Fires of Aggar (28 page)

A shuttered window sat directly overhead. She made out the railing as it angled along the wall inside. As she watched, a figure wearily climbed the flight of stairs. She noticed another lit window above the first. The scout continued stomping upwards to the upper landing, and then the drifting timbre of disgruntled voices reached Gwyn. The window shadows exchanged something with a flash of silver and one began to descend again.

Assuming the silverish glint had come from a fire weapon, then someone upstairs was being watched very closely.

She glanced inside at the front room again. The guard from above arrived to fling a steel ring of keys onto the table. He proceeded to spout some belligerent complaint that touched off a heated discussion.

Gwyn slipped away quickly to hide herself between the barrel and logs once more, expecting the sentries to reappear shortly. They soon did, still in their leisurely stroll. She waited as they reached the street and reversed directions to begin their rounds again.

Though the voices in the front room had grown louder, Gwyn was quick to note the sentries remained unconcerned. They passed her and the building without pause.

Gwyn glanced above again. The top floor obviously housed someone of importance. She noticed the windows there were boarded shut tightly. None had the slanted shutters designed to let breezes in. Those rooms would get unbearably stuffy in any summer weather — which suggested it held prisoners rather than honored captains.

This was all nice as a piece of speculation, Gwyn wryly reminded herself. Still — if worse came to worst, she could probably persuade the Clan to exchange one of their leaders for Khirla’s.

Now, she just needed to get up there.

After a cursory inspection of the water tube above the barrel, Gwyn dismissed it. The wood was near rotting and wouldn’t have supported Sparrow’s weight let alone her own. However, a closer examination of the plaster and stone itself gave her a better idea. The white-washed mud comprised only the thinnest of crusts; much of it was already cracked, breaking away from the rocks and mortar beneath it. And the stuff underneath could provide Gwyn with all the nooks and crannies she desired!

There wasn’t a daughter raised in Valley Bay who hadn’t scaled a few of the neighboring Firecaps’ cliffs at one time or another. Add her Niachero’s strength to that and she was more than a match for this old wall.

She eagerly untied the thigh lace of her sword sheath and adjusted the scabbard’s belt so the thing wouldn’t thunk about too awkwardly, then chose the corner of the building that lay behind the staircase for her assault. It was better than risk climbing past a room of light sleepers, and hopefully the sentry up top would mistake any outside scuffle for inside traffic near the lower landings.

A group of the Clan’s folk began stumping their way up inside. Gwyn almost chuckled. This was going to work!

She started her climb and her humor turned a bit self-derisive. It had never been quite as easy as it looked on the Firecaps’ cliffs either.

Her gloved fingers prodded and held. Her weight balanced on the edges of her boot soles, and she enviously remembered the supple, fish skin boots that rasped and gripped against most anything. But the rhythm of test-adjust-pull began to come back to her.

Gwyn felt the feral pleasure of a sandwolf’s pride resonate strong along her pack bond; it urged her on, embracing the challenge. Fingers sought cracks in the hard plaster coating, digging into the mortar behind as she carved one finger’s hold after another, to claw her way up the building’s side. At the top, beams from the wooden frame jutted out sharply. She grabbed one, neatly pulled herself up, and then used it to step over the stone lip onto the roof.

An explosion suddenly shook the building beneath her, and Gwyn went reeling to her back. She rolled and wedged close into the low wall which ringed the deck. It barely registered that she was alone here — the attack was not against her! — when another blast blew a hole skyward through the far side of the roof.

She ducked her head as the debris fell. A fleeting image of white and red flame danced through her mind as she desperately sought to reach Ril through their pack bond—”Stay!” Then she sent reassurance and compelling stillness along that wordless line, urging the sandwolf not to loose bedlam among the stabled livestock — not to tip the lanterns in fiery diversion. Not yet!

The stench of smoke and tar surrounded her as she struggled to stifle a choking cough. Shouts and frenzied shrieks had replaced the music of the distant tavern. Gwyn scurried around the fragmented hole to see the main street, peering down to hear doors slam and see figures racing from the porch in commotion. Orders and bodies jumbled frantically, fighting for space at the pumps and troughs — stringing the bucket brigade from stable to fire.

A sudden flickering of blue in the gray around her — like the sword fire from a lifestone — caught her eye’s edge and spun Gwyn around. There was a groan from the timbers and then a sharp ‘crack’ as more of the roofing caved in to open a gaping abyss. Smoke billowed and sparks leapt free.

Damned fire weapons! Unpredictable! Unreliable! Fates’ Own Jest incarnate! Gwyn cursed, scrambling forward and tearing her kerchief from a pocket. Her eyes streamed with tears as she squinted and tied the cloth into a mask across her face, trying to make sense of the chaos below.

Shining fragments of one fire weapon lay clenched in the charred grasp of what may have been a corpse. A motionless male lay further to the side, his clothing smoldering and his body bent impossibly; if he wasn’t already dead, he would be soon. Fire ringed the edges of the room. The door pounding from below her ended abruptly with an oath. A vague sense of recognition swept through Gwyn — a whispered hint of that familiar brushing touch, a Blue Sight’s touch of amarin — then smoke swept it away.

“You…!”

Gwyn started. Below her amidst the smoking fumes and wreckage, a woman suddenly appeared.

“Can you get me out of here?” The imperious tone of command reflected no recognition of Gwyn. “Will you…?”

Gwyn answered with a curt nod, accepting that this was not the place for long introductions as she tore at the buckle of her sword’s belt. “You’re Llinolae, yes?”

An equally brief nod acknowledged it. Then a hacking cough caught the woman like a swift kick to her stomach and she bent in two, clutching at her ribs in pain.

“Royal Marshal,” Gwyn offered along with the dangling end of her scabbard on its belt. The woman nodded disjointedly, reaching high despite her coughing to grab the sheathed sword. Then Gwyn had her up and through the ragged bits of roofing quickly.

Nearly choking, Llinolae let Gwyn move them to the southern corner before she sank down against the wall. Gwyn’s copper gaze narrowed in concern at the dark-skinned, bruised-eyed evidence of exhaustion. There was more that bespoke of poor handling. Even without the dreaming vision, Gwyn would have guessed at the rough dealings the Clan folk had given this woman. The torn, sleeveless top was clearly an undergarment, the short-legged pants were close fitting in the style of the Clan women and looked distinctly odd without the high boots to sheathe the bared calves. Her hair had been haphazardly shorn, then left an unruly shortness of odd lengths which sweat and charred grime had further entangled. And beneath her skin’s rich color, bruises from fists and fingers had begun to rise in a painful yellow-green hue.

“Can you travel?” Gwyn demanded anxiously as the woman gasped a steadier breath, the coughing fit finally done. They had no choice, she must be able to!

“Lead, Marshal — I’ll crawl through Fates’ Cellars if I have to. Just get me out of here.”

Again that ruthless self-determination, Gwyn thought. She sent a grim glance over the wall’s edge; below, the Clan folk had abandoned their bucket brigades and were racing to get armloads of fire weapons out of the burning building. She had the sense that this rooftop was much closer to Eternity than she’d like it to be. Determination flamed within her own stubborn self then. “Come on, Dracoon — over the side.”

Gwyn lowered Llinolae most of the way to the porch roof, again with the help of scabbard and belt. Then dropped the belt to her companion’s hands. Recklessly she scrambled over the edge herself — sliding, slipping dangerously faster than common sense and crumbling plaster warranted — until she hit that porch roof with a thud on her back.

She lay frozen, half-curled with her feet still in the air, listening.

The frenzy below them gave no sign of notice though. At Llinolae’s nod, Gwyn got them moving again — this time towards the western end and the barren stretch near the forests. Behind and beneath somewhere a lantern shattered. Gwyn grabbed Llinolae by the elbow and jumped into the darkness as a rushing roar of flame seized the southeastern porch.

Llinolae stumbled in gaining her feet. Gwyn’s arm hooked around her shoulders without loosing a stride. Sheath in hand and Llinolae half under arm, she pushed their hobbling into a run for the forest. And silently through their pack bond, she sent out the urgency of “Come!” The image flashed through her mind of a lunge and leap past feed bins, and she knew Ril had heard — a shrill stallion’s whistle split through the human voices. The small herd broke free as the stables began to flame and beyond the chaos the shadows of the Great Forest beckoned the women to safety.

The night boomed in violent thunder, shaking the ground with its sudden blast. Heat pushed them both forward in a crashing wave, and Gwyn twisted as they were lifted, putting herself between Llinolae’s body and the smashing power of the root they hit. Her head rang and she shook back the blackness, barely keeping them upright as they were dropped. Bark scrapped against her shoulders’ leathers, her heels scrambled frantically for footing, and her body levered back hard against the tree root as she kept them upright.

A stifled sob turned into a rasping cough as Llinolae fought the renewed pain of ribs and bruises. Gwyn gathered the woman closer, holding her up as knees tried to buckle.

But behind them! Gwyn’s copper eyes went wide with shock of her own. A raging inferno consumed what once had been a building. Even here across the clearing and behind the first line of arching tree roots, the heat was blazing. The roar of a great waterfall seemed to surround them, and only dimly could Gwyn reconcile that din came from the fire.

Sparks leapt towards the stars. Against the night’s velvet they looked like the fireworks at Churv’s festivals. Yet here, the winds whipped greedy flames about, reaching hungrily for the towering citadels of honeywood.

“They won’t catch. It’s not hot enough. Not to light them.”

The low murmur finally registered through her amazement. Gwyn started and looked to find that Llinolae had moved away. She was standing alone now, her blue gaze caught too by the burning fury. “The resin in their leaves and red bark is fire retardant. Unless you cut the honeywoods down, strip them, they’ll rarely burn in this Forest. It’s so amazing. Sometimes I believe the old tales — that they truly are ancient guardians set here by the Mother’s Hand.”

Gwyn nodded slowly, turning back to the bonfire as she too remembered the age-old verse:

“…The great staves of honey’d wood came to Hand.
Twin’d Moons sail’d high. In watch, the Mother stands.”

She glanced back at Llinolae where the faintest of smiles upon those slender lips wedded melancholy to regret. The flickering light of the distant fire touched her dark skin, the brown richness a startling contrast to those sapphire-hued eyes. Yet in her beauty, Gwyn saw a haunting grief that was undeniable.

Gwyn swallowed hard. With a weary sigh, she twisted the kerchief loose and freed her own face. She was too tired to wrestle with the knot and her gloves, so she left the thing tied about her neck and turned her attention to strapping her sword back on.

“You’re a woman!”

Gwyn glanced up at that surprised murmur, managing a nod as she bent to tie the thigh lace. “Amazon.”

“From Valley Bay?”

She grinned at that and straightened. “Certainly not from ’cross the stars.”

That brought an amused smile and blue eyes shifted to meet Gwyn’s fully. “Beg your patience. I’ve never met a woman as tall as myself. Least, none aside from these Clantown folk.” Those last words dulled; they took the smile away again.

Gwyn frowned in puzzlement as that blue gaze went back to the fires. She’d felt none of the familiar mind-to-mind touching which usually came from locking eyes with a Blue Sight. She’d met a Seer at the Keep once who’d had the skill to pass unnoticed through her consciousness, but never anyone else. Not Selena, not even Bryana!

“Do we go? Marshal?” A gentle hand touched Gwyn’s elbow.

“Yes!” Gwyn started. Annoyed, she pulled herself together. This wasn’t like her! And they certainly couldn’t afford her to get distracted here, tonight of all nights! “There are horses — this way.”

But as they moved off into the darkness, Gwyn suddenly wondered if the chaotic feelings growing inside her weren’t much, much worse than mere distraction.

Sparrow dropped from the low roof into the pitch blackness of the corner, briefly regretting the long drop as her stomach uncharacteristically protested her acrobatics again. She shook her head, slightly disgusted with herself — she had no more time for this queasiness now than she’d had the other morning.

Behind her the great stone wall of the city ascended. Beside her the rock and mortar of a winery protected piles of kegs. These vast quantities of brushberry spirits in their wooden barrels were much too flammable to be housed within the city proper, so most of the local wineries were nestled against the snaking contours of Khirla’s outer walls. The location afforded the businesses some measure of safety against raiders — be they Clan folk or other — as well as allowing the businesses ready access to the brushberry fields they harvested. At the moment, the place also neatly concealed one small Shadow. It was a corner Sparrow was exceedingly grateful to have as she gave herself a moment to catch her breath.