Not that he thought Shoaw was still alive, or that the spears had not fallen, or the outpost remained intact. He didn’t believe in the creatures she described.
“Describe them to me again,” he urged.
She did, listless but still grateful for the distraction. A time was coming where she would have no distractions left. She did not think she could endure it.
Alinder described it all again, how the creatures’ wounds had seemed to heal quickly, how they threw soldiers like crockery, how they killed like a grass lion in a chicken coop.
A thump of wood on stone echoed through the Holvos great hall. Alinder had been asked to tell her story in front of the court. Linder himself sat in the stone chair—not a throne, never a throne, not while they were ruled from Peradain—while his general, his spy catcher, his tax collector, and other influential figures stood at the periphery, whispering at everything she said. The only familiar faces missing were the Peradaini secretary and the bureaucrats he used to keep Linder in line.
The thump had come from the butt of a general’s spear, struck against the ground. “My spears are not chickens to be plucked!”
Alinder sighed. “You’re right. They were brave soldiers, and well trained, too. But it was four against your forty, and these creatures struck down your spears the way you would slap aside a child with a sharpened stick.”
The general didn’t like that, and neither did the tyr her brother. “Are you sure,” Linder said quietly, “that they couldn’t be men in disguise?”
“I have been closer to them than I am to you now.”
“Of course. I should not have asked again. Allie, I loved Shoaw. He was a smart, courageous boy, and what happened to him will be avenged. As for Shawa—”
“We must search for her,” Alinder said. “Not with forty spears, but four hundred. A large force might frighten the beasts into retreat.”
“I will see to her return,” the general said, “personally.”
“No,” Linder said. “Not yet.”
Alinder gaped at him. “Not yet? NOT YET?” Her voice shook. “Shawa was alive when I last saw her. She may be alive still—”
“Yes,” the tyr her brother interrupted. “And I love her as if she were my own child. We are Holvos, are we not? What people in all of Kal-Maddum values family as we do? However! We have to look after the city, the lands around us, and the people living on them as well. I learned long ago to take the measure of an enemy before engaging them. We need to send out scouts.”
“Scouts!” Alinder remembered the pimply girl who had made her report to the captain. “Lin, scouts will not free my daughter. My only child. Any delay might see her torn apart.” The last two words were ragged in her throat.
The tyr her brother was maddeningly calm. “Allie, we have been waiting years for Ellifer to pass from The Way. That he was Fire-taken during his Festival is . . .” He waved his hand as though brushing aside a housefly. “Lar is not the man to rule an empire. He has already abandoned Peradain and the Palace of Song and Morning. I don’t have to tell you what that means.
“We are ready. We have been ready for eight years, waiting for the Throne of Skulls to pass to that scholar-prince. We have become wealthy, have armed our troops with steel, and have drilled them incessantly. I would match a Holvos square against any in Kal-Maddum. Peradain is ours for the taking, and . . . Allie, would you risk all that we have worked for to rush into battle against an unknown enemy?”
Alinder looked down at her hands. They were shaking. “Lin, I would send every Holvos spear and bow after her. I would press knives and hammers into the hands of every citizen able to hold one and march them upon the road. For my daughter, I would empty the city—“
“My tyr!”
A messenger boy dressed in the colors of a city guard stood in the doorway. All turned toward him; the boys would not interrupt unless there was an emergency.
The messenger bowed low. Irritated, Linder called. “Speak.”
“My tyr, there are strange beasts at the walls.”
From the guard post above the northern gates, Alinder, the tyr her brother, and his council stared at the long slope between Rivershelf and the marshes. The creatures moved among the yellow grasses, their fur standing out like spatters of dye on white linen. Now, he believed.
“What of those?” Linder asked, pointing to smaller, dark blue creatures.
Alinder shrugged. “There were no small ones at the ridge road outpost.” Linder frowned and stared at them as though he might discover their secrets from the safety of his wall walk.
Silence. The world suddenly seemed utterly unreal. Was this really Alinder’s life, to be standing here, exhausted and poisoned by grief?
“Fire pass us by,” one of the sentries muttered. Alinder followed his gaze.
At first, she couldn’t see what had alarmed the archer. The brightly colored creatures were withdrawing down the long stony slope into the marshes.
Unlike most of the large cities on Kal-Maddum, Rivershelf did not permit shacks and slums to cluster against the outer wall. Even the skin tents of migrant herders, usually so commonplace this time of year, were missing.
There. Human beings trudged up the slope from behind a clump of trees. Some were old, some young, some male, some female . . . They weren’t rushing for the safety of the gate and the city walls. They shuffled like condemned prisoners.
One of the little children raised her head and Alinder felt a sudden spasm of recognition. Shawa.
Alinder cried out. She looked so tiny from up here, and the bloody stain at the shoulder of her tunic so large.
The girl, with all the others around her, moved listlessly into a stony clearing, then dropped to the ground like puppets with cut strings. They did not move again, nor did they appear to want to.
Linder stared out at them, his jaw set. Silence had fallen over the guard post, as everyone waited for the tyr to make a decision.
“General, although this is not my heir, it appears we must send troops after all.”
The general nodded. “My tyr, we have a contingent of spears stationed at the north gate, two hundred strong. Let me take them out personally. I’ll escort the injured inside the walls and kill a few of those beasts. Then we’ll mount their heads on pikes, to discourage the rest.”
“Only two hundred?” Alinder asked. “You—”
“Leave some spears to guard the gate,” Linder interrupted. “If the beasts do not flee at the sight of you, bring back more than one color, to discourage them all.” The general nodded to them both, then left.
The tyr her brother turned on her. “Alinder, you may be the older sister, but I am tyr. Tyr. I set the taxes. I make the laws. I command the troops. You stand at my shoulder because tradition makes you an advisor, but you will not come between me and my military again.”
“Tradition.” Alinder said. “Such a sour word when you say it. What did you mean when you said ‘although this is not my heir’? Would you have marched out immediately to rescue my son?”
“Of course! I told you that family is important, but I have a people to care for. Shoaw was going to be tyr someday. King.”
“Those are the ways of Peradain, Lin. Peradain. You talk as though Ellifer’s ghost stands at your shoulder. The Holvos once ruled as a family, through a family council. Are you still planning to lay power on the male children of our line, as though Peradaini steel still commands it, or will you return to the tradition of our people?”
The tyr her brother—little Linder, who had put little muddy handprints on the hem of her dress before he could speak a word—looked at her with a cold, stony expression. The skin on her back prickled and she had no idea why. It’s not as if her own brother would order her execution . . .
Linder snapped his fingers. The messenger boy who had interrupted the council stepped forward. “Get to the eastern gate. Tell the commander to open the sluices and fill the moat. Quickly. I want water flowing before the general returns from his err
and.”
The boy sprinted off. Linder was still angry but he said nothing. Whatever he’d intended to say or do to her, it would wait.
“They’re just lying there,” one of the archers said.
“Why don’t they proceed to the gate?” the tyr her brother demanded, as though she possessed some hidden expertise she had not yet shared.
Alinder was wondering the same thing. Still, her brother made the question sound like an accusation. “Perhaps they’re exhausted,” she snapped. Alinder was exhausted herself. “All have clearly lost a lot of blood.”
The tyr her brother couldn’t argue with that. Soon, they heard the sound of the drawbridge lowering, then boots marching along the road. The square came into view, ten spears wide and ten spears deep, points spread in a fan. The general had only taken half the contingent.
The ambush, when it came, was sudden. A great flower-colored beast charged out of the tall grasses, matted stalks still clinging to its fur, and rushed the square. The general barely had time to shout a command before it leaped above the row of spears and landed inside the formation.
Later, Alinder would remember thinking there was a strange beauty to the battle. The square did not break right away, but the spears within rippled like water, flowing away from the creature and then suddenly rushing toward it again. It bellowed in agony as steel slid into its body, but all heads had turned toward it and none were ready for six other creatures that charged out of the grasses.
Two were the smaller, darker beasts. Their fur was deep blue like the most expensive dyes from the east, and she could see protective ridges along their backs and shoulders. Had she thought them small? In fact, they were only smaller beside their purple cousins; each was at least as long as a human being, with a deeper chest and more powerful leg muscles.
Creatures ducked under the spear points. They went over. They swatted soldiers to the ground like stalks of salt grass. Archers stood on the walls, arrows nocked and ready to offer support, but they had no clear shot to take.
There were screams, too. Many came from the meadow below, when soldiers were pinned to the ground and bitten, but some came from the guards around her.
In the end, it appeared that only six were killed. The others were grievously injured, and while the dead were devoured in broad daylight, the others were bitten—once—then herded toward Shawa and her listless gathering.
Linder held his fists against his chest. He had spent a fortune on steel weapons and constant drilling to create an army that could win him the whole of Kal-Maddum, and it was not enough.
When he spoke to her, his eyes were wide with rage and spittle flew from his lips.
“Did you urge her to this?”
Alinder had no idea what he meant. “Urge?”
“Shawa. Your daughter. Did you tell her to linger before my walls like bait, to draw out our spears? To undermine me? Surely you don’t expect me to believe those animals set a trap for us.”
The terrible empty space in Alinder’s belly turned over. Was her brother accusing her of treason, of murdering her own son to take his worthless stone chair? She stared at him, waiting for him to realize he was speaking madness.
Instead, the tyr her brother addressed the guards beside her. “Take her to the iron tower. She is to have no visitors without my leave.”
The iron tower was not made of iron. It was quarried black stone, but with black iron bars in place of a banded oak door. Alinder was locked in a cell on the top floor.
She wept until exhaustion took her, then wept again when she woke. Food was brought at sunrise and sunset, but no one spoke to her, and she did not care.
There was one exception: Three days after her imprisonment, a soldier appeared at her barred door. He explained that her daughter, Shawa, was no more.
Alinder had expected this news, but she was not prepared to hear what had happened. The soldier claimed that she had transformed into one of the creatures—he called them “grunts” after the sounds they made. In fact, all of the humans who had been bitten were transforming into the smaller, dark-blue creatures.
Alinder did not respond. He withdrew.
For the first time in days, Alinder stood and went to the balcony. The iron tower was built atop a hill near the southern wall, and it was tall enough to look over the walls to the sea. What’s more, the balcony itself had no bars; any prisoner who felt they had endured enough were free to pitch themselves onto the stony courtyard below.
Shawa was alive—transformed but alive. Alinder stared over the wall, beyond the cliffs, to the gently rolling sea beyond. Something was floating just beneath the waves—something gelid and repulsive, like a corpse as wide and long as Rivershelf itself. Then a section split like a tearing seam, formed a mouth, and lunged upward at a sea bird.
Alinder watched it float westward along the cliffs until the sun set. This world was full of terrible things, and her daughter had become one of them.
The days passed. Alinder sat on her cot or stared out to sea. Sometimes she heard screams of terror or wails of grief. As the days wore on, redeployments along the walls became more frantic, and so many funeral banners were raised that they obscured her view of the city.
She saw no more creatures break above the waves but she knew they were out there. When she felt especially lonely, she went to the northern side of the tower, which had no windows at all, and laid her cheek upon the chill stone. Her daughter was out there somewhere, ready to pluck Alinder and all her people out of the air like sea birds.
Just as the ocean held its terrors, the land had her Shawa.
* * * * *
Finally, after the moon had waxed, then waned, then began to wax again, Eslind appeared in the darkness on the other side of the barred door.
“It’s time to go.”
She slid the key into the lock, then swung the door open. Alinder did not get up.
“Allie,” Eslind said, as though trying to wake her. “Allie, we must go. The city will soon fall, and I’ve convinced Linder that we cannot leave you behind.”
“Linder?” she croaked. There was a bowl of broth on the floor. Alinder drank from it to sooth her throat.
“Allie,” Eslind said, kneeling before her. Her baby—the heir—lay in a sling at her breast. So beautiful. “Do you remember the day we buried Ilinder? You swore that we would always be sisters. Now, Linder is taking me and the baby out of the city, in secret, and I insisted that he bring you, too. Will you come?”
Alinder stood. Eslind smiled and hurried to the stairs. “Quickly! The archers are upon the walls, but they have nearly run out of arrows. The moat has been blocked and the walls nearly sundered. Quickly!”
Two hulking guards awaited them, shields on their backs and swords on their hips. They held clay oil lamps with stubby linen wicks. There was a hint of sunrise in the east, but only the lamplight let them scurry through the dark alleys.
They did not turn northward, as Alinder hoped. She wanted to top the walls to look for her child. Instead, they turned south toward the ocean.
Pounding echoed through the city. The streets were full of wailing. The destruction Alinder had imagined that terrible day was here, but it had come from a direction that no one expected.
Eslind and the guards led her through the little ocean gate, then out onto the cliffs themselves. Alinder stopped at the edge. “What are we doing? Going to the sea?”
The heir began to fuss, and Eslind became impatient. “There isn’t time! There isn’t—Monument sustain me. Allie, some of the fisherfolk have been dumping sewage into a cove, a space where the waters are calm. That caused a bloom of red. No one is sure what the red stuff is, but the great beasts of the sea avoid it like poison. Look below.”
She pointed to the foot of the cliff. A long wooden boat was moored there, in the shelter of a rock spur. “Linder has collected barrels of the red stuff, and of dried sewage, too. He’s going to sail along the cliffs with the barrels submerged beside the hull. That should protect us u
ntil we reach the beaches of Espileth. There’s no love between Holvos and the Simblins, but surely the steel weapons in our hull will buy us sanctuary.”
Alinder looked around. There were great booms built along the top of the cliff, and a sturdy wooden ladder running down the rock face. She remembered the long, curving wall of timber she’d seen on the morning she was fished from the bay and the terrible stench of human waste. How long had the tyr her brother been planning this retreat?
Then she glanced to the east and saw, perched upon a rock, one of the blue-furred creatures. She suddenly felt as though she couldn’t breathe. The thing stared at her, and she stared back.
Was that her? Was that Shawa? The plankways between that stone and the ocean gate had been destroyed, but Alinder felt herself drawn to it like an iron pin to a lodestone.
“Don’t worry,” Eslind said, “they can’t come closer. The beasts don’t swim.”
Alinder looked down the long ladder. “My brother is down there?”
“Yes, now we must hurry. The gates will break before full daylight.”
Alinder extended her hands toward the oil lamps the guards held. “Give those to me, and help the heir and his mother!” The creature—the grunt—was behind her. She could feel it watching.
The men gave her the lamps, then one climbed onto the ladder. The second helped Eslind down, then went after her.
Alinder leaned out over the cliff. The lamps were heavy with oil, but she did not need strength to throw them. Only drop them.
The burning wicks fluttered as they fell, but they were still alight when they struck. One fell into an open hold, spraying flame inside. The other broke through the top of a barrel, and the contents lit up like a flare. Within moments, the entire bow of the ship was aflame. Burning men leaped into the sea. A second barrel ignited with a sound like thunder, and the ship began to list.
The guard at the top of the ladder stared down into the flames, but Eslind, her helpless babe held close, stared up at Alinder, her eyes wide with shock.
The world conspires to take everything from us in the end. But Alinder still had one thing left. One chance to stop being prey and start being predator.
Unbound Page 18
