Winged death had continued to rain down from the inky darkness after the cry went up that the gates had opened. Nactivel found herself in a press of bodies only a little less treacherous than her position cowering against the wall, waiting for her turn to be skewered by arrows or pummelled by scorching rocks.
The army was in the grip of unrelenting panic, which walked hand-in-hand with the abandonment of reason. The pent-up anger she’d witnessed before the precipitous charge towards the Curtain had now given way to discordant self-preservation.
Her greater height gave her the vantage to see veterans pushing and fighting through the crush, felling those who failed to comply with their orders to raise shields. The tide of bodies threatened to overwhelm them as they attempted to stymie the flow.
The vista shifted as her boots slipped on blood and viscera. An involuntary twist of her torso wrenched her feet from under her, and she was carried along in the inexorable current of flesh. Her strangled groan cut off as a blood-darkened body slapped against her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Too exhausted to fight for space, her head lolled, chest spasming even as her vision darkened. Something gave with a sickening tear and breath rushed in with a hoarse gasp. Her feet landed on something firm and lumpy, threatening to impede her deadened legs and pull her down. In desperation, she hooked an arm into a leather harness, and was dragged ever onward.
The flames atop the Curtain disappeared as a metallic clanging reached her ears.
Am I dead? Do I go to Droll’s Embrace amid the pealing of bells? What perverse fanfare is this?
There was light once more. Lanterns, burning her eyes after the relative dark. The resigned groans of crushed soldiers turned to anger as exhausted limbs groped for weapons. Boots thudded on stone to face in a single direction.
She whirled as best she could, forcing her legs to comply with the rest of her body. Soldiers lined South Bank, bristling with palpable shock as the crush of humanity squeezed through the gate and readied swords and shields. A smaller cluster to one side attacked a gatehouse door which lay in a ruinous, splintered mess.
A cry went up from the men and women around her, a wordless roar carrying anger, grief, and the promise of vengeance. Officers and veterans bellowed unheard orders as more bodies pushed through the gate, urging the front rows towards soldiers who, in their hesitation, named themselves an enemy. Nactivel was powerless to resist the furious rush, only finding her feet as the attacking force fanned out to engage their opponents with a meaty crunch.
Surprise and fear were no match for flailing, unordered rage. The nobility soldiers – for Nactivel assumed that was indeed who they were – reeled backwards under a hammering assault as months and years of pent-up anger layered atop generations of oppression found release.
She had never seen battle until tonight, but she had observed the impeccable, ordered ranks of the Exol Valliaf when they came to Hediminath, polished golden armour and weapons gleaming in the sun. That image was dichotomous to the faces and bodies around her now, caked in blood and filth, hacking away at the enemy with unfettered and uncaring frenzy. She knew enough, however, to understand that this was more slaughter than battle.
Time had taken on an oily nature tonight, rendering her unable to grasp how long had passed since she’d entered the gates. It seemed nary a moment, yet the South Bank was now crowded with dead and dying.
The press of soldiery milled with aimless vitriol, now shorn of a target for its anger. Officers attempted to regain some measure of control; Lieutenant Carreva administered a casual backhand to someone who overstepped the line, jerking a head back with a spray of blood. Veterans moved in quickly to diffuse the sparks.
A hand grabbed the back of her collar, yanking hard. She tumbled to the ground, only to be hauled upright by a wiry arm. She peered down at the grinning, alarmingly clean faces of Waddle and Sharps. The former clapped her on the shoulder. ‘There you are, Nactibells! Thought you’d gone and gotten your head split open by one of them burning rocks.’
Sharps nodded. ‘Nasty business, dodging rocks.’
A dozen questions occurred to Nactivel. She was ordering them in her mind when the two soldiers escorted her away from the front line, shouldering aside fellow troops to leave a series of angry glares and threats in their wake.
‘Where are we going?’ It was all she could do to push the words from her heaving chest.
Her bodyguard stopped to regard her before they exchanged a look. ‘Damn, guess we forgot you ain’t the soldiering type,’ Waddle began with a rueful laugh.
Sharps nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, you look like you got the wobbles. Hard to tell though, what with those dicky eyeballs of yours. Don’t worry though, happens to lots of first-timers.’
Waddle clapped her on the back again, jolting her head. ‘Least you’re alive like us, hey!’
Nactivel blinked down at the odd pair. ‘I’m… nothing like the two of you, I think. Nothing at all.’
Sharps barked a laugh. ‘Course you are! Told you back up at the Curtain there, didn’t we? Stick with old Waddle and Sharps and you’ll be right.’
‘But you… I didn’t see you.’
‘Just a bit of battle smarts is all. Figured you was safe enough,’ Waddle shrugged.
‘Battle smarts?’
Sharps rolled his eyes. ‘Good idea to be first through when the gate ain’t so big and there’s lots of people what want to get through it. But you know that now, so no harm done.’
Nactivel fingered bruised ribs with a wince and a slow shake of her head. ‘No harm done.’
Waddle nodded. ‘Tumult’s nod, that. Next time, though, remember your battle smarts.’
With a shiver, Nactivel rued the notion of her continued existence being at the whim of the Lady of Chaos. She wasn’t given to such beliefs, preferring the more solid foundations of logic, method, and order. In this instance, however, she ceded that outright luck had played a significant role. If nothing else, she now understood why Tumult was so popular among these soldiers.
Sharps brought her back to the present, pointing towards the Curtain. ‘Anyways, there was a message. The priest wanted to see you.’
‘The priest? Oh, the priest, yes.’ She had taken Commander Galgun’s advice and sought out the gnarled fellow at the camp; a most curious character who was free with controversial views on the Pantheon. She’d stayed awake for a long time after their conversation to take the necessary notes. She couldn’t fathom why Aggreka would want to speak to her now of all times.
They approached the gatehouse now the hail of projectiles from atop the Curtain had ceased. Only the iron hinges remained in the doorway.
Confined by thick walls, the heavy tang of blood assaulted her nose once more. Within, an elderly man in a grey and green tabard stood proudly before three others. The priest, Aggreka, Commander Galgun, and a woman wearing a haunted look.
The man mirrored Commander Galgun in many ways. Thick limbed and of stolid demeanour. A bushy grey-white beard clung to the last vestiges of red and the typical Caranin grey eyes carried cool defiance as he appraised those who had found their way into the city. ‘Traitors!’ he spat. ‘Caranin breaking through the damned Curtain, and on my watch. Is this what it has come to? What happened to talking through your grievances, lad?’
If the commander was perturbed at being addressed so, he gave no outward sign. ‘My Lord Bolt, what’s done is done. If we thought talking would achieve anything, those conversations would have taken place long ago. We’re here to deliver a new order, and we’d have you with us. We have no quarrel with the Curtain Guard.’
Nactivel observed, fascinated. So this was the famed Bolt of the Curtain Guard, the commander tasked with defending a wall that had never been breached, a city never invaded. Nactivel suspected that she alone in the room knew the truth behind that mythos. The Curtain had in fact been breached on several occasions, albeit far less frequently than almost anywhere else she’d read of, and almost always due to insurgencies like the one she was presently witness to. The propagation of legends of infallibility had been part of her learnings when it came to the ways of humans.
The elderly man, the Bolt, drew himself up. ‘You know our strictures, lad. You know what I’m required to do.’
A sad look passed across the commander’s face. ‘With respect, Sir, we’re here to do away with such strictures.’
‘Lofty ambitions, lad. Can’t say you’re the first, but you’d do well to pay heed to those who came before you. Their bones are lying picked clean at the bottom of the Cut, for the most part.’
A tight, patient smile appeared on Galgun’s face. ‘We’re well aware of the risks.’
The Bolt glanced at the woman to Galgun’s right. ‘Are you, lad?’
‘Time is short, my Lord Bolt. Can I count on your support?’ Galgun asked.
The elder man gave a resigned shrug.
‘Can I at least ask you to postpone your adherence to strictures until we can talk further?’ Galgun continued. ‘I’m loathe to see a good man needlessly toss his life away.’
Nactivel was astounded to see such an offer made to a man who had very recently been giving orders to stick arrows into Galgun’s troops. Honour was a strange thing among humans, it appeared. Both men understood this peculiar moral code, however, the Bolt giving a sharp nod. ‘Until noon, then, Commander. Though I warn you have little chance of convincing me to abandon my intent.’
‘Thank you.’ Galgun spun to face the woman. ‘Now, to other matters. It appears you paid dearly in your quest to open the gates, Elania.’
Nactivel thought of the hundreds of broken and bleeding bodies piled against the other side of the Curtain, to the pin-cushioned figures dotting the approach. Whatever losses had been sustained inside the walls were surely incomparable.
Maybe not comparable, yet hardly less significant. Before her was a woman on the edge of control, her grey eyes looking right through Commander Galgun.
A heavy price indeed.
Elania Gallyn, Nactivel recalled. The Champion of Caran, though looking upon her now it would be easy to assume otherwise. Her exploits were well recorded in the Chronicles, and so it was no surprise to Nactivel that she had cut a swathe through her compatriots to reach the gatehouse. The woman flinched out of whatever dreadful reverie she’d wrapped herself in. ‘We were ambushed thanks to Denning’s… treachery. The North Bank burns in places, a diversion to push us into the tunnel. My captains are working to subdue the Merchants Quarter as planned.’
‘Then we’ve both lost more men and women than we’d like. Any word from Flint?’
‘Only a signal to say it has begun.’
‘Very good. I’ll move towards the Royal Quarter to meet with Kuzzur. You create a cordon around the Noble Quarter as planned. Thinner than I’d like, but make it hold. Now, I’d better attend to that mob out there before they start killing each other.’
Elania gave a sharp nod, apparently given just what she needed to carry on. As if reading Nactivel’s thoughts, Galgun turned to meet Nactivel’s eyes and gave her a knowing smile. ‘Hello, my friend. From what I hear, you should be able to give a detailed account of tonight’s events thus far. Don’t suppose you got a look at the goat’s ass who broke lines out there. If that soldier is still alive, I should like a moment alone with them.’
‘I was otherwise engaged, commander, though I’d echo your desire for a moment alone with the perpetrator.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Galgun replied, a hint of mischief dancing in his grey eyes. With that, the commander exchanged a nod with the priest and exited the gatehouse.
The priest, Aggreka, stepped into the gatehouse to cast an appraising eye over Nactivel. ‘Muddier and bloodier than I’d have liked, but you’ll have to do, I suppose.’
‘Do? Do for what, might I ask?’
‘I’ll explain along the way. You two going to use those swords tonight?’ he asked of the two soldiers behind Nactivel.
‘Just following orders, sir,’ Waddle offered.
‘Wouldn’t want the Erey to escape and give all our secrets over to the enemy, sir,’ added Sharps. ‘She looks the sort, don’t she?’
The priest’s face twisted into a wry look. ‘Never did manage to figure out the mind of a soldier. Come along then, the three of you. We may have a long night ahead of us.’
They turned right out of the gatehouse to travel along the foot of the Curtain. Much to the two soldiers’ amusement, Nactivel cast worried gazes toward the top of the wall, lest the hail of arrows and rocks resume.
Her senses had returned, and with it came the onset of pain, thirst and a euphoric relief that she remained alive. Waddle and Sharps provided her with a canteen of water, some of which she used to assuage her thirst. The rest went towards cleaning her hands and face, rivers of dirt and blood splashing onto the cobbled street. There was nothing to be done for her robes, torn and tattered and hanging heavy from her exhausted frame.
With the fight for immediate survival over, the grisly horror of what had occurred loomed over her like a shroud, threatening to envelop her. Her only defence was to force her mind into a place of secure familiarity; to observe her surroundings. She tried to place where in the city they were, and where they may be headed, consulting the maps she’d committed to memory back in Hediminath. A pang of longing assaulted her as she thought of home, the comfort and safety of her lodgings half a continent away. The serene and ancient grandeur of the parks and buildings had never seemed so beautiful in her mind, surrounded as she was by the blockish, uniformly grey functionality of Caran’s cityscape. The buildings were packed in tight to what space was available, hemmed in by nature on all sides.
Recognising the road to despair, she snapped her mind back to the present, to the task at hand. This was what she had spent decades in training for. Only two months past, she would have run all the way to Caran for this opportunity, to record even inane events such as the slow change of the landscape and culture of the city and the region. Yet here she was, at the forefront of tempestuous upheaval; some Chroniclers never saw such times in all their years.
With renewed ardour, she quickened her step to move in line with the surprisingly spry priest. ‘Unless I miss my guess, we make for the Temple Quarter.’
‘Aye, lass. That’s exactly where we’re going.’ The old man’s gnarled face twisted into something that may have been a smile or a grimace.
‘You do not relish this journey?’ She felt some sense of pride that her reading of these humans was improving. Waddle and Sharps remained twin enigmas she wasn’t sure she would ever understand.
‘That, my friend, would depend upon the outcome.’ He sent a smile sideways toward Nactivel after his illogical statement. ‘Fair to say the High Priests and I have some unfinished business. Though I’ll grant you, they may see the situation differently.’
They turned in from the perimeter road, down a wide avenue of more blockish buildings; offices of dull grey stone, worn smooth by the centuries, workshops specialising in the furniture and clothing the temples required, and, of course, the inns and taverns which were prevalent wherever people dwelt.
‘I judge we have time for you to expand upon that assertion, if you have the inclination,’ Nactivel probed.
Aggreka cast her an unreadable look, which turned sceptical when it took in the two soldiers a couple of paces behind. ‘Very well. It isn’t a secret, I suppose. Grew up in these parts, a stone’s throw from where we stand, in fact. Born to a righteous mother and a lout of a father, so I guess I was only ever going one of two ways. Spent my youth touring from one temple to the next, helping priests, adepts, cooks, and so on in exchange for food or a bit of coin or even better, some time alone in the libraries. Eventually found my calling in the service of a priestess in the Temple of Life.’ He stopped at a snigger from Waddle and a vacuous grunt from Sharps.
‘Ain’t what you think, lads. The Good Goddess preaches pleasures of the flesh, yes, but there are other, lesser known facets to her teachings. This priestess had a fascination with how the body works. In many places, she’d be known for a necromancer. In truth, she had no power over the dead, but you don’t need me to explain the power of rumour. Her goals were noble: to seek menial cures where sorcery or healing couldn’t be obtained. As you can imagine, that was a pursuit I found worthy and so I watched and I worshipped and I prayed for the guidance to make a difference.
‘Clergy politics are… complicated. Her practices were controversial at the best of times, and as it turned out, untenable at the worst of times.’ He sent a hard look at Nactivel as he hesitated. ‘I take no pride in what followed, but I saw what was coming and I distanced myself from her to engross myself in the texts and scriptures. I was devout, and I watched and I learned. My… zeal was pleasing to those with influence and I navigated my way up the order until I was a candidate for High Priest.
‘Influence and knowledge are inextricably linked. As my standing grew, I became more enlightened; I can only describe it as an increased closeness to the goddess herself. Always had an inquisitive nature though, and I never stopped visiting the libraries, never stopped asking certain philosophical questions, even if I knew which to give voice to, and which to keep within the confines of my mind.’
Nactivel could hear the bored sighs from behind her, but this was the sort of diatribe she lived for; she slowed her steps to ensure she attained the full account of Aggreka’s tale.
The priest laughed. ‘Well, turned out that last part wasn’t quite true. I stumbled upon some writings which shook the very core of my beliefs and, in my shock and confusion, I confided in one I thought I could trust. Blasphemy isn’t taken lightly in the clergy,’ he added with a rueful chuckle.
‘The gods are nothing if not proud, a trait they instilled in their children without dilution. I escaped flaying by the skin of my…’ he stopped to bark a laugh at what appeared an unintentional joke. ‘Word gets around quickly in this part of the city and the other temples were none too pleased with my… suggestion. I was chased from the city with a sizeable bounty on my head. I suppose it still exists.’
They were close to Temple Row now, the crowded street where the temples – appropriately, it was said – jostled for position and status. Nactivel knew the laws of the various priesthoods. ‘Your offence must have been quite severe to elicit such a reaction. What was it that shook your beliefs so?’
Aggreka sucked his teeth and looked upon the ancient street as they rounded the corner. ‘You’ll find out very soon, no doubt.’
‘One more question, if you’ll allow me, then. If the clergy want your head so badly, why are we here?’
The priest turned to face her and flashed a huge grin. ‘Why, to ask for their support, of course.’
That brought howls of laughter from behind her.
And I thought myself safe away from the front line. These humans… they’re all insane.