Tower Lord

“Brother’s Friend. Always good for banishing a chill if warmed over the fire for a few minutes.”

She recalled how Alornis’s drunken poet had lapped up this concoction like buttermilk and could only shake her head in wonder as she forced down another mouthful. “Is it supposed to make you dizzy?” she asked after a moment.

“Oh yes.”

“That’s all right then.” She sat, feeling the warmth spread as she sipped, her tongue numbed against the liquor’s bitterness. Brother Harin’s hands moved with a curious deftness for such a large man as he worked the catgut through the lips of Arken’s wound with two tweezers. “You are very skilled, brother.”

“Why thank you, my lady.”

“He told me about you lot, y’know.” She paused to drink some more. “Fifth Order. Besht healers in the world, he said.”

“He?”

“Al Sorna. Darkblade. Who elsh?” She raised the cup to her lips, wondering how it had contrived to empty itself so quickly. “Thought I could do it, y’see? Do what he did. Just got everyone killed instead. Not me though. I’ve got the Father’s blessing.”

“I don’t know about the Father’s blessing, my lady,” the big healer said in a soft tone. “But I do know this city continues to stand because of you. Never forget that.”

There was commotion at the door and Veliss burst into the room, sighing in explosive relief at the sight of Reva. She came to her, hands soft on her cheeks, eyes wide with delight.

Reva hiccuped and gave a small burp.

“She’s drunk,” Veliss accused Harin.

“And considerably warmer,” the brother replied.

Veliss’s eyes went to Arken’s unmoving form. “Just the two of them?”

“Sadly, yes. Lord Antesh had the banks searched, without luck.”

“Fifty men,” Reva slurred, wondering why the room was suddenly so much darker. “Never killed so many at once before.”

“Did what you had to, love.” Veliss put an arm around her shoulders and tugged her to her feet. “Let’s go home. Your uncle’s been asking for you.”

“Fifty men,” Reva whispered as all sensation began to fade and her eyelids fell shut like lead weights. “Blessed by the Father . . .”

? ? ?

Her head hurt worse than she thought possible, making her wonder if the Father had placed an invisible axe in her skull as punishment for her sinful doubts. The ceaseless thump of the engines’ stones did nothing to help. She went to view the breach first thing in the morning, flanked by four House Guards to keep the more ardent townsfolk at bay. Many voices were raised as she moved through the streets, calls of thanks and simple wonder, some kneeling as she passed, much as they knelt for the Reader in the square. It was too much.

“Stop that!” she said, halting by an elderly couple who knelt outside a wool shop. They both continued to stare up at her with baffled awe.

“The Father sent you to us, my lady,” the old woman said. “You bring His sight upon us.”

“I bring a sword and a bow, one of which I lost last night.” She bent down, taking the woman’s elbow and lifting her up. “Do not kneel to me. For that matter, don’t kneel to anyone.” She was aware of other people crowding round, the many eyes boring into her face as they stood in rapt attention. “This city will not be held by kneelers. Kneel now and the walls will fall, and the people who brought them down will ensure you’ll be kneeling for the rest of your lives.”

The crowd remained silent around her, reverence on every face . . . save one.

A young woman stood cradling an infant towards the rear of the crowd, her face sullen with despair, cheekbones sunken from lack of food. The baby in her arms pawed at her face with tiny hands. Reva moved through the throng, the people parting with bowed heads.

“May I see?” Reva asked, placing a hand on the baby’s swaddling. The young woman gave a slight nod and pulled the blanket aside revealing a pink and happy face, cheeks plump and dimpled as the child smiled up at Reva. “He’s well-fed,” she said. “You’re not.”

“No sense both of us going hungry,” the young woman replied in an Asraelin accent, which explained the lack of reverence.

“His father?”

“Went to the wall, didn’t come back. They told me he was brave, which is something, I suppose.”

Reva winced at the thunder-crack impact of another stone on the wall. The deepening breach was visible from here, a jagged upturned triangle above the rooftops. When it’s done this won’t be a siege any more, she realised. It’ll be a battle.

“The rations will be doubled tomorrow,” she told the young woman. “My word on it. In the meantime, go to the manor and ask for Lady Veliss. Tell her I sent you to help in the kitchens.”

? ? ?

Lord Antesh was overseeing the construction of a stout defensive wall twenty yards back from the breach. The surrounding houses were gone, their stone used for the new wall. Masons were hard at work with mortar and trowels to build a barrier some ten feet high, curving around the breach site in a semicircle complete with a parapet.

“My lady,” Antesh greeted her with a bow. “Two more days and we’ll be done here. Of course we’ll need more when they start on their second breach, as they’re bound to do.”

“Was half hoping they’d risk it all on this one,” Reva replied, knowing that the previous night had provided ample evidence their opposing commander was done making mistakes.

“I have a surprise for you,” Antesh said, moving to a nearby cart. “One of my men found it this morning when we were searching the bank.” The wych-elm bow had lost its string but otherwise seemed undamaged, the wood still gleaming, no nicks or scars to mar the carvings. “Seems the Father doesn’t want you to be parted from it,” Antesh observed.

Reva suppressed a sigh. It would be all over the city within hours. The Father returns the charmed bow to the Blessed Lady. More evidence of His benevolent sight.

She was appalled to find an echo of the townsfolk’s reverence in the Lord Archer’s gaze as he handed her the bow. Even him, she thought. Is that where the Father’s sight truly resides? In the gaze of those who cling to him for hope and deliverance. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “I’ll be on the wall if you need anything.”

? ? ?

It took another ten days, the unending crunch of the stones on the wall a constant reminder that the sand in their glass was running low. Reva took to sitting cross-legged on the battlements some fifty paces short of the breach, watching the great globes come rushing down. It was a strangely compelling sight to see them descend in a blur, dust and stone exploding upwards as they found their mark. She entertained a faint hope she would be spotted by the Volarian commander and he would waste a few stones trying to crush her, but if he had seen her, it appeared he was in no mood for distractions.

Afternoons were usually spent in the healing house helping Brother Harin or visiting with Arken, still recovering from his arrow wound. Despite the brother’s best efforts the wound had contrived to fester, necessitating some deft work with the scalpel and a liberal application of corr-tree oil. “You stink,” Reva told him the following day, wrinkling her nose at the acrid aroma.

“The smell I can get used to,” he said. “The sting’s the worst of it.”

“From Veliss.” She placed a bag of sugared nuts next to his bed. “Make them last, there won’t be any more.”

“Promise me,” he said, reaching for her hand, eyes dark with serious intent. “You’ll call for me when they come. Don’t let me die in this bed.”

You’ve a lot of years ahead, she wanted to say, but stopped herself. He may be young but he’s no fool. “I promise,” she said.

For all their apparent devotion, and despite the increase in rations, the mood of the people darkened as the breach widened. There were fewer shouts of adulation as she walked the streets, and she often saw people weeping openly, one old man surrendering to despair and collapsing to the cobbles, hands clamped over his ears against the slow drumbeat of the engines’ labour. And the Reader kept preaching.

Veliss’s reports told of the old man’s increasingly deranged sermons. He would often speak for hours with no reference to the Ten Books, the words “heretic” and “judgement” most prominent in his rantings. “A mad old man screaming in a hall,” Reva had said in answer to Veliss’s worried frown.

“True,” she replied. “But the hall isn’t empty. In fact it’s more full than ever.”

A stone crashed into the breach, raising another cloud of dust and shattered masonry. Reva turned her gaze to the ships and found them busier than usual, the engineers rushing to and fro as they hauled ropes and worked levers, the engines swivelling on their mounts with slow deliberation.

She walked to the lip of the breach, staring down at the dust-shrouded wreckage below. Stones that had stood for centuries reduced to rubble in a few weeks. A familiar thrum sounded from the engines as they launched in unison, the stones describing their lazy arcs against a clear sky, smashing into the wall some two hundred paces north of where she stood.