He didn’t find anything that he thought of as useful, but somehow, the more he read, the better he felt about things. When he didn’t find anything he could use in The Book of Moon, he found himself reading The Book of Stars—it was the one he’d only skimmed before, as it had no spells in it at all, just what seemed like advice. How to think. How to act. How to—pretty much—relax and wait for the Wild Magic to show you what to do, and even if Harrier doubted that the Wild Magic was going to fix things in any way he really liked, it was comforting to hope it would. At least, after he’d been reading for a while, he no longer wanted to hit anybody.
After a while he was roused by the sound of a knock on the door. He quickly stuffed the Books under the nearest cushion and got to his feet. But when he opened the door, it was only Tiercel.
“We have a bookcase,” Tiercel announced.
“That’s … nice?” Harrier said. “There’s nothing I like better when my city is besieged by crazy people than a nice bookcase.”
Tiercel frowned. “Are you drunk? Because—”
“No. I’ve been reading.”
“That explains it then. Daspuc and Rial have gone back to the Temple for evening Liturgy. They’ll be back tomorrow. And I had a chance to check a couple of my spellbooks. You won’t like what I found. Or maybe you will. I don’t know.”
“You sound funny,” Harrier said.
“So do you. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”
“There isn’t any wine in here, just to begin with. So what won’t I like?”
“I’d forgotten some things about MageShield. It’s … it’s a shield, you know?”
“Probably why they call it ‘MageShield,’ Tyr.”
“No,” Tiercel said seriously. “If it was just that, they’d call it, I don’t know, ‘Shield,’ or something. It’s a MageShield specifically. I mean, it keeps out spears and arrows and people—and that’s good. But it won’t let magic through either.” He looked at Harrier as if Harrier should understand what that meant, and Harrier didn’t, and he knew it was obvious from his expression. “Spells won’t pass through it, Harrier,” Tiercel said quietly. “Not in, and not out.”
“Oh,” Harrier said, when he’d thought about it for a moment. “So …?”
“It doesn’t matter what spell I find in the spellbooks, really. I’d have to dispel MageShield to cast it.”
“The walls will stop them,” Harrier said.
Tiercel shrugged. “For a little while.”
But when the Telchi returned to share their evening meal, he brought a ray of hope.
“The enemy army is in poor condition,” he announced, seating himself at the low dining table and dipping a piece of flatbread into the bowl of stew. The new bookcase towered behind him. It was an enormous item of lacquered and gilded wood, large enough to hold all of Tiercel’s books in one place, but it really didn’t seem to quite belong in the room.
“That’s good?” Tiercel said, puzzled.
“How poor?” Harrier asked.
“I have observed them for most of the day. They have not encircled the city, as any commander would who wished to lay a siege. They have pitched their tents in the orchards and most of them remain within. It is obvious that they seek water and food.”
“The orchards are watered by canals,” Harrier said.
“Fed from the city’s Iteru,” the Telchi said, nodding. “The water to the canals was shut off the moment the army drew near, and they have already drunk them dry. Now, the only water to be found outside the walls is a spring five miles to the east. It is barely sufficient for a flock of thirsty goats; it will not meet the needs of so vast an army. Radnatucca Oasis is a day’s journey into the desert—but it, too, has insufficient water for so many people and shotors.”
“How long can they survive without water?” Tiercel asked, when no one said anything else.
“The Isvaieni are hardy folk, used to privation,” the Telchi said. “Perhaps even a sennight. If they slaughter their beasts and drink their blood to survive, even longer, but if they do, they know they doom themselves, for they cannot cross the desert again on foot, so they will delay doing so as long as possible.”
“No,” Tiercel said, shaking his head. “Why would they wait—try to hold out—if they don’t think the shield is going to come down? And why would they think it will?”
“They don’t have anywhere else to go,” Harrier said after a moment’s thought. “Laganda’Iteru is a moonturn and a half back up the road. Akazidas’Iteru is at least that far to the west. There’s not enough water for them along the road either way. There’s not enough water out in the desert. They have to take the city.”
“Can they be convinced that this is possible?” the Telchi asked quietly. “Convinced that the shield Tiercel has cast will fall swiftly?”
“What good does that do us?” Tiercel asked. Harrier stared toward the bookcase. He didn’t want to see the hope on Tiercel’s face. He didn’t want to hope himself.
“If they think the city will fall to them, they will wait. They will give what water there is to their beasts and stint themselves. Each day, each hour, they will weaken. If you can manage to hold them off for a sennight—even for five days, or four—they will be too weak to raise their awardans against their attackers. We can ride out from the city—all of us, every man who can hold a weapon—and slay them.”
To hold the shield in place meant that Tiercel would have to stay awake. Harrier didn’t want to think about what it would take for Tiercel to manage to stay awake for that long. He hoped that somewhere in all those High Magick books of his there was a spell for that.
“I can help,” Tiercel said. “When—When it’s time, I’ll set fire to their tents. Their shotors will panic.”
“Then this is a good plan,” the Telchi said with approval. “And may the Giver of Swords and the Lady of Battles grant that all goes as we wish it to.”
Soon Harrier began to yawn, and Tiercel demanded that he go to bed right now, because if Tiercel had to be awake for the next sennight, he didn’t want Harrier yawning in his face. “And go take a bath first,” Tiercel demanded.
“You just want to see if we get hot water here,” Harrier gibed, and Tiercel grinned.
Fifteen
The Long Watch
IN THE MORNING, Harrier awoke at his usual hour. Between the too-soft and unfamiliar bed and the strange violet light coming in through the windows, he was disoriented at first, but he soon remembered where he was. He dressed and went out into the main room. Tiercel was sitting at the low table, books spread out all around him, and a pot of kaffeyah at his elbow.
“I’ve decided I really hate this stuff after all,” he said conversationally. “It tastes awful.”
“You won’t have to drink it for too long,” Harrier said.
“When this is over, I’m going to sleep for a week, I think.” Tiercel waved at a high narrow table by the wall. “They brought breakfast earlier, but I put it over there. I was using the table.”he vaguely remembered that some ornamental vases or bowls or something had been on it earlier, and he wondered where they were. It was high enough, too, that he could eat standing up, and did. Before he was quite finished, one of the footmen came in to tell them that they had been summoned to a private audience with Consul Aldarnas. Tiercel quickly got to his feet and put on his long vest and his boots. Harrier went to get his swords, but when he came back carrying them, the footman frowned and told him that no one carried weapons into the Consul’s presence. So Harrier reluctantly left them behind and the two of them followed the footman to the Consul’s Audience Chamber.
In Armethalieh, they’d both attended the important ceremonial events held on major holidays: the yearly Opening of the Law Courts, the Commemoration of the Sacrifice of Saint Idalia (held in the Main Temple of the Light, but everybody who couldn’t fit inside the Temple crowded the square outside just to be there). They’d both seen important people on thrones wearing elaborate costumes befor
e.
But the Chief Magistrate only sat on her Throne of Justice once a year. The rest of the time she sat at her Magistrate’s Bench just like any other Magistrate. And the figure on the throne in the Light-Temple was a statue, not a person, and only on a throne at all so everyone could see her (and only on display for that one day every year, anyway).
Apparently in the Iteru-cities people sat on thrones all the time, because Consul Aldarnas looked very comfortable there. The Audience Chamber was large. There were about twenty ordinary nobles here and the room still looked empty. Six members of the Consul’s personal guard stood around the throne, and Harrier was keenly aware that he wasn’t armed. It would be difficult, he thought, but not impossible, to disarm one of the Palace Guards and take his weapon if they were attacked. And he didn’t see anyone else carrying so much as a belt-knife.
The throne itself didn’t look very comfortable—it seemed to be made of stone. And Harrier wasn’t really sure how much Consuling Consul Aldarnas could be doing from up there, because there were eight steps up to the throne and all he could possibly see from there would be the tops of people’s heads. But he looked fairly happy with the arrangement.
It was a long walk across the room, and everybody stared at them. When they got to the foot of the steps, the footman who’d brought them there bowed and backed away, and an important-looking man stepped forward. Harrier had thought until he moved that he was one of the nobles who was just hanging around the Audience Chamber because he could, but then he realized that he’d seen him before, when the Consul had come outside the city, and so he must be one of his servants.
“Lord Tiercel and his attendant,” the man announced.
Tiercel looked at Harrier, surprised, but Harrier didn’t see any reason to correct them. He’d already gotten the idea that here in the Madiran nobles traveled with large retinues at all times. And certainly with guards. It didn’t bother him if they thought that was what he was—and that was all he was. At least that way, they probably wouldn’t try to split the two of them up.
“I am told that you have a plan for the defense of the city, Lord Tiercel,” the Consul said. “I wish to hear it.”
At first Harrier was surprised, and then he was angry. It seemed to him that the Telchi had betrayed them by telling Consul Aldarnas that there was a plan at all—and telling him that it was Tiercel’s plan, when it was more of an idea they’d talked Tiercel into, seemed even more dishonest. But the longer he stood there, the more he understood why the Telchi had done what he had. Certainly he would have been questioned when he’d left their rooms—anybody who thought he wouldn’t be was an idiot. Daspuc and Rial probably were, too—and so was everyone who went in and out. And it was much better if the plan seemed to come from Tiercel—who was not only a noble, but a Mage—than from one of the Consul’s own subjects.
Tiercel looked around the room. So did Harrier. Everybody in the room was edging forward, doing their best to do it as inconspicuously as possible.
“Okay,” Tiercel said, raising his voice. “Sure. It’s pretty simple, really. You see—”
The Consul got to his feet. “Come,” he said, interrupting Tiercel. “Walk with me.”
He trotted down the steps of his throne and strode off. Tiercel and Harrier followed. Glancing over his shoulder, Harrier saw the Palace Guards move to intercept the others in the room who tried to accompany them.
THE CONSUL LED them to yet another garden-courtyard. Along the way, they collected a couple of members of the Palace Guard. Harrier wondered if the High Magistrate went everywhere with guards. He had no idea, because he never saw her. He didn’t think so, though. He was sure Tiercel’s father would have mentioned something like that to Tiercel—or Da would have, since both of them saw her often enough.
The air in the garden was moist and inviting. It smelled of naranjes and limuns; fragrant exotic fruits, and green growing things, and flowers, and water. There was a tiny fountain in one corner, and the jet of water rose straight up and splashed back down upon itself.
“You just wanted to see if I’d do it in there,” Tiercel said. “You really shouldn’t do things like that. I’ve been awake for a whole day, and I have to stay awake for almost a sennight, you know.”
“Do you have no fear at all?” the Consul asked curiously. He walked to a bench—it was probably white, but it looked purple right now—and sat down.
“Of you? Not really,” Tiercel said kindly. “Why would you want to hurt me?”
Harrier could have explained to Consul Aldarnas that Tiercel was like this all the time, even when he hadn’t been awake for too long and wasn’t dealing with having to defend a city from a bunch of crazy Isvaieni, but he didn’t really think the man deserved to know. So he just stared at the ground. The floor of the garden was covered in ornate colored tiles, but though they looked a little like the shiny ones he’d seen set into the walls in some places in the city, they weren’t at all slippery.
“I have no desire to hurt you, Lord Tiercel,” the Consul said, and from the faintly exasperated tone of his voice, Harrier thought he was trying to decide between Tiercel being simple-minded (or crazy) and Tiercel trying to drive him crazy, and Harrier wasn’t going to help him out there either. Tiercel was just Tiercel.
“Oh, good,” Tiercel said. “I suppose you’d like to hear the plan?”
“Yes. If you would find it convenient to enlighten me.”
It took Tiercel about ten minutes to begin the explanation of the Telchi’s theory that the Isvaieni were already weak from their long journey here, and would get weaker the longer they waited.
“There isn’t enough water outside the shield to supply their army,” Harrier said, when it became obvious that Tiercel simply couldn’t bring himself to get to the point. “They could hold out for longer than Tiercel can maintain the shield if they’re willing to sacrifice their shotors. If they don’t do that, after a few days without water they’ll be so weak that your City Guard and our Militia—and everyone in Tarnatha’Iteru who can hold a sword—should be able to go out through the gates and … kill them.”
It was almost as hard for Harrier to say the words as it was for Tiercel, but he managed. At least it would be weapons against weapons, instead of using spells against people who had none. And even though he knew—both as a Knight-Mage and because the Telchi had said so—that the Isvaieni army didn’t have the choice of just leaving, he still wanted to think that they could. If they scattered up and down the Trade Road, spread their army among all the oases and wells within fifty miles, they could find enough water to survive. He knew they wouldn’t, but they could.
“I’ll convince them the MageShield is going to fall—very soon—by dropping it and putting it back up several times in the next few days. It will look as if it’s flickering,” Tiercel said, his voice flat with sorrow. “It won’t be. The more often it does it, the more convinced they’ll be that it’s only a matter of time before it vanishes forever.”
The Consul thought for a long moment before he nodded. “Yes. If you have no better plan to offer us yet, this is a good one. Where must you be to do your magic?”
“Anywhere, really,” Tiercel said. “But… it might be useful if I were where I could see them. Then I can put the shield back into place just as they reach it.”
“Forcing them to exhaust themselves to no purpose. Yes. It is a good plan. I shall announce to the people that though the shield above them will vanish, it is only temporary, and they must not fear. Then you may do your work.”
“No,” Harrier said. The Consul gazed at him in surprise. “Sir. Think. If it were really happening, if the shield really failed, what would the people do?”
He hadn’t meant to say anything. He hadn’t really wanted the Consul’s attention at all. He’d had to speak up to help Tiercel explain the plan, but he certainly hadn’t expected to do what amounted to arguing with Consul Aldarnas.
Only … he knew this was important. He hadn’t even thought about
it until the Consul had said he was going to announce to the people that Tiercel would be taking down the MageShield and it was nothing to worry about, but the moment he had, Harrier had realized: if the whole plan was based on tricking the Isvaieni into believing the shield was failing …
“They would panic,” the Consul said slowly. “They know, now, that this MageShield is their defense.”
“Then that’s what the army will expect to hear,” Harrier said grimly. “Panic. So they’ll need to hear it.”
“There will be injuries,” the Consul said. “Damage to the city.”
“I’m sorry,” Harrier said. “If the Isvaieni think it’s a trick, though …”
“Yes. I thank the Light that you were sent to me. Both of you. It shall be done just as you have said. Now, perhaps, would be best. There will be fewer people upon the streets.”
Tiercel nodded and the Consul got to his feet.
WHEN HARRIER HAD been making plans with the Telchi, with the Militia, and with the City Guard, about what to do when the Isvaieni came, one of the things that had concerned all of them was securing the gates—not as much from the enemy, as from the city’s own inhabitants. The lesson of Laganda’Iteru was clear—people terrified by the sight of an approaching army would rush out of the city to their doom, leaving the city gates open and the city vulnerable to assault. The only defense against that was to seal off the gates—as they’d done. And—as Harrier now discovered—to seal off access to the city walls as well.
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