Maggie Furey - Harp of Winds

Remana lost all track of time as Yanis and Tarnal propelled the boat with rhythmic strokes along the river’s upper reaches toward Nexis. Despite the warm gloves that one of the old Nightrunner grandmothers had knitter for her, her hand that grasped the tiller was freezing—almost as cold, in fact, as her feet and her face. She was very glad when the first straggling buildings of Nexis came looming through the mist. Suddenly Remana jerked bolt upright, peering at the torchlit scene that swung into view around a bend in the river. The boat gave a sudden yaw as her hand tightened unconsciously on the tiller. “What in the name of the Gods is that?” she yelped.

Yanis spat out an oath and grabbed for the oar that had been wrenched from his hand by the boat’s abrupt jerk. From his scowl, Remama knew he had been about to deliver a blistering comment on her steering, but, luckily for him, had thought better of it. Tarnal, however, had looked over his shoulder, and his startled cry drew the Nightrunner leader’s attention away from his mother.

“Yanis—look! They’ve rebuilt the old wall”

In Remana’s lifetime, the city of Nexis had long since burst the constraining bounds of its ancient walls. Their crumbling remains still existed to the north and east of the city, where the steep, uneven landscape had discouraged further construction, but generations of merchants had taken to building their homes on the terraced slopes on the south side of the river, and the burgeoning city had also extended westward, where the land sloped less steeply as the river widened and the valley opened out. But while Remana had been away from the city, someone had been repairing and extending the original fortifications with massive blocks of rough-mortared stone, to about the height of three men.

A new bridge spanned the river, a continuation of the new wall that climbed the south side of the valley in a series of stepped lengths, to loop around the mansions of the merchants. Blocking the arch of the bridge was a huge barred gate that slid down into sockets on either side. Above it, on the bridge, was a sturdy building that presumably housed some lifting mechanism, to permit approved river craft to pass.

“How could they have built it so fast?” Yanis gasped. Quickly, he paddled the little boat beneath the sheltering trees of the northern bank, out of sight of any guards who might be stationed on the bridge.

“The Magefolk have done this,” Tarnal asserted. “It would take magic to get those blocks into place!” He frowned.

“But why did they do it? Surely, with the powers at Miathan’s command, he can’t be afraid of being attacked?”

Remana shook her head. “Perhaps this wall was built, not to keep people out of Nexis—but to keep them in.”

Whatever the reason for its construction, the new wall presented them with a problem. Remana frowned, utterly at a loss. “How can we get in to see Jarvas now?”

“We Nightrunners can get in and out of Nexis unseen,” Yanis assured her with the wicked grin that reminded her so much of his father. He moored the boat in its hiding place, and lifted something from a bundle of sacking in the bottom. To Remana’s puzzlement, it was the shielded lantern that the smugglers used for signaling. Yanis led Remana and Tarnal along the bank toward the new bridge that formed a barrier across the river. Near the bridge, he scrambled down the steep bank, the others following with difficulty, clinging to tussocks of grass to keep their balance on the rough and muddy ground, and glad of the dappled tree-shadow that shielded them from view.

Though she had been hearing the sound of trickling water for some time, Remana only realized where Yanis was heading when an appalling stench almost sent her reeling. “Oh, no!” She scrambled forward to grab the smuggler’s shoulder. “Yanis, you can’t be serious! You’re taking us through the sewers?”

Yanis chuckled. “Why not?” he said. “Think of it as following Dad’s footsteps.” Still chuckling, he led the way toward the dark, round hole in the bank that was the western sewer outfall for the city of Nexis.

“Pox rot it! Why didn’t I listen to you, Benziorn!” Jarvas groaned. “If I’d sent these folk away sooner, they would have been safe by now!” Peering through a chink in the stout wall of his stockade, he could see the glint of torchlight on swords and spears, where Pendral’s troops had surrounded his refuge. Already, the captain had delivered their ultimatum. If Tilda, Jarvas, and the wounded stranger were not delivered into their hands before the torch in his hand burned down, his archers would set fire to the buildings within the stockade.

“You tried—remember?” Benziorn replied. “Even knowing the risks, they wouldn’t leave. They didn’t believe anything could happen, they’re so used to thinking of this stockade as a place of safety . . .” He shrugged. “What more could you have done? It was their own choice to stay and take their chances!” The physician shook his head. “Jarvas, you’ve fortified this place too well! Is there no other way out?”

“Only the bloody river!” Jarvas replied. “And that’s too deep and fast for most of this lot to manage!” Cursing bitterly, he slammed his fist into his palm, “Benziorn—I’ll have to give myself up! There’s no other choice!”

“Wait,” The physician gripped his arm. “Don’t rush into this! Pendral is in the pay of the Magefolk, and we know the Archmage is behind these disappearances of folk from all over the city. There’s no guarantee that giving yourself up will save your folk. Besides, it’s not just you they want—what about the others? By all the Gods, there must be something we can do!”

Within the warehouse, folk were huddled together in terrified knots, Apart from the bawling of the youngest babes, who seemed preternaturally aware of the tension in the air, there was utter silence. When Jarvas entered the chamber, all eyes turned hopefully toward him, expecting “answers, Expecting him to save them.

Emmie came running up, the white dog a shadow at her heels. “Jarvas,” she said urgently, “you and Tilda and the stranger, and Benziorn, to take care of him, must get out of here. It’s you they want. Maybe, with you gone, they’ll leave the others alone.”

The big man frowned. “I don’t like it—” he began.

Benziorn interrupted him. “Jarvas, she’s right. It’s the only way. The problem is ... How do we get out?”

“Through the sewers, of course.”

All three of them turned at the sound of the strange voice. Jarvas gasped. “By all that’s holy—it’s Leynard’s lass! Where the blazes did you spring from?”

The woman scraped a straggle of hair out of her face with a muddy hand and gestured toward her companion. “This is my son Yanis, now the leader of the Nightrunners. I heard what you were saying. We’ll get you out the same way we came in, and we’ve a ship moored at Norberth to take you to safety.”

She spoke in a brisk, matter-of-fact way that reminded Jarvas of Emmie, and he respected her shrewd summing up of the situation.

“I’ll find Tilda and the boy . . .” Emmie vanished into the depths of the warehouse, the white dog following.

“We’ve a wounded man to take’ Jarvas told Yanis. “Can you help me with him?”

When she saw the face of the stranger, Remana went white. “Hargorn! What happened to him? Will he be all right?”

At that moment, there came the thunder of heavy blows on the gate. Flaming arrows arched whistling overhead like a shower of shooting stars, some falling, still burning, to the ground within the stockade, some thudding into the wooden half-timbering of the buildings, or lodging between the roof tiles to set the beams smoldering beneath. The warehouse began to fill with smoke. A wooden feed shed in the stockade caught alight, and people were running, screaming. As the guards had planned, it was only a matter of time before someone panicked enough to open the gate.