Glasswrights' Progress (22 page)

Then there was a tremendous crack, as if the ground itself were being split by thunder. The boys on top of the wall scurried to safety, leaping away from the excavation and disappearing inside the keep. As Rani watched, the wall seemed to lurch toward her, moving of its own volition, like a rock monster from her nightmares. Then, Crestman's voice rose, sharp and urgent. “Back, men! Back from the wall!”

There was a frantic scramble, as boys scurried from beneath the stone and wood shield. Some ran like rabbits, intent only on placing the greatest distance possible between themselves and the Eater. Others looked over their shoulders as they fled, stumbling over their own feet.

Crestman, though, ignored his own command and stood fast beside the pulleys. When the last of the boys had darted from beneath the tilted shield, Crestman grasped two treadles on the pulley mechanism. “
Push
!” he bellowed, as if he were ordering some unworthy underling to work. He suited action to his command, grunting at the strain as he tried to do the work of half a dozen boys. The muscles in his arms knotted, and the cords in his throat stood out, shaking, vibrating. His face was pulled into a tortured mask, made more hideous by the tight skin around his eyes, where his warrior's clout stretched his flesh. “Push,” he gasped, fighting to suit action to words.

For one instant, the Eater refused to advance, refused to consume one more bite of earth. Then, the pitchfork jaws ground into the soil, tore out the rich dirt. The iron spikes fed the nearest pail, and the chains groaned forward, pulling the iron container back, away from the wall, away from the Swancastle.

And the Swancastle fell.

Not the entire wall, Rani realized when her ears had stopped ringing. The gap in the curtain wall was probably no wider than six men riding abreast. That was enough, though. A troop of soldiers could scale the ruins, could break into the unprotected underbelly of the keep.

“Yes!” Davin shouted, his ancient voice made strong by his excitement. “It works!” The old man threw his scrolls to the ground.

“Crestman!” Shea wailed, and the old woman surged past Rani, ignoring the dust, ignoring the screaming, cheering boys, ignoring the stones that even now were coming to rest on the hillside.

The sun need not have worried, though. Crestman had leaped back at the last possible instant, sparing himself from the undermined wall. Now he stood at the edge of the rubble that had once been a proud castle, shaking his head in amazement. He looked up at the ruins and opened his mouth, closing it sharply, as if he were trying to clear a ringing noise from his ears. He was still shaking his head when Shea fell upon him. “Crestman!” the old woman sobbed. “Are you harmed? Were you struck?”

“I'm fine, Shea,” the boy croaked, pushing away her attentions. Crestman rolled his eyes in annoyance, glaring at Rani and Mair. Rani understood the order there – the girls were to gather up the distraught woman. They were to free the commander for his work. “I'm fine, Shea. Just let me finish. Leave me alone, woman!” he bellowed when she would not restrain her inquisitive fingers. As the old sun's face crumpled, Crestman turned back to the Little Army, harnessing what was left of his voice. “All right, men! Into the keep! Watch for traps, and round up the traitors!”

The boys cheered as they surged into the ruins, drawing their curved knives and their strange, short bows.

The air was filled with blood-curdling screams as the Little Army conquered its own, playing out the last act of its risky game. Even as chaos echoed above her, Rani found herself drawn to Shea. The old woman stood where Crestman had left her, still stretching a shaking hand toward empty space.

For just an instant, Rani remembered her own mother, standing beside the hearth in the large room behind their merchant shop. Deela Trader had reached for her eldest son, for Bardo, with precisely the same expression on her face. Bardo, though, had been in a hurry, heading out to the marketplace, or to a pub, or to some other, darker pleasure. Rani's mother had recognized her loss, recognized that her son was leaving behind more than the hearth where he'd been raised.

Rani shook her head, hoping that she never longed for anyone so desperately. Then, Mair stepped forward, grabbing at Rani's arm. “Cor! Did ye see that? An army o' little boys, 'n' they managed t' bring down a castle wall, all i' a mornin'! Rai! Did ye see!”

“Aye, Mair. I saw.”

“Just think, Rai! Think what 'Alaravilli could do wi' one o' these!”

Rani thought, but she realized that Sin Hazar was prepared to do far more. For Sin Hazar had Davin. He had the Little Army. He said he was after Liantine, to the east. But Sin Hazar could change his tactics. He could change his goals. Sin Hazar could bring the Eater to Morenia any time he chose.

 

Mair was still chattering that night, as the Little Army gathered to celebrate its victory. “I've never heard a noise like that, Rai. Have you?”

“No, Mair. I've never heard a noise like that,” Rani answered for the hundredth time.

Mair's amazement, though, was cut short by Davin, who loomed out of the darkness, as if he'd been conjured by the man-high bonfire.

“Little Army!” the man proclaimed.

“Da-vin! Da-vin! Da-vin!” The boys pounded on the ground as they shouted each syllable.

The old man flapped his hands in the air impatiently, signaling the children to silence. When the chant had trailed off enough that Davin could be heard, he cleared his throat. “Little Army! You've served your king well today! With your bravery and your hard work, you have tested the latest of my war engines. When you set sail for the east, you will be prepared to fight King Sin Hazar's greatest enemies. You will be armed with an Eater three times the size of the one that you tested here today. You will bring glory to King Sin Hazar in Amanthia and across the ocean!

“To King Sin Hazar!” one boy shouted.

“To Amanthia!” cried another.

“In honor of your service, Little Army, I declare tonight a feast night. Captain Crestman! You may breach three barrels of wine to honor your king and liege lord! Drink to your liege as you complete your maneuvers at the Swancastle! Long live King Sin Hazar!”

“Long live King Sin Hazar!” The Little Army swarmed around Crestman, gathering him onto their shoulders as they stormed around their bonfire. For just an instant, a handful of boys stepped toward Davin, as if they would include him in the celebration, but the ancient man waved them off. The boys, more intent on celebrating than giving appropriate credit to their elders, quickly abandoned the attempt. Davin turned to walk down the hill.

“Your Grace!” Shea shouted, her voice almost lost in the boys' revelry.

“What?” Davin's irritation was clear to Rani as he turned to face the old woman.

“Your Grace, that wine needs to last all winter. You shouldn't have told them they could break out so much tonight.”

“Don't speak about things beyond your ken, old woman. My Eater works. That's cause for celebration. Besides, that captain of yours needs to cement his bond with his soldiers. He needs to be their leader.”

“He needs –” Shea broke off her own protest, and then started again. “I'm a sun,
Davin, the only one you've got here. I'm trying to run this camp, as a sun ought, and I'm telling
you there won't be enough wine to last until spring.”

Davin barked a laugh as harsh as a fox. “These boys won't be here till spring. The king will send them over the sea before midwinter.”

“You can't be serious! They're children!”

“What did you think we meant by the
Little
Army, woman? They're
all
children. They fight without fear of losing their own lives; they fight with more energy than grown men. They've never seen death, not on a battlefield. They'll use my engines to win Sin Hazar's war without a thought to what the battle might cost them.” Davin scowled at Shea. “Don't get attached to soldiers, sunwoman. The Little Army is worse than lions – this division'll be gone in two months, your captain too. More boys will take their place. There are always more boys.”

The gruff old man trudged down the hill, tossing his black hood over his snowy hair
and melting into the darkness. Rani saw the mother-loss spread over Shea's face, and she limped to
the old woman's side. “Shea –” she began.

The sun fumbled at her rough dress, clutching the fabric across her chest. “I'm tired, child,” she said, her eyes staring across at the bonfire. “I'm going to sleep.”

“Shea, you can't worry about them. They're not sailing yet.”

“I'm not worried, child. My Crestman will be fine. He's a captain. In the Little Army.” Before Rani could think of a comforting lie, the old sun turned and staggered down the hillside. Rani thought that she should follow the woman, at least to make sure that she arrived safely at her cottage. Before Rani could move, though, Mair grabbed her arm.

Rani turned back to the bonfire, only to see Crestman swaggering toward the girls. “So,” he croaked, his voice still hoarse from his morning's exertions. “You're lucky to have been here today. You got to see our enemies' nightmares.”

“We're honored,” Mair said dryly, and Rani looked at her friend in amazement. Hadn't the Touched girl been crowing for the better part of the evening? Hadn't she been amazed by Crestman's feat?

“You were very brave, to push the levers the last time,” Rani said. She delivered the compliment as an offering to Shea, as the words that the old woman might have said, if she could have stayed beside the bonfire.

Crestman grinned at Rani, but there was no mirth in his expression. The firelight glinted off his teeth. “I'm their captain. Davin's seen to that. With a pair of leather shoes and the power of command, he's seen to that.”

Before Crestman could elaborate on his grim words, a shout went up from the fire. “Captain! Captain, it's time to judge the prisoners!”

Crestman took a deep breath, letting his eyes travel down the hill to the darkness that had consumed Davin. “Excuse me, ladies. Duty calls.”

“Captain!” Mair snorted, as the boy stalked away. “He doesn't know the first thing about leading a group of children! He's only doing this because Davin ordered him to.”

“Hush!” Rani said, taking a step closer so that she could hear what transpired by the fire. The boys had fed four huge logs onto the flames, stoking the bonfire higher than it had been when Davin addressed them. For just an instant Rani imagined capturing the scene in glass, building spikes of red and orange and yellow in a lead framework, tilting the planes of color so that sunlight would make them glow.

In the bonfire's light, Rani could see that the victorious soldiers, the ones who had manned the Eater, had smeared their faces with something – earth from the fallen Swancastle? Ash? Something streaked dark across their cheeks, covering the scars where their tattoos had been carved away.

As Rani watched, one of the younger boys danced up to Crestman, reaching up to daub the dark substance across the captain's face. Crestman accepted the attention earnestly, lowering his head so that he could bear the same marks as his men.

Only when he was decorated did he turn to the dozen boys who huddled in a pile, too close to the leaping flames for comfort. Those boys were stripped to their smallclothes, and they were lashed together cruelly. The arms of each child had been tied in front of him, his wrists wrapped tightly with leather thongs. Each boy's arms had been tugged between his legs and lashed to the throat of the boy behind him. Any child who tried to ease his own aching shoulders was likely to strangle at least one fellow prisoner.

The children could not stand; they twisted about in a ghastly series of half-crouches and desperate squats. Rani's own shoulders ached at the thought of their torture, and she tried not to stare into their pale, pale faces. Crestman, though, did not seem disturbed. He crossed to the largest of the bound boys and punched him hard on the arm, sending the blond child twisting onto his side, out of his dangerous equilibrium. As the boy fell, the soldier behind him choked for breath. That boy, in turn, pulled back, trying to ease the pressure across his windpipe. His motion served only to saw the harsh rope up between the legs of Crestman's chosen victim.

“Varner!” Crestman barked at the blond boy, his eyes glinting out of the black mask smeared across his cheeks. His words were more ferocious for breaking across his rasped throat. “You call yourself a soldier?” The captive only stared ahead, ignoring his bonds, unblinking. “I'm speaking to you, boy! Do you call yourself a soldier in the Little Army?”

“Yes.”

“Then what sort of showing did you make today? What sort of fighting man do you think you are?”

Silence. Crestman knotted one hand, crashing his fist into Varner's face. Rani heard the crack of the prisoner's nose, and blood streamed down his bleached face. “I ask you again, boy. What sort of fighting man do you think you are?”

“A loyal one,” Varner spat. “Davin needed someone on the walls to test his machines.”

“Davin needed someone to
defend
the Swancastle! It does him no good to test his engines against a bunch of sniveling babes!” Rani could just make out the half-swallowed sobs of the other trussed-up captives. The larger group of boys, the black-painted ones, must have heard the sound as well, for they began to whisper among themselves. “Da-vin. Da-vin.”

Crestman dug his booted toe into Varner's side. “We might as well fight against kittens!”

“We did as we were ordered, Crestman.” Varner's words were slurred by the blood that dripped from his nose.

“How can we trust you, Varner? How can the Little Army trust anyone weak enough to lose a
castle
to a group of boys?”

Varner glared at his tormentor, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “Enough, Crestman. Name our punishment. My men and I will meet it. We're loyal to the king.”