The Seer - eARC (68 page)

“Go,” he said to Nalas, who passed on the order. Again the horns sounded.

The army surged to the wall. Ladders were set upright and men began to climb. A battering ram was pulled close to the main gate. Soldiers surrounded it and ran it forward into the large wooden doors. The deep booming echoed across the valley. And again.

It crashed through. A cheer went up. Soldiers streamed in around it.

Well, there was the first thing gone wrong: they were supposed to take the ram in with them for the inner gate, not leave it there. Enthusiasm overcoming planning. As he watched, a set of men tried to pull it back out of the way while another set tried to push it forward, while others struggled around it and though the gate. The ram stayed where it was. He growled at this, giving an aide an order to assemble a squadron to resolve the issue.

This took more time than he would have liked, but finally they were there, slowly maneuvering the heavy ram into the area between the gates, their shields overhead to protect them from the anticipated arrows of the town’s defenders.

Who had yet to make an appearance.

The second wave of infantry was waiting on his signal, and he gave it. Now repeated sounds of pounding told him the inner gate was being slammed but had not yet opened.

A figure atop the inner wall. Then another, and more. Holding bows. Aiming and shooting down at his soldiers between the walls.

Well, good: something was going as expected.

“Ser,” said Nalas slowly, “I think those are children.”

“What? Where?”

“On the inner wall.”

Innel squinted. Children? On the wall? Yes, it seemed so.

Then where were the adults? He looked around the still-empty valley. After a moment’s hesitation he gave Nalas the signal to cue the line of archers. The archers drew and shot to no apparent effect. They were still just short. He signaled them to hold; no sense in dropping arrows on his own men. Best wait for the forces to breach the inner gate then bring them forward.

Then an odd sound. Metal on metal. Shouts of alarm. A handful of piercing screams. Another handful.

The ladders were yanked from the outer wall and carried long-ways through the shattered outer gate, and tilted down.

Down?

“What the—?” Innel craned his neck to see through the gates. A rider from a better vantage point turned his horse, galloped back to Innel, navigating through the opening Innel’s mounted guard provided.

“A dropped floor, ser,” the out-of-breath rider said. “A huge trench. Everyone inside—”

“A trench? What do you mean?”

“The ground dropped out from under, between the walls, ser. A thirty-foot drop at least.”

A thirty-foot drop?

“Did we breach the inner gate?”

“No, ser. No one’s made it through.”

“
No one
?” he asked incredulously, distracted by fresh howls. Atop the inner wall the small figures were now tipping over large cauldrons out of which fell flaming balls. The screaming below intensified. Innel could smell the smoke from the burning tar.

A false floor over a huge trench between the two walls of Hanatha. A massive trap. How could they not have known?

Surely it did not go all the way around, like a moat. Did it?

“Take the ram to the second outer gate—” No, damn it all, the ram had fallen into the trench along with the soldiers. Hundreds of soldiers. Another ram, then. But no, that would take time. “Send the rest,” he said. “All of them. Get ladders in there. Bridge the gap.”

“Yes, ser,” Nalas replied uncertainly.

Bridge the gap to what? The inner wall was not yet open.

“No,” Innel said, waving his hand. “Wait.” He had to think.

The men maneuvering the ladders downward into the trench began to fall to arrows, one by one. Shields went up and overhead, but still they dropped, some sprawling dead or injured atop the very ladders they had been trying to move. Where were the arrows coming from?

Another rider pulled alongside. “The general says retreat, Lord Commander,” the rider said.

“She
what
?” he asked in disbelief.

No, he needed to see what was going on himself. He pressed his horse forward.

“Ser,” Nalas shouted. “If you go any closer, you’re in range of their shot.”

“Advance our archers. Take them out.”

“Been trying. But range and rise, ser. We didn’t expect them to be able to match us for range, but it seems they can, and we can’t get closer with them up there.”

“How in the hells are they getting through our armor and shields?”

“Aim,” Nalas said softly.

Again Innel pressed forward, Nalas trailing. If he could see what was happening, he could perhaps figure out what to do.

“Ser, this is dangerous. Any closer and—”

Ahead of him a guard clutched at his neck with one hand, gripped his horse’s mane with the other, struggling to stay upright in the saddle. The horse, not sure what he wanted, backed up abruptly. Another horse snapped at its flank and the first horse whirled, the man slipping half off. There was not room for this, and the other horses, already testy, were not happy.

Innel’s horse, a sensible creature, stepped backwards and out of the fray.

Now the infantry outside the wall was unmoving, hunkering under shields to hide from the rain of arrows that shouldn’t have been able to reach them, some going flat as they were hit.

It was not going well.

“Retreat!” he shouted. “Nalas, get them back. Get them all back.”

How could this have happened?

How many were lost?

How were they going to eat in three days?

Innel seethed as the retreat horns sounded, riding to reach the rise where Lismar sat atop her horse watching. Her expression was as dark as he felt. He pulled his horse close by and leaned in toward her. “You set me up,” he hissed at her.

“What?” she demanded.

His horse was twitchy, refusing to stand still. Agitated. Frustrated at not being able to run, to fight. He felt the same. “You knew this would happen,” he accused.

Her smile turned hard and brittle. “No, Lord Commander. I told you not to take so many troops in the first place. That they would trip over each other. Do you recall?”

How many were lost?

“A drop passage between the inner and outer walls—a trap to kill hundreds—and you didn’t know? You’re the expert on the Teva.”

“What? You think I would allow my soldiers to die just to show you wanting?” Her angry look flickered between his eyes. “I understand now. Not clever at all. Only lucky. You believed every story about your brother.” She gave a derisive laugh. “And the seer, too. You don’t need my help to look foolish, Lord Commander.”

“Someone knew about this trap,” he insisted. “If not you—”

“With how much you’ve spent of my family’s money on spies and fortune-tellers, Consort, why didn’t
you
know? You disgust me.”

He did not trust himself to respond. He yanked his horse around. A tossed head, a glare—the horse was no happier than he was.

As he turned away he half expected her to say something more. Something about bloodlines. To call him the mutt. He half hoped she would say something egregious enough that he could lose the rest of his temper and release on her the coiled fury coursing through him.

But she stayed silent.

The shifting wind brought Amarta shouts and screams from Hanatha. In Jolon’s face and the expressions of the other Teva she saw a mix of tension and agitation. They wanted to move, to act.

Jolon signed to her.
Again I ask your help.

She owed him so much. Her life, quite possibly. The lives of her family, almost certainly.

To free you would break my oath,
she signed, a wretched feeling in her stomach.
I’m sorry.

Not to free us. The—
A sign she didn’t know. She shook her head to show she was confused.
My people.
he tried again.

The Teva. She nodded.

I hear him speak,
Jolon continued,
the one who holds your oath. The woman who commands beside him. My elders think your people can be persuaded to leave, but to sit here, to listen, is to know another thing. They will not go away.

“No,” she whispered, agreeing.

There seemed to be so many ways for men and women to die. But die they would; in no future she saw did Arunkel leave Otevan with anything but straggling survivors, heads down. Defeated.

She could not tell Jolon this, though. Not and keep her contract whole. Not unless by the very telling him she somehow gave Innel what he needed.

Which was what? A victory here? The empire’s borders intact? All the gold in hand?

No—none of these things walked together.

I must get to my elders,
Jolon signed at her.
If your empire has victory here, that is bad. If Teva wins here, that is also bad. Your people will never stop coming for us. We must find another way.

She had yet to see another way. She looked around, frustrated at her helplessness.

So many people in motion, creating the future, while all she did was sit and sulk about what she could not do.

Various images vied for her attention.
A distant view of the Rift. A sweet, quiet moment by herself.

She stood, again sat, stood again, restlessly paced the pavilion. A handful of guards’ gazes flickered to her and away.

The faces of the guards, but with different expressions. Eyes wide, mouths small. A look, at her, that she recognized.

Horns sounded distantly. Pounding footsteps. Angry, pained shouts. Someone, somewhere, was weeping loudly, inconsolably.

At the door, the guards’ attention flickered. To the noises outside. To the Teva sitting at the table. To their own thoughts.

Dark fingers twined in her own. A trilling Teva call. A white flag snapping in the breeze.

Too much future to see it all. Even knowing a single likely outcome was not the same as understanding it.

And no one could see everything at once. Not her. Not anyone. She thought of Tayre, of how he could seem to be someone else, even when you looked right at him.

Once again she looked into the tangled future. Not distant, no, but only this moment to come. Then the next. And one more.

Now
.

Amarta stood and walked out of the pavilion.

Innel raged at the guards. They cringed.

They had better.

“You let her escape?” he shouted.

“Lord Commander! I have no idea how—” one began, faltering.

“We were watching her. Truly, ser,” said another.

A third tried: “One moment she sat right there, ser. The next she was gone. As if—” He fell silent.

“Find her,” Innel said tightly. “Now.”

The guards exchanged looks and whispers, arguing about who would leave and who must stay with the livid Lord Commander.

“You, you, and you,” Nalas said sharply. “Go.”

The seer. His captive. Vanished. As if by magic. In a few minutes it would be all over the camp, following hot on the heels of the disaster at Hanatha.

He glared at the Teva, the cause of all this. “Where is the gold mine?” he demanded.

“Again,” said Jolon calmly, “we deny your accusations, Lord Commander, and furthermore we demand that you—”

Before Innel quite realized it, he was at the Teva closest to him, lifting him by his leather shirt out of his chair, off his feet. He hurled him across the room. A chair bucked aside, then the map table and another table on which a carafe of red wine sat, all crashing together. Wine splattered across the room, the Teva, the maps.

For a moment Innel felt a hot rush of satisfaction at this. A moment later he knew it had been a mistake.

In the quiet moment that followed, Nalas’s expression was wary, as if he were wondering if Innel could be left alone for the moment it would take him to see if the Teva on the ground was badly hurt. Innel nodded his permission then motioned the guards to help. Nalas dropped down to examine the man. Breathing hard, Innel retreated behind the partition, dug into his pocket, pulled out Pohut’s arrowhead.

He could not, must not, lose control like that again.

How could he have lost hundreds of men to child defenders and yet failed to take the town? It would not matter that no one could have predicted the false-floor trap, the sudden thirty-foot drop. The entire camp would be talking. The count of injured. Of dead.

Who had been in command.

He kept seeing it in his mind, over and over, despite that he had not been there: the floor opening beneath them, the crash down into the trench, the heavy ram falling atop them. Those who survived due to their comrades cushioning their fall, those who managed to keep their wits about them despite the drop, might have grabbed shields to protect themselves against the falling arrows only to find oil and fire taking them next, forcing them to choose between burning and being shot.

So many dead.

Had Lismar been right? Had he sent too many?

For the first time he understood how a commander might want the outcome of a battle kept quiet. This, his first conflict against an armed foe—a disaster. Even if no one else, even Lismar, could have led this conflict to a better outcome, he would be blamed.

The mutt who had risen above his station.

Hundreds of soldiers fallen, crushed, broken. All under his command.

All for nothing.

He tried to imagine what his brother would say now, but nothing came to him. He gripped Pohut’s metal arrowhead in his fist until his palm bled.

Amarta walked slowly through the camp, slipping in and out of vision. So many were distracted now by their own injuries, by the injuries of those around them, by the loss of friends. Some saw her anyway, looking right at her and said nothing. Finally someone spoke.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re the captive. What are you doing out—”

A moment forward, the one in which he briefly glanced away at some shouted call. She took a quick step into the place he would not be looking.

The man looked around himself, confused to find her suddenly gone.

There were ways in and out of the camp, she discovered, that merely required patience and listening and knowing the future. Amidst the confusion of a camp invaded and grieving, it was easy to pass unseen.