The Tower of Living and Dying

by Anna Smith Spark

  “So I’ll have a scout around tomorrow morning,” said Tobias. “Get things sorted.”

  Raeta nodded. Landra nodded. The children’s hammers came down and it was too fucking symbolic. Like all this shit.

  They went back to the inn in silence. Condemned bloody men. Three days of life. The common room was filled with singing and laughter, the two women hawking themselves unsteadily, toasts and shouts of “Illyr! Illyr!” Tobias ran into Sweet Face. She was wearing a very nice dress and jewels, drinking beer with two soldiers of the Army of Amrath.

  “Tobe!” she shouted, waving at him. “Fancy seeing you here! Isn’t this fun? Aren’t you so glad you came? Get him a beer, Acol,” Sweet Face ordered one of her friends.

  Depressingly, she looked plumper and in better health than she had back in Morr Town. War is always good for some people.

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

  Friend came back with a cup of beer. You could almost smell the beer over the stink in the air.

  “To Illyr,” Friend said. He, Sweet Face and Lover clunked cups. Tobias reluctantly joined in.

  “My grandpas died in Illyr,” said Lover. “Both of them. Never even got their bodies back to bury. One of the survivors said he thought the Illyians ate them.” A long pull of beer. “Can’t fucking wait to get stuck into them back.”

  “I need to see my brother,” Raeta said the next morning. She looked like Tobias felt. Lying awake all night, all three of them, thinking “I should be doing something, I’ve got three days left of life, I shouldn’t be trying to sleep.”

  Left Landra in the inn. “I’ll bring you back a meat pie,” Tobias told her. She winced.

  Again, the city was bustling, bursting with people, have they slept at all? Tobias thought. Detritus of last night mixed with the filth of the morning. All bathed over with fresh light rain. The sun through the rain was silver. It felt good on Tobias’s eyes. Soft; soothed them. He was noticing these things more, it occurred to him.

  He walked fast, up towards the fortress of Malth Tyrenae. Listing in his head all the things he needed to find out. Gates that were open. Gates that weren’t. Soldiers’ marching patterns. Ideal plan: march in with a whole load of soldier boys, swords drawn, faces eager, yada yada yada, march up to Marith, kill him. Easy. Only three more days of staying in an inn that stinks of shit.

  A shadow fell on him. All the plans gone from his head. Easy? Easy? Just give up and die now. Kill yourself.

  So cold.

  He was standing in the shadow of Malth Tyrenae. Towers thrusting themselves up shredding the sky. A scream, a curse against happiness; someone, something, had taken stone and wood and iron and built all of life’s pain. It was almost pitiful thinking of someone trying to live there. I am not going in there, Tobias thought. Gods, no way in hell am I going in there. Several thousand years of people torturing each other, in there. Eltheri Calboride watched his parents murdered, in there. Undyl Silver Eyes killed his own children, in there. Until Ysleta his sister killed him. In there.

  A troop of soldiers marched up to the gateway. Huge black gates open to admit them. Fools! he wanted to shout. Go back! Go back! Go and live in bloody boring peace, like I once did. They marched in with their heads high, armour gleaming, the tramp of their feet was musical. The open gates yawned after them. The shadow of the towers seemed to devour them.

  How much do I really value Lady Landra Relast’s life? Tobias thought. Like, really? She’s so keen on killing him. Get her in, armed and smiling. Leave her there and leg it halfway across Irlast.

  That’s, like, my job.

  Thirty men had marched into the Imperial Palace of the Asekemlene Emperor. Four men had marched out.

  A wagon laden with grain sacks went in through the open gate, the driver singing cheerfully to the oxen pulling it. Two men on horseback rode out of the gate.

  Tobias drew back in horror as Thalia rode out after them. She was all dressed in white, a white cloak trimmed in thick gold fur. She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

  He was wrapped up against the rain and she didn’t see him. She rode off down into the city. “Out into the forest,” he heard her say to the men guarding her.

  Stood by the walls and watched after her for a long time. The rain stopped.

  Another troop of soldiers marched up, so young some of them looked, their armour badly put on because they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. Their armour smelled new. New leather, new forged metal, gods, some of them you’d think their swords and helmets were still hot from the forge they looked so new and bright. Disappeared into the gate.

  Thought of the nice eager young men he’d led to their deaths, in the Free Company of the Sword, because Skie had paid him.

  The open gate was like a hole in the world. His head felt full of screaming. It sounded like Marith’s voice screaming. Echoing round and round, screaming for death. Shook his head and stared, wondered that the whole damn city couldn’t hear it.

  No, he thought. I kill Marith myself, and I die, and that’s the best fucking thing for both of us.

  Three more days of life left.

  So a strange few days. As you’d expect. Sitting in the inn, waiting for death. Landra sat in their tiny room, not speaking, refusing to go out. Waiting. Counting it down. “We should have paid more,” she said, “to try and get the stuff sent more quickly. Couldn’t we go back? Offer the man more money?” She polished her knife and sharpened her knife. She had begun to scare Tobias like Marith did. He and Raeta spent a lot of time in the inn common room or sight-seeing trying not to look at any of the sights of Tyrenae. Avoided being in the same room as Landra with her eyes watching the sun move across the sky only waiting, waiting for her death and Marith’s death.

  Two more days of life left.

  They went to visit the statue of Turnain the Godking in the Great Square. Some kind of sticky, milky smelling something was indeed dripping down its marble face. Which was a shame, as Tobias had always kind of wondered what the Godking of Caltath could possibly look like, and now he’d never know. People were collecting the stuff in cups, rubbing their hands in it. Flies buzzing all over it.

  One more day of life left.

  Been close to death so many times. But never quite knowing, like this. Always assumed in the back of his mind, no matter how bad, even when he’d been fighting the dragon—always assumed he’d survive. Your own death’s an impossible thing to think about.

  If all goes well, tomorrow, this time tomorrow, I’ll be dead and Marith’ll be dead. How can you really think about that?

  Stood and watched the sun set over the walls of Tyrenae. Last fucking sunset. Three helmets, three mail shirts, a small sword for Landra were delivered to the inn as the evening light was fading. Cheap, ugly, rough work. The boys carrying it all ran off exhausted, more orders to deliver. Everyone in the city armed and waiting.

  “Dinner and drinks are on me!” the landlord shouted, when he saw the equipment. “Conquer Illyr for us, Tobe!” Seated them at the best table, served them stale bread, stale butter, meat stew that was nothing on the stew at the inn in Morr Town. It smelled greasy and not entirely appetizing over the smell of human shit and animal shit. Predictable: this is our last night alive, so the food’s inedible and the drink’s worse. Tobias took a long swig of beer that tasted of piss over the smell of shit.

  Sweet Face at another table was eating stew with her mouth open, had slopped some down her dress. Tobias’s leg was aching like a bastard. He let out a belch and tasted rancid stew again. He thought: fuck, but I liked being alive. Looked at all the people crowded into the inn gulping down beer and stew and talking and laughing, a bloke had his arm round Sweet Face’s waist. You all like being alive, thought Tobias. And tomorrow I’ll be dead, and if I fail, a few days after tomorrow you’ll all be dead.

  Fuck, Tobias thought slowly, why do we all do this?

  Sweet Face came over, maybe seeing him looking like death and murder. Tried to chat. Hard to chat.
She had stew round her mouth. Terrible fear he’d tell her. That it’d burst out of him. “Guess what I’m going to do tomorrow, Sweet Face? Want to give me a last kiss?”

  “I like your necklace,” Tobias said at last, desperately.

  Sweet Face giggled. “Have a look. Isn’t it lovely?”

  Now he was actually looking at it, it was. Gold and amber, fine thin links like it had been spun. Very fancy. Meant leaning in close to her chest, too.

  “Acol found it just this morning,” Sweet Face said. “In a latrine dump. Isn’t that a joke? Wiped the shit off and it was beautiful.”

  One night of life left. Tobias watched Landra sharpen and polish her knife. Sharpened and polished his own knife.

  “What if we can’t find him?” said Landra. “What if he’s closeted away in a throne room somewhere, guarded by forty men?”

  “Then we wait until he comes out,” said Tobias.

  Raeta said, “We’ll find him.”

  Yeah. They would. A huge bloody fortress, but they’d find him.

  “He’s the king,” said Tobias. “I think it’ll be pretty obvious where he is.”

  They went to bed early. Two options, the night before you’re going to die. As Raeta and Landra were with him, Tobias chose the sensible one.

  Tobias thought: I could betray them and run I could I could.

  Raeta and Landra were asleep beside him, like they weren’t worried or scared. Slow gentle sound of Landra’s breathing. Smell of her breath. Smell of her hair.

  One night of life left.

  Comforting, like.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Marith, sleeping.

  Tobias, sleeping.

  Swords and knifes sharpened.

  A few hours of life left.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Awoke and the sun was shining. Clouds and sunshine chasing each other across the sky. Slept in, slept late. So … peaceful. There’s a story about Fylinn Dragonlord sleeping late the morning of a battle, because he was so at peace with himself. The utter calm stillness of knowing that today he’s going to die. And so nothing else in the world matters anymore.

  Landra doesn’t know, Tobias thought, watching her eating breakfast. She was watching the city around them, the beggar children fighting in the street opposite, the crossing sweeper shovelling filth. She ate and watched with a look on her face that said she still felt alive.

  Raeta’s eyes met his own. Raeta knew.

  They got themselves equipped. Mail, swords, knives, helmets. Their vision closed down by the helmets. Everything less real. Can’t see so well. Can’t hear so well. Like being drunk, or fevered. Looking through a window at the world straight ahead. It’s easier to kill people, Tobias had sometimes speculated, wearing a helmet, because it doesn’t feel quite as much like it’s you inside it killing a real person.

  Tobias rarely wore a helmet.

  Remembered Marith shuddering saying he hated wearing helmets.

  Raeta looked kind of foxy in hers. Shameful to admit it, but she did. More than kind of. Landra looked … Landra had realized, finally, Tobias thought, that killing Marith meant killing him.

  Raeta might look foxy but she obviously hated the armour. Itched and wriggled her shoulders, twisted her head around.

  “You look like a bloody hatha addict,” said Tobias. “Or like you’ve got fleas in there. Stop it.”

  “How can you wear this stuff?”

  “With practice.”

  Landra carefully packed up all her things, left them in a bundle on the bed. Landra got her things together. A horse-bone spindle. A scrap of yellow cloth. A broken twig. A gold ring stamped with a bird flying, her father’s crest.

  “Eltheia,” Landra whispered. “Please. Please.” Raeta shot her a glare like ice.

  They walked through the city, towards Malth Tyrenae. Thick grey clouds coming over, the sky growing dark. About to pour with rain.

  Tobias looked straight ahead of him. Trying not to walk too fast or too slow. No different to walking up to the gates of the Imperial Palace. No different to any other job he’d done. Just walk.

  A few hours left to live.

  Nobody noticed them, and like always that was strange, that no one could see and knew.

  Malth Tyrenae was there ahead of them. They came within the shadow of its towers. So high, its towers, that they blocked out the light of the sun. The gates were open. A long path up and they would be in.

  Tobias could feel him. Marith. A light in his mind up there ahead of them. A pressure. Waiting for them, up there.

  A few heartbeats left to live.

  They stopped and looked up at the fortress. Its towers were lost in the clouds. Every window was brilliant with light.

  “I’m afraid,” said Landra.

  My death and his death, Tobias thought.

  “You can still leave,” he said to Landra. “Go back to the inn.”

  Saw her eyes blink beneath her helmet. She shifted her hand on the hilt of her sword. “No.”

  She said she wasn’t looking for vengeance, Tobias thought.

  A trumpet sounded, high and clear. Again. Again.

  A voice shouted. Too far away to make out the words.

  More voices began to shout.

  The trumpet sounded. Trumpets and drums. A horseman came racing out through the gates towards them, past them, a man in armour, a red banner raised, shouting “We march! We march!” More horsemen. “We march in an hour! King’s orders. Go! Go!” The fortress before them boiling over with shouts, crash of metal, blare of trumpets, horses galloping out. The city shouting and stirring, soldiers and camp followers pulling themselves together, running in panic, preparing themselves.

  “King’s orders! King’s orders!”

  “The king says we march!”

  The skies opened. Rain pouring down.

  Behold the Army of Amrath, preparing to march for Illyr.

  You really thought they’d even get close?

  Really?

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The Army of Amrath filed out of Malth Tyrenae. Rank upon rank of bronze helmets, red plumes nodding, a sea of bronze and red. It was raining heavily; the rain ran down their armour, looked like the metal was weeping. The sarriss they carried were tall as tree trunks. A sea. A flood. A forest. Not men. Landra watched them from the shelter of an alleyway and thought: these soldiers are no longer men.

  Marith rode at the very head of the first column. White fire flashing on his sword. Landra saw him a moment, so clearly she could have reached out and touched him. He was wearing a new cloak in deep twilight blue. Supposedly the colour of the Godkings. Then he was gone past into the city and the rain hid him.

  Tobias cursed and cursed and cursed.

  “What do we do?” said Landra. Her mind felt numb. Everything numb. The impossibility of it all made her laugh and weep.

  Vengeance! she thought. I should have stayed with Ru learning to weave stinking gold cloth.

  “We can still catch him,” said Tobias. His body slumped. Spittle round his lips. “We can catch him in the street, run up to him, stab him. This is chaos. This isn’t an army marching, it’s a bloody stampede. We can do it. Come on. Come on!”

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Raeta. “We’re too late.”

  “We can’t be too late!” Tobias screamed.

  They went back to the inn. Nothing else they could do. What else could they do? In the common room the woman Tobias had befriended stood with a pack at her feet. She was blinking, still half-asleep, smelled of drink and dirt and sweat. She was crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Landra asked her.

  “Nothing. I’m scared,” Sweet Face said, “for the soldiers. Now it comes to it.” She ran her hands over her amber necklace. “He was a nice man,” she said. “Acol. I liked him.” She said, “We got woken up so sudden, he ran off and didn’t even say goodbye.”

  Up in their room Raeta started to pack up her things. Landra looked pitifully at her already packed
bundle and thought: fool. Gods, I was a fool.

  “We go with them,” said Raeta. “Out in the forest, up in the mountains … the Empty Peaks, the Wastes …” She looked a little brighter, she had taken off her helmet and her body looked less tense. “Out in the mountains,” she said, “he will be vulnerable.”

  “He’ll be surrounded by a fucking army,” Tobias shouted. “We won’t be able to get near him. He’ll fight a fucking war, and maybe he’ll die in battle, even, but I won’t have killed him. We go now, we catch him in the street, stab him. Now.”

  Trumpets. Horses. Tramp of feet. The army pouring out of the city. It was like a storm.

  Tobias sagged against the wall. “I dragged him out of the way of a fucking dragon once.”

  Raeta put her hands on his shoulders. Landra thought of a mother comforting a child.

  “I was ready to die today,” said Tobias.

  “I know,” said Raeta. “So was I.”

  The two of them got Tobias’s things in a bundle, while he stared out of the window at the tides of men, cursing.

  The innkeep gave them all a cup of beer. “Victory to the king!” he shouted. “Joy to the king! Conqueror Illyr for me!” They all drank. Landra thought Tobias was going to be sick when he drank. The streets were thick with people, utter chaos, children wailing, women cursing, people running back and forth. The rain seemed to be washing them all out of the city. Landra thought: just follow and follow him. I’ve followed him from Sorlost to the White Isles to Ith, I can follow him onwards now to Illyr. Through the west gates, past the fields and gardens around Tyrenae, marching into the vast forests of Ith. Three people in a mass of travellers, swept up in the hunger for gold and blood. The Army of Amrath, sarriss points raised to the sky, red banner fluttering in the wind.

  Tobias muttered, “Days and days left to live.”

  “King Marith!” the soldiers shouted. “King of the White Isles and Ith and Illyr!”

  “Death!” the soldiers shouted. “Amrath and the Altrersyr! Death!”