The fighting broke out, as Ragnarson had hoped, at the apex of the island. Kildragon, in charge there, immediately began raising the biggest fuss possible.
Ragnarson took his party into the second bridgehead.
There the troops were lying low. The Fadema maintained a personal guard of a thousand, and had regular army units quartered in the Fadem too. Ragnarson wanted to be as strong as possible before the Argonese counterattacked.
He cleared the top of the wall, scuttled out of the way, gasped, "Didn't think I'd make it. Getting old for this. Jarl? How's it going? You spreading out yet?"
Here the Marena Dimura were doing what they did best, skulking, stabbing in the dark, occupying strongpoints by stealth.
"We've taken everything you can see from here. This's the sloppiest defense I ever saw. We haven't found anybody awake yet. It's too bad Reskird's raising hell up there. We might've grabbed the whole damned place before anybody knew we were here."
"Uhm. Keep moving. Grab what you can while you can. Gods, it's big."
The Fadem alone seemed as big as Vorgreberg. Trebilcock said it had thirty thousand permanent residents.
"Michael. Aral," Bragi whispered. "Where's this tower?"
"The squarish one yonder, with the spire sticking up from the corner," Dantice replied.
"Let's see if she's still there."
They descended to street level and slipped through narrow passages between buildings, making of a two-hundred-yard crow flight a quarter mile walk. They won the distinction of being first to face wakened opponents.
It was over before Ragnarson realized what had happened. The parties stumbled into one another at a sharp turn. Trebilcock disposed of the Argonese in an eye's blink.
Ragnarson's eyebrows rose. Michael could handle a blade damned well.
"It's sixty feet to the first ledge," Trebilcock whispered. "And twenty more to the one by her window. I'll drop a line from the first one...."
"Kid, if you and Aral can make it, so can I." Bragi sheathed his sword, felt for hand and toeholds.
He quickly regretted his bravado.
Trebilcock and Dantice went up like rock apes. Ragnarson had thirty feet to go when they reached the first ledge. His muscles threatened cramps. His fingers were raw when he heaved himself onto the ledge. Looking down, he muttered, "Bragi, you're a fool. You've got men who get paid to do this."
A clash of arms sounded here and there. The defenders still weren't reacting except locally.
Reskird had a good fight going. The uproar reached the Fadem, and the bellies of the rain clouds glowed with firelight.
The last twenty feet were worse. Now he was conscious of how far he could fall. And of his age. And his sword kept beating the backs of his legs.
"We're going down by the stair," he muttered when he rolled onto the upper ledge.
Trebilcock smiled, a thin, humorless thing in the reflected firelight. "Would've been easier if we'd gotten here before the rain."
Ragnarson's stomach flip-flopped as he realized how easily he could have slipped.
Dantice crept back from the window. "Can't tell if there's anybody inside."
A head popped out. Bragi recognized Nepanthe. She didn't see them. "Inside," he growled. "Quick."
Dantice went. They heard his sword clear its scabbard. Trebilcock and Ragnarson plunged after him.
Sounds of struggle, of steel against stone. Dantice cursed. "She bit me!"
"Nepanthe!" Bragi snapped. "Settle down!"
"She started to yell," Dantice said.
"Michael, find a lamp." Ragnarson moved the other way. "Damn!" He bruised his shin on something low.
Someone crashed to the floor. Metal skittered across stone. "Marshall, I'm going to clout her!"
"Easy, son. Nepanthe! It's me. Bragi. Behave yourself."
Cang-chang. Sparks flew. A weak light grew, illuminating Trebilcock's face. As the flame rose, it revealed Nepanthe and Dantice on the floor. Aral had one hand on her mouth, his legs scissored around her. He was fending a dagger with his free hand. Bragi kicked the weapon away.
He grabbed handfuls of Nepanthe's hair and forced her to look at him. "Nepanthe. It's me."
Her eyes widened. Her fear subsided. She relaxed.
"Can you keep quiet now?"
She nodded. He grinned as Dantice's hand bobbed with the motion. "Let her go, Aral. Michael, look at his hand."
Dantice winced when he put weight on that hand while rising. Ragnarson helped Nepanthe up.
"Take a minute," he said as she started babbling. "Get yourself together."
After she calmed down, she explained how the stranger had come to Valther's house and convinced her that Mocker had gone into hiding because Haroun had tried to murder him. He feared Bragi was in on it. The messenger had brought Mocker's dagger as a token. And she had always suspected Haroun of the worst.
"He could do it if he thought he needed to," Bragi observed. "But how would Mocker have been a threat to him?"
"I never thought about it. Not till I found out they tricked me." She started crying. "Look what I got you into. What're you doing here, anyway? Who's watching things at home? I heard about Fiana. They tell me all the bad news."
"I'm here because you are. Because Argon seems to be behind all our trouble."
"No. It's Shinsan. Bragi, there's a Tervola.... He controls the Fadema.... I think. Maybe they're partners."
"I mean to find out."
"But.... You're only one man. Three men." To Michael she said, "Thank you. Did you get the casket to Varthlokkur? And you. I'm sorry. I was scared."
Dantice smiled. "No matter, ma'am." He sucked his injured hand.
"He brought the Tear back, yes. Tell me about the Tervola. Does he wear a golden mask?"
"Yes. How'd...?"
"He keeps turning up. Must be O Shing's special bully boy. And I didn't come by myself. That's our army kicking ass out there."
"But.... Argon! They took me out once. I think the Fadema wanted to show me what a hick I was. Bragi, you can't get in a war with Argon. Not over me...."
"Too late to back off. The boys are probably too loaded with loot to run." He chuckled. "I don't want to take the city. Just the Fadem. Just to spoil whatever they're up to. I'm no conquerer."
"Bragi, you're making a mistake...."
"Somebody coming," Trebilcock said. He had one ear against the door. "Sounds like a mob."
"Get out of sight. Aral! Your sword."
Dantice scampered back for the weapon.
"Nepanthe, pretend we're not here. They must be coming for you. They'll want their prize counter safe. Get by the window. Make them come to you. Michael, Aral, we'll hit them from behind."
Dantice was a street fighter. He understood. But Michael protested.
"We're here to win, Michael, not get killed honorably."
Ragnarson concealed himself just in time. The door creaked inward. Six soldiers entered, followed by the Fadema.
"Well, Madam," said the woman, "your friends are more perceptive and less cautious than we anticipated. They're here."
"Who?" Nepanthe asked, cowering against the window frame.
"That bloody troublesome Marshall. He's attacked Argon. What gall!" She laughed. It was forced.
Things must be going good, Bragi thought.
"You stay away," Nepanthe told the soldiers. "I'll jump."
"Don't be a fool!" the Fadema snapped. "Come. We have to move you. The tower is threatened."
"I will jump."
"Grab her."