The Killing God, page 60
The young monk took a breath.
—I believe so. It is not my place to say, Queen, but I think that he will welcome a visitor.
If Fifth Daughter had not been a monk, Estie might have hugged her. Instead, the Queen put her hand on Crayn’s shoulder: a brief assurance that she wanted his company.
“Then, please. Lead us.”
Covering her mouth to hide another smile, Fifth Daughter showed Queen Estie and Commander Crayn the way.
* * *
The monks of the Cult of the Many occupied rooms among the keep’s foundations where the servants lived, but they had several corridors to themselves. Third Father’s quarters were at the end of a long hall marked by dozens of doors. Thinking of his condition, poisoned by Tak Biondi’s knife, Estie felt dismay that he had to walk so far to go anywhere. For a man of his years, every destination was a pilgrimage.
As Fifth Daughter reached the last door and knocked, Estie bit her lip against the chagrin of her memories. That the old monk had been bedridden for days was her doing.
If her guide was invited in, Estie did not hear it. Fifth Daughter opened the door a little, peered inside. Whatever she saw reassured her. Beckoning for the Queen and Crayn, she entered.
From the doorway, Estie saw a chamber only slightly larger than a cell in her father’s dungeon. It was certainly as austere as a cell. Apart from the old man sitting up in his bed, the only sign that the room had an occupant was a clean cassock and belt-rope hanging from a hook on one wall. The single stool looked lonely, an unwanted luxury. Glancing around in the light of the lamp over the bed, Estie was relieved to see another door at the back of the cell. It suggested that Third Father’s severity did not require him to live without a bathing room.
Contrary to his usual practice, the old monk raised his eyes to Estie’s face. As if he had forgotten her deafness, he spoke.
Quickly, Crayn gestured:
—He says, You have come, Queen. That is good. Will you enter? Will you sit?
Shaking off a flustered moment, Estie took the stool, moved it to the side of the bed, and seated herself. It was low: she had to look up to meet his gaze. That suited her. He would not be able to avoid her eyes without turning away. She did not want him to hide himself from her—and she did not mean to hide from him.
Fifth Daughter stood behind the Queen. Commander Crayn remained in the doorway.
The lamp above and behind the old man left shadows on his face. His cheeks looked hollowed out by age and illness. His eyes seemed sunken in their sockets. Yet he did not evade her concern. Taking her hand, he wrote:
—You did not come seeking my counsel, Queen. That, also, is good. I have none. You have gone beyond me.
She had no idea what he saw in her. Carefully, she replied, “I cannot say how deeply I value your life, Father. I came because I want to see you.” She paused to swallow. “And because I need to express my regret.”
He managed a frail shrug.
—You have no fault to regret. I tried to stop Tak Biondi. The cost is mine to bear.
Shaking her head, Estie replied, “Not that, Father. Of course, I am sorry that you were hurt. But what I regret is—” Even now, she found the truth difficult to confess. “I regret my ignorance. Magister Avail offered to teach me. I refused.
“I was afraid, Father. I feared the harm that I had already done.” She had seen Apprentice Travail’s ears bleeding. “I feared that the King—” No. She had to face this. “That my husband misunderstood my cry. And my deafness, Father. I took it as a kind of death. I was not brave enough to learn more.
“Your wound is the result. And Tak Biondi’s death. My ignorance killed him, Father. He might have told us more of Rile’s plans. That loss is my doing.
“I regret my cowardice, Father.”
Still, the old monk held her gaze. He remained upright until she was done. Then, trembling under his blankets, he sank back onto his pillows. His fingers tapped like a whisper.
—Truth, Queen. I thank you. The Cult of the Many values it.
He closed his eyes. Estie worried that she had exhausted him. But he had more to say.
—You astonish me. Weak as I am, you astonish me. Now I find that I do have counsel for you. If you will hear it?
Estie did not hesitate. “Of course, Father. Anything.”
His chest lifted, let out a sigh.
—Speak more truth. To your husband, perhaps? If you choose. Or to these Magisters. Some of them have forgotten that the ungifted deserve respect as much as they do.
More? thought Estie. She bowed her head to spare herself the sight of the old monk’s ravaged features. Did she need to confess more? Even to Bifalt?
Perhaps she could.
TWENTY-NINE
THE GREAT GOD’S CAVALRY
Late that night, General Klamath located Hellick among his widely scattered riflemen. Together, he and the sub-Commander made their way up the knuckled slope of the foothills.
It was not an easy climb. With only starlight and the moon’s silver to show the way, they had to feel their way. Jagged boulders reared against them like threats. Loose dirt slipped under their feet, their reaching hands. They went carefully until they reached the rim of the outcropping where they had seen Amikan soldiers.
They found sub-Commander Waysel waiting with a shaded lantern in one hand. A handful of guardsmen stood around the plateau, keeping watch.
Klamath had never met the man. Hellick knew him well.
When they had been introduced, Waysel said quietly, “I am honored to meet you, General.” In the dim glow of his lantern, his round face looked hollow. “I know a little of what you have endured. I expected you to bring your men here. They could rest better, and you could watch our cannon at work.”
“We have other orders, sir.” Klamath did not know how much time he had. He might need to be back in his covert soon. “Show us the cannon. Tell us what you hope to accomplish.”
Waysel shrugged. “As you say, General.”
Leading the way, he took Klamath to the four north-facing siege-guns. “When we are told to fire, these will shatter the road. We may need to adjust their aim a little, but they will succeed.” Then he went to the five pointing down at the foothills. “With these, we can punish the Great God’s men as they climb. Their balls and chain will pass over the road.” He sounded embarrassed. “We cannot aim them lower. Their trucks will not permit it. But we will do what we can.”
Klamath said nothing. He would have preferred more siege-guns. Nine would have to suffice.
For a moment, the three men stood in silence, gazing out over the benighted west. In the distance, the glow of sorcerous globes marked the enemy’s location. By their sheer numbers, they made a stark black horizon of the foothills. But they were moving. Apparently, the priests had begun their ascent some time ago.
Their shining held a hint of gold, a vague tinge that marred or enhanced the power of the priests. Klamath thought that he knew what it was.
Too tense to watch for long, he turned to Waysel.
“We were told to hold fire, sir, until we hear a signal. I assume that your cannon will give it. What are your orders?”
Waysel seemed flustered. “We were told, General— That is, sir—” With an effort, he steadied himself. “Magister Rummage commands the defense here. He instructed us to hold fire until hundreds of cavalrymen have passed below us.
“He did not explain himself. Perhaps we will understand when the enemy comes.”
General Klamath nodded. “Thank you, sir. We expect Rile’s infantry to come straight uphill. But they will arrive after the cavalry. For the present, obey Magister Rummage. My riflemen and I will do the same.
“If you see Queen Estie, give her my thanks.”
Without another word, he turned away, taking Hellick with him.
When they were gone, sub-Commander Waysel spent a little while chewing over his uncertainties. Then he sent one of his guardsmen to the Repository to summon the rest of his men and Commander Crayn’s. He needed them to prepare and work the guns.
Fearing the priests, he prayed that either his Queen or the librarian would not neglect to give him Magisters of fire.
* * *
An hour before dawn, Queen Estie and Commander Crayn reached her post.
Crayn had brought his weapons. In addition, he carried a large pack of provisions and bedding. Estie hoped that she would have opportunities for rest and relief, but she suspected that she might need to eat and sleep in the passage.
Leaving his pack in the hall and the heavy door open, Crayn followed her out into the open shelter of her covert.
The air felt frigid, poised for disastrous changes. It stung Estie’s cheeks, made her vision blur. Moments passed before she could pick out a few stars directly overhead. They seemed lonely against the fading black of the sky.
With signs and gestures, Crayn said:
—I fear a storm, Majesty.
She winced. What could the defenders do then? Bad weather might not hamper the priests. Even if it did, their Shields would protect them from rifle-fire. And if it did not, they could batter the hillsides with globes until all the riflemen were dead.
From the gap between boulders on her right, she watched Waysel’s command preparing the cannon. He had enough guardsmen, all of his and most of Crayn’s. They would be ready to fire soon.
Down the slope below her, the road was invisible. Night and the shadows of the Wall covered it. Klamath and his men were well concealed. Nothing in the darkness suggested movement.
But the globes of the priests made their presence vivid. They were still below the road. Their sorcery cast white light at the deep heavens; etched the outlines of the lower foothills like acid. Gods, they were many! And theirs was not the only power. Through their shining ran delicate tendrils of gold, as vague as mist, and as complex as a spider’s web.
The Great God was coming closer.
Would a storm slow him? Estie did not think so.
More to the south, night still held the hills. There was nothing to see. There might be nothing until the sun rose. Rile’s cavalry would arrive from the north.
The cold drew shivers from the marrow of Estie’s bones. The night felt as expectant as an indrawn breath. The pause before the pounce.
Waysel had cannon for both the cavalry and the infantry. But he did not have enough. And the Magisters he needed had not come. Despite Estie’s urgent demands— Without them, the priests might sweep the guns aside like toys. They might shatter the whole plateau.
Crayn gestured:
—Dawn is near, Majesty.
The hush over the hills demanded quiet. Even the men at the cannon worked in silence. Waysel’s few commands were muted.
—There is sunlight on the mountaintops.
Only the highest peaks could be seen from the Queen’s vantage, but their ice and snow caught the sun like premonitions.
The skies were still clear.
She hugged her cloak around her and waited.
As the darkness faded to dusk, Magister Avail addressed her. She heard something shrill in his voice, an edge of alarm.
Queen, he said, the Farsighted have enough light. The Great God’s supply-train has reached the edge of the desert. His servants unload the first wagons. The horde follows the priests upward. The infantrymen lag behind.
The cavalry will come soon.
Wrestling with herself, Estie asked, What of King Bifalt? Or the el-Algreb? What do the Farsighted see?
Nothing, snapped Avail. Then he made an effort to calm himself. The Farsighted have other concerns. What does the Great God need from his wagons? What does he think that the horde can accomplish against cannon? Can his priests stop cannonballs? The Farsighted have no answers.
Estie swallowed a lump of dread. No, she commanded herself. Stop. Let Bifalt go. She had to trust that he had not been lost.
With an effort, she turned her attention to the cannon.
The siege-guns were hers, forged in Amika. Fired downhill, their shots would carry over the road. They might reach farther than Magister Rummage expected. If the priests hurried, Waysel’s barrage might miss them entirely. If the hunchback waited too long, even the horde might escape.
Why did he intend to let the cavalry pass unharmed?
Why had he refused to give Waysel Magisters?
Her Commander knew no more than she did. Nevertheless she breathed, “Reassure me, Crayn. What does Rummage hope to accomplish?”
Crayn did not reply directly. Cocking his head, he signed:
—Wait, Majesty.
A knot in her guts coiled tighter. “Why?” She tried to imagine what had caught his notice, but she felt only the slow sigh of air past the boulders, the flow of winter. “What is it?”
He hesitated.
—Hooves.
Then he shook his head.
—Now it is gone. Some trick of the hills must have brought it for a moment.
She bit her lip. She was beginning to understand the impulse that made Bifalt chew the inside of his cheek until he drew blood.
Below her, the enemy rose toward the road. The deeper twilight of the Repository’s shadow still shrouded the priests, but their globes lit their way, bobbing and threshing as they hastened. They aimed to join the rush of the cavalry. Or they would gather and pause at the edge of the road, ready to surge upward when the cavalry passed.
Gods! she thought. Where are Waysel’s Magisters?
Faint with distance came the low tremor of massive hooves striking smooth stone. She felt it.
Crayn snapped upright, cupped his ear to the gap.
The trembling sensation vanished. Then it came again more strongly.
He reported:
—They are near, Majesty. We will see them when they round the next turn.
Reading her mind, he stepped aside, let her stand where she could watch what came.
She held her breath to concentrate. Waysel’s men were poised around their cannon, crouching to conceal themselves from below. Prone at the shelf’s rim, Waysel watched the road.
The priests were still climbing, running with the horde at their backs.
There. North of the plateau, Rile’s cavalry appeared past a bulge in the hillside.
She had been warned, but still the sight stung her. She had never seen such beasts. They were larger than the zhecki of the Nuuri, larger even than the illirim Set Ungabwey had used. They made their armed riders look like dolls. Their tusks gleamed through the froth on their muzzles. They had been galloping since they had reached the caravan-track, yet they came at a furious pace. The impact of their hooves made Estie’s covert quiver.
They were some distance north of the cannon, half a league or more; but at that speed, they would be within range in moments.
Waysel had been forbidden to fire. Not until he received a signal from the Repository.
That was madness. The line of cavalry stretched out of sight. It seemed to stretch to the limits of the world. Those beasts had to be stopped now. Only the siege-guns could do it.
Waysel’s guardsmen did not move.
Below the lip of the road, the white blare of sorcery scrambled higher.
The cavalrymen reached the perfect place to be hit. Their leaders hammered onward. More beasts and their riders rushed into sight, hundreds of them, thousands. For all Estie knew, the Great God had brought every able man he possessed to fight this war.
The cavalry hurtled three abreast below her. At that pace, the riders would not need long to reach the porch of the keep. Behind them, more mounted beasts kept coming.
Crayn tugged her arm to get her attention. He echoed her thoughts.
—This is all madness, Majesty. Rile and Magister Rummage are insane, both of them. What can Rile gain? From the battlements, Magisters will rain down Decimates until every man and beast is dead. But the Magisters also gain nothing. While they exhaust their sorcery, they cannot strike elsewhere. Whatever happens, the way will be open for the rest of Rile’s army.
Apparently, Magister Rummage relied on General Klamath. If so, he was mistaken. The horde alone was enough to overwhelm Klamath’s men. The Shields of the priests stopped bullets—and the riflemen did not have endless ammunition.
Estie did not know what to do.
She should have argued with Magister Rummage. Demanded an explanation. Even now, she could shout at him. But she was too late. He did not have time to change his mind.
Her alternative was to countermand him. Tell Waysel to fire now with all his guns. Why else had she been placed where she could watch what was happening?
But she did not know enough. She did not even know what form of power Rummage wielded. If she overruled him, his plans might fail, plans that would have succeeded otherwise. He had spent decades getting ready. How likely was it that she saw the danger more clearly than he did?
Below her, the first priests neared the road. Through the glare of their globes, she saw their theurgy shimmering. It formed a vague smear across her vision, an insidious distortion that made her eyes hurt. Nevertheless it did not block sight.
Behind the priests, the starving mass of the horde rose like rabid animals.
She bit her lip until the pain became too sharp to endure. Then she steadied herself with her hands. Gripping Crayn’s forearm with one, bracing the other on a boulder, she set her face to the downhill gap and watched the swift torrent of the cavalry, the clambering haste of the priests and the fanged men.
The thunder of hooves made no sound that she could hear, but she felt it like the approach of an earthquake. Here and there among the beasts rode priests, but they were few. Apparently, the cavalrymen did not require coercion. They served Rile willingly.
