Breath of Heaven, page 29
“It was a long time ago.”
An awkward silence fell, but it did not last long. Laurelen shifted further into the room, two guardsmen slipping in behind her, another barely visible outside. “Who are you?” she asked again, her tone less imperious, but still demanding.
“Colin Harten,” he said. He stood, letting Eraeth’s hand fall from his shoulder. “Called Shavaeren by the Alvritshai. The Shadowed One by the dwarren.”
“Colin Harten is a name out of legend, stolen from the histories of the Provinces. He helped end the conflict between the three races, gave us the Seasonal Trees to protect us. But that was over ninety years ago. Even with the hints surrounding his legend of mystical powers, I find it hard to believe that you are the same man.”
Colin pulled back the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the oily darkness that now trailed beneath his skin all the way to his wrists, tendrils reaching toward the backs of his hands.
Laurelen’s eyes widened, her breath catching…but only for a moment. “Colin Harten was not the only man tainted by the so-called Well of Sorrows. The Wraiths were as well.”
“The Wraiths could not travel this close to the Autumn Tree.”
“The Autumn Tree is dead. Burned to a charred husk by the army that surrounds Temeritt even now. Forces that contain Alvritshai warriors.” Her gaze shot toward Eraeth and Siobhaen. “So I ask again, why do you bring Alvritshai onto my lands?”
But Colin didn’t hear the question. A roaring filled his ears, as if a great wind screamed past him, like the scouring winds of the Flat. “Dead?” he heard himself whisper, as if from a distance. “The Autumn Tree is dead?”
Someone else was speaking, and he saw Siobhaen moving forward, the guards reacting by drawing swords, stepping in front of Laurelen, Siobhaen halting, hands raised. Reaching with his powers, he tried to sense the presence of the Tree. He had known the Tree was under attack over a year ago, had felt the attack while they were at the Sacred Waters through the Summer Tree, but he had not thought the Wraiths and their armies would have been able to move so quickly as to have destroyed the Autumn Tree already, even with the activation of the Source in the wasteland.
Yet he could not feel the Autumn Tree’s presence, could not sense its protective shroud. And what else had Laurelen said? Alvritshai at Temeritt?
Alvritshai...
He snapped back into the room, the winds receding, replaced by Eraeth, Siobhaen, and the two guardsmen threatening each other, two additional guards now protecting Laurelen. Only the Yhnar Legion had blades bared, but he could tell Eraeth and Siobhaen were close to drawing their cattans.
“Hold! Eraeth, Siobhaen, quiet!”
The two Alvritshai backed down, the Yhnar Legion breaking off after a quiet command from Laurelen.
Colin caught the Lady of Yhnar’s gaze. “The Alvritshai attacking Temeritt—”
“Besieging it,” one of the guardsmen interjected.
“—besieging it, then…they wear black and gold, yes? With an eagle’s talon as a House symbol?”
“So we’ve been told by the one messenger that managed to break free of the siege and bring us word.”
“Those are the colors of House Duvoraen, led by Lord Khalaek.”
“The lord banished and executed at the Escarpment, bringing about the Accord?”
“You’ve read the histories.”
“They were part of my training, yes.”
Colin shifted toward the untouched tray of wine and food and poured four glasses. “What you do not know is what happened after Khalaek’s banishment and death. His House fell and a new House was risen—Uslaen, led by Saetor. Those of House Duvoraen became members of Uslaen immediately, but not all. Some of them felt the Alvritshai’s Evant had betrayed Khalaek and House Duvoraen, even knowing what Khalaek had done. They felt cut off, adrift, disillusioned, and Houseless. So they left.”
“They abandoned their House for another?” Laurelen hadn’t moved, still shielded by the Legion. Eraeth and Siobhaen had stepped back.
Colin picked up one of the glasses of wine and sipped it. “Some of them abandoned Alvritshai lands altogether. No one in Caercaern knew where they had gone. I think they formed their own House, a version of House Duvoraen, in the Thalloran Wasteland, where they were found by the Wraiths and absorbed into the Wraith army. I’ve seen them. They were traveling with an army of creatures I’ve never seen before, heading toward dwarren lands.”
“What were you doing in the wastelands?”
“I was attempting to stop the Wraiths from destroyed the Seasonal Trees. I failed.”
Laurelen still appeared suspicious, but she said something to the guards and they parted, letting her through. They did not sheath their blades. “Describe the creatures you saw in this army.”
“About a third of it was Alvritshai, all dressed in black and gold. Another third were snake-like people, a race that lives in the Thalloran Wastelands, in cliffs on the edge of a ruined city. The rest were a conglomeration of many kinds of creatures: bird-like flyers with leather wings, hulking creatures with skin like stone, smaller cat-like ones with luminous eyes, a few others.”
Laurelen shared a glance with one of the guards. Looking closer, Colin realized he was of higher rank than the rest, a lieutenant commander.
“Like those described by the messenger,” the Legionnaire said.
“Some.” She turned her attention back to Colin. “There were no snake-like creatures at Temeritt. But the rest...” Her lips thinned. “If you are who you say you are, why have you come here, to Yhnar? What do you intend to do?”
“I was hoping to speak to the lord of the Province, find out what has happened since I’ve been in the wastelands, determine where I should go next. What news do you have? Where is Tarken Sohn?”
“The Lord of Yhnar is headed to Temeritt to aid Lord Kobel,” she said succinctly. “Now, tell me how you and the Alvritshai ended up here in Yhnar. If I believe you, then I will tell you what I know of Temeritt, the Autumn Tree, and the Wraith army that has attacked us.”
* * *
Gregson lurched back from the crenellation in the outer wall of Temeritt, an arrow from the Horde snapping hard into the stone and shattering on impact. Flecks of stone and wood pattered against the side of his face. He cursed and jostled back into position, leaning out over the edge to stare down at the dark throng of the Horde below, moving like waves on an ocean. Their roar of anger and hatred slammed up the wall, drowning out the screams from the Legion defending the parapet. To the left, a group of Legion upended a cauldron of hot oil onto the forces below, the creatures below shrieking as it struck, while arrows lanced from the black and gold ranks of Alvritshai at the rear of the Horde’s forces. A soldier next to Gregson took one in the chest, his scream fading as he toppled from the rampart, his body vanishing below. To the right, men rallied around where the Horde had managed to get two ladders up the walls, throwing stones onto the cat-like creatures as they scrambled up the ladder’s length. Someone hooked the top of the ladder with a spike and shoved, the ladder tilting back, then beginning a slow fall into the army below, the cat-like creatures hissing and shrieking as they lost their grip on the way down. The ladder cracked as it hit the backs of the creatures below, one of the trolls seizing it and tearing it apart in annoyance. It tossed the pieces toward the wall, then lumbered to the stone and began beating against it.
But the real focus of the attack was the main gates.
Gregson scanned down the wall’s length, sweat dripping from his forehead and nose, and assessed the situation at the gates. Most of the Horde’s forces surrounded the sealed entrance, trolls at the front, battering the iron-banded outer gate. Gregson did a rough count, then glanced farther back, where the Alvritshai leaders watched impassively from their mounts, two banners flapping in the afternoon breeze behind them. A black and gold eagle’s talon marked the first, a white flame on a black background the second. The blackened husk of the Autumn Tree stood against the horizon like a scar.
To the right, the cat-like creatures scaling the second ladder reached the top. Gregson pulled back from the edge. “Reinforcements to the right! Breach on the wall!”
He heard the shout echoed down the length of the parapet, stood aside as men—mostly shopkeepers, farmers, bakers, and boys barely old enough to be growing beards—charged down the wall, their eyes wide in fear, their faces dirty but set with deadly purpose. As soon as they passed, Gregson hustled in the opposite direction for the nearest stairwell and the steps down to the streets below. He’d intended to stay atop the wall, but with the breach he’d never get past the blockage, not until they threw the ladder away from the wall and killed the creatures who’d reached the parapet.
He skirted the men huddled under cover, then jumped over a man as he slumped backwards from the crenellations, an arrow shaft jutting out of his eye. He tagged another man and pointed the body out before continuing, falling in behind two others carrying someone else from the wall. They noticed him, noticed his rank and impatience, and halted long enough for him pass. He hit the stairs as another wave of arrows whirred overhead, charged downwards past men in arrow slits firing steadily into the sea of creatures beyond, and emerged onto street level.
Even here, it was chaos, men and women running back and forth, carting the dead, seeing to the wounded. Men had been set along the base of the wall, moaning as they clutched shoulders or legs, some with blood coating half of their faces, a few unconscious. He caught sight of Ara, the tavern keeper from Cobbleskill, as she washed one of the men’s wounds, her hands and clothes already bloody from the day’s fighting, and gave her a quick nod when she glanced up. Her smile was weary. Children raced amongst the activity, toting water skins, food, wine, rags, and even one carrying a saw.
At the inner gates, the sound of the pounding from outside muffled but still audible, he glanced up toward the tower, to where the Temeritt flags snapped in the wind, arrows arching over the wall even here, black against the sky. He ducked into the cover of the nearest stair, began climbing upwards at a rough trot. By the time he reached the top, he was gasping and had to stop, one hand clutched to his side. Before the stitch had faded, he pushed away from the wall and made his way to the edge of men grouped near the center of the main tower.
He searched for Commander Pearson, caught sight of the stocky salt-and-pepper haired man’s full beard in the throng, and shoved his way forward. Pearson saw him as he approached. “Report, Lieutenant Commander.”
“As far as I can tell, all of the Horde’s forces are at the wall. There are two thousand or so beneath the gates, the rest of the creatures strung out on both sides from there. The Alvritshai have their mounted units gathered behind their leaders, with lines of archers to the left and right. I see no other reinforcements behind them, near their camp, or near the Autumn Tree.”
Pearson’s eyebrows rose. “You’re certain?”
“There’s nothing else to the northwest.”
Pearson shifted toward another lieutenant commander to his other side. “And you saw nothing to the south?”
“Nothing.”
Pearson chewed on his lower lip, his beard jutting outwards as he did so. Then, abruptly, he motioned to Gregson and the other lieutenant commander. “Follow me.”
They pushed through the runners, commanders, and Legionnaires to the front of the tower, breaking through to a small area where GreatLord Kobel stood with Lord Akers and two other Legion commanders, all four of them in deep conversation, the GreatLord frowning, staring out over the field before him.
Pearson waited until he was acknowledged by Lord Akers, then stepped forward, Gregson and his fellow Legionnaire to either side.
“GreatLord, Lord, I sent these two out as requested and they both report that they see no other signs of the Horde to the northwest or south. It would appear that the Horde has committed all of their forces to this attack.”
Lord Akers turned to Kobel. “I told you. Some of their forces departed in the night, heading southwest. This is the smallest their force has been since they laid siege to Temeritt and burned the Autumn Tree.”
“But where did those forces go, Lord Akers?”
“I have no idea. But a significant portion of their army departed immediately after burning the Tree, and they have not returned. We’ve been harassing their forces for the past two months, sending out the Legion from the gates at every opportunity. They’ve only recently begun attacking our walls in retaliation. I thought at first that they were simply responding to our continued feints. But now I think they’re trying to keep us penned in while the rest of their force is off wreaking havoc elsewhere. We need to break this stalemate. This may be our chance!”
“And this may be a trap. What if those forces that departed in the night are waiting out of sight for us to leave the safety of our walls?” Kobel’s eyes were locked on the three leaders of the Alvritshai dressed in the black and gold of their House. Those three were not the leaders who had initially broken the GreatLord’s line of defense to the north and forced Kobel and the Legion behind Temeritt’s walls. That leader had left while the Autumn Tree still burned, taking over half of that original army with him. Three months ago, another quarter of the army had left, angling south before they’d disappeared into the haze on the horizon.
And now another group had left. There’d been enough of the Horde at the walls to keep the Legion from breaking the siege earlier, but now…?
Now, Gregson thought the odds were even. With a hard enough push from the Legion and the men they’d been training since the siege began, they could break the stranglehold on Temeritt.
Lord Akers shifted as the silence held, began to say, “We’ve heard nothing from the King, nothing from the Provinces—”
“Enough,” Kobel cut him off. “You’ve already convinced me. Even if this is a trap, it’s an opportunity we can’t let pass. Lord Akers, assemble your men at the southeastern gates. Send out scouts to make certain the Horde’s forces aren’t lying in wait for us. Take Commander Higgins with you, along with his men. Pearson, you and your men are with me.”
“You, GreatLord?”
“This isn’t a feint. I intend to break this siege. I’ll lead the forces exiting from the northeastern gates. We’ll circle around Temeritt both north and south, attack the Horde on two fronts. We’ll use all of the Legion forces and any of the battalions that you feel are up to the task. Commander Leighten, you’ll be in charge of the walls. You’ll only have untrained farmers and boys, but you need to hold the wall. Spread the archers along its length, and as soon as we attack, hit them hard. We may have only one chance at this.”
Everyone snapped to attention. A sizzling sense of urgency spread out from the group in a ripple as both Lord Akers and GreatLord Kobel broke apart, one heading south, the other north along the wall. Kobel gave orders as they moved, Pearson, Gregson, and the other lieutenant commander hoofing it to keep up. Runners scattered, dodging through those gathered on the tower even as it began to break apart.
Then they were on the stairs, emerging minutes later in the courtyard beyond the gates. The sounds of the trolls pounding on the outer gate had grown louder, although Gregson could barely hear it above the roar of his own blood in his ears. Fresh sweat already soaked the clothes beneath his armor, his hair plastered to his forehead and back of his neck.
Once they reached the middle of the courtyard, Kobel said, “Pearson, send your lieutenant commanders to ready your soldiers at the northeastern gates. You’re with me.” Then he mounted a waiting horse, spinning it around toward the main thoroughfare. Another horse waited for Pearson.
The commander reached for it. “You heard the orders. Pull your men from the walls and gather at the gates.”
He swung up into the saddle, then both GreatLord and Commander kneed their mounts down the thoroughfare.
“Where are they going?”
Gregson turned. “To gather the Legion.” Then he spun on his heel and headed back to the walls.
He needed to get his men armed and in order before either Pearson or the GreatLord arrived.
* * *
Corim’s breath burned in his throat and lungs, but he couldn’t slow it. He gasped, grabbed one of the stones piled in a box, then heaved it up onto his chest. The others from his unit—boys his age, none of them more than fifteen—scrambled aside as he staggered with the weight to the crenellation and then threw the stone over the side. He collapsed into the opening, watched the stone fall into the morass of black creatures below. He saw it strike, but couldn’t tell if it had hurt or killed anything. The monsters below were too numerous, nothing but a sea of arms and legs, talons and teeth, flesh and claws.
Then someone gripped the back of his breeches and hauled him back.
“No time to gawk!” Braxton snapped, dropping him to the stone of the parapet. “Heave and throw, that’s all you have time for. Now move!”
Corim scrambled to his knees, heard Wade mutter, “Stupid farmer,” as he passed, a stone held up to his chest. The merchant’s son tossed it over the side, then, hunched over, made for the wooden box of stone. Corim followed in his wake, wiping sweat from his brow.
They both grabbed stones, Corim taking the larger. “You might want to throw something other than pebbles.”
They both reached the break and tossed the stones over.
“Arrows!” someone bellowed.
Both immediately ducked behind cover, the sharp retorts of arrows striking stone following a moment later. One of their unit screamed and staggered back, an arrow jutting from his arm. Braxton appeared instantly, hand covering the boy’s mouth to muffle his cries. “Stop it! Stop it now!”
The boy’s screams descended into racking sobs. Braxton removed his hand and inspected the wound.
“It didn’t hit bone. Get down to the lower level, they’ll patch you up.” The swordmaster shoved the boy toward the stairs, but the boy hadn’t taken two steps before another arrow shot through the crenellations and took him in the neck. He stiffened, half turned toward Corim and Wade, then crumpled to the parapet.
