She ran up the stairs to the top of the Fortress wall still half-blinded, just a little ahead of Felaras, hoping Teo's breathless warning hadn't come too late. At the top of the flight of stone steps were three of the six permanent mortars, their -Watchers—and Zetren.
As she ran through the gap in the waist-high barrier on their side of the wall, she could see Zetren talking to the gunners. He was facing her, a wall in human form, and his dark eyes glittered like a half-mad bears. He ignored Kasha's presence entirely. The bloodthirsty glee in his voice could not be concealed, and the Watchers manning the mortars on the wall did not look to Kasha's eyes to be comfortable hearing it. "When they reach the first mark," he said, "touch off the—"
"What in hell is going on here?"
Felaras climbed the last of the stairs two at a time, her eyes cold with anger. The Watchers had been uneasy at what lay in Zetren's eyes; they shrank desperately away from the look the Master was wearing. She hadn't worn that look often in her tenure as Master, but out of the half-dozen times she had, twice she'd killed a man with her bare hands. For good reason, admittedly; and she only hastened the sentence that would have been delivered anyway—but none of them had ever forgotten the incidents. Felaras in full wrath was not something any of them faced willingly.
Except Zetren, who feared nothing. He drew himself up to his considerable height and stared down at her.
She ignored him, going straight to the mortars. "What in hell have you got these set for?" she asked, with icy calm.
"Last notch, Master," said old Amberd, the most senior.
"Which plants our little eggs right at the mouth of the trail." She wasn't asking; she knew exactly what that setting meant, as did Kasha. "You know what my instructions were. Reset them the way I ordered."
Zetren gave an inarticulate, angry little growl.
Felaras turned and gave him a long, measuring look—
Then shrugged, and turned her back on him, plainly dismissing him as something of no importance.
Whatever he'd been expecting her to do, it wasn't that. He was left staring impotently at her back as she ordered the mortars reset by two notches so that the explosive shells would land considerably ahead of the mouth of the trail. He went red, then white; clenched his fists as if he would like to strike her. . . .
Then did the unforgivable; made one step toward Felaras's undefended back with his hands coming up.
That was why Kasha was there.
Sweating with fear—for this was the first time she'd ever done this outside of lessoning—she ill-wished with all her strength. And got ready to move in case it didn't work, or Zetren was protected.
Her vision narrowed, as if she was looking down a long tube, and things seemed far away and ill-defined, like in a dream. Well, that was fine; that meant she was directing the power correctly. And there was a sharp pain between her eyebrows which meant she was focusing right. . . .
She put every bit of her concentration into it; her entire universe narrowed to one thing. Zetren.
Zetren made another step.
His foot came squarely down on a piece of round shot from the loading of the mortars that shouldn't have been there. His foot skidded, flew up and into the air, right out from under him. He flailed, both his arms windmilling wildly for a moment, wearing an expression of such amazement that Kasha almost laughed and broke her concentration.
Then he landed on his back, hitting his head on the stone of the wall and knocking himself unconscious.
Kasha cut off her wish.
Sight went back to normal, although she was as tired as if she'd just gone a full ten rounds of hand-to-hand with one of the senior Watchers.
She daren't show it, though; she took a deep breath, steadied her legs, and went to Zetren's side. She studied him for a moment, then knelt and pried open one eyelid.
Perfect. Out like a snuffed candle.
"He tripped over something," she said with feigned innocence, looking over her shoulder at Felaras. "I think he must have hit his head."
Felaras sighed, as if she believed her aid. "Amberd, I think the sun must have gotten to him. Get him on his feet and back to his quarters, will you?"
Amberd snorted, but obeyed. The others sighed with relief and went back to resetting the mortars.
No one seemed to have an inkling as to what had really happened at that moment—which was precisely as both Kasha and Felaras wanted it.
They got the mortars reset just in time; for a few moments later Eldon pounded up the trail driving the weary herd of horses belonging to the Order before him. They poured in through the Market Gate with a sound like distant thunder, streaming sweat that ran in muddy runnels through the dust covering their flanks, and Watchers on the gate slammed and locked it behind them. Now . . . it shouldn't be more than a few moments . . .
Kasha strained her ears and eyes both, but it wasn't until the Watchers below got the weary horses safely away into their stabling for a deserved rest that she heard it—the drumming of more hoofbeats on the herd-trail coming up the mountain.
It seemed to take forever; her heart was pounding in her ears, she clenched her hands on the stone of the parapet before her, and her breath came harsh and panting. Would they turn back? Would they sense the trap?
Then, suddenly, there they were—hauling up short at the sight of the enormous structure that guarded the Pass.
"Fire!" Felaras ordered—and the mortars spoke as one.
The trail between the Fortress and the nomads erupted with thunder and flying debris. It was much too far away to do them any harm, but it was virtually guaranteed to make the most hardheaded of horse-nomads believe in wizards with sky-fire magic.
When the dust cleared the nomads were nowhere to be seen.
The horses stood, spent, heads down, exhausted. Sweat collected on their flanks, the sweat of fear as much as of exertion; they slobbered around their bits, and their eyes still showed white around the lids. His raiders said nothing, but there was that same stark fear in their eyes, and pleading. You are Khene, said those eyes, white-rimmed in their sun-darkened faces. Think of some way to get us down off this mountain alive!
Once his heart stopped racing with fear, Tegrai felt oddly calm. He dismounted, handed his reins to Abodai (whose face was drained nearly bloodless), and walked cautiously up the trail to peer around the side of the escarpment protecting them.
There were three truly enormous holes in the trail.
Whatever these wizards had, it wasn't lightning; it was worse than lightning. Lightning didn't leave huge, smoking holes in the earth. Lightning didn't reduce boulders to a pile of fragments and pebbles.
He considered the Fortress, the trail, and the craters in it with a strange calm and detachment. They could have killed us easily, he decided after a moment. They probably could kill us now. If they can do that—there's no reason why they couldn't reach all the way to the camp if they wanted to—
His heart began racing at that, and he sternly told it to calm itself.
It wasn't listening. It was convinced that if the wizards cared to, they could keep them from ever getting off this damned mountain.
And the worst of it was, Jegrai's head agreed with it.