Giraldi grimaced and nodded once. "Which clans?"
"Wolf, Herdbane," Bernard said. He leaned a shoulder against one of the battlements. Amara turned to a bucket of water hanging on a hook nearby and scooped out a drinking ladle, passing it to Bernard. He nodded to her and drank the ladle away. "Giraldi, I'll need a sword, mail, arrows if you've any to spare."
"No," Pirellus said, stepping forward. "Giraldi, you shouldn't have given this civilian a horse, much less let him be on the walls when we're expecting an attack."
Bernard squinted at the Knight Commander. "Young man, how long have you been in the Legions?"
Pirellus faced Bernard squarely. "What matters is that I am in them now, sir. You are not. It is the purpose of the Legions to protect the people of the Realm. Now get off the wall and let us do our job."
"He stays," Amara said, firmly. "Centurion, if there's any mail that might fit me, have it brought as well."
Giraldi turned and pointed a finger at one of the legionares on the wall. The man immediately leapt down a ladder and dashed into one of the guardhouses. Both Bernard and Pirellus turned to blink at Amara.
"No," Bernard said.
"I think not."
Both men frowned at one another.
Amara let out an impatient breath "Commander, you have sent your Knights Aeris to bring reinforcements, and those that remain are flying patrol overhead They're under strength and may need whatever help they can get. The Steadholder is a furycrafter of considerable strength and has military experience He is within his rights as a Citizen to stand in defense of his steadholt"
Bernard scowled at Amara and said, "I don't like it "
Pirellus nodded "I must agree, Countess You presumably do not have military experience beyond personal defense I don't like it either "
"Fortunately, I do not need either of you to like it" Amara arched an eyebrow at Bernard as the legionare came running back up, both shoulders draped with coats of mail, one arm loaded down with weaponry She took the mail he offered her, a long vest of interlocking rings, and took off her cloak to shove her arms into its padded undervest, and then into the mail itself She started fumbling with the buckles, only to have Bernard push her fingers away and start cinching the buckles tight with practiced speed
"You shouldn't be up here," he said
"Because I'm a woman'" Amara pulled a cloak on over her shoulders again and buckled on a belt with a clip for her sword's scabbard
"Because you're green Unblooded It's got nothing to do with you being a woman "
She glanced at him, arching an eyebrow
Bernard shrugged, tugging another buckle closed "Almost nothing Here, move your arms a bit, so that this will settle "
By the time she'd finished, Bernard had dumped his cloak in exchange for a mail shirt of his own and a steel cap whose flanges spread down over the back of his neck, while the metal guard pressed down over his nose He strapped on the sword belt, while his eyes swept the ground outside the walls, then took up his bow
"Quiet," said the big-eared legionare again, from down the wall He tilted his head for a moment, then swallowed The man looked down the wall at Pirellus and nodded "Sir? Here they come "
Pirellus gave the man a nod, then said to Bernard and Amara, "Help if you wish, then It's your blood But stay out of my way" He looked up and down the wall and said, "Archers "
Amara watched as centurions repeated the command down the length of the wall on either side of her and men stepped up to the battlements,
bows in hand, arrows resting on quivers beside them. They set arrows to the strings, eyes focused intently at the edge of the area lit by Garrison's fury-lights, and held their bows half-raised. Tension made their forms gaunt, the harsh lights behind them casting their eyes into shadow, making them faceless. Amara heard a soldier not far away take in a deep breath and blow it out, as though impatient for it all to be finished.
Her heart pounded faster, and she had to work to keep her breath from racing out of control. The mail on her shoulders had a solid, comforting weight to it, but something about the smell of the metal set her on edge and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She put a hand on the hilt of the sword at her belt and felt her fingers shake. She wrapped them hard around the weapon's hilt to stop anyone from noticing.
Bernard stared thoughtfully out at the darkness, having not yet drawn an arrow to his bow. He shrugged one shoulder, as though trying to settle the mail on it more comfortably. He took a step closer to her and said, quietly, "Afraid?"
She frowned at him and shook her head. Even that gesture was too jerky. "Where are they?"
"Out there. Outside the light. They'll come into it as soon as they've massed for their charge."
"Ten thousand." She pressed her lips together. "Ten thousand."
"Don't focus on the numbers," he said, in that same low tone. "This is a simple, solid defense. We have the wall, the light, the ground in front of us. They built Garrison here because it's the best point of defense anywhere in the Valley. It gives us an enormous advantage."
Amara looked up at him again, then up and down the length of the wall. She couldn't stop her voice from shaking. "But there are so few legionares."
"Easy," Bernard rumbled. "That's all right. Pirellus has his most experienced troops on the walls. Career fighting men, most of them with families behind them. The compulsory terms are down in the courtyard as reserves. These troops can fight ten times their number from this position with a good chance of victory, even without the Knights here. Pirellus and his men are the ones who are really going to win this battle. The legionares just have to hold the horde off of them until the Knights can bring their furies to bear on the Marat. We'll bloody their noses, and as soon as we can determine who is leading them, the Knights will take him down."
"They'll kill their hordemaster," Amara said.
"It discourages new hordemasters," Bernard said. "Or that's the idea. Once enough Marat are dead and their leader is gone, and they've not managed to break our defense, they won't have the stomach for any more fighting.''
She nodded, pressing her lips together. "All right. What can I do to help?"
"Look for their leader. They don't wear anything much beyond what a normal warrior does, so you just have to look for someone shouting orders near the center."
"And when I've found him?"
Bernard drew an arrow and set it to the string of his bow, finally. "Point me at him. They should come in any moment now. Good fortune, Cursor."
"And you, Steadholder."
On her other side, Pirellus leaned a hand against a merlon and leaned a bit forward. "Ready," he whispered. "Come on. We're ready."
They came without warning. The Marat surged forward, thousands of screaming throats with one voice, plunging into the cold furylight like a sudden, living tide of muscle and bone. Their battle roar washed over Amara, deafening, terrifying, more sound than she would have believed could happen. Before she realized what she was doing, she was screaming, too, shouting out her fear and defiance, her sword in her hand, though she didn't remember drawing it-and beside her, Pirellus, sword held high, did the same.
"Archers!" he thundered, voice stentorian on the wall. "Loose!"
And with the thrum of a hundred heavy bows, death went flying into the ranks of the charging Marat.
Amara watched as the first rank of the enemy bucked and went down, only to be crushed by those coming behind them. Twice more, Pirellus cried to the archers, and twice more arrows flickered into their ranks, sending Marat sprawling and screaming, but doing nothing to stop the tide of bodies flooding toward Garrison's walls.