Stormed Fortress (85 page)

Sulfin Evend closed his hands, firm. The tears welled up, blinding, as he caught his friend close. Through a shattering precedent, the ferocity of Desh-thiere
'
s curse stayed beaten back, and held in abeyance.

The Light
'
s Lord Commander seized his victory and stood. He bundled his shivering charge beneath the shared warmth of his mantle.
'
Come down, Lysaer. My liege, we can do this! One step at a time. Be assured, I will not ever leave you.
'

* * *

Attack came under the white-out blanket of snow, in deepest night with the wind died back to a whisper. Amid fallen quiet, advance teams of sappers and moles crept in over the drifted landscape. They came covered under the squat frames of the sows, which had their wheels replaced by waxed runners. By water, borne on the silent current, oared galleys rode the breast of the tide, gliding up to the harbour-mouth keeps. Their castle-built prows had been fitted out with blunt towers of hide-covered scaffolding and bridges that nuzzled against the high battlements.

The s
'
Brydion sentries were not caught by surprise. The garrison responded with vicious tenacity. They hurled hails of rocks from the wet ropes of the catapults; shot quarrels from arbalests and rained pots of hot oil down on the enemy crews shielded under soaked hides and stout framing.

Numbers told hardest. For each fallen man, the Alliance fielded ten more, fresh and eager to kill for the Light. Sevrand
'
s companies grappled each oncoming wave. Numbed fingers notched arrows, hurled lances, and spanned cross-bows, with brilliant effect, though the sifting fall of the blizzard blinded the marksmen down to three yards.

From the harbour-side watch turrets, s
'
Brydion defenders hurled flaming rags and fire-pots in fierce effort to disable the floating siege towers. When the soaked planks on the galleys failed to ignite, they fought hand to hand, against yelling hordes who rushed them from the platforms and swarmed over the glass-studded crenels. With sword and pike, sprayed in blood, they met the on-coming invaders with bitter, then desperate resistance, their drilled skill at arms and inspired heroics sustained without reinforcement. Snow muffled their horn-calls. The reserve force that guarded the citadel slept, uninformed throughout the grim hours of darkness.

With no lull in the storm front, a candle-lamp signal relayed by mirror could not pierce the gloom past twenty paces.

Therefore, the ugly news broke with the dawn: that a third of the shore-side watch turrets were fallen, with the last of them crumbling under punishment by sappers, or battling invasion with crippling losses. The small boat with the messenger pulled in through driving snow at the Sea Gate, his sloshing bilge wracked with dying men, and his slumped oarsmen bristled with arrows. Elaira and Glendien were called to attend them, while the hastily bandaged young officer was rushed away to report to Duke Bransian.

This was not defeat by the overwhelming horror of fire-borne Light, but the relentless ferocity of superior numbers, applied with blunt force.

Alestron
'
s emergency council of war dissolved into a rapid deployment, not for relief, but in counter-attack to hold the battle-line long enough to enact an ordered retreat. The staring fact could not be redressed: that Alithiel
'
s clarion cry to serve peace had stripped the defences under full strength. Where fewer troops could man the great engines, and still mount a barrage of hurled fire-shot, chained balls, and barbed quarrels, the storm robbed that advantage. The smothering snowfall showed no sign of slacking, after the lull. Stiffening gusts snapped the ice off the crenels as the gale-wind reversed, and rose, snarling.

Inevitably, Vhandon became the duke
'
s spokesman to approach the Teir
'
s
'
Ffalenn.

The chamber equipped as Elaira
'
s still-room was deserted. Since the enchantress was yet engaged in spelled surgery to salvage the traumatically wounded, the first hurdle the veteran captain encountered was the Shandian liegeman, in full arms and clan leathers at Arithon
'
s chamber door. Kyrialt bristled, prepared to deny entrance, though the raised voices within proved Rathain
'
s prince was not sleeping.

'
You
'
re not here for condolences,
'
the young man surmised, through the
bang,
as something solid hammered onto the floor-boards.
'
I suggest you come later.
'

'
Or not at all.
'
In no mood to prevaricate, Vhandon yanked off his helm. Cramped in the dim stairwell, he clawed clotted ice from his nape and cut to the brutal chase.
'
I
'
m not here for the eulogy, but to appeal on state auspices. Feylind
'
s free-booting venture is costing the citadel a butcher
'
s toll in men
'
s lives.
'

'
That
'
s Melhalla
'
s affair,
'
Kyrialt stated, cool.
'
Show respect. We are mourning the grace of Shand
'
s fallen.
'

'
Don
'
t cry histrionics!
'
snapped Vhandon, through more muffled thumps, and renewed argument in the shut chamber. Eyes like chipped slate yielded no quarter for anyone
'
s berieved emotion.
'
I knew Feylind well enough! A volatile spirit, and her own mistress, she died of her adult will. No cosseting order of Arithon
'
s could sway her brash mind-set. He sees this, past doubt. Never coddle him!
'

Through a locked pause, the fighting heart of each man sized the other one up: the older campaigner with blunt-set jaw prepared to lash callow youth into line, and the younger tempted to use cheek against the bark of a senior captain who relied upon strong-arm authority to cow his subordinate troops.

Then Dakar
'
s hounding anguish pierced the wood door.
'
Arithon! No! The concept
'
s unthinkable!
'

Vhandon sighed.
'
Don
'
t worry. I wish I was anywhere else! But the mission is mine. Since I backed the
Evenstar
'
s
past affray at sea, I saw his Grace cherish Feylind as he would his own daughter. He
'
ll be gone beyond heart-sore and desolate.
'

Naked honesty always won Kyrialt
'
s respect.
'
Go gently, then,
'
he said in grave warning, then stood down and let Vhandon past.

The field-captain rattled the latch to announce company, and swung open the studded door. Under the storm-lit glare from the casements, no head turned to meet him as he stepped through.

Dakar stood by an upset frame chair, railing in petrified conscience.
'
No way will I back this! Not even for my Fellowship master
'
s sworn charge.
'

Arithon opposed him from the bench seat at the trestle.
Too apparently calm,
he said nothing at all, while the unsettled third party spun at last and faced the breached doorway, his silver-blond hair disarrayed.

'
Vhan!
'
Talvish blurted.
'
Thank Ath, someone had the good sense to send you!
'

That
tone, cranked shrill by relief, impelled Vhandon to tackle the impasse headlong.
'
Elaira should be here,
'
he opened, point-blank. As the prince
'
s angered glance flicked to rake him, Vhandon steadied with uncritical tenderness,
'
She could guide us through her understanding.
'

'
The duke
'
s orders brought you?
'
Arithon responded. Against the flat glare, detail emerged slowly: despite punishing grief, he had upkept his grooming. His changed clothes were neat, picked for comfort and warmth, of unadorned linen and wool. The scrubbed fingers laid on the trestle did not bear Rathain
'
s ring, a raw enough statement.

'
I can
'
t argue that Feylind had the free right to risk death as she pleased,
'
Arithon added, bald-faced.
'
But I was not ready to let her go.
'
He acknowledged the fact: his impulsive defence had sought to guard his vulnerable love first, before any need to secure threatened stores for the sake of the beleaguered citadel.

'
For that one moment, she was larger than all of us
'
Vhandon agreed with lancing force.
'
And do you sulk now, resenting the fact? Feylind crossed over the Wheel, content, and well satisfied by her accomplishment.
'

The sudden breath forced through Dakar
'
s teeth crackled across the pained silence. Talvish winced, also. Which signals foreran the blatant disaster, that Vhandon
'
s astute guess had missed the sore mark.

Arithon
'
s quiet attained the glass edge that defended his most-guarded privacy. While Talvish swore softly, and Dakar cringed, afraid of on-coming explosion, Rathain
'
s prince spoke again, all impervious lightness,
'
Duke Bransian wants you to petition for my use of Shadow to repulse the attack on the harbour. I refuse. Go back and report.
'

Vhandon tested that walled resistance with the obvious, since he had no better angle.
'
Alestron suffers today because of your unveiled presence.
'

'
Which is precisely why I cannot help!
'
Such taut stillness hurt, as the snow-filtered daylight intensified the pallor of Arithon
'
s public face.
'
This assault is the work of battle-trained troops, using conventional weapons.
'

Talvish leaped to illuminate Vhandon
'
s incomprehension.
'
For Lysaer
'
s frail hold on sanity, can
'
t you see?
'

Which statement slashed through the veil of decorum. Arithon bent his head, fingers shoved through dark hair.
'
Dakar,
'
he pleaded.

Leave permitted the explanation, that cut too close to the visceral bone. The Mad Prophet righted his kicked chair, and sat. Where tact could not serve, the spellbinder tried for gentleness.
'
When Arithon loosed his gift of Shadow, the
s'Ilessid
half-brother fell under the curse of Desh-thiere.
'

'
We all bore witness.
'
Vhandon caught Talvish
'
s signalled encouragement, and moved closer. War steel scraped across tension as he dared the bench and assumed the seat opposite. Then he said, but not as the duke
'
s henchman,
'
What
'
s changed?
'

'
Everything,
'
said Dakar, undone.
'
Arithon knows through the strength he required to hold the brig
'
s active defence:
Lysaer did not spend himself to self-immolation.
He did not attack until he collapsed. This time, somehow, he recovered himself. Reason prevailed! Something allowed him to bridle the geas-bent drive to annihilate.
'

Talvish picked up, from the leaned stance just taken as rear-guard against the door-jamb.
'
Arithon believes that the transcendent chord he channelled by waking Alithiel may have seeded the grace for Lysaer to seek healing. If his kinsman now fights to recover free will, then
anything
that his Grace does in behalf of the citadel might tip that frail effort into deadly jeopardy.
'

'
Strike now with Shadow to spare the duke
'
s men, and I would destroy the very dawning of hope, as my brother strives to hold his own ground against Desh-thiere
'
s active incursion.
'
Arithon lifted his face, beyond distressed.
'
I can
'
t violate trust, in that fashion.
'
The Paravian sword
'
s power, just granted for change, demanded his utmost restraint. He must honour each individual
'
s choice, no matter the course of the outcome.
'
Every soldier who remains here under arms stayed because he believed in his place.
'
Through sudden, springing tears of bereavement, Arithon opened his empty palms.
'
Just as Feylind placed herself at risk for conviction, I have to keep my heart open and permit the folk on both sides of the siege the same open range of free choice!
'