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‘Where do we now stand with archers? How many do we have?’
‘Those who can fire a bow, sir, or those who can actually hit a target?’
Martin hesitated, then said, ‘Fire a bow.’
‘A hundred and fifty, give or take a few,’ answered Ruther.
‘Take thirty of our best and that flying company, and occupy the old fortress to oversee the refitting personally. Build a fire under the carpenters and masons if you must, but I want it defensible by yesterday.’ Suddenly a thought came to him. ‘And take that miniature ballista with you.’ He pointed to where the portal ballista rested in the wagon that had carried it down from LaMut. ‘Aim it where you think you can do the most damage to the Keshians if they try to seize that emplacement. I have a feeling,’ he added in lower tones, ‘that they’re going to try to ferry men across and hit us from the east as they assault this gate.’
‘Sir!’ said Ruther. ‘May I suggest that we might do well with some oil, sir?’
‘Take what you need, but if you use it, try not to burn the place …’ Martin stopped. For a long moment he was silent. Then he said, ‘No. Take as much oil as you need, and if it comes to it, burn that fortification to the ground. If we lose it, we’ll deny the Keshians its use.’
Martin glanced at his brother and the sergeant, and then turned his gaze back to the harbour and sea beyond. ‘Kesh won’t try to land troops in small boats if they can’t gain a foothold. If we place archers in the trees on the hills above the harbour, there’s no safe place for them to muster for an assault. More than half would be dead before they got to the road.’ He nodded.
‘Well done, sir,’ said Ruther with obvious approval. He turned and ran off.
As flames leapt skyward and the entire foulborough became consumed, Brendan said, ‘What do we do next?’
Martin glanced west, then towards the fire, and then eastward, as if trying to see something in the distance that might be approaching from any side of the city. Finally he rested against the stones, already feeling the heat from the fire behind, and looked northward. ‘We wait, and hope the night holds no more surprises for us.’
• CHAPTER THREE •
Attack
MIRANDA POINTED TOWARDS THE SMOKE IN THE SKY.
‘Fires,’ said the being once known as Child.
Belog, who now called himself Nakor, nodded. ‘Big ones.’
They were riding in a wagon towards the north gate of Ylith, having discovered in LaMut the single most frustrating fact of their new identities: they might have had Miranda and Nakor’s memories imposed over their own, but they didn’t possess their abilities.
Two days of trying to reassert their human abilities, one aggravating attempt after another, had left them both exasperated and at a loss. It was as if they knew the language, yet when they spoke only gibberish emerged. They still possessed their demonic abilities, despite their human appearances, but no hint of the prodigious power that Miranda once possessed now remained. Even in her human guise she was physically more powerful than the strongest human warrior many times over, as well as being faster than the swiftest elf. Her magic was what it had been in the demon realm: an ability to inflict destruction at an astonishing rate. But even the most meagre of Miranda’s human magic remained beyond her reach.
Her first thought had been to find Miranda’s husband, Pug, for while she knew she was not really his late wife, she still possessed all of Miranda’s memories and emotions. For the very first time, a demon appreciated the concept of love as mortals understood it, and felt the pain of separation from her husband and sons; or rather Miranda’s husband and sons.
The demon in Miranda’s form knew the memories had been grafted on to its own, and how: another ploy by the Trickster God, Kalkin. Yet they were so vivid, both the good and the bad, that it was impossible to remain objective about the life imprinted over her own. Child possessed mere days of memory, while Miranda’s stretched well beyond a century. Her false human identity overwhelmed her true demon consciousness. The same held true for Nakor, as the demon known as Belog now thought of himself, although his demon memories were years longer than Child’s. But while Nakor had possessed abilities, Belog had only possessed knowledge, so his inability to access Nakor’s ‘tricks’ was not a particular source of frustration to the demon-turned-human.
He found it amusing that Nakor was by nature far more patient and content to accept things as they were than Miranda; if a woman over a century old could be called ‘youthfully impetuous’ it was Miranda.
One thing became truer by the day: their human consciousnesses were slowly displacing the demonic, and both had begun to feel as if they had somehow simply died human and reawakened in these new bodies. If anything had eased Nakor’s annoyance at his changed status, it had been the wry amusement he felt watching Miranda’s complete frustration over hers.
Lacking the ability to transport themselves to Sorcerer’s Isle magically, they had been forced to seek another means of conveyance. So a ride on a supply wagon had been purchased, allowing the former demons to discuss their situation as they slowly wended their way southward. To the others travelling in this tiny caravan they looked like nothing out of the ordinary, no more unusual than any pairing of an attractive middle-aged woman with an odd-looking old man, Keshian by his garb and complexion. With the war underway, there were many people on the road, some moving northward, away from the pending Keshian assault, others south, towards potential riches.
Nakor and Miranda had both lived a very long time, and had known many wars, and so neither was surprised by the flow of people towards the coming bloody conflict. There was always a direct relationship between risk and reward in wartime.
Over the years both of them had witnessed wars fought by armies outnumbered by their camp followers: prostitutes, gamblers, weapons sellers, armour makers, tailors, skinners, bowyers, food suppliers, all willing to risk harm, even death, in exchange for a possible windfall of gold. Miranda’s memory even recalled one bold and enterprising farmer who had rushed his small herd of cattle to an invading army’s quartermaster and sold it for gold, mere hours before the commander ordered his riders out to forage for food; he had managed to sell what they would have pillaged anyway. Miranda had always wondered what had become of that farmer.
Despite the odd musings created by memories that were at once familiar yet new, the attention of the two demons-turned-human was drawn to the south, where the afternoon sky was thick with smoke clouds above the city.
The wagon slowed and the driver turned and said, ‘Looks like Ylith has fallen.’
Miranda said, ‘There may be fires, but that doesn’t mean it’s fallen. If the gates had been breached, we’d see a flood of retreating people streaming past us now.’
‘Well, I’m going to wait and see. No risk in pausing,’ said the old teamster, ‘but a lot of risk in blundering forward.’
Miranda jumped down from the back of the wagon and saw that the other teams in the small caravan had also pulled over to the verge of the road. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the demon in human form. ‘We’ll wander down and take a look and if we don’t come back …’ She saw the face of Nakor grinning. ‘Assume the worst.’
They set off down the road at quick pace and when they were out of earshot, Nakor laughed loudly. ‘Assume the worst?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to tell him we weren’t coming back, and if he wants to sit there waiting for someone to blow the all-clear, he’s picked the wrong trade.’
They moved rapidly, their demonic strength and endurance extant under their human appearance. Miranda and Nakor, as they now thought of themselves, had no idea why they were here, even if they knew Kalkin was behind their existence. But they trusted that it was for a reason and an important one, and they knew that to uncover that reason, the most logical place to begin was where the most powerful practitioners of magic resided: Sorcerer’s Isle.
Moreover, though she said nothing to Nakor, Miranda ached to see her family. In her memory she had just withstood a brutal demon attack on her home and had successfully driven them off with her husband, son, and the other magicians when a wounded demon had leapt from feigned death and ripped out half of her neck, causing almost instantaneous death. The shock of the attack had made the details vague and since Nakor had died before the invasion, she had no witness with whom to speak. She didn’t know if her husband had survived, though she counted it likely, nor how her children fared. She needed to know, and it was slowly becoming an overwhelming urge.
Within minutes of leaving the woodlands, they started down a gentle sloping road and could clearly see the city. The fire appeared to rage beyond the city, perhaps on the docks or through some ships near the quayside, for although a canopy of smoke hung over Ylith, no pillars of soot and ash rose within the walls. Still, the defenders of the city were vigilant, and as Miranda and Nakor approached the gate, they were challenged from the wall.
‘Who’s there?’ The voice sounded very young and not terribly confident.
‘Travellers,’ answered Miranda. She glanced at Nakor who grinned at her statement of the obvious. ‘Who seek shelter.’
‘The gates are to stay shut. Commander’s orders.’
‘We’re hardly an invading force from Kesh,’ said Miranda.
‘He looks Keshian,’ said the owner of the high-pitched voice, now obviously a boy wearing an ill-fitting helm as he leaned out between two merlons to point at Nakor.
‘I travel a lot!’ shouted Nakor, his grin widening.
Miranda said, ‘This may prove difficult.’
‘You want to just leap up there?’ asked the short gambler.
Miranda looked dubious. ‘I might be able to, but could you?’
‘I’m more nimble than I look,’ said Nakor, his grin fading as if she had hurt his feelings. Then the smile returned. ‘Besides, it would terrify the boy.’
Looking up at the downturned face above them, Miranda shouted, ‘When will the commander order the gates open to travellers?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered the boy. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to arrive and tell him what to do.
‘Why don’t you run off and find someone to ask?’ said Miranda, and the boy nodded and vanished from sight.
‘I was about to say that,’ said Nakor with a relieved expression.
Glancing around, Miranda wrapped her arms around her as if chilled, though the air was balmy. ‘It’s so difficult at times.’
Nakor nodded. ‘I think the longer we abide in this realm, the more these memories will begin to feel like our true ones, and the memories we have of our home realm will fade to nothing.’
Miranda nodded. ‘I sometimes struggle to remember being Child.’ She looked for a moment at Nakor, once Belog the Archivist of King Dahun, Demon Lord of one of the five most powerful realms in the Fifth Plane of existence. ‘My earliest recollections of my mother, and even those of meeting you, are fading and becoming dream-like.’
Nakor grinned. ‘One thing remains constant: no matter the realm in which we find ourselves, or what manner of being we become, life will be a struggle.’ He shrugged. ‘That, in its own way at least, is reassuring.’
‘What you told me—’ She shook her head as if struggling to find the correct context. ‘What Nakor’s memories …’ She sighed in resignation. ‘What you told me in the Dasati realm about Miranda’s father, do you think that will happen to us?’
Nakor cocked his head slightly as if pondering the thought for a moment, then said, ‘If you mean do I think we shall die once our purpose here is over … ?’ Again he shrugged. ‘I can only speculate. There are differences. From what Pug and I surmised, Macros’s memories were overlaid on a dying Dasati, and his life extended through the Trickster God’s intercession, but the Dasati was verging on death already. We on the other hand, despite our appearances, are still demons in the prime of our power, thanks to your generosity in our home realm.’
‘You mean in not devouring you?’
‘Among other things,’ said Nakor with a widening grin. ‘It is the nature of our race to view most things as a struggle, combat or a transaction, but now that we have all these human memories and emotions … I remember … The last thing Nakor thought was how interesting his life was.’ The grin broadened. ‘And that, I must say, was an understatement.’ For an instant the grin faded. ‘If only all of these humans understood how wondrous their lives could be … This being that I’m becoming, this Nakor, had amazing travels and experiences. The people he knew and … loved.’ He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘What a powerful thing that is: love. I think Dahun attempted to engender that in our people; I think that is why your mother gladly gave her life for yours.’
Miranda’s head tilted to one side slightly, the one remaining gesture that was purely Child’s.
‘From my – Belog’s – point of view, I have been given the gift of another’s lifetime, the feelings, experiences, knowledge … From Nakor’s point of view, his life just got more interesting. I’m sure we have a purpose.’ He narrowed his gaze and said, ‘Kalkin may be many things, but even the gods have their limits, and for him to take the trouble to “cheat”, as he called it, and play hob with what is and is not permitted across the realms …’ He nodded once emphatically. ‘No, we are not here because of a whim. We are here to do something vital.’
‘Love is one of the reasons I must find Pug,’ said Miranda. ‘Just to see him …’ Her eyes welled up with tears and she wiped them away. ‘Damn, I know these aren’t my memories, but they feel like they are.’
Nakor said, ‘So many questions.’
‘You seem delighted about that,’ she said, regaining her composure.
‘Always. Learn a simple answer and, well, it’s over; but a really good question,’ he winked, ‘now, that’s worth something.’ Then his expression darkened. ‘We need to find out why Kalkin did this to us, changed us and gave us those memories.’
Miranda looked surprised. ‘I thought that was obvious.’
‘Few things really are.’
‘We need to warn Pug about the Dread.’
‘Pug is very smart. He should have figured that out by now. There is something else.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. But Pug will know of the Dread by now. He’s the smartest man I ever met.’
Miranda smiled slightly. ‘He used to say you were the smartest man he’d ever met.’
With an evil twinkle in his eye, Nakor said, ‘That’s why I know he’s the smartest man I ever met.’
Miranda was about to say something arch, when the small door set into the large city gate opened and a man wearing an old, ill-fitting tabard over simple work clothes appeared. ‘Who might you be, then?’ he asked.
Miranda said, ‘Two travellers trying to find a safe place to rest.’
The old man said, ‘This city is hardly that, or did you miss the blaze to the south? We’re at war.’
‘Which is why we wish to get inside,’ she said.
The old man looked tired and his expression revealed his unhappiness at being roused from his rest by the boy who had fetched him to the gate. If he wanted to know why this unlikely pair was on the road alone after dark, he put the question aside and said, ‘Well, you two don’t look like a Keshian assault brigade, so I guess there’s no harm letting you come in. There’s an inn a bit further down this boulevard, the Black Ram. Travellers are being housed there until we can sort out who’s who.’ He hiked his thumb at the boy who stood behind him at the door. ‘Teddy will see you there.’ He moved aside, motioning for them to enter.
They passed through the gate and followed the eager boy down the street. This portion of the city was shuttered and for the most part had been abandoned, though signs of a few determined souls lingered: a blacksmith’s furious hammering echoed from a nearby street, and one family had obviously kept their home; the windows were open to the warm afternoon air, despite the acrid smoke which gave a bitter tang to the air. A wagon rolled down towards the city’s southern wall in the distance, but otherwise most of this quarter of the city was still. The boy moved at a good pace and soon he indicated an inn on their right. They nodded their thanks and entered the great room.
As inns went, it was one of the biggest either Nakor or Miranda had seen, and they had seen quite a few. ‘I don’t remember this inn being so large,’ said Miranda as Nakor peered around the room for someone in charge.
‘When was the last time you stayed at an inn in Ylith?’ he asked, spying a serving woman bringing ale to a table in the back room.
She calculated. ‘About thirty to thirty-five years ago.’
‘Things change,’ he said with his usual grin and motioned for her to accompany him through the crowd. ‘Lots of travellers from the Free Cities, Krondor, and Queg must come through here on business in LaMut and Yabon. It was already pretty prosperous when we … left.’ He waved around the room. ‘Lots of business for an enterprising innkeeper.’
About thirty people cluttered the hall, occupying every seat and every table; they even stood along the walls, which were blessed with a series of waist-high shelves. At the rear of the room they found a servant who looked cheerful despite being nearly overwhelmed by the demand for her services. A plump woman of middle years, she turned and said, ‘I’ll be with you good folks in a moment.’ Then she returned her attention to the four young men she had just served. ‘That’s a silver for four,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you wait until we’re done?’ asked one of the young men sitting at the tiny corner table. He was obviously a labourer of some kind, a stonemason’s apprentice, given his large arms and shoulders and the covering of stone dust on the apron he wore over his heavy woollen shirt. His three companions were likewise scruffy and ill-kempt; none of them appeared to have shaved in a week.
The woman laughed. ‘As crowded as it is, I might not get back here until an hour after you left.’
‘Where would we go?’ He waved towards the door. ‘We step outside and one of those watchmen will fetch us back.’
Trying to keep the tone light, the woman laughed again. ‘Those silly boys?’ Her expression turned serious. ‘I’m sorry, lads, but I have my instructions. Pay as you go.’
Miranda could smell trouble coming and glanced around the room. The bartender looked burly enough to handle two, even three of these boys, but he was on the other side of the room. She glanced at Nakor, who nodded. The room was packed with people who were tired, bored, irritable and drunk. It was ripe for a brawl or a full-on riot.
Miranda gently pushed the serving woman aside, leaned over and said, ‘Pay up, that’s a good fellow.’
‘I am not your good fellow, woman,’ said the young man with a defiant sneer. ‘I’m a mason from Natal trying to get home after a long job away. I’m a man whose ship was heading south before we reached this miserable city.’ His voice rose. ‘I’m a man who has been shut up in this inn since then, with no way to get home, and I’m in no mood to argue with whores!’ He took a drunken backhanded swing at the serving woman who nimbly stepped aside.
Her eyes widened and she shouted, ‘Whores!’
The man was half out of his seat when Miranda reached out, put her hand on his shoulder, and shoved him back into his seat so hard he cried out in pain, the pop of his shoulder joint loud enough to be heard. She continued to squeeze and the effect was instant: his eyes widened and he opened his mouth, but was unable to make a sound save a slight whimper. Colour drained from his face and tears started streaming down his cheeks.
She released him and turned to the serving woman. ‘You all right?’
The dumbfounded woman could only nod, and the mason’s three companions backed their chairs against the walls in a futile attempt to put more space between themselves and this insane, but obviously powerful, woman.
Miranda stared at them. ‘Where do you idiots sleep?’
One of the gasping man’s companions said in a terrified whisper, ‘Basement.’
Miranda simply said, ‘Go!’
All four men struggled quickly to get out of their seats, two of them helping the injured man away. Nakor laughed as they vanished into the crowd. ‘Well, now we can sit down,’ he said.
As they did so, the serving woman said, ‘Thank you.’ She blinked for a moment like a barn owl caught in lantern-light, then her happy expression returned. ‘What can I get you?’
‘What have you to eat?’ asked Miranda as the famished Nakor nodded enthusiastically.
‘I’ve some mutton on the spit that’s edible. We’ve almost been eaten bare by this lot. It’s lovely to make coin, but when there’s nothing to buy …’
