The Unconquered City

by K A Doore

  Afraid. The word echoed in Illi, both accusation and threat. She felt Nejm withdraw at the word. I’m not alone. She held Canthem’s gaze.

  “You and me and Heru—we’ll do this together.”

  She felt Canthem relax an instant before their eyes lit with a smile. She didn’t let go of their hand as she sought out Heru in the growing bustle. While her cousins checked weapons and reorganized supplies, he stood off to one side with his back to the mountain and his face toward the campfires below. His expression, normally inscrutable even when his tagel was low, was impenetrable in the darkness.

  Illi stood beside him and stared at the encamped army for a few moments, trying to see what he saw. But all she could make out were the flickers of orange light. She cleared her throat. “I need to know one thing before we do this.”

  “That is inaccurate: you need to know many things.”

  “When I take off the bracelets, how much time will I have?”

  Heru shifted his weight but didn’t look at her. “It’s difficult to know precisely. There are many variables that must be taken into account, such as your weight, your hydration levels, the current state of your body, the pH of your blood, the salinity of the air around you—”

  “I don’t need the seconds,” cut in Illi. “Just a guess. Will I have an hour? Minutes?”

  “As long as nothing impinges on the integrity of the container—and by that I mean your body remains unharmed, Illi—you’ll definitely have minutes. Twenty-three to twenty-four of them, if I’ve calculated the variables correctly. But I’d advise against treating my calculations as anything more than mere conjecture. The only other instance of sajaami possession that I’m aware of was the Empress and while she didn’t fall apart at the time, I’ve since come to the conclusion that she must have prepared herself in other ways to strengthen her flesh against the sajaami’s power. We can’t know for certain whether or not the sajaami would’ve destroyed her in the fullness of time without any dampeners.” Heru finally turned and fixed Illi with his one-eyed stare. “You will, of course, only take the bracelets off when you’re ready to perform the rite.”

  “Of course,” Illi said immediately. “I just wanted to know how long I’d have to do the rite.”

  “The rite itself should only require two, maybe three minutes of setup and take all of one and a half minutes to execute. You’ll have more than sufficient time as long as you wait to remove the bracelets. Did the marabi give you the directions? You’ll have me to walk you through each step once we begin, but it’s best to be prepared for any eventuality, including one where, for some reason, I’m unable to be at your side.”

  Illi patted the pouch where she’d put the tightly rolled scroll, which was filled with Heru’s neat, precise script. “Don’t worry, you’ll be there. Besides, Menna explained what I need to do on the way up. The hardest part will be slipping through the army.”

  Illi stared out over the glittering campfires, trying not to think about her cousins up against that. They’d be fine. She couldn’t worry about them.

  “The hardest part will be surviving the rite,” corrected Heru. “But we’ll come to that when we must.”

  Illi drew in a deep breath. Behind her, quiet had settled on her cousins. When she turned, she found them watching her, waiting. They were ready. She had to be ready.

  She smiled, the gesture more teeth than humor. “All right—now if the captain would just give me his clothes?”

  30

  They parted ways. The Circle broke and the other drum chiefs swept through the door one by one, leaving Amastan alone in the room. He breathed in the smell of his small victory: the sharp scent of stress, of sweat, of salt, of too many people arguing for what felt like the sake of arguing. But they’d come around to his view. They always did, if he was just patient and gave them time to arrive at his conclusions on their own.

  After all, he’d already made the decision, so they had no choice. Thana and the others would return, and when they did, Yufit would need a home. Ghadid would be that home again.

  “I’ve heard a few things from your cousin,” Yufit had said before the rite. “Are they all true?”

  Amastan had carefully dodged the question. “People say a lot of things about me.”

  “I never found anyone like you.” Yufit had met his eyes, held his hands. “I tried. I lived, like you’d told me to. I found a lot of things, but I never found you.”

  Amastan hadn’t had the courage to tell Yufit that he’d never looked. “You seem to have had a change of heart.”

  “Not a change. More like a growth.”

  “G-d was kind.”

  Yufit had only laughed at that.

  Now Amastan opened a window. Cool air brushed across his face like a light hand. He breathed again, winter sharp in his throat.

  Then the drums began.

  Amastan’s first instinct was denial. A servant had misunderstood a command. A watchman had seen a sand twister and jumped to conclusions. Another drum chief had decided to have a calling, unrelated to the matter they’d just been discussing. Or related—in any case, he needed to quell the panic before it could catch and spread.

  But when he stepped into the pale afternoon light, the drums persisted in a rhythm he knew too well. This was a calling, but of a different sort. This was a calling for swords and camels, a calling for defense, a calling for cousins. As always when he heard this particular beat, he hooked a finger beneath the chain of his office, felt the weight of the metal rings that gave him so much sway, lifted the chain until the weight was off his chest. As always, he let the chain fall again; he’d given up any claim to being a cousin when he’d become a drum chief.

  Once a cousin, always a cousin. His words, his phrase, his promise given to Menna all those years ago. But she was out there somewhere on the sands, not here to defend the city.

  “Amastan!”

  Zarrat skidded to a stop just feet away, his breathing ragged from running. He’d already strapped on his sword—or maybe he’d been wearing it when the call came in. That kid had always been a little overeager.

  Zarrat straightened and added, “Sa. They’ve spotted guul. Twenty and counting and more still coming. What do we do?”

  Fear unfurled in Amastan like a vulture spreading its wings. It was happening again. And this time there was no strong defense, there was only him and this former slave and his cousin Hamma with her bow. The three of them couldn’t stand against this many guul.

  “Sa? Where are you going?”

  Amastan had started walking without realizing it. He had no time for fear. Ghadid had to be here when Thana and his cousins returned. When Yufit returned. Already a plan was forming, as clear as glass. There weren’t enough cousins and the guul couldn’t be allowed to enter the city. They’d have to cut the cables. All of them.

  “Find Hamma,” ordered Amastan. “Meet me at the lookout.”

  He didn’t wait for Zarrat to acknowledge his order. The lookout wasn’t far; only a few platforms away. But it felt like he’d crossed half the city by the time he started climbing the ladder. A new one had been forged just for this building, just to make the climb a little easier for the watchmen who hadn’t been trained as cousins. He appreciated the ladder when his old wounds started acting up.

  The two-story glasshouse took up most of the roof. A watchman waved over the side at Amastan.

  “Guul spotted, sa,” she called. “Coming fast. There’s a whole horde of them this time. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’m coming up.”

  Amastan entered the glasshouse, his focus so narrow that he barely took in the riot of growth all around him. He climbed another ladder to the second floor, then opened the door to the ladder that would take him to the roof. The watchman held out the seeing glass as he approached. She pointed toward the dust plume on the horizon, then stepped out of his way.

  Amastan counted twenty-seven guul, but beyond them was more movement and therefore probably more gu
ul. It didn’t matter; there were already more guul than they’d ever faced before, even with a full militia of cousins. No, they wouldn’t be fighting these guul, not this time. They wouldn’t survive it.

  “Cut the cables,” said Amastan.

  He felt more than heard the watchman hesitate. “Sa?”

  “All of them,” added Amastan. When the watchman still didn’t move, he snapped, “Go.”

  “With respect, sa,” said the watchman quickly. “Isn’t that a decision for the Circle—?”

  “With respect, ma,” said Amastan. “The last time we waited for the Circle on such an important decision, over half of our people died. We don’t have time to waste.”

  The watchman swallowed, but then she was scrambling down the glasshouse ladder. Amastan kept the seeing glass trained on the guul. Watching. Waiting. Counting.

  At least this time he didn’t have a broken ankle and, if it came to it, he could fight. As a drum chief he wasn’t supposed to, of course. He also wasn’t supposed to keep up his training, but he had anyway. His free hand tugged on the chain around his neck, lifted it, let it drop again. As heavy as it hung at times, the burden was his and his alone to bear. The people had plenty of cousins to keep them safe. What they needed was a leader.

  You’ve fought enough. You’re needed here, to lead.

  Tamella’s words echoed across the years to him from that night, the night she and countless other cousins had died, and they were as heavy now as they’d been then. Tamella had slipped the chain around his neck, her last order for him to find Thana, protect her, and live. Then she’d distracted the bound while he’d led the survivors to safety.

  Some days he still wished she’d kept the chain and lived instead.

  Amastan tracked the guul. He counted. He rubbed his eyes. He tracked them again. That was odd. They didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He counted the time since the guul had first been spotted, the distance they would’ve been spotted at, the speed they usually traveled. They should be closer by now. Much closer.

  Yet somehow, those distant dots hadn’t grown at all. They still remained distant. But they were moving. The dust streaking the sky attested to that. Just not toward Ghadid.

  No.

  They were heading north.

  “Watchman!” Amastan dropped the seeing glass, found the watchman just below in the street. She’d stopped. “Abandon that order! Leave the cables and bring me ink and paper!”

  The watchman looked confused, but she hit her chest with her fist to confirm, then went back inside the building. There’d be scribe supplies below. And while Amastan knew already what he’d seen, he had to confirm. He had to know for certain.

  Because if he was right, then that meant the guul were heading for Hathage. For Thana and Illi and Yufit. For his family.

  * * *

  They parted ways. Illi picked her path through the rocks and gnarled shrubs, the gloom of dawn quickly obscuring her and her guard and Heru. Thana lingered, watching, for only a moment, two. Long enough to worry for the girl—no, not a girl any longer, not for years now. Long enough to wish she were walking that path instead, but not just because she wished she could take Illi’s burden. Illi could handle it, she was a cousin through and through.

  But if—no, when—Illi got rid of the sajaami, it would be the first time anyone had done so. Her name would be remembered when Thana’s wouldn’t.

  Thana tucked her jealousy away and turned to her other cousins. Illi would only make it if they distracted the soldiers. And besides, there was room enough in the songs and scrolls for all of them. No one would forget the family and their role in protecting Ghadid for a long, long time. Amastan would make certain of that.

  Thana gave Illi a few minutes before lighting the torch, which flickered and hissed and threatened not to catch at all before finally giving in with a flare. She passed the torch to Yaluz, who started down the path alone. The others melted into the darkness around Yaluz to keep him safe. Thana picked her way across the rocky terrain, as silent as a snake, one knife at the ready, her garrote lightly tapping her thigh.

  It didn’t take long to draw the soldiers’ attention.

  Shouts struck like falling stones in the camp, and motion whirled around the campfires, spinning lazy flames to dance. The torch slowed. Hesitated. As soldiers spilled up the path, some on horses, most on foot, the torch turned and fled.

  And then the torch abruptly went out.

  Thana counted under her breath to ten, then struck a spark on her waiting torch. The dry dung caught immediately, flames flaring bright and hot. She held it above her head and ran, barely suppressing a giggle as the soldiers cried out in confusion. Excitement beat in her chest like the way it used to when she was younger and training with her cousins. The light stole her night vision, smearing the rocks under her feet, but she ran anyway. And when she stumbled and fell into a thorny bush, she rolled to the side and got back to her feet and kept going.

  Behind her, the huff of a horse closed in, its hard feet clattering across stones and rocks. Thana climbed, judging the distance and the time that had fallen by how hard her lungs were burning. The rider on the horse shouted at her, but Thana didn’t catch the words. She threw herself behind a boulder and smothered the torch in the dirt.

  Another torch lit. Dihya’s turn. Thana watched it flare and begin moving away from Thana but still up. The horse was close enough that Thana heard the rider cursing in confusion. This time, Thana did giggle.

  Then the horse was around her boulder, its rider staring right at her. Thana straightened, waved, then grabbed the rider’s leg as they freed their sword. She yanked. The rider fell, the horse sidestepping away at the same time. Thana briefly considered the horse, then slapped it hard on the rump. It took off down the hill, back toward the camp.

  The soldier sprang to their feet, sword in hand. But Thana was already off and running, heading back the way she’d come. The soldier swore and followed. That was all right. They’d agreed at the onset that there was no point trying to fight an entire army, but if she had to, she could take this one. But Thana was an assassin, not a killer. If she was going to take lives, she wanted to be paid for it.

  She bounded over rocks and shrubs. In the distance, another torch went out, and farther away another was lit. Menna this time. Thana ran, relishing the sensation of pumping blood warming her fingers and skin. She was tired of being cold. This was what it was about, this was what she’d missed. And she still had it, even if Mo insisted she keep from fighting the guul. It was so good to feel alive.

  The wshk of an arrow caught her off guard. A second wshk stopped her short. A third sent her diving for cover behind a nearby rock. It was barely two feet high, but it’d have to do. Thana held her breath, so surprised by the arrows that she was still searching for another explanation. Illi had assured them that this general wanted her alive. After all, it would be madness to release the sajaami without any seal or containment in place.

  Yet the arrows kept coming.

  Thana thought she heard a distant cry of pain. Had that been Mo? Fear pinged through her, solidified into anger. How dare they shoot at her. Maybe they’d figured out that Illi wasn’t actually among them, that they’d been tricked. Thana loosed one of her smaller knives. Well. Just because she wasn’t being paid didn’t mean she couldn’t defend herself.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for the next arrow. But it never came. Instead, a clatter of what sounded like too many knives across stone sounded to her left. And beneath that came a familiar growl that turned her fear to dread.

  She’d know that sound anywhere. She’d felt it in her bones once, felt the shape of its scream in her chest.

  Guul.

  The screams followed. Soldiers, but she thought she recognized one of those screams. Then Thana stopped thinking and she was on her feet, darting around the boulder, the knife re-sheathed and her sword free. The sun hadn’t peaked yet, but dawn was far enough along that Thana could see the shapes of soldiers
rushing to meet the strange, loping creatures that were spilling down the mountainside. There were so many of them; dozens upon dozens, more than Thana had ever seen in one place. The guul moved like shadows, smooth and hunched and all wrong.

  An arrow sliced through the air, uncomfortably close. But it didn’t thunk into the ground nearby. Instead, Thana heard the unmistakable sound of arrow hitting flesh. She whirled just as the guuli crashed into her. And then everything else was forgotten as she fought for her life.

  * * *

  They parted ways. Behind Illi, rocks scraped and clattered as her cousins continued down the path. In another moment, they’d light a torch and pretend to be her, hopefully drawing enough of the soldiers away so that she and Canthem and Heru could slip among them unnoticed.

  Yufit’s uniform was tight around her shoulders and a little long around her ankles, but the darkness should cover the mismatch. The uniform was similar to Canthem’s simple outfit, the fabric a little finer and the belt a bit wider. Yufit had shown her the three metal pins just above her heart that indicated her status. In the spirit of authenticity, Yufit had insisted on trading swords as well. Her fingers kept playing across the too-smooth hilt of his sword again and again as she wove down the side of the mountain, farther and farther from her cousins.

  The soldiers’ fires drew closer until Illi could smell their smoke and hear the crackle of their hunger. Softer still were the sounds of so many people. Most waited in silence, mere shadows with their backs to the fires. But the wind caught and tossed snatches of whispered conversations, mutters and mumblings, and once a loud burp followed by a harsh laugh and a silencing hiss.

  Illi grabbed Canthem’s arm and they both stopped, not more than a dozen feet from the nearest group. Heru nearly ran into them; he let out a soft curse instead. The three of them crouched in the darkness near a scraggle of bent trees and waited.

  Without the warmth from moving, the cold quickly crept through Illi’s layers. She flexed her fingers, trying to keep them from growing stiff with cold. She envied the soldiers their fires, even knowing it must make them all but blind to anyone approaching. It also made them easy targets. Illi frowned, shoving her hands under her armpits. Why have the fires at all? Sure, it was bitterly cold, but if it hadn’t been for the fires, she and her cousins would have walked right into Merrabel’s waiting hands.