by Anthony Ryan
“Needs to be wider at the bottom,” he told Sollis. “Elst it’ll topple a the first blow of a ram, or whatever other contrivance is like to be hurled at it.”
The barrier had ascended to a height of three feet by the time Sollis heard the sharp, urgent call of Smentil’s hunting horn from atop the tower. Looking up he saw the brother leaning over the edge of the battlement to point west before forming his hands into a series of urgent signs. Sollis couldn’t make out the full meaning at this distance but the gist was clear enough: Enemy approaching. Many.
“Keep working,” Sollis told Fehl-ahkim before gathering up his weapons and swiftly climbing the steps to the parapet of the west-facing wall. Oskin was already there, Red Ears at his side. The hound let out a low, steady growl as she gazed at the force arrayed out of bow-shot on the far side of the river. Upon first viewing Sollis would have taken the host for a three regiment strong contingent of Realm Guard, their ranks being so neatly aligned and discipline so absolute in its lack of sound or movement. But it instantly became apparent that these were not men.
“Not just apes,” Sollis murmured, echoing Verkehla as his gaze tracked along the unmoving host. A long row of snow-daggers sat still as statues next to an assemblage of equally static white pelted wolves. Smaller contingents of black bears were flanked by mountain lions and lynxes.
“How…” Oskin breathed, eyes bright with both wonder and horror. “It’s impossible.”
Sollis heard a similar pitch of fear and mystification in the growing murmur of disquiet from the surrounding Lonak. He caught Oskin’s gaze with a hard glare and the brother abruptly straightened, offering a forced grin of apology.
“Forgive me, brother,” he said. “Heard whispers of the Dark all my life. It’s a strange feeling when a whisper becomes a shout.”
“Quiet, you worthless goat-shaggers!” Verkehla barked, pushing her way through the throng of Banished Blades. “The Mahlessa never promised an easy path to forgiveness. So put a muzzle on that grumbling.”
She came to Sollis’s side, eyes narrowed as she gazed at the beasts and grunted, “Impressive,” in softly spoken Realm Tongue. “It must have quite the gift.”
“Who?” Sollis asked.
She pursed her lips and pointed at a solitary, two legged figure emerging from the ranks of assembled animals. “I imagine we’re about to find out.”
The figure was dressed much the same as the slaughtered Kuritai they hand found back at the settlement, its cloak ripped and ragged and hair an unkempt dark mess coiling in the wind. The figure approached the western bank of the river without particular haste, coming to a halt to regard the Reach with head cocked at an angle that indicated both curiosity and amusement. After a short pause the figure bowed and opened its arms in an obvious gesture of invitation.
“A parley?” Oskin wondered.
“More likely a chance to gloat,” Verkehla said, turning away with a dismissive shrug. “Ignore it. It won’t attack until nightfall, and anyone who goes out there is likely to become food for its army.”
“You’re not curious?” Sollis asked. “Every opportunity should be taken to learn more about an enemy.”
The shaman paused, rolling her eyes. “Another lesson from your years of torture at the Order House, brother?” She grinned at his annoyed frown and turned away again, waving an indifferent hand. “Go and talk with the creature if you want. I’ll wager you a goatskin of wine you won’t learn a thing.”
* * *
He was obliged to clamber over Fehl-ahkim’s half-finished barrier before making his way around the northern flank of the Reach to the river. As he drew closer he was able to discern more details of the figure in the ragged cloak, the most salient being that it was a woman. She watched him approach with her head still cocked at the same curious angle. Sollis detected a thin smile on her pale, hollowed features as he drew closer. He judged the woman to be of either Volarian or Realm origins from her colouring, though her starved appearance make it hard to tell for sure. However, when she spoke her accent was purely Asraelin, the inflection possessed of the sharp precision of the nobility.
“That’s far enough, I think,” the woman called to him once Sollis had reached the eastern bank of the river. The rushing current that separated them was loud but not so much as to muffle her voice, Sollis detecting in it a strangely juvenile note of delight. “Wouldn’t want your scent to rouse my friends’ baser instincts,” the woman added, gesturing to the beasts at her back, all still sitting in their varied poses of statuesque immobility.
“What do you want?” Sollis asked her. He kept his hands at his sides, empty but close enough to his throwing knives for a rapid draw should he need it. He also wore his sword but had chosen to leave his bow behind. Should this parley turn ugly he would do his best to kill this woman then turn and sprint for the Reach under cover of his brothers’ bows and the Lonak archers on the wall.
“I’d guess that Lonak bitch has already told you what I want,” the woman said, the muscles in her emaciated face thrown into stark relief as her smile broadened. “The children you have in there,” she went on, pointing at the Reach. “Give them to me.”
“No,” Sollis stated, voice hard and flat. He watched the woman’s smile twist into a muffled laugh, eyes twinkling with what Sollis took for joyful anticipation.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” she said. “Even though it will certainly avail you nothing but an ugly death.” She barked out a laugh, harsh and grating. “I do enjoy these rare occasions when I find one of your stripe. So desperate for the glory of self-sacrifice. So in love with the myth of their own heroism. It’s always such a blissful moment when I look into their eyes at the end, watching their illusions fade, watching them cry and plead like any other dying and tormented wretch. Wouldn’t you rather avoid that, brother? Give me the children and you can go back to your life of pretended courage and empty invocations to the spirits of the dead who, I assure you, are quite deaf to your entreaties.”
Sollis met the woman’s gaze, watching her mirth subside into an unwavering stare of deep contempt. Sollis could see a redness to her eyes now, also a thin trickle of blood coming from her nose, calling to mind Verkehla’s visage the night before. The temptation to reach for his knives was strong. The distance made it a difficult throw but he was confident he could get at least one blade into her before he had to run. Every opportunity should be taken to learn more about an enemy, he reminded himself, suppressing the impulse.
“You have a name?” he asked instead.
“I used to,” the woman replied with a shrug. “I stopped bothering to remember it a long time ago. Instead of a name, I have a purpose.”
“And what is that?”
“It changes according to the place and the time. Once I warned a wealthy merchant of the necessity of poisoning his brother. Once I whispered to a queen of the treachery that surrounded her so that her court might run red with the blood of her nobles. I have persuaded generals to doom their armies and priests to damn their supplicants. And today, brother, I tell you, clearly and honestly, to hand over the children or you and everyone cowering in that pile of stones will die as slow and agonising a death as I can orchestrate. And…” She paused, tongue licking over her lips before parting to reveal teeth stained both red and yellow. “I’ll reserve the worst torments for the flaxen haired sister. Have you ever tortured a beautiful woman, brother? It’s a truly addictive experience, I must say.”
Don’t! Sollis commanded himself, rage sending a spasm through his hands. Every word she speaks is valuable. “Why?” he demanded, allowing his anger to colour his tone. “What do you want of these children?”
“Oh, isn’t it obvious?” The woman arched her eyebrows in mock surprise. “I want to take them far away from these barbarous mountain savages so they can be raised in a fine palace and enjoy a life of peace and comfort for all their days.”
The suddenness with which all vestige of humour slipped from her face and bearing was shockin
g, as if a veil had been ripped away to reveal a blank, expressionless edifice, almost as still as the beasts she commanded. “Enough talk,” she said, voice different now, deeper and richer in authority. Also her accent had changed; the noble inflection replaced by something that spoke of a far distant land. Sollis would have taken it for a Volarian accent but for the discordant notes that coloured every word, almost as if two tongues were speaking at once. “Give me what I want,” she said, “or I promise you I will carry out every threat spoken here.”
“I doubt that,” Sollis replied. “Elst why call for a parley? If your powers are so great why not just come and get them? Or is there something in there that you fear?”
The woman’s eyes flicked to the Reach for an instant before snapping back to Sollis. The cadaverous face took on a decided twitch, a snarl repeatedly forming and fading from the bleached and cracked lips. Sollis wondered if she were simply mad and lost for words, but knew whatever afflicted this woman went far beyond simple lunacy.
Deciding he had learned all he was going to, Sollis turned away and started back towards the Reach. “Besides,” he said. “I’m reliably informed that I’m not supposed to die here.”
“Prophecy?!” The word was spoken in a shrill, almost shrieking tone. Sollis kept walking, maintaining a steady gate, refusing to turn. “It’s a lie, you pitiful dullard!” the woman screamed after him, the voice almost childlike in its rage and frustration. “Know well that whatever that bitch has told you is a lie! You will die here, brother!”
Sollis fixed his gaze on the Reach, taking a crumb of comfort from the sight of his brothers on the wall, flanked on either side by the Banished Blades, each bow notched and ready. The woman continued to rant as he walked, her varied threats descending into a scarcely comprehensible babble.
“I’ll make you watch… when I rip the sister from nethers to neck… I’ll fucking make you watch - ”
Then silence. Sollis came to a halt as the woman’s dissonant diatribe choked off, leaving only the faint groan of the mountain winds. Looking up, he saw his brothers and the Lonak lowering their bows as they exchanged baffled glances. When he turned he found himself regarding an empty river bank and he caught just a faint shadowy blur as the last of the beasts crested a hilltop and disappeared from view.
“You must have been awful persuasive, brother,” Oskin called down to him, his voice coloured by an uncertain note of optimism.
“No,” Sollis said, resuming his walk. “I wasn’t.”
8
The gate was sealed a good few hours before nightfall. Under Fehl-ahkim’s direction the stones were piled high enough so that only a gap of a few inches remained at the top. He then used five iron buttresses to secure the barrier in place, employing bolts scavenged from the ruined original gate to affix the rusted brackets to the wall on either side.
“Will it hold?” Verkehla asked, regarding the construction with a dubious eye.
“Against charging beasts, yes,” the builder replied. Sollis noted how he kept his tone carefully neutral, betraying neither respect nor disdain, though the latter shone in his eyes clearly enough.
“It had better,” she told him with an empty smile. “You can stay here all night to make sure. If it falls, then so do you.” She flicked a hand at a trio of Lonak warriors nearby. “You lot, stay with him.”
“I’m more concerned about the walls than the gate,” Sollis said quietly as they ascended to the parapet. “You saw how the apes had little difficulty in climbing all the way to the top of the tower, in silence too. They’re likely to ignore the gate and simply scale the walls, overwhelm us with weight of numbers.”
“I trust you’re about to suggest a solution, brother,” Verkehla said.
“Fire,” Sollis replied. “Light torches all along the walls and cast flaming fascines over when the attack starts. If we can see them as they charge, our arrows will cut them down before they can climb up.”
“I’ve seen a full grown ape take six arrows before it deigned to even slow its charge. And there are more than just apes among them. The Varnish have perhaps twenty arrows each. They won’t last long if that thing sends all of its creatures against us at once.”
Hearing a small polite cough they turned to find Sister Elera standing nearby. “I may have something that could help,” she said, proffering a porcelain jar about the size of an apple.
“What is that?” Sollis asked, stepping closer as Elera removed the jar’s lid. The contents appeared to be a green paste that gave off a faintly floral aroma as Sollis leaned closer to sniff it.
“Best if you don’t, brother,” Elera cautioned, drawing the jar back a little. “It’s a mixture of nightshade and yellow-cap mushrooms, with a few other ingredients to increase the potency. I came up with it by accident last year when I was attempting to concoct a new medicine to calm a fevered heart. Instead, I produced something my novice students have taken to calling Black Eye.”
“Black Eye?” Verkehla said, lips curled in suspicion as she peered at the substance.
“It has a curious effect when imbibed,” Elera explained. “The white of the eye turns dark, not quite black in truth but my students tend to be overly dramatic, as the young often are.”
“It’s a poison,” Sollis said.
“Yes. Just a small amount is sufficient to kill a grown man in seconds. I imagine a larger dose will certainly kill one of those apes, even a bear.”
“Why is a Sister of the Fifth Order carrying around a jar of poison?” Verkehla enquired.
“Members of my Order often give the appearance of being defenceless,” Elera replied. “It doesn’t mean we are.”
“Is this all you have?” Sollis asked to which Elera nodded.
“Will it be enough?” Verkehla asked him.
“If only a small dose is required, we should have enough to coat every arrowhead we possess.”
“And what happens when we run out of arrows?”
“If the sister’s gift can be used to coat an arrowhead it can also coat a blade. Several of your people have spears. The others will have to use their knives.”
“Putting them within reach of claw and tooth.”
“What battle is ever easy? Besides,” Sollis met Verkehla’s gaze squarely, “we have at least one other weapon within these walls, do we not?”
Her face remained impassive as she returned his stare in silence before turning and walking away, saying, “I’ll have them gather in the tower so the good sister can anoint their weapons.”
Sollis made sure she was out of earshot before turning back to Elera. “The book?” he asked.
She gave a somewhat sheepish wince. “Slow going I’m afraid, brother. The late Baron Morvil expended many pages on recounting his life prior to the building of the Reach. I’m compelled to the conclusion that he was either an inveterate liar or had led perhaps the most adventurous life of any soul who ever lived. I’ve been trying to skip ahead, find some mention of the weed but as a writer he wasn’t fond of a linear narrative.”
She paused to glance around before stepping closer, voice lowered. “There was one interesting passage towards the end. It’s written in a hasty scrawl, so not easily read.” She closed her eyes to recite from memory, “‘The Wolf Men assail us from morn to moonrise. Soon it will be over. Even in my despair I know the Departed will accept me for I was wise in constructing the artery.’ Later he writes his final entry, ‘I have sent away those that remain. Perhaps they will find a safe route south but I will not follow. Best I die amidst this monument to my folly than suffer the shame of my father’s sight.’”
“Artery?” Sollis said with a frown.
“Old Volarian often uses bodily terms when referencing architecture,” she said, voice growing quieter still. “In modern Realm Tongue the closest translation is ‘tunnel’.”
Sollis let out a very soft laugh. “He had his builders dig an escape route.”
“It would seem so.”
“Where is it?”
A faint flicker of movement caught the upper corner of Sollis’s eye. Looking up his gaze immediately focused on a dark winged speck circling the Reach far above. The hawk was back.
“Here,” he said, moving to take Elera’s hand. His finger traced a shape over her open palm as she frowned at him in bemusement. “The Far Western symbol for mine or tunnel. Can you remember it?”
Her frown turned to a smile and she nodded. “He liked to mark his hiding places,” she remembered.
“Quite so.” He released her hand and started down to the courtyard. “I’ll tell our brothers to look out for it.”
“I won’t leave without the children,” she said, making him pause.
Sollis turned back, seeing her flexing her fingers and regarding her open hand before meeting his gaze with a steady resolve.
“Understood, sister,” he said.
* * *
Whilst Elera went about coating the weapons, Sollis led a dozen Banished Blades outside the walls to gather fuel for the torches and fascines. The surrounding land was rich in dense gorse bushes which he knew would take a flame and burn brightly once the leaves had been stripped from the branches. The denuded bushes were bound into thirty or so tight bundles and soaked in the greasy reduced animal fat the Lonak used for lamp oil.
As night fell Sollis distributed the warriors evenly around the walls with orders to light the fascines and cast them into the gloom at the first indication of an attack. Smentil, being the best archer, took post in the tower. Sollis ordered Oskin to the south-facing wall with orders to make for the tower and protect Sister Elera to the end in the event of the Reach’s fall. Sollis placed himself above the gate on the east-facing wall, judging it the most likely avenue of attack.
