Fortress Draconis (63 page)

She looked up as Will came leading the trio from the tavern. Behind them Resolute and Crow slipped from shadows. Above, unseen, Peri and Qwc flew past to perch in the small ship’s rigging.Ten of us to steal one of the world’s most valuable items from an island teeming with bloodthirsty pirates. Who will bleed? Who will die?

Alyx forced a smile onto her face. “This way, my friends. Welcome to thePumilio. Watch your head when you go below, it’s built for midgets.”

Crow laughed. “As long as it’s more dry than wet, can we complain?”

“No,” she agreed, letting her hand linger on his left shoulder. “When we look back, in the grand scheme of things, any discomfort on this voyage will likely be minor indeed.”

Iarkus Adrogans gingerly shifted his shoulders, reseating the weight of the mail surcoat he wore. The metal garment had a leather gambeson between it and his flesh, but still tugged on the raw piercings. The pain had faded to a dull but persistent series of aches in the four days since the battle that saw Malarkex’s death.

He looked to Beal, who stood there in lighter leather armor worked with her clan’s knotting. “Your preparations for rescuing the hostages are complete?”

She nodded solemnly. “Save for one detail, General.”

This brought Adrogans’ gaze around to meet that of a raven-haired Loquelf. “I recall. Mistress Gilthalarwin, I was under the impression we had reached an understanding concerning your Blackfeathers and their part in the rescue.”

The elf bowed her head in his direction. “We had, General, before the plans were modified yesterday. Before there had been a respectable interval between the employment of the animals and our participation. Now we will be called upon to coordinate with them. This cannot be done. It will not.”

Adrogans struggled to hide his fury, and Phfas’ cackle from the corner did not help at all. Will Norrington, having grown up in Yslin, had suggested that balloons be used to evacuate the hostages. Magickers could heat rocks that would produce hot air and make the balloons rise with hostages in baskets. Guide ropes on the ground would draw the hostages from the city while the Blackfeathers shot archers and vylaens trying to bring down the balloons. The balloons were to have been delivered by the Gyrkyme Warhawks, who would then have no further role in the rescue.

A final review of planning had located several flaws in the enterprise. They’d not been able to produce enough balloons to complete the evacuation quickly. More important, a vylaen who could simply cast a spell to chill the balloons could bring them down, killing the hostages. The plan had subsequently been modified, but had a more immediate role for the Gyrkyme, and the Loquelves refused to work with them.

The human general slowly folded his arms over his chest, his mail rustling as he did so. “Mistress Gilthalarwin, you have lived centuries to my decades and view things with a perspective which I have scant chance of understanding. I know better than to threaten you and your Blackfeathers with death. I am not in the habit of killing allies. I know the censure and scorn of men amount to nothing to you, for every one of us here will be dead soon enough by your reckoning.

“You put me in an awkward position, however, and I don’t want to be there. I don’t think you want it known that you put me there. That position is this: you force me, as a man, to once again rescue Vorquelves. Once again I have to do what elves could not.And you force me to use the Gyrkyme to do it. The children for whom you have abrogated your responsibility for over a century, you place their fate in the hands of men and those you see as beasts.”

The elf shook her head. “You have no idea….”

“I have a very good idea, a wonderful one, mistress.” Adrogans’ eyes became slits. “You see the Gyrkyme as rapeget, the mating of elves with animals. You see theAraftü in much the same way as many Jeranese and Okrans see the Zhusk. I was gotten upon my mother by one of the Zhusk, but I was accepted by all sides.”

Gilthalarwin snorted and waved his comment away dismissively. “Zhusks are demonstrably men, so your example does not pertain.”

“But the Gyrkyme are demonstrably notAraftü. They might not be elves, either, but they certainly are not beasts.”

The elf’s dark eyes blazed at that suggestion. “The discussion is closed.” She lifted her chin. “You will, I have little doubt, give us an assignment where we shall be killed because of our temerity.”

Adrogans shook his head. “No. Go home.”

“What?”

Even Beal looked a bit surprised at that command.

The general opened his hands. “Mistress, you have missed the point of this entire exercise. Chytrine wishes to shatter our unity so she can pick us apart piecemeal. Your subordination of good sense to race hatred aids her in this quest. I won’t have it. You are free to go. I would only ask you give your parole that you will not fight against us and in her favor.”

The elf’s jaw dropped open. Adrogans was not certain if her shock was born of his impugning her honor and loyalty, or merely because she’d never expected a man to speak to her in such a way. He actually didn’t care if it was either or both, or something else entirely.

He glanced at Beal. “Phfas will put his best archers with you. That should be fifty or so. The Nalisk Mountain

Rangers should also suffice. Please tell your people that their sacrifice shall inspire us all. Their courage will live forever with the Vorquelves they save.“

Beal nodded, tossed Adrogans a salute, and turned to leave, but the elf caught hold of her shoulder. “Wait.”

Adrogans raised an eyebrow. “Parting words, mistress?”

The elf’s features sharpened. “What you ask of us is unthinkable.”

“Ah, and asking my people to bleed and die isn’t?”

Gilthalarwin shook her head. “You do not have nearly as much freedom as you pretend, General. You know that all of us will be torn apart by those who would judge us in the dawn’s light.”

“Then better to be damned for a winner.” Adrogans pointed a finger at her. “Which would please you more? Never hearing your action criticized, or suffering all that criticism so just one voice of one survivor can be raised in protest at how unfairly you’ve been treated?”

The elf fairly trembled as she sorted thoughts from emotions. The elves’ deep-seated hatred of the Gyrkyme was clearly irrational, for the Gyrkyme could do nothing to change their nature. At the same time, that hatred was as much a part of their lives as believing dawn would follow dark. The difference was that the hatred could be voided without changing the world’s mechanisms.

And for the sake of justice and the hostages, it would have to be.

Gilthalarwin snorted, then set her shoulders. “You’ll tell the Gyrkyme to fly clear of our areas of responsibility.”

“Your archers are too good to mistake them for gibberers.”

“General, you will tell the Gyrkyme to stay free of our areas.”

Adrogans nodded slowly. “I will do that.”

The elf bowed her head. “We’ll be ready. You are still set to go at dusk?”

“You and the Gyrkyme see so well in the dark, the operation is possible. We will prepare today, look as if we will go at dawn, but it will be tonight we go.”

The elven archer nodded slowly. “You risk much in a night action.”

“Lake tide will be running high, back-flooding the sewers. We’ll get gibberers down in there and trap them. It won’t be much, but it will help.” Adrogans looked to Beal. “Pass the word to the warmages. Their ratting operations will commence mid-afternoon. By dawn we’ll have Svoin.”

From her post on the southern edge of Svoin, Beal mot Tsuvo watched the sun’s disk touch the western mountains. In the highlands they’d have had an hour more of sunlight, but already the mountain shadows crept across the valley, caressing the far lakeshore, chasing ships to harbor. She watched the sunset, and the colors it streaked into the clouds; not worrying that she might not see another sunset, and taking great comfort from the lack of bloodred suffusing the clouds.

To the east trumpets sounded and the sieging force began its tightening of the circle around Svoin. Ponderous siege machines inched forward, approaching the piles of stones that had been placed to feed them. Trebuchets with their massive arms that would hurl huge stones to smash the walls rolled in. Beside them came ballistae, resembling giant crossbows, speeding spears, and long arrows that would rake the walls of defenders. And behind them, along cleared alleyways, crawled the siege towers, crowded with brave soldiers who would rush onto the battlements and sweep them of defenders, provided their towers were not smashed or burned before they could reach Svoin’s defenses.

Smaller ballistae and catapults on the walls and in tow-

. ers shot at the attackers. The marshy ground before Svoin did not serve the defenders well, since a stone would stick instead of bouncing madly through ranks, shattering limbs, pulping bodies. Even so, one stone struck a mantlet straight on, reducing it to a cloud of splinters and blood, then skipped further to crush another soldier.

On the far side of Svoin’s east gate fire blossomed. A flailing gibberer fell flaming from the top. Others fought furiously, beating at the fire consuming their ballista, while overhead a Warhawk looped to celebrate his firecock’s direct hit. Arrows reached up toward him, but slowed as they flew, and he contemptuously snatched one out of the air and hurled it back at the gibberers.

More firecocks exploded, and flaming missiles arced out at the siege towers. One tower caught and men leaped from it while warmages scurried around to extinguish the blaze. Defiant shouts from the walls and brave cheers from the attackers dueled before combatants were close enough to be fully engaged.

Lots of shouting arose on her front. A trebuchet and two ballistae had moved forward, supported by the Blackfeathers and the Nalisk Rangers, but her own people snarled and cursed as a siege tower refused to advance. It had moved not an inch since the start of the action. Men dug at the wheels and cursed, others scurried about with torches, and chaos reigned.

The gibberers on the walls hooted and hollered. Flights of elven arrows discouraged some, while the explosions of firecocks cleared whole portions of battlements. Drums pounded and gibberers moved along the walls toward the east gate as a ram rumbled down the road. Mantlets and shields covered the men dragging it forward and arrows soon studded them as the defenders fought to slow its advance.

The trebuchet on her front finally reached its position. Crews pounded in anchors while others hauled mightily on the cables and blocks that pulled down its long arm. At the base, beyond the pivot point, a wooden box filled with stones to act as a counterweight slowly rose. Still other men rolled a three-hundred-pound stone into position, then fixed a sling about it. The ends of the sling were attached to the trebuchet’s arm, then a lanyard was pulled. The counterweight fell and the arm rose, then the stone arced through the night sky, all but invisible.

The stone struck with great impact, pulverizing itself and the wall block it struck. A merlon teetered a bit above the crater. Several gibberers had been knocked from their feet, but appeared otherwise unharmed. The city’s walls, being as massive as they were and so well built, would require lots of pounding. Because the trebuchet would use missiles of different weights, because it would settle with each shot, because wood could crack and ropes fray, the chances of hitting the same spot over and over again were minimal.

The southern front in the siege could not credibly be thought a threat.

Which was exactly as intended since that front was never meant to get peopleinto Svoin, but get them out.

Three firecocks exploded in succession on the walls, which was the signal Beal had been waiting for. In the backlight she could see more gibberers shifted toward the east and this brought the hint of a smile to her face. She glanced at the Vilwanese warmage near her. “Adept Jarmy, get your people working now. That was the signal. We have no time to lose.”

The triple explosion to the south caught Adrogans’ eye and he focused on it. His flesh tingled, theyrun of pain trickling into him the things being felt within the city. The thrashing and suffocating of gibberers in the sewers formed a basis onto which the overwhelming fear of the wretched humans trapped in Svoin had been layered. That fear had been brewing for days, since the men feared a slaughter by the gibberers, and the gibberers feared much the same by the attackers.

He pushed past the sensations and studied the battle.

The signal from the south meant the hostages had been gathered into the appointed place. He could only wonder at the battles waged by Guarnin clan Bravonyn in gathering them together. A chill ran through him as he imagined the keen wails of highland widows.

High on the walls near the gates, green fire blossomed into balls that streaked down at the ram. The sorcerous fire exploded against the shields, knocking men down, warping metal. Those who lived scrambled to their feet and back into position or withdrew, and others advancing in the ram’s shadow surged forward, moving from pushing to pulling. The engine crept ever closer to the gate.

Ballistae swung around to pepper the area from which the magick had been launched. Sheaves of arrows shot up, some bouncing from merlons, others transfixing defenders. Other flights of arrows arced up high over the walls, to fall like rain amid the gibberers and vylaens.

Trebuchets hurled their stones, some hitting the gate and others slamming into towers. Firecocks exploded. One bolt of green fire lanced upward, instantly igniting a Warhawk who spiraled through death throes to slam into the ground and burn before the walls.

Adrogans started down the hill from which he had watched the siege begin and mounted his horse. He accepted his helmet from Phfas’ hands, settled it over his head, and cinched the chinstrap up tight. By the time he reached his Horse Guards, the ram had reached the gate.

By the time they break it, we will be ready to plunge in.He drew a deep breath, then trotted his horse forward with the Horse Guards behind him. Beyond that gate would be death and pain, which minstrels would turn into valor and glory. For a fleeting second he wondered whether the ability to make that transformation marked them as fools or supreme magicians, then he dismissed such speculation and set his mind for war.