Tower Lord (Raven's Shadow #2)

Tower Lord (Raven's Shadow #2) Page 122

“Just kill him and have done!” Reva ordered. “Re-form your ranks. This night’s not over.”

They kept at it for nearly four hours until the first glimmer of dawn broke over the broad river, ever more battalions trooping over the causeway to try their luck, more and more bodies littering the ground as every assault failed. It was costly, Arentes reporting losses of over three hundred killed and another two hundred wounded, but they held. Finally the surviving Volarians pulled back, the Varitai re-forming ranks and reclaiming their shields, the Free Swords forgetting discipline and running as the arrow storm descended once more, burgeoning daylight increasing the toll exacted by the longbows.

Excited shouts brought her back to the present and she saw a live Volarian being dragged from the river. A Free Sword, judging by his evident fear, turning to abject terror when he saw her approach.

“Yes,” she said. “The elverah’s here.”

The man just stared at her in frozen horror, only the faintest glimmer of reason in his eyes. This one will never fight again.

“My lady?” one of the archers asked, his dagger already drawn.

“Does anyone here speak his language?”

Only Veliss had enough knowledge of Volarian to communicate with the man, and even then just in written form. She referred to her books to translate Reva’s message and had him recite it back. Sending a note may have been easier but she wanted his comrades to hear the fear in his voice as he related her words.

“The elverah has much power and will kill all who come against this city. But she is merciful. Your commanders waste your lives in fruitless attacks whilst they sit safe in their tents. Any who throw down their arms and depart this place will be spared the elverah’s vengeance. Only death awaits those who stay.”

“Is he saying it right?” she asked Veliss as the man stumbled through the words held in front of his eyes.

“As far as I can tell.”

Reva turned to Antesh. “Have him read it out ten times then let him go. I’ll be with my uncle.”

They didn’t come the next night, or the night after that. The Volarian camp went about its martial business with no sign of preparing another assault. If any more towers or rafts were being constructed, it was done out of their sight. Otherwise they drilled, sent out cavalry patrols and made no further effort to cross the causeway.

“Seems they intend to starve us out after all,” Antesh commented.

“Bloody cowards,” Lord Arentes said. “A few more assaults like the other night and we’d have won this siege.”

“Hence the starving us out.” The Lord of Archers stepped to Reva’s side. “We could sally forth, my lady. Launch a raid or two. Might provoke another unwise attack.”

“As you wish,” she said. “But keep it small, and volunteers only. Preferably men without families.”

“I’ll see to it, my lady.”

The succeeding days saw her settle into an irksome routine of daily inspections, training the defenders to ensure they didn’t slacken and going over Veliss’s reports of ever-more-diminishing supplies.

“We’re down to half already?” she asked one evening. “How is that possible?”

“People seem to eat more when they’re afraid,” Veliss replied. “Plus we went through the fresh meat and livestock in the first few weeks. Now it’s just bread and a little salted meat. I’m sorry, love, but the ration must be cut again. And not just the people, the soldiers too. That’s if we’re going to last the winter.”

Reva stared down at the neatly inscribed figures on Veliss’s parchment. “Did you learn this somewhere?” she asked. “The pen work?”

“My old dadda was the village scribe. Taught me the trade, but the, ah, distractions of womanhood led me to Varinshold before I could be properly apprenticed.”

“Did he beat you? Is that why you left?”

Veliss laughed. “Faith no. Doubt he ever lifted a hand to anyone, even my mother though the cheating cow certainly deserved it. He was just a kindly, dull little man with no desire to see what lay beyond his village. I wanted more.”

Over by the fire her uncle stirred again, mumbling something in his sleep. “He dreams a lot these days,” Veliss said. “Rambles on about his family for hours when he’s awake.” Despite the caustic tone Reva could see the concern in her face, the onset of grief for a man not yet dead. She fought the impulse to reach for her hand and rose from the desk.

“Set aside enough wine for his needs,” she said. “And empty the cellar, the bottles will be given to the people. Might sweeten the pill of cutting the rations.”

“Or fill the streets with riotous drunks.”

“Dole it out a little at a time. Any more visits from the Reader’s dog?”

“No, the old man seems content to rave away in his cathedral. The services are well-attended though and my sources tell me his rhetoric is becoming more bizarre and doom-laden by the day. The Father’s judgement descends upon us, and so forth. Could be a problem as things get worse.” Reva detected a certain weight of meaning in Veliss’s words.

She glanced at Uncle Sentes. “Did he have any design to constrain the old man’s power?”

“He preferred the slow game. Gather intelligence, evidence of hypocrisy or corruption, and wait for a time to use it, either as leverage or to have the Reader replaced with a more tractable cleric. With you we finally had something that might give us an advantage.”

“But only if we could find the priest.”

“Quite so.”

Reva went to the window, gazing up at the twin spires. He’s not here, she thought. Not in the city. I’d smell it if he was. “Tell your watchful friends to keep watching,” she said. “For now.”

She was woken in the early hours of the morning by Arken’s insistent shaking. She had taken to sleeping on the couch in the library between shifts on the wall, not wishing to stray too far from her uncle’s side. It seemed Veliss had decided to share it with her sometime in the night. The woman lay against her side, arm draped over her waist and head resting on her shoulder, thick dark brown curls partly covering Reva’s face. They smelt like strawberry.

Reva disentangled herself quickly, reaching for her weapons and avoiding Arken’s gaze. If he found anything untoward in the scene however, it was absent from his voice. “Something’s happening on the river.”

“What are they?” she asked, gazing out at the strange contraptions perched on the deck of the ships anchored in the river. They were hard to make out in the morning haze hanging over the Coldiron, large blocky shapes with round shoulders and stubby arms, crouching like malformed giants in the mist.

Lord Antesh stared at the ships in grim silence and it was Arentes who spoke up. “Engines, my lady. But not like any I have ever seen.”

The faint echo of shouted orders drifted across the river as a long line of boats materialised out of the haze covering the far bank, each laden with something large and round.

“There’s a quarry barely ten miles south,” Antesh commented in a reflective tone. “Not a thing you can burn, a quarry.” He hefted his thick-staved bow, notched an arrow and raised it at a high angle, drawing the string a good six inches past his ear before releasing. The arrow arced high over the river and fell into the swift-flowing current ten yards short of the nearest ship.

“What engine can sling a stone farther than an arrow?” Arentes wondered.

“It seems these can,” Antesh replied. His gaze tracked from the engines to the wall. “The stones will likely fall somewhere between the gatehouse and the western bastion. If they’re smart, they’ll try for multiple breaches.”

“Clear the battlements there,” Reva said and Arentes immediately strode off shouting orders, the defenders on the wall breaking off from gaping at the engines to run for the stairways.

“We should prepare defences back from the wall,” Antesh said. “It’ll mean pulling down some houses to create a killing ground.”

“Then get to it,” Reva said. “Have Lady Veliss issue receipts for any loss of property. Oh, and give any dispossessed householders the best wine from the Fief Lord’s cellar.”

He bowed and marched off. Reva watched the boats as they made their way to the three anchored ships, hearing the crack of several whips as slaves laboured to haul the stones onto the decks. A faint clinking sound could be heard as the arms of the engines were drawn back, dim figures moving on the deck as the stones were hauled into place. Then silence, the engines primed but unmoving. What are they waiting for?

One of the archers straightened and pointed to something upriver. Reva moved to his side and peered into the mist, seeing only a faint shadow at first, a tall square sail ascending out of the haze. Soon however the full size of the ship was revealed, the largest she could recall seeing, the great dark hull displacing a wake that washed onto the shore like a wave at high tide. The ship’s sides rose from the water at least twenty feet high, numerous figures moving about on deck in the centre of which stood a white awning. Reva strained her eyes and fancied she saw the outline of a tall figure standing beneath the canvas. Come to watch the show, have you? She gripped her bow and wondered if Arren’s wondrous work would give an arrow enough flight to reach him from here, but knew it would be an empty gesture of defiance and the mood of the defenders was already plummeting before her eyes.