Kai waved a hand to quiet him, for Euryon’s last words came out near a bellow. “Nay, Elcon did not cast her off but sent her away for safety’s sake. Torindan is at war.”
Comprehension crossed Euryon’s face. “Freaer!”
“Freaer’s armies lay siege to Torindan. He sways half of Faeraven. Elcon thought to spare Aewen, but she went into labor and gave birth along the wayside. We brought her with all care to an inn in Norwood, but she died there.”
Euryon shook his head. “I cannot bear the thought of my daughter birthing on the wayside and dying in a common inn.” His face crumpled. “I refused Elcon my help against Freaer when he asked it. Had I given it, Aewen might yet live.” Grief bent him double, and the captain offered his arm to escort him from the gatehouse.
The two guards who had flanked Euryon bore Aewen’s coffin past Kai, on its way to the chapel. He stood alone.
A voice called from above. “Hold there.” A guard’s face looked through one of the murder holes in the ceiling overhead. The face withdrew and the trapdoor closed. It seemed an interminable wait amid the steady patter of rain.
At last the captain of the guard reappeared. “You there, follow me. Leave your beast. The groom is already on his way to tend it.”
Kai followed the captain into Cobbleford Castle and down the long corridor he remembered to Euryon’s outer chambers. Euryon stood with Inydde in the midst of the room’s red and gilt splendor, shivering like a pauper in a blast of winter wind. Kai made another bow.
Inydde’s face gave little emotion away. She might have met him on any social occasion, save for the whiteness of her skin. “You were with Aewen when she died?” She held herself straight and tall as she addressed him.
“Yes.”
Tears glinted in Inydde’s deep blue eyes. “Did she suffer?”
He hesitated. “All women suffer in childbirth, but Aewen found rest and comfort at the end.”
“That is well.”
Kai looked to Euryon, who listened with tears coursing down his cheeks. He waited, but neither Euryon nor Inydde asked about Aewen’s babe. Perhaps they assumed the child had died.
Inydde stepped toward Kai. “We will bury her in the morning. You are welcome to attend. After that, you will want to be on your way.”
“Yes, that is best. You should know that Aewen’s daughter remains in Norwood, under the care of a nurse, until she can join her father in Torindan.”
Euryon’s eyes widened. “Let us hope he, and Torindan, remain standing.”
Inydde raised perfect eyebrows. “If not, you will have to make other arrangements for the child. I’ll not harbor a half breed.”
****
In the aftermath of rain, morning dawned with the promise of new life. Trees budded. Early flowers broke through the warming soil. Flitlings hopped from branch to branch. Birdsong filled the garden.
Kai entered the chapel through the open doorway. Aewen’s body waited before the altar, her coffin nailed shut a final time. None had gathered yet. With its vaulted ceiling, gilt trim and golden implements upon the altar, the small chapel gave an impression of opulence. As Kai walked to the bier, his footsteps echoed hollowly. A red velvet covering bedecked with gilded early flowers draped Aewen’s coffin. He fingered the rough wood that showed at the edges and smiled to himself. Aewen, daughter of the kings of Wester, would go to the tomb in her humble casket. From what he knew of her, she would have preferred that. At the sound of weeping, he turned. Caerla, unkempt and with an air of bewilderment, wrung her hands in the doorway. Her gaze never wavering from the coffin, she paced the length of the chamber and halted before Kai. Tears ran down her cheeks to drip from her face, but she paid them no heed. “Aewen cannot be dead. She would not leave us, thus, without a goodbye.”
Without a response to give her, Kai said nothing.
She sank to her knees, so fragile she appeared little more than a wraith. Resting her arms on the edge of the dais, she lowered her head onto them. Kai barely caught her whispered words. “She would not go without letting me tell her how sorry I am for the words I last spoke to her.” Heart wrenching sobs overcame her.
Kai could find nothing of comfort to give her.
Voices carried from the path. Euryon and Inydde leaned toward one another in the open doorway. Euryon’s face ran with tears, but Inydde’s remained impassive. She seemed to clutch her grief as a treasure. Kai stood to one side, watching and waiting as other mourners came. He had already said his own goodbye to Aewen, in the small, stuffy room at the inn. And yet he remained through the brief invocation for Elcon’s sake.
Outside in the sunshine Euryon touched Kai’s arm and placed in his hand a leather band with a single sapphire at its center. “Give this to Aewen’s daughter when she’s older. It was her mother’s.”
The sapphire band blurred, and Kai heaved a breath. “I will.”
Euryon turned to lean again on Inydde. The two moved off along the path to the castle. Kai did not follow. He wanted nothing of the funeral feast that waited in the great hall. A sudden longing seized him for the untainted air of the open road.
****
As Elcon reached the battlements above the gatehouse, the stair gave a faint but perceptible vibration.
Craelin looked up from his examination of the water pot nearest the eastern tower. As Elcon watched, the shining surface quivered and stilled.
He lifted a brow. “Miners?”
Craelin gave a brief nod. “We’re sure they mean to collapse the gatehouse towers. We’ve already started a counter shaft.”
Elcon put a hand on the back of his neck and kneaded the knotted muscles there. The days had settled into a monotonous exchange of missiles from the catapults, the constant threat of arrows from ensconced archers, and the attacking armies’ steady infilling of a portion of the moat with stones and rubble. Sheltering beneath a makeshift roof, the foot soldiers made progress despite the arrows, debris, and pots of slaked lime and boiling oil rained down upon them. Elcon pictured the siege tower that waited beyond the reach of Torindan’s catapults and heard again the cries of the wounded. “When will our miners break into their tunnel?”
Craelin squinted against the sun’s glare. “It’s a guess but three days, maybe four. We’ll meet them with dragonsfire.”
Elcon sucked in a breath. Dragonsfire, a mixture which ignited upon contact with water, burned with such fury it eradicated all life in its path. The guardians had perfected a pump system that spewed water and the volatile mixture from hand held tubes. The resultant blaze flared forth with such intensity it resembled its namesake. “Let us hope we alone possess it.”
Catapults twanged anew and a barrage of rounded stones flew over the walls. One of the merlons in the parapet gave an awful crack and exploded into shards. As debris caught the edge of his eye, Elcon put up a hand.
Craelin placed himself between Elcon and the parapet. “Here, let me see.” He stepped back. “Just a cut, but Praectal Daelic should treat it.”
Elcon stepped back. “Daelic has enough to concern him these days without worrying about a simple cut.”
A pained expression flitted across Craelin’s face. “True enough.” He hesitated. “Lof Shraen, perhaps you should not venture here. Why not let the priests hide you?”
Elcon resisted the temptation Craelin’s words stirred. “Don’t ask me to shirk battle.”
“But if you fall the Kindren will lose heart.”
Elcon’s sweeping inspection encompassed those positioned to defend walls, barbican and gatehouse. He spoke the truth but not without a pang. “They have no heart
now
.” In a sense they had already seen him fall. “If I fight with them, they may rally.”
“They stand ready to die for the privilege of preserving your life. Will you cheat them?”
He sighed. “I will fight.” He touched the corner of his eye, now sticky with blood, and grimaced. “Inform me of any developments. I’ll be in my chambers.”
“Of course.” Archers approached from farther along the battlements, and Craelin walked toward them. “We’re well. The masonry took the worst of it.” Craelin’s words followed Elcon onto the stair. “I’ll set a guard outside your chambers. You might let Weilton escort you whenever you leave them.”
Elcon grimaced and put a hand to Sword Rivenn’s hilt in a brief caress but made his way to his chambers—for now. He salved his cut eye and then stretched out, falling at once into the oblivion of sleep.
An almighty roar woke him. He sat up in darkness, but light flared around the edges of the window hangings and sent the shadows on his chamber walls into a macabre dance. He stumbled to the window and fumbled at its coverings.
His dressing room door creaked open. “Let me, Lof Shraen.” Weilton, who slept within, stepped forward to complete the task.
Bright fireballs with streaming tails lit the sky as they shot over the walls. The cookhouse’s thatched roof already blazed. Screams arose but soon died to nothing.
Torindan waited in quivering silence.
Flames from the cookhouse fire showed the stronghold’s catapults rocking in retaliation. Stone missiles launched in the face of the enemy’s dragonsfire. Ineffective as the effort seemed, an uproar outside the walls indicated some small success.
Shrieks filled the air. Winged death blackened the fire-lightened sky. Elcon drew a shaky breath.
Welke riders.
More screams. Voices raised in uproar. Weilton shoved him out of the window opening just as an arrow whizzed past his cheek.
Weilton slammed the shutters shut. His voice carried over the rasp of the metal latch. “Forgive me, Lof Shraen. I meant no disrespect.”
Elcon scrambled in new darkness to find Sword Rivenn. Near his bedside, his hand encountered its scabbard. He hoisted its weight. “Pray don’t concern yourself with such niceties, Weilton.”
A tap sounded at the outer door. Anders met them in the outer chamber, a lighted lanthorn in hand.
Weilton approached the door. “Who goes there?”
“It’s Eathnor. Craelin sends word to Elcon.”
At Elcon’s nod, Weilton cracked the door but stepped back as Eathnor burst into the room. “You’re well, then?”
Elcon lowered his sword and inclined his head in acknowledgment of Eathnor’s belated bow. “Well enough. And Craelin?”
“He’s uninjured, but we lost several archers on the wall and three who manned a bastion.”
“Can we not return dragonsfire of our own?”
“We have not had time to replenish our supplies, and what we do have is marked for use in the tunnels. But I’ll ask your question of Craelin.”
Elcon could ask Craelin his own questions. “Give your report.” His words snapped out, sharper than intended.
“They’ve filled in the moat and will soon wheel the siege tower next to the wall. Craelin expects its advance by morning. Our footsoldiers and archers stand ready to meet it. Their masonry sappers work under an iron roof to weaken the wall below the ruined bastion. Its thickness should deter them for a time, at least, but we may need to make a foray to stop them. Progress on the counter tunnel halted when our miners encountered bedstone, but they’ve rerouted.”
“And what of the welke riders?”
“I don’t know what Craelin intends to do about them. They showed themselves just as I ducked into the keep.”
Elcon turned away to hide tears. Craelin would send wingabeast
riders in response, as he’d done during the previous siege. How many would they lose before the rays of morning banished the welkes to their roosts?
“Craelin suggests you seek the priests’ protection at once.”
“I’ll not hide while my people die.” Elcon jerked open the door and ran from the chamber. He took the stairs to the battlements above the guardhouse two at a time.
Craelin descended to block his way. “So. You’ll not preserve your life.”
Elcon’s gaze did not waver from Craelin’s. “Not at such a cost. What would I save myself for, anyway? If Torindan falls, I’d subsist by wandering—an exiled shraen
without a raven—until they hunt me down. If I stand with my people, there’s a chance we can hold the fortress until reinforcements arrive. If not, I’d rather die in battle.”
“As would I,” Weilton spoke from behind Elcon.
Elcon turned with a smile. “You followed me.”
Weilton smiled back. “I’m assigned to protect you.”
The steady thumping of the battering ram gave way to a splintering crash.
“They’ve entered the barbican!” An archer called from his position at the parapet. Craelin took the stairs upward, and Elcon followed to look out from an embrasure.
“We’ll give a hearty welcome to all who enter the gates of death.” Elcon read the truth in the pained expression that belied Craelin’s brave words. They might hold the barbican, with its three gates, for a time. But already the siege tower swayed against the sky as it rolled toward the filled-in moat, pulled by teams of muscular bovines.
Eathnor joined them from farther down the battlements “Foot soldiers now ascend the barbican with grappling hooks and ladders.”
“Besides toppling the ladders, we can still greet them with pots of slaked lime, stones, and boiling water.” Craelin raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Provided our stores last.”
Eathnor gave a swift nod. “They will hold, for now.”
“We must halt the wheeled siege tower.” Elcon’s brow furrowed as the tower rocked closer to Torindan’s outer wall. Once in place, archers behind the siege tower’s merlons could shoot their arrows downward, and a ramp would lower to provide the enemy access to Torindan’s cleared walls. Craelin moved closer to Elcon. “It advances with such speed terror strikes those on the wall.”
Elcon clutched the rough stone at the edges of the embrasure. “Shoot the beasts that draw it. That will at least slow its progress. Craelin’s eyes widened and then respect settled across his face. He turned to Eathnor. “Go at once and give the Lof Shraen’s instructions to the archers on the outer wall.”
Eathnor ducked his head and set off to obey.
Elcon scanned the horizon. “No sign of reinforcements?”
“None.”
“Let us hope we can hold out.” Fear winged into Elcon’s mind and found its roost, talons curving to claw his soul. The smell of death breathed over him. Pain twisted in his mind. Sorrow struck his stomach. He doubled over with a cry.