Besieged

by Verity Moore

  “What tasks do you have for me, daughter?”

  She smiled. “First ensure that Mother and Paro have all they need and are settled in. Then assess the ground floor for weaknesses.”

  Father left with a quick salute. He barely cleared the stairs before Cantor led a group of four men and three women up. They held whips and ropes.

  Cierra demonstrated how to defeat fulcarries using a whip, metal bits, and a dangling empty sack as a target. “Play the rope out. The fulcarries’ reach is long and deadly. You must remain beyond their beaks.”

  She stared at the sack-target. Memory of the fulcarry’s hideous features and vile smell, tightened her stomach and her mouth grew dry. She let the rope swing like a pendulum, gaining momentum. She aimed it toward the sack and released it. It caught the cloth and ripped a hole. “That is how it is done. Practice until your aim is true.”

  She left them swinging their ropes and whips.

  So much to prepare for. What was she forgetting? Windows. Only the belfry and the second floor had ones big enough to accommodate the birds’ oversized bodies. The bells would make the belfry challenging since they filled most of the space. But the ringing hadn’t seemed to deter the fulcarries in Risler. And the ringers would be their first target.

  Could fulcarries go down stairs? Better assume they could. So, place the three best fighter recruits at the base of the belfry stairs to protect the ringers. Post the other four on the second floor with most of the archers.

  Keep a few archers on the ground to discourage those who assaulted the front doors.

  Archers…arrows. Were they well supplied? Was it possible to reuse their enemies’ arrows? She shook her head. Not if they were embedded in loyalists. But what if they were stuck in… a pretend loyalist? Cierra tucked the idea away for the moment.

  How was she to see to everything? She would surely fail. And the look of pride in Father’s eyes would disappear.

  Assign tasks to others, lest you wear yourself out. Ya-Wyn—always so practical.

  A goodly number of loyalists must have arrived by now. She found forty or so milling around the ground floor, talking in hushed whispers.

  She sent five women with the empty jars to the well. “See how full you can make the cistern before anyone becomes suspicious of your trips.”

  “Who are the archers?” A dozen or so stepped forward. She pointed to four whose bows looked well-tended and well-used. “You, you, you, and you stay down here. The slanted window slits are especially designed for your weapons. Please become familiar with their limitations. Your task is to discourage those who try to force their way in. The rest of you choose positions on the second floor.”

  Several elderly loyalists stood apart from the rest.

  A finely dressed young man sidled up to her. “We told them to return to their hearths. They are more liability than asset.”

  Cierra shook her head. “I have the perfect task for them.” She smiled and motioned them close. “I need dummies fashioned to give our enemies target practice.”

  One old man cocked his head and chuckled. “Better than using us.”

  “And a way to gather a goodly supply of arrows. Mother can provide you with the necessary materials.”

  Murmurs of approval streamed over their shoulders like flags in a breeze as they trooped to the third floor. She grinned. The elders thought her wise.

  Cantor appeared at her side. “Nicely done. Removed from immediate harm and with their self-respect intact. What’s next?”

  “Sword drills, perhaps?” A dandy joined them.

  Cantor slapped him on the shoulder. “Unfortunately, no. We are shut up like frightened children instead of men of valor. Lady Kyam, have you met Mince? A dedicated loyalist who has dipped deep into his own purse to keep our efforts going.”

  Mince smoothed the front of his robe and bowed before Cierra. A peacock. The muscles in her stomach tensed. Nonsense. Cantor approved else Mince would not be here.

  Mince turned to scowl at Cantor.

  “We are not to fight?”

  Cantor growled. “It grates to hide within these walls, does it not?”

  How like men to want to rush into combat. Perhaps if she appealed to their love of mountains…yes, that might work. “Sometimes the most difficult challenges require restraint, wisdom, taking the long view. The only weapon we have that can stop our foes is the ringing of The Masters’ bells. Our battle is to protect the bells and ringers until the citizens waken from their stupor and the mercenaries are routed.”

  Mince stared at the ceiling as if looking at the bells. “They are truly that vital? We have no hope without them? How is that possible?”

  “We have found it so in Risler and Catliff. Why would our enemies work so hard to destroy them if they were not critical to our freedom?”

  Castoff appeared at her side. She had seen him ranging from Lady Reg and Paro to a cluster of crying children to Watcher Reg, who was directing loyalists as they entered.

  He seemed to know when the women grew harried with all the details of storing supplies and assigning places for each. “So much to do in such a short amount of time. Just the brush of his fur calms me.” Paro slipped the dog a treat.

  The infants’ tears dried in his fur as they clung to his neck. And wails turned to giggles with each slurp of his tongue.

  He stood noble and fearless beside Reg as Father inspected each arrival. Sometimes Castoff herded a man or woman to a certain side of the room. “I concur with his assessment of each person and the assignment given.” Father had grinned. “More insightful than most of my assistants.”

  Castoff made an excellent second in command. She felt him stiffen at her side. His lips drew back in a silent snarl. What was he sensing? Had their enemies slipped close? Had she not stationed loyalists in the right places?

  The dog took one stiff-legged step toward Mince.

  The dandy retreated behind Cantor. “Why has your beast taken a dislike to me?” Mince squeaked.

  Cantor chuckled. “When hasn’t an animal taken an instant dislike to you? Remember that magnificent horse you bought?” He turned to Cierra. “He never got closer than two scentons before the stallion stomped its hooves. Rumor has it that week-old kittens hiss when he passes by.”

  “You exaggerate. I merely lack an affinity for such creatures.”

  Cierra caressed Castoff’s back. “He is a very intelligent creature and his instincts have never proven false.”

  Unlike most of the loyalists, Mince was dressed well. His hands showed few callouses. His speech was educated. Perhaps that was the problem. He superficially resembled Merlick’s spies. But could that be swaying Castoff’s opinion?

  Cantor pressed palms together. “I trust Mince with my life. He has risked his by infiltrating our enemy’s lair and bringing back valuable information.”

  “That must be it.” Mince beamed. “Your highly intelligent companion caught the scent of our enemies which must cling to me.”

  A crash and wail sounded over head. Cantor hunched his shoulders. “My Lady, I will gladly face any number of mercenaries, but I beg or you not to ask me to enter Paro’s domain while she is a temper.”

  Cierra patted Castoff’s head. “He is, no doubt, the best suited among us to enter that fray.” She lifted his muzzle. “Brave canine that you are, will you go to the rescue?”

  The dog woofed once to her, yipped at the cowardly Cantor, and growled at Mince on his way to the stairs.

  Cierra pointed to the tunnel entrance. “We need to bring up sludge and rocks to barricade the door once all are in.”

  Cantor laughed. “Ingenious. How did you think of it?”

  “Experience. When enemies surround you, look at what is at hand. The Masters will always have provided a way of escape.”

  “How fortuitous for us that you were forced to travel overland.”

  “Yes, often what appears to be disasters are actually the greatest blessings.”

  Cantor paced. “You reali
ze that is our last way out? To block that door is to declare we fight to the death.”

  Her mouth stretched in a tight smile. “That declaration was made as soon as we vowed our allegiance to The Masters.”

  “Then as soon as the women return with the water and I have accounted for all loyalists, we will build a mound as high as the door itself.”

  Cierra found the least crowded spot in the tower and settled herself. She had to listen for Ya-Wyn’s voice. Had she forgotten anything? Were her troops deployed in the right places?

  Have your father bless his people and their endeavor.

  She waited for further instructions but The Masters were silent. She found Father holding Mother and whispering in her ear. Lady Reg snuggled in his arms.

  Cierra coughed—it seemed the best way to interrupt. Father turned with a smile. Mother twitched her skirts before looking at her. Warm, safe, insides humming—that’s how Kyam’s hug had made her feel. Longing for one overwhelmed her.

  “A blessing upon your people would be welcome, Father.”

  Watcher Reg rubbed his hands together. “Excellent idea, daughter. And a long-neglected practice.” A gleam Cierra remembered from her childhood entered his eyes. This would be special indeed.

  “Where shall I stand so that all may hear?”

  “Stand at the base of the second floor. The people can gather around the stair opening on each floor.”

  Father’s voice boomed from ground floor to belfry. “May The Masters see and be pleased with your obedience this day. May the joy of Their bells ring out over this city proclaiming Their victory. May They grace us with Their strength and endurance to complete the task set before us.” Father took time to look in the eyes of the loyalists. “Remember, my people, whatever the outcome, The Masters are worthy of our utmost effort and unwavering loyalty.”

  Absolute silence. Heads bowed. The people stood like statues.

  “For The Masters. For Capular.” Father’s voice echoed up and down the stairway. Its roar raised the hair on her arms.

  The people lifted their faces, raised their fists. “For The Masters. For Capular.”

  Cierra stepped up next to Father. “Dawn has come. To your assignments, my fellow soldiers. Once the bells commence ringing, our foes will be upon us. Rella, start the bells.”

  Within moments the bells sang out.

  Everyone had an assignment. Had she delegated herself out of a role?

  Ya-Ray chuckled. Your most important task is to give heart and hope to Our loyalists.

  Me? Give hope? The world is standing on its head.

  On the contrary, it is turning right side up.

  Cantor bellowed, “They’re coming.”

  She sprinted for the front door. Her heart beat double the bell’s rhythm. But her mind remained clear and focused. She skidded to a stop at the window left of the door. Angling her body first one way then another she sighted the mercenaries pounding up the street. Seven…nine…ten. No formation. No wariness. Just an impulsive rush to stop the bells. Maybe they were the ones who had stuffed cloth around the clappers rather than removing them. Their heedless approach might be spurred by fear.

  On either side of her, archers raised their bows.

  “Not yet. Let them discover the door is barricaded. We must make every one of our few arrows count.”

  Thud. The first soldier bounced off the door. Cierra adjusted her line of sight. Another man rattled the latch, then rammed the door with his shoulder. Obscenities poured from his mouth.

  The bells continued to ring.

  The mercenaries covered their ears and shouted contradictory orders. “Ram the door.” “No, burn it.” “Climb the tower and cut the ropes.” “Leave this cursed city before Captain Tellus finds and skewers us.”

  Cierra looked beyond them to the street corner. Five men marched in step toward them, swords drawn. The leader, a man with grim visage and cold eyes, reached the door and pushed the first soldiers out of the way. He pounded his fist on the door. “Stop the bells immediately by order of Watcher Normatch.”

  That voice. She remembered it. Had heard it while trembling behind the dipsom bush. She turned to Father. “Perhaps it would be best if you responded to that pretender.”

  Watcher Reg stood, chest out. “Whom am I addressing?”

  The leader swelled up like a bullfrog. “I’m Captain Tellus, commander of all Lipfarian soldiers.”

  “As Watcher of Lipfar, I recognize no such personage. Furthermore, I command you to surrender your weapons immediately.”

  Tellus stilled. “Who speaks?”

  “Watcher Reg.”

  “A lie! That traitor is dead.”

  Cierra pressed her mouth into the slit. “It is easier to call an uncomfortable truth a lie than to accept the message.”

  Tellus sneered. “Who is this amateur philosopher?”

  “Lady Kyam, daughter of Reg.”

  “Impossible! There is no way you could have entered the city.”

  “Just as there was no way for me to slip past you on the mountain? To escape the net you set for Kyam and me?”

  The captain roared, “You lie.”

  “What was it you said at the slide? Oh, yes. ‘We must have evidence of our success or there will be no reward.’ What evidence has your lieutenant found?”

  Tellus shouted, “Silence! Your trickery will not work. Our allegiance rests with Normatch. He has the power and the soldiers. His hold on this city is unshakeable. Stop ringing those bells immediately. The consequence of continued rebellion will be most severe.” He drew a deep breath and bellowed. “You misguided people in the tower, subdue the traitor Reg and all who cleave to him. Return to us. Rewards, not punishment, await all who side with Watcher Normatch.”

  Cierra leaned forward to speak clearly into the window slit. “Our allegiance is to The Masters. We obey only Their commands. The bells ring until They say we are to stop.”

  Tellus raised his sword. “You have proclaimed your own death sentence. None of you will live to see another dawn.” He motioned his men to fall back several farthongs. He spoke to one of his men who then raced toward the garrison.

  “They are still within arrow’s reach.” One archer spoke quietly in her ear.

  Cierra shook her head. “We will not use our enemies’ backs as targets. It would bring The Masters neither pleasure or praise.”

  She sagged against the wall. “Hardened mercenaries will be organized for a full assault within the hour. Cantor, tell Rella to do a full ringing for as long as physically possible. Let us see how quickly the citizens waken. Tell the fulcarry fighters on the second floor to keep watch. They are to sound the alarm when the enemy is ready to swarm the tower.”

  Mother pattered down the stairs and handed her cheese wrapped in meat. “It has been hours since you took sustenance. You need strength to confront that bully Tellus. How you surprised him. He’ll not have the easy victory he expected. Not with my daughter in charge.” With one firm nod of her head, Mother swished back up the steps.

  Chapter 12

  Cierra sat on the floor, her back to the wall. What possibilities had she overlooked? If only Kyam were here… No time to grieve. Everyone was looking to her for decisive leadership. She studied the faces of the loyalists. Fear. Doubt. Regret. Tellus’ words had found their mark.

  Hope. The Masters had said it was her foremost task. “Fellow loyalists gather around the stair opening on your assigned floor. Listen carefully.” She waited until she saw rings of faces on each floor. “Father, in the holy writings there are stories of loyalists who surmounted great odds. Tell us your favorite.”

  Father began to pace. “In ancient times while Capular was still young, a powerful enemy from across the seas lusted after our bountiful land.”

  Castoff plopped down in from of him and raised a paw.

  “Excuse me, Father, but I believe our dog is volunteering his skills as assistant story teller. I assure you he is quite good.”

  Father c
ocked his head. “What does he do?”

  “Just go ahead with the story. He will add his part.”

  “Very well, he may. The sacred parchments tell of a time when The Masters’ loyalists were gravely outnumbered, both in warriors and weapons, by an enemy who coveted our bounty.”

  Castoff went to a prosperous looking man and stared at him and licked his lips. The man twitched his robe and stepped back.

  One of the loyalists chuckled. “Beware, Talar, the dog must know where your gold is buried.”

  With arms spread wide, Father continued. “They set out in large boats and invaded Capular near where Lipfar now stands. While they established a camp and prepared their weapons, heralds stood on the hilltop telling our ancestors they were doomed. Castoff howled.

  “The Lipfarians were terrified. They knew what would happen if they tamely surrendered. This enemy was known to be butchers—harsh and cruel.”

  Castoff paced back and forth with teeth bared and growling low in his throat.

  “Our ancestors gathered at their temple to petition The Masters. And The Masters graciously gave them a plan. But it was a most difficult one to trust. For The Masters told them to select just one thousand men to face an army of three thousand.”

  Herding ten men and women to the center of the room, the dog separated them from the rest of the loyalists.

  Father cleared his throat. “That was not the end of it. For the men were told to choose a sword and shield. Half chose large shields and long swords. Half picked out small shields and short swords—the size of a large dagger.”

  Paro had come to listen holding a butcher knife in hand. Castoff “borrowed” it and laid it at Father’s feet.

  “Thank you. The Masters said to send home the men who choose large shields and swords.

  The loyalists watched the dog to see what he would do. He separated five of the ten chosen and nudged them to stand with the rest of the listeners.

  A man in the crowd shouted, “Shame on you choosing the wrong weapon.” The crowd snickered.

  “Only five hundred remained.”

  Castoff circled the five remaining people.

  “Again The Masters spoke—anyone who could not play a musical instrument was to be dismissed. And one hundred and fifty could not.”