“Of course.” She drew him forward and kissed him on both cheeks. “Welcome back to Balsalom.”
Whelan introduced his companion, a boy named Darik. He looked slightly familiar, although she couldn’t remember where she’d seen him before. The boy was awed by her presence, and blushed furiously when she kissed his cheeks. They took their seat around Fenerath’s dining table, while the man served them wine. Fenerath and the boy exchanged startled looks of recognition, and she thought she saw a flash of rage in Darik’s eyes, but neither of them said anything.
Kallia said, “Saldibar told me you were in the city the night of the fire in the Slaves Quarter. I’m glad he could bring you back in our time of need.”
“I never wanted to leave, but other duties called. We traveled with a wizard from the Order, who has gone to warn King Daniel.”
“And will the Free Kingdoms send aid?” she asked. “Or will they leave us to suffer the dark wizard’s wrath?”
“We’ll send help, but first we must drive Cragyn from the mountains. He has taken Montcrag already. He is marching on the Teeth.”
“Ah yes, of course.” Kallia rose to her feet, taking another sip of wine before leaving the goblet on the table. She sensed Whelan’s discomfort, but didn’t dare release him from his obligation. Balsalom couldn’t afford to wait for King Daniel to fight other battles.
She continued, “So what happens come spring, when our rebellion fails for lack of support and King Daniel’s only eastern ally collapses? Will he send his apologies to the slaves laboring in Veyre’s mines?”
“My queen,” Whelan said, rising also to his feet. “I swear I will raise whatever support I can. But while the dark wizard marches west, we must first protect the Citadel.” He shook his head, clearly torn by conflicting obligations. “But if he returns, we will raise the largest army Eriscoba has seen in generations and crush the enemy between our forces.”
Kallia sighed. He had changed nothing, avoided committing the Free Kingdoms until they were safe. She didn’t know whether or not he had the power to make such commitments in any event. No, that was wrong. It was how he carried himself, and how he spoke about the intentions of the Free Kingdoms that told her that he was someone important to King Daniel. And he had influence with the Brotherhood of the Thorne, that much Saldibar and Ethan had confirmed.
Kallia made her way to his side and put her hand on his arm. She caught startled glances from the others that she would be so familiar with the barbarian. She remembered the look of devotion in Whelan’s eyes that time in her father’s bed chambers, a look she had interpreted as love. Certainly, she couldn’t read that in his eyes now. And why should he love her? She was the weakened khalifa of a city about to fall, and if he were looking for a beautiful woman, he could find hundreds of others who would interest him more. And he knew that she had wed the dark wizard and been defiled by his hand.
“Whelan,” she said, dropping all pretense from her voice. “If you say you cannot do any more, I will believe you. Thank you for returning.”
A boom sounded to the east, reminding them of their purpose. She turned to the grand vizier. “Saldibar, how quickly have they reloaded the Hammer?”
“It has fired every two hours, my queen.”
“By the time it is readied again, we will be upon it. That will be dawn. Until then, we will ask for a parlay from the palace garrison. We’ll promise free passage to the Tothian Way if they surrender.”
“Will they do it?” one of the captains asked.
“Perhaps. They have little choice, with the fire still burning.”
Fenerath smashed his hand to his fist. “And if they surrender, we show no mercy. We kill them all.” Others around the table murmured angry consent.
“No,” Kallia said. “If they surrender, we give them safe passage to the Way, just as we promise.”
Fenerath protested, “But khalifa—may you live forever—think of the Balsalomians impaled outside the gates. And thousands more sent east to slavery. Men in this room lost brothers last night in battle. What mercy does the enemy deserve?” Again, angry assertions of support rippled through the room.
“They deserve no mercy, but we will give it to them anyway. That’s what makes us different than our enemy. When cities across the khalifates see that we made an oath and kept it, they will know that we don’t fight the dark wizard merely to establish Balsalom atop the Iron Throne.”
“Perhaps,” Fenerath said. “Or perhaps they will think us weak.”
“How is it weak?” she asked. “Is it weak if we prove we can cast off the dark wizard’s army? Is it weak if we crush the enemy’s greatest pasha and send him slinking from Balsalom in disgrace?”
Fenerath rubbed his chin, and she could see that she’d swayed him at last. Others nodded and she knew she had them, too. “And now, Whelan, my pashas, we need a plan to capture Cragyn’s Hammer.”
Together, they worked out a strategy. Whelan had friends hiding amidst the Tombs, he said. When he told them who, the room tingled with excitement. Griffins had not been seen in Balsalom for decades; griffin riders were powerful allies. Already, her faith in Whelan proved itself.
They roused Mol Khah to a parlay. Rain drizzled from the night sky, aiding the enemy’s efforts to put out the fire. At last, Cragyn’s general appeared on the tower overlooking the gates. Kallia stood in the midst of her bodyguards, who would throw themselves in the path of attack. Hundreds of other Balsalomians surrounded the palace.
“Come to end this foolish revolt?” Mol Khah shouted down at her. “Very well, I accept your surrender.”
Kallia forced a smile to her lips. The smile came with effort. She remembered how he had violated her, preparing her for the dark wizard’s rape. “No, to demand your surrender. Throw down your arms and I will permit you safe passage to the Tothian Way and instruct none to raise sword against you until you stand on your own lands.”
“Yes, I believe that.” He let out a harsh laugh. He no longer looked as powerful and confident as he had a few hours earlier. She had tricked him and pinned him between a raging fire and men thirsting for his blood. “And tell me, oh wisest of queens, why I should trust you?”
“You don’t have to trust me. You can cook in the fire if you prefer. I’ll build another palace. But I have made a promise, and I keep my oaths.”
Mol Khah shook his head. “I have no need to surrender, whether you promise me safe passage or not. You are the one in the weak position, woman.”
“Yes? How so? I would be interested in hearing.”
“Consider,” Mol Khah said. “Even now, dragon wasps fly west to tell the master of your treachery. When he hears, he will burn Balsalom to the ground. No two stones will be left standing on top of each other. Your very name, Kallia, will be a curse word for five hundred years.”
“Perhaps,” Kallia said, fighting the chill his words gave her, “Although I doubt that the dark wizard will return to find us unprepared. But tell me, favored pasha of the evil one, how will this help you? You will be dead.”
“We can hold out for weeks. You even lack the forces to take Cragyn’s Hammer, if my ears tell true. And if you can’t take the Hammer, I know I can sit and wait for my master to come.” He grinned, and this time, he did not appear to be bluffing. “And all the while, I will poison your water.”
Kallia had not considered this. The Nye ran through the palace gardens, providing it fresh water before it supplied the fields beyond the walls. Poisoning it would severely punish the city.
She shrugged. “We have wells.”
“Ah, but how will you replace the hostages we hold?”
Mol Khah turned and made a gesture to someone behind him. A woman screamed in the palace courtyard, begging for mercy. Kallia stared in alarm at Mol Khah, who watched the scene impassively. A moment later, something flew through the darkness, catapulted over the palace walls. The woman, still alive and flailing her arms.
She sailed over the heads of the Balsalomian forces, la
nding hard on the paving stones. Men rushed over to help, some turning away ashen-faced when they saw the result. Kallia pushed her way through the crowd.
“Chloye,” she whispered. The girl who had lied about the palace fire for her sake. The impact had killed her instantly. Kallia turned back to Mol Khah, wondering what could turn a man into this monster, with no feelings of mercy whatsoever.
Mol Khah saw her reaction and drew obvious pleasure from it. “A fitting punishment for a slave who burned your palace to the ground. I thought you would be grateful. Or do you have a confession to make, woman?”
Kallia said, “You have sealed your own doom. Prepare your soul for the Harvester. Tonight we destroy you.”
#
After Darik and Whelan left Daria, they had made their way through the Tombs of the Kings into the city even as the battle raged for Balsalom. But by the time they reached the Grand Bazaar, men and women, slaves, and wealthy merchants all came into the streets, shouting in joy and praising the khalifa.
Relief washed Whelan’s face. “Let’s go to the palace. I have to find the khalifa.”
“You go,” Darik said. “I’ll meet you there.”
Whelan raised an eyebrow. “Be careful. Graiyan will still think you a slave.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Darik made his way to the Bakers’ Corner to look for Kaya. A fire burned from two of the bakeries. Thick flour dust hung suspended like mist outside Graiyan’s house. Sacks of flour lay in front of the open doors to the kitchens, covered with hoof prints and mud and spilling their contents onto the ground. He hadn’t meant to come this close, as he was still a runaway slave after all. But worry about Kaya overcame his fear, and he walked through the doors, mouth dry.
Darik didn’t find dead bodies strewn about the house, as he’d feared, but neither did he find anyone inside. Indeed, the entire Baker’s Corner was deserted, save for a pack of beggar children he chased away from looting one house. The fighting had driven everyone away, and he guessed they would return soon. But he couldn’t dare wait any longer.
He had found Whelan waiting for him outside the palace gates. Whelan led him to the guildmaster’s house where they met with the khalifa and her viziers. Darik was awed by Kallia’s presence. He’d seen her before, when his father was invited to celebrate the Harvest Festival at the palace. But then he had been too young to recognize the wisdom and beauty that made her the greatest ruler in all the khalifates.
Darik had spent enough time with Whelan to recognize the struggle raging through the man while the viziers and guild representatives spoke with the khalifa. Whelan was overjoyed that she was alive, and would have given his own life to protect her, but his duty to the Brotherhood and King Daniel was greater. Darik found it inconceivable that something could command a man’s loyalties more than the khalifa.
Darik had carefully avoided Fenerath, the guildmaster, afraid that his rage would undo him in front of Whelan and Khalifa. Instead, he had suffered the man’s presence, swearing to himself that he would regain his family honor. Then, he told himself, he would return to Balsalom and demand Fenerath’s apology.
After the conference ended at the guildmaster’s house, he and Whelan slept, then made their way through the Gates of the Dead at dawn, into the Tombs of the Kings, turning south away from the Veyrian encampment. A ring of people slumped on sharpened stakes about the city, crows and vultures feeding on the dead bodies. Darik avoided this carnage, afraid to find his sister among the dead.
“Remember this when your resolve fails,” Whelan said. “If the dark wizard wins, he will line the Tothian Way for a thousand miles with such victims.”
They made their way through the tombs, looking for Flockheart and Daria. “Can I ask you a question?” Whelan said. “What did you think of Mol Khah?”
The question surprised Darik. “My impressions? I don’t like him, of course.” He shook his head, stomach turning at the memory of the girl thrown through the air to die when she hit the street. “But that’s not what you mean, is it? Mol Khah had an arrogant self-confidence, given the situation. I thought it strange.”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. Why so confident? He might have been acting, but I don’t think so. No, he knows something, or thinks he does. But what?”
Darik shrugged. “No secret wizardry or weapon, or else he would have used it. He must expect something or someone to rescue him before Kallia overthrows the palace.”
“You might be right. But here—” he said, changing the subject. “Isn’t this where we left Daria and Flockheart?”
Darik looked around. They stood between two facing mausoleums. “I think so.”
“Darik! Whelan!” Daria called behind them. She stood at the entrance to one of the tombs, its front eroded. Darik caught movement in the darkness of the tomb. Griffins?
They embraced her in turn. “The griffins,” Whelan said. “We need them.”
“Oh,” Daria said. “My father saw some antelope and went to snare one for the griffins. He didn’t dare fly them.”
“How long ago?” Whelan asked.
“Two hours. He said it might be mid-morning before he returned.”
“Ah,” Whelan groaned. “Mid-morning? That’s too long. I’ll have to get along by myself. Stay here with Darik and tell your father where I’ve gone.”
“I can fly,” Daria protested. “I fought at Montcrag.”
Whelan’s voice was gentle, but firm. “I know you can. But without your father, I can’t risk your life.”
Daria was just as sure. “But the griffins are in my care. I won’t let you fly Joffa unless I come.” Her lips tightened.
Whelan sighed, and Darik could see him wavering. “Very well. Darik, stay and tell Flockheart when he returns.”
“I’m coming too,” Darik said.
“Two men on one griffin? No,” Whelan said.
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Darik said. “I’d ride the third griffin.”
“Oh, no,” Whelan said. “You can’t ride.”
“He can ride Brasson,” Daria said. “Brasson has survived more battles than any man. I’ve seen Darik ride. Averial trusted him well enough. Brasson will trust him, too.”
Whelan sighed again, looking from Darik to Daria. “Very well. Don’t get yourselves killed. If either of you or the griffins are wounded, fly away. Be careful. We are mostly a distraction.”
Whelan lifted his finger. “Ah, I know.” He pulled a carved wooden whistle from a string around his neck and gave it a short blast. It let out a high, shrieking sound, not unlike the cry of a wounded bird. The griffins cocked their heads and eyed him quizzically. Whelan handed the whistle to Darik.
“What’s this for?” Darik asked.
“I use it when I’ve lost Scree in the trees. It’s his signal to return to my fist. If you’re in trouble, blow it. The whistle will be easier to hear than a shout in the chaos of battle.”
He turned toward the tombs. Darik put the whistle around his neck. Daria gave him instructions.
“It’s different flying a griffin in battle. Brasson knows what to do better than you do. Once you close or decide to flee, give him his lead. He’ll know when to attack and when he’s overpowered. However, if there is something in the sky, and that is unlikely today, he may get anxious to make battle. If you see that you are overwhelmed, don’t engage, but fly. A full grown griffin, Brasson especially, can outrun anything but the swiftest bird.” She smiled. “Not many birds will attack a griffin.”
They climbed on the back of the griffins, leaving the saddlebags behind. It felt much different sitting alone and Darik had a moment of panic, remembering the lurch of the animal beneath him, but imagining himself alone and in battle, swinging his sword about like an oaf. He tied himself to the tether.
Whelan told Daria the plan, again warning her about unnecessary danger. And then they were off, soaring north, with the sun rising to their right. Balsalom stretched below them. Smoke churned from the palace on the
far side of the city. Cloud castles gathered overhead.
Darik tried to steer, but Brasson ignored him, following Whelan and Daria. Brasson was even larger than Averial, with powerful muscles and an effortless wing stroke.
Mol Khah’s garrison entrenched itself amongst the tombs just west of the Gates of the Dead, with Cragyn’s hammer pointed at the city walls. Even from the sky the Hammer was impressive, a metal tube stained black from fire. Men scurried about the opening, packing sacks down its mouth. He could see the damage in the city walls where the bombard pounded. A few more shots would open a breach.
Kallia’s men gathered behind the Gates of the Dead, ready to surge out when they got the signal from the walls. There weren’t as many Balsalomians as Darik hoped. The Veyrians, however, looked at least three hundred in number, and had positioned themselves behind a wall of broken stones gathered from the tombs.
The griffins made two passes over the enemy camp to draw the enemy’s attention. A few Veyrians launched arrows into the air that fell well short.
Whelan raised his arm and brought it down on the third pass, giving the signal. They dove from the sky, griffins screaming. Darik held on in sheer terror, fighting the urge to squint his eyes shut. He reached one hand for his sword, then thought the better of it and simply hung on.
Whelan and Daria scattered men in front of them, then swooped back in the air. But Brasson, under less guidance, dipped lower. Darik felt a lurch and heard a scream and then Brasson rose and followed the others. Darik looked down and saw Brasson with a man in its talons, one gripping the man by his neck, the other clenching a leg. Back paws scratched at the man’s armor.
With the extra weight, Brasson took longer to gain altitude. Arrows whizzed by, one of them sliding over Darik’s shoulder. The man struggled, making the griffin lurch to one side. At fifty feet, Brasson dropped the man, who fell screaming to the ground.
Whelan wheeled around and shouted. “Not so low!” He gave the order to attack again.
The Dark Citadel Page 20
