Lights and Shadows (The Prisoner and the Sun #2) Page 6

  Stype nodded. “If you say it must be done,” he said, “then it must be done.”

  He signaled to Horatio on the wall walk, then turned to prepare his guards to defend the opening.

  Iliff sent several of his men back into the town for grappling ropes and draught animals. While the men raced off, Iliff and the others continued shoveling. They needed to keep the flames as low as possible.

  The men with the ropes returned first.

  “Aim for the far side of the wall!” Iliff shouted, seizing one of the ropes. “Hook the battlement!”

  It took him three tries to secure his hook. One by one, the others secured theirs. Six ropes stretched down from the flaming wall.

  “Keep them moving!” Iliff called. “Don’t let them sit in the fire!”

  Soon the other men returned with two pair of oxen, wooden yokes joining their thick necks. The men worked the beasts into position. Upon knotting the ends of the ropes to the yokes, they whacked the beasts’ flanks. The oxen lunged and strained, their shaggy hides quaking. The ropes pulled taut, forcing the oxen up onto their hind legs. The men urged them on.

  Iliff turned to the wall. The section in flames was about ten feet wide. Sufficient for three enemies to enter abreast, he thought. But then he stopped himself. There would be time enough later to doubt his defenses. He had to focus now on keeping the rest of the wall standing.

  Stype got his guards and archers into position and signaled for Iliff to withdraw his men.

  As Iliff waved them all back, the front hooves of the oxen descended and dug into the earth. The flaming section of wall creaked and leaned. The beasts bellowed and drove their collective bulk forward. The ropes were awash in flames now, and Iliff wondered how much longer they could hold out. If they failed, the fire would run the length of the wall.

  But in the next instant, a loud crack sang out, then another. The tall section of wall toppled forward and slammed to the earth. Chunks of cement burst from the wall’s core like stuffing from a pillow. The fire whooshed flat before billowing up again, but now safely apart from the rest of the wall. The oxen galloped off, the grappling ropes rattling along the ground behind them.

  All eyes turned to the breach. The space was dark and smoke-filled. The posts on either side burned weakly, flames blinking in and out. The archers nocked arrows and took aim, while the guards crouched from the flanks, swords drawn. Iliff and his men retreated until they were almost to the outer cottages.

  “They’re coming!” a guard shouted from the wall walk. “They’re coming in!”

  Vague shapes swam from the darkness. The archers on the ground released their arrows. Snarls and cries sounded from the breach. A second volley flew into the space and then a third.

  But the Garott poured through anyway.

  They were darkly armored and fleet, their swords long and slender. Iliff strained to get a better look, but Stype’s guards fell on them at once, and a horrible battle commenced.

  Iliff turned and looked up at the Keep. The women and children were there. The King. Skye. Iliff knew that the bluff could not easily be scaled, that the wall along its perimeter was higher and thicker than the town wall, and well guarded. If the Garott attempted a breach, an alarm would sound from the Keep, and there had been no alarm as yet.

  But it’s all wood, he told himself. The walls, the Keep, the gates, everything that protects.

  Iliff leapt onto the timber frame of the nearest cottage and scrambled up its shingled roofslope. He looked over the bluff and town and all along the defensive wall. It took him only a moment to spot what he feared most. On the north side another section of wall was smoking along its base.

  “They’re beneath the wall!” he shouted.

  He jumped down and had not gone two paces when a hail of flaming arrows arced from beyond the breach and rained toward them. Iliff and his men took cover. Most of the arrows landed harmlessly, but several stuck into the roofs of the outermost cottages and stood burning.

  Iliff grabbed the arm of the nearest person, a young man who had only recently joined the crew. Fear stippled his colors.

  “Listen to me,” Iliff said. “The feeding stalls. Go now and get as many buckets as you can. Bring them to the well and direct a brigade wherever you see flames.”

  Nodding, the young man hurried off. Iliff ordered a handful of others to go with him.

  Iliff led the remaining members of his crew to the new fire beneath the wall. The flames had yet to emerge, but he could hear the crackling of burning wood deep below ground. Now he understood. While the Garott had occupied the guards at the west gate, teams had dropped into the trenches and undermined the wall. The initial assault had been nothing more than a diversion.

  Iliff called to the archers on the wall walk to search for more sappers. “We can stop this one!” he shouted up.

  Iliff and his men began digging. They tore at the base of the wall, down and down. Six feet, Iliff told himself. Six feet to the underside of the wall. But they would need to get there quickly, for already more smoke was rising from the turned earth, its smell strong and black.

  At about two feet, Iliff and several men leapt into the hole, the earth warm beneath their boots. Other men extended the hole away from the wall to make it easier to remove the loose earth. The growing hole inched to three feet’s depth, then four. For many of the men inside, the sides soon reached above their heads. But it was not going quickly enough for Iliff. At any moment he expected the flames to blossom up as they had on the south wall.

  “The house fires are out,” someone called down.

  Iliff squinted through the pluming smoke to see a man peering over the lip of the hole. It was the same young man Iliff had instructed to direct a brigade of water from the wells.

  “We need another line,” Iliff called up, “this one to deliver dirt from the hole.”

  The young man nodded, and within moments empty buckets were being passed inside and full buckets hefted back out. Iliff directed his own efforts to the base of the wall. The sound of crackling wood seemed to be coming from almost in front of him now. He struck the earth again and again, and at last the head of his shovel broke through. Flames leapt from the sudden hole before falling back.

  Iliff dropped onto his belly and, heedless of the cries behind him, heedless of his fatigue, thrust himself inside. Grimacing through smoke and heat, he was relieved to see that it was not the wall that was burning—not yet—but bundles of fat-drenched wood. The tunnel the Garott had made was low and propped by lengths of timber. Iliff got his shovel inside and managed to force away the closest bundle of wood. He then set the blade of the shovel into the nearest timber and pushed with all of his strength until it dislodged and fell.

  “Hold my legs,” he called back.

  He squirmed forward, his body suspended above the licking flames, until he could touch the second timber with his shovel. But no sooner had he struck his blade into it than a figure appeared through the smoke. A Garott. His thick, hooded robe shielded him from the flames. The Garott seized the metal end of Iliff’s shovel and tried to force it from where it bit into the timber. Iliff resisted with his whole body. The Garott slammed the shovel with his elbow, but by Iliff’s effort, the blade held fast. The Garott reached inside his robe.

  Though Iliff caught the glint of metal, he refused to release his hold. If he had to bleed, so be it. He had made a pledge to these people. He was not going to allow another section of his wall to fail.

  As the Garott moved nearer to Iliff, the covering over his head caught and fell away. Iliff blinked through the smoke. He had expected the Garott to be detestable, difficult to look at, even. But this one looked very much like a Fythe, only his face was leaner and sharper, his hair much darker. He glared at Iliff for a moment, eyes black and burning, then lunged forward.

  Iliff grunted and heaved against the timber. He felt it begin to give way. And in the next instant, just as the Garott fell into him, there was a sudden crush and everything went black.


  As if from far away, Iliff felt himself trying to back out, trying to retract his outstretched arms, but the attempts only exhausted his air. The awful pressure of suffocation moved up his throat and into his mouth, tasting thick, like chaff. Iliff was floating now, his consciousness blinking dimly. He became aware of a hand seeking his through the earth. The sensation roused him enough to seek its grip in return. But before he could, he felt himself being tugged from behind by his legs. He moved upward and backward in inches. The hand slipped from his. In a sputter, he was free of the fallen tunnel.

  The wall crew rolled Iliff onto his back. Their hands swept dirt from his eyes and mouth. They hauled him to his knees and, after a moment, Iliff was able to gain his feet.

  “He needs help—”

  “—arm’s bleeding—”

  “—women have set up an infirmary—”

  “No,” Iliff managed. He could only think of the battle being fought in the breach. “We must…”

  But then his legs gave out and the decision was no longer his. Gilpin and several others took him by the arms and legs and carried him out of the hole and toward the cottages. Iliff managed to turn his head to where the battle was being waged. Though it appeared as tense as ever, it was still confined to the breach, thank goodness. But for how much longer? He could see where several guards had fallen.

  With sick horror, Iliff suddenly realized that all of the Garott who had been preparing to enter the second breach would be on their way to join the fight. And perhaps there were more of them still.

  Iliff struggled to raise his head. He needed to warn Stype, needed to get to the armory and join the battle.

  A large number of men ran past them. They were armored and on their way to the breach. Lucious led them, his scarlet face stretched into a scream. Though Iliff could not hear him, he could feel the lust for blood and vengeance pouring from his thoughts. And though the intensity frightened Iliff, it also filled his dimming awareness with much needed hope.

  Chapter 10

  “Their numbers were large,” said Horatio, the senior captain. “Their attack well-coordinated. Many months in the planning, I suspect. They expected to catch us sleeping and overrun us. The—”

  “They did catch us sleeping,” Lucious said from across the room.

  The King, pale with illness, silenced Lucious with a look. He had called the emergency meeting in the Keep and now presided over a crowded room of advisors, Assembly members, and officers of the guard. The only one not present was Stype, who had suffered grave injuries in the battle and remained in the infirmary.

  The King gestured for Horatio to continue his assessment.

  “Ahem, yes. The attack force came from the deep woods west of here. The signs suggest that they encamped there for at least a fortnight, building wooden screens and staking out our defenses. On the night of the attack, a small unit assaulted the main gate while four teams slipped into the trench along the wall, hiding themselves beneath earth-covered screens. The sites they chose for undermining were those farthest from the guard towers.”

  “Blind spots,” Lucious muttered, cutting his gaze to Iliff. “Too many blasted blind spots.”

  “Larger attack units, forty to fifty strong, backed each team of sappers. Mostly soldiers with archers giving cover. Our force was half that, but with only the one breach on the south side, the enemy chose to concentrate their attack. As a consequence, they could not play their numbers to their full advantage. The breach was narrow, and they had to defend on three sides and from above, besides. Loss of life is always regretful, but we may be grateful that our losses were far fewer.”

  The King coughed into his handkerchief. “How many?” he asked.

  “Twelve admirable men. Many more were injured, though only sixteen remain in the infirmary. The others have been treated and sent home. We can be thankful that Skye is there to help. The women say she has performed many miracles of healing.”

  Iliff watched the King nod from his seat. If he was thinking of his son, he did not reveal it in his expression or colors.

  “And the Garott?” the King asked.

  “We lit a pyre near the trees this morning. Their fallen stacked four high and more than twenty long. The pyre still burns.” Horatio swallowed. “A horrible business, my Sire, if I may say.”

  “Should've fed them to the swine,” Lucious muttered.

  “Do we know why they came?” the King asked. “How they learned of our presence?”

  Before Horatio could answer, Lucious sprang to his feet. “Because they are Garott!” he cried. “What else do you need to know? They are murderous, treacherous creatures. You’ve said so yourself. And they will not be satisfied until they have seen the demise of even the least of us.”

  “Lucious,” warned the King, “you will have your turn.”

  Horatio continued, ignoring Lucious’ forceful exhale. “As you know, those too wounded to flee, we treated. All keep tight holds on their minds, save one—a young soldier whose heart was never into the battle. Skye says that he cries out at night, his dreaming thoughts revealing depleted lands and rivers, aching hunger. The Garott are in desperate times, it would seem. A group may have happened upon us while in search of more fruitful lands.”

  The King frowned in thought.

  “As you know, we’ve just sent out our own team of scouts,” Horatio said. “They’ll gauge the extent of the Garotts’ holdings and the state of them. They’ll try to determine whether we can expect them again, and when. But we are not likely to have answers for several more weeks.”

  “What of the injured?” Lucious asked. “Can’t they be coerced into speaking?”

  “No,” said the King. “We do not torture. Once fit, the injured will be delivered far from here.”

  “Ha! So they can turn around and murder us anew?”

  The King let Lucious’ remark pass. He coughed and rose slowly.

  “These are serious times,” he said, looking over the Assembly. “I wished better for us, I truly did. It does not seem just that a people concerned with living and laboring simply should be persecuted so. Why, we have committed no offense. And yet we are awoken in the dead of night and forced to defend our lives and the ones we love most.” He blinked and lowered his eyes. “But this is still the age we live in.”

  When he raised his eyes again, their sadness was almost too much for Iliff to look on.

  “My days are waning,” the King said. “And though it depresses me that my final days are dark ones, I am heartened by the radiance of you who are here. You are as dear to me as my own children, and I could not be more proud than if you were. Though the battle was not your wish nor of your making, you went out valiantly to defend what we have here established. Indeed, there are several who I would like to commend.”

  The King cleared his throat. “To the women of the infirmary. The women who took great risks in getting to the verge of the battle and setting up beds to receive the wounded. You have saved many.”

  The King went down the line of officers then, saying many good things of their steadiness and tactical command. Horatio received special praise. The King turned next to his half-brother.

  “But the battle may still have been lost were it not for the decisive push of the militia. The enemy was establishing itself inside the wall, and their numbers were growing as ours were dwindling. The officers have told me as much. But led by Lucious, the militia charged and pushed them back into the breach. So determined was their assault that it set the enemy on its heels, thus ending the threat and preserving the township.” He placed his hands on his half-brother’s shoulders. “I am proud of you, Lucious.”

  Lucious nodded and lowered his head. It was the first time Iliff had seen him behave in any manner resembling deference.

  “And then there is our Master of Walls,” the King said, “to whom we owe perhaps our greatest debt.”

  No, Iliff thought. Please no.

  “He made a pledge,” the King said, moving before
him. “And he has labored hard these years to transform the sincerity of his words into the walls that guard us. I daresay, he has succeeded. The walls still stand. When the Garott tried to undermine them, he acted boldly to put down the effort. He led his men to contain one fire, and he buried a second one underway. He alerted the guards to the presence of the remaining sappers, who were exposed and driven out.” The pride that showed in the King’s eyes was harder for Iliff to bear than his sadness. “But for Iliff’s walls, but for his actions, we would surely have been overrun.”

  Iliff stiffened as cheers sounded around him. But in the midst of the praise there rose one man’s dark laughter. All turned to face Lucious. Though he stood and clapped, his stance and gestures mocked.

  “Yes, here, here!” he called. “Hail to the man who built our defenses of dry wood. Hail to the man who ordered a breach in the wall.”

  The King opened his mouth to silence Lucious, but his words became overwhelmed by coughing. He clenched his eyes and pressed his handkerchief to his mouth.

  Horatio strode before Lucious. “Sit down,” he commanded. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I was there—”

  “So was I!” Lucious shouted. “I was there to see the Garott seeping in like vile waste. I was there to see your guard reeling before them, on the brink of collapse. I was there when my own nephew was nearly cut in two.”

  At this, the grumbling around him intensified.

  “You are undoing all of the merit you earned in battle,” Horatio whispered harshly. “Now sit down.”

  Some of the others in the Assembly began moving toward Lucious. He glanced about and stepped up onto the bench.

  “Your memories are short,” he called. “Many of you were on the Assembly when I raised the same doubts about your celebrated Depar, your inviolable Master of Walls. Do you not remember? ‘Oh, well,’ you say, ‘it is different this time.’ How? How is it different?”

  Lucious leveled his finger at Iliff. “This Master, who still says almost nothing of his past, built an inferior wall of inferior material. That is fact. He opened a breach that let the enemy through. That too is fact. Men are dead now because of it. And this is something to be commended? How dare you shout me down. How dare you shout down the truth!”