Nelay read over the color-labeled bowls. “And no one ever mixes up blue-purple, purple, and red-purple?”
“Our Immortals are well trained,” Nashur replied.
“King Zatal!” a general shouted. Nelay didn’t need her telescope to see that another gate had fallen.
“Send Hozer’s division!” the king roared.
Another burst of color. The horn sounded again, a long blast followed by four bursts.
“How are they getting through the portcullis and gates so easily?” Nelay quietly asked Nashur.
He looked at her then, a gleam of grim fascination in his eyes. “They freeze them.”
She reeled back, wondering if Suka could be right. But the Goddess of Winter couldn’t be behind this. The Clansmen must have some weapon, something like luminash, only instead of fire, it brought cold. “Freeze them? How?”
“If we knew that, we’d be able to stop them,” Nashur answered. “But it always follows a pattern—they only hit one or two gates. And they always wait about two or three days before they freeze them again.” Before Nelay could question him further, he cried, “The Borz Gate is about to fall!”
Three gates had fallen, all next to each other. The reserves were busy fighting back the encroaching Clansmen. If another gate fell, they wouldn’t have any reserves to plug the hole.
King Zatal ground his teeth. As he hesitated, another gate came under siege, and then another. “Bring them in from other gates.”
“But King Zatal, if they breach one of the gates that doesn’t have reserves, they’ll enter the city unmolested,” said a man Nelay didn’t know.
“If we don’t do something, they’re going to enter the city now!” Nashur roared.
Zatal pointed to one of several wiry men lined up near the stairs. “Go to the woodworker’s guild and have them start on new doors—now! Thick and strong. I don’t care what they look like.” As the man turned to go, the king pointed to another. “And have the iron workers see if they can’t reinforce them.”
Two young men took off at a sprint.
Zatal pointed to another man. “Round up the palace guards. Send them to the Avarta Gate.” Even as that man left, the king was speaking to a third. “Go down every street—call for every able-bodied man or woman and have them report to the nearest gate with whatever weapon they can find.”
The man next to Nelay spoke up. “It would take hours combing the streets to round them all up. Avarta needs soldiers now.”
“What do you want me to do, Nashur?” growled the king. “I’m running out of men!”
“Send the priestesses,” Nelay blurted. She didn’t mean to say anything, but they were missing key players that were at their disposal.
The king whirled toward her. She met his frantic gaze with a steady one. “Send the Priestess Army.”
“But . . .” Nashur couldn’t seem to finish the thought.
“The Priestess Army only marches at the high priestess’s orders,” Zatal said.
The wind picked up, sending smoke straight at Nelay. “If you ask, they will fight, Suka’s order or not. They aren’t called an army for nothing. And we’ll die with the rest of the city if those gates fall.”
The king paused for a moment, then pointed to another messenger. “Go! Beg them on your knees if you must. Tell them their people need them at the Borz Gate!” When the man hesitated, the king shoved him. “Go, man!”
The soldier took off and the king shrugged into his cross baldric.
“Where are you going?” Nashur asked.
“My guards are the finest warriors in all the world. You’re in charge until my return.” Nelay realized Zatal meant to fight with his men.
“You can’t risk yourself, my king,” Nashur said darkly. “Not like this.”
Flames of anger seemed to burn behind Zatal’s eyes. He gripped Nashur’s chest armor and shook him. “Idara—the strongest nation in the world—falls to the Clansmen in a few short weeks. We can’t even hold our last city for a night! I’ll not stay here, sniveling like a coward while they take everything we are!”
He shoved Nashur away and spoke to Nelay, “If the city is breeched, seal the palace gates. The defenses won’t hold up long—not against five hundred thousand men. Your best chance is to outlast the pillaging and rape. When they offer you surrender, take it. And hope they don’t murder you the moment your weapons are gone.”
He started down the stairs. Terror buffeted Nelay, leaving her raw from the inside out. “Call for the Tribesmen!” she shouted to Zatal when she could see only his head and shoulders. “We need more players on our side—allies! If the desert tribes attack from without, we might survive this.”
“I already asked.” The king met her gaze. “They will not come.” He trotted out of sight without waiting for her response.
Which was for the best, because she was struck speechless. Rycus and his men would have come. And she’d come to think all the Tribesmen were like him. Gathering her wits about her, Nelay pounded down the stairs after the king, squeezing past generals, messengers, and soldiers. Finally, she caught up to Zatal.
He glanced askance at her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“I can fight.”
“No.”
“But—”
He whirled on her. “If I am killed, who rules Idara?”
She froze, all the blood draining from her face. He must have seen the recognition in her eyes.
“Suka says you are important, Nelay—the only person who can save Idara. You will stay back, where it is safe. And if the city falls, you will beg the Clansmen to spare what remains.”
With a start, the king seemed to remember himself, gazing around at his entourage of Immortals, who had come to a standstill. “Now, don’t make me waste resources making sure you obey.”
“If you go, you will die.” She was certain of it.
“I’d rather die in battle than be crucified by Clansmen later,” Zatal said. He pivoted and rushed away, his Immortals following him.
As soldiers streamed around her, Nelay stood frozen in place, unable to think past the ringing in her ears. When everyone had moved on, she climbed the stairs like a forgotten ghost. Immortals called out colors that appeared in flashes of smoke. The horns rang out again and again, a combination of bursts and long, wailing notes.
Nelay turned to one of the messengers. “Find the head of my guard, Jezzel, and bring her to me.”
The messenger hesitated as if unsure he should obey her, but then he pivoted and took off. Realizing she still held a telescope, Nelay brought it to her face to search for the king and his men. She was starting to wonder if the messenger had obeyed her at all when she heard a voice behind her.
“You’ve already infuriated the king?”
Nelay turned to see Jezzel, arms crossed over her armor. Judging by how rumpled her clothes were, she’d slept in them.
“I seem to have a talent for it.”
Jezzel glanced around, then snatched a telescope. “What’s going on?”
“Several gates have fallen. Zatal sent in the reserves. He’s sending out the priestesses and calling for any citizens who haven’t already been drafted.”
Jezzel inhaled sharply. “Fire and burning!”
Nelay adjusted her telescope to see what her friend saw. In the pale morning light, soldiers in multicolored tunics streamed past the gates. The Immortals fought like dragons, slaying the tide of Clansmen who broke across them. And for a moment, Nelay was sure the line would hold. But the Clansmen just keep coming, washing over and past the Idarans and streaming into the city. They were met by a rabble of Idarans, carrying sharpened sticks, clubs, knives, axes—weapons they dropped as they died. They didn’t fight with the finesse and order of the Immortals, but they did not run as they tried to keep the Clansmen from advancing farther. The Immortals—those who had survived the initial onslaught—dropped back, adding their numbers.
> “The line won’t hold,” Jezzel said.
The citizens were dying too fast, and the well from which the Clansmen drew was insatiable. On the side street, a big Idaran wielding a club went down. Clansmen broke past him, streaming into the streets. The Idarans and rabble tried to close the gap, but it was already too late.
“By the Go—” Nelay stopped herself from invoking the woman she had once worshiped. If what Suka had said was true, the Goddess of Fire was letting this happen.
“What . . . what if they were right? What if the goddess really has abandoned us?” Thanjavar—the strongest, most powerful city in all the world—had fallen in one day.
Jezzel slowly lowered her telescope. “No. I won’t believe it.” It came out as a half gasp, half whisper.
Nelay braced herself against one of the columns, wondering what would happen to them now. Would the Clansmen kill them all?
“Wait,” Jez murmured. She brought the telescope back up. “Look! Look!”
It took Nelay a moment to find the gate again, but when she did, she saw guards from the palace, and she caught sight of King Zatal’s shining helmet with red feathers at the crest. His swords whirled around him, carving a path through the Clansmen. Behind his men came the priestesses in their glorious armor. Slowly, the Idarans regrouped, pushing the Clansmen back towards the gates.
More citizens came. Zatal began rotating soldiers, giving those who’d been fighting on the front lines a break. Nelay watched the men at the back exchanging broken pieces of wood for more swords. Axes were taken from Clansmen’s bodies. Steadily, the invaders were forced back. And then came the new doors, roughhewn planks hastily bound together. The Idarans pushed most of the Clansmen out and held them past the gates as craftsmen quickly ripped out the broken-down doors and installed the new ones.
The battle became sore, so much that bodies—lifeless or writhing in pain—were pulled out of the way. Finally, the craftsmen ran back, and the Immortals pulled back from the gap. The Clansmen pressed forward, but the Idaran archers let loose wave after wave. The huge doors swung shut, trapping numerous Clansmen inside, which the Immortals quickly dispatched.
Nelay searched for the king. “I can’t find Zatal.”
“We pushed them back!” Jez crowed. “Our Priestess Army pushed them back!”
Nelay scanned the wall. “The reserves and priestesses are moving to the other gates, but that was the worst one. The others are holding.” She set the telescope on the table and hurried toward the stairs. “I’m going down there.”
“What? You can’t—”
Nelay was already running down the stairs, Jezzel hard on her heels. “The battle is over, Jezzel. I’m going.”
“You go down there and you’ll end up a dead woman’s ashes!”
“We’ve been in worse.”
“We have not! And that’s counting the time we tried to sign up at that brothel.”
Nelay whipped around. “Shut it! We don’t need that story getting out.”
Jezzel dropped her voice as low as she ever went, which wasn’t very low at all. “Well, how else were we supposed to get Big Ozozo to tell us where the tunnels were?”
Nelay let out a snort of laugher before reining herself in. “Be quiet. That man has more spies than we do. And he’s still looking for whoever drugged him and tied him up.”
“It’s the donkey he’s mad about. Started all kinds of nasty rumors.” Jezzel started giggling. Nelay shot her a dark look, but at the sight of tears building in Jezzel’s eyes, Nelay started laughing too.
It was a little manic, a little hysterical, but it released the tension. Still, the looks the two friends got from passing commanders weren’t appreciative.
Jezzel clapped Nelay on the shoulder. “There. Now you’re loose enough to fight.”
Nelay quickly hugged her friend. “Come on.”
At the base of the staircase, the war room was nearly empty. Nelay crossed it and opened the door to two walls of very furious men, their mouths tight with anger. Fire and ashes! She’d forgotten the guards. The king must have berated them for letting her come to the observation tower before he plunged head first into suicide.
“Move,” Jezzel commanded. They didn’t obey.
Nelay glanced at her. So my title is in name only. Insulting, but good to know. She rested her hand on her sword hilt, ready to draw. “Do you really think you can stop us?”
The men’s eyes widened—surely this was the first they’d ever encountered a queen eager for battle. A silent exchange passed between them and Nelay, and they backed away. She and Jezzel practically ran through the palace, the slap of their feet the only sound to break the stillness. The servants must have fled; perhaps they feared what would be done to them should the city fall.
Nelay only paused at the stables long enough to grab a magnificent black stallion—it was one of the king’s, but she didn’t really give the stable hand a chance to argue. Horses were also saddled for Jezzel, Ahzem, and Hazar, and they all left the palace at a dead run. The closer they came to the gates, the more people they passed, some of them recognizing Nelay.
“It’s the new queen!”
“Has she come to fight?”
“Fool woman, get back where it’s safe!”
“Hush. She’s gone to see if the king is dead.”
“Is he?”
Nelay pretended she couldn’t hear them. Finally, she reached the Avarta gate. The streets were soaked with blood and covered with bodies. Some of the unmoving figures didn’t even look dead yet, with color still in their cheeks, but their empty eyes, awkward positions, and wounds spoke the truth.
Many of the wounded cried out in agony. Women went among them, treating their friends and loved ones. Nelay recognized more than one of her fellow priestesses lying among the soldiers. The sight of their familiar faces tore at her chest. Meho was there—the girl who’d almost caught Nelay the day she fled the temple. The girl’s chest was practically shredded. She reached toward Nelay and the others. “Help me!”
“Fire and burning,” Jezzel said, tears choking her voice as she dismounted and ran to kneel at Meho’s side.
Nelay watched her best friend. Jezzel hadn’t yet learned how to recognize someone who was beyond helping.
“Jez,” Meho said in a strained voice. “It hurts . . . so bad.”
Trying to staunch the blood flow, Jezzel looked back to Nelay. “We have to get her to the healer!”
Never had she missed Rycus’s steadying presence as much as she did at that moment. “Moving her would only cause her more pain.”
“Please!” Tears streamed down Jezzel’s face.
As much as Nelay wanted to help her friend, she couldn’t go down there. She couldn’t have memories of another Kalla to deal with. “She’s bound for the wind,” Nelay said softly. She felt Meho’s gaze on her but refused to meet it. Then the girl’s breathing turned to choking, and she died.
Jezzel stared down at the girl’s still face. “She shouldn’t have even been here. She was still an acolyte.”
Nelay led Jezzel’s horse to her side. She decided not to point out that they were technically still acolytes as well. “We need to go.”
Jezzel wiped her face, obviously unaware that she was smearing blood on her cheeks, and climbed into the saddle. They rode out, Nelay sticking close to her friend, whose eyes were dull, all mischievousness gone. Is that how Nelay had been the first time she watched a friend die? “Sometimes it’s better not to look,” she told Jezzel. “You must let yourself go numb.” What had Rycus said? “Take what you’ve seen and lock it up tight, and never look at it again.”
Jezzel didn’t respond, her eyes darting from one face to the next.
“We won’t be able to do what has to be done if you look at them like that,” Nelay said quietly. “Let the horses pick their way through. Keep your eyes on where you’re going.”
Nelay turned to Ahzem and Hazar, whose gazes were filled with empathy. Nelay wondered how many friends the
se men had watched die—if they even bothered making friends anymore. “We need to find the king,” she said.
“Ask him.” Ahzem pointed to an Immortal closer to the gates. His embossed helmet showed his high rank. He supervised the men gathering up the injured and laying them gently in carts pulled by water buffalo. For now they left the dead where they had fallen.
Nelay guided her nervous stallion toward the commander. At the sight of her, he gave an exhausted bow. “Queen Nelay.”
“My husband . . .” she began, though it felt wrong to call Zatal that. “Is he alive?”
The commander pointed toward the wall. “He’s there.”
Nelay smiled. She didn’t really like Zatal, but in that moment she realized she didn’t hate him, either. She reined the horse toward the stairs built into the side of the wall. After tying their mounts to posts, she and Jezzel and the two guards climbed the stairs. Seeming to shake herself out of her daze, Jezzel insisted on taking the lead. At the top of the wall were dozens of soldiers. Zatal stood in their midst, looking out across the Clansmen’s armies with his telescope.
The relief Nelay felt left her breathless. He hadn’t consigned her to face this alone. She worked her way through the men toward him. “You’re alive.”
He jerked at the sound of her voice and looked her over before his accusing gaze fell on her guards.
“You really think they could have stopped me?” she said softly.
Zatal pursed his lips. “Apparently you’re too selfish to consider that Idara needs one of us to survive. If the clanlands suddenly attack this wall, we could all die.” He went back to his telescope.
She crossed her arms. “More selfish than you?”
“Why are you here?” he growled.
“I wanted to see if you’d killed yourself.”
The king spoke to one of his commanders. “The Borz Gate is shut. They managed to hold them off during the installation. That’s the last of them.” He headed back down the stairs, his own personal guards following him.