by R. T. Kaelin
Nikalys nodded, his fingers still kneading his eyes.
“That we are.”
“At least you got them here. That’s what matters.”
Nikalys sighed, dropped his hand from his face, and said, “Actually, Wren deserves more credit than me. He understands the way thorn think.”
Surprised, Jak said, “So then he behaved himself?”
Nikalys shook his head.
“Gods, no. He was still incredibly rude and obnoxious, but the results speak for themselves. Ten thorn, twenty mages, and almost four hundred warriors.”
Jak tried not to show his disappointment at the small number.
“Only four hundred?”
“Word is still spreading through the Provinces about their new-found freedom. The four hundred here are those who had reached Buhaylunsod before we were ready to leave.”
“Are more coming?”
Nikalys gave a tiny shake of his head.
“Not today.”
With a quick sigh, Jak muttered, “Well, then…”
They still had no idea what sort of numbers they would be facing. The counts brought by scouts varied wildly, estimating the Sudashian force to be between six and seventy thousand. Jak did not understand how there could be such a large discrepancy and prayed the lower numbers were the correct ones. Only twelve thousand soldiers stood on Demetus’ walls.
Nikalys asked, “Any movement out there?”
Shaking his head, Jak said, “No, nothing.” He paused a moment before clarifying, “Well, we haven’t seen anything. That fog is like cheese soup.”
“Heard anything?
“I certainly haven’t,” answered Jak. “And so far, neither has the mongrel.”
Nikalys’ eyebrows drew together.
“Okollu?”
Nodding, Jak said, “Rhohn convinced it to leave those blasted stones and help keep watch through the night. Surprisingly, Broedi agreed to let it out.” Nodding toward the northern doorway, he added. “It’s a few towers that way.”
“‘He,’ Jak,” corrected Nikalys. “Okollu is a ‘he,’ not an ‘it.’ And they are called kur-surus, not mongrels.”
For reasons Jak did not fully understand, Nikalys had treated Okollu with complete respect the moment he met the mongrel.
“Regardless, he is to alert us if he hears anything.”
Nodding his approval, Nikalys said, “A good plan.”
“Are you sure about that? Gods, Nik. We’re putting our fate in the hands—or is it paws?—of a blasted mongrel!”
Nikalys looked over, his eyebrows arched in disapproval.
Shaking his head, Jak said, “Pardon me. ‘Kur-surus.’ Whatever name I call him by does not change the fact we’re relying on him.”
“Do you believe his story?”
Jak hesitated a moment before answering somewhat reluctantly.
“Well…yes.”
“As do I,” said Nikalys, his voice resolute. “And in this fight, we need any and every ally we can find. Even the ones covered in fur and with jaws like a smith’s vice. Try to set aside your prejudice, Jak, and offer a prayer of thanks that Okollu is not only on our side, but that he’s up on that wall, listening for our enemy.”
Jak blinked twice, stunned by the short speech and suddenly seeing his brother in a new light. Nikalys was no longer the boy he used to chase through the streets of Yellow Mud or dunk in Lake Hawthorne. Jak shook his head in quiet awe, suddenly very proud of his little brother.
“Gods, but you grew up fast.”
“What other choice did I have?” asked Nikalys. Standing tall, he crossed his arms over his chest and peered hard at Jak. “Now, out with whatever you have to tell me. Broedi said it was important. Nothing happened to Kenders, did it? She didn’t run off to the Northlands while I was gone?”
Wearing a slight smile, Jak gave a quick shake of his head.
“No, she’s fine. And still here.”
“Good. That’s the first thing I think of whenever someone says they need to talk to me now.”
A dry chuckle slipped from Jak as he said, “I know what you mean.”
“What is it then?” asked Nikalys, glancing out the northern door. “I would like to check on things before sunrise.”
Jak had been thinking about what to say to Nikalys ever since Broedi had returned from the enclave last night. Every possible approach he had thought up seemed wrong in one fashion or another. With the moment here and nothing prepared, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and spoke.
“Sabine’s here.”
For a heartbeat or two, Nikalys stood motionless, his face blank, before he managed to get out a single, surprised word.
“Pardon?”
Jak motioned to the stairwell that led to the streets below.
“You might want to sit down.”
Nikalys did not move.
“Did something happen to Helene?”
Jak shook his head quickly, saying, “No, she’s safely at Storm Island. Apparently, Lady Vivienne is watching her herself.” He offered a smile and forced a small chuckle. “Heh. Can you imagine that?”
“Now is not the time to jest.”
Jak’s fake smile fell away.
“No, I suppose it’s not.”
“Now, why is Sabine here?” pressed Nikalys. His tone turned suspicious. “Have you spoken with her?”
Even though Jak had never said a word to Nikalys about his feelings for Sabine, he was sure Nikalys knew the truth. Just as Jak knew of Nikalys’ feelings. Last night, after the stunning revelation of Sabine and Helene’s true heritage, Jak had confided in Kenders his dilemma and was rewarded with a bemused grin and the knowledge that everyone at the enclave apparently knew about the confused situation between the three of them. Kenders called it “the worst-kept secret in the southern duchies.”
This conversation was not about that, though. Their personal feelings for Sabine were secondary to what Jak needed to share. Eying his brother carefully, he said, “Tell me everything you know about Sabine’s mother.”
Nikalys’ eyebrows drew together.
“And how is that important now?”
A quick and mirthless laugh slipped from Jak.
“That’s funny. That was the same thing I said…”
As quickly as he could, Jak recounted his surprising, late night meeting in the Sovereign’s Chamber with Broedi, Kenders, and Sabine, watching Nikalys go through the same series of emotions he had. Confusion at first, followed quickly by disbelief, and then quiet denial. At that point, though, Nikalys broke from Jak’s progression. Whereas Jak had felt a hint of melancholy over the revelation, Nikalys’ expression revealed something different.
Hope.
To Jak, the reason for his brother’s reaction was clear. Sabine and Nikalys shared something only two other souls in all of Terrene had. He tried not to feel disappointment, telling himself he had more important things about which to worry, but he must have failed in keeping the emotion from his face. With sympathy in his eyes, Nikalys stepped forward, reached out to grab Jak’s shoulder, and opened his mouth as if to speak. He remained that way a moment before shutting it again. He started and stopped thrice more before closing it for good and letting out a soft chuckle.
“I just helped negotiate an agreement between buhanik and the hillmen they enslaved, I’m about to march into battle against demons and Gods, and yet I cannot talk to my brother about one woman?”
Jak almost did not want to smile, but he could not stop the slight grin from spreading over his face.
“You’ve never had a way with girls, have you?”
Nikalys shook his head, wearing a lopsided smile of his own.
“And you’ve always been the flatterer, haven’t you?”
With a playful shrug, Jak said, “Mother always said I got my charm from Father.”
Nikalys’ smile froze in place before fading quickly. Jak’s followed. The Isaac brothers stared at one another in silence and, for too brief a moment,
were reminded of a time when their lives made sense.
“I miss them, Jak.”
Jak nodded slowly, murmuring, “Me, too.” He patted his brother’s shoulder twice. “They’d be proud of you, Nik. The Gods know I am.”
With arched eyebrows, Nikalys said with quiet surprise, “Me? Hells, Jak, look at you.” He pointed to the white circle sewn on Jak’s right shoulder. “Or should I say, Corporal Isaac?”
“I can’t let my little brother outshine me, can I?”
Enjoying the moment, they shared a smile. There had been too few lately. For a moment, Jak almost forgot they were standing on the walls of a city soon to be under siege.
That was when the howling started.
Chapter 55: Stone
The baying rose from the fog, cascaded over the walls, and drifted through the city streets. Rhohn managed to suppress the shudder the howls brought, but most of the soldiers nearby did not. Looking back to his command, he saw most of the men with hands on hilt. Some had even begun to draw their blades from their scabbards.
“Hold!” called Rhohn. “Unless they can fly, there’s no need for that. Let your blades sleep a little while longer.”
His Dust Men complied, albeit slowly. Turning back around, he sighed, wondering how many men on these walls besides him had heard the cry of a kur-surus before now. He doubted he would need more than his two hands—eight fingers—to count them.
Leaning forward, Rhohn looked over the edge of the bastion tower, staring north and south to study the walls in both directions. Half the Reed Men soldiers were peering into the mist, listening to the howls, while the other half were staring upward, glaring in Rhohn’s direction, the distrust on their faces so clear that a blind man could see it. The moment Rhohn caught their eyes, they turned their heads back to the west.
Sighing, Rhohn glanced to his left and the subject of the soldiers’ wariness. Okollu stood beside him, his eyes bright and alert and his ears twitching in all directions. He was draped in the brand new cloak Duke Rholeb had given him days ago when Okollu’s presence had been revealed to the combined armies. Hoping to dampen some of the expected ire of the soldiers, the duke declared Okollu a ‘Friend to the Marshlands’ and bestowed upon him the dark green linen cloak, the back of which was emblazoned with the stitched white mark of the Marshlands: a four-leafed reed plant encompassed by a circle.
The cloak’s hood was down, revealing Okollu’s brown and white head for all to see. When Okollu arrived at the walls earlier, accompanied by Commander Aiden himself, the commander had made it abundantly clear that no one was to harm the kur-surus. So far, the men had complied in action if not in spirit of the order. Throughout the night, countless narrowed-eye stares or murmured curses had been directed at the kur-surus. To Okollu’s credit, he ignored it all.
The tumultuous howling faded for a moment before shifting into quick, isolated yaps and barks. Facing forward, Rhohn peered into the thick fog below, searching for movement.
“I wish I could see something. Anything at all.”
On his right, Kenders murmured, “We will remedy that shortly.”
Glancing to his right, he muttered, “You will ‘remedy’ that?”
The fair easterner wore a simple, drab brown tunic, women’s breeches, and a black and white Shadow Mane cloak. She looked over at him and gave him a tiny smile.
“Fog is but water and air, Rhohn.”
The Dust Man shook his head.
“That means nothing to me.”
Kenders’ grin widened a fraction.
“Two types of Strands are Water and Air.”
Nodding slowly, he muttered, “Ah, I see.” He stared back into the mist, a frown on his face. “Magic.” He tried hard to keep the disgust from his voice. Kenders was an important soul, one deserving of his respect. But he could not help himself. She was a mage.
If he offended her, however, she did not show it. With a quiet, bemused chuckle, she said, “Yes, Rhohn. Horrible, evil, rotten magic.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see.”
Rhohn’s frown deepened.
“Why are you waiting?”
“We do not want to show our hand too soon.”
Rhohn glanced back to Kenders and said, “How is that showing your hand?”
Khin, standing on the other side of Kenders, spoke in a soft, measured tone.
“Their mages will feel us weave.”
Rhohn glanced between Kenders and Khin, opened his mouth to ask another question, but shut it a moment later. Looking back to the west, he said, “Now I understand.”
Sabine, the raven-haired woman standing beyond Khin, leaned forward to stare at him.
“Do you? Truly?”
“No,” said Rhohn with a shake of his head. “But as I don’t much like magic and have no desire to learn about it, let’s just say I do.”
Beyond Okollu, Tobias said, “I’ll be sure to give you a lesson after—”
“Blestem argel!” growled Okollu, soft and low. “If you all do not stop talking, I will miss their calls! Now, quiet!”
The top of the tower went silent as the group standing with Okollu watched the kur-surus listen. With each burst of howls and barks—some from the north, some from the south—Okollu would tilt his head and twitch his ears.
Suddenly, with one last bark, the cries went silent. Okollu spoke immediately, growling, “Three kur-surus packs advance. Two from there—” he lifted a fur-covered arm and pointed northwest “—and one from there.” He swung his arm to indicate the southwest. Waving it along the wall, he added, “Four tribes of grayskins march between them.” Dropping his arm, he snarled, “Each is led by a diavol.”
Sabine leaned forward to stare at Okollu.
“Diavol?”
Okollu did not answer. His eyes were alert and angry, his teeth bared, his nostrils twitching. Something was bothering him. When it was apparent Okollu was not going to clarify, Rhohn did.
“It means demon.”
Sabine nodded once.
“Good to know.”
Khin turned his blue-eyed gaze to Okollu and asked, “How many in each group?”
Okollu continued staring into the fog, oblivious to the query. After a few moments, Tobias asked the question a second time and with more urgency than the aicenai.
“Okollu! How many?”
The kur-surus whipped his head around to peer down at the tomble.
“I do not know exactly, little smooth-face. More than a thousand, but less than two. All on foot.”
“That makes no sense,” muttered Kenders. “At most, they have fourteen thousand.”
Equally confused, Rhohn wondered aloud, “They’re going to assault a walled city on foot? With those numbers?” Looking to Okollu, he asked, “Any siege machines?”
Okollu shook his muzzle.
“They do not use siege machines.”
“Blast!” hissed Tobias. His eyes wide, the tomble pivoted about his walking stick to face the four Shadow Mane soldiers standing on the tower with them. “One of you run north along the wall, the other south. Tell every Stone Mage we have to do nothing but focus on Strands of Stone. The moment they sense it, unravel the Weave. Do you understand?!”
Two of the men nodded firmly and immediately hurried in opposite directions, heading down the exterior stairs of the bastion tower, swords rattling as they rushed.
Tobias called, “Run like you’re being chased by a blasted demon!”
As both men disappeared below the tower’s sides, Rhohn looked down to the tomble.
“What is that about?”
Tobias ignored him, faced west, and pressed his chest against the wall. In a firm, forceful tone, he said “Khin, Kenders, the same goes for you. If you feel Stone, get rid of it at once!”
Khin replied softly, “Understood.”
“Me, too,” murmured Kenders.
Baffled, Rhohn eyed the pair. Whereas Khin appeared calm and collected, the pretty easterner looke
d worried.
“What is going on?”
Without looking over Khin answered, “We are to keep the walls together.”
Hoping he had not heard correctly, Rhohn asked, “What does that mean? ‘Keep the walls together?!’”
Apparently deeming that question worthy of an answer, Tobias looked up at him and said, “The only reason they might attack with such a small force is if they thought they could breach the walls with ease.”
Rhohn scanned into the soupy mist below.
“But they don’t have siege machines.”
In a voice that rivaled Khin’s for its calmness, Sabine said, “Mages do not need siege machines, Rhohn.” She was casually rolling the shaft of a red-fletched arrow between her fingers, appearing as though she were waiting for a friend at market, not standing atop a wall about to be assaulted by Sudashians. “Kenders turned a wall of my family’s cottage into sand.”
Okollu growled, “And I have seen boulders fly through the sky.”
Kenders muttered, “I’ve sent boulders flying through the sky.”
Rhohn blinked, suddenly understanding. The confidence he had standing atop the sturdy walls of Demetus drained from him like water from an overturned cup.
“Oh.”
Okollu sneered, “Nedabiks ir lanums lidzeklis.”
Kenders and Sabine turned to Rhohn, apparently expecting him to translate. He held their gaze a moment before shrugging his shoulders.
“I only met him a few turns ago. I recognized ‘nedabiks.’ Magic, I think.”
Khin said slowly, “Magic is the tool of cowards.”
Okollu turned to glare at the aicenai and let out a short, gruff puff of air.
“You speak our tongue?”
“I understand it, I do not speak it. I doubt I could.”
Okollu huffed and faced forward. Rhohn eyed the kur-surus carefully. Okollu seemed extraordinarily agitated.
“You are partially correct, Okollu,” said Tobias. “Magic is a tool. Brave souls can wield it as well as cowardly ones.”
“All nedabiks is evil,” snapped the kur-surus.
“No absolute is absolute,” replied the tomble.
Glaring at Tobias, Okollu barked, “I have yet to see anything good come from a ‘mage,’ little smooth-face.”