Mask of Swords (32 page)

His father had been a good man, but he had just been a man. Perhaps Sir Nathan would not have been able to save those men.

“I don’t know,” said Adalar again. 

“You should not rebuke yourself,” said Sigaldra. “You have risked life and limb to defend a place that is no longer your home, a people not your own. You are a valiant warrior, Adalar Greatheart. Even Talchar thinks so, and Talchar hates everyone.”

“Talchar said that?” said Adalar. Talchar was a formidable warrior, and his wife Kuldura was equally terrifying. There had been some Skuldari wounded left upon the ramparts after the last skirmish, and Kuldura had cut their throats with all the calm efficiency of a woman slicing vegetables. Talchar had even looked on with husbandly pride. 

“He did,” said Sigaldra. “He is not a man to say what he does not mean.”

“I imagine not,” said Adalar. “And you, Lady Sigaldra, are a valiant leader.”

She scoffed and looked away. “One who led her people to their death.”

“Anyone else would have despaired by now, I think,” said Adalar. 

“Perhaps I have,” said Sigaldra. 

“But you do not show it,” said Adalar. “Not before your people. They are fighting to save their homes, but it is you they follow.”

“I am weary of it,” said Sigaldra, her voice so soft Adalar could barely hear it. “It should have been my father. It should have been my brothers. Not me. I cannot…I cannot bear the burden.”

“You bear it well,” said Adalar. “I think the Jutai would not have survived this long without you.”

“I should have done more,” said Sigaldra. “I should have saved more of them.”

“Just as I should have saved more men in battle?” said Adalar.

She blinked, scowled at him, and then gave a rueful shake of her head. “It is peculiar that I can be so honest with you, Lord Adalar. I cannot speak so freely with anyone else, even my sister.”

“Because they rely upon you to lead them,” said Adalar. 

“Yes,” said Sigaldra, gazing at him. “I wish…I wish we could have met under different circumstances. In more peaceful times.” 

“I wish that, too,” said Adalar. 

He stared at her bloodshot eyes, and realized that once again they were alone. He wasn’t sure why that made him uncomfortable, and then once again the obvious occurred to him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her very badly. Beneath the armor and the grime of battle and the weariness, she was a lovely woman. More than that, she was valiant and strong. He had never met someone quite like her. 

Perhaps he was thinking too damn much.

“Sister?”

Adalar looked up as Sigaldra’s head snapped around. 

Liane stood at the entrance of the alley, tugging at her sleeves. She wore a simple tan dress with a heavy apron over it, pouches hanging at her belt. At first Sigaldra had insisted that Liane remain in the keep, but there was simply too much work to be done and not enough hands to do it. So Liane had been helping to tend the wounded in the church. Adalar disliked the thought of a young girl having to help wounded men, having to wash away the blood and the dirt and listen to the men scream as their wounds were cauterized and stitched shut, but it was nothing Liane had not done before. 

“Sister,” said Sigaldra, her voice quiet.

“I am sorry,” said Liane, her eyes flicking towards Adalar. “I thought…I thought you would be elsewhere, I didn’t know you would be with the rusted knight.” She flinched. “I am sorry. I mean Lord Adalar.”

Adalar laughed. “If things continue on as they have, soon I shall be the rusted knight in truth.”

Liane offered a tremulous smile, and Adalar realized that the girl was afraid. Everyone in Greatheart Keep was afraid, but the Jutai were used to fear. Liane’s fear seemed to have become open terror, her fingers plucking at her sleeves, a muscle jumping in her jaw. 

Sigaldra rose and walked to her, and Adalar followed. “What is it? What is wrong?”

“I…just wanted to talk to you,” said Liane. “There has not been much time for it in the last few days.”

“No,” said Sigaldra. “There has not. Is everything well at the church?” 

“Not really,” said Liane. “But it is as well as can be. The wounded men have all been made comfortable.” She hesitated. “Sometimes…sometimes visions come to me when I tend them, and I know which men will recover of their wounds and which men will die.” She shivered. “I wish I did not see such things.”

“You should not speak of them,” said Sigaldra, “to the men themselves. Or to their families.”

“I don’t,” said Liane. “The knowledge…it would not comfort them. It does not comfort me. It is like being holdmistress, I think.”

“What do you mean?” said Sigaldra. 

“You know many terrible things that you cannot tell the others,” said Liane. 

Sigaldra’s blue eyes flicked towards the wall. The Skuldari had been repairing their damaged ladders and building new ones, and would soon have twelve ladders ready. If they all came at the wall simultaneously, the defense would quite likely be overwhelmed. 

“Yes,” said Sigaldra.

“I should go,” said Adalar, stepping towards the mouth of the alley. Likely Sigaldra and Liane wanted to have a moment alone. They might never have the chance again. 

“Wait,” said Liane. “Please wait, Lord Adalar. I should tell you this, too.”

“Tell us what?” said Sigaldra. “Liane, what is wrong?” She hesitated. “Other than the obvious.”

“I think,” said Liane. She took a deep breath. “I think I should surrender to the Prophetess.” 

“No,” said Sigaldra. “No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.” 

“You are the holdmistress,” said Liane. She rubbed at her eyes, and Adalar saw tears there. “You have to guard the Jutai people, not just me. This is all happening because of me. All those dead and wounded men. I do not…I do not want any other men to die on my account. You cannot sacrifice the Jutai nation to save your sister.”

“You are my sister, but that has nothing to do with it,” said Sigaldra. “You are Jutai. I would not surrender a single one of our people to Earnachar and his damned Prophetess. Not for any reason. The Malrags and the Tervingi and the runedead have already taken too many of us.” 

“But…” said Liane.

“No,” said Sigaldra. “No argument. We will not give you to the Prophetess. Not you, not anyone.”

“But if it could save the others…” said Liane.

“It wouldn’t,” said Sigaldra. “If you sacrificed yourself, it would be for nothing. The Skuldari would not stop. Earnachar certainly would not stop. They would take you for whatever evil purpose the Prophetess has in mind, and they would keep attacking Greatheart Keep.” 

Liane shook her head, her frustration plain. 

“Forgive me, Lady Liane,” said Adalar. “It may not be my place to speak here, but I fear that your sister is correct. The Prophetess strikes me as a woman without mercy, a woman so dedicated to her cause that she will commit any crime and speak any lie to reach it. Lucan Mandragon and Caraster of Mastaria were of a similar mold. If you surrender, it will be for naught. The best thing we can do is to hold out for as long as we can, in hopes that aid will reach us before it is too late.” 

“But I had a dream,” said Liane. “A vision of the Sight that came to me while I slept.” 

A flicker of dread went over Sigaldra’s face. “What did it show you?”

“I stood in a dead forest with two paths before me,” said Liane. “On the left-hand path, I went with the Prophetess and left Greatheart Keep behind. On the right-hand path I stayed in Greatheart Keep, and our homes burned and the Jutai were slain, the urns of our ancestors smashed and their ashes thrown into the wind.” 

Silence answered her.

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” said Sigaldra. “Perhaps it was not a dream of the Sight.”

“No,” said Liane, her voice grave. “It was not, sister. I wish it was…but it was not. I know the difference between the two.” 

Sigaldra shook her head, her lips pressed into a bloodless line.

“In your vision,” said Adalar, “in the left-hand path, the path where you went with the Prophetess…did you see what happened to Greatheart Keep?”

“The vision did not show it,” said Liane. 

“Then it seems to me,” said Adalar, “that you had best not go with the Prophetess.”

“But if I stay, Greatheart Keep shall be destroyed,” said Liane. 

“If you leave, Greatheart Keep could be destroyed anyway,” said Adalar. “Nor did the vision show every possible future. Aid could yet come. Disease could break out among the besiegers, thanks to all the corpses.” Adalar shrugged. “I know little of visions and prophecies, but I do not think that you should presume that you know the future beyond all doubt.” 

They stood in silence for a while. 

“Perhaps…you are right,” said Liane.

Sigaldra nodded. “He is. Go back to the church, Liane. I think Kuldura and Ulfarna will have tasks that need to be done.”

“Yes.” Liane hesitated. “Be careful, sister. You are afraid of losing me…but I am just as afraid of losing you.”

“I will,” said Sigaldra, and Liane turned and left.

Sigaldra closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

“She would have done it, wouldn’t she?” said Adalar after a while. “Surrendered herself to the Prophetess.” 

“Aye,” said Sigaldra. “When she makes up her mind, she is as stubborn as a mule.” She looked at him. “Thank you. I think…I do not think I could have persuaded her otherwise.” 

Adalar nodded. “We should not give up hope.”

She snorted. “You have already given up hope, as have I. You are just…acting the lord in front of me, persuading me not to despair.” 

“You are the holdmistress of the Jutai,” said Adalar, “and I am the Lord of Castle Dominus. Despair is not a luxury we are allowed to permit ourselves.”

“Yes,” said Sigaldra. “You are entirely right.” She took a deep breath. “Let us return to the walls and see if our doom shall come today or tomorrow.”

###

“It’s going to be soon,” said Talchar One-Eye, pointing. 

Sigaldra scowled. 

Reinforcements, both Skuldari raiders and Tervingi thains, had bolstered Earnachar’s forces, and two thousand men now waited outside the walls. The Skuldari and the thains had dispersed, ripping down every barn and cottage and silo they could reach. From the raw materials they began to assemble ladders. They had brought six with them, and Talchar thought they might have constructed six or eight more. 

That could mean twelve ladders hitting the walls at once. And if the soliphages spearheaded the assault, or Rigoric threw himself into the fray, the enemy might well seize the ramparts. 

To say nothing of what would happen if the valgasts at last finished their tunnels. 

“I agree,” said Arnulf.

“Perhaps a sortie,” said Wesson. The stocky knight had been a pillar of their defense, his steady equanimity never wavering. “Their footmen are dispersed widely, and we still have most of our horses. If we hit them while they are constructing their ladders, perhaps we can inflict heavy losses upon them.” 

“I fear not,” said Adalar. “See how the Skuldari have positioned their spiders? And where Earnachar placed the horsethains? If we ride out to charge the footmen, the spiders and the horsethains will encircle us in short order, and we shall be overwhelmed.”

Arnulf grunted. “Their men seem better arrayed.”

“Perhaps they’ve learned from experience,” said Vorgaric. 

“Or perhaps,” said Adalar, “Earnachar himself has taken a hand.” 

“What do you mean?” said Sigaldra. 

“The first assaults ended badly for the enemy,” said Adalar, gesturing at the rotting dead strewn below the wall. “I think the Prophetess was controlling the attack directly. After that fell apart, she must have told Earnachar to do what he wished, so long as Greatheart Keep fell.” 

“Aye,” said Sigaldra, “you’re likely right.” The enemy seemed to be controlling themselves much more competently now, and Earnachar, for all his bluster, was an experienced commander. 

“They’ll try and hit us all at once,” said Talchar. “All twelve ladders. Archers can stop three or four of them, but…” He grunted, his crystalline eye reflecting the afternoon sun. “If Earnachar’s smart, he’ll have the soliphages leading the attack, holding the rampart so the Skuldari can ascend.”

“The valgasts might strike as well,” said Adalar. The vibrations in the cellars had not stopped. Sigaldra had ordered the cellars blockaded, but she knew that would do little. The valgasts might well tunnel up into the main square. 

“We may have to fall back to the keep,” said Talchar. 

“We can’t fit everyone into the keep,” said Sigaldra. 

“We can’t,” said Talchar. “But we can fit some into the keep. And we can fight in the streets as we withdraw.”

“Where the valgasts can ambush us,” said Vorgaric. 

Sigaldra nodded. Earnachar’s plan was obvious. Unfortunately, it would also be effective. If the Skuldari and the soliphages overwhelmed the walls, and the fighters and the Jutai fell back to the keep as the valgasts ambushed them in the streets…

It would be a slaughter.

She had always known it would end like this, but it was nonetheless chilling to see how her people would die. 

“Let all the folk know,” said Sigaldra. “At the sound of the horn, abandon the walls and fall back to the keep. Tell the women and children…tell the women and children to proceed to the keep now. As many as can fit inside. If we have to fall back from the walls…when we have to fall back from the walls, we will fight in the streets. Hold out for as long as we can until aid arrives.”

“If aid arrives,” said Talchar. 

“It will,” said Sigaldra, forcing hope into her voice that she did not feel. “And if does not, we shall die as Jutai.”

“I suggest we hold a force in reserve,” said Timothy. “If the valgasts strike, and we are caught between them and the walls, the battle will be over quickly.” 

“Aye,” said Sigaldra. “Arnulf?”

“I will wait in the square with my thains,” said Arnulf. “If the walls seem on the verge of falling, we shall intervene. If the valgasts emerge from the earth, we shall hold them back until you can withdraw from the walls.”