“The city can be remade, its people can’t.” She looked at Antesh. “My lord?”
The Lord of Archers gave a slow nod. “It seems the Father’s blessing is not misplaced. But it’ll take a mighty effort to have it all done by the time the breach is complete.”
“Then let’s be about it. Besides I think the people will welcome any distraction from the sound of those bloody stones.”
Veliss organised work gangs based on neighbourhood allegiance, putting a skilled builder in charge of each one. They worked in seven-hour shifts, no-one was hungry now as rationing had been abandoned in the face of more pressing need. They worked through the night pulling down houses that had stood for centuries, their bricks moulded into the new barricades which had quickly been dubbed the Blessed Lady’s Rings. The taller houses were turned into miniature fortresses with wooden platforms added to the rooftops to accommodate additional archers, each one well-stocked with arrows and weapons. A series of walkways was also constructed across the rooftops, allowing reinforcements to be rushed from one point to another.
Reva spent the time rehearsing the House and City Guard in their response to the coming Volarian assault. “Is this really necessary now?” Veliss asked, watching the soldiers running from the wall for the tenth time as Reva counted down the seconds.
“Every one we kill on the wall or in the breaches is one we don’t have to kill in the streets,” Reva replied. She strode over to where the House Guard sergeant stood wheezing with his men. “Better than last time, but still too slow. Do it again.”
“You’re lucky they love you,” Veliss observed as the guardsmen trooped back to the stairs.
“I’m discovering the Father’s Blessing can do wonders, real or imagined.”
Veliss nodded, pursing her lips. “I, ah, thought I’d take another look at the stocks in the cellar. Should take an hour, perhaps longer.”
She gave a precisely formal bow and strode away, Reva hoping the guardsmen would ascribe the flush on her cheeks to the recent exertions. This was how it had been since that first glorious night, hurried but delightful fumblings in dark corners, the sense of stealing private pleasures adding a wicked charm to every encounter.
“Working hard?”
She turned to find Arken walking towards her with a stiff gait, his face tense with suppressed pain. “Go back to bed,” Reva instructed him flatly.
“Another minute of the healing house and I’ll go mad,” he replied. “Brother Harin is a good man, but his stories never end. This is his fifth war, you know? He’ll tell you all about the others in great detail, if you let him.”
She saw the determination in his gaze and let it drop. “Lord Antesh requires help in the eastern quarter,” she said. “There’s an old wine-shop with unusually deep foundations.”
He nodded, hesitating. “We’re never going to the Reaches, are we? Even if we win this.”
Looking at his broad, honest face she saw the boy he had been replaced by the good and brave man he now was. It hurt, because she knew he couldn’t stay with her now. She might want a brother but he already had a sister. “I’ve decided on Lady Governess of Cumbrael,” she said. “As my formal title. As you said, Fief Lady didn’t sound right.”
“Lady Governess,” he repeated with a grin. “Suits you.” He gave an overly florid bow, wincing and rubbing his back as he straightened then walked off towards the eastern quarter.
She was with Veliss when the stones stopped falling, lying entwined on a pile of furs in a shadowed corner of the manor cellar, sweat-covered and panting. “I love your hands,” Veliss said, entwining their fingers together, nuzzling at her neck.
“They’re rough, callused and the nails are horrible,” Reva replied. “Though my feet are worse.”
“You’re mad.” Veliss raised herself up to kiss her, lips lingering, tongue probing. “There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t gorgeous.”
Reva giggled as her lips moved lower, her hands bunching in Veliss’s rich, strawberry-flavoured hair . . .
“Wait!” she said as it came to her.
“What?” Veliss raised her head, pouting in annoyance.
“They’ve stopped.” After so long the absence of the stones on the wall was like an endless shout of silence. Reva disentangled herself and reached for her clothes.
“I thought I’d help Brother Harin with the wounded,” Veliss said as they dressed. “Not much else I can do now, is there?”
She stared at Reva with wide eyes, a frown of desperate hope on her brow. Reva strapped her sword across her back and paused to plant a kiss on her lips. “Stay safe.” She brushed the tousled hair back from Veliss’s forehead. “I love you.”
The Kuritai gave a soft grunt as the sword slashed across his eyes, the only time she had witnessed one express any pain. She leapt and planted both feet on his chest as he slashed the air, blind but still deadly. The kick propelled him to the wall, sending him tumbling over onto the heads of his comrades. Reva rolled to her feet, dodging sword thrusts from three directions, the House Guards closing around her, halberds stabbing and slashing.
She did a quick head count, finding she had lost half her command already. She glanced over at the inner wall around the first breach, noting the piles of Volarian dead and the constant rain of arrows delivered by the archers on the rooftops. But there was a cohesion to the attackers now, a hard knot of shielded men inching forward with more crowding in behind. It’s time.
“Break!” she shouted, lunging forward to spear the exposed neck of a Kuritai, then turning and running with the guards. They were faster than any practice, sprinting down the steps and vaulting the first of the rings without losing any more to the pursuing enemy. The Kuritai didn’t pause in their charge, coming on at a run to scale the new wall but falling by the dozen to the archers on the rooftops above. Those that did make it over were hopelessly outnumbered and soon hacked down.
“Remember the signal,” she told Sergeant Laklin. “Three blasts of the horn and you break for the next ring.”
“I remember, my lady.” Laklin wiped his sweat-streaked brow and gave a grin. “Made them pay for it, didn’t we?”
“That we did. Let’s see if we can exact the full price.”
She ran for the western section where Antesh was assembling his companies after breaking from the breach defences. She was forced to duck as one of the Volarian fireballs came crashing down a few yards ahead, scattering bricks and embers in a blast of heat and smoke. Antesh had anticipated this tactic, forming firefighting companies to safeguard the streets between the rings. They came running now with buckets in hand, older people mostly with a few youngsters. They attacked the blaze with all the ferocity of a company of guardsmen, sand and water quelling the flames in a few minutes. It had been surprisingly small considering the size of the fireball.
“Pays to live in a city of stone, my lady,” the fire-company leader said, a brawny woman of middling years Reva recognised from the line of petitioners the day she had intruded into the manor. Despite her words Reva could see half a dozen columns of smoke rising from the surrounding streets, evidence that some parts of the city were not so immune to fire.
“No letup, lads!” Antesh was on the rooftop overlooking the western section. He had placed his command post atop the home of the masons guild, the most sturdily built structure in the city, the walls thick and the windows narrow, perfect for bowmen. Below them the Volarians clustered about the wall with shields raised, more pouring through the breach behind. The Volarians seemed to be assaulting the wall itself rather than attempting to climb it, the occasional flash of short swords through the shields told of a concerted effort to hammer their way through the recently finished brickwork.
Reva took a clay pot of lamp oil and threw it at the knot of shields, the liquid exploding across them as it shattered. She followed it with a fire arrow, the Volarians soon forced to abandon their flaming shields, most perishing under the instant volley from the archers above. But there were more trooping through the breaches, always more.
From the right came the sound of two horn blasts, the signal for an imminent breach. “Keep holding here!” she told Antesh and sprinted for the nearest walkway.
Two battalions of Free Swords were attacking at different points along the north-facing ring, one was being held but the other had managed to force a toehold on the other side, a small but growing cluster of shields constantly assailed from above by a rain of arrows and other missiles. The defenders here were mostly townsfolk stiffened with a few archers and guardsmen, their lack of expertise remedied in some part by their ferocity. She saw a large, elderly man in the leather smock of a carpenter charge at the Volarian cluster with an axe in hand, several young apprentices close behind. On the surrounding rooftops people hurled rocks and bottles at the enemy along with a torrent of abuse.
“Die, you heretic fuckers!” a young woman screamed, lifting a large piece of masonry over her head and hurling it at the Volarians. It landed in the middle of their shields, leaving a hole. Reva saw her chance, sprinted to the edge of the roof and leapt. She landed on the Free Sword who tried to lift his shield to plug the gap, breaking her fall and forcing him to the cobbles. The sword plunged through his open mouth and into his brain. She leapt again as the short swords came for her, spinning and twisting, the sword a flicker of silver, finding eyes and throats with terrible precision. Seeing her intervention, the townsfolk redoubled their efforts, the old carpenter laying about with his axe and voicing a roar as his apprentices hacked away with hatchets and hammers. Others came running from the surrounding houses, armed with knives and cleavers. Some had no weapons at all, running and leaping onto the Free Swords, hurling punches and gouging eyes.
The Volarian cluster soon broke apart under the assault, some trying to scramble back over the wall only to pitch over with arrows in their backs. Others fought to the end, one man managing to hold the townsfolk back as he stood over a fallen comrade, his sword moving with the expert economy and effect of a veteran as he forced the townsfolk to hold off. He snarled at them, shouting curses in his own language as they steeled themselves for the final rush, then stiffened at the sight of Reva.
“You’re very brave,” she observed, attacking without a pause. It was over quickly, the brave veteran coughing his last as her sword found the inch-wide gap below his breastplate.
“May I?” Reva asked the carpenter, gesturing for his axe. He handed it over in wordless awe.
“This man,” she told them, standing astride the veteran’s corpse and reaching down to remove his helmet. “Is probably a hero to our enemies. They need to know what happens to heroes in this city.”
She could hear the shouted orders on the other side of the wall, sergeants and officers marshalling their men for another try. The voices stilled to silence after she cast the veteran’s head over the wall.
“You fought well,” she told the townsfolk with a smile, keeping the annoyance from her voice as they all knelt before her. “Gather these weapons and stand ready. This is far from over.”