Ky spun around. Sure enough, dark-armored men milled about in the open in front of the earthen breastwork, slowly forming up in rigid lines. But they didn’t move with the purpose and precision of soldiers about to march into battle, or even the frenzied enthusiasm of those about to launch a ferocious assault. A moment later, as if in confirmation of his suspicions, a mounted Khelari rode out in front, holding a white flag aloft.
“Best sound the alarm.” Paddy started toward the south end of the bridge.
“I think they mean to talk first.”
“Shure, an’ they’re welcome to, but I mean to cram an arrow down their throats while they’re at it. I’ll fetch Cade if you’ll go get Commander Thingummy.”
Ky sprinted to the north end of the bridge and shouted the alarm down into the keep. Back in the middle of the bridge, he waited for the commanders to arrive, while runners and dwarves flocked to the parapets and his sling hand tingled in anticipation. It wasn’t long before Cade loped up from his left with Paddy at his heels, and a moment later, Commander Thallus stormed up from his right with a white kerchief already stuck to the top of his mace.
Muttering, he stuck the makeshift flag up over the edge of the battlements and waved it around until the mounted Khelari approached. “Now, look here, beardlings,” he raised his voice just enough to carry to both keeps, “we’re under a flag of truce, so hold your shooting at least until after I’ve heard what he has to say.”
A good thirty paces out, the Khelari halted and removed his helmet. “I speak for Lord Cedric, Fourth Marshal of the Takhran’s—”
“Stop right there!” Thallus slammed his mace against the battlement, cutting off the messenger’s speech. “That won’t do at all. Fourth Marshal Cedric can speak with us himself, or not at all.” Then, out of the corner of his mouth, “Just a warning shot to speed him on his way.”
Three arrows zipped down toward the messenger. For warning shots, they sure came close. One glanced off the helmet in the messenger’s hand. Without another word, he yanked his steed around and spurred the beast all the way back to the Khelari line.
Paddy met Ky’s glance. “Wasn’t that a mite risky? Firing under a flag of truce?”
Thallus just chuckled and clapped him on the back, hard enough to make Paddy stumble. “Negotiations, beardling, aren’t so much of a delicate art as those stuck up Xanthen chancellors would have you think. It’s more a matter of figuring out who’s got the bigger sword and the guts to use it.”
“Looks like it worked.” A hint of admiration filled Cade’s voice.
Ky joined him at the battlements. A silver cloaked Khelari rode out from beneath the shadow of the breastwork with six men marching in tight formation behind. They halted farther back than the messenger had, and the officer did not remove his helmet.
“I am Fourth Mar—”
“Don’t care who you are, Khelari, so best you just say what you mean to say and be done with it before our arms tire of holding our bowstrings.”
“Injure one more of my men and nothing will save you,” Marshal Cedric snapped. “This is my offer: surrender immediately, throw down your arms, and abase yourself before the Takhran’s mercy. Then and only then will your lives be spared. Unlike your unfortunate comrade.”
At a nod from Cedric, the wedge of Khelari split and fanned out, revealing a smaller figure that had been concealed in their midst.
Migdon.
Ky’s breath caught in his throat, and he lunged against the battlements, hands already flying to unwind and load his sling. One of the soldiers shoved Migdon forward and then kicked his legs out from under him. With his hands bound behind his back, the dwarf had no way to ease his fall. Somehow, he managed to get his knees under his body and leverage up into a kneeling position. Even at a distance, Ky could see that his face was a mass of bruises and dried blood.
Cedric dismounted, and drawing his sword, paced around Migdon with measured steps. “My hounds caught your friend sneaking around outside your little fortress. Now he swears that he was just out for a morning stroll. Persuasive, too. I might just be inclined to believe him.”
Quick as a whip, Cedric spun and sliced his blade across Migdon’s throat. The dwarf’s head toppled back, bright blood gushing over the front of his tunic, and his body crumpled to the ground at the Khelari’s feet.
“No!” Ky rammed a fist against the battlement. Pain shot through his knuckles and into his hand, so strong he almost dropped his sling. But he wanted to punch the battlement again. Pummel the stone, if need be, until his hand shattered or the wave of anger broke.
Whichever happened first.
Cedric wiped his sword and sheathed it with a sigh. “As I was saying, I might have been inclined to believe him”—his voice hardened—“had I not known that all dwarves are inveterate liars. You have two hours to decide your fate. Will you surrender and live? Or fight and die?” He tapped a toe against Migdon’s body. “Like him.”
“Cursed Khelari dog!” Thallus roared, and his voice cracked. “I don’t need two minutes to decide, let alone two hours! Send your worst. We’ll not surrender.”
“So be it.”
As the Marshal mounted and retreated toward the Khelari lines, Thallus wheeled around and marched toward the north tower, heels punching the bridge with a force that rivaled the striking power of a catapult. “Ready yourselves for the attack. It won’t be long now.” Then quieter, so quiet Ky barely caught it. “I fear I may have doomed us all.”
•••
Doomed or not, Ky didn’t plan on leaving the Underground trapped. No sooner had they dispersed, leaving a double watch on the parapets, then he set the team to work preparing for escape. He took upon himself the task of setting up the five ryree-laced bonfires on the walkway. Heavy work that required splitting and hauling wood and soon had him sweating despite the cold. But no matter how hard he toiled away, he couldn’t get rid of the lump in his throat or the ache in his chest. Over and over, he saw Migdon’s death in his mind’s eye.
He saw it all.
Every agonizing detail.
The way Migdon’s body slumped and his limbs went slack as the lifeblood gushed from his wound. The arrogant satisfaction on the face of that cursed Khelari marshal. The sling dangling useless from his own hand, too late to save the friend who had given it to him.
That thought fueled his anger and stoked his limbs to action.
But he only just had time to run pitch-covered fuses between the bonfires before the warning bells clanged in the north keep. Dusting his hands on his knees, he stood back to find Cade staring suspiciously at him.
“It’s . . . just in case …”
But Cade didn’t press for an explanation, just nodded and waved him on, and he didn’t wait to be told twice. Only fools questioned a lucky break. Driven by the frenzied tolling of the bells, he ducked into the barracks, hastily donned a chainmail shirt, and belted a borrowed sword about his waist.
“Look lively, Ky!” Paddy rushed through on his way to the battlements, clutching a lit torch in one hand with half a dozen unlit torches tucked beneath his arm. “They’re comin’.”
“Right behind you.” Ky looped a few extra pouches of sling-bullets and stones through his belt, then halted in the center of the room and cast a final glance around.
The young ones of the Underground were all huddled in the corner by the fireplace—Meli, Syd, and four others—while Aliyah stood armed with a bow and her crutch to guard them. Cade’s doing, no doubt. For all his talk of war, he wasn’t mad enough to throw his own little sister into the thick of it. Not when she could be talked into protecting the young ones.
Ky adjusted the quiver on Aliyah’s back. “Make sure everyone stays in here and keeps their heads down. I’ll give the whistle if we need to leave, and then Meli and Syd know what to do, right?” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice light, but when Meli’s h
opeful eyes met his and an eager expression lit her face, that lump lodged in the back of his throat again.
She took his hand and hugged it.
He patted her on the top of the head, nodded at Syd, and beat a hasty retreat out the door and up the wall-top steps. If anything went wrong—and with such a shaky escape plan, a thousand things could go wrong—it would be his fault. Sure, it was easy to blame Cade’s obsession with revenge for throwing them into danger, but Ky was the one who had brought them here.
Oh, he made things happen all right.
Time alone could tell if they were good things, or not.
The roar of the oncoming soldiers filled Ky’s ears even before he reached the battlements and paused beside Paddy. The redhead was positioned directly above the barracks and closest to the first fuse, while Ky’s station stood across the way, by the second set of steps. He rolled a sling-bullet between his fingers as he cast an appraising eye over their defenses. Commander Thallus had lent a handful of his dwarves to fill the empty sections of the south walkway, but even so, there were too few of them, and the forces in the north keep and along the bridge were already stretched far too thin to spare any more.
Paddy stood with an arrow already on the string, a lit torch propped against the wall at his feet, far enough away that it wouldn’t cast light on him now that the sun hovered over the western horizon. “Shure an’ that’s a grim sight.” He dipped his head to indicate the Khelari.
The broiling throng was almost upon them now, bearing weapons that ranged from hand bows to swords and spears and long, siege ladders. They moved with less discipline than Ky had expected. Looked more like a pack of ravenous hounds thirsting for blood than anything else. From the sound of things, they had already reached the north keep. A minute later, the crossbows mounted on both keeps began to fire.
Paddy spun back to the battlements and sighted down an arrow. “Any hope of escape was a long shot to begin with.” His bowstring twanged, and the arrow launched into the mass of Khelari. “Don’t forget a torch.”
Ky plucked a torch and spare from the pile Paddy had carried up, paused to light one, and then hurried to his station and set the torches on the ground just within reach. Slowly at first, he spun and released his sling, conserving his energy, saving his strength. But the Khelari would not be stopped. They came on again and again, an endless dark tide.
For the first time, Ky understood Cade’s need for battle, for success, for revenge. He poured all of his frustration, sorrow, anger, and fear into his slinging, releasing stone upon stone and sling-bullet after sling-bullet. He clamped his teeth on his lip until he tasted the tang of blood on his tongue, and spun his sling until his arm ached.
Arrows sliced all around, clanking and skipping across the stones at his feet. One flew so close to his face that he felt the breath of air as it passed his cheek. The Khelari set ladders, and he threw them down. They slung grapnels, and he cut the ropes. They charged at the wall, and he felled them in their tracks. They reached the top, and he buried his sword in their chests. Thought faded before the intoxicating pulse of adrenaline in his veins. The world blended into a terrifying, thunderous cacophony of motion and sound and death less than a breath away.
Then the fighting lulled, and Ky collapsed against the battlement, breathing hard and stained with blood that was not his own. His gaze roamed the walkway, settling on Paddy, Cade, Slack, and a dozen other familiar faces, most sporting injuries of some sort.
But somehow, they were alive, and that was enough.
Far too many were not.
His throat swelled at the thought of Migden, and he pushed it from his mind again. Because that was what he had to do to focus, to survive and see the runners safe. He still dared hope they would be able to hold the Khelari off, even though no reinforcements could be expected. If only long enough to buy another day of life. Another moment of hope.
Then wild and desperate, the call came, spreading from dwarf to dwarf and runner to runner, until it made the circuit of Siranos and broke hard upon his ears.
“They’ve taken the Pass!”
31
Rough hands gripped Birdie’s shoulders, hustling her along at such a pace that she had to half jog to keep up with the rapid tramp of the soldiers’ feet. Stolid as the mountain itself, the soldiers refused to answer any questions about her destination or the need for haste. The only response they gave was that the Takhran had summoned her.
But that was answer enough.
It was time for his plans, whatever they were, to come to pass.
She took some comfort—faint and grasping though it was—in the fact that her hands were not bound. With fifteen soldiers grouped tightly around her, a veritable wall of armor and steel, there was no need. The Takhran had not even bothered to order her gagged, as though somehow he knew that the Song had not answered her pleas for escape. Or perhaps because he knew that if it did, a gag alone would not hinder it.
Without slackening pace, they followed the web of tunnels down stranger and darker paths than those Inali had led her on. She could not have retraced her steps had she wanted to. Gaping passageways gouged the walls of the tunnels on either side, and terrible unknown spaces loomed in the dark beyond. Sometimes, she caught sight of pale, luminous eyes gazing unblinking after them. At others, she heard the dull rumble of a growl or the rustle and thud of some large form shifting within.
At last, the passage spewed them out into an enormous subterranean room, lit in the center by a single blazing torch on an iron stand. Like a lone star in the night sky, the torch drew Birdie’s focus from the encroaching shadows. Flanked by a dozen Khelari, the Takhran was mounted on a massive black steed with the head, beak, and wings of a raven, and the muscled body of a horse, on the far edge of the flickering circle of light. Inali and Zahar stood at his stirrups, one on either side. A great blackness spread before their feet, and Birdie knew instantly what it was. Even in faraway Hardale, she had heard whispers of the Pit. Like a living thing, the vast emptiness drew her forward until she stood, shivering, before the Takhran.
The place reeked of death.
A steady dripping fell on her ears, but she could not look . . . did not dare look.
The Takhran’s steed jerked its neck and snorted. Its beak clipped the air only inches from her head. Corded muscles stood out along its chest and deep-cut hindquarters, and an iron collar encircled its neck, visible through the feather-like strands of its mane. The Takhran flicked a hand, and the soldiers spread out along the edge of the Pit, lighting torches in stands at regular intervals, revealing an iron staircase that twisted back and forth down into the cavern. The light petered out before reaching the depths.
But the burning glow stretched above and beyond the Pit, carrying Birdie’s gaze with it. The far-flung edges of light revealed the body of a man hanging spread-eagled from a wooden frame. No amount of pride nor hope of dignity could have kept her from gasping at that sight. She stumbled back, straight into the ribs of the Takhran’s steed.
The beast twisted its neck around to fix her with a beady eyed stare.
“Behold my banner, little Songkeeper.” A tinge of amusement twisted the Takhran’s voice, but the look in his eyes spoke of something else, a deep and undying loathing that touched all who bore the Songkeeper name. He dismounted and beckoned to her, and she came, for she had no other choice. Both Inali and Zahar fell into step at her side, and for the first time, she noticed that the Saari warrior carried a long, flat box in his good hand. The Takhran led the way out from beneath the circle of light toward the staircase, and she followed, the heavy hoof-falls of the raven steed at her heels.
At the edge of the Pit, she halted, heart beating with the wild impulse to flee. But she could not get far. Not with so many Khelari. A furtive survey of the cavern hammered that truth home. Even now, two soldiers detached from the group and moved toward her, as if they sensed her desire to es
cape and meant to cut her off.
“Wait here.” The Takhran seized a torch from one of the soldiers and turned toward the staircase, but instead of falling back as ordered, the soldier dove forward, shoving the Takhran to the edge. A bronze dirk gleamed in his hand.
“Lass, run!”
But Birdie stood still, rooted with shock.
With deceptive ease, the Takhran caught the dirk on his vambrace and turned Amos’s stroke aside, forcing him to yield ground. At the same time, the raven steed launched into the air behind Birdie, wings beating with the chaotic force of a desert wind. She dropped to her knees. Just in time, or its hooves would have clipped her head in passing. The beast landed beside the Takhran, forelegs striking Amos in the chest and sending him reeling back a dozen feet.
The peddler regained his balance and cast aside his helmet, revealing a ruddy shock of hair and a face livid with rage, but the Khelari were upon him before he could charge the Takhran again.
“Amos!” Birdie darted forward, but a vice-like grip seized her neck, forcing her to look up into the pale blue eyes of the Takhran. Gone was any vestige of the debonair mask he had assumed in the Hall of the Shantren. A snarl twisted his face, almost animal-like in its ferocity.
He held her gaze, savoring the weight of his words. “Kill them. Kill them both.”
“No!” She struggled to free herself, but she might as well have tried to break steel with her bare hands as tear free of his grip. The Takhran dragged her to the edge, snapped his fingers at Inali and Zahar, and then shoved her and the torch into the woman’s hands. Before Birdie could rally to the attack, Zahar had started down the iron staircase, and she was forced to march along or be dragged off her feet.
Over her shoulder, Birdie caught a glimpse of Amos battling the Khelari with a sword in one hand and his dirk in the other, a smaller dark-armored figure at his side. The Takhran motioned, and a brazen horn call rang out. Once. Twice. Thrice. Silence fell, broken only by the occasional clash of blades and the grunts of fighting men.
Songkeeper Page 31
