The Wizards' War

by Angela Holder

  She emerged into an open space where most of the crowd was giving the main gate into the Quarter a wide berth. The huge wooden doors were closed and fastened with heavy chains. Faithful men were nailing boards across the gap.

  From beyond the gate the furious demands continued. “Open up! In the Matriarch’s name we order you to remove the obstructions and let us in! How dare you defy your lawful ruler!”

  The Elder supervising the men answered, his voice deep and loud enough to carry, but calm. “Tell the Matriarch the Faithful are departing her realm.” A burst of thunder punctuated his announcement. “No longer will we live penned behind walls like animals in a menagerie. The Lord of Justice is leading us to a new home.”

  His words triggered a burst of outrage. Nirel flinched as the gates shook under blows that sounded like they came from hammers. But the gates were nearly a foot thick and banded with metal, and the stone walls on either side were ten feet tall. The Matriarch’s soldiers wouldn’t be able to break through before the Faithful were aboard their ships and away. Especially since most of her forces must be frantically preparing to meet the approaching Marvannans. That must be another reason why Elder Davon had chosen to time their departure to coincide with the attack.

  Nirel wormed back through the crowd to the family she’d left. She spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by those around them. “The walls they built to hold us in are holding them out. The Lord of Justice is using their fear and hatred of us to keep us safe.”

  Murmurs of approval ran through the crowd. The boy lifted his head and stuck out his tongue at the gate. Nirel ducked her head to hide a grin.

  She stuck close to the family all the way to the docks. The distance that usually would have taken no more than half an hour to walk took them nearly three. The sky was beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn when they finally reached the place where robed Elders were directing people to their assigned ships.

  Elder Semanel’s eyes lit when he spotted Nirel. He beckoned her over. “Thank the Lord. Davon was terribly worried. I’ll send word that he can call off the search. Lena is waiting for you on the first ship.” He gestured to the largest and finest of the trading vessels, at the far end of the dock where it would be the first to depart.

  Nirel clutched her pack. “Tell him I beg his forgiveness.”

  Semanel smiled wryly. “He’ll grant it, but you’ll suffer a full portion of his wrath first. Go on. We’re getting close to the end. Hopefully we can sail before sunrise.” He shuffled through his list and checked off her name.

  Nirel looked back as she hurried to the ship. She could see the end of the packed mass of people on each of the five streets that led to the docks. The Elders efficiently sorted people and marked names. They were divided among ships according to their home shrines, so each Elder knew the names and faces of those on his list.

  Lena rushed to her as soon as she stepped onto the deck and threw her arms around her neck. “Thank the Lord, you’re safe,” she sobbed.

  “I’m sorry,” Nirel said awkwardly. She knew Elder Davon had come to love her like one of his own daughters, but she hadn’t realized the undemonstrative and practical Lena felt the same way.

  As quickly as she’d grabbed Nirel, Lena let her go. “You should be ashamed of yourself for giving us such a fright. You’re going to be working for weeks to finish the extra chores you’ve earned by your disobedience. And I’m sure Davon will give you a penance that will have your knees bleeding from keeping vigil and your throat hoarse from praying.”

  “Yes, Lena.” Nirel bowed her head meekly.

  “I should send you below and have you scrub our section of the deck three times before you make up our pallets.” Lena gave a hard snort. “But that will have to wait until we’re underway. The captain has invited us to view our departure from the stern, and it would be rude to refuse.” She eyed the pack on Nirel’s back and dropped her voice. “Did you get what you went after?”

  “I did. There will be enough insulin to last all four children the whole voyage.”

  Lena nodded and turned away. So softly Nirel barely heard it, she murmured, “The Lord be praised.”

  A number of other wives and children of Elders were gathered on the high rear deck, where they had an excellent view of the whole fleet. Nirel surveyed the emptying streets and the filling ships. Elder Davon’s plan was working perfectly. They’d be ready to sail when the sun rose.

  The thunder was much louder here. Nirel hoped they wouldn’t be forced belowdecks by a downpour when the storm finally arrived. She turned to look north up the coast, where flashes of lightning marked the storm’s progress.

  It was strange lightning, moving in short low arcs instead of the typical branching lines across the sky. Dense clouds billowed near the surface of the water. Flat angular shapes far too regular to be natural shone white in the gray dawn light. Sails?

  Nirel swallowed as she realized what she was seeing. Ships, many dozens of them, only a few miles away, sailing as swiftly as the wind would propel them toward Ramunna. The ones in the rear were casting balls of fire at the closer ones. Occasionally one of the closer ships would swing ponderously around to face its pursuers and spit a burst of smoke, followed a few seconds later by the booming roar she’d mistaken for thunder.

  Lena’s arm went around her shoulders. “The captain thinks we’ll be able to sail before they get here.”

  Nirel nodded numbly. She cast an anxious glance at the people waiting to board the ships, then turned back to study the rate of the battle’s approach. It would be a close race. Surely Elder Davon wouldn’t order them to sail into the midst of fighting, with fire raining all around? Their ships were armed with only a few handfuls of archers.

  She paced from rail to rail, frustration mounting at her helplessness to either speed her people or slow their enemies. For a while she was sure they’d be able to launch well ahead of the warships. Later she despaired that they’d be trapped at the docks when the Marvannans arrived. But as the first golden rim of the sun edged over the horizon, reflecting off sails still a short distance away, shouts went up from the cluster of Elders remaining on the dock, and the captains of the ships began bellowing orders.

  She desperately wanted to throw her arms around Elder Davon and sob when he climbed the ladder to join them on the stern deck, but that would have been wildly improper. Even Lena only clasped his hand briefly. Instead Nirel inclined her head, clenching her fists to contain her emotion. “Elder.”

  “Daughter.” He came to stand beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. He pointed to the battle. “The leading ships are past Little Tevenar. I expect it will be less than half an hour after the last of our ships sail before the Marvannan ships start landing.”

  “Is this what you planned?” she asked him.

  His voice was rueful. “I didn’t intend to cut it so close, but I did hope the Matriarch’s men would be so busy preparing for the Marvannans’ arrival that they’d ignore us. It seems to have played out that way.” He gestured south at the docks beyond the wall of the Quarter. They were packed with swordsmen and archers. The mass of men extended along the shoreline and well into the city. “They’ll put up a valiant fight, but the numbers are too unequal. The Matriarch never dreamed this many Marvannan ships would be able to break through the blockade.” He turned away from the city, gesturing for Nirel to look east toward the rising sun and the long stretch of empty horizon. “But we no longer need worry what quarrels trouble the Lady’s followers. Let them destroy each other. The Lord of Justice is leading us to a land of peace and freedom.”

  Nirel gulped and nodded. She watched dockworkers cast loose the ropes that bound them to the dock. A small boat full of rowers towed them toward open water. Overhead, sailors scrambled to unfurl the sails and orient them to catch the wind. She wished she could be aloft with them, working the sails the way she had aboard Ozor’s ship.

  There would be no freedom for her in their new land. Would it matter, af
ter a few years, that she’d voluntarily chosen to submit herself to the rigid rules that governed a Faithful woman’s life? Would the beauty of the shrine and the measured words of the Ordinances be worth the surrender of her liberty? Or would she come to regret her choice?

  She had a way out. If she ever confessed that the power of the Lady of Mercy had once invaded her body, Elder Davon would have no choice but to cast her out of the Faith. But what would that mean, in a Tevenar ruled by the Faithful? Would he send her alone into the wilderness? Or would he allow her to remain among them, a shunned and barely tolerated outcast? There’d be no larger population to absorb those who were exiled the way there had been in Ramunna.

  No. She’d never betray her Faith. She would have to learn to find value in the limited role she was allowed. She’d like having a husband and children, in time. And she could share what little healing skills she’d had time to learn. Maybe she could even develop more of her own, the way Nalini and Josiah had.

  She swallowed at the thought of Josiah. Was he dead, slaughtered with the rest of the wizards when the Armada attacked Tevenar? Or had he managed to escape somehow? Would she encounter him again when they arrived in the land of her birth?

  Maybe his cleverness had allowed him to survive Tevenar’s downfall. Maybe when he really understood that the wizards’ day was past and Tevenar’s future lay with the Faithful, he’d come to accept it. He wouldn’t be eligible to convert, not after having wielded the Lady’s power, but maybe Elder Davon could be persuaded to allow him to live among them if she asked. Maybe she could slip out to see him, away from prying eyes, where she could put aside the propriety the Ordinances demanded for a little while…

  The fantasy shattered as a tremendous roar deafened her. One of the Armada ships blew apart before her eyes, flaming debris hurtling in every direction and raining into the sea. Their ship lurched as a violent wave rolled under them. It continued to pitch in the choppy water, setting Nirel’s stomach on edge.

  Lena dragged at Nirel’s arm. “We must go below!” The rest of the women and children were crowding the ladders down from the high deck.

  “No, please, I have to be able to see. I don’t want to be trapped down there in the dark, never knowing if we’re going to be hit…” She turned pleading eyes to Elder Davon for support.

  He nodded grimly. “Below will be little safer. She can stay with me.” He clasped Lena’s hand. She scowled, but proceeded to the ladder by herself. Nirel stuck close by Elder Davon at the rail.

  The Marvannan vessel that had been pursuing the destroyed ship swept around to circle back and find a new target. A huge triangular framework, half as tall as its main mast, dominated its forward deck. Nirel could see teams of men turning a capstan, while others loaded dozens of round jugs into a metal cup as big as a small boat.

  She watched with fascinated horror. A line wound around the capstan, pulleys guiding it to draw a long arm down toward the deck. The arm was mounted on a pivot at the top of the structure. A huge stone weight was attached to the other, much shorter, end.

  Their ship, followed by the rest of the Faithful fleet, sped across the bay toward open water, barely ahead of where the Marvannan vessel prowled. As they passed, the Marvannans, with much shouting and cursing that floated over the water to Nirel’s ears, unchained an empty cup from the end of the arm and replaced it with the jug-filled one. A man pulled a cork from one of the jugs and poured its contents into the cup, drenching the rest of the jugs. Another thrust a torch into the cup. Flames licked up. A sharp stink reached Nirel across the waves.

  One of the Armada ships veered away from the others, pursuing the Marvannan. It came around, its sails flapping loose as it tacked, then filling again. The maneuver brought it dangerously close to the enemy. For a moment Nirel thought it would pass unscathed, but then a shout sounded from the Marvannan ship and the long arm of the contraption soared into the air, yanking the flame-filled cup into a high arc. Dozens of flaming jugs flew across hundreds of yards of open water. They smashed into the deck and side of the Armada ship near its stern, spewing something that looked like water but caught fire as swiftly as tinder.

  Ramunnan sailors rushed to douse the flames with buckets of seawater, but the flaming liquid clung to everything it touched and continued to burn even when drenched. Flames spread across the hull. Big patches of wood charred and blackened.

  At the front of the Armada ship a hatch opened and a black metal tube protruded from the opening. So close, the blast of sparks and smoke was simultaneous with the roaring boom that hit Nirel’s ears. An iron ball crashed into the Marvannan ship at the waterline, tearing open a gaping hole. Water rushed in. The Marvannan vessel listed hard to the side.

  Nirel pointed. “They’re going to sink. The Ramunnan ship won.”

  Elder Davon shook his head. “Watch,” he said grimly.

  The men aboard the Marvannan vessel scrambled to repair the damage, but it was hopeless. The ship settled deeper into the water, leaning over farther and farther. The Armada ship continued to burn, but the Ramunnan sailors were having some success battling the flames. Most of the fires on the deck were out, although the rear part of the hull was still alight. Instead of seeming encouraged, the Ramunnans threw themselves into more and more frenzied efforts. A few leapt into the water and swam away. Nirel wondered at their despair. Surely they would be able to quench the last of the flames before the hull was breached.

  The ship exploded. Sound hit Nirel like a physical blow. She ducked and threw her hands over her ears, slamming her eyes shut too late to block the blaze of blinding light. Stinking smoke rolled over their bucking, tossing ship. Charred bits of wood and embers showered around her.

  Elder Davon grabbed her, shielding her with his body. After the worst passed, he pulled her upright and dragged her toward the ladder. “Lena was right. You need to get below.”

  “What good will that do?” As she clambered down, Nirel cast another glance at the sinking Marvannan ship that had dragged its killer into death with it. They were leaving it and the rest of the battle behind. “What happened? How did burning water do that?”

  Elder Davon followed her down. “It’s as I suspected. The Armada ship was armed with the Matriarch’s secret weapon. You saw it; that’s what hit the Marvannan vessel and sank it.”

  Nirel frowned as he guided her through a door and down a steep, narrow stair. “The tube? That shot a ball?”

  “Yes. I’ve heard it described, but this is the first time I’ve seen it for myself. The ball was iron, accelerated to great speed by a substance that burns in a sudden violent burst. The Armada ships must keep a great quantity of the substance on board, because if they run out their weapon becomes useless. The Marvannans deduced that if they were able to set the store alight it would destroy the ship, just as you saw. I’m not sure if the liquid is some sort of alcohol, or perhaps a derivative of pitch. Catapults like that have been used in land warfare for centuries. They can break down walls or buildings. Clever of the Marvannans to adapt them to this use.”

  Elder Davon didn’t usually talk so much. Nirel wondered if he was trying to reassure her, or if the reflective, analytic words were meant to quiet his own fears.

  They emerged into a long, low hold. Faithful families were huddled in regular rows and columns, each occupying its own square of assigned space between neat lines inscribed on the deck. Lena was waiting in their section, to the right of the center path.

  Davon hugged Nirel, then gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek. “Stay here. I’ll bring news if anything changes.” He hurried back to the stairs.

  Nirel shrugged the pack from her shoulders and sank to the hard boards of the deck next to where Lena had arranged bedding for herself and her husband. She was going to miss the pillow she’d discarded. After she removed her belongings, arranged them neatly, and spread out her quilt, she carefully tucked the precious bottles of insulin back into the pack. Later in the day, after they were well clear of danger, she’d see a
bout getting someone to row her to the ships where her patients were. She would have to teach their parents how to measure and administer the insulin. It wasn’t hard; they should be able to learn.

  She scooted over to Lena, who had her arms wrapped around her knees and her head down. She spoke loudly, so those around them could hear. “I think we’re past the worst of the excitement. Neither of the ships nearby can threaten us any more, and the rest are too far to reach us before we’re clear. We’ve done it, Lena. We’re on our way.”

  Lena raised her head. “Thank the Lord. May he sustain us through the long, hard journey to come.” She closed her eyes and dropped her head back to her knees.

  All around people softly echoed her prayer. Nirel silently joined in. She crawled over and stretched out on her quilt. Two months. That’s all they’d have to endure before they arrived in their new home.

  Twenty

  Meira surveyed the field one last time. Everyone was in place. Her crew clustered around the long iron tube where it rested on its wheeled wooden base. Sachiel and Jaron and the rest of the people she’d chosen to head the nine other crews stood well back, where they would have a good view but be out of the way. Elkan and Josiah waited nearby with their familiars.

  Meira took a deep breath and walked to the mouth of the weapon. She carefully placed the bundle containing her last precious pound of hand-ground blasting powder into the hole and gestured for her crew to ram it in. All the tests she’d run on the few pounds of powder they’d been able to produce with the mill—between endless tweaks of the design, adjustments of the gears, and replacements of broken or malfunctioning parts—had shown that it worked just the way her original supply did. After today they’d have to rely on it. But for this first test of their new weapon she wanted to keep as many factors as possible under her control. She knew her blasting powder would work. She couldn’t be sure about much else.

  After the wadding and ball were packed in the tube, she ordered everyone to move back. The smiths had assured her the iron would be strong enough to withstand the force of the exploding powder, but she wasn’t taking any chances. If the weapon blew up on its first firing, no one was going to be close enough to get hurt.