Tanza (38 page)

Small, isolated battles continued around Condii even while Tyba and I were safe inside the city centre. Crystom and the strategists made sure each of the Anzaii were given time to rest and recover from the stress of fighting. I was grateful to be with Tyba while Ciera was building Elonavé. It felt more useful than sitting inside Condii fortress discussing war tactics.

I snorted in a vain attempt to clear the dust from my nose. A scuffle broke out across the street where an elderly man was trying to get fresh straw for his livestock. The man shoved the soldier and attempted to seize what he needed, but a younger woman pulled him back.

The prince and I had come to the parade ground today to meet the people and boost morale. So far we’d been greeted mostly with resentful stares, angry questions and complaints. Our guardians had been forced to hold back the crowd. I looked forward to when the king would join us—I was struggling to maintain my composure.

No matter what any of these people were suffering, Sarlice was suffering worse. I clenched my fists and ran my fingers through my hair. My stomach grumbled, but I set aside my hunger, knowing that Sarlice was probably enduring worse.

Not all of the Tanzans in the city centre were making trouble. In fact, most people were getting on with the business of everyday living and helping each other. I observed a girl about the age of nine pass up the offer of a second piece of fruit so that a smaller child behind her could have extra.

‘Did you see that girl over there?’ Tyba asked me, pointing.

I nodded.

‘That is what we are fighting for. Tanza is more than just a place. It is an ideal. We are the last hope for an increasingly hostile, self-serving world.’

I gazed at him, starting to understand what it was, about Tyba, that I knew would make him a great king one day. Instead of becoming disheartened by the negative people, he focused on the honourable ones.

‘If you know this, why haven’t you gone out into the world to spread that ideal?’ I asked.

He blinked and looked down at the ground. ‘If you’re referring to Telby, it might have something to do with the exile. As for the other nations, Tanza has always sent delegates and resources to them. Perhaps we could have done more…’

I turned my head to the sound of hooves on the road. King Crystom and his personal guard rode into the city centre. With a nod to Tanza, Crystom dismounted and spread his arms wide, welcoming his people to him. Swarms of people approached to ask questions.

‘Must we leave Condii? Can it not be defended?’ ‘What will become of Tanza?’ ‘When will Elonavé be completed?’ ‘When’ll we be receiving more wool?’ ‘We need more oil.’ ‘We need meat.’ ‘Who is going to settle disputes?’ ‘Who will go first once the shroud is finished?’ ‘When will the evacuation begin?’

‘Talon,’ Ciera’s voice was very faint on the waves. I sensed that he had collapsed somewhere on the upper levels of Elonavé. ‘It is done.’

With that he faded into a deep sleep.

‘Soon,’ I blurted.

‘What’s that, Talon?’ Tyba asked.

I kept my voice low so as not to be heard. ‘The evacuation will begin soon, won’t it? Ciera has just completed Elonavé and he has passed out.’

‘I’ll have water sent up right away. Amadeus and I will take you to check on him.’

‘My thanks,’ I replied.

Amadeus glided down to the ground, his purple and yellow wings temporarily casting a shadow over us. The prince and I climbed onto his back and strapped ourselves in to the two-person saddle. Amadeus pointed his nose straight up into the air and launched. His great, feathered, wings snapped open, beating a path through the air towards Elonavé.

Our guardians followed close behind. Within minutes Amadeus had scaled the immense floating castle and was landing on the roof. Only a small amount of vapour clung to the edges of the sky kingdom; it was primarily made up of the spongy, white, material that enabled us to walk on ordinary shrouds.

A short stairwell and passage lead to the level beneath. Tyba and I disembarked and walked around the stairwell to where Ciera and a number of other shroud-skyearls were resting. He lay sprawled out on the shroud. His head was outstretched, his eyes shut tight and his wings and limbs completely relaxed. He looked somewhat like a skyearl whelp that had crash-landed and was lying stunned on the ground. As I approached, a pair of skyearls appeared with waterlogged towels that they pressed to Ciera’s face and mouth. One skyearl pried open his mouth, which emitted a rancid gust of dry wind.

‘He needs food,’ one of the skyearls said.

‘I’ll harvest those banana trees for him,’ the other answered.

There was a curt nod from the first skyearl before the second took off. I marched over to Ciera, trying to reach him through the waves. As with the construction of the strike force shroud, the effort of creating this shroud had drained him. This time his exhaustion was even more pronounced.

‘Do not fear for him,’ Tyba told me. ‘He will be watched over by the other skyearls.

‘Good,’ I replied, listening to the waves for a few moments. ‘The civilians are being sent here to Elonavé.’

‘Very well,’ Tyba said. ‘I am going to fly out and oversee the shutting of the front gate. You can come with me if you want. We could do with your help if you’re feeling up to it. There are plenty of conjurations out there to be entrapped.’

‘Any demons?’ I asked, feeling that the effort required to face another one would just about break me.

‘Not at the moment,’ the prince replied. ‘It was rare to see that many summoners together. They are Bal Harar’s highest ranking officers. Their appearance can only mean the Bal himself is nearby.’

I pursed my lips. Sarlice had been taken and Bal Harar was here. Could the two somehow be related?

‘What is the meaning of ‘Bal’?’

‘It can be loosely translated as “strongest” or “most powerful”. Zeika hierarchy demands there be only one Bal at any one time, but the position can be challenged at any time. The Bal usually gains his position by murdering or maiming his competitors. Young, ambitious Zeikas get close to the top through prowess in battle and in contests of sorcery.’

I screwed up my mouth in distaste.

‘Shall we go to the gate?’ he asked.

I nodded reluctantly.

Tyba and I mounted up on Amadeus again and glided down, down, down towards the front gate. We passed through the shroud bowl—on the far side the ruddy afternoon light was a dazzling contrast to my eyes.

The brilliant orange sun reached tendrils of light beneath a puffy expanse of dark brown and black clouds. The land beneath the clouds was washed with red light and patterned with deep shadows. Wind stirred the grass and trees in the distance, bringing with it a sense of change I could not quite ignore. The smell of rain was in the air.

Amadeus passed by the gatehouse where hundreds of Centanians were lined up waiting to get inside Condii. He descended slowly towards one of the outermost towers where we could see both the gates and the battle that was raging just a few stadions away, at the bottom of the hill. This new Zeika legion was not yet in range of the newly equipped and fortified towers. Our warriors faced them still, determined to hold them back for as long as possible while the civilians made it to Elonavé.

Amadeus stretched out his claws to grip the wooden rails that were built into the top of the tower. He landed easily on one of the thicker rails and settled his wings.

Tyba and I climbed down just as the rest of our entourage was arriving, Jaalta and Jett among them. They spoke not a word as we spread out among the spear-skyearls who were already on the tower. A few of the spear-skyearls spared a polite nod for the prince before returning their stern gazes back to the battle.

I sensed a coiled strength in most of them. They fought within themselves to stay put. Every instinct in their bodies clamoured at them to fight and defend the humans. As we watched, the battle crawled closer. The Tanzan army fell back every so often, finding new boulders and crevices to use as cover. Skyearls, dragons and death hawks slashed the sky. After a while my eyes started to see strange criss-crossing patterns. The blood and screaming was barely detectable from this distance but I knew, with every fibre of my being, that it was there. It was an effort to rein my thoughts away from the option to investigate what was going on with the waves. It would only reveal more pain and distress than I could cope with.

As night began to fall, the gates of Condii were finally closed. The battle raged ever closer to our position, affording me with opportunities to dispel and confuse conjurations. Without physical touch, I could not entrap them.

I used one death hawk that I’d managed to get control of to fly back over the Zeika army. They were organised into rows of ground troops with conjurers and renders towards the back. In several places there were pockets of Tanzans still fighting. I flew the death hawk down upon one group, wincing as the Tanzans darted back in fear. But the death hawk had a new target, a render by the name of Jonaal whom I had met before, back in the Plains near Tez.

His presence on the waves was tainted with hate and fear. He hid the latter well, using his bull-strength and render abilities to kill dozens of Tanzans. I switched the hawk just a few paces away from a group of Tanzans and made it drive straight toward Jonaal’s chest. Just when I was preparing for the shock of its death, Jonaal spun around, raised both hands and flung them outwards. There was a painful tearing feeling inside the hawk’s conjured body. The creature flew apart and evaporated in mid-air.

I cursed.

‘Steady,’ Tyba said, holding me front and back with strong arms.

I came back to myself, only to see the dizzying drop over the edge of the tower. I stumbled back, feeling disoriented.

‘He killed it,’ I stammered.

‘They know what you can do, now,’ Tyba said.

My head pounded.

‘Don’t overdo it,’ Jaalta said.

She and Jett were right by my side, watching me with pinched foreheads. I shrugged and tried to shake my head clear. When I looked back over Condii, I could see a snaking trail of people with torches disappearing into the misty edges of the shroud bowl. The evacuation had begun.

Chapter Twenty-seven—Ignice Jabez

I
t was deep into the night when the Zeikas had pushed our troops back far enough to be within range of the towers.

I tried desperately not to think of the thousands of people who had given their lives to buy time for Condii’s evacuation. There were still ten thousand Tanzan soldiers, but they were in desperate need of rest, food and healing. Unlike many battles I had heard about in Chryne’s history, there was no relief at night.

The Zeikas pushed forward, chasing what they clearly perceived as an advantage at night time. Perhaps they wished to complete the takeover of Condii before the storm clouds above brought forth rain.

As the Zeikas got closer, the increased range of the towers quickly depleted their foremost ranks. They moved forward in an immense line, dividing our fire so that no matter how many were killed, more Zeikas and conjurations were always there to fill their place.

In this manner they gradually moved forward, killing Defender stragglers and reaching each of the seven towers at the front of Condii city at about the same time. Jaalta, myself and the other Anzaii simply couldn’t be everywhere at once.

As soon as we focused our dispelling and confusing abilities on one tower, we gained a foothold there, but lost one of the others. Likewise, each tower was only able to fire its catapults and ballistas on enemies attacking the next tower along. Architect Furlorny’s rubble-dropping contraptions only held back the Zeika ground troops for a time. Despite our best efforts, first one, then two and three towers fell.

When Zeika troops finally managed to break down the doors of our tower, Tyba ordered our retreat.

‘We can fight them,’ I argued.

‘Nay,’ he replied. ‘It’s not worth the risk.’

He pulled me up onto Amadeus’ back, barely waiting for me to strap in. We soared off the edge of the tower, narrowly avoiding arrow fire from dragons and Zeikas both above and below us.

Jaalta was not so lucky. Her shock reverberated through the waves, followed by intense physical pain. An arrow had landed in her ankle, punching straight through the metal boots she wore. With Jaalta barely staying upright, Jett and Ptemais made straight for the semi-repaired healer building just inside the front gates.

Amadeus carried us back to the gatehouse where King Crystom and his personal guard were stationed. The substantial platform at the top of Condii’s gates was big enough for about a hundred people to stand. A table had been set up towards the back with piles of maps made of vellum, of fabric and even some valuable papyrus ones.

The waves enabled me to discern that one of the people standing nearby was a counter. Another row of tables had piles of supplies from water and bandages through to cross-bow bolts and arrows.

Tyba and Crystom clasped both hands, looking pleased to see one another unharmed.

‘Astor Talon,’ Crystom said after a while. He offered me his hand, which I shook firmly. ‘Thank you for everything you’re doing. I understand you’ve gone without sleep now for more than 16 hours.’

‘At least someone is counting,’ I said with a weak chuckle.

‘Aye,’ said the king, ‘there is a counter among my personal guard who keeps me abreast of these things.’

‘I’ve had a break from the fighting,’ I assured him. ‘I was with Tyba in the city centre when you arrived earlier.’

‘If you feel you need to go and sleep, I would suggest doing so close to Elonavé…’

‘No, thank you, sire. I am needed here.’

The truth was that I sensed something different in the waves. Although it was too much effort to sort through the myriad of thoughts and emotions coming from the Zeikas below us, I was able to glean general shifts in their overall thinking patterns. What seemed to be happening now was an energy build-up of some kind.

Whether motivated by fear or awe, the Zeikas were throwing everything they had against the Tanzan army. There was no more time to ponder—the last of the seven frontal towers was overrun.