by David Debord
Muffled cries broke the silence. They both sprang to their feet before realizing that the disturbance came from down below. They heard footsteps and saw that the few men who had been studying on this floor were now hurrying toward the stairs.
“I wonder what’s going on,” Dacio said.
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Oskar tucked the book of prophecy into his robe and stood.
“You go. I think I’ll finish up the translation while I’ve got this place to myself. Forgive me, but I’d like to have this out of my hands as quickly as possible.” Dacio took out the remainder of Oskar’s rubbings, laid them on the table, and set to work.
Oskar hurried down the stairs and found the main floor of the archives empty. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t here. Out in the hallway, he met Whitt and Naseeb coming in his direction. Both looked as frightened as Dacio had been.
“What is it?”
Whitt grabbed Oskar by the arm and hauled him back inside the archives. “Something is happening,” he said in a low voice.
“But why do we...”
“Not now!” Naseeb made a slashing gesture with his hand. “Whitt, stand by the door and warn us if anyone comes this way and try not to look suspicious.”
“Yes, Sir. Anything else, Sir?”
Naseeb rolled his eyes. “Please.”
“That’s better.” Whitt sauntered over to the archives entrance, leaned against the wall, and gazed out at the milling throng.
“Something is happening. Something bad. The word is, Basilius is trying to take the prelate’s chair.”
The news hit Oskar like a slap. “How could he? Surely he doesn’t have the support of enough proctors, nor that of the masters.”
“If the rumors are true, he’s not going about it the usual way. No one can say for certain because that entire wing of the Gates has been barricaded.” Naseeb swallowed hard. “By magic.”
“Are you saying he is staging a coup?” Oskar couldn’t believe his ears.
“I’m not saying it, but everyone else is. Oskar,” Naseeb whispered, “everyone is saying Basilius is a coldheart and he’s got a legion of followers inside the Gates. They’re saying the second Frostmarch is beginning.”
Oskar’s head swam. “Once the Silver Serpent was found it was only a matter of time, I suppose. But I still can’t believe Basilius is a follower of the Ice King. He’s a nasty piece of work but he...” Oskar didn’t know how to finish the sentence.
“Whether it’s true or not, you have to get out of here. If Basilius succeeds, he’ll be the most powerful man in the gates and you’ll have no one to protect you from him. If he fails, he and his followers will be desperate. Who knows what they might do?”
“Where would I go?” But as soon as he had asked the question, Oskar knew the answer. “I have to get to Shanis.”
Just then, Whitt hurried to their side. “I overheard two saikurs talking. They say Denrill has been deposed and some of the proctors and masters are dead. Basilius had men planted throughout the Gates waiting for him to give the word. Some are trying to make a fight of it but it isn’t going well. Everyone’s confused and afraid and no one knows who to trust. It’s every bit as bad as we feared.”
“I say we get out of here. We’ll find somewhere safe until things settle down here if they ever do.” Naseeb turned to Oskar. “Have you seen Dacio?”
“He’s upstairs.” Oskar wanted to tell his friends what Dacio had learned, but now was not the time. “Do you think you can make it back to our quarters?” Naseeb nodded. “Good. Get Dacio, go back to the room and gather as many of our things as you can, and meet me in the city just over the wall at the far side of the combat ground.”
“What are you going to do?” Naseeb asked.
“I’m going to find Lizzie.”
Oskar made his way through the crowded hallway, trying not to draw any more notice than necessary, but no one paid him any mind. Everyone seemed to be either exchanging gossip or debating their next move. A few had already gathered their possessions and were headed for the front gate. He wondered if they would be permitted to leave, or if Basilius had taken measures to stop anyone from fleeing. If so, he hoped that he and his friends would be able to get away. Surely the proctor did not have enough men to seal the entire perimeter.
When he made it out the back door, he quickened his pace, breaking into a sprint when he reached the combat ground. He’d scale the wall, head into the city, and search for Lizzie until he found her. He supposed he’d start where he’d seen her before, in the area around the alehouse he and his friends had visited when Dacio had been raised to initiate.
So distracted was he by his plans that he almost failed to notice the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He ducked as something flew past his head and clattered against the wall. A knife. Muttering a shielding spell he looked around for his attacker.
“Basilius told me not to kill you, but I’m sure he will understand if it happens by accident.” Agen stepped out from behind a tree, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “I hated you from the start, and then you landed me in jail. It’s time for you to pay.” He made a cupping gesture and flung his empty hand toward Oskar, who stepped out of the way. The ball of energy burst against the wall behind him, spraying shards of stone everywhere.
“You don’t want to kill me,” Oskar said. “If you did you wouldn’t have wasted time with that ridiculous speech. ‘Time to pay?’ You’ve seen one too many mummers’ shows.”
Agen hurled another ball of energy which Oskar easily sidestepped.
“And you should only use that spell when someone’s back is turned. It’s too easy to see what’s coming.” As he spoke, Oskar moved toward the wall, hoping for an opportunity to get away. “Why don’t you get out of here before you get hurt? Basilius will never know you saw me.”
“He’ll know, farm boy. He’ll know because I’ll show him your body.” Agen began walking forward, eyes alive with malice. “You never belonged here. You’re a country lout who relied on your friends and on the masters who doted on you. But there’s no one here now but you and me. Aaaah!” Agen began batting at the hem of his robes which had suddenly burst into flame.
Oskar turned and dashed for the wall. While Agen made his speech, Oskar had been whispering a fire spell and the fool hadn’t even noticed.
He reached the wall in five strides and began to climb its rough surface. He was almost at the top when something yanked him back. He hit the ground hard, the breath leaving him in a rush. He opened his eyes in time to see Agen raise his booted foot.
He rolled to the side as Agen stamped down where Oskar’s head had been a moment before. Oskar climbed to his hands and knees, trying to focus his will, but Agen’s foot sailed through the air and caught him on the side of the head. Had it been a direct blow Oskar would have been rendered unconscious. Still, it made his ears ring.
He managed to suck in a ragged breath as Agen drew back his foot to kick him again. Oskar hurled himself forward, caught Agen by the leg, and bore him to the ground.
Despite his bookish nature, back in Galsbur Oskar had been a fair wrestler and the training he had received under Master Lang’s tutelage had strengthened his body and honed his skills to a fine edge.
Using his weight to keep Agen down, he rained down punches onto the young man’s face. Agen blocked a few, but most found their target. Agen bucked, twisted, and jerked, trying to dislodge him, but Oskar maintained his balance. In a matter of seconds, Agen’s face was masked in bright red blood.
“You’ll have to kill me,” Agen said through split lips.
“Only if you’re stupid enough to make me.” Oskar rose up and Agen, feeling the absence of weight on his chest, turned over in a flash and tried to crawl away. It was what Oskar was waiting for. He came down on Agen’s back, slipped one arm around his neck, and squeezed. Agen squirmed and clawed at Oskar’s arm, but his grip held fast.
It was over in less than a minute. Agen’s body w
ent limp as he lost consciousness. Exhausted, Oskar wobbled to his feet and looked down at his fallen opponent.
“Are you going to cut his throat or should I?” Oskar whirled about to see Lizzie perched on the wall, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. If you’d gotten into any serious trouble, I would’ve intervened.” She slid gracefully down off the wall, slinked over to him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “But you did well. I’m impressed.”
Although his world, or at least this little corner of it, seemed to be falling down around him, Oskar couldn’t help but smile. He slipped an arm around Lizzie’s waist and leaned down to kiss her.
“Hold on.” She pushed him away, turned toward Agen, who was beginning to stir, and kicked him in the temple. Agen flopped back to the ground. “Now, where were we?” She kissed him deeply, but not long enough for his liking.
“What are you doing here? I was coming to find you.”
Lizzie laughed. “Now that would have been something to see. You trying to find me in the city. Nice joke, country boy.” She saw the expression on his face and made a tiny frown. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right. Anyway, the city is abuzz with word of the little... problem you’re having here. I wanted to find you and make sure you’re all right.”
“I am for the moment, but the man who has taken over hates me and he wants to know what I know about Shanis and the Silver Serpent. I’m getting out of here before he catches up with me and I want you to come too.”
Lizzie didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” She kissed him again, this time in a much more satisfactory fashion. They might have stayed like that for hours, but they were soon interrupted by the arrival of Oskar’s friends.
“I might have known. Men are dying, the Gates is falling apart, Basilius is probably after you, and you stand here kissing a girl.” Naseeb looked down at Agen. “What happened to him?”
“He decided to kill me.”
“That didn’t work out for him, did it?” Whitt asked. Agen began to move again and Whitt kicked him in the groin. “Always wanted to do that.” He and Naseeb tied Agen up with his own shoelaces, stuffed a sock in his mouth and hid him beneath some nearby bushes. “That should keep him for a while.”
They divided their possessions and stuffed them into packs they found in the nearby armory.
“I didn’t have time to steal any food,” Naseeb said, “but we have money, so we’ll make do.”
They armed themselves, Whitt and Dacio with swords, Naseeb with a bow and quiver, and Oskar with a staff and belt knife. When they were ready, they all turned Oskar.
“Where to first?” Dacio asked.
Oskar found it odd to be thrust into a position of leadership. He considered the question. He needed to get to Shanis, but he wasn’t certain where she was, or that the five of them alone could make it to her without help.
“Archstone,” he said. “To find Larris.”
Chapter 38
“They will be here within the hour.” Allyn’s blank face matched his emotionless tone. “Our scouts say it’s a sizeable force.”
“We need only to hold them off until help arrives.” Larris hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. He knew the chance was small. Their allies had thus far proved unwilling to offer aid, and even if they did, it would take weeks for help to arrive.
“I’d like to know where that saikur disappeared to,” Allyn said.
Larris had sent for James, the saikur who served as liaison between Archstone and the Gates, hoping he could use the saikurs’ unique form of communication to send for help more quickly, but the man’s quarters were empty and no one knew where he’d gone. Larris feared the worst.
“I can’t imagine he’d flee the city. He’s a saikur,” Larris said.
Allyn barked a bitter laugh. “Why not? Everyone else has.”
“That’s unfair. Where would we be without those who remained?” Desperate for bodies to man the city walls, Larris had sent agents out amongst the masses of refugees, signing on any man with fighting experience or who looked like he could handle a weapon. They were a weak lot, to be sure, but better than nothing. “If nothing else, the city will appear well-defended. And I can’t blame the rest for fleeing. I only wish we could have taken them all inside the walls.”
“If the Kyrinians breach our defenses, those who fled to the countryside will be better off than those of us inside.” Allyn bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “But I plan on taking out my share long before that happens.”
“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that.” Larris and his friend exchanged a long look and clasped hands.
“Don’t get sentimental on me.” Allyn looked out at the horizon and frowned. “Riders approaching.”
Indeed, a small contingent of men riding under a banner of truce, no more than a dozen, were galloping hard for the city. They reined in just beyond the range of the archers on the wall. At this distance, Larris could easily make out their black and gold uniforms.
“Kyrinians,” he said. “I wonder what they want.”
“They want us to surrender.” Allyn scowled in the Kyrinians’ direction. “They wouldn’t come all this way just to ask for a cessation of hostilities.”
A sudden, reckless urge came over Larris. “Let’s go. I’ll ride out to meet with them.”
“You’re an ice-blighted fool if you think you’re going to expose yourself to enemy fire no matter how small a force.”
“I’m not letting the council negotiate on the city’s behalf. For all we know, the temple is in league with Kyrin. I need to get out there before Jowan and Mazier open the gates to them.”
“That won’t happen,” Allyn said. “I took the liberty of sequestering the non-military members of the Regis inside the council chamber for the duration of the battle. I knew you wouldn’t approve, at least not officially, so I didn’t tell you.”
Larris smiled for the first time all day. “Nicely done. Now, we need to decide who we can trust to meet with the Kyrinians.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. They’re coming closer.”
Sure enough, the Kyrinians were slowly riding toward the city gate.
“Brave or foolish,” Larris said.
“Expendable, more like.” When the men were within hailing distance, Allyn called down to them. “That’s close enough. What do you want?”
“We want to speak to King Allar Van Altman.” The speaker was a wiry man with thinning, blond hair and a hawkish nose.
The mention of his father’s name was like a punch to Larris’ gut. Of course, this army that had been traveling in near-secret across the countryside would not be privy to recent events.
“I am afraid you are too late,” Larris said. “He went to be with the gods several days ago. I am Larris Van Altman and I speak for Archstone and for all of Galdora.”
“My sympathies, Highness.” The man made a quick bow of his head, and his companions followed suit. “I will make this brief. We have a force sufficient to overwhelm your city, but would prefer to spare both sides unnecessary casualties. Kyrin’s terms are simple. Galdora returns to us our ancestral lands north of the Whiterush River. Lands which we, incidentally, hold right now.”
Since Galdora had been carved out of Kyrin and Lothan to serve as a buffer between the two nations, and as a refuge for the hard-put members of Kyrinian society, Kyrin had coveted the strip of fertile farmland in northern Galdora and had tried on more than one occasion to reclaim it by force.
“No.” Larris was not about to surrender land for which so many Galdorans had sacrificed their lives to defend.
“Forgive me, Highness, but your position is untenable. Your forces are spread out all over your kingdom and no allies are coming to your aid.” He said the last in a loud voice intended to travel as far up and down the wall as possible. Larris heard muttering among the guards as they considered the man’s words. “We will give you until morning to consider our offer. Discuss it with your
Regis. I am sure they will see that none of the brave men of this city need die for the sake of a parcel of land hundreds of leagues away. Land you no longer control.”
Larris was about to reply that his answer would be unchanged on the morrow, but Allyn nudged him.
“We need every second we can get to prepare our defenses,” he whispered.
Larris grimaced. Allyn was right. “Very well. But do not expect my answer to change. We are more than prepared to repel any attack you send against us. A Galdoran man fears no yellow-haired northerner.”
At these words, a ragged cheer rose up among the defenders who stood within earshot.
The Kyrinian smirked. “As you wish. If you see reason by sunrise, lower your flags and open your gates. If not, we attack.” He bowed, wheeled his horse, and rode away.
“Well then,” Allyn said. “That bought us a little time.”
“I only hope we can do something useful with it.” Deep down, Larris knew it was a faint hope. They needed a miracle.
Chapter 39
I don’t think we can hold them much longer.” Sweat soaked Allyn’s blonde hair, but he appeared unharmed. That alone seemed a miracle in the midst of the pitched battle. As promised, the Kyrinians had attacked at dawn and had not relented since.
Larris looked across the battlefield at the enemy forces which were already rallying for another charge. Just beyond their ranks, siege towers were being wheeled into place. A bad situation was about to get worse.
The Galdorans had fought bravely, bleeding the Kyrinians in every clash. The veterans they had culled from the ranks of refugees provided solid leadership, strengthening the resolve of their less-experienced comrades. They used their defenses to good effect, but their own losses were taking their toll. A few of the enemy, carrying scaling ladders, had actually surmounted the walls on the last attack. If they came again in force, he doubted the defenders could hold them back this time.
“I want the catapults firing for all they’re worth as soon as the siege engines are in range. We have got to bring them down,” he ordered.
