by Jim C. Hines
“Look to the left,” said Kas.
Redcaps jeered from the watchtower at the western edge of the dam. Thick ropes trailed down into the street. “That must be where Headstrong got in. They took control of the tower and lowered ropes on both sides of the wall.”
“Why keep launching them over in catapults, then?”
“Probably because the redcaps enjoy it,” guessed Winter.
Winter avoided Shroud’s barricade and began climbing. The bottom of the dam was little more than a hill of broken rock, deposited by years of flooding and digging. When she reached the point where the hill met the true base of the dam, she turned to check her pursuers.
From this height, roughly ten feet up, she could see redcaps and changed townsfolk closing in from all directions. The ogre was lumbering towards her as well, stopping only to collect her extra noggins. A cloud of smoke to the west marked Skye’s position.
She saw no sign of anyone else. The people of Grayrock might not be the brightest or strongest in Albion, but they knew when to run away.
“This is as good a place as any for a last stand, but I don’t see what you’ve gained,” said Kas. “You can’t possibly beat them all.”
“Last stands are for people like Sterling. And I bet you five gold that I can.”
A rock struck the dam to her right. Another hit her shoulder hard enough to bruise. She craned her neck. Freezing the dam below her would slow them down, but if this was to work, she couldn’t afford to waste any more of her strength.
She climbed faster, abandoning caution. Her fingers cramped and her toes protested as she forced them into the narrowest of holds. Twice she slipped, leaving scraped skin and blood on the dam.
An animal skull shattered beside her, and the shards cut her face. Atop the dam, a redcap laughed and loaded another round into a makeshift slingshot. Winter was out of time.
She looked to either side. Orange and white stains down the front of the dam showed where water had seeped through the stones in the past. Many of the leaks had been patched over the years, some better than others. Winter scrambled sideways, hunching her shoulders against another barrage of rocks and bones, until she found a crack where a trickle of water flowed down the dam. There was no discolouration here, suggesting this was a relatively new leak, likely a result of all the digging below.
She pressed a hand over the crack. The water froze, turning to rippled glass.
“What are you doing?”
“Stone is strong.” Winter grinned and sent the cold deeper into the leak. “Ice is stronger.”
Many times she had seen how water would fill the cracks in cobblestone roads, or flow between broken shingles. In the winter, that water would expand into ice, pushing inexorably outward to split wood and rock alike.
She climbed higher and repeated the process at an older leak.
“Watch it!” shouted Kas.
A stone the size of a human head slammed into the dam, and she almost fell. Headstrong had arrived. The ogre was yanking more rocks from the pile below.
“Keep an eye out,” Winter said. “Tell me when to dodge.”
The iceburn was back, worse than before, causing her vision to sparkle like falling snow in the sunlight. She pushed her Will deeper, driving a wedge of ice between blocks too massive for anyone to move on their own.
“On your left.”
Winter swung to the right, avoiding the rock that would have crushed her spine. Her hands and wrists were starting to cramp. She hadn’t climbed like this in years. She dragged herself back and continued her assault on the dam.
Beneath her, the stone wall that had held back an entire lake for so many generations shifted ever so slightly.
New rivulets of water sprayed forth. Redcaps cried out in anger and alarm. Winter risked another look down. Headstrong—or more likely, her noggins—must have realised what was about to happen. She was running as fast as she could. The rest of Yog’s creatures remained. They dodged the arcing spouts of water and continued to hurl whatever they could find towards Winter.
“Did we ever tell you the rest of Beckett’s prediction?” Winter redoubled her efforts. She froze the new leaks, dislodging the blocks further. “I said that Beckett the Seer had predicted the fall of Grayrock. What I forgot to mention was that he implied it would be Heroes who made it happen.”
Her fingers slipped again. She froze her own hand to the rock to keep from falling. The shouts below grew louder. “We can’t save the town. We can’t stop Yog. But I can make sure she doesn’t have an army to send after the survivors.”
She hauled herself up, then slammed one final burst of power into the dam.
The stones to her left shifted outward. Ice water spouted forth. Stone and mortar cracked with a sound like thunder. The redcaps yelled furiously but still didn’t seem to recognise the danger.
Winter hung there and watched the growing breach. Her arms were heavy with ice and exhaustion. There was no way she could make it off the dam in time. She wasn’t sure she could go another inch without falling. “Well, that was fun.”
“Impressive,” whispered Kas. “If we’re to die here, I’m honoured to meet my end alongside such a Hero.”
As far as Winter knew, the stone doll didn’t breathe. He might sink, but it wasn’t like he was in any danger of drowning. All he needed to do was walk through the water to the edge of town and climb out through the gate. But before she could point that out, the centre of the dam gave way and a flood of stone and water rumbled forth.
CHAPTER 16
STERLING
Come along now.” Sterling stood atop a boulder ahead of the column of people marching into the hills. He placed one hand on his hip in a jaunty pose, one guaranteed to increase morale and inspire courage in all who looked upon him. “Fear not. Your town may be under siege, your homes on fire, your neighbours twisted into monsters, but hope remains! Adversity builds strength, and with that strength we shall—”
A sound like an earthquake rumbled past them, and in its wake came a cold mist, deceptively gentle. Sterling stared in disbelief as the Grayrock dam disappeared beneath a waterfall that hurled stones the size of wagons down onto the town. The roar of the water quickly drowned the cries of Yog’s forces.
Within seconds, Grayrock was gone.
Moans spread through the refugees. Children cried, as did many of the adults. For once in his life, Sterling found himself at a loss for words.
For generations, that dam captured the annual spring runoff behind a wall of rock, until the lake was larger than the town below. And Grayrock had dug itself deep into the earth like a giant basin.
Sterling shielded his eyes with one hand, searching the muddy, swirling water for survivors. Bodies bobbed along the surface with the rest of Grayrock’s flotsam. “We weren’t supposed to lose,” he whispered.
“Do you think Winter survived?”
Sterling whirled, yanking his sword free before recognising Shroud’s voice. “Sneaking up on people is a good way to get yourself run through, especially after a day like this.”
Shroud jumped nimbly onto the rocks beside Sterling. “Winter told us she had a plan.” He cocked his head towards the dam. “It’s not a plan I would have chosen, but she’s kept the redcaps off our tail, and I’d challenge anyone to match her body count.”
“This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” Sterling said, quieter this time. For the first time since arriving in Brightlodge all those weeks ago, eager to spread justice and wisdom throughout all of Albion, he felt uncertain.
Sterling had come to think of himself as the compass of their group, reminding them of who and what they could be. He liked to think that by striving to be a Hero worthy of the old stories, he inspired others, Heroes and non-Heroes alike, to reach a little higher. To be more.
Now look where Winter’s reach had taken her. “We don’t know she was caught in the flood.”
“You think she was in a position to escape that?” Shroud shook his head. “She
and that doll are probably at the bottom of Lake Grayrock by now.”
“This was her plan?” snapped Glory. “To drown herself and the town?”
“I think it’s more accurate to say she planned to drown Yog’s forces,” said Shroud. “Drowning herself was an unfortunate side effect.”
Sterling crushed the urge to punch Shroud in the face.
“She’s like a child,” Glory continued, her voice rising. “Charging off with no thought of tomorrow, no awareness of the consequences.”
“She knew the consequences,” said Sterling.
Glory stabbed a finger towards Grayrock. “She destroyed a town—finishing the job Skye started!—and for what? Yog’s still out there, and now she’s even closer to breaking her curse and slaughtering Heroes and children throughout Albion. Winter was a damn fool.”
Sterling clenched his jaw, barely stopping an angry retort. Winter and Glory had grated on each other from the day they met, but this was more than Glory’s usual sniping. Her insults were louder and harsher, as if they masked genuine pain.
“She bought these people time to escape,” Sterling said quietly. “If she hadn’t brought down the dam, these hills would soon be swarming with redcaps and greencaps.”
Winter’s plan had been heroic and triumphant, there was no doubt of that. But dammit, Winter was too young to die, and to die alone.
And there it was, the thing that truly gnawed at Sterling’s heart. They all knew and accepted the dangers they faced. They had seen the carnage left behind by the creatures of the forest, from travellers killed by outlaws to the crippled survivors of balverine attacks to the victims of the White Lady’s servants. Most Heroes bore the scars of their own encounters, both visible and hidden.
They all understood that they might die. All Heroes masked their fears and their scars in their own ways, through a seemingly heartless exterior, or by embracing death and turning it into an art form. Or by concentrating on the rewards of heroism, the glory and honour and companionship.
Winter battled the darkness through an indomitable sense of fun, but even she recognised that each time she set out might be the last.
They fought together, despite their differences. If—when—they died, it was supposed to be among friends and comrades. “We should search for her.”
“There’s no damsel in distress for you to rescue this time,” said Shroud. “Just a body.”
“Then we retrieve her body!” Several townspeople jumped in alarm. Sterling forced himself to speak more calmly. “We bring her back to Brightlodge for a proper burial.”
“Or we join her.” Shroud pointed to the lake. “Add two more corpses to the soup.”
Sterling turned towards Grayrock and began walking.
“I thought you were all about leading the people to Brightlodge,” Shroud called after him.
“Glory can lead them. It’s her duty as Mayor, right? I’m not leaving Winter behind.”
“That water’s a good thirty feet deep in places.”
“Bodies float.” Sterling’s throat felt like stone. He swallowed hard, forcing the pain down into his chest where it gnawed at his ribs. There was also the matter of Kas. The flood shouldn’t have killed the stone doll, but Yog’s Riders would be searching for him. “The water flows west, through the town gates. Where the gates used to be. It will create a bottleneck. You can see the debris already starting to pile up. I’ll search there.”
“What about Yog?” asked Glory. “With the town destroyed and William Grayrock’s descendants dead or here in the hills, what’s to stop her from feasting on Heroes?”
“All the more reason to get Winter’s body away from there.” Sterling’s jaw tightened. “Glory—”
“I’ll keep them safe,” she said.
“There may be more redcaps, or worse,” said Sterling.
Glory opened her hands, summoning apples in each hand. One gleamed red, burning with inner fire, while the other was a sickly green. “They’ve not seen ‘worse.’ ”
Without another word, Sterling began making his way back down the trail.
Shroud checked his bow and followed. “If we keep Yog from getting her hands on Winter, she’ll likely just try to make one of us her dinner.”
Sterling dropped a hand to Arbiter’s hilt, taking comfort in the familiar, solid feel of the weapon. “I hope she tries.”
They passed three more survivors on the way back to Grayrock. Two were townspeople who had managed to cling to an overturned wagon and ride out the worst of the flooding. Sterling sent them on to catch up with the others. The third was a redcap, which he despatched with a single thrust of Arbiter.
Their retreat from Grayrock earlier in the day had taken them over a wooden drawbridge into the mountains proper. Now water filled the chasm where the bridge had been.
The water here was disconcertingly quiet, rippling in the breeze. The eastern edge of the dam stretched out perhaps ten feet before falling into rubble. Over time, storms and the seasons would finish what Winter had begun, smashing the remnants of the dam until nothing of Grayrock remained.
Sterling tugged off his boots. He removed his jacket next, and after a brief internal debate, his sword as well. He bundled his things together and tucked them behind the bushes on the edge of the trail. He turned to speak, then stared.
“What?” asked Shroud.
“I’ve never seen you without your cloak before.” It wasn’t so much the lack of the cloak as it was the glaringly white ankles peeking from the hems of Shroud’s trousers. This was not a man who spent much time exposed to the sun.
“Wait.” Shroud pulled him down and pointed to the far side of the lake. A group of redcaps had gathered atop the wall, which put them only a few feet above the water.
“What are they doing?”
“Looks like they’re fighting over some buckets. Wait, no, now they’re hitting each other with rocks.”
As Sterling watched, one of the redcaps fell into the water. Or maybe it was pushed. It held a bucket over its head, but that didn’t stop it from sinking out of sight. Another redcap followed, then a third.
“They’ve got rocks tied to their limbs to drag them down,” said Shroud. “I once killed a man like that. A stonecutter with questionable business practices. I chained him to one of his own shoddily made headstones.”
Sterling crept towards the edge of the water. “They’re searching for Kas. The buckets are for air, and to protect their caps from the water.”
“I wonder how she got them into the lake. Redcaps don’t like water.”
“They’re more terrified of Yog.” Sterling waited until most of the redcaps had disappeared, then hurried into the water. Shroud dived in a moment later. He cut through the water like a razor, sending only the smallest of ripples to mark his dive. Did the man have to be so sneaky and quiet about everything?
Shroud shoved a floating bottle out of his way and looked around. “Remind me, we came here to protect the town of Grayrock, right?”
“Shut up and try to look like a corpse.” Sterling allowed the current to pull him along. If Winter was dead, she’d likely be at the gate, where a handful of redcaps were laughing and shouting after their submerged companions.
He hadn’t gone far when Shroud grabbed him by the shoulder. One hand covered Sterling’s mouth. He barely had time to fill his lungs before Shroud yanked him beneath the surface.
Sterling twisted, reaching instinctively for Arbiter before remembering he had left the sword behind. He grabbed Shroud by the wrist, using his greater strength to pry his hand loose.
When they surfaced again, Sterling tried to kick free, but Shroud put a finger to his lips, then pointed to the sky. Sterling stopped struggling.
Circling high over Grayrock was what looked like an old woman sitting in a heavy black cauldron. She appeared to be using some sort of wooden spoon to guide her flight. “That’s got to be Yog.”
“Probably searching for Winter and Kas.”
Sterling fo
rced himself to relax as Yog swung back in their direction. He didn’t move. They were just two more bodies floating along.
Smoke lingered in the air, obscuring the details of the woman who had attacked both Brightlodge and Grayrock. Yog leaned to one side, and Sterling glimpsed a hunched silhouette and tangled grey hair. He wanted to call out a challenge, to force her to face him in combat so he could finish what Kas had begun so many generations before and cut her evil from the world.
Instead, he waited as the cauldron flew to and fro. The next time her back was to them, Sterling hastily scanned the surface. With Yog searching overhead, they couldn’t afford to stay in the open. “That barrel over there.”
They ducked underwater and swam together. Sterling caught the open side of the barrel and pulled it upright over his head and arms. Shroud squeezed in on the other side a moment later. If Yog looked down, she should see nothing but a bottom-heavy barrel drifting with the rest of the flotsam.
The interior smelled of salted fish. There was some awkwardness as Sterling and Shroud adjusted positions. They ended up with their faces pressed cheek to cheek, each gripping the opposite edge of the barrel to keep it upright. Shroud’s hair tickled his ear. He smelled like leather and oiled metal.
“Together in the dark, both of us cold and soaking wet,” Sterling joked. “What ever shall we do while we wait?”
“Really?” Shroud said quietly. “Logistics aside—”
“Oh, the logistics are part of the fun. I remember one night in the rafters of a barn with a farmer’s sister. Surprisingly acrobatic, that one. I was sore for three days, but it was well worth it.”
“How do you intend to die, Sterling?”
He slipped a hand between them to wipe the water from his eyes. “Easy, my good man. A simple no would suffice. I’m not one to force my attention where it isn’t wanted.”
“Winter’s death bothers you a great deal,” Shroud continued. “Why?”
The words were like a blade piercing Sterling’s stomach. “The fact that you have to ask such a question—”