Firemoon (18 page)

Katja looked for Jormundur where she had seen him last and found him there. She kept her eyes on the wall for fear of the archer and ran to the captain. He was one of those who had begun to move, and had pushed himself up on his elbows. Still, there was little awareness in his eyes as Katja came at a sprint and leaned over him.

Katja grabbed his collar and slapped him again and again.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up!” she said with the blows. “Your city is about to fall!”

He finally seemed to come to life, and she turned him towards the gate and what was taking place there. His legs found their strength and Katja helped him up.

“To arms!” the captain shouted and drew his sword. “All men, to arms!”

He ran towards the gate and here and there people began to stand up. Some just muttered something, others looked around in confusion, but the captain’s clear and firm commands send some into action.

Katja ran toward the wall herself. The defenders began to fall on the invaders, who tried to protect those who were opening the gate. But they were lightly armoured and had no shields. The fight was highly uneven, and as more roused the outcome became clear.

Katja looked up at the wall, at the spot where she had last seen Vajan. People were waking up on the walkway and Vajan stepped up on the battlements, where a rope still hung. Katja stopped thinking of the gate and headed for the ladder up against the wall.

“Into the gatehouse!” Jormundur shouted over the noise. “Invaders on the wall!”

He ordered groups this way and that, as Katja jumped onto the ladder and rushed up it. The walkway was every bit as chaotic as the street, but she managed to spot the bow where she had left it.

A soldier threw down the hook Vajan had made use of a moment before Katja came running with an arrow on the bow. She leaned over a crenel and thought she saw movement in the dark. She loosed the arrow towards it. If anyone screamed she couldn’t hear it over all the surrounding noise.

“Archers, archers!” shouted an officer who had recovered and wanted to gather them on this part of the wall.

The soldiers Vajan’s group had been meant to open the gate for could not be far away, and Katja waited where she was with an arrow in her hand, as other archers lined up on either side of her.

Amidst the din of armour, stomping feet and shouts of chaos and fear she heard Jormundur organize a systematic search for enemies who had got away. The invaders who had surrendered were led away, and relative order was gradually restored. People stood ready for battle, and after a while all had a rough picture of what was going on. But the fear and confusion was plain to see. The people around her had been touched by the supernatural for the first time, something Katja really had seen little of, and never on this scale. She just had to hope that the defenders would now be better prepared for the next instance.

She herself began to relax as time passed. Nothing came out of the darkness to attack them again and she sensed no further sorcery, aside from the constant aura of the camp. The men who had presumably stood ready to enter the gate had evidently retreated.

Now things would most likely proceed as people had expected. The northern army would settle in, rest and prepare its engines of war. Then the next blow would come.

12.

“The chain has been severed,” Katja said, and sipped her tea. “The portcullis will not be opened without repairs.”

“That is... good,” Brjann said wearily as he rubbed his face.

The pair shared a chair. The dulling fog had alarmed them as much as anyone in the city. Despite being among the very few who knew what was really going on, being brought down so easily with no option of resistance was rather a shock. The incident had clearly shaken their confidence and sense of safety, and Katja was very glad for her resistance to sorcery.

“Construction is taking place in the camp,” she said, rubbing her eyelids. “So the next assault will presumably be more traditional in nature.”

Dawn was approaching, and she was the only person in the city who had not slept at all during the night.

Sneaking away from the wall had been relatively easy, but passing the guards by the inner gate without being questioned was less so. So Katja had waited until Jormundur started believing another attack was not imminent and had allowed a portion of the defenders to leave.

She had kept her distance from the captain and not drawn attention to herself in any way. She had just vanished into the hood and the crowd, and it seemed to have worked. He had not asked around for a young woman with a sword and hard palms. Perhaps he had not been conscious enough to see who was waking him, or maybe he just thought someone had woken up earlier than most, and was indifferent to their identity.

Much remained to be seen. The spell had caused great anxiety. People demanded answers no one had at the ready, and tried to come up with a countermeasure to another such assault. Which of course was not possible. Katja suspected the city badly needed a clear victory in the next round, for the sake of morale.

“What will you do?” Linda asked in a quiet voice.

“Wait,” Katja said. “Wait and hope that Jormundur accepts my invitation.”

She stood up.

“I need rest. Do wake me if something notable happens by the wall.”

She didn’t like going to bed. Peter Savaren might come up with something similar, and putting it into action clearly wouldn’t take him long. But she had to rest at some point, and it was probably safest to do so when sorcery was at its weakest.

Actually falling asleep was difficult. The couple kept quiet, but there was considerable noise out on the streets. Katja heard bells ring and humming songs and other useless measures against evil forces. People got into loud arguments with their neighbours and men ran along the streets, shouting the latest news or rumours. All were high-strung. All were frightened.

Katja briefly wondered whether it was worse to know nothing and so be terrorized by one’s own imagination, or to understand as well as she did what they were faced with. But she blocked those thoughts for the sake of calming her mind.

Be wise, Jormundur
, she thought as she finally left her spirit begin to relax.
Be wise and meet me by the statue.

--------------------

Brjann sat by her as she woke up. Katja was not sure whether his presence had roused her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, and sat up quickly.

“Nothing
new
,” he replied. “It is noon. Linda is aiding our neighbours.”

Katja stretched, unsure whether or not to be surly at him for waking her. She watched him and awaited further comment.

“This conflict has not yet begun in earnest,” he said softly, “and you have already saved us once.”

He fell silent and just watched her.

“Yes,” Katja said. What else was she to say?

But then, what is he to say?
she thought as she woke more fully.

The man fidgeted a bit and was probably asking himself the same question.

“You’ve both already expressed your gratitude,” she said soothingly to let him off the cooking fire.

“That may be,” he said. “But it doesn’t seem adequate.” He cleared his throat. “Not now that you have unquestionably saved the city.”

“It will take more,” Katja said, stood up and arched her back. “Perhaps you’d best save your thanks for when we are victorious.”

The young Shade smiled weakly.

“Perhaps. But...” He gazed off at nothing. “But one never knows what is around the corner, and perhaps it is best if one’s feelings towards people are always clear.”

Katja gave thought to the fact that several of his relatives had been murdered a few days earlier.

She nodded.

“Rest assured, I know of your feelings. You needn’t thank me every step of the way.”

These were the right words, the
noble
words, but she couldn’t deny that it felt good to receive gratitude from someone. No-one else in the city knew her or what she was trying to do. That might change at sunset, perhaps for the worse, but in the meantime it was just Brjann and Linda.

Katja wondered whether there was anything useful she could do right now, and came up with nothing. She had deliberately avoided any fraternisation with the militia fighters and soldiers at the wall and always kept her hood up, so there was little chance of her being missed.

She and Brjann cooked a simple lunch together. The man had nothing to do either. His tasks at the wall were done with, and there was little demand for an apprentice architect right now. So he seemed to have assumed the task of keeping the guest company in his wife’s absence.

They chatted as they ate and Brjann spoke of the siege towers one could see rise in the northern camp. They seemed to have brought materials with them, and clearly could assemble a tower with amazing speed.

Other than that, all was quiet for now.

Katja practised agility, quickness, thrusts, slashes and punches, and swung her moonblade through the air. She even got Brjann to take up a knife and gave him some advice on close combat.

Linda did not appear and the time came when Katja had to leave, both due to evening approaching and because she simply had to get out.

She got Brjann to step outside and watch the traffic. Once he signalled that no-one was watching, she snuck out and walked off without saying farewell out loud.

The time remaining until sunset passed in a daze of sorts. She had nothing to do except keep a low profile, and worry.

The moment was coming. Again. The first conversation had in fact been a warm-up, a preparation for this meeting which could decide the fate of Pine City, the Golden Plain, perhaps the entire Inner Sea.

The statue of the Lady stood in a little decorative garden in a square that bore the signs of being a relic of past times. The surrounding houses were all old, and many in quite a poor state. She and Linda had passed through here, and her friend had explained that some of the houses were now used for storage. The statue was old as well, and, in Katja’s eyes, had never been very grand. Still someone clearly made an effort to keep it clean and to trim the trees, bushes and flowerbeds that surrounded it like light surrounds a campfire.

Katja looked up at her. The statue was like most others she had seen of the woman that had given the name to the Jukiala Union. She had a lantern in one hand and a walking stick in the other, and was striding forward. Small wonder that the square was still tended to. The woman had saved mankind, after all, when she led the great exodus away from the Death Lords after the Shattering. She had united, built up, established order during the worst of crises, and set an example that enabled people to build a new nation and a new world.

And here I am trying to save one city
, Katja thought with some self-effacement.

She examined her surroundings more closely. Five streets lead into the square, one of them a dead-end. She couldn’t know for sure which of the other four Jormundur would use, but doubted it would be the narrow alley by a large, single-storey house or the street that lead to the harbour.

The bushes and trees offered decent hiding places, provided one was on the right side, so Katja took up position by a neatly trimmed bush opposite the alley. That route would most likely be clear if she had to make herself scarce and another one was close by if needed. And if both routes were unusable she could make her way onto the roof with little difficulty and escape from there onto other houses or the streets beyond it.

And she waited.

She took care to keep her mind active and stay alert to footsteps and voices, should anyone happen to pass through the square. She went over how to conduct herself; whether she ought to emphasise her mystique or just speak plainly.

The sun began its final rush towards the horizon and the sky darkened. Katja limbered up where she sat and stretched her sensitivity a bit. Nothing had changed. Something was brewing outside of the city, but it would not happen just yet.

Do show up, captain.

The sun sank, the darkness grew deeper and Katja grew uneasy.

Then, through the din of the city, she heard footsteps echo along one of the streets.

Well
.

The individual entered the square and stopped. Katja sat up and turned. She tried to peek through the bush, but saw nothing but leaves and trees.

They both waited for a little while, utterly still and silent.

The footsteps started again and headed away from Katja. It sounded like this person was walking around the garden. She quietly separated from the bush and snuck towards the statue in a crouch.

She used the plinth for cover and peeked around it. In the semi-darkness beyond the bushes she saw a man in a cloak and with a sword at his hip, carefully examining his surrounding with each step.

“Here,” she said quietly, and he immediately turned towards her.

The man hesitated and looked around, but then headed her way with his hand near his sword.

Katja went ahead and stepped away from the plinth as a show of good faith. She trusted the hood and the darkness to provide a certain amount of anonymity.

This was indeed the captain.

“Hello again,” she said to let him hear her voice better.

“You were the one who woke me up,” he said.

“I hope that was enough to earn some trust,” Katja replied.

The man looked her over carefully.

“I won’t deny that would have been a very strange move for an enemy,” he then said with some reluctance. “What is your name?”

“You can call me Anna.”

He threw his hands up.

“Why did you want to meet me here? I don’t like going to secret meetings when the city’s fate rests on me.”

“I have enemies,” Katja replied calmly. “And the less is known about me the more easily I can fulfil my role. Secrecy has been our best defence since the fall of Jukiala. For those times never ended. They just changed.”

Jormundur looked at the ground and shook his head slightly. Katja thought of how she had felt when Serdra first started explaining the facts of the world to her. He was afraid.

“What happened?” he then asked.

“It is called Vaantrepfa,” Katja replied. “The dulling fog. A spell the people of Vendyha knew back in their time, and which their heirs have dug up.”

“Vendyha...” the captain muttered as if he did not wish to believe it.

“You did not answer me last night,” Katja said. “What do you know of the old times?”

The man examined her carefully once again, running his eyes up and down as if making doubly sure she was real.

“Just... what people know. What one hears in old songs and poems and sees in old art. I am no historian.” He was silent for a little bit. “I know that that Jukiala fought monsters, sorcery and the Death Lords. And that... some were better suited to it than others.”

He stared at her and Katja let him digest the situation in peace. She needed him on her side.

“Warriors in red, wielding red flames,” he said softly. “Flames that burned away evil.”

Jormundur looked away again, and seemed to find all this rather ridiculous. When he turned back to Katja he clearly expected something from her.

She backed away a few steps and slowly drew her sword, but let the tip face downwards. Then she let the Sentinel Flame into it.

“Yes,” she said and waved the sword slowly through the air as Jormundur stared. “This power cuts monsters better than anything else.” She let the Flame back into herself and sheathed the weapon. “And I have come here to fulfil my role. But I cannot stand against an entire army. We must help one another.”

Again he hesitated.

“Just what is going on?” he finally asked.

“A powerful sorcerer named Peter Savaren has taken control of Valdimar’s army. He means to found his own realm in Pine City, a new Vendyha, and he must not succeed. Bad enough that human sacrifice and demon sorcery are done in secret.”

“But how?” Jormundur asked, and Katja glimpsed the desperation he, as a leader, had to deny himself. “How does one battle sorcery that can subdue an entire city?”

“The northerners are no more resistant to Vaantrepfa than other men,” Katja replied. “That is why they had to send a small group, one that couldn’t strike until the fog dissipated. And while it is true they may try this measure again, I can withstand it. And if a tactic fails utterly, do you immediately try the same one again?”