“You didn’t have to follow,” Relam replied. “I’m willing to risk everything to help Oreius and see D’Arnlo hang for his crimes. There will never be a better chance at victory for us. So we press on, taking every chance we have until we win or we’re dead.”
“He’s right, Yavvis,” Tar said resting a hand on the sword master’s shoulder. “We have to act.”
“Well, we made it,” Yavvis conceded. “By the way, hold your shield higher in situations like that, your majesty. Takes more angles away from the archers.”
“Got it,” Relam muttered, looking around the tower room. “Where next?”
“Stairwell, behind you,” Tar replied, drawing his sword. “Yavvis and I will lead. If we get into a fight with D’Arnlo, stay back, Relam. I know you are good, but you are not a master. This duel will be well above your skill level.”
“But you get to witness it,” Yavvis said, smiling slightly. “I’m almost jealous really.”
“Yes,” Tar agreed, grinning. “This will be a battle for the ages. The duel of the masters.”
Relam realized that the two masters were actually looking forward to this fight, and he shivered in anticipation as he followed them into the stairwell. Above them, somewhere, Oreius and D’Arnlo were still fighting. Maybe. Hopefully. Relam refused to consider the alternatives.
He glanced across the bridge one more time to see if the others were following. They were huddled in the entrance, watching.
“Stay!” Relam called to them. “We’ll handle this.”
Narin raised a hand in acknowledgement and the group moved back from the entrance.
Relam followed Yavvis and Tar up the stairwell at a run. They encountered no opponents, but found the wreckage of Oreius and D’Arnlo’s duel everywhere. There was smashed furniture on the landings, dead and wounded guards at irregular intervals. Torches, some still burning, littered the floor instead of hanging in their brackets on the walls. Smashed lanterns were strewn about too, the spilled oil making for treacherous footing.
“This place is a war zone,” Relam muttered.
Tar held a finger to his lips for silence. “Quiet. We’re nearing our exit.”
Relam nodded and shut his mouth, listening instead. He could hear the faint ring of swords clashing, but nothing else. The Bastion was still and quiet, except for the warriors charging up the stairs and the fight above.
Finally, they came to an ironbound door that opened inward. Yavvis and Tar crouched on either side of it, murmuring to each other quietly.
“We can’t just run out there if the archers are still on the roof,” Yavvis was muttering when Relam joined them. “We need a diversion.”
“Like what?” Tar demanded. “If we can get the door open quietly, without them hearing-”
“D’Arnlo could still see and alert them.”
“The others,” Relam said quietly. “I can get the others to run across and give the archers something to think about.”
“Too risky,” Tar said immediately.
“Cevet is small, get him a big shield and he’ll be unhittable,” Relam said.
“Well, at least you didn’t propose sending Jatt across,” Yavvis muttered.
Tar sighed, exasperated. “Do it. We need to coordinate the diversion though. If you can get Narin across too, that would be good.”
“In case there are more guards to deal with?”
“Exactly,” Tar agreed.
“Okay,” Relam said, thinking. “I’ll start the diversion in . . . ninety seconds.”
“That will work,” Yavvis agreed. “Beginning count . . . now.”
Relam took off down the stairs, counting the time in his head, hoping he wasn’t counting too fast or too slow. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
Relam slipped on some lantern oil and nearly fell, slamming against the wall painfully. But he kept going, moving as quickly as he could, throwing caution to the wind.
Finally, at a count of sixty-three, Relam careened out of the stair well and out to the entrance chamber that led to the bridge. He stood in the archway and waved his arms to attract the attention of the others. Immediately, Narin’s face appeared.
Relam realized that he had no idea how to signal the plan to the others. He held up his hands, indicating for Narin to wait, then pointed to the bridge, and the archers. Narin nodded as though he understood and raised his shield overhead, crouching as he prepared to run. Relam gave him a thumbs up, then wrote Cevet’s name in the air. Narin frowned for a moment, so Relam repeated the signal as he counted seventy-eight.
Then, Cevet shoved to the front, a shield held overhead, and nodded gravely. Relam flashed a grin and held up a clenched fist, still counting. When he reached eighty-five, he held up all five fingers, lowering them as he counted. Eighty-six . . . eighty-seven . . . eighty-eight . . . eighty-nine . . . ninety.
Relam brought his hand down in a slashing motion and Cevet took off, shield held high overhead, Narin a step or two behind him. Shouts came from the rooftop and three arrows streaked downwards in quick succession. One struck just in front of Cevet, causing him to flinch. Another missed completely. The third struck the edge of Cevet’s shield and stuck.
The lordling stumbled, off balance, then fell sideways with a cry of alarm, just a few meters from the safety of the Bastion. Relam considered running out to help Cevet, but then Narin raced up from behind, steadying Cevet and imploring him to run, half dragging the stumbling boy.
Relam reached out and grabbed hold of Cevet’s collar as the pair approached, helping haul them to safety. Then, as they stood in the Bastion, breathing heavily, Relam realized that the arrows had stopped.
Which meant Tar and Yavvis were on the roof.
“It’s safe to bring the others,” Relam told Narin. “Tar and Yavvis have cleared the Bastion. Gather everyone here and hold the tower.
