water.
Coryphene trudged into the river, heading away from the city. Most of his fighters had thrown themselves face first into the muddy water along the riverbank, so badly were their gills beset by smoke and heat. The Protector of Urione had too much dignity for that. He waded out some yards from shore and with great deliberation raised a handful of water to his face.
The battle was over, lost, but he did not despair. Somewhere on the miles-long perimeter of Silvanost there had to be a weak spot, a place not easily accessible to reinforcements or those infernal rock-throwing monsters. He would find that weak spot. He would find it for his queen.
He walked farther into the river and submerged himself. As the life-giving water flowed through his gills, Coryphene looked around at Silvanost. For the first time he noticed the condition of the city’s piers. Some of the shorter ones were surrounded by mud. The Protector of Urione frowned, bringing his head above water.
Queen Uriona had come forward from the deep channel, watching the survivors drift back, burned, dazed, gasping for water. Their suffering meant nothing to her. Only their failure was important. And where was Coryphene? She saw him now, standing there, staring as though dumbstruck.
“You live!” Uriona cried. Her relief was only momentary. Anger quickly displaced it. “You failed, Lord Protector! You are defeated!”
“Only in this battle, Divine One. The campaign is not over. Your Majesty must depart, however. There is great danger for you here.”
His words fueled her anger. “What danger? The drylanders cannot reach me here in the river. You said so yourself.”
“The river is shrinking,” he stated bluntly.
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. I know only that there is less water in the river than there was when we entered it. The level has declined during the battle and continues to dwindle even now.”
Uriona, standing hip-deep in the Thon-Thalas, stared at him. “Is this by natural means, or unnatural?”
“You would know better than I. Why don’t you ask your brother gods?” he said irritably. “I must see to my soldiers. There will be no more fighting this night.”
As he turned to leave, Uriona’s voice stopped him. “We cannot remain in the river if it dries up,” she said. “It is well I brought the Shades of Zura.”
The Protector turned back, his face drawing down into a frown. “The undead priests are not needed,” he insisted. “Once the army has rested for some hours, I intend to renew the attack by day.”
She looked at him as if he were demented. “But the sunlight! Our eyes cannot bear it!”
“My warriors can bear anything but defeat. The enemy thinks themselves safe during daylight. We will teach them otherwise. After dawn, I intend to throw the whole army against the western gate. It will be our final onslaught. We must carry the day or perish. In either case, Your Divinity must return to the sea. We cannot allow-I cannot allow-you to be trapped here, at any cost.”
Her expression softened. “What kind of goddess would I be if I abandoned my Protector at the hour of his glory? I shall remain.”
“Uriona-”
“Silence. My pavilion has been erected at the deepest point in the channel. I will be safe there. And with great Zura to aid our endeavors, I shall enter the city in triumph before the next sunset.”
To forestall further discussion, she left him and walked back to the depths of the river. Coryphene watched her go, the frown back on his face. Though an accomplished spell-caster, the Protector considered himself first a warrior, a soldier who preferred to win his battles by strength and cunning. However, he was also completely devoted to his queen. No matter his misgivings, he must bend himself to her divine will.
He called up his lieutenants and sent word to every company in his army to collect in the channel west of the city. The gathering of the Dargonesti was complete by sunrise, but since it took place underwater, no one in Silvanost had any inkling of it.
That morning, word of the Speaker’s grievous injury spread, casting a pall over the city. Despite their victory at the west wall, the Silvanesti had lost fully a third of their trained warriors. Barely two thousand fighters remained, though the ranks were being augmented by volunteers. These recruits were brave, but they were ill-matched against Coryphene’s veterans.
While Vixa slept, Gundabyr met with Marshal Samcadaris and other high-ranking Silvanesti officers. The marshal’s greatest fear was that the Dargonesti would launch serious attacks simultaneously at more than one point. He no longer had enough troops to cover multiple fronts.
“What about the levies?” asked the dwarf. “Shouldn’t they be close by now?”
“Some should. They were to gather at Ilist Glade,” said Samcadaris. “The levies from the nearer provinces should already be there.”
“Then let’s send word!”
“The city is surrounded,” objected a Silvanesti colonel named Eriscodera. “How can we get to the far shore without being attacked?”
“The blueskins don’t move during the day, remember? I say we send a small band across at high noon to find the waiting levies and bring them back, quicker than quicksilver.”
Samcadaris rubbed his pointed chin. “There is something in what Master Gundabyr proposes, only I would be even bolder than he. Go now, I say, and don’t wait for noon.”
He chose Colonel Eriscodera to lead the party. “Take twelve cavalry with you. Ride as though the Dragonqueen herself is after you, and bring back the levies that are already assembled.” He smote his thigh with his fist. “Make all the noise you want on your return. Let the Dargonesti think a mighty army is coming to terminate the siege of Silvanost!”
“May I go, too?” asked Gundabyr. “With this hurt wing of mine, I’m not much good in a fight, but I want to do whatever I can to stop the blueskins.”
“What do you say, Colonel?”
“An outlander riding with the cavalry of Silvanost?” said Eriscodera, eyeing the dwarf uncertainly. “I suppose it may serve to drive home how desperate things are.”
“Kind of you to say so,” Gundabyr remarked sourly.
“Master Gundabyr is brave and resourceful,” Samcadaris said. “And he knows the enemy better than any of us. I do you an honor, Colonel, by sending him with you.”
Eriscodera saluted smartly and departed with the dwarf. They went directly to the cavalry headquarters, Gundabyr not even taking time to have breakfast.
Chapter 23
By Sword and Spell
Ragged and bloodied, Vixa rested in a small chamber in the Quinari Palace. Once her shoulder had been bandaged, she simply found the nearest couch and dropped down on it. The Silvanesti quickly tired of whispering about her in the corridor. She slept, deeply and dreamlessly.
She awoke suddenly, sitting bolt upright on her couch. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but the sun was up, its rays slanting in the large windows on the palace’s east facade. All was silent. The usual sounds-servants’ soft voices, footsteps whispering on carpet-were absent. Yet, Vixa had the distinct impression she’d been awakened by a loud noise.
Slowly, her bandaged shoulder aching and stiff, Vixa got to her fe
et. Mud and blood had dried on her boots, flaking off with every step. She buckled on her borrowed sword and encountered no one as she walked through the sun-bright palace rooms. The audience hall was empty as well.
Where was everyone? she wondered. The streets outside the palace were vacant as well-not so much as a cat showed itself. The air fairly pulsed with power, the harnessed magic of the entire priesthood of Silvanost. It overlaid the city like a wooly blanket. And there was something more. A steady hum, like the sound of an enormous beehive, filled the air. It came from nowhere and everywhere. Vixa felt a pang of fear. She had to know what was happening.
She jogged away from the palace, toward Pine Tree Gate, which guarded the western entrance to the city. The humming grew louder, funneled through the high canyons of houses and towers. Disoriented, she made several wrong turns into dead-end streets, but the noise steadily increased as she made her way west.
In the square above Pine Tree Gate, Vixa ran smack into a mob of Silvanesti. They were ordinary folk, standing side by side and holding the hands of their neighbors. The elven chain looped back and forth through the square and disappeared down the many side streets. All the elves had their eyes closed, their lips parted slightly. They were humming.
“What is it?” Vixa demanded. “What’s happened?”
The elves did not answer, but held their places and hummed. Vixa grabbed the last one in line. As her hand closed around his arm, she felt a shock go through her. An image flashed across her mind’s eye: the Thon-Thalas, wrapped from shore to shore in dense, white cloud. The cloud billowed and roiled, and gray shapes stirred inside. Though vague, they were somehow threatening-
She yanked her hand free and staggered backward. Vixa knew immediately what she’d seen. Through the eyes of thousands of Silvanesti, the image of the cloud was vivid and terrifying. Coryphene, or Uriona, had summoned up the strange white fog that had first carried Evenstar away from land. But why? What would it do now? And why were the people of Silvanost behaving so oddly?
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