For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  Rylin jumped to the point. “You want me to spy on her.”

  “I want you to learn the city and its defenses better than you know your own face. But play upon Cerai’s interest and see if you can learn anything whenever you’re together.”

  “I can do that.”

  “I must stress that you’re not dealing with a lovestruck young woman or a former flame. You must be extraordinarily careful. She’s quite clever.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m glad you do. I’d like to think you see just how dangerous she could be as an opponent. She would crush you in any sorcerous contest, Rylin.”

  After seeing Cerai in action he understood that all too well.

  “That’s nothing against you. I couldn’t stand against her myself in a direct battle.”

  “Believe me, thanks to recent events I’m well aware of just how weak I really am,” he admitted. “Compared to Cerai, I’m nothing. And you keep thinking that I can rise to your abilities, but you’re ten times smarter than I am.”

  “We each have different gifts, Rylin. I don’t expect you to suddenly develop interest or ability in the intellectual challenges that engage me, anymore than I expect you to contest with Cerai’s sorcerous powers. That hardly means that you don’t have prowess. Look at me. I could never have held my own against Kalandra or Commander Renik, and I couldn’t outfight some of the Altenerai. But I have a niche.”

  “You’re saying I have to find a speciality?”

  “I’m saying you need to be cognizant of both your strengths and weaknesses. Be present in every moment, and always look ahead. Your combination of skills is impressive. You’re capable of great insight, cleverness, initiative, and social grace, which distinguishes you from Kyrkenall, though you share some of his other characteristics.”

  Her candor made him a little uncomfortable. And how could he be looking ahead if he was being present in the moment?

  “You look confused.”

  He offered only open palms and a weak smile.

  “Your charm is another strength. As well as a somewhat tarnished sense of honor.” She turned from him. “I think the coming days will be a greater test than any you’ve yet known. I’m going back to the walls. I expect I’ll see you there. We’ll speak again this evening.”

  He did little more than wash hands and face again, so lost in his thoughts that he hardly noted what he did. Could Varama be right about Cerai?

  Knowing what he knew about the peculiar, brilliant alten, he wondered if she could be wrong. He wanted her to be. He instinctively liked Cerai. She was smart and accomplished. And quite nice to look at.

  He’d have to trust his own judgment. And this time, he’d try to be alert, like Varama, to the subtle cues most people missed.

  25

  The Walls of Alantris

  As Rylin left the baths, he was concerned he might encounter Denalia waiting outside, but there was no sign of her. He decided he was glad of that, because he wasn’t sure what he should say when he met her again.

  He spent a few moments combing down his mount before the stable boy saddled Rurudan, then rode through the city to inspect the massive reinforced gates in the imposing outer wall, and to meet the men and women who defended them.

  By the second gatehouse, his mind was stuffed with information. Fortunately, long study under Asrahn had taught him tricks for memorizing details. And his eyes, free from all but thin wisps of distraction, assessed everything he found.

  Alantris had three large gates and two smaller in the outer walls, which stood twenty feet high, solid, and were wide enough for four men to run abreast. The armories at the gatehouses and the guard towers that rose between them were well stocked. Morale was high, for the soldiers seemed certain the Naor were stupidly here to repeat mistakes from the previous assault. Rylin wasn’t so sure, especially given Varama’s certainty that they planned something unique, but he kept his worries to himself.

  He meant only to introduce himself to officers, but discovered that somehow everyone already knew about him. He was used to the automatic respect he received wearing the blue khalat and ring of office, but he’d seldom been recognized as an individual outside the palace and barracks of Darassus. People brightened at mention of his name, and repeated distorted accounts of how he’d saved the refugees and defenders on the hill. There was even a further detail now; that he turned aside better fare to eat the meals of the common soldiers. He supposed that was because he’d grabbed some rations with the signalmen, but wondered how that could possibly have spread through the ranks so quickly.

  This, he thought, must be what it’s like for Kyrkenall and the truly famous Altenerai. Except that they deserved acclaim.

  As morning wore on toward afternoon, he watched from the outer walls as the Naor turned up at last. Though their numbers were staggering they seemed in no hurry. They arrived at an almost leisurely pace throughout the afternoon, gathering around little cookfires as though they were here for a neighborly spring idle. They erected long rows of brown tents and raised banners topped with little bleached ivory objects Rylin knew for ko’aye skulls. They remained more than a half mile from the city they circled, and Rylin imagined what it would be like to walk among them late tonight, in disguise.

  The defenders on the wall were tense but confident, hiding their nervousness with high-spirited jests and occasional provocatively rude gestures toward the invaders.

  Rylin studied the Naor as he imagined Varama would, wondering at their seeming complacency. Maybe they assumed their numbers were so vast that no army could threaten them. They might be right. Even the Kaneshi cavalry at full strength would incur heavy losses routing this many. Strangely, though, none of the troops seemed to be engaged in the construction of engines, or even ladders. Those who weren’t resting were simply tending weapons, and eating.

  They were waiting for something, presumably their wall breakers, but Rylin couldn’t imagine how ko’aye could breach these walls for the ground troops, even if the Naor somehow managed to hold sway over creatures that would much rather die than serve them.

  Eventually concluding there was nothing more he could learn from this distance, late in the afternoon he made his way to a sally gate in the third and equally thick ring of walls. Just past it the ground rose steeply to meet the high cliff of the citadel. And there he found a trio of Alantran weavers in close consideration of the slick black stone that formed the citadel’s wall, partly natural and partly shaped by generations that had gone before. A crack ran from the base, widening into a fist-sized hole at head level before spidering into surrounding stones.

  Cerai stood among them with one palm pressed to the wall, eyes closed, serene and beautiful.

  He couldn’t help but admire her effortless skill. At her thought, defects in the stone were wiped away with the ease of a child rubbing out sketches in the dirt. The crack at the base slowly mended itself as though it had never been.

  She then turned her attention to the hole above, which filled with dark matter that soon blended into the surrounding material.

  One man among the Alantrans clapped his wrinkled hands with pronounced enthusiasm, as though Cerai had just performed a stage trick.

  She turned with a smile, nodded her thanks to the trio, who praised her further, then acknowledged Rylin.

  “Impressive work,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “How go the defenses?”

  “Well bolstered now. I think I’ve done about all I can. I’m heading to the citadel. Do you want to join me?”

  How astonishingly easy it had been to win the opportunity to observe her more carefully. “With pleasure.”

  Cerai beckoned for the graybeard, who stepped forward with a blue satchel. “My hearthstones,” she explained. “Give me a moment.” She turned to thank the mages with her, then faced Rylin. “Let’s go.”

  Cerai climbed onto a stallion, a piebald rather than her curious magical animal, and the two rode into the streets
. She seemed only a little tired.

  “So have you really been working magic all day?” Rylin asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not exhausted?”

  “I’ve been tapping into the hearthstones. Their energies aren’t entirely free, but they certainly help. And the mages were boosting me a bit.”

  “I’m glad to know that they’re good for something.”

  “You thought that I had them follow me around to applaud?” she asked with a smile.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He liked her laugh in response, throaty and confident and unrestrained.

  “What are you thinking about, Rylin?”

  Did she know? Surely his ring, set to alert status, would warn him even if she were probing his mind, wouldn’t it? “Earlier you said that using a hearthstone can build magical endurance.”

  “I find it does. If you’d like, we can experiment tomorrow morning. I’d suggest this evening, but Aradel’s funeral is liable to run late.”

  Yes. A sorrowful reminder of all that was truly at stake.

  They switched to single file to ride past a knot of children, intent upon their game of tag until they stopped to stare in awe at the Altenerai who passed. Rylin offered a friendly wave and the children raised hands in greeting.

  When he and Cerai were side by side once more, she continued as if there’d been no pause. “We’ll have our hands full during the siege, I’m sure, but perhaps we can work in a little practice before they start in earnest. When it’s over, maybe I can tear you away from Varama and you can travel with me for a while.”

  “I’d be honored,” he said, piqued by a little guilt. Much as Varama had assigned him to learn about Cerai, he found that he wished to do so, leaving him feeling as though he deceived both women at once.

  They passed a line of soldiers carrying spears, and returned their salutes.

  “I have a lot of improvements to make,” Rylin admitted.

  They neared the walls of the towering citadel, three-spear-lengths high, its bronze doors open onto a dusty courtyard. She didn’t respond to him until she swung down from her horse. Her gaze was direct and intent. “Look, if you think you have room for improvement, then improve. N’lahr never gave up drills. Even the day after a battle. If he could move, he woke up early and practiced. And people talk about Temahr and his binges, but those were the exception, not the rule. Every day he was sober he’d exercise. You don’t just have to own your skill, you have to love it.”

  He climbed down from his mount. She certainly sounded like an ordinary alten, not one scheming for some hidden agenda. How exactly should he try to pry more information from her? He just wasn’t sure. And that probably meant he shouldn’t try. Not now. Not if he wanted to be careful.

  “I’m going to hit the baths,” she said. “I’ll see you at the ceremony this evening.”

  He nodded and pressed his hand to his chest in salute.

  “Hail,” she said, then turned on her heel.

  He shook his head at himself rather than watching her walk, then shooed the stableboys away and cared for his own animal. As he brushed his horse down, he heard the hands whispering about the act in reverent tones, as though tending for his horse was somehow heroic.

  He realized that nearly anything he did could be seen in a new light, now, because he’d performed one act that the populace had heard about.

  All that talk of training put him in mind of the fact it had been days since he’d run any exercises, so after a light supper he retired to a small courtyard where he thought he’d be unobserved. A half-dozen windows looked down onto it, but all appeared vacant, so he was without companionship apart from the sculpture of a woman on a plinth. It was only when Rylin drew close to it that he realized the statue wore a khalat.

  And he didn’t recognize her. She was high-browed, sad-eyed. He supposed he should know all the Altenerai, but he hadn’t spent that much time in the Hall of Remembrance. And then he saw the name inscribed below. Of course. Rialla had died saving the city the last time the Naor tried to destroy it.

  He came to attention and brought his open hand to his heart in salute. It began as a lighthearted gesture, but as he lowered his arm crisply, it had lost all humor.

  “I understand you were a large part of the reason this place held last time.”

  He looked at the young face, the compressed lips, as he continued talking. “If I must fall, I hope I’ll make as much of a difference as you did.” And be better remembered, he thought, but that seemed selfish. “I’ll strive to live up to your example,” he finished.

  He stepped away from her. Probably these grounds had been flowerbeds at some point. Now the courtyard was nothing but flat green grass. Rylin drew his blade.

  First he’d apply himself to that leap, turn, and strike, a variation on a movement from the twelfth sword form. He’d used it twice in the last days, and both times his landing stance had been too narrow.

  Rylin worked through it and then the other higher forms, thinking of a variety of weaknesses he’d been aware of for a long time, and wondering how he got into the habit of declaring himself good enough. Was he still a boy, not a man? Was that what he and Lasren were? Children who won a prize, using it like a flashing symbol to grab at other things they craved?

  That wasn’t fair, though, was it? He’d worked long and hard to earn the ring. Had there been anything wrong with enjoying the privileges that came with the position?

  On the face of it, no. Except that he’d been enjoying them without truly understanding the sacrifices that preceded them. Or maybe without really understanding that he wasn’t as ready for those sacrifices as he’d thought.

  After a quarter hour, he paused as a horn call sounded, then resumed as he realized it was only for the squires, being called to the citadel to eat, dress, and prepare for the funeral. A quarter hour after that, the sun was sinking, stretching the shadows of the citadel towers so that all of the courtyard was left in darkness. Soon the sun would set. The Naor had called for the city to surrender before then. Had that been merely an idle bluff?

  He frowned to himself. Best tidy up. He was making his way to the washroom when horn calls rang from above. He ran up to the third floor, where he could look out over the citadel walls to the Naor hordes.

  No longer did they take their ease. Their fires blazed high, and many lifted torches. Others cavorted about the campfires, and their war cries resounded through the evening air. Off somewhere to his right, somebody shouted that they were burning prisoners, and he searched among the countless little fires until he spotted one directly across from the central gate. There, a long row of spikes had been planted, and fire ate at a line of fifty figures bound to them as torch-holding Naor pranced and pointed to the city.

  Though flame wreathed the victims, some still moved.

  Rylin’s hands clenched involuntarily, and almost without thought he started up the stairs toward the roof. It was time for action. He wasn’t entirely sure what he planned yet, but he was no longer dreading his scouting mission. He’d kill as many Naor as he could lay hands on while he was at it.

  When he reached the roof, Lelanc was gone, but the tall, mustached signalman immediately pointed him west. Shading his eyes against the sinking red ball of the sun, he saw Lelanc flapping her wings with great energy. Highlighted as she was by the sun, it took him a moment to realize something flew behind her. Another ko’aye?

  From the west walls, far below and across the city, a different horn call sounded. Not of alert, but of attack

  And as his eyes adjusted he suddenly understood. Lelanc streamed in over the outer wall, and on her tail came a creature borne on wings that seemed a mile long. The pursuer dwarfed her, as the citadel’s height overtopped a garden fountain.

  “What is that thing?” Rylin asked.

  No one answered. Only the signalman was there, staring out, and he probably had no more idea than Rylin.

  This was one of the ko’aye that Naor
scout had told him about.

  From far below, down on the distant battlements, great stones whirled into the air from two towers, but the beast beat the air and soared above the missiles as it came on for the wall. Behind and below the monster was the vast crescent horde of Naor clansman, silhouetted starkly. They raised spears that winked back the light so fiercely it seemed each was crusted in flaming gold.

  Lelanc soared on and up, outpacing the thing. The pursuer seemed to have lost interest in her anyway, for it bore on toward the enormous outer wall, opened massive scaled black jaws, and roared, a twisting rumble that Rylin felt deep in his chest, like a roll of thunder.

  The effect didn’t stop with him. He watched, openmouthed as the wall directly in line of the beast crumbled. The height of the western wall just fell away, like leavings brushed from a plate. The soldiers posted upon it dropped to death amid the rubble. The wall still stood, but two-thirds of it had been sheared away from a span ten spears long.

  Rylin felt his stomach twist. No wonder the Naor needed no siege craft. Their monstrous wyrms spewed magical destruction.

  Two more catapult stones launched as the thing came on, beating great wings, but the crews hadn’t sighted right, or the monster wyrm changed angle, for the missiles flew wide even as it roared a second time.

  Its blast struck into the first of the inner walls, which tumbled into the rank of homes behind it. The people screamed louder as the land rocked and a dozen dwellings collapsed.

  Lelanc flew on and up for the citadel. Rylin wasted no time. He raced for the weapons rack and grabbed all the javelins he could carry, aided by the signalman. The ko’aye swooped in and landed awkwardly.

  “You’re hurt?” Rylin asked.

  “No. Hurry!” Lelanc flapped her wings in agitation.

  He vaulted into the saddle and quickly secured weapons. “What is that thing?”

  “Something we have to kill,” Lelanc shrilled.

  He liked her spirit. “Have you seen one before? Does it have weaknesses?”

  “I’ve never seen one before now. It stinks of magic.”