by Claire Frank
“Pathius,” Rogan said, his voice subdued but still carrying through the room.
A buzz of voices erupted at the name spoken aloud, but Pathius kept his eyes locked on the king.
“Your Majesty,” Pathius said.
Rogan blinked, his face serene. Pathius wondered what he was thinking. The message the Raeswa had sent hadn’t specified anything about Pathius’s intentions, simply that they were releasing him from their watch and he would be returning to the kingdom.
“Rumors have heralded your coming,” Rogan said. “It appears the son of Hadran is indeed alive and well, and once again in our midst.” Murmurs broke out again and Rogan paused until the noise level died down. “It would be my great honor to welcome you back to Halthas, but we both know that depends on your purpose in coming here.”
“I am here because war threatens our kingdom,” Pathius said. He had gone over what he would say dozens of times on the journey west. “My father is dead and the throne is in my family no longer, but I still have a duty to Halthas. It is a duty I was born to fulfill.” He lowered himself to one knee and the entire room erupted in a collective gasp. “I wish to fight to protect my homeland. To do this, I swear to serve you as my king.”
He bowed his head forward and waited as a hush fell over the watching crowd. Footsteps approached, and a pair of black boots came into view.
“Rise,” Rogan said, his voice soft.
Pathius stood and swallowed hard. A small smile adorned Rogan’s face and his eyes shone with what Pathius could only describe as pride. Rogan was proud of him. Pathius’s chest constricted and he stood taller, basking in the approval of the man he had just accepted as his sovereign. All the doubt he’d harbored at his decision to bend his knee to this man melted away as Rogan reached out to shake his hand in a very public gesture of acceptance and respect.
With a nod, Rogan dropped his hand. “Welcome home.”
40. SPRINGING THE TRAP
Callum leaned against the building wall, keeping to the shadows of the alley, and fiddled with the key he wore around his neck. Maybe the trinket did have a bit of luck in it. For half the day, he’d paced and muttered under his breath, watching the dark clouds that hovered over the city. Rain would have been disastrous to his plans, washing the flare dust from the windows and doors of his target houses. To his enormous relief, the clouds had blown east, replaced by clear skies, and he’d been able to let at least that worry go.
The traps were set, and Alastair had come through with men to help watch each house. He’d even remembered the hounds. Callum and a few trusted associates had found hiding places for everyone, with decent views of each rigged house so they could jump into action if the trap was sprung. Although there were six potential victims, Callum had a hunch which one it would be, and had situated himself nearby. He wanted to get his hands on the damned killer.
Tucking the key beneath his shirt, he glanced out onto the street. Tidy buildings with ground floors built of stone and upper stories made of wood lined the cobblestone road, the soft glow of lamps illuminating the facades. A few people ambled by, but most had found their homes as darkness settled over the southern city. His target was across the road, an unremarkable structure that was home to an Ore Shaper, one of the craftsmen responsible for the maintenance of the river defenses.
Shifting on his feet, he brushed the hair from his eyes and took a deep breath. It had to be well past midnight and he’d been standing in the same spot for hours. None of his runners had checked in to report that any of the other traps had worked, so he assumed the killer hadn’t yet made their move. It was possible he’d been wrong about the time, or the location, and they’d miss the assassin entirely. Or that City Watch captain could have alerted someone to Callum’s questioning. He let out a long breath. If the night passed and nothing happened, Alastair was going to kill him.
A series of crackling bangs rang out and Callum straightened.
By the gods, did it actually work?
The noise had come from the far side of the building, so Callum dashed across the street and through a narrow passageway. He had to turn sideways to fit through, the stone walls grasping at his clothes as he passed. Behind the building, he emerged into a wider alley. The only light came from the soft glow of candles in a few windows, but as he looked around, he saw movement to his left. Someone dashed away through the gloom, running down the alley toward the closest street.
The other two men who’d been watching the house appeared at the back of the building, but Callum took off, ignoring their questions. He was not going to lose his mark.
The packed dirt muted his footsteps until he burst out onto the cobblestone street. Looking up and down the dimly lit road, Callum saw the figure slip between two buildings farther down. As he ran for the opening, he thought he heard the faint sound of a dog barking somewhere in the distance. Where was that damn hound? It was supposed to be the one giving chase.
As he ducked between the buildings, the light from the street faded and he lost sight of his quarry. He ran as fast as he dared in the darkness, rushing through the alley to close the distance. Spotting movement ahead, he grunted as his foot caught on some unseen hazard, and he stumbled forward, nearly doubling over in his attempt to keep from falling.
The passageway ended at another cross street and the figure dashed down the road. Callum turned, his breath coming in gasps as he ran, his legs burning.
This bastard needs to slow down.
A man stumbled out of a tavern and shouted something as Callum raced by, the slurred words nothing but a blur as he passed. Callum followed his mark down another side street and into a small plaza ringed with shops. Slowing, he looked around. Five streets branched off from the circle, and he hadn’t seen which way the figure had gone. Clenching his fists in frustration, he picked one and sprinted ahead.
With his legs and lungs screaming at him, he pushed onward but he found nothing but darkness. As he came to another crossroads he stopped, breathing hard, and looked around. The street was still, no sign of his target. Shaking his head, he pressed his fingers to his temple as he tried to catch his breath.
A biting pain ripped across his throat and something jerked him backward. Callum clutched at his neck, trying to tear away the cord, as he was pulled into the narrow space between two buildings, his feet scraping across the ground. Gloved hands held fast despite his thrashing, and his chest burned for lack of air. The cord tightened, cutting into his skin, and the edges of his vision began to go dark.
From the corner of his eye, a face appeared, as if it had materialized out of nothing. The attacker made a surprised noise, and his grip loosened long enough for Callum to gasp a mouthful of air. With the breath came his wits, and he slammed his attacker with a swift Projection of fear, laying it on thick. Callum stumbled forward as the man’s body jerked and his grip on the cord faltered.
Quickly drawing a knife from beneath his coat, Callum spun and drove the blade through the man’s throat. Blood spurted as he pulled it free, and the man’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing uselessly as his life pulsed out from his neck. Callum stepped back as the man’s legs crumpled and he fell to the ground with a thump.
Callum pulled the cord from his throat and threw it to the ground as he took deep breaths. Looking up, he saw the source of the attacker’s surprise. Wraith.
“Good timing,” he said. His neck stung but, as he probed it with careful fingers, he could tell the laceration wasn’t severe.
Wraith stared at the body with round eyes, giving no sign he’d heard Callum speak.
Coughing, Callum tucked his knife away and crouched in front of the body. “Damn it all, Wraith, I shouldn’t have killed him. I can’t question a dead man.” He shook his head as he pushed the body onto its back and picked it over, looking for something that would tell him who the man was. His plain black clothing was nondescript, and he didn’t appear to have carried anything with him, save the cord that had nearly ended Callum. The only
thing even mildly interesting was a gold band on his forearm, up near his elbow. “Odd place for jewelry.”
He stood and winced as he touched his throat again. Wraith continued to stare at the body as if transfixed. After a long moment, he shook his head and blinked hard, then looked up. Callum hesitated. It looked like Wraith meant to say something, but he only blinked a few times before turning his gaze back to the body.
Callum furrowed his brow as he glanced at the dead man again. “Wait,” he said as he narrowed his eyes. “His clothes aren’t singed.”
“Singed?” Wraith asked.
“They should be singed, from the flare dust,” Callum said. Wraith blinked at him again with a look of confusion and Callum realized he hadn’t told Wraith his plan. The other man had been off on his own so much, Callum hadn’t filled him in. “I was trying to catch the assassin, or one of them anyway. I thought I knew when they would strike again and I had an idea as to who their target might be. But he’d have been hit by the sparks from the flare dust; it would have burned his clothes when he tried to get in the house.”
Wraith’s gaze moved from Callum to the body. “It’s still good that he’s dead.”
Callum kicked the cord that lay on the ground near his foot. “I just wish I could have gotten something out of him. I went to a lot of trouble tonight, apparently for nothing. Alastair is going to give me quite the earful.” He paused and looked up at Wraith. “Thanks, by the way. I think your uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere distracted him long enough for me to keep breathing. You carry a weapon, though, you could have used it.”
Light footsteps sounded from the street and Callum put his hand on his knife and hurried to the alley entrance. A young man ran down the street, his face darting back and forth.
“It’s just one of my runners,” Callum said, and stepped out into the street.
The runner veered across the road and stopped in front of Callum. He swallowed between breaths and then spoke. “We got him.”
“What?” Callum asked.
“They told me to come find you. They caught the assassin,” he said.
“Where?”
“The Stone Shaper’s house. The one near the market. The trap went off and the dogs chased him down. They have him all tied up.”
A slow smile crawled across Callum’s face. “A lot of trouble, but apparently not for nothing. Have them take him down to the Quarry. I have some preparations to make.”
41. FIRST ASSAULT
Daro rolled his shoulder, feeling the pull of his puncture wound. It was sore, as were both his legs, but the arrows hadn’t done too much damage, and his Augmentation ability seemed to speed his healing. He stood toward the back of the wide room where General Coryn met with her commanders. Her second-in-command, Torbin, stood at her side, nodding along as she spoke to the rest of the battalion commanders. News had spread that someone had fired an arrow across the chasm, but a search for the archer had turned up nothing. No one reported seeing anything out of the ordinary, even the soldiers on watch that night. Daro had a hard time believing a man had made it to the top of the wall completely unnoticed. He must have had help, but finding one or two rats in a sewer full of them was going to be a challenge.
As General Coryn droned on, Daro half-listened. Lookouts had reported movement in the Attalonian camp that morning, and although no one could say whether the army was making ready to advance on the chasm, the general was reiterating their orders in the event an attack was imminent. She hadn’t seemed to know what to do with Daro’s unconventional company, and her orders for them were nonsensical, as far as he was concerned. He’d tried to explain to her the ways she could best use men like Stoker and Shale, as well as himself, but she hadn’t been interested in the details. He’d been more or less told to stay out of the way. He shook his head and wondered when he could break away so he could have a look from the top of the wall. He wanted to see if his Imaran Sight could give him greater insight to what was happening in the Attalonian camp. Not that the general was likely to listen to him.
With another roll of his shoulder, he nearly stumbled as an odd sensation ran through him. He felt momentarily weak, as if he’d been fighting for hours and his energy was depleted. The feeling passed as quickly as it came, and Daro took a steadying breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt the odd rush of weakness since arriving at the chasm. Cecily had mentioned something similar, saying she had moments where her Wielding ability felt off. The night before, she’d tried to flick the latch of their room closed with her Reach, and almost broke the door handle. It was disturbing, but they hadn’t had much of an opportunity to figure out what might be happening.
A soldier burst into the room, breathing heavily, and Coryn’s eyes widened.
“What is the meaning of this?” Commander Torbin said, stepping forward.
“Excuse me, sir, I,” the soldier said, stumbling over his words. Torbin opened his mouth to speak again but the young man blurted out, “They’re coming.”
Murmurs ran through the room, and Daro looked up in surprise.
“Say that again, soldier,” Coryn said.
“They’re coming,” he said. “The Attalonian army is moving.”
Everyone filed out of the room and made their way to the top of the wall. Daro jogged down the length and stopped to look out over the chasm, toward the Attalonian camp. The plain on the other side of the gap was still empty but as he sharpened his sight on the enemy army, he could see the soldier was correct. The encampment was alive with energy and movement, a swarming mass of people and equipment, and there was no doubt it was coming this way.
Coryn shouted orders, but Daro ignored her and ran down the steps, into the stronghold. He needed to find his men.
***
Daro gathered what Coryn had called his “unconventional” company at the top of the wall, far down the east side, away from the bridge. Soldiers moved about, taking up their positions and readying themselves to defend the fortification. They all looked out over the wall and watched the advancing army as Daro went over a quick set of orders for everyone in his head. They might not be real soldiers, but he knew they would act as a unit when the fighting began.
As he watched the Attalonians move, he could see the flow of energy of the army as a whole, almost as if it were a single organism. Sharpening his sight, Daro peered closer. At the center of the mass were large structures rolling forward on wheels. “They’ll attack the gates,” he said. “They’re going to surge toward the bridge and they have some sort of siege engines on wheels.”
Daro turned to the others. “Merrick and Stoker, stay up top and get as close to the bridge as you can. We’re going to need you to rain fury down on those bastards.” Merrick checked his stock of arrows as Stoker nodded, and they jogged down the wall to take up their positions among the other soldiers.
Daro turned to Griff, Serv, and Shale. “You three, arm yourself with bows. I know you’re no expert bowmen, but arrows will clear the chasm easily enough. Just aim for groups of people. With any luck, the fighting won’t be hand to hand today. If it is, we’re in trouble. And Shale, be ready to armor up.”
“Stay alive,” Griff said with a wide smile, as he clapped Daro on the shoulder.
“You too,” Daro called out as Griff, Serv, and Shale went in search of weapons.
Cecily stood at the edge of the wall, watching the army move closer to the chasm. He could feel her nervousness through their bond, but she glanced over her shoulder and gave him a calm smile.
“You’re with me, love. We’re going to keep them from breaking open those gates.” Reaching out, he placed a hand against her cheek and let a flow of energy surge into her. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a deep breath as he charged her with power.
He led her down the wall and they found a place among the soldiers, closer to the bridge. Orders were shouted and people ran to take up their positions as the army marched closer.
The Attalonians came forward in a long wall with
a concentration at the middle, heading toward the bridge. Along the sides, great beasts pulled large wooden structures on wheels. They looked like huge, wooly oxen, only larger, with thick shaggy coats and enormous curled horns atop their heads. Daro had never seen anything like them. Men marched alongside and, as they neared the chasm, they stopped. With a flurry of activity, men swarmed over the structures, pulling ropes, and the armored roofs swung down, standing on edge to make a long wall. It spanned the length of the army, with a gap in the center that aligned with the entrance to the bridge.
“That will give them good cover,” Daro said, half to himself, as he watched the Attalonians work.
A cry rang out nearby and a volley of arrows flew across the chasm, arcing down toward the army. Most of the arrows stuck in the ground, with a few embedding themselves in the wooden walls. Some hit the horned beasts, but other than a few protesting groans, the animals didn’t seem to be fazed. Their hides must be too thick for the arrows to do much damage at this range.
“They knew exactly where to put it,” Cecily said. “But their arrows won’t have much more luck reaching us if they stay behind that thing.”
Daro shook his head. “They’re going to hit the gates. I’m betting they’ll drag that wall forward once those siege engines are across, but the main thrust of this attack is going to be there,” he said, pointing down at the bridge.
There wasn’t much Daro could do, except watch as the Attalonians advanced, pushing their odd siege engines forward. They were black, made of wide, interlocking plates of metal on the top. Two of them rattled along the ground toward the bridge and Daro could just make out the thick log inside, suspended on chains. The sides were plated with more oblong sheets of black metal, each one bearing a depiction of a stern face with shining white eyes in the center. Two more came up behind, but Daro couldn’t tell if they were more siege engines or simply providing cover for the attackers.
