wouldn’t be long before they called him, and he stood ready to dash down to the south gate as soon as he saw the flare.
«The wait is. distracting,» came a soft voice beside him. Lord Rolak turned and looked at Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado. She was dressed all in black, from the leather that backed her armor to the long, flowing cape that fell from her shoulders and fluttered fitfully in the breeze. Her fur was black as well — entirely, without the slightest hint of a past mixture that would attest to any dilution of the royal blood. Her bright gray eyes shone like silver in her ebon face and artistically justified her only concession to the dark raiment, which was a form-fitted breastplate made of silver-washed bronze.
One of those warriors was a massive B’mbaadan, scarred and old as he, who shadowed Queen Maraan’s every move. His name was Haakar-Faask, and Rolak respected him greatly. They had battled often and inflicted their share of scars on one another. After Safir became the Orphan Queen, it was Faask who became her mentor, chief guard, general, and, in some ways, surrogate father. Right now, Rolak wished he would exercise a little more protectiveness. He looked at the warrior and blinked with exasperation, but Faask remained inscrutable. With a growl, Rolak stepped quickly back from the bastion wall, hoping to draw the queen with him. Dressed like that, she had to be a tempting target for the enemy crossbows. Unconcerned, she continued to peer over the side at the roiling enemy below. To her left, some distance away, a great cauldron of boiling water poured down upon the enemy and agonized shrieks rose to their ears. Rolak saw a slight smile of satisfaction expose a few of her perfect white teeth. She turned and stepped from the edge just as a flurry of crossbow bolts whipped over the wall where she’d been. Rolak sighed exasperatedly, blinking accusation at Haakar-Faask. «My dear Queen Protector, you must not take such chances. You must be more careful!»
«Like your own king?» she asked with a mocking smile. Rolak didn’t respond. «Unlike the great Fet-Alcas, I am not only the leader of my people in peace, but in war. That is why I am also called ‘Protector.’ I take that duty seriously. I won’t shirk any danger I ask my warriors to face.»
«I have not seen you ask your warriors to flaunt themselves pointlessly in full view of the enemy, my dear,» Rolak observed with a wry smile as he blinked with gentle humor.
«Have you not? What then do you think they are doing here?» As before, Lord Rolak had no reply.
Shouted voices registered and he looked to the north. To his admitted surprise, the tide of Grik began to ebb, the closer to the harbor it was. The fight below them had not abated, but to the north there was a growing hesitancy. Confusion. The enemy horns brayed insistently, and he ventured nearer the parapet.
«It is working,» he breathed. Below him, the ed overfont>
Rolak’s eyes narrowed. «Yes, Lord King, you must. I am Protector of Aryaal and it is my duty to protect this city. I explained to you the plan this morning. You had no objection then.»
«You are Protector, appointed by the king!» sneered Prince Rasik. «You will do as he says.»
In a calm, patient voice like one would use with a youngling that had just found a sharp sword and was preparing to examine its sibling’s eyes more carefully, Rolak spoke. «Great King, I have made alliance — which is my right — with the sea folk and the Amer-i-caans to defeat the enemy who threatens us. Even now they are fighting at our side as they promised. They have drawn the enemy away from our walls and upon themselves so we can attack from behind. We are moments away from victory, or days from total defeat!»
«It is your right to make alliance, Lord Rolak, but it is my right not to support that alliance if I do not think, in the interests of the people, you have acted wisely.» King Fet-Alcas could no longer bellow, but his tone was imperious. «You have not.»
«In what way have I not acted wisely, that you did not recognize before our allies committed themselves?» Rolak felt a tension building within him, a tension bordering on rage. He had given his word to the Amer-i-caan leader and even now the sea folk were fighting and dying outside these walls based upon his word. Soon the moment to strike would pass and whatever they did would be too late. Queen Maraan stirred beside him, a small growl deep in her throat. She hadn’t been party to the agreement, but she too recognized the opportunity that was being squandered.
The king waved his hand again and glanced at his son. «That is not your concern.»
«It is my concern if my honor is at stake, Lord King. I beg you to satisfy my honor and that of your people by telling us what your plan might be.»
«That is simple. The strangers refused your offer of honor to join us within these walls and fight at our side. They chose instead to fight alone. It is my order that we let them! They came here unasked for and without my permission»
«To save us!» Rolak interrupted.
«— with fanciful plans to continue this war far from here. They did not come here to save us, and if they did, what is their price? That we should fight for them as their slaves? No! We will let them fight they had. No choice. «Forget the ‘no shooting’ order. I want one of you to each regiment, ready to pour fire into any breakthroughs if they occur. We’ve got to keep this line together at all costs. If it breaks, we’re dead. Conserve your ammunition and don’t get trigger-happy, but use it if you have to. Now go!»
They all hurried off except Silva, who stood rooted with a worried expression on his face. «But what about you, Skipper?»
«Never fear, Mr. Silva. I have my pistol. If that fails, the Bosun will protect me.»
Silva arched an eyebrow and a grin crept across his face. «But who’s gonna protect him?»
Gray’s face turned purple with rage. «Buzz off, you goddamn weedchewin’ ape! Or I’ll let that crazy cook use you for fish bait!»
«Just worried about you, is all,» shouted Silva as he loped off down the line. Gray shook his head and stifled a grin. They were standing right behind the rear rank of the Second Marine Regiment. The Second was near the center of the line and it was spear-heavy, all of its members being large and strong enough to stand in the front rank. Those at the rear were methodically shooting arrows over the heads of those in front, and periodically they’d move forward and take the place of an exhausted comrade. It was a good drill and Matt wished the Guard regiments had learned to do the same. Many of those who came to the rear were wounded, some badly, and an increasing number of them were pushed or dragged out of the ranks as the fighting continued. A growing number of bodies, some moving, others not, were gathering behind the lines, waiting to be carried back to the barricade on stretchers to be tended in the field hospital.
«There ain’t enough stretcher bearers,» Gray observed grimly. «When we start to pull back, things could go bad in a hurry.»
Matt recognized one of the wounded Lemurians as he was tossed roughly on a litter. It was that runner of Shinya’s he’d spoken to before. He had a terrible slash across his chest and blood-soaked bandages were heaped high upon him. Matt hurried to his side. «Do you understand me?» he asked urgently. The young Lemurian nodded, his teeth clenched with pain. «The hospital must evacuate! Get the wounded to safety.» He grasped the runner’s hand in his. «Tell Lieutenant Tucker.» He paused. He didn’t know what to say. «Tell her to pull out now. That’s an order.» He squeezed the hand.
«I will tell her, Cap-i-taan,» the runner replied with a strained voice. Matt nodded and the stretcher bearers raced to the rear with their burden.
Chack-Sab-At gasped with pain as a Grik spearpoint skated off his shield and laid open the top of his shoulder. The thrust had overextended his enemy, however, and Chack drove his own spearpoint into the Grik’s throat with a triumphant snarl. An explosive spray of blood and spittle flecked his face as the enemy warrior went down. If it screamed, Chack didn’t hear it over the constant roar of battle.
For just an instant, his thoughts turned to his sister, Risa, and he wondered what she would think if she saw him now. It seemed so long ago that she’d virtually shamed him into taking the warrior’s tack. How little he’d known at the time; beneath his nervousness and protestation a warrior was what he
