The Skull Throne (74 page)

“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Leesha promised. “I swear by the Creator.”

“Everam will hold you to that,” Amanvah said as she was escorted to the tower.

Leesha was still warding the South Gate when the sun came up. Janson had made good his promise. The gatehouse was bathed in darkness, the doorways and portcullis draped in thick cloth. She wouldn’t have even known dawn had come, if not for the boom and shudder as the Krasian slingers opened fire.

The impact threw Leesha from her feet, but Wonda was there to catch her. There was a clatter of stone as debris rained down to the ground. The enemy had not found any boulders to hurl. That was a blessing, at least.

“Ent safe here, mistress,” Wonda said. “Need to go now.”

“We’re not going anywhere until I finish my work,” Leesha said.

“The child …” Wonda started.

“Will be taken from me if this gate is breached,” Leesha cut her off, “if its half brother doesn’t simply cut it from my womb.”

Wonda bared her teeth at the idea, but she made no further protest as Leesha went back to work painting wards on the great wooden gates and heavy crossbars. Wonda had downed three wind demons flying over the city, and gutted them in the gatehouse, filling buckets with their foul, magic-rich ichor.

Leesha wore delicate gloves of soft leather as she dipped her brush in the thick, reeking fluid and drew more wards, the smooth, curving lines glowing brightly in wardsight. Each linked to its neighbors, forming a net that would distribute strength throughout the wood. Even now the wards brightened with each impact, effectively healing the wood of damage. So long as the gatehouse remained dark, the barrier would only strengthen as the bombardment continued.

Creator, let it be enough,
she prayed.

When she finished the net, Leesha drew her
hora
wand. Manipulating the wards on its surface with her fingers, Leesha released magic into the web in a slow, steady stream. The wards about the gate grew brighter and brighter, while her wand dimmed steadily.

The gloves offered some protection from the feedback as the magic did its work, but not much. She felt the tingle in her fingers, spreading like a thrill through her. The baby, motionless a moment before, began to kick and thrash, but there was nothing for it but to endure as she emptied the wand’s power into the gate. The item could be recharged, if they lived till sunset.

Again there was a boom as the gate was struck, but this time it barely shook.

“That it?” Wonda asked. “We can go?”

Leesha nodded, heading for the stairs.

“Ay.” Wonda cast a thumb over her shoulder. “Way out’s this way.”

“I know.” Leesha continued to climb. “But I want a look from the top before we go back to the palace.”

“Night!” Wonda spat, but she darted up the steps, slipping past Leesha to take the lead.

There were drapes on both sides of the door to the top floor of the gatehouse, a full story above the rest of the wall. The gatehouse was thick stone, with twenty-four windows—eight north and south, four each east and west. The narrow apertures afforded cover to the fifty archers stationed there.

The north windows looked out over a great fountained courtyard, the cobbles cluttered with abandoned merchant stalls and carts. Some had been hastily stripped of their contents, but most had been abandoned as the vendors were evacuated.

Three avenues branched from there, one east, one west, and another straight north toward the center of town. Lorain had stationed two hundred of her Mountain Spears there, with another one hundred fifty positioned east and west. The men stood at attention, ready should the Krasians manage to breach the gate.

At all other sides of the gatehouse, archers knelt by the windows. Those facing south fired in a steady stream, boys running to refill quivers as they emptied. The men looking out over the wall tops shot only periodically, but the fact they were shooting at all was worrisome.

Leesha moved to the east wall, looking out as Wooden Soldiers and volunteers cut grappling lines and pushed back ladders. Here and there a few Krasians made the wall top, cutting a swath through the defenders until the archers picked them off. The Wooden Soldiers fought bravely, but the
dal’Sharum
were bred for this.

Leesha took a breath, steeling herself as she moved to the south wall. Wonda took the lead again, speaking to Lord Mansen, the captain commanding the archers. The man glanced doubtfully at Leesha, but knew better than to protest.

“Peers, you’re relieved,” the sergeant called to one of the archers, the man positioned by the eastern corner window.

Wonda was at the window before Leesha could take a step, looking out to ensure it was safe. She pulled back suddenly, along with all the other men. Another boom shook the gatehouse, and debris flew through the windows, a heavy dust and bits of shattered brick.

Wonda waited a moment, then peeked out again, coughing. “All right, mistress. Quick now, while they reload. And then we go.”

“Honest word,” Leesha agreed. But as she looked out over the Krasian troops, her heart sank. Twenty thousand. It was a number she understood logically, but looking at the reality was something else entirely. There were so
many.
Even if they failed to breach the gate, those scaling might overwhelm the wall guards eventually.

Gared,
she begged silently,
if ever there were a time for you to do something right, this is it. We need a miracle.

The majority of the host held back, a huge cavalry and thousands of footmen, ready to charge should the gate collapse. Mehnding sling teams hauled rubble from the burned hamlets into the baskets of their engines. Most fired blindly into the city, but one had been hauled in close to fire with accuracy on the gate. Mansen’s archers were focusing their arrows on those warriors, but others stood with overlapping shields to protect the men as they worked.

The Krasians returned fire. There was a shriek and a scorpion stinger punched through one of the Angierian archers. The broad-bladed head burst from his back as he was flung across the room, dead.

Everyone stared at the ruined thing knocked all the way into the north wall. Leesha’s instinct was to rush to the man, but her mind knew it was pointless. No one could survive a blow like that.

“If you’re still alive, quick gawking and shoot!” Mansen roared, snapping the men back to their work.

Wonda shifted nervously, but Leesha ignored her, daring another peek from the window, looking at the ammunition the Mehnding were loading. Most of it was large chunks of shoddy masonry like that which had shattered against the gate a moment ago. If that was the worst the sling teams could bring to bear, the gate was safe.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw a cart being hauled in with a piece of solid stone. A statue of Rhinebeck II with a heavy base, the whole thing twenty feet tall. It would be the greatest test yet, but the wards would hold against even this.

I hope,
she thought.

Yet even as the statue was loaded, the
kai’Sharum
raised his hand for the teams to hold. Archers continued to fire on both sides, and men fought and fell from the wall, but the heavy artillery halted.

“What are they waiting for?” Leesha asked.

She learned a moment later, when the windows all darkened at once as Krasian Watchers rappelled down from above, twisting through the narrow apertures.

The men were all in black, carrying no spears or shields. They did not have their distinctive ladders, but Leesha had known Watchers before, and recognized them by their silence, skill, and exotic weapons.

Several archers went down, kick-daggers punching into heads and necks as they tumbled into the room. Wonda barely yanked Leesha out of the way in time.

Brief skirmishes followed as the Watchers cut the remaining archers apart like they were chopping herbs. Even when they fought in close, arms were flinging sharpened steel at the reserves in the center of the room.

One came at Leesha, but Wonda latched onto him, and his flailed punches and kicks did nothing to hinder her pitching him bodily out the window. Famed for their silence, the Watcher screamed as he fell.

Wonda whirled for the next assailant, but no others threatened them. Half the
Sharum
had already disappeared through the door to the stairwell, and the others were moving in that direction, killing any who hindered them.

Leesha thought they came to remove the archers, but hearing the screams of men from below, she saw now that was incidental.

“They’re going to open the gate!” Leesha cried, cursing herself for a fool. All the wards in the world wouldn’t mean a thing if the Krasians simply turned the cranks.

Wonda had her bow in hand, and even in the close, chaotic space, put an arrow through a
Sharum
about to reach the door. She had another nocked an instant later, but another Krasian made the stairs in that time. She shot the third, but then a press of the Wooden Soldiers blocked her sight as they tackled two of the Watchers.

Leesha ran to the north windows. “Krasians in the gatehouse! To arms!”

The Mountain Spears did not budge from their positions, but Wooden Soldiers and volunteers raced for the gatehouse.

They would be too late, Leesha knew. Already she could feel the floor rumbling as the Watchers raised the portcullis. Even if the Angierians retook the gatehouse and closed it again, the damage would be done. Even indirect sunlight could suck the power from her wards, rendering them useless.

“Night,” Leesha said, rushing back to look back at the sling teams. They had the statue loaded, but continued to wait, appearing to stare right at Leesha.

There are more Watchers on the roof,
Leesha realized. They gave some signal, because the sling teams leapt to action. Leesha watched Thamos’ father flying through the air, and could only consider the irony that Araine’s husband should be the instrument that ended her rule.

The entire gatehouse shook with the impact, roaring with the sound of splintered wood and twisted metal. Leesha stumbled, but again Wonda was there to steady her. The last Watchers had disappeared, barricading the door behind them. Archers, not always the heaviest of men, threw themselves against the heavy portal fruitlessly. It had been built to keep invaders out, but it served just as well turned on the defenders.

She could hear the fight in the gatehouse intensify as the Wooden Soldiers desperately tried to close the heavy iron portcullis before the gates gave way.

On the outside, a group of
chi’Sharum
were tasked with the ram. Leesha could not believe her eyes as the men, born and raised in Thesa, took up the great goldwood trunk while others surrounded them, shields held high to form a tortoise shell over the rammers. Despite the complex formation, they picked up speed as they crossed the open ground. Archers on the wall fired helplessly, arrows splintering off the shields. Men with cauldrons of boiling oil had been positioned on the gatehouse roof to defend against this, but the Watchers had taken the roof, leaving them defenseless.

The boom as the ram struck carried the sound of breaking wood, and Leesha knew the gates would not last much longer.

The rammers drew back, readying for another charge. Leesha looked down at the cluster of men below sadly. “Creator forgive you.”

They charged again, but Leesha had reached into her basket and produced a thunderstick by then. She put match to it and threw, blasting the tortoise apart and splintering the ram.

Men screamed, and when the smoke cleared, Leesha saw them, bloody bits of humanity scattered across the ground like an abattoir.

They weren’t all dead. That was perhaps the worst of it. Some wailed in such agony that Leesha felt sick to her stomach.

These are the secrets of fire Bruna protected for so long,
she thought,
the ones she trusted me with on Gatherer’s oath to do no harm.

And I’ve turned them into death.

It made no difference in the grand scheme, as there were new men with a fresh ram making for the gates even while Leesha tried to keep from sloshing up. The gatehouse shook, and there was a cheer from the Krasian army as Jayan waved his flag, signaling the charge of his heavy cavalry, right through the city gates.

Rojer screamed himself hoarse as Watchers scaled the gatehouse, but none could hear him so high up. Next to him, Sikvah stiffened, and he fell silent, hearing the sound of footsteps climbing the tower.

Were they coming to free him, at last? Perhaps it was Amanvah’s demand for negotiating a surrender with her brother.

Sikvah coiled and sprang, scaling the wall with handholds he couldn’t even see. In seconds she was back in the shadows of the rafters.

The cell door slammed open, but though Amanvah was on the other side, she was not there to oversee his release. Her hands and feet were shackled, and from the bruises on the faces of her captors, she had not taken the manacles willingly.

Amanvah was shoved roughly into the room, stumbling over her chains and hitting the stone hard. Rojer rushed to her side.

He expected the guards to leave, but they pressed into the room, two, four, six. All told, a dozen men crammed themselves into his tiny cell, until it seemed he could not reach an arm in any direction without touching one.

All were palace guards, like the ones that had struck after the Bachelor’s Ball, armed with heavy batons. Rojer knew their faces, but not their names.

“Sorry for the press,” their sergeant said. “Minister din’t send enough men last time, but Janson don’t make mistakes twice.”

“Should’ve known Jasin couldn’t pull that off without help,” Rojer said.

“Jasin couldn’t pull his boots off without help,” the sergeant said. “Won’t say any of us miss the little pissant, but you’ve gone and made the minister very cross.”

“You can’t possibly think you can get away with murdering me right in the cathedral,” Rojer said.

The sergeant laughed. “Whole city’s eyes are on the gate, sand sticker, and it ent demons on the other side you can charm with your fiddle. No one gives a rip about you or your Krasian bitch right now. Your guards are all cowering downstairs, ready to barricade themselves in the crypts if the Krasians break the gate.”