Besieged

by Verity Moore

  Her vision blurred. How very dear they were. Why had she not realized it until now?

  “Tell Cierra of my love.” One of his hands was cradled in her mother’s. “The Masters have told me that she faced great difficulties.” He drew a shallow breath. “Tell her not to give any room in her heart to guilt.”

  A tight place in her chest, which she had carried for years, softened. Her father’s last thoughts were of her. Warmth radiated outward. He did love her. Cierra whispered, “Father, it’s me. I’m here.”

  She wanted to race toward her parents. To hold them close. But she dare not spill the precious liquid. She walked toward them as fast as a full cup allowed.

  Her mother jumped up and met her partway. “Cierra, you’ve come!” Tears welled over and down her cheeks. She cradled her face between her hands and kissed her cheek.

  Cierra looked across the room to the bed.

  Father’s eyes were closed. His hand lay slack on the coverlet. No, she couldn’t be too late.

  She set down the tray and grabbed the cup. “Father I have something that will make you well. You have been poisoned.”

  His chest rose and fell. “Cierra.” A slight smile came and went across his face. “Home at last.”

  “Mother, lift his head. Drink, Father. It’s healing water which comes from The Masters’ river.”

  Her mother shook her head. “Healing? What water are you talking about? It’s too late. He can’t drink.” Sorrow etched lines around her mouth.

  Cierra’s hands shook. “Even though Watcher Lyn was moments from death, it brought healing. Father, you must drink. Hold his head up, Mother.”

  Cierra held the cup to his blue-tinged lips. When he didn’t respond, she dipped her finger in the cup, rimmed his lips and then stroked his tongue. Only because she watched so closely did she see the minute pursing of his lips.

  Her mother sobbed, “He’s gone.”

  “No. He’s with us still.” Cierra tipped the cup. “Sip, Father. Just a single swallow.” Most dribbled down his chin, but not all. She massaged his throat urging him to accept the water. The muscles moved beneath her finger tips. Again she lifted the cup. This time more went in and he swallowed without urging.

  She watched his lips, waiting for the bluish tint to fade. For several minutes nothing changed: his breathing remained shallow and forced, his skin translucent. She heard her mother’s quiet weeping, but Cierra kept her eyes on his face. Color seeped into his cheeks.

  “Oh, he breathes.” Her mother leaned forward.

  “Yes. And soon he’ll sit up. The water doesn’t take long.” She patted her mother’s hand.

  A knock at the door froze them in place. Her mother whimpered, “That dreadful guard. He can’t find you here.”

  Cierra grabbed the tray and stood behind the door. “Open it.”

  “But…”

  “We do not want him running to his superiors. Draw him in.”

  “Do as she says.” Reg raised his head. “It is time to confront this bully.”

  Her mother’s hand trembled so much that she had to try twice before the door opened.

  “The serving wench takes too long.”

  “Yes, well,” her mother shrank back, “There is a problem.”

  The guard pushed past her into the room. “What problem?”

  “You.” Cierra swung the tray at his head. Bong. Not exactly bell tones. But music all the same.

  Castoff barreled through the door, teeth gleaming, to stop a teso away from the fallen guard’s throat. The man froze.

  Cantor and Rella rushed through the door. While Castoff straddled the guard’s prone body, Cantor tied and gagged him.

  Rella looked from the groaning man to the tray in Cierra’s hand and smirked. “Tell me—are you truly Cierra, the girl who spent all her time in a world of paint and music?”

  Cierra snickered. “Just as you are truly the girl who always wore silks.” How alike Kyam and Rella were—humor in the midst of difficulties. And word pokes to celebrate how she’d changed.

  “Put him in the wardrobe chamber where he will be out of sight and out of hearing.” Reg pointed to his left. Cantor hauled the trussed guard to the closet and thrust him in.

  Her father struggled to sit up. Cierra and her mother stuffed pillows behind his back. He was still trembling and weak. “The Masters have spoken. A concise summary of our situation as you know it.” Father wore his “Watcher look”—his face set as when he dealt with a miscreant.

  “There is a great evil crouched, ready to devour Capular. An enemy who calls himself ‘His Revered and Supreme Eminence’ has infiltrated every Watcher household. His goal is to steal Capular without a battle. But The Masters have made a way to win. They have given each Watcher a piece of the strategy. You must convene a meeting to share insights. Have you heard of Capular’s subterranean river?”

  ✽✽✽

  Five minutes later her father threw back the bedcovers and stood up. He turned to Cantor. “Can you deal with the two guards at the rear of the house?”

  “They have grown accustomed to my coming and going. It should not be difficult to get close enough to disarm them.”

  “Good. Then we can slip out of the house undetected. They must be held where no one can find them.”

  “Our only hope is surprise—our enemy cannot be alerted until we are in place.” Cierra shuddered. If they were discovered before their defenses were in place…

  “Now, a full two hour ringing as soon as the ringers can get to the temples and after that the bells must be rung fifteen minutes on the hour. Both day and night until we are sure all who have given allegiance to His Eminence have left Lipfar.” Reg tapped his fingers.

  “My dear!” Lady Reg put cheese between two slices of bread and handed it to Reg. “That is a most grueling schedule—even if we had a full complement of ringers.”

  The Watcher frowned. “How many have we?”

  Cantor stepped forward. “I know of five who have gone into hiding.”

  “So we must limit ourselves to one bell tower.” Reg took an enormous bite. “Thank you, my dear. I find myself ravenous.”

  Cierra turned to Rella. “We have safe access to one tower—correct?” She handed the cup with the remaining antidote and river water to her mother. “You need nourishment and strength for what lies ahead.”

  Rella put her arm around Cierra. “The old tower, the first one built, is at the end of our tunnel. We will need provisions for fifty for at least...” She looked at Cierra. “How many days do you think will be required to rid us of all vermin?”

  “It would be best to plan on three days.” She turned to Cantor. “We will need sufficient men to protect the tower for that time. Can you find enough loyalists?” Ah, Elpian, see how well you taught me? How I wish you were here.

  “We are fifty strong.”

  “Daughter, it sounds as if you’re preparing for war.”

  “It is what Kyam and I found in every city.”

  Her father smiled. “Since you are the one with experience, you will lead us.”

  Her breath caught. She stretched to her full height. Her father trusted her to lead this fight. She would not disappoint him. “Cantor, tell your people to bring the usual fighting instruments but also to bring rope and chains, and sharp pieces of metal.”

  “Why?” Rella shuddered. “Sounds uncivilized.”

  “We will likely face fulcarries.”

  Mother gripped Father’s hand. “What are fulcarries?”

  “Unnatural creatures His Eminence has summoned from strange places. They are giant birds with human minds, talons for ripping, and beaks for stabbing.”

  Her mother’s face whitened. “Masters, have mercy.”

  “How will we use these weapons? Are there any things we can substitute?” Cantor began to pace.

  “You need to attach the metal scraps to the ends and swing them at the fulcarries. Your ropes and chains must be long enough to keep you out of their reach. The met
al is to tear their bodies—especially their throats.”

  Rella stepped closer to Cantor. “Is it possible to win against such evil?”

  “If our defenders are skilled at swinging their weapons and our ringers have the stamina to keep the bells singing, then, yes, it’s possible. But...” Cierra frowned. “The old tower—does it have windows where the ringers stand?”

  Father shook his head. “Windows on the first two floors and in the belfry itself.”

  Cierra’s shoulders sagged. “Good. One less point of attack to worry about. Are there two or three windowless floors below the belfry?”

  Rella counted on her fingers. “One, two, three.”

  “Mother, we will set up food storage and preparation, pallets for resting, and a place to care for the wounded in those floors.”

  Lady Reg hurried toward the door. “Paro and I will gather supplies for seventy-five—no eighty — people for… How many days did you say, dear?”

  “You can never carry enough on one loaded cart.”

  “We will use the tunnel for some of the supplies. And use the cart for the food items least likely to arouse suspicion.”

  Cantor grasped Rella’s hand. “We will tell the loyalists to meet at the Temple in the hour after sundown. They will come separately and approach from different directions. We must gather before our enemies sound the alarm.”

  “I must ensure that the clappers are in place.” Cierra started for the door.

  “The clappers?” Father appeared startled.

  “In Risler they had been removed and hidden.”

  A wave of groans swelled as they realized what that news meant.

  “Allow me a few minutes to deal with the guards and start the message, then I will help carry supplies to the tower.” Cantor strode from the room.

  Rella hurried after him. “I, too, will speak to a few trusted friends and then I will help Paro with the supplies.”

  Lady Reg bustled toward the door. “Paro and I can take the donkey cart.”

  “No. Too dangerous.” Watcher Reg scowled.

  “Not really, my dear. Paro and I have been delivering food to the garrison for weeks. If any see us, they will assume we are going there.”

  “And I will go with them. I can always say that I’m on my way to check on the cows—that one injured itself during the storm. May I carry your staff, Cierra?” Rella swung the staff as if hitting a man’s head. “Finally, we are doing something to rid ourselves of the enemy.”

  ✽✽✽

  Castoff led the crawl to the tower. No one had time or strength for anything but breathing. This fifth trip of pulling bags of potential weapons and items of food through the tunnel while carrying torches required all they had to give. Showers of mud fell on them as they scraped through too tight sections.

  Up ahead, close to their goal, a curtain of silt filled the tunnel. Cierra pulled her scarf over her head and crept past the leaking roof. Pebbles bounced off her back. She looked up. The ceiling seemed to sag. Surely they were close to the tower. She tried to call out to the others, but coughed instead. She forced her arms and legs to move faster.

  Hurry. Ya-Wyn’s unexpected voice spurred her on. She turned to motion Father and Cantor to move faster.

  Castoff waited for her by the ladder and the piles of gathered supplies at its base. She started up, reached the top, and shoved the hatch. It didn’t budge. A rumble sounded behind her. She looked over her shoulder. Mud and stone rained down from the ceiling. Her father struggled to free his bag of weapons from a fallen rock. Behind him Cantor held one arm over his head as the tunnel began to collapse.

  “No. Leave the bag, Father. Cantor, hurry.”

  Castoff galloped back to help.

  A veil of dirt blocked her sight. The rain of debris came faster. Just like the day Toby died. If her throat were not clogged with slime, she would scream. Father. To save him, only to lose him. It could not be.

  Alone again. No way back. No way forward. Trapped. Without hope. Again.

  The sound of scrambling was barely heard over the pounding of her own heart. The dog’s rump appeared; he must be tugging something. Father’s face broke through the fall of sludge. Castoff pulled his sack. She stretched out a hand to help Father reach the ladder. Mud clung to his beard and eyebrows. It coated his hair. It grayed his face. But he was whole and safe. The piles of fallen dirt rose to half the height of the tunnel. Could Cantor make it? Was he trapped beneath rubble?

  A bag flew through the air to land at the base of the ladder. Cantor half-crawled, half-swam over the mounds of dirt. She and her father pulled him free of the collapsing roof. They huddled there and watched as the tunnel filled from top to bottom.

  “Well, that deals with any thoughts of retreat. We’ve only one option left.” Father nodded. “There is strength in knowing the choice to fight has been made.”

  “If I may, Lady Kyam, I will open the hatch.” Cantor slipped around her and scaled the ladder. Two firm thumps from his shoulder and the hatch lifted. The dog went next.

  Her father motioned her. She first handed up her bag of weapons, then climbed out of the tunnel. While the two men dealt with the remaining sacks, she assessed the ground floor of the tower. Her torch light showed walls of stone, but there was enough wood in doors and window frames to burn and weaken their defenses. The door was generous in size, the windows, mere slits. She had learned to favor small and narrow.

  In the center, the stairs formed an open square that left room for three people to stand between it and the walls. It took four sections of steps to reach the second floor. The risers were wide enough to accommodate four abreast and appeared to be polished beneath the dust.

  Castoff poked his nose into a dark corner.

  “What have you found?” She walked over to investigate. A stone rectangle. Hollow. With a number of good sized jars resting inside.

  Father joined her in the corner and wrapped an arm around her waist. “This is a water cistern.”

  “Masters bless our forefathers for anticipating needs.”

  She heard a soft scratching sound at the door. She turned to the men with a finger to her lips. How she hoped it was the women with the food supplies. She had been so consumed with exploring, she had not thought about the dangers they faced on the streets. Was that any way for a leader to react? She could hear Inge’s cackle. Be quiet, crone.

  Castoff sniffed the door and whined. Friends must be on the other side.

  Cierra heard a muffled thump. She pressed her ear against the door to listen. “Daughter, are you there?” She rested her head against the door for a moment. Mother and Rella were safe.

  ✽✽✽

  The tower door hinges had rusted with disuse. Their screech echoed in the empty street. Footsteps sounded in the distance. Mother, Rella, and Paro piled in the door as quickly as possible, then shut it again with more high-pitched noise. They waited for the footsteps to pass. When all was silent, they eased the door open once more to retrieve all their food stuffs. They were drenched by the time everything was safely inside.

  Since lamp light would be too easily seen from the second-floor windows, they groped in the dark up the stairs. There was enough pre-dawn light to see the outline of the second floor. The room was one vast empty space. The tower had seven sides, each of which had two windows. Windows big enough to admit a fulcarry.

  Since the third level had no windows, they stopped to light their torches.

  Father shook his head and muttered at all the signs of neglect. Mother batted at cobwebs and sneezed. Another large empty room with seven walls.

  Cierra pushed on, petitioning The Masters for bells and clappers to be ready. She and Castoff didn’t stop at the next floor or the ringers’ floor, or the space where the bell ropes stretched from ceiling to floor. They reached the belfry several steps ahead of the rest.

  The sun was not yet over the horizon, but the night was turning a light gray. Rushing to the first bell, she craned her head to peer inside.
But all she saw above her was black emptiness. Her heart sank. Oh, Masters, please let the clappers be somewhere in the tower. And bring strong backs to carry them up the stairs. Her muscles ached remembering the task of getting Risler’s clappers in place.

  The rest arrived in a bunch. Cantor left the torch on the stairs rather than provide a beacon of light for their enemies. Lady Reg looked at her daughter’s face and moaned. “No.”

  “We will search the tower. Under stairs, anywhere they might have been hidden. Since they are so heavy, the clappers won’t be any further away than necessary.”

  Watcher Reg reached above his head and poked around in the farthest bell, the one closest to the open window. “What is this? Cierra, why would there be cloth stuffed into the bell?”

  Heart leaping with hope, she jumped up to grab fistfuls of material from the bell closest to her and pulled. A tangle of black cloth piled at her feet. She tilted the bell toward the window and looked inside its mouth. The clapper gleamed. “Thank The Masters for laziness in our enemies!” Reg and Cantor moved to the other bells and began freeing their clappers.

  “Training the fulcarry fighters is our next priority. Cantor, when the loyalists have assembled, can you find seven who are experienced with whips and send them up here?”

  He nodded and left.

  “What instructions have you for me?’ Rella stood arms akimbo, foot tapping. Impatient as ever.

  “You will give leadership to the bells. Rest as you can between ringings. Paro will bring food and water to you. When the enemy attacks set all your ringers to the bells.” She hugged her friend. “Call on The Masters for strength. You will need Their endurance.”

  Rella headed for the bells. “I’ll check the ropes for snares and frays. Tell Cantor to send the ringers up as they arrive.”

  Cierra pinched her nose. So many people depending on her. Masters, have mercy. Kyam would do so much better at this.