The Return of Kavin (26 page)

“Leave that all to me,” Thuramon told her. “For the rest, this is what I wish you to do. You have seen certain amusing things here… or you will, if you wander about. 
A wrestler of enormous strength, a fortune teller and maker of illusions… myself.
 And our servants, a skillful pair of rogues, as you will also see. Now, the Emperor has been most lavish, lately in his entertainments… and you are of his court, anxious to please him further…”

“I see,” Gwynna said.

The torches guttered out, one by one, and the last booths closed. Here and there a drunken citizen snored in a gutter, or rambled homeward; and a patrol of City Guardsmen clanked by.

Zamor, who had had the hardest work, lay snoring in a bunk in the cart, while the others made ready to follow his example. Hugon, yawning hugely, gave Fraak a tasty bit from his plate.

Then, in the distance, there was a deep rumble, and Hugon stared out the tiny window, puzzled.

“Thunder?” he said. “But it’s clear…”

Another boom rolled, echoing in the night. Kavin sat up.

“
A cannon,”
 he said.

Somewhere, not too far away, there was a tremendous crash, and a sound of shouting. Torches flickered in the night, and Hugon went to the cart door.

“I’ll take my oath that was a catapult,” he said, staring into the dark. “Aha, and there go the guardsmen to the gates. Thuramon, I think we’ve less time than before. The city has been besieged, at last.”

Out there in the darkness, another stone fell with a crash, and somewhere southward 
a cannon
 thundered once more.

TWELVE

By dawn, the siege was well under way. It was plainly not a simple siege, an affair of waiting, but an assault, continuous and bitter.

For three hundred years the City had never once been taken by any army. Century after century the walls had been strengthened, built again and again. Within those walls were sources of water, and warehouses of food; unless assault succeeded, an army could lie before Mazain for another century and never enter.

But this time the sea was closed. Those few ships that had limped back from the battle were in the harbor now; and in the Narrow Sea, without, the rebel galleons lay, their guns run out. On the southern plain, the rebel armies lay encamped in a broad circle that ran clear around to that highroad to the north.

Stone throwers stood, dangerously close to the walls, before each gate and near every major tower; their arms swung up, and huge stones sailed over, to crash into the roofs and streets. The cannon, too, were laid level with each gate, and their iron missiles clanged again and again against the stonework. Twice, balls slammed into the gates themselves, and splinters flew, though the bronze-shod doors remained in place.

As the sun rose higher, the first major rebel assault of the day began, with the advance of siege towers and rams against the southwest walls, near the sea. Here, a slight rise overlooked a gate called the Gate of The Dolphins. Where a portion of wall and a tower had been battered nearly to rubble by stones, there were fewer defenders. The siege towers rolled down toward the wall, rumbling monsters covered with wet skins; ahead, men hurled bundles of faggots into the ditch, as they rode swiftly by under a spatter of arrows. In two places the ditch was almost filled, now; and here the siege towers rolled closer to the wall. Meanwhile, a ram came slowly toward the half-shattered gate, inching its way.

There was a desperate engagement atop the wall, and in and out of the swaying towers. At that moment, the gate creaked open, and steel-clad lancers thundered out, rank after rank of men; and behind them, mailed pike-men, who swarmed against the towers’ bases with torches. The ram stopped and flamed, as the lancers swept by and over it, and now the lances went toward the hill.

Then, over the hill’s rim, other lances glittered, and bright pennons flapped in the sun; the armored riders came down, and met the city’s defenders in a crashing line of death.

Some of the lancers managed to turn and ride back through the gates, but not many. The towers burned sullenly, and the dead lay still, in rows where they had fallen. And around the city, the cannon thundered again, and the stone-throwers’ arms rose and fell.

In the late afternoon, in the white palace beside the lake, the sound was distant, but steady. There was also the sound of harpists and flute players, who floated in a barge that was rowing by the marble steps; and the sound of light laughter among the trees. Half a dozen elegantly carved boats lay at the steps of Gwynna’s palace, and she walked, with others of the noble class, near them.

Orashaz, dressed with even more extravagance than usual, hovered at Gwynna’s elbow. Once or twice a louder boom would cause him to jerk slightly and lose the thread of his conversation for a moment; however, for the most part he was managing rather well, Gwynna thought. “Indeed, my lady, I am sure that your plan will please his Glorious Majesty greatly,” Orashaz was saying. “I myself had found several unusual dancers…” He simpered, and rolled his eyes.
“A group of extraordinarily flexible creatures, though a little shocking… ulp.”
Three heavy detonations had gone off in the north. “However,” Orashaz went on, “they seem to have disappeared, with the usual cowardice of such creatures.” He sighed. “Poor fools, they would have received a sizable reward if they had pleased our glorious monarch.”

“There seems to be a frightful amount of disloyalty about,” another lady observed. “My maids came back from market today with the most dreadful stories. It would seem that there was some silly irregularity… apparently the food warehouses were not filled, by some clerk’s error, and there’s a stupid panic going about.”

“I can’t see any cause for alarm,” Orashaz observed. “My own storehouses, in the palace, are quite filled. It seems very unlikely that those rebel swine will make their way past the walls, but even so, we have the inner wall around the noble quarter.” He tittered. “It might be just as well if the city’s common herd were to feel the rebel whip on their backs, for a while; they’d soon know how much better off they are now.”

Another noble joined in. “Have you not heard the latest? The real reason our Sovereign has commanded tonight’s feasting?”

Gwynna turned to listen. The noble smiled, and lowered his voice.

“He plans to loose utter destruction against the rebels, this very night!” the man said. “He has been merciful, till now, hoping they would see their error, but now!” The man shuddered, elegantly.

“Destruction?”
Gwynna asked, arching an eyebrow in bored interest. “Of what sort, tell me?”

“Sorcery!” the noble said.
“Mighty sorcery, known only to our Emperor, given him by the Dark Lord himself.
But there’s more!” He leaned forward, and his voice went lower. “At dawn, he will call forth the god, as he’s promised for so long! All of us will see, with our own eyes, as we knew we would! The Dark Lord will come, and sweep away all opposition, before the Emperor!”

“Then the altar is finished?” Gwynna asked, trying to keep her voice devoid of interest.

“The last work is done, needs only to be fitted into place,” the man told her.

I wonder where those fools have gone, she thought, with a rush of terror rising within her. They’ve been caught, flung into prison, or hacked to death. Or a stone’s crushed them all. They should have come an hour ago or more

I’ll die here, in this foul magnificence, she thought bitterly. That madman will loose his demon, perhaps… or the rebels will break in, as they must sooner or later. And there will be a few men of Meryon among them, I don’t doubt at all, she thought. It may be that a man of lost Armadoc will find me… at least that will be a clean death.
And a just one, for what I’ve been and done.

She bit her lip and gained control again, with an effort; a voice was coming through, Orashaz’s.

“… most interesting, to see those sacrifices which will be performed tonight…”

The Harbor Fortress was a squat mass of stone, windowless, stained with age and dirt; its walls were washed by the stagnant waters of a broad canal on two sides, and there was a narrow, filthy alley along a third side. On the fourth, a gateway of iron faced the streets, well guarded.

“During my short stay in this city beforetime, I happened to learn one or two interesting bits of history,” Hugon was saying, as he walked on the other side of the canal with the others. They stayed well within the shadows of the moldering warehouses, and watched for possible guards. There were none about; every man who carried arms was busy at one part of the walls or another.

But there were still guards at the prison, plainly; several men moved behind the barred gates. A few minutes before, the four had seen lancers ride up, a dozen or more of them, and their mounts were still tethered at the gates. But there was no way of knowing how many still lived there, within those blackened walls. Many had been dragged out already, to executions that were still going on.

“A sewer,” Hugon said, thoughtfully. “It opens there, on the canal bank. It’s barred, of course, but I have these tools.” He patted the leather pouch. “Now, once inside, there’s a courtyard, large and fairly dark, because of a roof over it. The prisoners would be there, since the place hasn’t room in cells for so many. Besides, I made inquiries. The guards are few…”

“What about the lancers, a while ago?” Zamor asked.

“That puzzles me,” Hugon admitted. “It may be that they came to fetch some especially important prisoners… thought they’ve been the damndest long time about it. Perhaps they can’t find whoever it is in the crowd.” He stared across at the stone pile with a frown. “Yes… that’s a question. Those lancers… I understood that there were few guards, old men mostly, who seldom looked down into the prison proper, except to fling down a little food and water. They can spare no able men, now especially. And most of those in there are women, children, or old men, as I’ve heard.”

“Listen!” Zamor said, suddenly.

There was a sound of horses on the stone street. Hugon listened, and grinned.

“Those lancers, leaving,” he said. “Well, then.” He walked toward the canal’s edge. Over his shoulder, he said, “Zamor. That beast, Fraak… I had an hour’s work to persuade him to remain in the cart, so much did he wish to come with me. If I should not succeed, take care of the creature. He has a foolishly tender heart, and needs a friend.”

Zamor grunted.
“You?
You will live, no fear. Only the good meet early death, brother. In you go.”

Hugon slid into the fetid water, and swam toward the distant sewer opening, a faint streak on the oily surface.

Thuramon looked after him with a strange expression; and Kavin too. Zamor turned away from the water’s edge and joined them.

After a long while, Thuramon glanced at the advancing shadow of the building; it lay over the canal, now. He pulled at his white beard.

“We must reach the gate of the inner city before dark,” Thuramon said.

“He intends to find those two and show them the sewer’s entrance,” Zamor said.
“A woman and a child.
They would be fearful, and slow.”

“Not that slow,” Thuramon said.

“He may have decided to bring some others out, as well,” Zamor said. “It’s not been long, yet.”

Thuramon glanced at the big man.

“It’s been too long,” Kavin said.

“Then I’ll follow him in,” Zamor said. He unbuckled his cloak, and dropped it. “If he’s dead, I’ll slay a few.”

“No!” Thuramon said sharply. “Remember our agreement.”

“Damn our agreement, warlock,” Zamor said, and took a step toward the canal.

“Hugon took your oath,” Kavin said, in a hard voice. “He swore you not to follow him, remember that? And you gave it, in the name of friendship.”

Zamor stared at him, his eyes gleaming oddly.

“I swore, too,” Kavin said. He stared at the black water with eyes that were dark with pain.

“I break the oath, then,” Zamor said.

“You need not,” Thuramon said, in a relieved voice. “Look, he comes.”

Hugon, dripping, climbed wearily up the bank. He was masked in filth and mud, and shook as he stood; his eyes looked out of the gray-black mask, wide and blank, the eyes of a man in a state of shock.

“You’re alone,” Zamor said, staring at him. “Here, you’ll freeze, you fool.” He flung the cloak around Hugon, who continued to stand and shiver.

“Come, then, let’s get away from here,” Kavin said, and Zamor, glancing oddly at Hugon, nodded. They moved off, Hugon walking like a machine, stiffly.

“There were…” Hugon started to say, and stopped. He turned and leaned against a wall, head down, and vomited.

After a while, he straightened.

“I need to wash, quickly,” he said, in a curiously calm voice. “There’s a fountain in the next street.”

He walked ahead of the others, and found the water; kneeling, he sponged the filth away, and rose again, to wrap the cloak around himself.

“Let’s get to business,” Hugon said. “We’re late, I think.”

He would say no more, until much later; then, as they rode toward the gates of the area of palaces called the inner city, he broke his silence.

“Fazakk must be told, if possible,” Hugon said, as if to
himself
. “The woman is dead, of course.
And the child.”
He stared at Kavin and Zamor with a slightly mad look. “All of them were dead. It was the lancers, those we saw; but many had been dead already, for a long time. The lancers were merciful. They finished the work.”

“All dead?”
Kavin asked, with a look of horror.

“Starved, I think.” Hugon shook his head.
“Gods.
I don’t wish to remember what I saw there. This is no longer a city of men.
Demons!”
He spat.

Behind them, a thundering crash echoed, and a column of dust rose.

“It will not be a city long,” Kavin said, glancing back.

At the end of the street, the white gates of the inner city loomed; guards in jeweled armor barred their way.