Petrodor: A Trial of Blood and Steel, Book 2 (65 page)

“One hears,” said Kessligh. “I'm sorry.”

“Have there been other serrin survivors come to Dockside?”

“Several. From some of the smaller northern properties. Gerrold's followers brought some down.”

“How many?” Rhillian asked, tightly.

“Perhaps five last I heard. And some of your human staff. There may have been more since then.”

“Last you heard.” Upon the wind came the sound of distant chanting, growing louder. “We met several of Gerrold's supporters upon the slope. They said that you'd ordered all Nasi-Keth to stay here. Many of Gerrold's people remained behind.”

“That's correct.”

Rhillian's eyes narrowed. “We are worth that little to you?” she asked, her voice strained with new emotion.

“Dockside is worth more,” Kessligh said bluntly, folding his arms.

Rhillian swallowed hard, and stared away across the flickering lines of torchlight where Docksiders manned the many barricades between buildings. “I hear that several houses still stand south of Sharptooth,” she said with difficulty.
“I ask permission to borrow some boats and sail to Angel Bay and beyond, and see if we can find some survivors escaped along the shore.”

“No,” said Kessligh. “I can't allow it. We may need those boats to manoeuvre our own forces. If a breakthrough occurs, the women have plans to load all children onto the boats and row them out to the ships, or outside the harbour entirely. If any more serrin have survived, they will have to keep to the alleys and make their way here as you did.”

“The Crack grows increasingly impassable.” Rhillian's voice was trembling. “They may be wounded, or cut off. Please. I beg you.”

“I'm sorry,” said Kessligh. The hardness of his tone shocked even Sasha. She better than anyone knew Kessligh the warrior, but she also knew the compassion that lurked beneath. She yearned to round on Kessligh and beg Rhillian's case…surely they could spare just a few boats? But she could not question Kessligh in front of others, not now.

“He planned this from the beginning,” said Kiel. His pale grey eyes were narrowed with pain. “This is the footsoldier who rose to become head of the armies of Lenayin. A master of political manoeuvres. Three great opponents he faced in his bid to secure power in Petrodor for himself—Alaine, Gerrold and Saalshen. Now, all three are removed from his path.”

“You watch your tongue,” growled one of the men by Kessligh's side.

“I'm not going to stand here and argue paranoid fantasies,” Kessligh said firmly. “I have far more important matters to attend to.”

“When I awoke this morning, there were more than two hundred
talmaad
in Petrodor,” said Rhillian. “And over three hundred human staff in our employ. Right now, I think those numbers combined might equal fifty. If we cannot rescue those who hold out to the south, by tomorrow morning, it shall be but a handful. The serrin of Petrodor are nearly all dead, and you cannot bring yourself to raise a
finger
?”

“If we lose this battle here,” Kessligh said, “then all of Dockside shall share your fate. Would all our deaths help to ease your pain, Rhillian?”

“Your defences are strong!” Rhillian shouted. “You held off their first assault easily, you will—”

“It was a probe!” Kessligh shouted back. “I can't take the risk, Rhillian!”

Rhillian stared at him. “We aren't worth
anything
to you,” she said, as if it were suddenly obvious. “All this talk of saving Saalshen from the great war, but all this time—”

“Don't.” Kessligh lifted a sharp finger, his temper fully roused, and jabbed it at her chest. “Don't you even start. I tried to warn you, Rhillian, I tried to warn you what would happen—”

“Oh, so it's all our fault now?”

“Yes!” Kessligh snapped. “Yes, it's your own damn fault! The balance of power was always the only thing protecting Saalshen, and that was exactly what you started playing with! You don't understand how humans function, Rhillian—Errollyn warned you as much, as did I, as did—”

“You mean you saw this coming? Well we would have liked to know!”

“I don't know, Rhillian, one can never know for certain. That's the point! I never assume I know all possible outcomes, and I always make certain I've covered my back! Your properties were exposed, you relied upon people needing you too much to try something this drastic…and you assumed you knew enough that this would never happen! I've lost count of the number of times I tried to warn you of exactly that…but you stupid, stubborn girl, you never listened!”

Rhillian moved in a flash and drew her blade. About and behind Sasha, more blades came out, and Kiel's followed. The flickering torchlight atop the tower caught Rhillian's eyes—they dazzled and flashed past the gleaming edge of her blade. Sasha stood stunned, perhaps the only person atop the tower who had not drawn. Serrin never did such things, whatever the provocation. She could not believe it.

“Rhillian.” She walked forward, slowly. Rhillian's expression struggled for calm, a thin veneer laid over a seething mass of rage and grief. Her face twitched, her eyes ablaze in the torchlight, she seemed almost incomprehensible. “Rhillian, no.” Sasha stopped just beyond the poised tip of Rhillian's blade. “I'm so sorry for what's happened. But it's not Kessligh's fault. He doesn't mean to hurt you. He's just like that. Trust me, I know. I can't let you hurt him. Please don't make us enemies.”

Rhillian stared straight past her, eyes fixed with murderous intent on Kessligh.

“Rhillian,” Sasha tried again, “Aisha is here. She's hurt, but not badly. Errollyn says she will recover soon enough.” Something in Rhillian's expression seemed to change at that. Still her eyes did not move, but she was listening. Sasha braced herself and took another step inside the arc of Rhillian's blade. And stopped, the lethal edge poised two fingers-width from her neck. “Rhillian, whatever serrin are left will need you. Think of them.”

She reached for Rhillian's face. Trailed gentle fingers down her cheek. They left a clean trail through ash and blood. Finally, Rhillian's eyes found Sasha's, and abruptly filled with tears. As though she'd been avoiding Sasha's gaze for precisely that reason. Her lip trembled and, for the only time since Sasha had known her, Rhillian seemed utterly incapable of speech. Sasha stared back in horror. Dear spirits, Rhillian. What did you see?

Rhillian lowered her blade to one side. Sasha kissed her on the cheek and
embraced her gently. Rhillian's body was stiff and trembling. She rested her cheek in Sasha's hair and murmured, “I'm sorry too, my friend.”

She turned and left, Kiel following, descending the tower stairs as she sheathed her blade. Sasha turned back to Kessligh as men slowly sheathed their blades. Kessligh, she saw, had never drawn his. His jaw was tight and his fist clenched. He was upset, she realised. One did not see that often.

“I didn't have a choice,” he muttered in Lenay. About him, men gave him puzzled looks, wondering what he said. Only Sasha understood. He, too, had never seen a serrin draw a blade for no more reason than fury. It had shaken him. “She was
incapable
of understanding. I can't explain to her what she's not capable of hearing. All of our languages, and we didn't have enough words.”

“Kessligh,” said Sasha, also in Lenay, walking to his side. “It wasn't your fault.”

Kessligh took a sharp breath. “No. It's never my fault. But it's always my responsibility.” He turned back to the view and resumed the previous conversation.

Alythia heard the blast of horns echo across the slope, and it seemed to foretell the end of the world. The horns were followed by a roar, arising further away, then flooding across the entire Petrodor incline, a moving wave of sound. Men ran down Fisherman's Lane toward the barricade as youngsters and women who had been up the front ran back to the rear. Alythia clutched her spear banner tightly, and felt so sick with terror that she thought she might faint. It would have been a relief. But lately, she had rarely been so lucky.

The barricade was obscured behind a wall of waiting men. Their number seemed barely half what it had been during the last attack. Alythia heard the blood-curdling shrieks of their attackers growing closer, and knew for a certainty that, this time, the defences would surely fail.

Archers were firing now from the surrounding roofs, arrow fire flashing into the uphill road, a flicker of lethal motion in the dancing torchlight. Alythia's heart pounded, and she found herself standing on her tiptoes, as if that extra height might help her see over the heads of the men at the barricade. About her, to her astonishment, came harsh yells from the women, urging their men to stand firm. Most cried in Lenay or Cherrovan tongues as many warriors’ wives had followed their husbands to this lane.

Then, atop the barricade, a tall figure stood clear of the crowd, his long, black hair falling wild down his back. He thrust his sword into the firelit sky
and roared. The answering roar from the highland defenders echoed between tight stone walls and, for a moment, she could not hear the attack coming at all. The man then began yelling to the onrushing mob. He seemed to be taunting them, daring them to come. The others joined in. There were few spears or other long weapons raised now in the defence, most had been sent away to reinforce neighbouring barricades. Here the men fought mostly with swords, as highland fighters would.

The attack reached the barricade with an audible crash of bodies on piled debris. A new wave of men appeared atop the pile, scrambling on all fours to ascend. The defenders cut their legs from under them and bodies crashed and tumbled forward or back, or fell where they were and added to the height of the defences. Now Alythia could see archers standing on the roofs above the barricade, silhouettes against the red overcast, firing straight down into the crowds as fast as they could draw and loose. They were shooting any men trying to dismantle the barricade rather than climb it—she'd heard others discussing that tactic after the last attack.

Still the attackers hurled themselves up the barricade. Some seemed to throw themselves off the edge, crashing bodily down on the men below. Seeing that tactic, some highlanders were now climbing the barricade on their own side and striking down attackers before they could even clear the lip. A wounded highlander stumbled clear of the rear ranks, clutching a slashed arm, and two women rushed forward to intercept him. The rear ranks moved forward to fill the gap. Then again, as another wounded man came, only this one looked worse, cut across the side, a comrade half carrying him.

There were flashes of flame and smoke beyond the barricades, and then it seemed there was fire coming from the windows of houses further down Fisherman's Lane. “They fire the houses!” one of the women exclaimed.

“Aye, they'll burn the roofs out from under our archers,” said another. Already the thick, black sheets of smoke obscured the archers’ view of the battle below, but they stood their ground and kept firing.

“Still no crossbows,” said a Lenay voice at Alythia's side. It was a middle-aged woman with a creased face and grey-streaked hair, grimly surveying the battle. Her accent was thick Isfayen. “Your sister was right, they don't mean to break through here. Otherwise they'd have sent crossbows to pick off our archers. This is just to keep us busy.”

From the adjoining north alley, a young Nasi-Keth girl came sprinting, yelling at the top of her lungs, “They break through on Rani Lane! They break through on Rani Lane!” The girl went racing into the rear ranks of the highlanders, pushing forward, seeking a commander.

The Isfayen woman by Alythia's side ran back, shouting to the women
treating the wounded, “Quickly, gather up everything! I want strong girls ready to lift the wounded, we may need to carry them clear!”

“I can walk, damn it woman!” snarled one of their charges, but the women ignored him. From the north alley came the unmistakable sound of battle, audible even above the racket directly in front. Smoke billowed into the sky, above where Alythia thought the Rani Lane barricade would be. She stood paralysed, clutching to her spear banner, her heart hammering. This defence would be outflanked, she realised. If she stayed here, she would die.

Ahead, there came a roar of massed voices, but this one was from the defenders. And now the wild Lenays and Cherrovan were pouring over the barricade, heading
into
the attack. More and more clambered over, and seemed to find plenty of space on the other side. The mobs were retreating, she realised in disbelief. And now, her only defenders were running away. A forceful, astonishing realisation struck her: she felt safer with them around.

Before she knew what she was doing, Alythia took off after them, past the north alley and up to the barricade. Smoke roiled from neighbouring windows, stinging her eyes as she clambered over crates, broken furniture and wagon wheels. A body came loose as she scrambled over the top, and slid down the barricade, loose-limbed and heavy and horrible. Alythia bit back a scream, and climbed down the far side, her wet dress catching on debris. She hauled the fabric clear, tearing it, then something sharp scraped her shin. She snatched her leg away, seeking alternative footing, and her shoe came down on something both firm and springy…she looked and saw she was standing on a man's chest where he had fallen backward off the barricade, head down and legs entangled. The warm wetness about her ankle were his intestines.