by Anthony Ryan
“Having already told me the consequences if I don’t. Always the way with you, nothing but hard choices.” She uncrossed her arms, moving to sit on the bed and taking Juhkar’s hand. “Wait outside,” she repeated.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“You’re alive.” Eresa’s small face was blank with astonishment as her eyes tracked him from head to toe.
“So it seems,” Vaelin said.
“Told you,” Ellese said, coming forward to embrace her uncle. “A few sparks could never put him down.”
Vaelin saw mostly relief in her expression as she stepped back, but also a new shadow behind her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Guilt, he supposed, had been a rare sensation for her until now.
“The boy?” he asked.
“Swift-footed little bugger, the arrow just grazed him.” She shrugged, forcing a grin that didn’t last long. “It was enough.”
“Brother.” Nortah came to Ellese’s side, Vaelin seeing a depth of shame in his face greater even than in the aftermath of his most drunken excesses. “I . . .”
“It’s done,” Vaelin told him. “With luck, it won’t need to be done again.”
“No one ever lives,” Eresa muttered, continuing to stare at Vaelin, a small measure of fear creeping into her gaze until Luralyn voiced a pointed cough. “Apologies, my lord.” Eresa gave a bow that was a clumsy approximation of Far Western etiquette.
“For what?” Vaelin clasped her shoulder, raising her up. “You did what I commanded.”
Sehmon stepped forward bearing Vaelin’s weapons and armour, whilst Alum stood off to the side, a faintly reproachful scowl on his features. “You take many risks,” he said as Vaelin donned his hauberk. “I’m unlikely to find our children with you dead.”
“You could have left,” Vaelin reminded him, looping his sword belt over his shoulder. “Continued the search on your own. As I’ve said more than once, you have no obligation to me.”
“We both know that not to be true,” the Moreska replied. “And I hold true to my cousin’s word.”
They straightened as one as the plaintive but resonant sound of many signal horns blowing in unison drifted across the temple precinct. “Attacking in daylight,” Vaelin said, looking at Luralyn. “Your brother changes tactics.”
“No,” Ahm Lin said, eyes narrowed and head tilted in the now-familiar pose that told of a new tune from his song. “This is no attack.”
“What else could it be?” Nortah wondered.
“Parley,” Luralyn said with a sorrowful sigh. She took a breath and strode briskly towards the temple gate. “My brother wants to talk.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Kehlbrand Reyerik, Mestra-Skeltir of the Stahlhast and Darkblade of the Unseen, rode alone towards the northern gate. He wore no helm but was clad in unadorned armour of pure black that caught the midday sun, the enamelled metal bare of any blemish or scratch. His army stood at his back, a dark line of steel-clad humanity and horses extending a mile in either direction. The entire army chanted prayers as he approached, Vaelin noting how Luralyn’s dismayed gaze tracked from the ranks of the Tuhla to the Stahlhast.
“So he has claimed them all now,” she said. “The Darkblade rules without challenge or restraint.”
She rode her white stallion at Sho Tsai’s left whilst Vaelin rode Derka on his right. From the way the beast tossed his head and continually sought to spur from a canter to a gallop, Vaelin divined he hadn’t taken well to prolonged confinement in the garrison stables.
Sho Tsai raised his hand to bring them to a halt just within bowshot of the walls. A dense line of crossbowmen were arrayed on the battlements, ready to unleash an inescapable and deadly hail at the general’s signal.
Kehlbrand reined to a stop just beyond range of the crossbows, leaving a distance of no more than ten paces between them. His expression was a marked contrast to the occasionally sardonic and often knowing face Vaelin had come to despise. Now he appeared every inch the grave, resolute warrior, complete with a reluctant cast to his eyes presumably intended to convey the sense of a soul facing a dire but necessary duty.
The chanted prayers died as Kehlbrand held up a hand, absolute silence descending on his army in an instant. “Little colt,” he said to Luralyn, the words clipped as if to strip them of any betraying but still deeply felt emotion. “You are well?”
“No,” she replied, her own voice roughened by an unconstrained pain. “My brother went mad and killed a great many people imagining himself to be a god. So no, Kehlbrand. I am not well.”
Vaelin saw a brief flicker of something beneath Kehlbrand’s mask then, a slight shift to his eyes and bunching of his cheek that could either signify real hurt or anger. But it was gone almost immediately, the resolute warrior’s mask in place once more.
“For so many years,” he said, voice rich with regret Vaelin knew to be entirely false, “we were all the other had. The only love I knew was the love of my sister. What did I ever do to drive you so far from me? To render you into this”—he closed his eyes for a second, letting out a shuddering breath—“state of traitorous heresy.”
“Everything,” she said. “Every action you took since touching the stone, if not before. I am as I am because this is what you made me. For the world to endure, I had to become your enemy.”
“I cannot accept that.” He raised his arm, casting it out to encompass the majesty of his army. “You see here thousands of souls redeemed in my sight. No soul is beyond the Darkblade’s regard, all can be gathered into the embrace of the Unseen.” He swept his arm towards her, hand extended, fingers open as if trying to grasp her. “Even the woman they now name the Betrayer. Amongst our people it has become a curse to speak your name, a profane and obscene thing. But I will not have it so, Luralyn. I will not leave you unredeemed. Come with me. Sully yourself amongst these wretches no more.”
“Why are you playing this farce?” Vaelin enquired. “You must know we see through it.”
Kehlbrand’s features twitched with momentary rage but he continued to hold his hand out to his sister. When he spoke again it was in the Stahlhast tongue, his voice soft, imploring. Luralyn’s only reply was a shake of her head before she palmed tears from her eyes.
Sighing, Kehlbrand lowered his arm before casting a faintly sour glance at Vaelin. “The Fire Queen’s assassin lives on, I see. Your role is done, Thief of Names. Why not find a quiet corner to die in?”
“If you wish my death, then challenge me,” Vaelin replied. “Since you no longer have a champion to do your fighting for you.”
Kehlbrand laughed at the jibe. “I still sense no song in you, so you remain unworthy. I’ve a mind to leave your death to Babukir, once he’s completed his penance. General”—he shifted his gaze to Sho Tsai—“does this foreign barbarian speak for you now?”
“His words are his own,” Sho Tsai returned, “and mine belong to the Merchant King.”
“A dutiful man then, and given how well your troops have fought, one worthy of my respect.” He bowed in the saddle, Sho Tsai returning the gesture with evident reluctance. “And therefore, I would ask that you hold to your duty,” Kehlbrand went on, “and march your men away from here. I guarantee you safe passage all the way to the southern boundary of the Northern Prefecture. Bear your arms and banners with you, in honour.”
Sho Tsai’s features remained impassive but for a raised eyebrow. “You will simply allow us to march free? As a soldier, this strikes me as being against all military logic.”
“He’s lost too many Blessed-of-Heaven fighting us,” Vaelin said. “And wishes to preserve the rest for his conquest of the Merchant Realms.” He offered the Stahlhast a bland smile. “Do you not?”
“Do not allow this foreign deceiver to lead you into ruin, General,” Kehlbrand said, not sparing a glance in Vaelin’s direction. “This city wi
ll fall. I know you see it. You do not have the numbers to oppose me, and your stand here will avail the Venerable Kingdom nothing but the deaths of soldiers it can ill afford to lose. I will require soldiers, you see. When I claim the Venerable Kingdom it will need to be policed, the people’s fears allayed by men who speak their own tongue and know their customs. Thus will they be guided into the embrace of the Unseen. A man like you will stand high in the court of the Darkblade, lead armies against the southern kingdoms. Glory and renown will be your reward, and the reward of your men. Preferable, don’t you agree, to death and the ignominy of failure, which is all that awaits them here?”
Sho Tsai pursed his lips, angling his gaze to look past Kehlbrand at the army beyond. “How can it be,” he wondered, “that a man whose words are so empty of truth even a child would know him a fraud, could have gathered such a host?”
Kehlbrand lowered his gaze, the sincere mask slipping into mordant resignation. “Are you truly going to make me do this?” he said, once again addressing his sister. “You know I spoke true, Luralyn.”
Luralyn’s hands went to her neck as she lifted a chain over her head. It held what appeared to be a long tooth of some kind, engraved with some form of script. “You lied to me long before you touched the stone,” she said, casting the chain at him. Kehlbrand caught it, a brief flicker of sadness showing in his eyes as he looked it over.
“I wanted your life to be free of fear,” he said. “I still do. Come with me. Leave these fools to their fate.”
“Their fate is mine now,” she replied, tugging on her reins to turn her horse about. “And you have had your answer.”
She started back towards the city at a gallop, followed shortly after by Sho Tsai, who saw no need to pause for a formal farewell. “You really should have touched the stone, you know,” Kehlbrand told Vaelin as he prepared to spur Derka in pursuit of the others. “I’m not saying you would have had any chance,” he went on, the familiar grin now returned to his lips, “but at least it would have made this all so much more interesting.”
“I’ll look for you on the walls,” Vaelin assured him. “Or are you too craven . . .”
His words were swallowed by a sudden resurgence of the army’s prayers, Vaelin seeing how they were all stabbing the air with their lances and swords to match the cadence of the chants. His gaze was soon drawn upwards at the sight of a tall, dark silhouette rising above the throng. It resembled a castle tower, but with a more jagged outline, growing in bulk as it drew closer. As Vaelin watched, a pair of towers resolved out of the noon haze on either side of the first, with yet more appearing soon after.
The army’s clamour became frenzied as the towers approached, the ranks parting to reveal teams of oxen fifty strong dragging the towers across the plain, their huge wheels carving trenches in the earth. Vaelin saw how the light caught the flanks of the towers, not with the dull sheen of timber, but the hard gleam of iron.
“Did you imagine,” Kehlbrand asked, shouting above the now animal roar of his host, “that I had naught but the Divine Blood to call upon?”
The prospect of drawing his sword flitted briefly through Vaelin’s head, but the distance between them was too great. The Stahlhast would have time to evade the charge, and Vaelin knew Kehlbrand’s skills were more than sufficient to fight him off before the army swarmed forward.
So all he could do was meet Kehlbrand’s gaze and shout, “You made a child touch the stone and had us murder him! I’ll have a reckoning for that!”
Turning Derka about he rode hard for the city. The Darkblade’s laughter, audible even above the fanatical tumult, chased him all the way to the gate.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“Towers of iron won’t burn.”
Sho Tsai gave no reaction to Vaelin’s words, continuing to watch the towers. There were twelve of them in all, drawn by long trains of oxen in a slow but inexorable progress across the plain. As they drew closer the nature of their construction became clear, each one standing eighty feet high with walls fashioned from overlapping plates of hammered iron. Luralyn, speaking in tones of appalled admiration, pronounced them the most remarkable contrivances ever to emerge from the workshops of the Stahlhast tors.
“It must have taken a year, at least,” she said. “Another secret he kept from me.”
The towers had been grouped into pairs, three of which had already halted in a wide arc to the north. Vaelin knew the others would take the rest of the day to move into position, covering every approach to the city. Come nightfall they would launch a simultaneous assault, allowing the defenders no opportunity to concentrate their strength. Vaelin could see no stratagem that might prevent seizure of the outer wall.
“Retire to the second tier, General,” he told Sho Tsai. “Conserve our strength. They’ll never be able to manoeuvre those monsters through the streets of the lower tier.”
“Thereby giving the enemy an easy victory,” Sho Tsai pointed out. “And stoking their courage, whilst our men retire in shame.”
“Shamed men can find dignity in fighting another day. Dead men can’t.”
The general’s gaze grew sharp with warning but the expected stern reminder of their respective status was forestalled by Tsai Lin. “May I crave permission to speak, General?” the Dai Lo said with a deep bow.
Sho Tsai’s eyes slid from Vaelin to his adopted son, narrowing yet further. “What is it?” he snapped.
“Towers of iron won’t burn, this is true,” Tsai Lin said. “But the men inside those towers will. I believe . . .” He paused, taking a hard breath. “Lord Vaelin is correct, the outer wall cannot be held, but neither should we allow the enemy a bloodless triumph.” He turned, nodding to the mostly empty houses of the lower tier. “Not when we can greet them with an inferno birthed by the fires of Heaven.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The remaining hours before sunset were filled with frantic labour as hastily assembled work parties broke down the doors and shutters of every house in the lower tier. The interiors were stuffed with all manner of combustible material, in addition to the various furnishings left behind by the evacuated populace. Tiles were scraped from roofs to lay bare the timbers, and every spare stick of wood from the houses of the second tier was transported to the lower, whilst coal was piled in liberal quantities on every street corner. With this done, Varij set to work, using his gift to pull down carefully selected buildings at various junctions in order to create choke points. He proved tireless in his labour, staggering a little as he crumbled the foundations of the last house, the entire structure subliming into a dense pile of brick and wood.
“More?” he asked Vaelin, using a rag to wipe away the copious blood leaking from his nose and eyes.
“I think that will suffice,” Vaelin assured him. “Best if you go and stand with your mistress. She’ll need your protection when it starts.”
The young Gifted gave a weary but grateful nod and started towards the second tier, pausing to add, “Many times I’ve used this gift so the Darkblade could conquer a place. It feels good to use it to save one.” He gave a tired smile and moved in a determined but somewhat uneven trot.
The contents of every intact structure were then liberally doused in oil, and additional clay pots brimming with fuel were placed at the choke points, ready to be shattered when the time came. Despite the discipline and energy with which the Merchant soldiery went about the task, Vaelin was grateful for the long summer sun, which kept the Darkblade’s towers at bay until the last oil had been thrown and the bulk of the troops withdrawn to the second wall.
The towers began their slow approach to the outer wall just as the sun began to dip towards the earth. Vaelin assumed Kehlbrand, or some keen mind under his thrall, had calculated the precise moment for the towers to lower their ramps onto the battlements just as darkness fell. They were no longer drawn by oxen, but pushed by people. A long narrow column
of Redeemed extended from the rear of each tower’s base, pushing on beams sprouting from a pole some two hundred paces in length. They chanted as they pushed, heaving the massive constructions forward in time to their rhythmic battle prayers. Behind the pushers marched a great mass of Redeemed and dismounted Stahlhast. They halted before coming into bowshot of the walls whilst the towers kept on. Vaelin assumed the infantry would rush forward to scale the towers once they reached the wall and lowered their ramps.
“Crossbows forward!” he barked. Whilst the bulk of the nearest tower concealed the pushers from direct assault, they could still be assailed from the flanks. He moved to the forefront of the western bastion, standing alongside the crossbowmen as they loosed their bolts. Several Redeemed fell at the first volley, mostly those near the end of the pole, but dozens of their comrades sprinted forward to take their place, and the cadence of the chant barely faltered.
“You know the plan!” Vaelin called to the surrounding crossbowmen. “When you’re down to your last two bolts, run for the second tier! Do not linger!”
He ducked as an arrow arced down from the top of the nearest tower, the steel head striking a spark as it careened off a stone buttress. The summit of each tower featured a dozen Stahlhast archers. Fortunately the hail of bolts forced them to bob up from cover only intermittently, preventing a clear view of how thinly held the walls were this night. Some ten thousand soldiers had been spread around the battlements as the day wore on, ordered to keep marching back and forth under different banners to create the illusion that Sho Tsai had chosen to contest the outer wall with his full strength. All had orders to retire at speed to the second tier when the towers came within ten yards of the wall.
Vaelin found Ellese and Jihla waiting at the top of the stairwell, the Skulls thronging the steps below. Kihlen waited with the Red Scouts near the eastern gate whilst Eresa, whose sparks could ignite an oil-soaked timber as well as any flame, was positioned to the south with Nortah and a group of hand-picked soldiers.
