He found an empty storeroom on the unoccupied second level down.
He was still counting seconds when the world he knew came to an end.
TWENTY-FIVE
Mar sighted the smoke ‑‑ dark black columns that formed a curtain across half the sky ‑‑ as he crested a ridge. Stunned, he allowed the raft to slow, then drift, as he stared at the towering pall for uncounted moments. Numerous unpleasant possibilities assembled themselves in his mind.
One thing was clear – such a conflagration could not be natural. Forest fires did not make such a great quantity of smoke, and only the works of men burned so blackly.
Mhajhkaei must be ablaze.
And if that was so –- and there seemed little doubt -- then The Greatest City in All the World was at war.
And it was losing.
In something of a daze, he gripped the sand cleats tightly and brought the raft around to point its bow directly toward the smoke.
Three days before he had decided to ignore the winding oxbows of the river and instead to set a direct course by sight, reasoning this to cut many leagues from his journey. By day, he had guided the craft in a more or less direct line toward the moving point where the Ice crossed the horizon, allowing the river to wander where it would. At night, when the sky was clear enough to allow the Cousins or the waxing moon to light his way, he had targeted a bright star closest to his route, stopping only sporadically to doze.
This method had worked well until the previous night, when he had allowed his eyes to close for an exhausted moment. As sleep had overtaken him, the raft had sailed on, not deviating even a single degree from its last course. When the face of dawn had woken him, he had discovered in somewhat of a panic that he had altogether lost sight of his one sure guide, the Ice River. Below him, from horizon to horizon, only the swaying tops of great hardwoods verdant in the fullness of summer foliage had been visible.
It had only taken a moment to consider what course he should set. It had seemed clear that his best – if not only -- option was to strike due south toward the Silver Sea. Mhajhkaei, as well as he could remember, was not sited at the mouth of the Ice, but east along the coast adjacent to a deep-water bay. He had reasoned that once he encountered the sea, he could work his way up and down the coast until he found either the city or the delta. And so, using the sun as his compass, he had aimed the raft as close to directly south as he could determine.
Now, with Mhajhkaei apparently to his southwest, it appeared that he had strayed far to the east of the Ice.
As the city and its predicament rushed ever closer, he urged greater and greater speed from the raft till the wind of his passage threatened to sweep him from its deck. Grimly, he pressed himself prone to the glassy spheres and gripped the cleats with all the strength he could muster. Struck by a thought, he sent the raft climbing, putting height between himself and whatever foe assailed Mhajhkaei. He rose higher than he had ever previously dared, and the air grew moist and cold. Shivering, he tucked his head against the wind and demanded yet more speed from his raft.
Within moments, woodlots, farm buildings, and pastures began to emerge in ordered squares from the rolling forested hills. Scattered hamlets and linking dirt roads appeared. As the roads became stone paved highways, the city itself became visible in the distance. When he judged Mhajhkaei only a couple of leagues off, he reined in the raging saffron percussion that propelled the raft and hung his head over the edge.
Immediately, he spied refugees, not the flood he expected from so large a city but a mere trickle, fleeing north and east along highways. Some others trudged on the unpaved side roads as well, and a few were cutting across the open fields in no particular direction, apparently wanting only to put distance between themselves and the city. From this height, the people were miniscule, but it appeared that few had carts or wagons and in general carried little baggage, suggesting that retreat was haphazard and disorganized. There were some small groups but many were alone and afoot. Ominously, the number of those escaping the city looked to be only a mean fraction its population.
There was no sign of a besieging army, but Mar could not decide if this boded well or ill.
He began to cough as the air grew thicker about him. The rising smoke had grown into an anvil, like a thunderhead, and the winds from the sea had begun to push it inland across his path. The haze grew, shrouding his view.
He banked back sharply to the east, retracing his course, and swung out and around the smoke, dropping lower to approach the city in clearer air. As he did so, the coast and the vast expanse of the Silver Sea came into view. At another time, he might have gazed in awe at the sparkling blue waters. Today, he blithely ignored the storied and historic sea as he swept back toward the walls of the stricken city.
Mhajhkaei was predominantly a city of two colors juxtaposed: the lower was the white, from whitewash through faded granite, of its building walls, and the upper the red, from deepest maroon to near orange, of its fired tile roofs. Few of the buildings were more than one storey, but there were a great many of them: houses with walled courts, commercial buildings lining well-planned streets, civic edifices on broad plazas. The city covered ten small hills and many square leagues of flat coastal plain from the estuary of the Ice River to a ridged peninsula that formed the backbone of the sheltered bay. Khalar, Old City and Lower City both, could have been dropped in one small quarter of the metropolis.
Mar slowed cautiously as he neared the outskirts. The city had outgrown a low curtain wall constructed along its landward side and neighborhoods spilled out beyond it and along the roads leading into the countryside. These districts were mostly abandoned but untouched. Likewise, when he crossed above the curtain wall into the city proper, he discovered few signs of war. A building on the northeast corner of a large plaza was ablaze, but he judged accident had set it alight, as there was no conflict near it. Some thoroughfares were jammed with abandoned carts and wagons, but for the most part the streets were clear. The normal bustle of traffic that he would have expected under other circumstances was understandably absent, though here and there hurrying individuals and small bands of citizens darted about seemingly without purpose.
The great bulk of the smoke rose from the area of the harbor. Mar had a fair view of the bay from this angle and turned his attention there. Counting, he numbered better than fifty vessels, merchant scows, many‑oared war ships, and smaller craft, burning furiously at their moorings. Only three ships, whose crews had proved either sufficiently fortunate or sufficiently skilled, had managed to cast loose and row far enough into the shallow waters of the bay to be sunk. Their higher decks and masts extended above the fouled waters, and from this height their dark outlines could be made out beneath the waves. As he watched, the supply of smoke from the trapped ships began to be adulterated with roils of steam as hulls and rigging were consumed to the waterline.
This did little to diminish the quantity of smoke, however, as the dockside trade district was even now being put to the torch. He fixed the lifting sound-color of the raft so that it would hover and watched as armsmen in maroon tabards and gray cloaks set fire to stacks of lamp oil barrels, cotton bales, and other flammable goods. The quays of Mhajhkaei covered more than a league, and row upon row of large sheds, storage yards and squat brick warehouses lay landward of them. None of these had been spared by the invaders. Already, a great conflagration engulfed the western most section of the commercial area, with raging orange flames spreading from the waters of the bay to the curtain wall that paralleled the shore.
As he looked out across the bay, it was now clear that the blow that had been struck at Mhajhkaei had come from the sea.
The enemy fleet anchored safely in the deeper water near the breakwater numbered forty or more ships. Two thirds were broad beamed multi-sailed cogs. Most of these rode high in the water, apparently empty, but some were still in the process of disgorging armsmen into smaller boats. A few of the remaining vessels were oared warships with prow-mounted
rams and single half-hearted masts, similar to the destroyed Mhajhkaeirii’n fleet. The remaining three ships were like none Mar had ever read of, been told of, or imagined.
Centered in the invading fleet, these were larger by three times than any of the other vessels and were completely gray in color from stem to stern. The color was darker than mill scale and flat, with no highlights from the sun or wave reflection. All had sharp angles and edges as if, astonishingly, their construction were mainly of metal rather than wood. Possessed of blunt sterns and needle sharp bows, each ship had an elevated central structure wrapped with catwalks and platforms. Unknown frames and complicated apparatus crowded these structures and others were spaced along each deck. He could detect no normal means of propulsion -- he saw no sign of sails or oars. His immediate and obvious guess was that these odd vessels moved by means of magic.
Intrigued, he thought for a moment to venture closer to the harbor for a better look. The smoke and the heat from the fires discouraged him, however, and caution persuaded him against attempting to approach the vessels from the sea. If magic drove them, then they might also mount incredible weapons that could be brought to bear on his raft. He nudged the raft further west and considered what he had seen.
From all indications, the Mhajhkaeirii’n fleet had been taken completely by surprise. Worse, its utter destruction hinted that the power of the attacking forces had been overwhelming. Certainly, there was no sign of an active defense by the Mhajhkaeirii.
From what little he could see, the harbor defenses – several towers, the substantial curtain wall, a thickly buttressed fortress on the peninsula, and another strong point to the west -- were intact but overrun. The numerous gates stood open as if they had been taken before an alarm could be given. Large blocks of armsmen, most in the maroon and gray, were streaming steadily into the city, completely unopposed.
Only one battle seemed to have taken place. Two blocks north of the harbor along a tree-shaded boulevard, bodies littered a large, rectangular plaza. Most of the dead were clad in sea blue livery. Mar was felt certain that he had read that sea blue was the color standard of Mhajhkaei. Craters scored large sections of the plaza pavement near the head of a wide boulevard on the north side. Some of the buildings adjacent to this area were heavily damaged. It was here that most of the casualties lay. At no other point along the harbor or in its vicinity could he discover any other evidence of battle or of armed resistance of any sort.
Mar rolled upon his back, turning his eyes from the death and destruction below, and stared at the high clouds above him.
He should leave the city.
Mhajhkaei was doomed.
The burning of the warehouses surely meant that the city was to be destroyed, not merely sacked. Whoever had attacked The Greatest City in All the World intended to wipe it from the face of the earth. With the harbor taken and the heart of the city pierced, its fall could only be a matter of days, perhaps hours. He would not find the rest he hoped for in Mhajhkaei.
His stomach cramped, growling, a painful reminder of his near starvation. He had had little to eat but berries and river water since he had eaten the beans on the barge. He had found the acorns in the forest to be bitter and inedible. There were fish aplenty in the river – he had seen them in the shallows from above -- but with no hooks or lines, he had had no chance of catching them. He had half-heartedly tossed stones at birds, but his aim had not proven good enough to overcome their grace and speed.
But there was food in the city, surely even now, and he need only land away from any immediate conflict, snatch it up, and speed away. It would be almost suicidal to depart before he had found something to eat.
It struck him as ironic that his first visit to The Greatest City in All the World would coincide with its destruction. Wryly, he began to catalogue the great wonders that he would never chance to see. The Great Aisle of Ships -- now clearly destroyed -- the narrow and winding Imperial Canal with its storied overarching bridges, the Seat of the Principate with its great rotunda, the Citadel...
From stolen books, he knew that at the center of Mhajhkaei stood a mighty stronghold, a construction of the Empire contemporary with the founding of Khalar. The Citadel occupied the highest of the ten hills and had defended Mhajhkaei from the unwanted attentions of the Imperial Cousins’ rival armies during the dissolution of the Empire. From it in the following decades the fleets and legions of the city had sallied to dominate the vast region now known as the Principate. Over the centuries, eight times the Citadel had withstood close siege as rival cities contested Mhajhkaei’s power. With constant conflict as a spur, the fortifications had been expanded and extended to the point that they were universally deemed “impregnable.” That very reputation alone, some scholars had boldly asserted, had been the overriding reason that the so-called Mhajhkaeirii’n Peace, which shadowed a quarter of the known world, had endured for the last century and a half.
The fall of the Citadel would certainly be history, not mere sanitized words or opinionated rhetoric on paper, but the raw fury of the actual bloody event. It would be a sight that would be argued over for generations. And he had the perfect seat from which to spectate.
As he thought further on it, he concluded that he would tarry above Mhajhkaei. From the sky, he could witness the fall of the city with impunity. He could always flee if the need arose, and he could not bring himself to abandon this opportunity. The fall of the Citadel would mark a turning point in the affairs of the entire world.
His empty stomach continued to clamor for precedence over his curiosity, but hopefully he could satisfy both desires together. When he located an inn or tavern, he would swoop down, raid what food was ready to hand, and ascend back to his high refuge.
Rather than risk being sighted by the invading legions, he swung far out beyond the city wall and circled to approach the Citadel from the north. From the air, at least, the fortress was indeed impressive. The triple walls surrounded the flattened hilltop in ascending tiers, each wall many dozens of armlengths thick even at its apex. The innermost wall was the highest and broadest, topped by a wide, continuous roadway that completely encircled the Citadel. Deep, dry moats separated each tier and bastions were sited at the cardinal points about the perimeter. The area inside the walls was approximately a square league. Here, though, it was clear that the martial nature of the Citadel had succumbed to the civic demands of one hundred fifty years of peace. A spiderwork of haphazardly placed streets and attendant buildings had grown over the former practice fields and parade grounds. Some buildings that could have been barracks or armories remained, but for the most part the heart of the Citadel had become claustrophobically urban.
And, here, finally, were the missing citizens of the city. Thousands upon thousands were jammed into the narrow ways. It was not perhaps the bulk of the populace, but certainly had to be a large fraction of it.
And it was here, also, that the last defenders of Mhajhkaei awaited their fate, manning the walls. Many wore sea blue, the remains of the city’s legions, but rather more than half looked to be common folk either pressed or volunteered into the defense.
Arrayed against them was an army that looked to be many times their number. Even now the invaders were completing the encirclement of the Citadel, disciplined formations marching along adjacent streets to take up positions just out of bowshot of the walls. Mhajhkaei was a city given to large plazas and open commons and the besieging army used these conduits as it marshaled its forces. Catapults and trebuchets, though curiously few, were already being erected about the Citadel, most to the south. He allowed the raft to shift in that direction.
Below him he spotted a crow, circling lazily. After watching the bird for several moments, he banked the raft and began to mimic the bird’s slow spirals. He would be only a speck to those on the ground, and he hoped that any that might notice him would take him for a natural beast of the air. It would not be to his advantage for anyone to believe or even suspect that a man could fly.
The maroon and gray legions had massed along a tree-shaded boulevard that ran up to the huge southern gates of the Citadel and this appeared to be the major focus of their attack.
The gates themselves were formidable. A buttressed portal twenty armlengths wide pierced each of the three walls. These gates were offset one from the next and adjoined by interconnected covering fortifications, switchbacks and murder zones. The outermost gate had an extra set of round towers set forward of the barbican. These towers were sited to have open fields of fire on the gates themselves and were connected to the outer wall by wide, open-arched bridges. The tops of the towers, the bridges, and the wall above the gate swarmed with what Mar took to be bowmen. It seemed obvious that anyone foolhardy enough to attempt to bring rams to bear on the outer gate would only find only death in the square marked by the four towers.
Mar’s knowledge of true warfare was as limited as his knowledge of geography, nothing more than a skim of ideas and words gleaned from imperial texts, but it struck him as unlikely that the invaders could breach those impressive gates in less than many days. That fact alone suggested that his earlier prediction of the city’s imminent fall was overly pessimistic.
As if to belie this judgment, high-pitched descending shrieks abruptly split the air. A series of sharp cracks punctuated the shrieks and then the forward towers below him vanished in a huge upwelling of dust. Startled, Mar almost bolted, but doggedly suppressed the urge. Whatever had struck the towers had passed a good distance below him. He continued to circle, waiting until the dust had settled.
Shortly the effects of the unknown attack became evident. The western projected tower was gone, naught but a pile of rubble that had slumped to fill the space before the gate. The lower half of the eastern tower remained, but its upper half had been blasted backwards and had struck a section of the outer wall, carrying it away into the dry moat behind it. Of the many defenders who had manned the towers and bridges, even less was to be seen.
Key to Magic 01 Orphan Page 24
