Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

“Blast them! We’ll see about that!” Amero shoved the wineskin back into Hulami’s hands. He named Huru to command in his absence, then stalked back to Yala-tene.

The western entrance was just as Hulami described, partially open. The filled section looked fine. Duranix had torn up boulders the size of small huts and wedged them into the gap between the baffle wall and the main wall. A hundred men pushing at once could never dislodge such mighty stones.

On the other side of the baffle, two villagers stood casual guard, leaning on their spears. One of them was Lyopi.

“Why isn’t this gap closed?” Amero demanded as soon as he was within earshot.

Taken aback by his bluntness, Lyopi replied, “The elders chose not to. How wall you and the others get back inside if there’s no opening?”

“If we fail out there and the wall stands open, the raiders will ride right through,” he snapped. “I won’t have the town’s safety endangered by stupid half-measures!” He cupped hands to his lips, calling, “Montu! Montu, where are you?”

“Calm down,” Lyopi said. “I thought the raiders had been turned back. Why so angry, Amero?”

“Many good people died last night to keep our village safe! Their deaths mean nothing if the village falls from carelessness!” Red-faced, he shouted for Montu again.

Since reason had no effect on his bad temper, Lyopi shouted back, “You’ll find the elders at the Offertory, Arkuden! Go and rant at them, not me!”

Without another word, he did just that.

The town was nearly empty, with so many people at the river camp or manning the walls. The Offertory felt especially abandoned. Before they’d left, the Sensarku had put everything neatly away. Their communal houses were closed and shuttered. The walls of the Offertory were as clean and white as ever, but windblown sand had drifted through the opening in the sanctuary wall, marring the spotless inner courtyard.

When Amero approached the cairn, a flock of crows rose squawking from the top, scattering ash and burned bones. Amero circled the cairn and found Montu and the remaining elders sitting on the sand. Slabs of roast were piled between them. Open pots of wine and cider lent their acid bite to the air. The elders were dining heartily on elk meant for the dragon.

“Greetings, victorious Arkuden!” cooper Montu hailed him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Amero demanded. They regarded him blankly. “Why didn’t you finish closing the western baffle?”

Adjat the potter said, “Arkuden, if we close that last opening, no one can get in.”

“That’s the purpose of the wall, idiot!” Amero shouted.

Stunned by his unusual harshness, Adjat said, “But you’re outside, with so many of our friends and kinsmen — ”

“And fourteen of our friends and kinsmen died last night to keep the enemy at bay! I won’t have you endangering the town out of misguided feelings for me or anyone else. Close the baffle at once! This very morning. Do you hear?”

“The Protector’s gone, and there aren’t any young men left to do the heavy work,” Montu protested.

“Then do it yourself!” he shouted. “Turn out every soul left in Yala-tene — the old, the young, the sick, the lame — and let them carry stones. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Arkuden,” said the cooper meekly. “Yes. We’ll begin right away.”

They put aside their meat and filed out of the Offertory. Following them, Amero added, “If you need ready stone, pull down these walls.”

The elders halted in a body, aghast. “Pull down the Protector’s place?” said Adjat.

“The Sensarku won’t protest,” Amero said coldly. “Leave the cairn if you must, but take all the stone you need from the Offertory walls.”

“Very well, Arkuden.”

Sentinel horns blared. Amero cast about wildly, seeking the source of the alarm. The horns were too close to be the lookouts on the cliffs. They must be on the town wall.

He raced through the streets to the western entrance, irrationally fearing that the raiders had somehow jumped the river and were advancing on the wide-open town. As he ran up the ramp, he spied Lyopi among the crowd and worked his way to her.

“What is it?” he demanded, out of breath.

“Look there.” She pointed. Dust was rising from the orchard and gardens across the lake.

Everyone stared, crestfallen, but Amero said, “This was bound to happen. They failed to overwhelm us last night, so now they’ll try to get around us. They’ll try to land at different points along the lake and river. We don’t have enough people to defend the whole shoreline.”

“Will Duranix come back in time to stop them?” Lyopi asked.

Everyone atop the wall looked to Amero, waiting for his answer. He realized he couldn’t lie to them. “Duranix flew away to fight the green dragon,” the Arkuden said. “That means we’re on our own, but so are the raiders.”

There was complete silence for several heartbeats, then an elderly woman spoke up. “Can we win, Arkuden?”

“We’ll win.” He managed a smile. “Those savages fight only for lust and loot. We fight for our homes, our lives, and the lives of all who come after us. They are many, and ruthless. We are few, but determined. We’ll win because we must.”

No one cheered, but several heads nodded in agreement.

The crowd slowly dispersed. Lyopi turned to go back to her guard post, but Amero caught her by the arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? Shouting at me? I’m not a child. I’m not going to cry because you raised your voice to me.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for more than that. I’ve been acting like a fool half my age.”

He saw a teasing light glowing in those familiar brown eyes. “Half what age, Amero? You never stopped being a boy.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said ruefully. “I feel like a lost child right now. Duranix is gone, Beramun cares nothing for me, and I need all the friends I have left.”

He leaned forward to kiss her. Lyopi turned her face slightly and he kissed her cheek.

“Go,” she said, giving him a none-too-gentle shove. “If we’re both still alive at midsummer, we’ll be friends again.”

She was right, of course, he thought ruefully. His boy’s heart was still there, inside the breast of the desperate headman.

As he was leaving, Amero spied Montu leading a long line of villagers toward the last gap in the wall. Each carried a sizable rock in his or her arms. When he saw that, he finally believed his own proud words. They would win. They had to.

Hoten stood at the water’s edge below the orchard. While his horse drank from the lake, he took in the distant view of Yala-tene. This was the broadest part of the lake, but he could easily make out features of the village in the distance. There was the wall, and a white peak that looked like some sort of altar above the yellow sandstone defenses, and beyond it was the tumbledown heap of stones and timber that served as the village foundry. Between the southern edge of the wall and the great waterfall was an open stretch of rocky beach a quarter-league long. Some obscure wooden structures were clustered at the foot of the falls.

Looking up, Hoten eyed the high cliffs behind the town. That was the place to be! From there, one could rain fire and death on any part of the village. If the raiders could gain those heights, Yala-tene would be forced to surrender. Unfortunately, because of the intervening mountains, lake, and waterfall, the only route to the eastern cliffs involved leaving the valley and journeying far to the south, through a lower pass, then north again through the eastern foothills. Such a trip would take many days, through territory infested by centaurs, elves, and the warlike human nomads of the east — not a practical strategy.