Half the city was dead or dying of that winter pox; there were scarcely enough soldiers left to hold the gates.
The storm that night was so loud that the Palatine guards did not hear the first alarms in the lower city. Runners brought word, spreading panic up to the citadel like wildfire.
The sound of gongs and shouting woke Ki. He thought at first that he was dreaming of the Sakor festival. He was about to pull the pillows over his head when Tobin lurched out of bed, taking the covers with him.
“It’s an alarm, Ki. Get up!” he cried, fumbling about in the dim glow of the night lamp. Ki sprang from bed and pulled on the first tunic his hands found.
Molay burst in still wearing his nightshirt. “It’s an attack, my lords! Arm yourselves! The king wants every man to the audience chamber!”
“Is it Plenimar?” asked Tobin.
“That’s what I heard, my prince. The messenger claims the districts outside the walls are in flames from Beacon Head to Beggar’s Bridge.”
“Go wake Lutha and Nik—”
“We’re here!” Lutha cried, as they rushed in with their squires.
“Get dressed. Arm yourselves and meet me here,” Tobin ordered. “Molay, where’s Korin?”
“I don’t—”
“Never mind! Send for Tharin and my guard!”
Ki’s hands shook as he helped Tobin into his padded shirt and hauberk. “This is no bandit raid, eh?” he muttered, trying to make light of it. “Tobin?” For a moment he thought his friend hadn’t heard.
“I’m all right. This just isn’t quite how I pictured our first real battle.” Tobin took Ki’s hand in the warrior clasp. “You’ll stand by me, won’t you? No matter what?”
“Of course I will!” Ki searched Tobin’s face again. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Tobin squeezed Ki’s hand. “I’m sure. Come on.”
Iya stood on the roof of the tenement above the Worm-hole, cursing furiously against the wind. It blew in from the sea, carrying the stench of burning. The harbor wards were in flames and beyond that enemy warships blocked the harbor mouth. Skalan ships in dry dock had been set aflame, and those at anchor had been cut loose to run aground.
The enemy hadn’t breached the walls yet, but they would. She’d already scryed their positions and found sappers and necromancers at work. They’d set up catapults, as well, and were lobbing some sort of fire over the eastern wall. Smoke was already billowing in the dyers’ ward.
The streets below were impassable. Throngs of people were running downhill with any implement they could find. Others were trying to drive cartloads of household goods through the crowds, not realizing that there was no escape. The enemy had men before every gate.
None of that was her concern. She’d cast seeking spells for the boys already, only to find that they’d left the amulets she’d sent them in their room. Bracing herself against the wind, she closed her eyes and summoned another spell, though she already feared where they must be. Her eyes burned behind her lids; pain throbbed in her temples, but she found them at last.
“Damnation!” she screamed, shaking her fists at the sky.
There was no question of the Companions being left behind. With half the city garrison already dead of plague and Plenimaran rams pounding at every gate, no warrior could be spared. Armed with bows and swords, the boys took their place at the head of the column massed on the practice grounds. The king mounted his black charger and held up the Sword of Ghërilain. Raising his voice to be heard over the wind, he shouted, “There’s no time for long speeches. I’ve just gotten word that there are necromancers at the east gate. May Sakor judge the enemy for the cowards they are and give the victory to us today. Stand together, warriors of Skala, and drive the marauders from our shores! Every gate must be held, and every foot of wall. They must not enter!” Wheeling his horse, he led them out.
The rest of them followed on foot. Looking over his shoulder, Tobin could see Tharin and his men just behind him, bearing the royal standard of Atyion. Ki walked grimly at his side, their extra quivers rattling against his back.
They cleared the gates and Tobin caught his breath. In the grey light of dawn, he could see the banks of smoke rolling up from the ruins outside the city walls. There were defenders already on the walls, but too few and too sparsely deployed.
The reason for this soon became horrifyingly clear. The Companions had not been allowed down into the city since the pox struck, and none of the reports had prepared them for the reality of the situation. Ero was a charnel house.
Bodies lay rotting in every street, too many for the dead carriers to deal with. Perhaps they were all dead, too. Tobin shuddered as they passed a sow and her young pulling the body of a young girl to pieces. Everywhere he looked, the living stepped around the dead as if they were piles of garbage. Even with the cold wind, the stench was sickening.
“If the Plenimarans don’t get us, the pox will!” Ki muttered, clapping a hand across his mouth.
A ragged woman knelt keening over the body of her pox-raddled child, but looked up as they passed. “You are cursed, Erius son of Agnalain, and all your house! You’ve brought Illior’s curse down on this land!”
Tobin looked away quickly as a soldier raised a club to silence her. Erius gave no sign that he’d heard, but Tobin saw Korin flinch.
The streets near the east gate were nearly impassable, choked with panicked people, carts, and crazed animals of all sorts. Erius’ guard swept ahead with truncheons to clear the way.
At the walls, however, they found men, women, even children ready to repel the invaders. The tops of the walls and towers were lined with men, but there too they were thinly spread. As Tobin watched, a few enemy soldiers gained the top and were savagely repelled. Arrows hissed overhead, and some found their mark. Skalan warriors tumbled down to join the heaps of dead and dying below.
“Look,” said Ki, pointing to a pile of bodies. Two dead Plenimarans lay tangled with the others. They both wore black tunics over their mail, and had long black hair and braided beards. It was the first time either of them had actually seen a Plenimaran.
“To the walls!” Erius shouted, dismounting and brandishing his sword again.
“With me, Companions!” Korin cried, and Tobin and the others followed him up the shuddering wooden stairs to the hoardings above.
From here, Tobin could look down through the arrow slits and murder holes at the seething mass of fighters below. The Skalan defenders hurled stones down at them and dumped buckets of hot oil and tar, but it did no more than create a temporary gap in the press. The Plenimarans had already set up hundreds of square wooden mantlets to shelter their archers, and they kept up a steady hail of arrows from there. At the gate below, a sappers’ shed had been moved up against the doors and Tobin heard the dull, steady rhythm of a battering ram crew at work.
Shoulder to shoulder with Ki and Tharin, Tobin raised his bow and took aim at the forces swarming below. When their arrows were spent, they helped dump stones through the murder holes and push off scaling ladders. Some still made it up, however, and they found themselves running endlessly to beat them back. Ki was still beside him, and Tobin caught glimpses of some of the other boys, but as the battle went on they got separated from them among the other defenders. Tobin lost sight of Korin but even in the worst of it, Tharin and Ki were there at his back.