Besieged Read online

  The Watcher nodded. “If it is so, then to leave this tower is certain death.”

  “To stay is death as well.” Cierra flexed her fingers. “Trapped without food or water will be an exceedingly slow and painful one.”

  Enough of the worst possibilities. Time to remind them of the best. “The bells reached the citizens of Catliff. Merlick so fears the bells, he had the clappers removed.” Kyam paced the ringers’ landing—just three strides brought him to another wall. “Nor do we trust in the bells alone.”

  Lyn danced in place. “Excellent point. Ya-Wyn is working through my people. Even now bringing the songs to their memory.”

  Cierra slid down the wall. Her head canted to one side, a tiny smile appeared. “Don’t fret, beloved, we’ll not lose hope.” Her eyes drifted shut. Castoff bounded across the room, slipping under her sagging head in time to serve as pillow.

  He scowled at his dog, who canine-smirked in reply.

  The day was coming when he would serve as pillow. He let a grin widen. Warmth spiraled out from his chest flowing to even his toes. Glorious day. And if he read her face accurately, listened to her voice truly, he thought the day might soon arrive.

  The picture of the cloud and hands reformed in Cierra's mind. What did it mean? Why did it return now? She turned over. So uncomfortable.

  A yip and scrambling claws yanked her eyes open. “Castoff, forgive me. Are you hurt?” How could she not have noticed his warm tummy under her cheek?

  “Wounded dignity only.” Kyam crouched by her side, sketch book in hand.

  As usual, he knew of a picture as soon as she did. Just what did she look like when one came, that he could so easily tell of its appearing? A stunned sheep like Lester said? A rabbit ready to bolt for its hole? An idiot child with no expression at all? Something unflattering to be sure.

  Better not to know.

  Lyn and Lusan woke and straightened.

  Cierra pushed herself upright and ran fingers through the tangled curls flopping over her eyes until the strands caught in her open lacerations. She bit her lips against a howl of pain. Better to look like an unkempt tramp than irritate her wounds.

  “You cannot hold charcoal. Tell us of the picture, please.” Kyam turned to Lyn. “She has the Watcher’s gift in artist’s colors.” His affirmation never ceased to straighten her spine.

  Cierra tried not to let pride spill into her voice as she described the picture. She slumped slightly when she ended with, “The meaning eludes me.”

  Lyn closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. The others waited silently for her reply. Her face so like Father’s when he listened for The Masters’ voice. Finally she looked at them. “The Masters have graciously given us a strategy to defeat His Eminence. But They have done it in small segments that make no sense without all the other parts.”

  The Watcher shook her head. “What utter commitment to unity. They have allowed us victory only if we work together. Every piece equally vital—and equally useless without the others.”

  “Victory.” Cierra pulled that one impossible hope from all Lyn’s words. The Masters had not abandoned them even though the people of Capular had rejected them in so many ways.

  “Ye-e-e-es,” Lyn drew the word out. “But we have no safe, quick means to communicate and connect the pieces. We have become too separate, too distanced, to win. His Eminence’s plans are too far advanced.”

  “Perhaps not.” Kyam glanced at Cierra, then smiled at Lyn. “Remember the river we told you of? The one that runs below the surface?”

  “It’s a vast waterway that stretches to the farthest corners of Capular. You can go to any city in mere hours.” Cierra grinned. “The Masters have made a way to work together.”

  The sun rested on the horizon by the time they finished sharing all they knew about the secret river.

  “So it is still possible to defeat His Eminence.” Lyn paced in her excitement. “We must send messages immediately. Warn them. Organize them.”

  “Yes, to all that, but there are several considerations…” Kyam numbered them on his fingers. “First, the Watchers are all ill. Second, His Eminence appears to have infiltrated the citadel staff. Third, we do not know all the entrance codes—I was only able to get a couple of pages. And finally, we have only one key.”

  “But first we must safely leave this tower and access the portals. For that to happen, the bells must work,” Cierra said.

  Lyn nodded, rubbed her chin, and stared into space. “It is not enough to stun the enemy. My people must wake up.” She looked at Cierra. “I know your hands are damaged, but the bells are imperative. We can do nothing until the people rise up.”

  “And when they do, we must be ready to use it to our best advantage.” Kyam cautioned.

  “Such as?” Lyn tapped fingers on knees. A woman of action.

  “Archers posted on the walls against future fulcarry attacks,” Cierra said. She had had more than enough of their viciousness.

  “Bury their corpses in the garbage heap outside the city.” Lusan brushed her hands together. “With all the other odious, vile refuse.”

  “The Erdmen and bell masters restored to their positions is just as urgent.” Kyam added.

  “Then let us begin.”

  “It is the traditional time for evening bells.” Cierra stifled a groan as she stood up. Every part of her ached. She shook her head as Lusan reached for the ropes. “I can do this ringing alone.”

  The girl mouthed ‘thank you.’

  Forcing her mind away from the pain, Cierra curled her hands around the rough hemp and pulled. The pain felt as if she held fire in her hands and all but dropped her to her knees. How as she to endure an hour’s ringing? How could she not?

  “If I were to pull the ropes and you guide, perhaps we can spare you more damage, but still demoralize the guards.” Kyam stood behind her, slid his hands under hers, and grabbed the rope. And in the process wrapped her in his arms. Peace and safety surrounded her. “Rest your hands on my wrists.”

  With the slightest pressure she guided him. Soon they moved as one; she provided the expertise and he the strength. She leaned back against his chest—what a wonderful sense of shelter and care.

  “Together we are more than each of us separately.” His words tickled her ear—and her heart.

  How had she ever thought a solitary life was worth living?

  All night, every hour as the moon marked time, Cierra and Kyam rang the bells. The cold wind off the mountains was kept at bay by their exertions and his large back. Drowsy and warm she rang the bells practically in her sleep, melodies running through her head of pieces yet to play.

  And still they neither saw nor heard any response from the people.

  Just before dawn, when even the moon had abandoned them, they stumbled to the ropes yet again. Thirst and hunger nagged at Cierra, promising more misery to come. So tired. Was it really necessary to ring the bells again? Fatigue was probably going to make an unrecognizable jumble of the tune in any case. Which might be worse than no music at all. If she could just curl up in Kyam’s arms and sleep.

  “The most difficult steps are usually the ones that lead to victory.” Kyam said.

  “What?”

  “When things are darkest. When the urge to quit is strongest. That is when victory waits to see if we will persevere.”

  “Just the answer I expected from you, my mountain climbing goat.”

  “Soon you’ll be racing me to the top, my graceful doe.”

  “Dawn is just ahead. Are you ready for a full hour of morning bells?”

  Kyam gripped the ropes. “So long as you lead.”

  “My hands are much improved; I will play as well.” Lusan faced them with a smile. “I must remember to forget my gloves when I have found such a man as yours. Your pulling techniques look…cozy.”

  Lyn moved to the window. “Only after I concur that you found such a man as he—which will not be easy. You’d best start petitioning The Masters now. Let morning
bells commence.”

  At Cierra’s nod the ringing began. A great song of praise and joy hovered over the city. She was soaring above Risler. Effortless flight like an eagle’s. The pain in her hands, the fatigue in her body seemed negligible.

  When the ringing was nearly finished Lyn shouted, “It’s working! My people…” Her voice wavered. “My people are fighting. They’re using pitch forks and knives—whatever they can find. They’re driving the guards towards the city gates. The traitors are falling back in confusion. Keep ringing. Keep ringing!”

  Fresh strength flooded her. Hope that had turned into reality brought a surplus of energy.

  Lyn leaned out the window. “I must go to my people. They need direction. Drive them out, my people. Chase every traitor from the city.” She turned toward the stairs.

  “Wait! You will need help with the cross bar. Let us complete the ringing.” Kyam’s voice held all the authority of a general.

  While the last notes still hung in the air, they raced for the tower door, Castoff first. Kyam next. The three women a step behind.

  Kyam raised the cross bar and Lyn yanked open the door. Shouts and curses competed for dominance. A ragged wall of citizens was slowly forcing the guards toward the gates.

  “Keep pace with each other. Don’t give them any openings.” Kyam stepped into a hole forming in the middle of the sagging line. “Someone drum a rhythm, give us a marching beat.”

  A young boy grabbed a kettle and spoon to use as a drum.

  “Excellent. Now forward.”

  Untrained civilians against hardened mercenaries. Even with the effect of the bells it was an uneven fight. They needed all the support they could get. The Masters didn’t have to tell her a second time not to stand at the side and watch. Cierra snatched a broom leaning against a wall and followed Kyam staying one step behind.

  ✽✽✽

  Lyn spotted a wooden bucket abandoned by the market well. She gave it an experimental swing. Nice heft. Would definitely be felt upside the head of any mercenary who happened to interfere with its path. Now where was she most needed?

  Just then the baker fighting beside the blacksmith staggered back. Lyn quickened her steps, moving as spry as Lusan. That river water was wonderful indeed. The baker stumbled again and this time landed on his backside. An enemy guard stood over him, sword raised, ready to plunge it in his chest.

  Her forward momentum put extra power behind her bucket. Maybe the guard didn’t see her since he was determined to kill the baker. Or maybe he discounted a middle-aged female. Either way it only took one swipe with her bucket to lay him out, unmoving on the ground.

  She held out her non-bucket hand to yank the baker to his feet, stepped over the prone mercenary and fell into step with the blacksmith, who paused long enough to grab the sword.

  He grinned. “Welcome, Lady Lyn. Glad to see you on your feet. Be most glad to be rid of these rats.”

  “I’m most glad to be on my feet.”

  “Maybe those who stand and watch will enter in, now that you are here.”

  There were still citizens hesitating in doorways. Too many of the women stood clutching the frames, the sillies. Not at all what she expected from her people. “You there, form a second line behind the first. Add your strength just as Lady Cierra and I are doing.”

  The mercenaries regrouped and tried to create a wedge in the civilian’s line. More of her people joined in, sweeping from the sides, gathering up the enemy remnants as they moved teso by teso toward the city gates.

  Kyam seemed to know where the line would sag next for he was there bolstering it before two steps were lost. Cierra used both ends of her weapon—swishing the bristle end in the nose of one man then knocking a sword hand with the handle. Ramming the handle into another man’s stomach took all the fight out of her opponent. Amazing how skilled and confident she looked.

  Meanwhile their massive dog raced up and down the line—leaping to snarl and snap in faces, then dancing out of range of swinging swords. Almost as intimidating a sight as his master.

  An hour later, the wagon loaded with fulcarry carcasses rumbled behind the last of the mercenaries out of the city gates. With a flourish Lusan set it alight. One final push sent it plunging down the hill scattering men like pigeons.

  The gates shut with a resounding bang. Long loud huzzahs filled the city streets. Two of her most trusted aides appeared at her side. So good to see them alive. No time to celebrate yet. “Ari, set the best of our archers on the walls. Melthro, prepare hot oil and rocks for the soldiers you select to stand guard with the archers on the wall.”

  After quick bows and wide grins, her aides rushed away. They would have all in hand before the mercenaries could regroup. There was one more important task not to be neglected. She turned to Cierra and Kyam. “How long do you two intend to pit your strength against the love that compels you?”

  Kyam patted Cierra’s hand. “Many paths have to intersect: my heart, hers, times, place, and an Erdman versed in irrevocable covenant.”

  Lyn stared at Cierra. “Do you wish for an extravagant ceremony?” Surely her heart was not so shallow.

  “No. Only extravagant vows.”

  She smiled. “Then all your roads meet here. What stops you?”

  Lusan put a hand on her sleeve. “Your illness has kept you from our temple. It houses a congregation of spiders and dust balls. No woman wants such a setting.”

  Lyn and Cierra spoke together, their words tangling like yarn in a kitten’s paws. “How can it be?” “It matters not.”

  “For irrevocable covenant, Erdman Rune is needed.” Lusan frowned. “Can he be found?”

  Lyn threw up her hands. “Simply go to his home.”

  “It may not be that simple.”

  She crossed her arms. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Why was Lusan throwing obstacles in their path?

  Standing behind Cierra, Kyam cinched her waist with his arms. “It has been our experience that those most dedicated to The Masters’ plans have been removed or eliminated.”

  Lyn felt the blood leave her face. Her insides trembled. “My city. How are we to recover without the teaching of the Erdman?” This could be a mortal wound.

  “Excuse me, Watcher, I think I know where to find Erdman Rune. Shall I bring him?” A girl sidled up to Lyn. “Grandmother hid him when the bad men came.”

  “Bless you, child. Go.” She turned to Cierra. “If the Erdman is not to be found, I will perform the ceremony myself. Although I was looking forward to being the foremost of your witnesses. While all is being readied, I will move among my people. To praise their courage and initiative. To give them fresh heart for the work ahead.”

  Cierra shouted at her departing back, “I care not how disgusting the temple or how decrepit the Erdman. If Kyam at last is willing, we will marry before leaving—even if it delays us a day.”

  Cierra and Lusan tugged on the massive temple doors. Mere stubborn wood would not stand in the way of her wedding. With groans and screeches the doors opened. A few strands of morning light found their way past the grime crusted on the temple windows. They slanted downward, touching a debris-strewn wood floor. Dust bounced mid-air in the light. As a door banged shut, the echoes jostled the motes and set them spinning. Not the setting of her dreams, but in its own way, perfect.

  Cierra sneezed and buried her nose in the handkerchief Lusan had given her.

  Footsteps sounded behind them. Lyn groaned, “Worse than you said.” She led the way toward the altar. In a temple built to welcome a thousand or more worshipers, every step echoed, slightly muffled.

  “It’s not important—” No time for unnecessary details.

  “The flags.” Lusan pointed toward the poles protruding from the wood beams arched high overhead. “Even dusty they will provide a more festive air.”

  “Flags?” Cierra craned her neck. “In the temple? For what purpose?”

  “We love to celebrate. To express joy and adoration. To laugh and dance.” Lusan de
monstrated her words with an enthusiastic jig. “The flags are another way to worship.”

  “Then by all means, dusty or not, let us have the flags.” Cierra joined Lusan in her dance. Flags—how very fitting for a city known for its joyous response to life. Was that the reason those people had recovered more quickly than those in Catliff? Her feet stopped moving to better examine this idea.

  Excellent revelation, daughter. Our joy releases strength and reconciliation beyond what dour, dutiful people can produce. What an astonishing idea—was their joy truly so powerful?

  The Watcher nodded to another of her former staff members who had emerged as the enemy retreated. “See to the flags.”

  “A broom to clear a path to the altar.” Lusan made swishing motions with her hands.

  The Watcher waved off another aide to attend to it.

  All these preparations could cause unnecessary delay. Cierra planted herself in front the Lyn. “Only if it can be done before the Erdman comes.”

  Lyn nodded. “He’ll be here shortly. We might as well use the time to fix things.”

  Trying to stop those two was like trying to stay the tides. Best to let it carry her rather than drown her.

  Billows of dirt rose from energetic brooms to clash with clouds of dust as the flags were unfurled. Cierra, Lyn, and Lusan backed out coughing and choking. They wiped tears and smeared grime across their cheeks.

  Cierra started to giggle. “Clean building, dirty covenant witnesses—one way or the other the dust is determined to participate.”

  “There is time for a change in clothing.” Lusan brushed dirt from Cierra’s shoulder.

  Cierra shook her head and dust drifted down. “No, I thank you. Only the vows are important. I want to reassure Kyam of that.”

  Lusan wrinkled her nose, “And a garment filthy enough to turn a bucket of water into mud will do that?”

  “Yes.” Kyam walked up behind them. “It will.” He ran a finger down Cierra’s cheek, “Silks and jewels cannot improve perfection.”

  “I have much to learn about love.” Lusan turned toward the towering double doors of the temple that hung open. “The dust is settling. I can again see—at least waist high and higher—”