Ferrin had investigated the secret ways he knew into two of the keeps. Most of the passages had been sealed, or, in one instance, placed under heavy guard with an abundance of traps. But one way into East Keep was apparently unknown, or else those in command thought it impossible that their enemies knew the secret. The displacer was currently leading a sneak attack on East Keep using that obscure entrance. Rachel wondered if that assault had started yet. She hadn’t heard any distant tumult of battle.
Moonlight waxed and waned with the movement of tattered clouds. When the pale light was brightest, Felrook loomed ominously above the lake, perched atop sheer cliffs rising vertically out of the water. The soaring towers and walls made Rachel feel like a mouse with aspirations to topple a skyscraper. She tried to ignore Felrook for the moment. They had to deal with the keeps before they could turn their attention to Maldor’s greatest stronghold.
“The archers are in position,” a seedman reported to Galloran. “The troops are ready.”
“Proceed,” the blindfolded leader directed.
The Amar Kabal had the finest bows in Lyrian, and the truest archers to aim them. The archers had assembled as far from the keep as their assignment allowed. The men on the wall made distant targets, but they were conveniently illuminated by the watch fires.
Three consecutive volleys of arrows soared through the night. Despite the great distance, a shocking amount of the projectiles found targets. Guards fell, screaming. The archers dropped back out of range before the guards could return fire.
Galloran signaled to Rachel. She idly wondered if he had been peeking at the events through her eyes and mind.
On the wall of the keep the main watch fires burned in elevated kettles. Rachel began to utter commands, shoving the kettles over, showering nearby soldiers with fiery coals and significantly reducing the amount of light available to the defenders. Even considering the distance involved, the effort felt simple, almost too easy to be called a warm-up, but she still enjoyed a pleasant rush of accomplishment. The tumbling kettles created quite a stir atop the walls as soldiers jostled one another.
The first wave of invaders charged forward, cumbersome shields held high. Rank after rank flowed forward around Rachel, Galloran, and their detachment of guards. The past few days had been spent preparing for this attack, including the construction of huge shields based on a design by Brin the Gamester. The unwieldy shields would be useless in hand-to-hand combat but would provide attackers with considerable protection from projectiles as they stormed the walls.
Rachel’s next task would require the most finesse. The quantity of power involved was not great, but she had to execute it just right. As Galloran had made clear, this was her most essential assignment of the evening.
A crystal sphere the size of a soccer ball rested on the ground twenty yards away from her horse. Rachel commanded the gatecrasher into the air, then held it steady. The globe seemed light. She had never felt more focused. Mumbling a word, Rachel sent the sphere streaking toward the gate, driving it onward with her will. It passed well over the heads of the attacking troops, quickly leaving the fastest of them behind. Upon impact the crystal casing shattered, the mineral inside flared a brilliant white, and a tremendous explosion blasted the gate into kindling.
Rachel had been braced for a large detonation, but the penetrating thunder still made her jump. Snowflake flinched sideways, hoofs stomping, and Rachel murmured comforting words in Edomic. Even at this distance she felt a wave of heat after the blast. The front gate had disappeared; the stonework around it was cracked and blackened. A great curtain of smoke unfurled into the night sky.
A pleasant thrill accompanied the successful mandate, merging with the natural satisfaction of having demolished the gate. One more to go. With a second command Rachel sent another gatecrasher into the gaping blackness beyond where the first gate had stood. The sphere ruptured against the inner gate, the flash momentarily brightening the gap between the walls, and suddenly the way was clear.
Elation surged through Rachel. She had opened the way for Galloran’s troops to invade the keep! If she stopped now, she would have more than proved her worth. Galloran had encouraged her to stop at this point if the effort seemed to be too much. But she had no intention of holding back.
Stones and arrows sleeted down from atop the wall as the attackers charged the gate. Trebuchets flung boulders, and ballistae hurled flurries of weighty iron darts. The heavier projectiles smashed through the upraised shields, opening trenches in the advancing mass of warriors. Some of the smaller projectiles slipped through gaps, dropping scattered invaders among the charging mob.
Driven by painful thoughts of Drake, Rachel dismounted and prepped her will for the heavy work. The potential commands boiled inside her. Maldor wanted to kill her friends? Not without consequences.
A storehouse in the town beside the ferry had contained an abundance of lantern oil. A wagon laden with some of that oil presently waited on the road leading to the gate of West Keep, casks and barrels strapped in place. The attackers raced toward the keep at either side of the road, but not directly on it.
Speaking a word, Rachel set the wagon ablaze, along with the cargo. It was a challenging command, but it almost felt easy. She hardly acknowledged the resulting pleasure. Clenching her fists, she spoke words to push the wagon forward. Exerting her will and chanting additional words, she increased the speed of the wagon while keeping it stable. Stones and arrows bombarded the fiery cart. Casks ruptured, making the flames heave and spread. Rachel kept the portable inferno racing in the proper direction. When the wagon reached the gateless entrance perhaps fifteen yards ahead of the attackers, she gave one last mighty shove, throwing everything she had into the command. The wagon left the ground. Shedding a blizzard of sparks, burning boards snapped apart, and a sprawling wave of flame washed into the yard ahead of the attacking troops.
The effort left Rachel on her knees, gasping, a sharp pain drilling into her side. Her throat was raw, and she felt blood trickling from one nostril. At the same time, pleasure like she had never known coursed through her body, deliciously enlivening every nerve. Buoyed both physically and emotionally, she staggered to her feet, glorying in the triumphant rush of ecstasy. She had never exerted her will so hard.
“Well done,” Galloran said, his blindfold discarded. “You should rest.”
Rachel shook her head. She had launched her boulder into the sky, but Drake was still dead, and she was still standing. She suddenly wanted to throw her will against the wall of the keep, to slam against it with a tsunami of rage that would crush it to rubble. The desire felt compulsive, instinctive. Right now—hurting, exulting—such a command almost felt within her reach. But she knew the exertion would kill her, as surely as it would kill everybody on and behind the wall. Her own soldiers were already streaming through the entrance. Besides, they would need the wall to help defend their army in the coming days. With an effort she turned her attention to her next planned task.
Assistants had set aside twenty regular orantium spheres for her use, in case she still had energy left after the wagon. They would have to suffice. She sent four of them raining down above the gateway to get rid of the defenders harassing the attackers below. Then she propelled a sphere to each of the three visible ballistae. Finally, she sent the remainder sailing far over the wall to land deep in the yard beyond, well ahead of the brawling invaders. The explosions boomed like a string of giant firecrackers.
After hurling the last barrage, Rachel stumbled backward and sat down hard, her head throbbing, her ears ringing, her fingers and toes going numb. She felt dizzy, and her throat burned, the pain peaking each time she swallowed.
“No more,” Galloran ordered.
Rachel heard more orantium exploding beyond the walls. Many of the seedmen had orantium to use at their discretion. They were mostly planning on using the spheres to destroy manglers and to pulverize locked doors.
She fought back to her feet. Her assigned tasks
were complete. She felt a little ragged, but she wanted to unleash one more blast. Something big. Gritting her teeth, Rachel focused on the tower on the right side of the wall, where defenders continued to send stones and arrows down on attackers. It would take quite a push to tear off the top of it. Feeling slightly lightheaded, she prepped her will.
Strong hands gripped her arms from behind, pulling her down to her knees. “No, Rachel,” Galloran said in her ear. “Let go. You’re spent. No more.” Holding her close, he followed the urgings with Edomic words of peace and relaxation.
Suddenly Rachel could hardly kneel, let alone stand. Her head spun. She slumped onto her side. Galloran gently released her. She couldn’t even raise her head. Why had she thought she could knock over the tower? She felt empty now, weak, overstretched. After pushing the wagon, the simple effort of hurling the orantium spheres had taken her beyond her limit. But the mighty tower had seemed vulnerable. Had she considered trying to shove over the entire wall? For a moment it had seemed almost fragile. Maybe she had failed to seize the opportunity when she’d had it. Or maybe the euphoric rush after pushing the wagon had made her grossly miscalculate her capacity. Rachel tried to rise but failed. Galloran steadied her. At least she remained conscious.
Drake was still dead. She tried to muster rage but only managed to feel empty and sick. Maldor had tried to kill Jason. He had killed Drake. He wanted to kill all her friends. She felt miserable, but anger was currently out of reach. She wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come.
From a great distance the rumbling of other orantium detonations could be heard. All the keeps were under attack. Brin had created launchers for the gatecrashers at the other sites. At East Keep, Ferrin was going to try to open the gates from within, although gatecrashers were on hand as the backup plan.
Galloran helped Rachel sit up. What was he doing? Didn’t he have a battle to oversee? He kept a supportive arm around her shoulders.
“We’ll win tonight,” Rachel said, her teeth chattering.
Galloran studied her with concern. “Are you all right?”
She nodded feebly. “Just tired. We’ll win?” Her throat felt really sore.
“I expect so,” Galloran said. “You were magnificent, but you pushed yourself too hard.”
“Maldor is sorry?”
Galloran brushed her damp hair out of her face. “We gave him something to think about. Thanks to you. And to the orantium. Otherwise, storming these keeps would have cost at least half our strength. A few good men can hold a strong wall against a horde. We should have paid dearly for these strongholds. They were heavily manned and well provisioned. Your contribution here at West Keep made our advantage even more overwhelming. Your Edomic spared hundreds of lives. Perhaps even thousands.”
“Maldor should have left them abandoned,” Rachel said. How many people had she killed tonight? The kettles, the orantium, the wagon . . .
“No,” Galloran said. “He’s too good of a strategist. He didn’t want to fight us at the pass, because we might have turned back. He didn’t want to engage us in the valley, because at present his forces would have been outnumbered by better warriors. But with these keeps he hoped to sap our strength before his armies arrive from the east. He would never have handed them to us. Had his men repelled us here, we could not have fled.”
Rachel turned to face Galloran. She felt a little less woozy. “His men won’t stop us tonight. Not if the other attacks are anything like this one.”
“Agreed. I do not think Maldor understood the extent of our orantium stores. He knew we had some spheres in our possession. I believe the quantity of orantium has surprised him, as have the gatecrashers, which is why these assaults needed to be simultaneous. Maldor believed these keeps would be a serious obstacle. His defenders were not ready for their gates to disappear at the outset of the attack.”
Rachel listened to the clamor of battle inside the fortress. “What now?”
“We wait for victory.”
* * *
Not long before dawn Rachel ate breakfast inside the dining hall of West Keep. She felt halfway back to normal—her body remained weary, but her mind felt clear. Galloran ate with her. Ferrin sat beside her. Other leaders and friends joined them, including Naman, Ul, Io, Brin, Tark, Lodan, a drinling leader called Obb, and a seedman named Herral. Naman had commanded the attack on North Keep, Obb had supervised the conquest of South Keep, and Herral had overseen the taking of East Keep.
Before Rachel had reunited with Ferrin, she had already heard men singing his praises. Apparently, he had been quite a hero at East Keep, leading hundreds of soldiers past the walls undetected. They had taken the wall and opened the gates, attacking the defenders in the yard from above as the main force rushed through unhindered.
Rachel glanced sideways at Ferrin as she crumbled her biscuits and stirred them together with her eggs. “Tell me about your night. I hear you saved the day.”
“I can share what I didn’t do,” Ferrin said. “I didn’t singlehandedly blow open the gates, ram a wagonload of fire through the breach, then commence with a hailstorm of orantium. How’s your head?”
“Feeling better,” Rachel said. “It was good to stretch myself. Hopefully, I’ll have more endurance next time. But I want details! I keep hearing how well things went at East Keep.”
“We entered belowground. I disposed of some guards silently. We had practically filled the dungeon before we had to blow a door to proceed. The blast announced our presence, but our foes responded poorly. We killed some sentries and made it to the top of the wall before anybody really understood what was happening. Some orantium followed by brawny drinlings went a long way toward clearing the top of the wall. While seedfolk archers rained arrows into the yard, we reached the mechanisms and opened the gates.”
“The displacer offers a humble account,” Herral said. “He slew at least twenty foes, including three displacers, and lost his head leading the charge along the wall.”
“I got it back,” Ferrin clarified.
“He personally opened the gates,” Herral went on. “Then he led a team into the keep proper by another secret way. Without using gatecrashers, we lost fewer than a hundred souls taking East Keep, and we slew better than a thousand.”
“The offensive could not have gone more smoothly,” Naman announced. “Attacking fortifications like these keeps, we should have lost at least five soldiers for every enemy slain. Instead, the balance of casualties was well in our favor. We lost fewer than fifteen hundred fighters in total, including fewer than a hundred at East Keep and fewer than two hundred at West Keep, where we enjoyed the greatest advantages.”
“It was an inspiring victory,” Galloran agreed, his eyes closed. “It will also be our only victory unless we take Felrook soon. The keeps were meant to hinder us, but the fatal trap remains. We will be outnumbered more than twenty to one when Maldor’s armies return from the east.”
Rachel plucked little chunks from her roll, pinching it apart instead of eating it. Last night had been nightmarish, and that had been a victory! What would defeat look like? She wished they had more time to enjoy their success.
“I’ll start walling off the gateless entrances this morning,” Brin said. “We’ll make our captured fortresses as secure as possible. And I’ll get to work on how we might crack Felrook.”
“We must all bend our thoughts toward raiding Felrook,” Galloran said. “We have no time to starve them out. We cannot flee. We cannot resist the coming tide of enemies. We must take Felrook before they arrive or else perish.”
Rachel had already been thinking long and hard about how they might penetrate Felrook. She had come up with no brilliant schemes. She would put more thought into it as Galloran asked, but she hoped they wouldn’t be relying on her to supply the answer.
“Felrook has secret passages,” Ferrin said, “but none that lead in or out. I know of no fortress more secure—no gate less available, no walls less reachable, no defenses more comprehensive. With
only one way up the cliffs, we cannot throw numbers at the problem. There is no access for siege towers or ladders. Expert climbers would be hard-pressed to reach the base of the walls under ideal conditions. The best trebuchet ever designed could not fling a stone halfway up the cliffs.”
Ul leaned over and spoke to Obb in Ji, the staccato drinling language.
“We have orantium,” Obb said.
“Which could create opportunities,” Ferrin allowed. “It will be hard to deliver explosives. Even if we destroy the gates, the path up the cliff is rigged to collapse. How do wingless men attack a fortified island in the sky?”
“The task appears impossible,” Galloran said. “It will require all our strength and ingenuity. But there has to be a way to succeed. We know this by prophecy. We must invent a way to accomplish our aim. Not just our lives, but the lives of every man, woman, and child in Lyrian depend on it. Obsess about this problem. Encourage your best men to wrestle with it. And the least of your men. Stay open to strategies never attempted before.”
Ferrin leaned close to Rachel so he could whisper. “Translation? Pray that Lord Jason succeeds in his quest. Try not to lose your sanity in the meanwhile.”
CHAPTER 23
THE FUMING WASTE
Shortly after dawn, from the shoulder of a craggy hill streaked orange and white, Jason viewed his first panoramic vista of the Fuming Waste. Bands of red, orange, yellow, pink, and white gave striking color to the limestone landscape. Stunted vegetation subsisted in sparse patches—contorted trees, scraggly shrubs, and prickly cacti. Two geysers were erupting, one not far below, the other more distant. Both spewed sparkling towers of scalding water and steam into the air. Within a minute or two the nearer fountain shrank to a bubbling froth and then stopped. The distant geyser kept gushing for a good while. A third geyser started up in the middle distance, just before the far one began to decline.
“It’s lovely,” Corinne said from astride her gelding. “Look at the new one!”