The Pilgrims

‘Say, feller. Far Gaze, isn’t it? They call me Sore Arse. Can we stop a bit? Could use a minute on my feet.’

The wolf was exhausted enough itself from loping uphill. It pulled off the path and found a spot in the shade, lying with its front paws crossed over one another. Far Gaze didn’t wish to change back to human form, it seemed. It watched Case with big brown eyes.

Case smiled to put it at ease and sat near the cliff’s edge, just thinking for a moment or two. So light of spirit he felt, so free. His body had taken much punishment with all this walking and travel — how nice to ease all that. He stood, stretched, and looked back at the wolf, which raised its head and watched him. Case thought it looked sad. He raised a hand to it in farewell. ‘I think you know, don’t you? Tell Eric to keep being one of the good guys. Tell him … shit, I dunno. Tell him I said cheers, and thanks for the scotch.’ Case limped towards the edge, performed a cross on his chest, spread his arms, whooped loudly and jumped.

The wolf sighed.

64

It had loomed upon them for nearly a week’s riding, and now they came to its base. Anfen stood staring at where the road led straight into it. The country to either side of them was flat and dirt brown, the ground dug and overturned too often over the centuries in search of precious scales for things to grow here now. The Wall loomed so sheer Sharfy almost felt it would topple forwards and crush them.

The stoneflesh giants had become visible a long way back, for they were enormous. Grey as basalt, squat legs and torsos, featureless open-mouthed faces: they could have been statues but for the occasional movement of their flat round heads, surveying the world before them. Their disproportionately long fingers wound like trunks curling into knots of huge misshaped fists. They waited like sentries all along the Wall east and west, enough might in these creatures alone to easily settle any dispute among men, should they ever be roused and united to some cause. But the giants did not tolerate each other any more than encroachment on their space by human beings. The giant to the east had turned its head slowly towards where Anfen and Sharfy sat in their saddles on the road. They must have made a curious sight for the ancient guardian; very few people came this close to them, aside from those busy in slave mines far to the east.

‘It can be done,’ Anfen muttered to himself. ‘They would not be here guarding it if it did not have some weakness. It can be done.’

Sharfy didn’t want to say it, but: ‘How exactly, boss?’

‘We’ll see. Five miles west.’

They rode without speaking. The moment was dawning on Anfen, Sharfy sensed, when he would realise it was all pointless, and that he should probably head to one of the cities and report to the first Mayors’ Command officer he found. No harm done, of course, apart from a stolen horse probably not even noticed in all the chaos. He’d be better off trying to convince the Mayors again to help him, if this was really likely to change things in the war. Accurate news wouldn’t have travelled south any faster than them … for all they knew, Elvury had been reclaimed by the Mayors. Sooner or later, it would occur to him. Sharfy sure hoped so. Those inns looked like they had comfortable beds, and who cared how good the ale was? It would be nectar fit for a lord after all this riding.

Sharfy hadn’t known about the two catapults which waited where Anfen had told Izven to send them. They were already reassembled. Any sign of their city of origin — colours worn by their crew, the runes usually scratched into a panel of their wood — had been removed, but their low-built squarish shape looked to Sharfy’s eye like the kind made in Yinfel … how curious. Not a city known for its war machines; they didn’t even use magic-crafting Engineers to enhance their works. One Mayor, then, was in on it, and perhaps only one Mayor. Sharfy thought: Anfen may just start a new war into the bargain here, if he’s not careful …

The crews, huge men whose main purpose in life was to lift big stones, saw Anfen approach and began speaking amongst themselves. Sharfy laughed inside at this fine joke. Catapults? They think catapults will break the Wall? He kept his thoughts from showing and kept waiting for the moment to dawn on Anfen. Maybe he needed a round of launched stones first. Anfen didn’t seem inclined to give the order. He sat on the ground with his legs crossed, head in hands. Sharfy told the crew, ‘Give it a try. Fire.’

The crew looked at one another. ‘Aye, well, yeah, here’s the thing we been wondering. Fire at what, sir?’

‘At what they’re pointed at. The Wall.’

‘Aye, the Wall, sir. Some of us thought that’d be it, only …’ The crew exchanged looks and Sharfy felt acutely embarrassed. ‘Worried about that giant yonder?’ said another of the men, pointing at the one to the west, which had turned its head to watch them.

‘Plenty of time to see it coming,’ said Sharfy, shrugging, though he was, now that they mentioned it, worried about it indeed. ‘Holes just behind us to duck into, if it comes. Go on, fire.’

The crewmen shrugged, food in the belly — s’long as we’re paid, we couldn’t give a fuck how stupid the orders are — and pulled taut the creaking twisting ropes which stored energy for the launch. They loaded up the first round of stones into the bucket, lifting them with grunts and heaves. The catapult’s arm creaked and moaned as it was pulled back, then it sprang forwards, launching the missile. The heavy stone hit the Wall hard, broke into pieces and fell. The other catapult fired, its cargo hitting the Wall higher up than the first, with the same result.

The crewmen looked to Sharfy. ‘Was it to your satisfaction, sir, as much as it was to ours?’ said one. The others laughed.

‘Keep trying,’ said Sharfy, even more embarrassed. They fired again, again, again, until the pile of ammunition had been used up. They had large cudgels for breaking off more stones, if stones could be found, but made no indication of going to seek them. For a moment, Sharfy thought he saw some sign of damage, but the markings on the Wall were just dabs of powdered stone. It wasn’t going to work.

Anfen had sat and watched each flying rock without comment, closing his eyes about halfway through. Sharfy could actually see the ugly moment dawning. It was coming … three, two, one …

Anfen laughed. It was not a good thing for Sharfy to hear, for it was loud, uncaring and building to hysteria. He had seen Anfen walk with steady steps into grave danger and out of it, but hysteria was something he’d never thought the former First Captain capable of.

Anfen drew his sword and held it carelessly as he staggered towards the Wall. Sharfy followed him. The catapult crew, panting and sweating, watched him go. ‘A sword!’ one of them called, while the others laughed. ‘Now that’s a good idea.’

‘You soften it up for us,’ called another.

At the Wall, Anfen raised his sword and swung it: chink. No mark, no crack, nothing. He swung again and again, and beat it with his fists, sometimes laughing, sometimes screaming in rage. Sharfy winced at the senselessness of ruining such a good weapon, newly bought and all, probably one of the last things anyone would buy from an Elvury smith for some time. Panting, exhausted, Anfen sat at last leaning on the Wall and staring ahead.

‘Combination of forces,’ Anfen murmured, ‘that’s what he said. It can be done.’

‘We should go and talk to the Mayors,’ said Sharfy. ‘Things’ve changed. They’ve lost a city. They’ll listen, now. And you have one of them on side already, by the look of things.’

Anfen didn’t reply.

‘There’s an inn not too far. Their ale’s good, the crew were saying.’ Still no answer. ‘Tell you what,’ Sharfy said, angry now; if he didn’t deserve to be agreed with, he could at least be heard. ‘I’ll go sleep there. Maybe for a week.’ He looked nervously at the stoneflesh giant to the west, whose torso had now angled towards them, its interest in them growing. They were probably slow to get going, those ancient guardians, but slower yet to calm down …

‘If you come to your senses any time in the next few days, come have an ale with me.’ Sharfy went to his horse, hopped on and rode away, angling his path for the great dividing road.

Anfen sat there for an hour longer, hoping the giant would come and kill him. The catapult crews had called out to him: ‘Sir? Master?’ but eventually gave up and began the slow task of dismantling the machines.