The river was nearly a mile across and the current powerful, unbeatable as it dragged her along, and it was all she could do to keep her head above water, kicking hard. She breathed in water and choked; she heard someone calling her name, her mind thrown back to the time she’d fallen out of her Da’s boat on the lake. Or had Madoc pushed her? She couldn’t remember.
She was in the centre of the river now, far from the harbour, and Rilporin was looming large above her, its shadow lying chill in the water. Rillirin struck out for the city, fighting the drag of her boots and jerkin and desperate to get out of the path of the oncoming ships.
There was another grinding crash and shouts, screams from behind. She looked over her shoulder and saw two more ships collide, men and women thrown overboard with the impact, flames dancing on the river.
She concentrated on swimming, not fighting across the current but going diagonally with it, the city looming closer until, after what felt like hours, her feet scraped the riverbed and she struggled towards the shallows, her back a stiff board of agony and the chill settling deep in her bones.
Sobbing for breath, Rillirin fell on to her face with the water still lapping at her legs and then rolled on to her side and stared up. The wall loomed huge and grey and implacable above her. She was on the wrong side of the river, and only the steepness of the bank hid her from the Mireces a few hundred strides away.
Rillirin lay in the shadow of the city, teeth chattering and trying to summon the nerve to raise her head. She was about a hundred strides out from the stump wall, the end of which had once jutted right to the water’s edge, protecting the bridge and the gate behind it, but now was a twisted, tumbled pile of rubble.
All right then, climb over the rubble and head inside with the others. I can do that. She squinted at the far bank, pulling wet hair from her face. Boats were being smashed to splinters by the trebuchet, others were fully engulfed in flames, and the last stragglers, limping and alight, were heading into the harbour. Smoke drifted along the surface of the river like autumn mist, hiding the city from her, and her from the city.
Go. Now, before they close the gate. Go.
She’d got her legs under her when the pounding of feet and shouted curses, pleas for mercy, thudding of flesh on flesh wrenched her head around on her neck. A dozen men and women had made it to shore from a capsized ship and were in a desperate fight against the Mireces. The odds were insurmountable, and the Raiders weren’t slaughtering them where they stood either. They were clubbing them on to their knees and tying their hands. Taking them prisoner.
Rillirin’s breath stopped in her throat. Sacrifices. For one mad second she thought about trying to rescue them, but then a Mireces was looking along the bank towards her and she flattened herself to the sandy mud. He came forward a few steps, and then his gaze slid on.
As soon as he looked away, Rillirin pushed herself slowly back down into the water until only her head and shoulders were on the bank. Face turned to the Mireces, she half closed her eyes and let herself go limp. There were enough corpses drifting on the river and bumping along the shore that if she stayed still for long enough, she’d be safe.
What she’d do after that was another matter. Gritting her teeth to stop them chattering, she focused on the rise and fall of her legs in the current and tried not to flinch as the trebuchet launched a rock towards the stump wall. It whined overhead and smashed into the dressed stone. Rillirin wondered how long the engineers would stay with the engine. She couldn’t move until they left. If they left.
And then what? Walk up to the gate and ask to be let in? I’ll get an arrow in the eye.
The chill was more than just the water and the city’s shadow now. Rilporin’s defenders wouldn’t let her in; she was a nobody to them and, even worse, she sounded Mireces. She was trapped outside the city with only enemies around her. She swallowed a surge of nausea.
Rillirin was on her own.
MACE
Fourth moon, morning, day thirty-two of the siege
Merchants’ quarter, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
When the last of the survivors were in and it was just the Palace Rank archers on the bridge providing support, Mace hurried through the South Gate and into the merchants’ quarter of First Circle, deserted but for his men and the Wolves standing, sitting and lying on the road. The city was bright with noise, the shouts of Rankers and the thrum of bowstrings from above, the irregular thump and scream of the catapult and the reply of the trebuchet. And a distant roar that must be the western wall.
Mace sank on to his haunches and contemplated the dust and his battered, ruined boots. His stomach was pinched with tension and hunger and he dry heaved a few times, waiting for the shakes to dissipate.
Thousands dead. But thousands more alive, remember that. No one could’ve done more than we did.
Yes, they could’ve. I could’ve.
‘Mace? Mace, Rillirin fell overboard. I want to go and—’
Mace stood and cut off Dalli’s words with a hug that squeezed the breath from her. ‘No,’ he said fiercely. ‘Not a shitting chance. You are not setting foot outside these walls. Hundreds went overboard. She’ll either have been swept past the city by now, or taken by the Mireces. I’m sorry, she’s lost.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Dalli said, her voice rough and fists clenched on his chest plate. ‘She was helping me …’ She looked dazed, like she’d taken a blow to the head.
‘She’s gone, love. I’m so sorry.’
A hundred of the king’s Personal Guards clattered around a bend in the road and Mace choked on a sob when he saw Durdil at their head; he staggered forward into his father’s arms with the desperate abandon of a small boy who’d thought himself lost.
‘You’re alive,’ Durdil whispered fiercely as he hugged his son, tears in his eyes. ‘I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be dead. Too bastard stubborn for a start, too good a soldier for a second.’
Mace could’ve stayed in that embrace for the rest of the day, but he had a Rank to see to. Reluctantly he pulled away, scrubbing his filthy sleeve over his grimy face. He found a smile.
‘Thanks for the assist at the gate,’ he said. ‘It was getting a little hot out there and not just because we set fire to your harbour.’
‘Would’ve been a lot hotter if we hadn’t cleared out the Mireces camp they’d set up out of bowshot to try and bottle us up in here.’ Durdil grinned wolfishly.
‘Commander, the Mireces have renewed their assault on Double First, and Second Last is still under sustained artillery fire. You shouldn’t be this close to the action.’
‘I’m at the other side of the city,’ Durdil grumbled and then ignored the speaker. ‘Rastoth is dead. I’d thought to keep it from the city to sustain morale, but the godsdamned council stabbed me in the back and flew the scarlet against my express orders. I fear they’re deliberately trying to undermine me.’
Mace tapped his fingertips to his heart. ‘Poor Rastoth. Still, at least he’s in the Light now. I have to say I’m glad for it. He’d suffered too long.’
‘He suffered a lot more when Rivil stabbed him in the chest as he fled the city,’ Durdil growled, and Mace nearly choked on his own tongue. ‘I’ll tell you everything later. It’s done, and, predictably, the city’s a tinderbox now the news is out. But get everyone to the hospitals – I’ve put them on alert to expect you – and get some rest and food. You’re to be barracked in the palace; we’ve no room anywhere else. Take what you need from the armoury, but not yet. Hospital, then the palace. Healing, food and a brief rest. I need to know how many men you have. Get your junior officers to keep them moving and if you have any that are able to fight immediately, direct them to Colonel Edris. He has command of Double First.’ He pointed down the road. ‘But I need you and as many of your senior command as you can find with me, now. We’ll have a good enough view from First Bastion and you can rest afterwards.’
‘Of course.’ Mace looked around. ‘Dorcas, Carter, Tailo
rson. Chief Broadsword, Dalli. With me please. Is Captain Salter here? Salter, you’ve served here before, know your way around. Direct any able bodies to Edris and then lead the wounded to the hospitals. We’ll meet you there soon. Dismissed.’
The officers signalled and the ragged army snapped to attention, saluted, and then marched for the gate into Second Circle and the hospitals, the Wolves trailing after, too exhausted to pay much attention to their surroundings.
Durdil led Mace to the base of First Bastion, then up and around the spiral stairs to the allure, Mace’s knees twinging and exhaustion gnawing deep at his bones. He shoved it aside. For Durdil to need them immediately, the situation had to be worse than it’d looked from outside.
And it looked pretty fucking dire from where I was standing.
The Personals pushed respectfully past and cleared the door before they allowed Durdil and, Mace realised, himself, out into danger.
‘Where did the Mireces get a trebuchet?’ he asked, the question having niggled ever since they’d spotted it from the river. He’d a growing feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.
This part of the wall was clear of the enemy, so Durdil stood between two merlons and gestured. ‘That should answer your question.’
Mace squinted down at the field, and then squinted some more. His stomach dropped at the sight. ‘Is that …?’
‘The East Rank, yes,’ Durdil said in a blank voice. ‘Converted to the last man, allied with Rivil and the Mireces. Five thousand highly trained soldiers with ladders and siege engines. Nearly ten thousand probing our walls all told. Or were at the start of the siege, anyway. Another reason we’re glad to have you.’
Mace could feel the exhausted disbelief battering against him from the men and women assembled behind. To have faced everything they had, only to discover their own were against them. ‘We have twenty-one hundred Rankers and, Chief, your Wolves?’ Lim was silent, his knuckles white on the stone as he gazed down at the Mireces and the East Rank. ‘Lim, how many Wolves are left?’
‘Six hundred and thirty-two,’ Dalli said when Lim didn’t so much as blink. ‘Another hundred or so we left behind in the ruins of Watchtown, half that at Yew Cove who were too badly injured to make the journey here. Not that the ones we left behind matter to you.’ Her voice was suddenly bitter.
‘Thank you, Dalli,’ Mace said. ‘Every life matters, to all of us.’ He leant back on the wall before she could say anything more. ‘Just under three thousand in total then. And yours?’
‘General Hadir of the South sent two Thousands, plus the Palace Rank and Personal Guards. All told, there’re probably four thousand of us left still able to fight. And there’s still no word from the North. Whatever’s happened there, we’re no longer counting on their aid.’
‘Surely the South Rank can spare us more than two Thousands?’ Mace demanded. ‘We fucking brought everyone who can still stand.’
‘I could order them here, but as it stands the rest of the South Rank is the only fighting force we have left. They’re it, they’re all we have, and we must keep them in reserve. I won’t lie,’ Durdil said, looking them each in the eye in turn, ‘it’s desperate. But you’ve done more than bolster our numbers. You’ve boosted our morale. You survived to come all the way here and fight with us, for us. The Rankers and citizenry will take heart from it. You should too.’
He grinned and a score of years lifted from his face and Mace remembered why men fought and died for Durdil Koridam. He felt the same lifting of his spirits they did, saw it reflected on the faces of his officers; even Lim’s expression lightened a little.
‘We wear them down, winnow away at their numbers – they must be running out of food because gods know we are – and then when they’re desperate and filthy and starving, when disease is rife among them, we march out and slaughter them. For now, you’ll be used to plug gaps in the line, starting at midnight the day after tomorrow. I can’t give you any more time than that, I’m afraid, though anyone who finds themselves at a loose end before that will be more than welcome on the defences or as a runner. The wall by Last Bastion is weak and Rivil knows it – he’s been throwing rocks at it ever since the East arrived. Latest report is they’ll have the southern stump wall down in the next couple of days, so we can expect a strong push there as well.’
‘And the Red Gods?’ a voice asked and Mace looked at Crys. ‘Dom told us that if we killed too many Mireces, we would tear the veil and the gods would return. Has it happened? How do we find out?’
Durdil sidled closer to Mace. ‘Dom? Veil?’
Mace closed his eyes for a second. ‘It appears the Wolves’ calestar, the chief’s adopted brother Dom and a fine warrior, has foreseen that if enough blood is shed, it will allow the Red Gods back into Gilgoras. I know, I know’ – he held up his hand before Durdil could say anything – ‘but Dom … saw Watchtown’s destruction. By the time we got there, it had happened. He knew Corvus wasn’t really heading for the West Forts. I don’t know how, but he did. We acted on that information and it was correct.’
Durdil found a smile for them. ‘I’m afraid we cannot prosecute a war without spilling blood, and we certainly cannot successfully defend this city without doing so. I will speak with the high priests in the temple district and ask them to pray for the veil.’ He waved a hand vaguely. ‘But we cannot develop a sound strategy that is based on the possibility that what we do may or may not result in a mystical visitation of the gods.’
‘With the number of lives that have already been lost,’ Mace said when Crys and Dalli both looked as though they were about to argue, ‘I can’t believe the veil isn’t already torn. And if it is, then winning this war is even more important. And while we’ve been through the Red Gods’ own hell these last few weeks, we’re not done yet. We came here to do our duty and aid our brothers in arms; let’s focus on that. Even if we knew the veil was about to tear, would we surrender to try and prevent it?’
Heads were shaken; fists tightened on weapons.
‘Then let’s concentrate on winning.’
There were grudging acknowledgments as he looked them over one last time. Carter was bloody and sagging, absolutely spent and too proud to admit it, but she gave him a nod when he met her eyes, and something that might have been a smile. Dorcas’s single eye blazed with a righteous fury that Mace had never seen before. Lim didn’t glance his way, but Crys gave him a half-shrug of acceptance.
Dalli’s eyes were red-rimmed and her fists clenched at her chest, fierce as a wildcat, more buoyed by his words than she had any right to be. Whatever room she was assigned to later, he planned on finding it. No energy for anything but sleep, but he’d a feeling he’d do it better wrapped around that hard little body than he would alone.
He dismissed them, returning their salutes, and stared back out over the wall again, watching the flight of a stone from the trebuchet to his right. Once they were alone except for the Personals, Mace fumbled at his belt and unbuckled the scabbard. He dropped to one knee and held the sword out, willing his arms not to tremble.
‘Commander, this is the heir’s sword. It needs a clean and I’m afraid I’ve had to use it, but you should have it until a new king can be found.’
Durdil snorted and clapped him on the back, ‘I can’t think of anyone who deserves to wear it – and use it – more than you. When this is over, you can take it to King Tresh at Highcrop. He’ll decide what’s done with it. Until then, if it has served you well, then I trust it will continue to do so.’ He winked. ‘Of course, should Tresh decline the throne, I can’t think of anyone better to take it on than you. Your Major Carter wanted me to have it at one point. I turned her down, of course, but you? Yes, I think you’d fit that chair very well.’
Mace stayed on one knee, his mind a fizzing blank of incredulity. ‘Wha’?’ he managed.
Durdil chuckled, a weary, disbelieving bubble of noise. ‘Large ideas for another day, son. Don’t worry on them now. Besides, we could all be dead by dusk.’
Mace wobbled to his feet and buckled on the sword with numb fingers. ‘Sounds better than being king,’ he muttered, reaching for his scattered thoughts among the hot fuzzy blanket of fatigue.
Durdil sighed. ‘Now I know you’re my son. Only good thing to come of Rastoth’s death was that I got control of the Personal Guards and threw them straight into the defence. Though, of course, now I’ve got a bunch of the clattering idiots following me around. In the absence of a king, they’ve decided I’m their new priority, and apparently if I fall, so does the city. Sheer nonsense, of course.’
One of the clattering idiots stepped forward and saluted. ‘General, my name is Cobbler, sir. Please, please can you convince your father that he mustn’t put himself in harm’s way? If we were to lose him so soon after King Rastoth, it would be a crushing blow to morale.’
Mace and Durdil exchanged glances.
‘This is Commander Durdil Koridam of His Majesty’s Ranks, soldier. Tell me, have you ever known your Commander to do anything but put himself in harm’s way for the greater good?’ Mace patted a steel-clad shoulder as Cobbler’s face fell. ‘That’s what my father does, it’s who he is, and I have no doubt morale is the greater for seeing him fight alongside his men. However, I agree that it would be a catastrophe to lose him, so it’s up to you to keep him safe, all right? On the wall and off it. If you don’t, we’re all fucked.
‘And now, I’m going to hospital and then to bed. Wake me up if they make it over the wall. Anything else, I don’t even want to know.’
RILLIRIN
Fourth moon, eighteenth year of the reign of King Rastoth
River Gil, outside Rilporin, Wheat Lands
After nine years in the mountains, Rillirin had thought herself used to the cold, but the river’s slow sucking at her legs in the shadow of the city as the sun rose, crested and tumbled away the day proved her wrong.
As the hours slipped by with the water, she eased herself further up the bank until only one foot rested in the shallows, and then she lay in her wet clothes, sprawled out like a corpse when she wanted to curl for warmth, and she waited. And shivered, mind drifting on the cold tides of her breath, hazy half-dreams wispy as gossamer, soft as sunlight. She sucked water from her sodden sleeve to ease her thirst, and she waited.
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