"Gathrid. Theis." The Mindak wore what appeared to be a genuinely friendly smile. "Glad to see that you're still well. I'd feared for your health. These westerners are treacherous."
Aarant prodded Gathrid. "They are that. It hasn't been that long since I heard one of their Kings plotting to betray the rest to you."
"Ah. Poor Kimach. You see? He was a greedy man. And a fool. He was a flawed tool at best. He would have broken in heavy work. And he knew it. No doubt he's happier where he is now. The gentleman with you, I presume, is the renowned Count Cuneo?"
Hildreth bowed slightly. Because Ahlert had chosen to speak Old Petralian, the formalities had to be observed. "I'd hoped to meet you earlier, Sir."
"At Avenevoli? But I was there! I heard you were in the area. I'm sorry we missed each other."
"Such is luck. Such is luck. I suppose conditions weren't propitious for any early meeting."
"And Mead?" Gathrid interjected. "I trust she's well?"
Ahlert managed to look startled, wistful, and mildly annoyed. "Magnolo says she's as well as can be expected. She bore me a son two days ago." He glanced eastward for a fraction of a second, his dream momentarily interrupted by the anxieties of a husband. "Your lady, too, is resting well. I knew you would've wanted the right thing done. I took the liberty of having artisans prepare a suitable resting place. And another for your sister as well." He peered at Gathrid intently, as if trying to determine whether or not the youth were surprised. "May we all have the good fortune to revisit those places and people whence our heartroots spring."
Hildreth was puzzled by the personal exchange. He brought the conversation back to the present.
"That's a big traveling party you've brought on your pilgrimage to pledge fealty to the Empire."
"When one visits Sartain, I'm told, no display of pomp and power is too great."
"This one isn't great enough."
"Perhaps not. Yet we petition entry, and audience with the Emperor and Fray Magister. I note that the latter isn't represented in your party. That's curious."
"He finds himself occupied elsewhere. No doubt he'll be heartbroken when he hears that you departed without making his acquaintance."
Mulenex and the best minds of the Brotherhood were deep in the bowels of the Raftery. They were trying to discover the source of the Mindak's confidence. And some means of negating it.
"That would never do. I'll have to insist on paying him a visit."
"The Emperor has bid us tell all would-be visitors that the Causeway is closed. My apologies, Sir."
Gathrid found the evasions and false politenesses amusing. Petralian was a language for diplomats.
It seemed to have been specially shaped for men who wished to avoid being pinned down.
"That's final? Beyond compromise?"
"Unfortunately."
"A pity, though not unanticipated. Gathrid, my best. Theis, the same to you. Have you heard from our friend from Sommerlath? She'd be interested in our reunion, I think."
So, Gathrid thought. He knows Nieroda survived. And he doesn't consider her a danger at the moment.
"No. Nothing," he replied. Probing with little hope of illumination, "You wouldn't know where she is, would you?''
The Mindak smiled a tired, wary smile. "She's where she always is when you don't see her. Looking over your shoulder. I suppose there's nothing more to be said. Count?"
Hildreth's frown suggested he was puzzled by the exchange. "That's all."
"So be it, then. So be it." Ahlert returned to his party. As he went, he thrust an arm toward the east, making a come hither gesture.
Hildreth asked, "What's that about?"
Gathrid shrugged. "I don't know him that well."
"We'll find out the hard way," Rogala said. "Let's get back upstairs."
When they reached the battlements they saw that a low, dense blackness now masked the eastern skyline. Occasional clouds surged up, collapsed back into the on-rushing wave.
"A storm?" Hildreth wondered. "Out of the east? Signalmen. Pass the final alert."
Men with wigwag flags and mirrors communicated with Sartain and the satellite fortresses, bringing them to maximum readiness.
The Mindak reshuffled his forces but did not attack.
Gathrid stared eastward. The darkness drew closer. In places great banks of blackness rose to obscure the morning sun. His nervousness grew, though there was nothing to do but wait. There were no more preparations to make.
"Those are birds or something," he gasped. "Big ones, too."
Hildreth swore. "We should have nets."
"Too late," Rogala said.
The Count signaled the island anyway. "We'll strip the fishing fleet. For the next attack."
Gacioch laughed. "That's what I like. A man with a positive outlook."
"Shut up!" Rogala snarled.
It grew dark. Gathrid muttered, "I hope this place is as invincible as everyone claims." He had his doubts now.
The things were terrier-sized. They had long leathery wings and jaws like crocodiles. Hundreds of thousands descended on the Maurath. Their stench was overpowering. Gathrid felt as though he had fallen into a bat cave as big as the world. He swung Daubendiek in a murderous blur.
The things had no flavor. There was no evil in them, nor even the rage of attack. Their little animal souls were bland. Hunger was all they knew.
They had been created in a time more eld than Niero-da's Sommerlath, as tools for just this sort of attack. Like knives, they cared not how they were wielded. Their only imperative was to increase their numbers against their next employment.
The Dark People of Ansorge had removed them from the earth and sealed them in stasis in caverns far beneath their city. Ahlert's investigators had stumbled onto readable instructions for controlling them.
Gathrid suspected a twitch of the hand of Chuchain.
Daubendiek howled with joy. It preferred drinking the blood of men, but was happy enough with this.
The Guards Oldani, Imperial army and Sartain's militia merely howled. The attackers had no more self-concern than army ants. They drove through a storm of arrows and flung themselves against upraised blades. They plunged past the massed defenses of the Brotherhood, and ripped spellcasters to pieces.
The only defense was cover.
Ahlert began his advance. The winged things did not harry his people. His allies, in forces a thousand strong, assaulted each of the satellite fortresses. The defenders managed a few wild shots from their engines, but were so preoccupied with flyers that they could not reload.
It seemed a hundred flyers replaced every dozen downed. The attacking cloud grew more and more dense. Bodies piled a yard deep atop the Maurath.
A larger cloud swarmed over Sartain. Gathrid hoped the civilians would bar their doors and windows and wait the storm out.
It did not break. It did not let up. The winged things forced the Guards to retreat to the interiors of the smaller fortresses. Ahlert's troops threw up ladders and climbing ropes. Arrows shot from embrasures too narrow for the flyers took their toll, but the point had been won. The defenders would be overcome inside their citadels.
The embittered Ventimiglian veterans began advancing on the Maurath.
Hildreth, Gathrid, and Rogala fought as a team. While the taller men stood back to back, keeping the air around them clear, the dwarf finished wounded flyers and pitched carcasses off the wall.
It was rough work for everyone but Gathrid, who received energy from the Sword. Hildreth was first to confess exhaustion. "Got to get under cover and rest," he gasped. "This way." They were the last to leave the roof.
Gathrid examined the Ventimiglians as he shielded Hildreth's effort to open a door. It had become so dark the easterners had to carry torches. They were advancing with drillground precision.