the walk. ‘Orders… That I can understand. What to do then? It is a thorny question.’
The two shared frowns. One stamped his feet. The other held his hands over a brazier on an iron stand next to their post. They seemed to be hoping he would just go away.
‘Perhaps,’ Hiam suggested, ‘one of you might escort me… onward?’
One shot a glance to the other. ‘Dunno. Maybe.’
‘I’ll let Master Stimins know you were most vigilant.’
The two relaxed, letting out pluming breaths the wind snatched away. ‘Well… okay,’ one allowed. ‘I’ll take you. Gnorl, you stay on guard.’ He invited Hiam onward. ‘This way.’
Hiam followed, a rueful smile hidden behind the narrow slit of his helm. He didn’t bother pointing out that he’d run up and down the wall since childhood.
Cresting the tall headland they descended to the low beach overlooked by the Ice Tower and its curtain wall. As they drew closer Hiam caught glimpses of that arc of curtain wall through the intervening gusting snowfall and he halted as if frozen himself.
Lady deliver us!
A great waterfall of blue-green ice enveloped lengths of it. The ice coursed over and down the rear of the wall, frozen in the act of falling. Figures worked like dark struggling ants upon the ice, hammering and chiselling, while others stood guard, facing the smashing waves.
What has happened here? Has it collapsed? ‘Take me to Master Stimins,’ he snarled to the guard and started down, slipping and staggering upon the slick rock steps. He found the Master Engineer directing repairs from the base of Ice Tower. He came upon the man suddenly, the blowing snow parting. Over the driving wind and the shuddering impact of the waves the engineer was yelling directions to a handful of workers. Hiam presumed these to be his crew chiefs. Upon seeing Hiam the men straightened, saluting, and Stimins’ back flinched, becoming rigid. ‘Dismissed,’ he told the men, who bowed to Hiam and disappeared off into the driving snow.
‘When were you going to tell me?’ Hiam demanded.
Stimins slowly turned. ‘You have the entire wall to manage, young Hiam. I hoped to spare you this worry.’
Hiam grunted, accepting that, though he was outraged. ‘Well, I’m here now. What are you doing about this?’
The old man gestured up the length of the walk to where equipment, rope, and blocks of stone lay jumbled and veined in ice. ‘I’m raising the wall.’
‘Raising it? During attacks of the Riders?’ Hiam was astounded — yet what else were they to do? He scanned the sea: the waves churned wind-chopped, but no burgeoning surge drove up the inlet, not today. Not now. Hiam could sense an assault to the hour just by the pitch of the wind. ‘How goes it?’
Stimins shook his nearly bald head. ‘Work is too slow. We’re losing too many men. The Riders smell blood. We need more guards.’
Yet all the Chosen were assigned — and each was vital to his position. The truth was, they had no men to spare. Due south of here, though, lay the city of Kor itself. The Riders could not be allowed to breast this section. A new question occurred to Hiam. ‘If there was no collapse, no break. Why here? Why now?’
The old man looked away, his mouth wrinkled tight. He examined his gnarled twisted hands, which were wrapped in rags. ‘I’d hoped to spare you, Hiam. It is not welcome news… the truth is, the wall has not lowered… the sea has risen.’
Hiam stared. Rising? All along the wall? No wonder the butcher’s bill had climbed so — he’d thought it their thinning numbers. But no. It was worse. For who can fight the sea? Yet… was that not what their ancestors had done for generations? How dare they do any less? Lady — why do you test us so? Is our devotion lacking? Is this a punishment?
He gripped his spear until his hands numbed. Very well, Blessed Lady… you shall witness. Our piety, our fervour, shall humble all who witness it!
‘What of the west, the Wind Tower and the weakness there?’
Stimins nodded. ‘I believe that also follows from the rising sea. All the flaws are emerging now under this increased pressure.’
Hiam snorted. You have the truth of that, Master Engineer. Flaws in more than just the wall. And those flaws must be hammered away else the Lady will allow us to fall. ‘Very good, Stimins. You’ll have whatever you need.’
‘More guards for the work gangs?’
Hiam thought of the latest communiques from loyal sources in Rool. Troops massing in Lallit for transport. All good signs. Yet reports also of the invader fleet in Banith. The Betrayer’s forces meaning to invade there? Ridiculous, with Rool to pacify. They would need it as a foothold. The Betrayer would not abandon it. The fleet was merely over-wintering in calmer waters. They meant to repair and refit.
He just had to hold on until that Roolian manpower arrived.
Again, Hiam’s instincts spoke to him. They may not have the numbers, but they had their champion, revitalized of late. And other skilled prisoners — even mercenaries. He would bring them all here; pour everything they had into this breach.
They would hold. They had to. They would be given no choice.
The Army of Reform crawled northward at a cripple’s pace that did nothing for Ivanr’s mood. Ahead of their outriders villages burned all across the landscape. Each cast a black plume of smoke that mixed and swelled, announcing open warfare between Imperial loyalists and Reform sympathizers. The smoke struck Ivanr as a fitting banner heralding their approach. Their numbers swelled further as sympathizers joined the army proper, or contributed to the swollen informal army of followers and refugees dragging along behind. All told he estimated their numbers at nearing fifty thousand. A huge force — in numbers. Largest yet of all the peasant uprisings and heretical messianic movements that he knew of from the past. Yet by his estimate less than a third could really be counted on to stand unflinching and fight.
He walked close to its centre now, completely disengaged from the day-to-day logistics and organization of command. So it was he could only watch while the army’s unofficial sappers and engineers demolished many of the wooden buildings they passed. They piled the beams and lumber on to wagons for transport. Seeing this, he came to the dispiriting conclusion that Martal was preparing for a siege of Ring. The woman’s lumbering carriages also rumbled here and there amid the disorganized crowds like siege-towers on the move. Seeing them heaving along reminded him of their commander’s opaque claim that they’d brought their own fortress with them. Were they intended as a sort of mobile archers’ platform? She must know she couldn’t count on employing the same tactics as before. The Imperials would be ready for them this time.
A light drizzle fell, cold and discomforting. Its chill reminded him that much farther north the Korelri faced down the Stormriders in the name of their own defence — even as he and this army of heretics and polytheists sought to usurp the Lady’s worship. Who was right? Was either of them? Again he wished Beneth were here, though he had never thought to discuss such matters with him while the man lived. What then was to be his role, if not teacher, prophet or inspiration? The question still tormented him and further blackened his mood.
A man waited to make his way through the layers of guards now surrounding him. Tall and sickly-thin: the old pilgrim. Ivanr nodded to allow him through. He approached, bowing, and paced Ivanr.
‘You have news?’ Ivanr asked.
The man’s drawn face was grim. ‘Yes.’ The rain had plastered his dirty grey hair over his uneven skull.
‘Troubling news?’
‘Yes.’
Ivanr motioned to the overcast sky. ‘Not a day for bad news.’
‘No day would be good for this news.’
Does this fellow delight in being the bearer of bad news? ‘All right. What is it?’
The man took a fortifying breath. ‘We have word from reliable sources that the Priestess still lives.’
Ivanr stared at the man. ‘Generous gods! This is bad news?’
‘She is with the Imperial Army. They are bringing her with them.’
Ivanr rubbed the cold rain from his face as they continued to walk along. They were bringing her south — to them? ‘And you are worried…’
