Erlestoke crouched at the base of the stair, then turned and pointed Ryswin and Finnrisia to the stairs, indicating they should mount them. He then signaled for lands to come up so both of them could shoot into the windows if any targets showed themselves.
It was a desperate tactic that could have turned out badly in any number of ways. While the two elves could take cover at the base of the wall, avoiding easy shots by the snipers, it could be that off to the right there were more lurking who would catch them in a horrid trap. Still, there was no choice, so hefting their bows, the elves swept past him and sprinted up the stairs.
The stairs did not really rise that sharply, but the steps were just long going to have its own cisterns. This high up, we’re looking at a quarry where snow melts and flows down in. We have to find the internal reservoir here, where the trickling water will collect, then break into the flow tube. We crawl out and we’re on the outside.“
“How big a tube are we talking?”
She shrugged. “The thing chasing us won’t be able to follow.”
“But can the rest of us get through?”
“I don’t know, Highness.”
Erlestoke rubbed a hand over his mouth. “But you could shift your shape enough to get out, right? No question of that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, here’s the plan. Let’s find this way out. If we can all make it, we do. If we can’t, the fragment is yours. Get as far away as you can.” Erlestoke laid his hands on her shoulders. “And none of this brave, ‘I don’t want to go.’ None of us want to go, but we’d all do it if we had to.”
“Yes, Highness, I know.”
“Good.”
Another shot sounded and Verum cursed. “Dammit, Nygal, give me your draconette.”
Erlestoke looked at the heavyset weapons-master. “Did you miss?”
The grizzled warrior shook his head. “No, I hit it dead center. Mistake I was making was giving it a chance to stand up before I shot again.” He raised the borrowed quadnel and triggered a shot.
“Got it. Broke its left leg, I’m sure of it.” Verum nodded. “It’s crawling away from the stairs.”
“Good, maybe that buys us some time.”
Jilandessa glanced at him. “Will it be enough?”
“Who knows. Right now I’ll just settle for more.” The Oriosan prince gave her a confident smile. “What we do with it will decide if it is enough or not.”
61
Isaura clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the screams of the burning mage. The Murosan sorcerer who had opposed Corde collapsed in a flaming mass. People on the walls of Nawal shrank back or reeled away. Seated there before Naelros’ pavilion, which had been set up barely five hundred yards from the city, Isaura could not smell the roasting flesh. For that she was thankful, for at least that was one aspect of the display she could escape. Being Chytrine’s daughter, there was no way she could avoid watching, since all of Lord Neskartu’s charges saluted her, their master, and Naelros before marching off to do battle. For her to absent herself would greatly affect morale, so she sat there.
And there was a part of her that did not shy from watching her mother’s enemies die. She would have preferred to see them led to see reason, but it was obvious that having an army camped outside a city was hardly something that would encourage compromise. As it was, they opposed her mother, so they were a threat that had to be neutralized.
Death duels between the wizards was accomplishing that rather well. Isaura admired the courage with which combatants from both sides approached the battleground. Though they were mortal enemies, they still showed respect for each other. Neskartu had been very careful in selecting the opposition for his mages. He had previously cast a spell that allowed him to assess the strength and number of the sorcerers hidden in Nawal, and he planned accordingly.
The Aurolani had fared very well in the combats. While a handful of the kryalniri had been killed, and two of Neskartu’s Apprentices had been slain, a full dozen of the sorcerers from Nawal had been destroyed—including the last four in a row. Corde had dispatched two of them by herself, one after the other, and gave the appearance of remaining for a third. While that did seem a bold move, the Murosans had the habit of sending their strongest mages out first and working down.
Neskartu, who was able to sit without a chair, was a varicolored presence between Isaura and the dracomorph. They are reduced to Apprentices, all of whom will be swept away. Naelros, you will have little opposition from the realm of sorcery.
The dracomorph nodded slowly. He, likewise, used no chair but instead squatted back on his heels. A hooded cloak covered him, but Isaura could still see his large eyes glittering from within the hood’s shadow. “There is no haste. The longer we wait, the less powerful they become, and the more time we have to build our stores of firedirt.”
His assessment came firm and even, yet sent a chill down Isaura’s spine. She had seen Porjal fall, and its subjugation had been savage. Anarus’ assault had concentrated the dragonels such that they collapsed a section of wall; the army then poured through the breach. The slaughter had been horrifying and the city was taken in short order.
Naelros, however, had been given two weeks to take Nawal and showed signs of using every minute of it. The dragonels had been laid such that they would shoot over the walls and destroy buildings within—proving the walls to be ineffective protection. That could suffice as inducement for surrender and might allow him to take the city with the walls intact, which would make it very difficult for anyone to retake.
Isaura realized their strategy would save Aurolani lives, and she applauded that idea. What she hated was the visiting of the war on those who were not warriors. She had seen the same thing in Porjal, but it had resulted in the bloodlust frenzy of the city’s storming. Here the death would be random and its only purpose would be to terrorize the people so badly they could not think of resistance.
She wondered, though, if such random slaughter might not stiffen resistance. She further wondered why Naelros couldn’t see that as a possibility. Being a dracomorph who likely was centuries old—though this mind might only possess decades of consciousness—he doubtless had a differing view of humans than she did. She was even willing to consider that her interaction with Neskartu’s Apprentices had inflated her view of their capabilities, since his students were drawn from the smartest of the humans.
When she had raised this point with Naelros, the dracomorph had thanked her for her words. “I shall consider your ideas, Princess.” His voice rang with sincerity, but he commented no more on what she offered. Instead, he concentrated on his preparations, and seemed not to have altered things one bit.
The small mageport in Nawal’s gate opened again. A heavyset, dark-haired youth squeezed through it and strode toward the battleground. He wore a simple robe of dark brown that had been secured around his bulbous middle with a length of white cord. He tried to stride purposefully, but a trick of wind lashed him with the smoke from the burning woman. He sidestepped awkwardly, stumbled for a moment, then caught himself against the black dolmen and slowly straightened up.
Laughter and hooting sounded from the Aurolani lines, but it did not appear to daunt him. He straightened his robe, then lifted his chin. “I am Kerrigan Reese, Adept of Vilwan. I come in challenge.”
His right hand came up and forward. His fingers were curled into a fist around the middle of a wand. His hand glowed blue for a moment, then that glow sprang off into a soft sphere. It bounced across the snowy ground between Nawal and the Aurolani lines. It took short, high hops, and some long ones as well. It leaped over warriors, then rolled for a bit before coming to rest before Lord Neskartu.