Somewhere out there, the boats holding Mother’s Outer Isle friends would be pulling alongside the flagship. Men would climb any lines the ship’s captain had been foolish enough to leave over the side, or failing that, they’d toss darts trailing light threads of silk over the ship’s bowsprit. Thus draped, the silk thread would be used to pull a heavier rope over. One man would remain in the ship to anchor the line while the others clambered up to the bow and over the rail.
As much as I wished to remain on the ruins of the waterfront, I knew it would do Da and Jaret no good. Their lives were in the hands of others now. People needed me here on shore.
Turning reluctantly from the water, I set off at a trot for courthouse square. In the intervening hour since I’d stood in its center and explained plans for the defense of the city, many people with minor injuries had been treated and sent home. Those who still had homes, that is.
I ducked out the edge of the square, heading into the slums. During the late hours of the night, the soldiers had burned their way haphazardly through the district. Eventually, though, they appeared to have grown bored of their ravaging and returned to the barracks. That or Olev Ulstat had given the order to retreat, perhaps to organize a more orderly advance through the city after sunrise.
Either way, the deserted slums held an eerie quiet, as if even the rats held their breath. Detouring around blocks where fires still smoldered, I made my way to fountain square to check with the defenders. To the House guards’ credit, those who had been assigned to defend commoner neighborhoods offered no complaint. Instead, the leader, a guard from House Rutevieshk, a middling Istaniker trader family, greeted me with a nod that looked almost respectful.
“We’ve got about half the streets along the barracks strip blocked off,” he said. “Barring more surprises, we should be able to hold the line there. A handful of your fighters know more about soldiering than they let on. I’ve assigned them control of individual squads. My guardsmen don’t like taking orders from gutterborn, but they’re more used to cracking commoner skulls than fighting seasoned soldiers. It’s a chance for them to learn, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Good work,” I said.
“Did Trader Ovintak find you?” he asked. “He came looking for you after he secured his household.”
A spark of hope lit in my chest—maybe he hadn’t decided to break contact after all. Gritting my teeth, I doused the emotion. He’d had plenty of chances to reassure me, and he’d neglected every one.
“Said he had questions about the defense of the trader district,” the guardsman offered.
Just as I’d thought. Now that he was prime trader for House Ovintak, he cared more for protecting his sprawling home than for me. Well, I’d never expected anything else. Not really.
“Thank you, guardsman.”
“I’ll send a runner every half-hour,” he said.
Though I felt my place was at fountain square, I’d reluctantly accepted Jet’s advice to move my command to the courthouse. Not only was it central to the city, it showed that the traders and gutterborn were unified in the defense rather than agreeing to combine forces for as short a time as possible.
Hurrying through the streets, I took a wide arc to check on Nan. Like the others—if she hadn’t been too stubborn, that is—she would have hurried to the trader district during the night. But I expected her back by now. Aside from her disdain for the traders, the smoke outside would only irritate her cough.
Laying eyes on her snug little home—she was indeed, back, if I were to judge by the open curtains and the lamps burning inside—I wanted nothing more than to go in and take comfort in her company. But I forced myself to hurry past; later, once we finished the Ulstats, I’d bring her the news.
As I approached courthouse square, I held my breath. From the open area, I’d be able to see the guardstones. Hoping for the blue that would indicate my father and brother’s safety, my throat closed down over my despair when I saw the cheery yellow fires echoing the rising sun.
Da and Jaret were still hostage. If they hadn’t been freed by midmorning, I’d be unable to delay.
I’d be forced to give the order to sink the fleet.
“There you are,” Raav said. Freshly cleaned and dressed in clothing that only accentuated his looks, he strode toward me, eyes unreadable.
Over the course of the last hour, I’d asked for a low platform to be erected in the center of courthouse square. I didn’t know where the battle would go next, but I could be sure this calm wouldn’t last. When the fighting resumed, I wanted to be able to see what was happening. More importantly, I wanted people to be able to find me. After dispatching the skiffs, Jet had returned to assist me. At Raav’s approach, the big man stepped close, ready to defend me. Amongst the traders, my actions and demands were unpopular at best. Without me to demand the gutter rights following the end of the conflict, I imagined many traders envisioned a return to the old hierarchy.
“Here I am,” I said, careful to keep my tone even. “I hear you wanted to discuss the defense of the trader district.”
Raav’s jaw clenched and released. Otherwise, he projected nothing but utter, calm indifference. “There are guardsmen on the streets entering the district from the city center, but none defending the boundary with the hills and Promontory.”
“Ulstat’s strengths are the cannon and the mercenaries,” Jet said. “Neither of those threats will come from the hills.”
“Which is exactly what Frask will tell Olev we’ll expect,” Raav said, unruffled by Jet’s argument. “We must prepare for attack from that side.”
As much as it hurt to face Raav and speak as if we were nothing but allies in the defense of the city, I met his eyes. “We only have so many—”
“Councilor,” Jet said, cutting me off with a hand laid on my shoulder.
“What?” I said more sharply than I intended.
“Look.” He pointed into the uppermost fringe of the slums where the stilts clung to the steep hillside. “The light-bearers. It’s possible Trader Ovintak has a valid concern.”
As I stood, blinking, I realized what he was pointing at. After a long night filled with fire and blood, I’d grown accustomed to the color red. But the alarm had been canceled around dawn, to better prepare us for the day to come. So why were the lamps in the stilts burning a deep, threatening red?
Moments later, a man burst into the square, chest heaving, clothing scorched and torn.
“Councilor!” he yelled.
I leaped from the platform and ran to his side. Raav and Jet followed close at my heels.
“What is it?” I asked, dropping into a crouch to put my face level with the man’s. Winded, he stood with hands on his knees while his breath wheezed in and out of his lungs.
“Attack,” he managed.
“Frask and his rotted soul,” Raav cursed. “I thought it would be from the Promontory, but I should have considered . . . the stilts are much easier to approach in secret.”
“No wonder it’s been so quiet,” Jet said.
Wide-eyed, the man stared at Raav and Jet as if perplexed by their words. After a moment, comprehension dawned, obvious in the man’s face. He shook his head.
“Not Ulstat,” he said. “Waikert.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“ROT,” JET SAID, summing up our situation. As the messenger collapsed to the cobbles, I stared at the hill where the stilt homes teetered over unstable slopes. One by one, fires leaped from rooftops, like a flood of flame dropping into the city. Shortly after, the sound of distant screaming filtered into courthouse square.
“Councilor!” Another runner, this time from the direction of the harbor.
Together, Jet and I whirled on him. “What is it?”
“Ships. Off the southern point. At least two dozen bearing down on the Ulstats.”
When I locked eyes with Jet, he nodded. “I’ll take the inland front. Head for the harbor.”
I took off at a sprint, only barely regis
tering Raav’s call as my pumping legs carried me out of the square. “Lilik! Wait, I’ll help.”
I ignored him. If he was really concerned about something besides the trader district, he could have offered help much earlier.
Unfortunately, Raav’s legs were longer than mine. By the time I reached the remnants of the quay, he’d drawn alongside me.
“Tides,” he whispered.
Already, the Waikert scows swarmed the Ulstat fleet. Outnumbered, Ulstat captains were attempting to bring their vessels around to flee for the open water of the strait. Upon their decks, small fires already smoldered, the result of our archers. As I watched, horror-struck, a Waikert’s iron-clad bowsprit speared one of the Ulstat ships broadside, sending it heeling hard away from the blow. Oars shot from the sides of the scow and dug at the sea, perfectly synchronized. The Waikert ship reversed, abandoning its impaled enemy, and the Ulstat ship quickly listed the other direction, taking on water too fast for even the best bilge pump to remove.
Within minutes, it would sink.
“My family,” I whispered.
When Raav touched my forearm, I jerked away. I didn’t want his charity right now. Whirling, I ran for the boat ramp.
Though many of our skiffs remained near the harbor mouth, bravely scooting beneath the massive prows of the Waikert ships, firing blazing arrows up and over the rails and taking heavy fire in response, two had returned. I recognized one of the skiffs that had ferried the Outer Isles raiders to the flagship. Three of the seats were empty, the fighters lost, I assumed. Sliding on the slick clay, I scanned the faces of the oarsmen for some hint on my family’s fate.
“They weren’t aboard, Councilor,” said a man from the bow. “We saw the Waikert and returned for further instructions.”
“You’re sure?”
Grim-faced, the man nodded. “We scoured the flagship’s holds and decks top to bottom. Left them with no more than a handful of sailors.”
“You lost three,” I said, more a statement than a question.
“They knew what their assignment meant,” he said gently. “No one from the Outer Isles fights without understanding the consequences. They went gladly.”
“Did you see Olev Ulstat? Frask?”
The man shook his head. “But there was a dinghy lowered from the stern as we neared the fleet. I suspect Trader Ulstat and his hostages were aboard.”
Relief mingled with worry in my chest. The man was probably right. Which meant my family would survive even if the Waikert sank all the Ulstat vessels. But it also meant I had no idea where to look for them next.
“Councilor? Your orders?”
Torn from my thoughts, I scanned the harbor. “I need you to go back out there,” I said. “The fastest route to the guardstones is by boat. Tell the flame-keepers to burn the alarm. After that, do what you can to bring back our skiffs. This is not our fight right now. Send the sergeants to courthouse square afterward.”
As I ran back to the city center, I scanned the hills. The entire stilt district was ablaze, and flames nibbled opposite side of Istanik as well, marking the Waikert advance into the trader district. After leaving Raav on the quay, I’d expected him to return to his home. Instead, I found him and Jet conferring with Trader Yiltak upon my makeshift platform. As I updated them on the situation from the harbor, more runners came in from the outskirts, blood flowing freely from wounds.
“Jet?” I asked.
“It’s bad,” he said, coughing in the smoke that swirled down from the hills. “Losing fighters fast. We’re attempting to hold lines at the areas under heaviest attack, but we keep falling back. We don’t have the training to fight the Waikert.”
“The mercenaries?” With the Ulstats under Waikert attack, I hoped they might turn yet again and fight on our side.
He shook his head. “Scattered. Last I saw, half a dozen bands were heading into the farmlands.”
“Rot.”
“We need to think about abandoning the city,” Trader Yiltak said.
“How?” Raav asked.
Before anyone could answer, a shriek pierced the square. A woman ran from an alley, her young child bouncing on her hip. Behind, a pair of savages snarled, bare feet slapping the ground. The savages wielded iron-spiked clubs, wore a patchwork collection of metal and leather armor on bodies otherwise clothed only by scattered scraps of hide. Their faces were blackened to better move unseen in the darkness. Streaked where sweat had cut white lines through the paint, the sea tribesmen looked more animal than human.
With a roar, Jet leaped from the platform and ran to intercept. I pulled Tyrak free and followed, seeing nothing but the snarling faces of the enemy.
A heartbeat later, Tyrak’s spirit leaped from the blade to meld with me. As we sprang upon the trailing savage, Tyrak’s heart beat with mine, a steady, killing throb. As one, we landed a fist on the savage’s cheek as our dagger struck under the ribcage, piercing the hard membrane between the man’s diaphragm and lungs. The sea tribesman coughed but stayed upright, turning on me with a wicked grin. Blood surged from his throat as he yelled his war cry and countered, the heavy club swinging hard at my head.
I ducked, felt the spike catch a strand of hair and rip it from my ponytail. As I crouched, I yanked the dagger from the man’s flesh. The savage overbalanced, momentum of his swing pulling his arm across his body and exposing his back to a strike. Blood on the dagger hilt loosened my grip; I tried to exploit the opening and failed, nearly fumbling my weapon.
A couple panicked steps brought me out of range of the man’s next swing. Dagger raised, I circled, watching him for weakness. Given time, the punctured lung would kill him. Blood streamed from the wound, slicking his side, belt, thigh. Beneath his feet, the cobbles were smeared.
Still, he kept his feet.
Blinking the sweat from my eyes, I swallowed. The savage’s lip curled, exposing yellow teeth with blood pooling around his gums. A strand of red saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth. Shuddering, I retreated another step. The sea tribesman didn’t care whether he lived or died. Only destruction mattered. How could I fight against that?
Abruptly, Tyrak was there, stepping forward again, filling my chest with calm. I felt him within me, behind me. He both guided my arms and supported them, his hand wrapping mine around the blood-slicked dagger hilt.
Together, we’re strong enough for this, he whispered in my ear.
Circling right, I kept my eye on the savage’s hips and shoulders. Any attack would initiate from his trunk. An instant before he jumped forward, swinging his club overhead in a massive arc, I saw him tense for the leap. As soon as he left the ground, I darted to the side. The club slammed the cobbles where I’d been standing, ejecting chips of stone that skittered across the square. Whirling, I stepped in, aimed a stab at his kidneys, felt the knife cut deep.
The man roared and fell to a knee.
Using my momentum from the strike, guided by Tyrak’s graceful nudges, I rolled across his back, coming up facing him with weapon raised. Scuttling with one hand on the ground, the savage tried to move clear of my next strike. Slashing at his neck, I opened a cut below his ear, a finger-width deep, but missed the artery that would end his life.
Drawing on a bestial force, the sea tribesman yelled through gritted teeth and rose to his feet. Fists clenched, he attempted to raise his club but lacked the strength. Dropping the weapon, he roared and charged, barreling into me. Together, we fell to the cobbles, his face a hand’s width from mine, blood pouring from his mouth onto my neck. Struggling, I tried to throw him, but he weight twice what I did. Grimacing, he pushed off, laid a knee into my gut, and cocked back his fist.
Open! Now! Tyrak shouted.
I threw down my walls, not just opening myself to the strands, but pulling them toward me. At once, pain erupted from my scars, a searing cold I could scarcely handle without blacking out. Strength flooded my body, and I threw off the savage, sending him ten paces through the air before he landed in a heap, skidding
across the ground in a pool of his own blood.
Climbing to my feet, the pain a shrieking part of me, I stomped toward him. The sea tribesman wormed away, but it was no use. With a final yell, I slammed the dagger into his throat, drawing it across the windpipe and the throbbing arteries. With a gurgle, the man finally died, and I collapsed to the cobblestones beside him, struggling against the darkness to get my barriers back up before I drowned in the hurt.
Faces gathered above me. Raav, Jet, Moanet and her mother. My mother.
Voices filled my head. Confusion and hurt, fear and cries for help.
The people around me were speaking, but their words didn’t match the clamor in my mind.
I tried to sit up, fell back under a wave of dizziness. Patting the ground with my palms, I realized I’d been moved back to the platform.
Courthouse square. Smoke filled the sky above the city, and the sun was a red stain in the sky.
“The Waikert?” I whispered.
Raav spoke, but I couldn’t understand the response. Not with so many people talking at once.
But they weren’t. I turned my head side to side, spotted the body of the savage I’d killed. A loose crowd of Istanikers filled the square, and others stood at the mouths of streets and alleys that emptied into the open space, ushering more bedraggled survivors in. But the crowd was largely silent. Wide-eyed in their terror.
The noise was coming from my own mind. Or rather, from the spirits speaking within it.
Stop! I screamed into the aether.
Abruptly, the sound pinched off, leaving me in peace.
Coughing in relief, I laid back for a moment.
Lilik? The voice wasn’t Tyrak’s. I clenched my fists while struggling remember the name. Dreven. Miva’s husband.
I hear you, I said. I’m listening. Everyone, you’re lost and scared. But if you all speak at once, I cannot understand you. Worse, you’ll drive me mad. Let Dreven speak for you.
Shadowbound Page 23
