When she reached the ledge two of the men lifted her up, positioning her with her back to the monument while they unhooked the pulley system from her belt and replaced it with a safety line. The lead climbers had already begun the next part of the ascent. Three more to go, she remembered. She was already high enough that looking down made her heart lurch in her chest. But that was good, right? Each new pitch meant that they were that much closer to their objective. And thus far no one had seen them.
We’ve gotten this far, she thought. We’re going to make it.
She could not see Kamala anymore. But with the monument blocking her view in several directions, it was not something she was going to worry about.
Shutting her eyes, she waited for her turn at the next ascent.
Kamala was directly over the Citadel when she saw a man emerge on top of one of the towers, carrying a plain wooden box. He was not dressed like a guard, but wore a pricey gown of blue brocade that glittered with golden highlights when the first rays of the rising sun struck it. Probably one of the people in charge of this place. For one wild moment she was tempted to strike him down where he stood, but she knew the risk was too great. Such an action would raise alarms all over the Citadel. Brave as her companions were, she had no illusion about them being able to hold their own against the full might of Anukyat’s forces in battle. Stealth was of paramount importance.
Her senses on high alert, she watched intently as he looked out across the landscape, studying the land in all directions. The sight of it made her blood run cold. Rhys’ people had reached the base of the tower already and so were safely out of his line of sight. But if what this man wanted was a vantage point from which he might look out over the entire area, he might well decide to visit the upper chamber of the third Sister himself, or send others to do the job. And that would be very bad right now. Less than an hour ago Kamala had scouted the upper tower and confirmed to Rhys and his company that it was empty. Under normal circumstances it would probably stay that way. But this new variable could change everything.
Kamala watched as he leaned down to unlatch the box, reached inside, and came up holding a gray bird in his hands. He held it still for a moment, then raised up his hands and let go. The pigeon took to the air with a frenetic flurry of wings, clearly anxious to escape this place as quickly as possible. As it flew off southward, Kamala could see that there was some small object strapped to its leg.
A messenger pigeon.
She would have taken off after it immediately, but the man was still on the roof, watching it fly into the distance. If he saw a larger bird suddenly appear out of nowhere to snatch up his messenger, that would surely put him—and perhaps the whole Citadel—on high alert. But if the bird got too far for Kamala to catch up with it . . . well, that would depend upon what sort of message he was sending out. She felt her avian heart beating wildly as she waited, precious seconds passing with agonizing slowness. Surely you have something better to do, she urged him silently.Go do it.
By the time he finally went back inside the Citadel, the pigeon was so far away that chasing it down would not be a quick or easy task. Kamala did not want to leave her watch station for any length of time while Rhys’ company was making its climb, but if Anukyat were trying to contact his allies, that was even more urgent. Some of those allies had very large wingspans and would have no trouble picking Rhys’ men off the side of the great monument.
Which left her no real choice.
She took off like an arrow, following the small bird. Though her current form was not that of a predator built for speed, she was still a good deal larger than the pigeon, and the muscular beat of her wings slowly but surely began to close the gap between them. As she did so she made one attempt to strike it down with sorcery, as she had struck down the hare, but evidently she was too far away for that to work. Or perhaps she just could not manage the concentration needed while flying herself.
Or maybe it was a warning that she no longer had enough athra left in her consort to manage such a spell safely.
As she finally managed to get close to the bird it became erratic in its flight, evading her best attempts to grab hold of it. Prey instinct. If she had been wearing the body of a hawk, perhaps she would have known how to compensate for it. Precious seconds passed while she struggled to compensate for its instinctive tactics. It seemed like hours. At last she dug her talons squarely into the pigeon’s body, holding on with all her strength as it began to flap wildly, trying to break free. It took all her skill to keep from being dragged out of the sky as she tried to kill the thing, as the body she had made for herself was not designed for killing. Finally, in frustration, she let loose a bit more transformative sorcery, and this time it did what it was supposed to. As the mangled body went limp beneath her she grabbed hold of the message tube with her beak and tore it loose, letting the rest of the bird fall. Finally!
Turning sharply, she began to fly with all her strength back to the Citadel, hoping that her absence would not cost the company too dearly.
Kamala should have reported in by now, Rhys thought.
He held Gwynofar steady while the first four warriors slipped into the tower. Or perhaps more accurately, they scraped into the tower. The jagged crevice that gave them access to the interior was big enough for a grown man to squeeze through, but barely. Garments and gear scraped against the raw edges of the opening as the warriors forced their way through, and one man had to divest himself of some of his climbing gear in order to fit. When Gwynofar’s turn finally came she went through much more easily, but her legs were trembling so badly by the time she dropped inside that Rhys had to help support her. All the fear of the past few hours was finally hitting home, he guessed. But that was fine. She’d managed the ascent well enough, which was the part that mattered most. Any trouble that turned up now the warriors would deal with.
Quickly the men rearranged their gear, making sure all their weapons were ready at hand. They worked as quickly and quietly as possible, but in the close confines of the tower every sound seemed to echo back at them and it was hard to imagine anyone else who might be inside could fail to hear them.
The inside of the tower was much as Kamala had described it, with a vast spiral staircase carved into the native stone, wide enough for two men abreast if all they did was walk, but uncomfortably close quarters for combat. The situation clearly didn’t please Ullar’s men, but they’d chosen their weapons accordingly and were ready to fight for every step if necessary. Hopefully there was no one above them to get in the way. As for coming down again later . . . that was something none of them really wanted to think about. Could they find this relic and uncover its secrets without any of the locals knowing that they were here? Much less hope for a clean retreat afterward?
Stay with Gwynofar once we reach the throne, Rhys had told Kamala. See what she sees, learn what she learns, commit to memory all that happens to her. You may well be the one who has to carry that information back to Kierdwyn so that others can act upon it.
So where was Kamala now? She should have reported in before this, if for no other reason then to confirm that the upper levels were still unoccupied. She had given them the go-ahead on that count before they started climbing, but he would have liked to have it confirmed. So much depended upon that one condition.
He looked over the men, bristling with weapons and determination, and thought, there is no going back now. Any confrontation on the staircase was bound to be brutal, but Ullar’s men looked ready for it. Even eager. Hanging off the side of a monolith for several hours while waiting to see if Souleaters would show up to pick them off wasn’t the kind of operation they’d been trained for. But for the Guardians . . . well, that was precisely what they had been trained for, and Rhys knew that if a Souleater had shown up they would have given it a damned good fight, even if they had to do it hanging from ropes.
As they separated into two groups, preparing for the next phase of the operation, he saw one of the Guardians moving hi
s lips silently. Probably praying. A cold knot formed in Rhys’ gut and he had to fight the impulse to tell the man that his faith was misplaced. No god cared about this battle one way or the other. And if the enemy fell upon them now, no god would lift a metaphysical finger to help them.
Faith is the core of their strength, he told himself harshly. Shatter the illusion and you strip them of that strength.
How he envied them the comfort of their ignorance!
Moving quickly up the staircase, sandwiched between four warriors ahead of them and four behind, Rhys stayed close by Gwynofar’s side, ready to help her if she needed it. She struggled gamely to keep up with the men and gave no sign of being either tired or worried. Indeed, when one of the soldiers glanced back at her to see how she was doing, she beamed back at him with such confidence that Rhys knew the man’s own courage was bolstered. That was always her gift, he thought—giving strength to others—and never had it been needed more than now.
Then, just as they had completed a their second turn of the staircase and were passing by another one of the jagged windows, the sudden flutter of wings drew them up short.
Kamala.
For a moment she didn’t say anything. And that said it all. Rhys felt his stomach knot, and it took all his self-control to keep his voice steady as he asked, “How many are there?”
“Six that I could see,” the bird rasped. Barely a whisper, but the words were significant enough that no one missed them.
“Chamber or stairs?”
“Chamber.”
Six men could easily hold the upper chamber against an assault from below, given its configuration. The knot in Rhys’ stomach tightened.
The captain asked quietly, “Do they know we are here yet?”
“I don’t think so,” the bird responded. “They are looking for something outside the tower.”
Signs of our passage, Rhys thought grimly. Ramirus’ sorcery had prevented the enemy from inspecting them too closely, but the trail they left behind would be fair game. And if the Alkali started looking too closely at the tower itself they would realize what must have happened. There were signs of it, if one looked in the right places.
Time was running out.
“Were they guarding the entrance?” the captain asked.
Kamala thought for a moment, then shook her head. The captain’s expression was grim. “We still have Ramirus’ protection.” He kept his voice to a half whisper so that his voice would not carry beyond the small company. “Though we don’t know how effective it will be in this place. That might enable us to breach the upper chamber, though we shouldn’t count on it protecting us once they are alerted to our presence.” His eyes narrowed as he took in their painted gray garments, so obviously out of place in this setting. Maybe Ramirus’ spell would be up to the task of masking such a thing, maybe not. The Citadel might even have defensive sorcery of its own, cast in a happier time, that negated such spells entirely. They would not know until they put their lives on the line to test it.
It is all or nothing now, Rhys thought grimly. And with that knowledge came a cold and compelling certainty: I am ready to die.
“I will go first,” he said.
The captain shook his head. “You stay with the queen. This is our task.”
Gwynofar nodded. If she understood how desperate their situation had just become, she gave no outward sign of it. “Where do you want us?”
“At the rear. If we can take the upper chamber, you will follow us. If not . . .” His expression was grim.
“I will see to her safety,” Rhys promised. Brave-sounding words; did Gwynofar sense how little substance there was behind them? If these men failed in their assault, her only hope would be a rapid retreat. To where? For what purpose? The task they had come to do could not be left undone. Too much depended upon it. Where was there to go, once the enemy knew they were here?
The captain nodded grimly, then looked at the bird. “Let us know if anything changes.”
Kamala bobbed her head once and headed back out the window.
“All right then.” The captain shut his eyes for a moment, his lips moving silently in prayer. “The will of the gods be done,” he whispered at last. And he nodded for his men to begin their ascent.
The six Alkali guards didn’t know exactly what Master Anukyat had sent them to the top of the tower to find, but they could guess the cost of coming back without it. “Search land and sky for anything unnatural,” he had ordered them. “Anything that might indicate an attempt to use sorcery.”
Several of the guards muttered imprecations under their breath as they stared out the narrow windows in the observation chamber, trying to figure out just what that was supposed to mean in a land where the Wrath made just about everything seem unnatural. What did sorcery look like anyway? Last they’d all heard it couldn’t be used in this region at all, so what did that make of their master’s request?
As one of the guards turned his attention from one empty vista to another, he thought he saw motion out of the corner of his eye in the center of the room. Someone else was coming up from below to assist them. That was just wonderful, he thought. More help doing nothing. He opened his mouth to make a sardonic comment as he turned to greet the newcomer, but the words never got out of his mouth.
The man was dressed in shades of mottled gray, unlike any clothing the guard had ever seen, and he carried a short sword in one hand and a small round shield in another. His posture was likewise inappropriate, betraying the kind of innate muscular tension that would normally presage combat. But what was there to fight up here? And why was he wearing those outlandish garments? It seemed to him that he should be able to figure that out, but his mind seemed loath to focus on the problem.
Then the newcomer stepped forward to make way for another to follow him, and something inside the guard snapped into focus.
“To arms—” he called out, and he might have said more had the stranger not swung his sword at that moment. The blade whipped across his throat in a blinding arc, and when it passed through there was no more sound possible. Choking on blood as he sagged to his knees, the guard saw his companions turning to face the invasion just in time. A second man was inside the room now, and he was just as oddly dressed and well-armed as the first. And there was a third warrior making the ascent behind him. Someone is attacking the tower, the wounded man thought, as everything faded into darkness. And in his last conscious moment: Why?
The spilling of blood seemed to awaken them all to the danger they were in and their martial training kicked in. Three of the guards grabbed spears from their brackets on the wall and brought them to bear upon the staircase, determined to drive back the third invader and then keep anyone else from entering the chamber. Gods alone knew how many there were on the staircase below preparing to join the assault! But the man refused by be intimidated by their bristling weaponry, and deftly turned one thrust aside with the shield on his left arm, while his sword parried another. His movements were clean and minimal, and he turned about as he fought, making it harder for one of them to get behind him. Step by step he cleared his way up into the room and the best of their efforts did not seem able to stop him.
All the Alkali were drawing their weapons now, released from whatever spell had previously dulled their senses. But the loss of initiative had already cost them dearly. Treading in puddles of blood from their fallen comrades, the remaining pair attacked the other invaders fiercely, unwilling to cede a moment’s advantage. Blood flowed from an arm on one side, a leg on the other, as gleaming steel blades played back and forth, snaking past shield and parry on both sides. One of the Alkali nearly lost his footing on a blood slick and an attacker was quick to take advantage of it, his own soft shoes gripping the floor with supernatural tenacity as he thrust his blade through the man’s forward shoulder, severing vital muscles. But the Alkali just took up his sword in his other hand and kept fighting, a look of grim determination on his face. Blood will not stop me, it warned, nor p
ain.
Then one of the lancers managed to get through the guard of the third invader, driving his spear in under his raised arm and deep into his torso. He could feel the blade grating on bone as he forced it home, and was rewarded with a gush of fresh blood for his efforts. Pinned, the man could no longer maneuver away from his Alkali opponents, and another thrust forward and opened a gash in his neck as well. As the body slumped, twitching, the third man grabbed hold of it and dragged it into the room, so that no one below could use it to shield himself as he attempted to follow. For a fraction of a second the gauntlet of spears was compromised and a fourth attacker began to rush up the staircase. But the first guard jerked his weapon free and turned to guard the entranceway, and in concert with his companions they forced the invader back down into the depths of the tower.
And then one of the Alkali did something that should have been done earlier. Stepping back from the battle, he reached for a horn that hung between two windows. One of the invaders realized what he was doing and lunged to stop him, but he was too late. Another Alkali rammed into the invader from the side, forcing him out of the way. Out of reach.
The guard put the horn to his lips and blew.
The sound was piercing, a shrill note that reverberated from the stone walls and rang out across the courtyard far below. Men began to pour out of the Citadel, grabbing up arms as they headed for the base of the tower. Whoever or whatever was behind this assault, they would soon find themselves outflanked. With their entrance into the chamber cut off and the tower about to be stormed from below, the invaders would not last long. All the Alkali had to do now was delay these two long enough for reinforcements to arrive, and all the rest would follow.
Dropping the horn, the Alkali let out a roar of rage, raised his sword high, and rejoined the battle.
The sound of the alarm call reverberated through the monument. Rhys cursed under his breath and descended half a turn to where a narrow crevice offered him a limited view of the citadel’s courtyard. Looking outside, he cursed again.