by Tom Lloyd
‘What are you in all this?’ he wondered, running his fingers down her arm, feeling how hot her skin was. ‘If you were there with the Lady, how is it you survived and she did not? A servant cannot be stronger than the God - did she believe you important enough to save at the expense of her own life?’
Antil shivered again. The idea that an immortal would do that was ludicrous, but it was the only answer he’d come up with so far.
‘My vow means I must protect the injured, even if the penitents of Death try to take you,’ he said, resolved to do his duty, ‘but if it’s true the Lady saved you for a reason, you may not need that protection longer than a few days.’ He took the cloth and trickled a little more water onto her lips. This time they parted eagerly to accept it. ‘Let us hope whatever did this to you doesn’t come looking, for if that happens you’ll need more than my vow, I think.’
Ilumene looked up at the cloudy sky and tried to discern the position of the sun. It didn’t do him much good; the western horizon showed nothing more than an overall glow, but it was a more cheering sight than the east, where an ugly swell of grey crowded the jagged mountain cliffs. His instincts told him that it was not quite mid-morning - after a fight, perceived time raced along, in his experience, fuelled by adrenalin and panic.
Without warning a voice spoke into his mind. ‘They’re coming.’ ‘Aracnan?’ he thought after a moment of confusion. The only being to speak to him like that in the past had been Azaer and that had not happened since the fall of Scree. ‘What about the storm on the mountain?’
‘They ignore it. The floods do not come with every storm, only once or twice each season, but I have done what I can to draw more power to the clouds. Kiyer of the Deluge is coming, but not before the penitents; look to your left.’
Ilumene did as he was told. For a moment he saw nothing, then a jerking movement caught his eye. On the roof of a building attached to the inside of the wall he saw a small hunched shape, no bigger than a child. It was difficult to make it out clearly for the colours of its body seemed to shift, adopting the lichen-spotted hues of the wall behind.
The creature seemed to feel his gaze upon it and turned its head towards him. The curious shape to its body was suddenly revealed as a dozen sets of tiny wings down the length of its back and arms started flapping. The patternless flutter increased in speed until the creature’s body was almost completely hidden by a blur, whereupon the flapping stopped abruptly, leaving nothing behind. Ilumene blinked in surprise. It had gone - not flown away but disappeared.
‘An Aspect? They called an Aspect to incarnate here and probe our defences?’
‘Exactly so,’ Aracnan replied. ‘Your mages are on edge, they reveal themselves by their raised defences. The priests now know how many you have, and they will not fear marching on you.’
‘But the deluge will cut off their escape,’ Ilumene said out loud, a cruel grin appearing on his face. ‘Hard luck for them. Go and watch over the master until it is time to act.’ He wiped the smirk from his lips and looked over at Major Feilin, who acknowledged him and trotted over.
‘Sergeant Kayel?’ Feilin was a decent soldier, if lacking somewhat in personal bravery. He walked with a slight limp, Ilumene had noted with satisfaction. Feilin might have been in charge of the compound’s defence, but Ilumene made it clear who was top dog two days before. Feilin gave the orders still - once Ilumene decided what they were to be. His approach might not have worked on a nobleman who had arrogance and pride to contend with, but everyone in the Ruby Tower knew Major Feilin had been born to a cook and had lived his whole life in service here. The man had seen enough bullies in his life to know when he had no chance; Ilumene hadn’t needed to push matters.
‘Major,’ he said, saluting for the benefit of anyone watching, ‘everything in place?’
‘They are, but I’m far from happy about leaving the compound open to attack - it’s a big risk to take.’
Ilumene had suggested the gates be left open and a fair number of the men sent out into the city. Kiyer’s flood notwithstanding, Ilumene didn’t want the people to feel abandoned by their secular rulers. Over the years the city’s streets had been built so floodwater could be safely diverted away. He was confident the battle would follow Azaer’s script and be short-lived. What was far more important was the perception people in Breakale, Wheel and Burn would have of this day - in preparation for the day they were forced to choose sides.
‘What if they slaughter the garrison?’ the major asked.
‘They won’t,’ Ilumene said confidently. He looked around at the figures on the wall and congregated in the compound’s yard. He’d dressed every suitable servant in uniform and set some to manning the walls while the rest were ordered to wander around looking aimless while the main complement of Ruby Tower Guards were hidden away or disguised as servants, with their weapons well hidden.
‘They’ll want to see the duchess’s body before they do anything else. Go out there and meet them under a flag of truce and have the guards surrender. The mercenaries they’ve employed will still be thinking clearly, even if the priests can’t, so they will be wary. We keep clear of the gates and don’t try to shut them.’ He pointed towards the largest group of real soldiers. ‘Move them to the other side of the compound, away from the gates.’
‘But if we let them all into the compound we’ll be outnumbered,’ Feilin pointed out, still looking unhappy. ‘Surely that’s why we’re trying this ruse in the first place?’ Like many of his fellow soldiers of Litse blood, he had pale skin and fair hair, which made him look ashen in his deep crimson uniform.
‘If you don’t move them, it’ll be too obvious that we’re ready for them - unless you’ve got a company of white-eyes I don’t know about?’ Ilumene’s sharp tone was enough to provoke a look of slight fear on Feilin’s face. He shifted uncomfortably, as though the bruises he still bore had started to ache again.
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then we give them somewhere to retreat to. The gate’s a bottleneck - and we might even get lucky with the floodwater.’
At the mention of Kiyer’s Deluge Feilin glanced nervously at the cliffs looming large behind the Ruby Tower. The thunder had abated, but the clouds above Blackfang were darker than ever.
‘I think they’ll stay and fight.’
‘Fine by me. They’ll be met on three sides in that case.’
‘What about the mages? Surely they’ll have far more than we do?’
Ilumene nodded; Major Feilin had made a good point - under any normal circumstances. They might not have anyone to rival Mage Peness, but with the assembled mages of every cult in Byora to call on they had the weight of numbers on their side.
‘Peness, Jelil and Bissen won’t be able to fight them all, no,’ he agreed.
‘So what is your plan?’
‘My plan, sir?’ Ilumene said with a wolfish look. ‘Oh no, not my plan, yours. I have just taken the liberty of anticipating your orders. The three mages are positioned in one of the eastern rooms in the tower. Most battle-mages need to be able to see their enemy to do anything really nasty.’
‘So what use are they going to be on the wrong side of the tower?’ the major asked, bemused, still trying desperately to understand what his subordinate had in mind.
‘They’re going to be cowering; far enough away that the priests won’t have any reason to suspect a trap.’ Ilumene turned and pointed at the tower. It was an enormous building, not as tall as the Tower of Semar in Tirah, but far wider. The tower was hexagonal in shape and built in steps, the lowest being the size of a palace itself, with walls thicker than those of most castles, to support the weight of the tower above. ‘The Duchess Chamber,’ he said. ‘I heard it was changed, years back.’
‘The last duke remodelled it, what, twenty years ago, perhaps?’ Feilin said, still completely mystified.
‘He put in all those pillars and a hallway, so the main entrance didn’t lead straight in?’
‘Yes,
but so what?’
‘So all that work’s not structural,’ Ilumene said. ‘We can bring it down - and the rest of the tower will still stand.’
‘But - ‘ Feilin began before cutting himself off. ‘Merciful Gods!’
‘Hah, they ain’t showing much mercy these days, so I reckon we should return the favour,’ Ilumene said with feeling. ‘They’ll have dozens of priests, all with only weak magic; an Aspect-Guide ain’t as good as a mage’s daemon. Maybe someone like Mage Peness has the strength and speed to do something about a roof falling in on him, but none of them will.’
‘And they’ll be confident Peness won’t oppose them,’ said Feilin softly.
‘Aye, before they even walk through those gates they’ll know whether we can match that strength or not. When they realise we can’t, they’ll relax. Priests ain’t got a soldier’s instincts; their penitents won’t be able to stop them in time.’
Natai blinked, suddenly awakening, and looked around. Two anxious faces stared back, the dark-haired Lady Kinna and Jeto, Natai’s steward. From the look on their faces she’d been out of it for longer than she’d realised - Jeto could be as fussy as a dowager duchess at times, but Kinna was as ambitious and heartless as any Litse noblewoman.
‘Your Grace?’ said Lady Kinna cautiously. She’d been the only one of Natai’s close circle to come straight to the Ruby Tower when she heard what had happened in Hale. For all her youth, she’s a sharp one, Qanas always said -
The thought went no further as a spasm ran through her body. Natai felt her hand begin to tremble and had to clasp it tight with the other. Strange. My body understands my grief when my mind cannot quite accept it.
She looked down at her hand. One of her rings was missing a stone, and a graze three inches long ran from the knuckle beside it down the back of her hand, tracing the path of the missing gem.
It was a ruby, she recalled, a ruby spilled with blood - who will find that? One of their mercenaries? Not a priest, their heads are raised too high now. Perhaps a pilgrim, come to pray - No; not after this. The temples will be closed until the ground is hallowed again. While these murderers live, Hale is not sacred.
She went to the window, unable to bear the sight of the door to her chamber. Catching sight of it out of the corner of her eye was enough to make her hope her husband was about to walk through.
‘Kinna, is there - ‘ Her voice wavered and caught, and she stopped, unable to continue. She hugged her arms around her body, ignoring the pain it provoked, the hot heavy feeling of a badly bruised shoulder and the sharp throb where skin had been cut.
‘There… no, your Grace,’ came the hesitant reply. ‘Nor of Sir Arite. Major Feilin has said he cannot send anyone out for information, not when we’re trying to look as if we are beaten.’
Natai didn’t speak. That there was a battle coming didn’t appear to matter. She was exhausted, her body screaming for sleep, but her mind refused.
Sergeant Kayel seems to thrive on conflict; he looks as alive now as when he was fighting my guards. Do I envy or pity him? she wondered.
Perhaps she would seek Ruhen out and lose herself in those bewitching eyes… No, she could not, for Kayel had carried her as if she were dead, up to her rooms high in the tower, careful to let others see the blood leak from her head and drip onto the stairs.
So much blood from such a small wound. A little goes a long way, isn’t that what Mother was so fond of saying? A woman who’d been denied little in her life; who’d never known loss…
The window afforded an unparallelled view of Byora. With its back turned on the oppressive bulk of Blackfang’s cliffs, the Ruby Tower looked down on the rest of the Land. Before it was spread a carpet of humanity and industry, run through by the thick veins that might soon be rushing with murky, murderous floodwaters. Rain was falling heavily on the city; Natai could not see much of Byora through the slanted slashes of water.
‘Your Grace, please let me fetch you a seat,’ Lady Kinna urged. ‘You’re hurt and in shock; your wounds need tending.’
Natai waved the woman’s protests away. The sting from her dozen small hurts wrapped her better than any bandage could. The pain took her away from the horrors of the day. Her torn and damp clothes meant nothing; changing them would change nothing.
The view had once thrilled her, as a little girl she’d been content to spend hour after hour staring out of the window at the city beyond. Now it merely echoed the numb emptiness in her stomach. What she saw was distant and blurred, not quite real.
Again her thoughts turned to Ruhen and the child’s calming effect, but then she remembered Kinna, who was continually spoiling Natai’s little prince, trying to steal his affections away. During every council meeting held in the Ruby Tower, at every formal court conducted in the Duchess’s Chamber, the woman would find some excuse to hold Ruhen and fuss over him, running her fingers through his soft, sooty-brown hair, delighting in his every sound.
‘I still cannot believe all of this,’ Lady Kinna said suddenly, ‘that the clerics would even attempt this. It beggars belief.’
Natai let the woman chatter on; it was preferable to lonely silence. Gripping her hand tight enough to turn her knuckles white, Natai looked down at the open gate where she could make out the solitary figure of Major Feilin, loitering uneasily.
‘They cannot believe the city will stand for it; the duke was a beloved and humble man,’ she went on. ‘The arrogance of the clerics has grown out of all proportion.’
‘They do not think,’ Natai said dully. ‘They have lost all reason. The temples are places of madness now; we must close them until sense returns. We will quarantine them so the people are not infected by this evil.’
‘A quarantine?’ Lady Kinna asked. ‘Yes, of course, I will see it is done. The infection must be purged. The people will be glad; they are unsettled by the fury and hatred being preached.’
‘Better they look to Ruhen than seek answers in the temples,’ Natai said with sudden vehemence. ‘In his eyes you will find peace, in the temples there is only madness.’ She stopped suddenly as she saw sudden activity in the street below.
‘Look, here they come.’
A column of dark shapes, men huddled against the rain, trotted with surprising speed towards the main gate. A number split off and went in different directions, forming up in neat lines across the alleys and avenues that adjoined the main street.
Lady Kinna gave a tiny gasp, then straightened her shoulders. She would be strong. The duchess focused on the gate. Yes, the penitents had reached it, and knocked Major Feilin down. They hadn’t waited but streamed past and over him. She couldn’t tell whether he lived or not; all she could do was hope that in their haste the flood of men surging into the courtyard had left him alive. Her servants, wearing the uniform of Ruby Tower Guardsmen, were gathered in a sullen, frightened clump on the right. The penitents did not hesitate but headed straight for the pretend soldiers, knocking many down and stripping their weapons with brutal efficiency. She could imagine the angry shouts and commands. They would be forced to their knees and one or two killed as an example perhaps…
Natai found herself holding her breath, waiting for Sergeant Kayel to appear. The mercenaries continued to stream into the courtyard, scores of men, a hundred, two hundred, all desperate to be off the rain-soaked street for fear of Ushull’s savage daughter, Kiyer of the Deluge. Finally knots of robed priests followed. Though she strained to see, the tower was too high for her to make out any of the faces.
‘How many of them do I know?’ she murmured softly, leaning forward. ‘How many have laid blessings on my head?’
‘Your Grace, don’t stand so close to the window,’ Lady Kinna said with alarm. ‘They must not be able to recognise you.’
‘It is too far, they will see nothing.’
‘What if they use magic?’
‘They don’t have the strength. Peness would be able to do so, but there is not one cleric in Byora who approaches his skill.’
<
br /> As the soldiers continued to enter, a distant voice in Natai’s head told her she should be afraid, that there were so many her guards would not be able to hold them, but the emotion would not come.
‘Look,’ Lady Kinna said, pointing, ‘Materse Avenue!’
Natai followed the direction of Kinna’s finger and saw the first rush of water down one of the main avenues, around the left-hand side of the compound. The soldiers still on the street abandoned all pretence of discipline and ran sloshing away from the water. One tripped and had to struggle up on his own as none of his comrades stopped to help him. In less than a minute, Natai knew, the flood would crash down the streets on either side of her compound, channelled down the four long streets of Eight Towers that had been designed to carry away the worst of the floods. Kiyer would still claim victims, she always did, but the losses would be fewer now the city had been designed to allow her passage.
Somewhere down below the message was passed to the soldiers, and the rest piled inside the compound wall. They left a respectful gap around the priests who were standing in the centre of the compound, facing the grand entrance to the tower. For a moment she couldn’t see what they were looking at, until a figure lurched out towards them. Sergeant Kayel was walking none too steadily. He carried something in his hand. A club? No, a clay bottle.
Natai heard Lady Kinna gasp. He really has no fear of these priests, she realised. Neither fear - nor respect.
Kayel took a moment to return the stares he received, then lurched around and headed back inside. She knew they would follow him, and as he disappeared from view again, Natai turned for the door, throat dry and heart pounding. She ignored the urgent voice of Lady Kinna behind her. She could picture the ceiling collapsing down on their heads, snapping their withered bones like twigs, cutting off their cries like lambs in the slaughterhouse. The memory of Ganas falling, slowly, so slowly, made her stumble, but she caught herself in time and fought her way forward - down the corridor and the series of short staircases that would take her to the gallery where she could look down upon her vacant throne.
