“Again, you mean?” Korin shot back, giving his friend a bitter smile.
“That’s not what I said.”
Niryn was pleased to see some hint of division at last. “It would not be running away, Lord Caliel,” he said smoothly. “If the enemy breaches the gate, they will kill everyone they find, including our young king. They’ll drag his body through the streets and display his head as a trophy in Benshâl. The Overlord will wear the crown and Ghërilain’s Sword at their victory feast.”
Korin paused in his pacing and gripped the hilt of the great sword hanging against his hip. “He’s right, Caliel. They know they can’t take the whole country with one assault, but if they destroy Ero, capture the treasury and the Sword, kill the last of the line—how long will Skala stand after that?”
“But Tobin—”
“Is as great a threat!” Korin shot back. “You’ve heard the reports. Every Illioran left in the city is whispering about it, saying the true queen has come back to save the land. Three more priests were executed today, but the damage is done. How long until this rabble unbars the gate to the renegades? You saw the banners among Tobin’s army; the countryside is already rising to join him—or her!” He threw his hands up with a snarl of disgust. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is; the ignorant already believe. And if he does manage to break through, what then?” He drew the sword and held it up. “Better for the Overlord to have this than a traitor!”
“You’re wrong, Kor! Why can’t you see it?” Caliel cried. “If Tobin wanted the city to fall, why come to our defense? He could just as easily have delayed and let the invaders do his dirty work for him. You saw how he fought today. Wait, I beg you. Give it another day before you do this.”
Alben burst in and gave Korin a hasty salute. “Korin, sappers have broken through under the wall and the main gate just fell. They’re pouring in like rats!”
Korin’s eyes were like a dead man’s as he turned to Caliel. “Gather my guard and the Companions. Ero is lost.”
Chapter 58
Caught in that torrential downpour, Tobin’s army had no choice but to hunker down and wait for dawn.
Using pikes, cloaks, and a bit of hedge magic, the wizards managed to construct a few small tents for themselves, and for Tobin and her officers.
Tobin and Tharin spoke at length with the Wormhole survivors, learning what they could of the enemy’s strength, but their report was old news by now.
Sometime near midnight a shout of dismay went up among the ranks as a red glow blossomed against the sky.
“The Palatine!” Ki exclaimed. “They must have broken through. It’s burning!”
Tobin turned to Arkoniel. “Can you show me what’s happening, like you did with Tharin?”
“Of course.” They knelt together on a folded cloak and Arkoniel took her hands in his. “We haven’t done this since you were a child. Do you remember what I taught you?”
Tobin nodded. “You had me imagine I was an eagle.”
Arkoniel smiled. “Yes, that will do. Just close your eyes and let yourself rise.”
Tobin felt a dizzying sensation of movement, then saw the dark, rainswept plain sliding away below her. The illusion was strong; she could feel her wings and the rain beating down on them. A large owl flew with her, and it had Arkoniel’s eyes. He glided ahead and she followed, circling the Plenimaran position by the gate, then soaring up to the devastation of the Palatine.
The New Palace, the temple, and the sacred grove: they were all in flames. Everywhere she looked she saw hundreds of people locked in close combat. There were no banners to tell her where the Companions were. It was utter chaos. As she circled the burning grove, however, she looked to the south and saw with amazement that another small army was encamped there, facing the contingent of Plenimarans who held the Beggar’s Bridge gate.
She was about to swoop down for a closer look when she found herself kneeling under the dripping tent again, the beginnings of a headache throbbing just behind her eyes. Arkoniel was holding his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “With everything that’s happened these last few days, I’m a bit used up.”
“We all are,” Iya said, pressing her hand to the back of his neck.
Tobin got up and turned to Tharin. “We must attack. Now.”
“We can’t!” said Jorvai.
“He’s right, Highness,” Kyman agreed. “A night attack is always risky, but with this rain the horses will be more likely to founder, or run themselves onto stakes.”
“We’ll take our chances then, but we must attack now! The Palatine has fallen. They’re fighting for their lives. If we don’t help them, there’ll be no one left to save by morning. There’s another army on the south side and the Plenimarans have had to divide up to face them. Iya, what can your wizards do? Can you help us break through at the lower walls?”
“We’ll do what we can.”
“Good. Ki, Lynx, find our horses and send runners to alert the others. Kyman, Jorvai, will your people fight?”
“Ilear is with you,” Kyman replied, pressing his fist to his heart.
“And Colath,” Jorvai swore. “If nothing else, we’ll give the bastards a nasty surprise!”
* * *
Word of the Palatine breach spread through the Camp. Despite rain, mud, and exhaustion, Tobin’s shivering army found its feet and within an hour they were marching under order of silence toward the enemy line once again. Jorvai sent a raiding party to dispatch the outlying pickets and they did their job well. No outcry gave them away and the rain became their friend, hiding their approach from the sentries.
Iya and eight of the wizards stole on ahead. They kept to the high road, letting the darkness cloak them, conserving their strength for the task ahead. Arkoniel had complained bitterly when she’d ordered him to stay behind with the rear guard, but finally agreed when she’d pointed out that it wouldn’t do for the last Guardian to find himself and the precious bowl he carried in Plenimaran hands if it all went wrong.
Holding hands like children so as not to get separated, Iya and her small band of saboteurs plodded along, wading down wheel ruts flooded into small streams.
They stopped just outside the stake lines. Wizards saw better in the dark than ordinary folk, and from here they could easily make out the bearded faces of some of the guards standing around their watch fires. A few hundred yards beyond lay the broken black mouth of the north gate, blocked by makeshift wooden barricades.
They’d agreed in advance that Iya would direct the spell, for her powers were the strongest for this sort of work. The others stood just behind her, their hands pressed against her back and shoulders.
“Illior help us,” she whispered, raising her wand in both hands. It was the first time so many had joined at once for such a destructive magic. Iya hoped her old body was strong enough to channel it. Stifling her doubts, she lowered the wand in her left hand and narrowed her eyes. The line of stakes and the watchmen’s fires blurred before her as the other wizards willed their power into her.
The spell burst through her and Iya was certain it would shred her to bits. It was like wildfire and hurricanes and avalanches raging all at once. Her bones sang with the force of it.
Yet somehow she survived, and watched in astonishment as pale green fire engulfed the stake line and the barricades beyond. It didn’t look like flames, but a mass of writhing forms—serpents or dragons, perhaps. It grew brighter, then exploded. The ground shook and a great gust of hot wind rocked her on her feet. The blast left a roiling cloud of steam in its wake.
Then the ground was shaking again, and this time it came from behind. Someone grabbed her and they tumbled together into the icy water of a ditch. Horsemen surged around and over them, charging the new opening. Iya watched the fleeting shapes as if they were a dream. Perhaps it was a dream, for she couldn’t feel her body.
“We did it! We did it!” Saruel cried, holding Iya close to shield her. “Iya, do you see?
Iya?”
Iya wanted to answer her, but darkness came and claimed her.
The flash of the wizards’ attack left black spots dancing before Tobin’s eyes, but that didn’t slow her as she led the charge through the gap. As Kyman had predicted, they caught the enemy completely off guard.
Kyman and Jorvai attacked the walls while Tobin and the Atyion garrison stormed up to the Palatine.
Red fire lit their way. The heat of the burning palace seemed to drive off the rain and the flames lit the surrounding area like a beacon.
The battle was still raging and once again they took the Plenimarans by surprise. It was impossible to tell how many they were fighting; with her guard at her back and Tharin, Ki, and Lynx close beside her, Tobin plowed on into the fray.
It was all confusion after that. The broken pavement underfoot hampered them, and familiar landmarks seemed to loom up at odd moments or in the wrong place. At the Royal Tomb the portico was empty, as if the stone effigies had somehow joined the fray. They fought on past the temple, but the pillars and roof were missing.
Small groups of Skalan defenders joined them, but they were outnumbered. The blackened walls around them caught the clamor of battle and magnified it.
They fought for what seemed like hours as rage carried Tobin past exhaustion. Her arms were soaked to the elbow with blood, and her surcoat was black with it.
At last the enemy seemed to be thinning, and she heard a cry among them that sounded like, “There away, there away!”
“Are they calling a retreat?” she asked Tharin, as they paused in the shelter of the tombs.
He listened a moment, then let out a grim laugh. “That’s dyr’awai they’re saying. If I’m not mistaken, it means ‘demon queen.’ ”
Ki chuckled as he wiped his blade on the hem of his sodden surcoat. “Guess word of you got around, after all.”
Captain Grannia climbed up to join them. “Are you hurt, Highness?”
“No, just getting my bearings.”
“We have them on the run. My lot just brought down what looks to be a general, and a good number of the others tried to run for the gate. We killed most of them.”
“Well done! Has there been any sign of Prince Korin?”
“Not that I’ve seen, Highness.”
The captain and her women set off again. Tobin stretched and yawned. “Well, let’s have at it.”
Just as they were about to set off again, however, she looked around at her remaining guard and her heart sank. “Where’s Lynx?”
Ki shared a dark look with Tharin. “Perhaps he got his wish, after all.”
There was no time to mourn him. A gang of Plenimarans found them, and the battle was joined again.
Chapter 59
The rain and the battle ended just before dawn. The last of the Plenimarans broke and ran, only to be cut down by the Skalan forces manning the lower city. Lord Jorvai later estimated that even with the southern troops, they’d been outnumbered nearly three to one, but fury had driven them to a bloody victory all the same. “No quarter” remained the standing order, and none was given. Dawn found the rotting plague dead overlaid with dead and dying Plenimarans. A handful of black ships had escaped to carry the news of their defeat back to Benshâl, but most of the raiding fleet had been burned. Smoking hulks drifted on the tide or blazed grounded against the rocky shore. The water was strewn with floating corpses and thick with sharks feasting on this bounty.
Messengers were already streaming in from the lower wards and surrounding countryside. The lands south and west of the city were untouched, but to the north and throughout the city the granaries had been destroyed and whole wards burned flat. Enemy soldiers were rumored to have escaped inland during the night, and Tobin sent Lord Kyman after them.
Refugees were trickling back in, as well, and those who’d somehow survived the siege emerged from their hiding places, weeping, laughing, cursing. Like filthy, vengeful ghosts, they roamed the streets, stripping the dead and mutilating the wounded.
The Palatine was scarcely recognizable. Resting for a moment at the head of the temple steps with Ki and Tharin, Tobin wearily surveyed the grim scene before her. Just below, her guard and Grannia’s fighters kept an uneasy watch; it was too soon to tell how many Skalans here remained loyal to Korin.
Smoke cast a dreary twilight pall over the citadel and the stench of death was already rising. Hundreds of bodies choked the narrow streets: soldier and citizen, Skalan and Plenimaran, thrown together like broken dolls.
The king’s body had been found in a tower room above the gate. He was laid out in state, but the crown and the Sword of Ghërilain were gone. There’d been no sign of Korin or any of the Companions. Tobin had dispatched a company of men to look for them among the dead.
Lynx was still missing, too, and Chancellor Hylus had not been seen. There’d been no word of Iya and the other wizards, either, and Tobin had sent Arkoniel down to look for them by the gates. There was nothing more to do but wait for word.
Warriors and drysians were at work carrying the wounded to the Old Palace but the task was overwhelming. Flocks of ravens were descending for the feast, strutting among the dead and mingling their harsh triumphant cries with the cries of the wounded.
The New Palace was still burning and would for days. The Treasury had not been looted, but was lost for a time beneath the flames and rubble. Hundreds of fine houses—Tobin’s among them—were only smoking foundations, and those that still stood were stained black. The fine elms that had lined the avenue beyond the Old Palace were gone; their stumps stood like uneven teeth along the road, and the Grove of Dalna had been decimated by axe and flame. The Old Palace had suffered some fire damage, but was still standing. The Companions’ training ground, witness to a thousand mock battles, was strewn with genuine dead, and the reflecting pool was dyed red.
Ki shook his head. “Bilairy’s balls! Did we save anything?”
“Just be thankful that it’s us standing here now, and not the enemy,” Tharin told him.
Exhaustion settled over Tobin like a fog, but she forced herself to her feet. “Let’s go see who’s left.”
Near the Old Palace a passing general of the Palatine Guard recognized her surcoat and sank to one knee.
“General Skonis, Highness,” he said, searching her face with wondering eyes as he saluted. “I congratulate you on your victory.”
“You have my thanks, General. I’m sorry we were too late to prevent all this. Is there any news of my cousin?”
The man bowed his head. “The king is gone, Highness.”
“King?” Tharin asked sharply. “They found time for a coronation?”
“No, my lord, but he has the Sword—”
“Never mind that,” said Tobin. “You say he’s gone?”
“He escaped, Highness. As soon as the gates went down, the Companions and Lord Niryn took him away.”
“He ran away?” Ki said, incredulous.
“He was taken to safety, my lord,” the general shot back, glaring up at him, and Tobin guessed where the man’s true loyalties lay.
“Where did he go?” Tharin demanded.
“Lord Niryn said he would send word.” He looked boldly back at Tobin again. “He has the Sword and the crown. He is the heir.”
Ki stepped angrily toward him, but Tharin caught his arm, and said, “The true heir stands revealed before you, Skorus. Go and spread the word. No loyal Skalan has reason to fear her.”
The man saluted again and strode away.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tharin growled. “You need to make yourself known quickly.”
“Yes.” Tobin glanced around. “The old audience chamber is still standing. Send out word that anyone who can still walk is to go there at once. I’ll address the people there.”
“You should have a larger guard, too. Grannia, assemble a guard of six hundred. Have them form up in the front courtyard at once.”
Grannia saluted and hurried away.
As Tobin turned to go, however, she caught sight of two familiar, blood-grimed figures approaching out of the haze of the palace gardens. It was Lynx and Una.
“There you are!” Una called out. Walking up to Tobin, she looked closely at her, then looked away blushing. “Lynx tried to tell me, but I couldn’t imagine—”
“I’m sorry,” said Tobin, and meant it. The neck of Una’s tunic was open and Tobin saw she still wore the golden sword pendant she’d made for her. “There was no way to tell you before. I never meant to lead you on.”
Una managed a stiff smile. “I know. I just—Well, never mind.”
“So this is the girl who caused all that uproar with the king?” said Tharin, holding his hand out to her. “It’s good to see you again, Lady Una.”
“It’s Rider Una, now,” she told him proudly. “Tobin and Ki did manage to make a warrior of me, after all.” She paused and looked at the smoke rising from the far end of the Old Palace. “You haven’t heard any word of my family, have you?”
“No,” said Tobin. “Did you come up to look for them?”
Una nodded.
“Good luck, then. And Una? I need more people for my guard. Ask Ahra if she’d be willing, when you go back, and I’ll speak to Jorvai.”
“I will. And thank you.” Una hurried off toward the smoke.
“What happened to you, Lynx?” Ki demanded.
“Nothing,” the other squire replied dully. “After we got separated last night I ended up with Ahra’s riders outside the gates.”
“I’m glad to have you back. I was afraid we’d lost you,” Tobin told him.
Lynx acknowledged this with a nod. “We burned the Harriers’ headquarters.”
“That’s a good night’s work!” Ki exclaimed. “Were any of them in it at the time?”
“Unfortunately, no,” he replied. “We killed all the grey-backs we could find, but the wizards were already gone. Ahra and her people found their money chests and let out the last of the prisoners, then put the place to the torch.”
Hidden Warrior Page 50
