by L. W. Jacobs
“—no one will have time to escape,” Karhail finished for him. “And when the army comes, we threaten their nobility with death unless they leave again.”
“We trade ’em,” Ilrick said. “They take their own, we take their city. Our city.”
“We probably keep a few,” Karhail said, a smile cracking his face. “As insurance.”
“And no one has to die,” Lumo said. “Or less people. Instead of a war, we have a small battle. It’s great.”
“Except we have to take Newgen,” Beal said.
“Right,” Karhail said. “But that’s possible, for the same reason we can hold it when we’re done. A compound that built up, you only need enough fighters to man the walls, and you can hold it against a host twice the size. We get our wafters to lift men up there, overwhelm the gate and the walls, and the city’s ours.”
“Except they expect that now,” Weiland said. “Last few strikes, they’ve been airlifting men just like us, dropping brawlers and slips right in the middle of us.”
“So, we need a diversion,” Tai said. “Something to draw them out of the city. Like a fire or—”
“Or another dam,” Lumo rumbled. “We burned half their manses just because they had no water to fight it. They will be afraid of that again. Newgen’s walls are stone, but its houses are wood.”
“So, we do another dam,” Karhail said, “or at least pretend to long enough to draw them out, then shut the gates behind them.”
“Maybe the lawkeepers,” Theron said, “but the army will stay in the enclave. They’re too disciplined to get drawn out.”
“And we don’t want to fight them inside the walls while we’re keeping other people out,” Weiland said.
“So, we create a second diversion,” Tai said. “Ilrick.”
The mosstongue started. “Me? What can I do?”
“You go in. You and another mosstongue get in early, get close to someone high up in the army’s chain. Then when the attack starts, you influence them to order the men out.”
Ilrick’s eyes darted away. “Yeah. I guess I could do that.”
“Perfect,” Karhail said. “And as soon as the army’s out, we airlift in fighters, close the gate, and take the walls.”
“Gonna be dangerous for the dam group,” Weiland said. “You saw how their wafters worked at the Coldferth manse. They’ll ring us and shoot us down.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Tai said. “Weiland, arrows move slow enough when you’re in slip that you can catch them, yeah? I saw you do it in the Coldferth strike.”
He nodded.
“So, what we need is a few slips to run archer control. Catch the arrows before they hit, or, worst case, get people out of the way.”
“No,” Karhail said. “We’re going to need them on the wall.”
“Then we’re sacrificing whoever does the diversion. There’s no way they’ll get away in time.”
“Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made,” Karhail ground out, knuckles white on his sword hilt. “We can’t lose those walls.”
“The brawlers will be enough!” Tai swept his hand at the hideout. “We’ve got what, twenty score? Thirty? They may have two on the wall. So long as we have wafters enough to get them up there quick—”
“Don’t assume we all waft like you do,” Beal cut in. “Most of them can barely lift a single fighter, even if their yuraload works. They’d get cut down one at a time. Unless you can do all of it yourself.”
“No,” Karhail cut in. “We need him to bring in the gate crew.”
“Then it won’t work.”
“Or maybe it will,” Tai said. “I was thinking about this on the last hit. A lot of wafters can’t lift much at a time, but maybe they don’t have to. Lumo, how high could you throw a man?”
“A man like you or Beal?”
“Someone heavy. Theron.”
“Five span. Maybe six.”
Tai nodded. “So, once the archers are drawn off, fighting the dam crew, our brawlers rush the walls. The guards up above think they’re safe, but—”
“The brawlers throw the men up to wafters?” Lumo asked. “That’s crazy!”
“No,” Karhail said, nodding to Tai. “It’s brilliant. You get more men up the walls faster than with wafters alone.”
“As long as they catch them,” Beal said.
“I think we can count on them to at least to be able to catch someone in air.”
“It’ll never work,” the wafter groused.
“Just because it hasn’t worked doesn’t mean it won’t,” Tai snapped. “It’s this or we sacrifice the dam crew.”
Karhail cracked his neck. “It could work. It’s never been done before, but that gives us the element of surprise. If it fails, we airlift and fight harder for the walls. Either way, we take them.”
“And we keep lifting fighters till they’re all in,” Tai said. “Even with the diversions, there will still be some resistance in the city, so we’ll need groups inside to deal with them.”
“And another few groups to sweep the bluff manses,” Theron said. “Get everyone important into Newgen proper, then close the gates there, too.”
“We’ll want to sort them all out,” Tai said, “once things are settled. Send the hostages that aren’t worth anything out so we don’t have to feed them.”
“Then we just wait for the army to show up”—Karhail cracked his neck—“and send them back to their ships, lest they anger every major House family on the Council.”
“Giving us enough time to train our own,” Lumo puffed, “so we are ready when they return.”
“And then we crush them once and for all,” Theron growled.
“And then the new Councilate starts,” Karhail said. “With us in power.”
Beal scowled. “All we have to do is hold the walls against an entire battalion of Councilate soldiers.”
Weiland cracked his neck. “No. First, we have to take them.”
Tai spent the afternoon training with the brawlers and wafters, practicing the throw-and-catch idea. It worked well, though there were some near-misses. Beal scowled the whole time, unable to waft high enough to participate. Lacking a wall as high as Newgen’s, they were throwing them to the upper branches of a towering ridgebark at the edge of the hideout.
“They’re starting to fall into a rhythm,” Theron grunted, watching a Yati man take a running start, leap into a brawler’s hands who, uai crackling, hurled him up, a few spans beyond the tree top. The wafter caught the man handily, taking him down, as the next fighter ran up, and another wafter flew to catch him.
“Aye,” Tai said, mind turning over the next day’s plan. Things would get messier in actual practice. A small figure was next in line, and Tai’s stomach lurched as he realized it was Curly. The brawler launched him up, unused to the light weight, and the boy sailed well past the waiting wafter, who managed to catch him anyway and bring him back to earth.
Tai was there to meet him. “Curly, what are you doing?”
“Training.” The boy was all affected gruffness. “There’s a big attack on Newgen. I’m going to be in it.”
Tai bit back his first response, realizing it wouldn’t help. “The attack on Newgen. Right. Curly, let’s walk.”
They walked, Curly with a swagger Tai didn’t remember, short sword strapped to his back. “Curls, you know I know you’re tough, right? You pulled Fisher and Pang out of lots of stuff on the street.”
“Right.”
Tai steered them toward the longhouse where Aelya and the kids stayed. “And you know I think you’ll be a solid fighter someday, right?”
“’Course.”
“Then you’ll understand what I’m gonna tell you. Being a fighter isn’t just about being the bravest or the strongest or the fastest. It’s about fighting for something. We’re fighting for our people, for Ayugen, but more importantly for Aelya and Pang and Fisher. And that means while some of us are fighting at the front, some of the rest of us need to stay h
ere and guard against a secret attack.”
Curly frowned, stopping in front of the longhouse. “You want me to stay here?”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could defend our people. Even with the fort, the Councilate could still easily tear this place apart. I need you to be here in case they come, to get the rest of our gang to safety. Can I trust you to do that?”
Curly swallowed. “You can.”
Tai gave him a soldierly clap on the shoulders. “Good. Anything happens, you get them out of the longhouse and into the woods, wait until everything’s quieted down.”
Curly nodded. “What if you don’t come back?”
Ice stabbed through his chest. “I will. I swear it.”
The boy nodded, manly front dropping for just a second. “Good.”
Pang had come to the door. Tai waved to her, but she was looking behind him.
Tai turned and his breath caught. Fisher was there, dark eyes holding his like a spooked cat. “Fisher?”
Fisher reached for his hand and opened it, face grave. “I saw sixteen goldbeetles in the trees today,” she said, eyes never leaving his. “Then I found this one.” She pressed a perfect beetle shell into his hand, iridescent gold catching the sunlight.
“Thank you.” The moment felt delicate, like walking on a crust of snow. “Fisher, I—”
But with a flash of smile she was gone, running back into the trees.
“Want me to catch her for ya, Tai?” Curly asked. “I can do it!”
“No,” he said, a slow smile spreading on his face. His hand closed around the shell. “No, let her go.”
34
Aye, one could swear they’d undergone the Transformation themselves. But that’s impossible, and in the end, we crushed the Achuri as we have crushed every foe and ever will.
—Titan general, Yiel 101
They attacked at sunrise. Tai and Karhail stood on an eastern hill, sun rising at their backs, watching Lumo and the others walk from Hightown, dismantled dam in their hands. In the hills behind them, seven hundred fighters held their tongues, anticipation thick as honey on hives.
Shouts rose faint from Newgen’s walls. “They’re awake, then,” Karhail muttered. “Awake enough to spot danger.”
“Let’s hope Ilrick’s awake enough to rally the soldiers,” Tai muttered back. Siege or not, endgame or not, Tai doubted the man had kept himself from dicing the night before.
“He’ll rally them.”
A band of mercenaries ran from Newgen’s gate, dwarfed by the high walls of stone. They fell halfway to the dam party, timeslips doing their work. Tai shifted, gripping his daggers.
You could still quit this. Take your kids and run.
Tai couldn’t tell if it was the voice or his own thoughts, but he shook it off. There was nowhere to run to. His hands flexed on the daggers again, feeling an old darkness.
“Steady,” Karhail said, flexing his neck. “We can’t move too soon.”
A ring of wafters rose from Newgen’s walls. “Prophets,” Tai breathed. There had to be forty of them, wafting in tight formation. They would cut down the diversion crew, timeslips or not.
“Weiland,” Tai called, striking resonance.
“No.” Karhail glared at him. “We need you later, and you’ll give away our position.”
Tai wrapped arms around Weiland’s chest. “I won’t watch my friends die.”
“Tai!”
Tai shoved off, shooting them low and fast over the fields, arcing in toward Newgen’s walls. “They’re going to fire like mad when they see us!” Tai called over the wind. “I need you to catch arrows!”
“I’ll do one better!” Weiland called back, drawing a knife.
He shot them up, whistling for the rear of the formation. The wafters were now most of the distance to Lumo’s group, bows drawn to shoot.
Tai swooped low over the rear man and a gash appeared on his neck. He dropped in a fan of blood.
The wafters reacted quickly, flying out of the way and re-aiming. Arrows flew but Weiland was on it, body writhing in Tai’s grip as he caught arrows at double speed. A steady stream dropped toward the ground, like shavings from a woodman’s lathe.
Tai slashed at another wafter, then Weiland dropped into regular time for a moment. “Other side!” he yelled.
Tai spun them, just in time for the slip to catch arrows from the bunched-up wafters they had just attacked. They were in the middle of the ring, surrounded. They had to get out, or—
“Weil! Only catch what you need to!” The other side had reloaded, aimed—
As they fired, Tai slammed himself down, jerking out of the way. Arrows flew across the circle, a few finding homes in the far arc of wafters.
The formation broke, several fighters falling to earth. Below, Lumo and his team of brawlers had dropped the dam, engaging oncoming fighters as the slips dealt with another sally from the gates. Farther back, Tai spotted the phalanx charge of the Councilate’s reserve force issuing out the gates.
“There they are!” he yelled. “We gotta go!”
Tai shot them through the dispersing cloud of wafters, a trail of blood and wounded wafters behind them as they rushed back to the hills.
“Deeps send they hold up!” Weiland called over the wind.
“We just have to get those gates closed!” Tai yelled back. Then Lumo and the diversion crew could run.
Karhail, Theron, and the timeslip Pendra were waiting on the crest. Tai dropped, barely slowing to let them grab on. The rest of the army was preparing for a charge down the mountain, wafter/brawler teams forming to launch fighters. Tai shoved off.
“There’s not enough!” Karhail yelled over the wind.
“What?”
“Not enough military out of the gates! Should be more!”
“Nothing for that now!” Tai yelled, pulling them in tight along the stone walls. “Here we go!”
He slammed them to a halt in front of the gates, fighters dropping.
The gates were packed with men.
Not the usual four, not a doubled eight or redoubled twelve—this was thirty men or more, swords out, bows drawn, air already crackling with brawler buzz.
There was no time to think. Weiland and Pendra were zipping away, Karhail and Theron charging forward. Outnumbered or not, they needed these gates. The entire plan depended on it.
Bowstrings snapped, archers in the rear firing, and Tai shoved himself forward, drawing daggers. Arrows zipped past, others caught in blurred hands, then Tai slammed into the men, daggers ripped from his hands, blasting out the other side into the chaotic streets of Newgen. Lighthairs shouted and ran in every direction.
He spun, seizing a dropped sword, then shot upward as a fresh volley of arrows fired. Down again, chopping awkwardly with the Councilate blade, wounding an archer, losing the blade caught in someone’s bone.
Shouts came from the front, the sped-up cries of the timeslips, but in the rear, more fighters turned to face Tai. “Prophets,” he cursed, shooting up again to avoid arrows and a lance.
He needed something else, something to scare them, to break the line and buy time for the men up front. Tai grimaced, bouncing up the wall to avoid a spear, then stopped. Yes. Glinting at the top of the Tower was a giant seven-armed squid, symbol of House Galya. He flew up, pulled it loose with raw resonance, enclave and walls spreading out below him. Tai swooped back in, pushing forward on his right arm and back on his left to create a spin, letting momentum draw the heavy emblem out. He spun faster and faster, until the world was a blur, then dropped into the fighters.
The emblem sang through flesh, men screaming. Tai shot up again, fighting nausea like he would the bends, building momentum. Then back into the fighters, momentum carrying the heavy ironwork sigil through flesh and bone. Something burned in his foot; something bounced off his face. Tai shoved up and away, blood fanning from his blade. Nausea bested him and he released the sigil, world heaving, trying to separate up from down. Sounds of battle
came from the walls above him—the real assault had begun, then. As soon as they took the walls and barred the gate, the enclave was theirs.
Karhail appeared below, beating back two men over a mess of blood and bodies, then with a zip, Weiland finished them off. “The gates!” Karhail roared. “Close the gates!”
Tai dropped to help Theron and others push bodies out of the way. The battle for the dam was chaos in the field outside, a swirl of men and shouts. Lighthairs milled, caught between two fighting groups. Karhail cut a man down when he broke for the gates, and a young girl—a daughter?—screamed.
“Karhail!”
“Get them closed,” the man barked, kicking the dying man aside. Fighters from the dam diversion were beginning to notice them, running back. Tai dragged bodies from the path of the door, women and children outside screaming, teeth gritting. Theron and Karhail dragged the gates closed after him, lugged the crossbar into place. Tai leaned on it with an exhaled breath, foot burning. “That’s done.”
“Aye,” Theron said, checking the thick ironwork bar. “And just barely, at that.”
Shouts and the ring of metal sounded from the walls above. A man fell screaming to bounce off an iron bridge and into the lake. Tai grimaced. “I guess we’d better help with the fight up there.”
Theron held out a hand, eyes distant. “Hold a moment.”
Tai felt it then too: a deep rattling of the walkway, as though a herd of elk ran across it. Tai turned to see a fresh phalanx of soldiers thundering over the walkway from the Tower.
Tai’s stomach clenched.
“The lake!” Karhail cried, but it was too late. There was no way they could escape, or fight that many. The phalanx bore down on them, men in heavy armor with lances and swords and axes, bridge rattling their death.
Then Beal dropped off a roof behind the phalanx, face snarling, arrows flying from his bow. Each one found a target, an exposed neck or head or kneecap. Men dropped, others tripped on them, four or five of twenty, but enough to make the opening they needed.
