She didn’t feel any fear at all as she looked down from those awful heights. A long fall seemed perfect for...for something.
“You did it!” Ivy shouted. “Cazia, you are amazing. You have done what no one in fifty generations has been able to do.”
“Don’t touch me.” The girl looked stricken and Cazia knew she had been too blunt. “I’m not ready yet.”
The lie seemed to mollify her. Cazia didn’t think she would ever want to be touched again, but there was no reason to say so.
She moved away from the cliff and surveyed the rocks around her. She hadn’t reached the very top of the Barrier, just that first smooth cliff face. They were standing on a sloping, slate-gray rock about fifty paces wide and more than ten times that across. Cazia tried to determine if she had come close to the low point in the range that she’d been aiming for, but it was impossible to tell.
“We can not make camp here,” Kinz dragged the packs out of the tunnel. “We are too exposed.”
Cazia didn’t see any birds in the sky or perched on the rocks around them. Ivy said, “As far as I can see, they only attack in the early part of the night. It is nearly daylight now.”
Kinz shoved one of the packs at her. “If they make to nest up here, they may make a special exception for us.”
Ivy nodded at the wisdom in that. Pack slung over one shoulder, she started toward the second cliff face. “This looks more like a natural formation of rocks. I think we should climb it.”
Kinz was so surprised she dropped her pack. “Climb? That?”
Cazia glanced up at the rock face. It was at least a hundred feet high, and while it wasn’t the same strangely smooth cliff face as below, she couldn’t see how a person could safely climb it.
“Of course,” Ivy insisted. “I have been climbing rocks like this since I was small.”
“You are still small,” Kinz answered. “And I have never climbed anything taller than the tree.”
“Neither have I,” Cazia said, her voice flat. “We’re going to keep tunneling.”
“But you can not!”
“She must,” Kinz said firmly. “It is either that or we make retreat. I will not climb that rock with the loaded pack. If the fall did not kill us, the birds would.”
“What birds?” Ivy demanded, her voice getting shrill. She stamped her foot. “I do not see any birds!”
Cazia couldn’t bear to be near their argument. She turned away toward the open spaces of the Sweeps and saw that the rock face sloped so much, she couldn’t see her tunnel. When she started back toward it, she found it was farther to her left than she’d thought.
It occurred to her that she should mark the location better so they could find it in a hurry--who knew what dangers they might have to run away from up here?
Before that thought had finished, she began to cast the Sixth Gift. It felt good and also wrong, and by the time she realized what she was doing it was already done. A broad pink block of stone squatted beside the opening to their tunnel.
Ivy and Kinz stared at Cazia with worried expressions. Their concern almost pressed against her. Like the Sweeps winds, it hurt.
“You can continue?” Kinz asked. “There would be no shame in making the return to the grasslands now. You could take some time to heal, and when you are ready, we could return.”
Cazia shook her head. She felt full and empty at the same time. Was it even possible to heal from this? Had Doctor Whitestalk ever healed? But of course, she could not say that aloud. “People are dying every day.” That had been important a few days before and she knew it would matter to her companions. “We can be at the top by midday.”
Ivy didn’t like that. “What if the other side of the mountain is impassable, too?”
Cazia had no answer for her. Instead, she selected a low space in the mountain tops above, then moved thirty or forty paces west. How many more times would she have to cast this spell? Sixty? More? She could do it if she had to.
She cast the first rock-breaking spell easily. It was almost as though it wanted to come out of her.
The broken stones poured out of the hole she’d made. Ivy and Kinz watched the skies all around as Cazia cast again.
They reached the top of the pass a little after midday, as it turned out. Cazia had to stop several times to compose herself, and the others wanted to eat. But when they broke through the side of the peak, the sun beamed almost straight down at them.
“By Inzu’s breath,” Kinz said. Ivy and Cazia stepped along the jagged crevice to follow her to the northern side of the mountain.
The Qorr Valley lay stretched out before them. Far to the northeast, they could just barely make out the churning ocean crashing against the massive black rock shore. It was squeezed between the easternmost reaches of the Northern Barrier and a second mountain range that ran nearly due north. The afternoon sun was still burning off wisps of ocean fog that clung to the base of the mountains, but where it was clear, they could see bright green grass and patches of thick pine forests.
“It’s so green,” Ivy said. “Just like home.”
Far to the left, in the westernmost part of the valley, was the place the northern range met the Barrier. The fog was still thick there, but to Cazia, it looked as if the place where the ranges met had been scooped out with a giant spoon.
“I think we can get down there,” Kinz said, pointing toward a nest of vines growing against the mountainside.
“Oh!” Ivy exclaimed. She pointed toward the corner of the little plateau below them. There, lying in the sun, were the bleached white bones of a massive dragon.
Chapter 22
Jolu Dellastone was right. There were no more enemy spears to be met on the way to Fort Caarilit. They reached the fort in the afternoon of the following day. Despite Tejohn’s fears, Finstel banners, not Witt, hung from the walls. They marched down the throat of the pass through the northern gate as though returning from a triumphant campaign.
Inside, the fort was full of frantic activity. Without even seeing a smear of red on the ground, Tejohn knew there had been a battle.
As they passed through the little gate, Jolu’s spears began to fall out, their spears dragging in the dirt. Tejohn clapped his fist against his shield twice; they snapped to attention and reformed their square. Jolu himself walked along the square, straightening helmets and slapping shields that sagged below parade height.
A tall woman in a ridiculous red comb marched across the field toward them. Tejohn met Arla’s gaze, and together they stepped away from the unit. These were Jolu’s men, and Tejohn didn’t want to take any credit from the man.
“Where’s your captain?” the woman snapped. The left side of her mouth was horribly scarred and she was missing part of her nose. When she opened her mouth to speak, Tejohn could see that she was missing teeth too, which made her sound as though she was talking with her mouth full. She was young, though, probably around twenty-fivefold. Her second was a trim, unremarkable man with a wax tablet and stylus.
Jolu stood at attention. “Lost in action, Watch Commander, along with his second. I was forced to take command.”
The Watch Commander leaned close and lowered her voice. A small line of drool hung from her ruined lip. “So where is his comb?”
Jolu turned his face toward the dirt. “Fire take the comb!” Tejohn heard himself say before he’d had a chance to think about it. Even a day and a half after the battle, his blood was still up. “This man brought back your spears. And Witt prisoners. But you’re pressing him about a red frill?”
She turned a murderous look toward him, her hand falling near her knife. Tejohn made sure to keep his spear at rest position. “And who do you think you are to talk to me that way, old man?”
Old? Tejohn’s beard had barely begun to show any gray.
Before he could respond, her second cleared his throat and stared at Tejohn with his mouth agape. Fire and Fury, Tejohn knew what was coming next.
“Watch Commander, that’s Tejohn
Treygar. Tyr Tejohn Treygar.”
The Watch Commander shot her second a nasty look, then turned back to Tejohn. Her ruined mouth twisted as though she’d stepped in something awful but she wasn’t sure what it was.
“Our cart was destroyed by the ruhgrit,” Tejohn said sternly, changing the subject because he didn’t want to waste one breath on the stupid comb. “The king continued westward while we headed toward the pass and Caarilit. Does Coml Finstel still command here? I need to speak to him immediately.”
Jolu shifted his position slightly. “My tyr, I can take you to his office.”
“Nonsense,” the Watch Commander said. “Look to your spears. See that they’re fed.” She pointed a finger at a soldier rushing by. “See that these prisoners are searched and put to work.” Finally, she bowed slightly to Tejohn. “My tyr, I believe Commander Finstel is overseeing the repair to the walls. This way.” They marched across the northern yard toward an inner gate. “My tyr, I apologize for asking again, but what was it that destroyed your cart?”
“A ruhgrit,” Tejohn said, as though it was common knowledge. “Have you not seen the huge predator eagles that recently appeared in the Sweeps?”
“Yes, my tyr.”
“We were attacked by... Was it five of them, scout?”
Arla sounded almost amused when she answered. “I counted six, my tyr.”
Tejohn nodded. “The king slew one and drove the rest off, with a little support from us.” He waved vaguely in Arla’s direction.
The Watch Commander’s step faltered. “Ellifer Italga slew one of those giant eagles?”
Tejohn stopped and glared at her. The second stared at them both, wide-eyed. “King Ellifer is dead,” Tejohn said. “It was his son, Lar Italga, the Peradaini king, who killed the thing. Er...” He glanced at Arla as though he was afraid he’d said too much. “The king has not given leave for that tale to be spread around. Song knows what he’s done, but I don’t know how he would feel about me gossiping about it.”
The Watch Commander and her second nodded. “Yes, my tyr,” they said, almost in unison. “We understand completely.”
Tejohn nodded. “What news?”
The Watch Commander and her second gave it to him, and it was worse than he’d thought. The grunts had spread quickly, overwhelming the smaller tyrships south of the capital. The Shooks had been overrun and destroyed mere days after Peradain fell, and the Redmudds had retreated to their islands, effectively cut off from the rest of the empire. The Holvos still held Rivershelf, but their archers were hard pressed and they were not likely to last long.
Worse, tyrs all across the empire had begun to strike at each other, using old grievances as an excuse to take new land. The empire was eating itself. The Watch Commander did not mention scholars at all.
As they strode through the fort, Tejohn made note of the scene around him. The people hurried, but there was something frantic and hopeless in them. Each yard they strode through was littered with broken spars and discarded trash. When they came to the southernmost yard, they saw the wall had been shattered and collapsed.
It gave Tejohn a brief flutter in his guts to see the gap. This was the power of a scholar put to battle, the power to collapse walls, crush soldiers, burn them alive.
“As for Peradain itself,” the Watch Commander said, a note of pride in her voice, “rumor has it that the city has burned to the ground and no one within survives. Three different tyrs have sent flying carts to investigate, but only my Tyr Finstel’s men brought back a prize.”
“Prize? What do you mean?”
The Watch Commander seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “I do not know, my tyr. Rumor has it that more people returned from the city than went, but I can not say who they found. All I hear is gossip.”
“Thank you, Watch Commander. I see Commander Finstel by the gate and will make my own introductions. I release you to your duties.”
She nodded and marched back toward the north gate, her second close behind.
Arla watched them go with a smirk. “She will spread that tale about the king through the entire fort before sunset, my tyr.”
“Do you think?” Tejohn said. “I expected the second to spread the tale, since I ordered her not to and she is so in love with her rules...”
“Her second is too meek to open his mouth. It’s the ones who love rules the most who are most eager to break them. There’s always a justification, if you look hard enough. The other Watch Commanders will know before you finish speaking with the commander, I’d wager, and word will spread from there. That was clever, my tyr.”
Tejohn shook his head. “I won’t be taking that bet, and thank you. I once told Lar Italga that I did not have cleverness in me, but in times like these, we all must be more than we were. What do you think of the situation here?”
Arla looked around, absent-mindedly running her callused fingers over her unstrung bow. “They look frantic and terrified. I hope we’ll be moving on quickly. I don’t like it here.”
Tejohn didn’t argue. He’d hoped to find a flying cart here, but only a fool would leave one in an unsecured fort.
Coml Finstel was a young man, barely over twenty-five and as lean as a knotted rope. As Tejohn and Arla approached, he marched around the edges of a work crew, screaming at them in a red-faced rage while they strapped timbers together. Obviously, they were making a crude barricade to fill the gap in the wall until a more permanent fix could be arranged. Every few strides, Coml laid into one of the workers with his lash.
Archers stood on platforms along the wall, but most faced inward, ready to shoot anyone who fled. Tejohn was close enough to see that the crew was made of those who were too young or too old to take up a spear.
Commander Finstel did not notice them as they approached, but his second did. She waited for him to take a breath, tapped his elbow, and nodded in Tejohn’s direction.
If there was one place in all of the empire that Tejohn expected to find welcome, it was in Finstel lands. He had been born here, had carried a spear for Splashtown and Tyr Samper Finstel, and had made a point of befriending his son Shunzik when his father died. Not so many years ago, Coml himself had taken the trouble to introduce himself to Tejohn at one of Lar’s birthday parties.
In truth, despite the oath he’d taken to the Italga family--with Samper Finstel’s blessing—in his heart, he thought of himself as a Splashtown spear.
So, he expected to be greeted warmly, even by this young man he had met only once before. “Tyr Treygar,” Commander Finstel said, “what a surprise it is to see you here.” He was smiling as he gave his lash to his second, but it was the smile of a snarling dog. “But you bring happy news, I expect? Italga spears to support my Tyr Finstel? Perhaps a few scholars to rebuild our walls?”
Tejohn shook his head. “I can’t offer you either of these things, although I know you need them. My scout and I are passing through on the way to visit your tyr. I ask only for provisions and the latest news.”
“Of course!” The young commander smiled as though he was being provoked to murder. “You are an Italga spear now, so you must hurry to my cousin’s holdfast to take what you need. Finstel lands are nothing more than a warehouse for the Italgas to raid, after all.”
“Commander,” Tejohn said, keeping his tone as civil as possible. “The entire empire is under siege, the king is doing his best to save us all, and you whine like a fishmonger over a few tin specks. The Finstels were warrior chieftains before the empire swallowed them up, and they have been warrior tyrs since. Song knows they were never peevish.”
Coml Finstel took a deep breath, then sighed and scratched the side of his face. “My apologies, my tyr. Weariness takes command of my tongue at times. Of course, we must trade news. Why don’t you and your scout take a meal in my rooms? I will finish here and—”
Shouts came from outside the fort. Coml turned and ran toward the gap in the wall, calling for his spear. Bows ran along the wall to take up their positions, and someone somew
here began to strike a gong.
Tejohn and Arla pushed forward as the work crew fled deeper into the fort. “What do you see?” Tejohn said.
Arla stepped up onto the unfinished barricade so she could look over the heads of the scrambling soldiers. “Eleven spears coming up the mudflat,” she said. “Fleet squad with Splashtown colors. They’re dragging one man behind them on a rope, and he’s pleading to be released.”
“I can hear him.” Tejohn recognized the sound of a man facing a death sentence.
“Captain Dellastone!” Coml called. “What report?”
A deep voice called in response. “Two grunts, sir, down in the village, looking for victims.” The man speaking had the same nose and chin as Jolu but was not nearly so thick in the middle. He wore a long red brush on his helmet. “The first fell to arrows and spears, but the second came upon us suddenly and broke through our shields.”
By then, the spears had come to the barricade. They didn’t try to enter. Coml pointed toward the tied-up man. Tejohn was close enough to see he was also part of the Splashtown fleet squad. “And him?”
The captain answered, “Bitten, sir.”
“NO!” the man screamed. “It was a scratch from a claw! No more than that, I swear.”
The commander took the man’s arm and examined it. Tejohn wasn’t close enough to see the injury, but he could see Coml shake his head. “Soldier, how do you want it?”
“It’s a rake from a claw, I swear by Monument and Song! A scratch! Please!” Coml shook his head and drew his long knife. The injured man’s voice went higher and Tejohn could see the other soldiers struggling to hold him. “Please!” he screamed, “Kelvijinian!”
Coml stabbed him once, quickly, as though trying to stop his prayer. When the man went limp, the soldiers carried him back along the mud flats. “Anyone else?”
The captain answered. “Only one,” and held out his bloody forearm.
“Fire and Fury, Bayzu,” the commander said. “How could you let this happen?”
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