bombardment.
Time passed. The sun climbed. We watched the sky. When would doom come riding in on a carpet?
Certain the imperials would not immediately attack, the Lieutenant had some of us gather our plunder on the parade ground, ready to board a windwhale. Whether he believed it or not, he insisted we would be evacuated after sunset. He would not entertain the possibility that the Taken would arrive first.
He did keep morale up.
The first missile fell an hour after noon. A ball of fire smacked down a dozen feet short of the wall. Another arced after it. It fell on the parade ground, sputtered, fizzled.
“Going to burn us out,” I muttered to Tracker. A third missile came. It burned cheerfully, but also upon the parade.
Tracker and Toadkiller Dog stood and stared over the ramparts, the dog stretching on his hind legs. After a while Tracker sat down, opened his wooden case, withdrew a half dozen overly long arrows. He stood again, stared toward the artillery engines, arrow across his bow.
It was a long flight, but reachable even with my weapon. But I could have plinked all day and not come close.
Tracker fell into a state of concentration almost trancelike. He lifted and bent his bow, pulled it to the head of his arrow, let fly.
A cry rolled up the slope. The artillerymen gathered around one of their number.
Tracker loosed shafts smoothly and quickly. I’d guess he put four in the air at one time. Each found a target. Then he sat down. “That’s that.”
“Say what?”
“No more good arrows.”
“Maybe that’s enough to discourage them.”
It was. For a while. About long enough for them to move back and put up some protective mantlets. Then the missiles came again. One found a building. The heat was vicious.
The Lieutenant prowled the wall restlessly. I joined his silent prayer that the imperials would not get worked up and rush us. There would be no way to stop them.
Eighteen
Siege
The sun was settling. We were alive still. No Taken carpet had come swooping out of the Plain. We had begun to believe there was a chance.
Something hammered on the gate, a great loud pounding, like the hammer of doom. One-Eye roared up, “Let me in, damnit!”
Somebody scooted down and opened up. He came to the ramparts. “Well?” Goblin demanded.
“I don’t know. Too many imperials. Not enough Rebels. They wanted to argue it out.”
“How did you get through?” I asked.
“Walked,” he snapped. Then, less belligerently, “Trade secret, Croaker.”
Sorcery. Of course.
The Lieutenant paused to hear One-Eye’s report, resumed his ceaseless prowl. I watched the imperials. There were indications they were out of patience.
One-Eye evidently supported my suspicion with direct evidence. He, Goblin, and Silent started plotting.
I am not certain what they did. Not moths, but the results were similar. A big outcry, soon stifled. But now we had three spook doctors to work the mine. The extra man sought the imperial who negated the spell.
A man ran toward the city, aflame. Goblin and One-Eye howled victoriously. Not two minutes later an artillery engine burst into flames. Then another. I watched our wizards closely.
Silent remained all business. But Goblin and One-Eye were getting carried away, having a good time. I feared they would go too far, that the imperials would attack in hope of overwhelming them.
They came, but later than I expected. They waited till nightfall. And then they were more cautious than the situation demanded.
Meantime, smoke began to waft up over the ruined walls of Rust. One-Eye’s mission had succeeded. Somebody was doing something. Some of the imperials pulled out and hurried back to deal with it.
As the stars came out I told Tracker, “Guess we’ll soon know if the Lieutenant was right.”
He just looked puzzled.
Imperial horns sounded signals. Companies moved toward the wall. He and I stood to our bows, seeking targets that were difficult in the darkness, though there was a bit of moon. Out of the nowhere, he asked, “What’s she like, Croaker?”
“What? Who?” I let fly.
“The Lady. They say you met her.”
“Yeah. A long time ago.”
“Well? What’s she like?” He loosed. A cry answered the twang of his bowstring. He seemed perfectly calm. Seemed unaware that he might die in minutes. That disturbed me.
“About what you’d expect,” I replied. What could I say? My contacts with her were but sketchy memories now. “Hard and beautiful.”
The answer did not satisfy him. It never satisfies anyone. But it is the best I can give.
“What did she look like?”
“I don’t know, Tracker. I was scared shitless. And she did things to my mind. I saw a young, beautiful woman. But you can see those anywhere.”
His bow twanged, was answered by another cry. He shrugged. “I sort of wondered.” He began loosing more quickly. The imperials were close now.
I swear, he never missed. I loosed when I saw something, but... He has eyes like an owl. All I saw was shadows among shadows.
Goblin, One-Eye, and Silent did what they could. Their witcheries painted the field with short-lived little flares and screams. What they could do was not enough. Ladders slapped against the wall. Most went right back over again. But men came up a few. Then there were a dozen more. I scattered arrows into the darkness, almost randomly, as quickly as I could, then drew my sword.
The rest of the men did likewise.
The Lieutenant shouted, “It’s here!”
I flicked a glance at the stars. Yes. A vast shape had appeared overhead. It was settling. The Lieutenant had guessed right.
Now all we had to do was get aboard.
Some of the young men broke for the parade ground. The Lieutenant’s curses did not slow them. Neither did Elmo’s snarls and threats. The Lieutenant yelled for the rest of us to follow.
Goblin and One-Eye loosed something nasty. For a moment I thought it was some cruel conjured demon. It looked vile enough. And it did stall the imperials. But like much of their magic, it was illusion, not substance. The enemy soon caught on.
But we had us a head start. The men reached the parade before the imperials recollected themselves. They roared, certain they had us.
I reached the windwhale as it touched down. Silent snagged my arm as I started to scramble aboard. He indicated the documents we had scrounged. “Oh, damn! There isn’t time.”
Men scrambled past me during my moment of indecision. Then I tossed sword and bow topside and began pitching bundles up to Silent, who got somebody to relay them to the top.
A gang of imperials charged toward us. I started for an abandoned sword, saw I could not reach it in time, thought: Oh, shit-not now; not here.
Tracker stepped between me and them. His blade was like something out of legend. He killed three men in the blink of an eye, wounded another two before the imperials decided they faced someone preternatural. He took
