Steven Erikson - Memories of Ice

'Less so if they'd been left ignorant.'

'They know that.'

'Did you say children?'

'Aye, we've got at least four of the little watchers on the house at all times. Homeless urchins — there's plenty enough of the real kind for them to blend in. They're keeping their eyes on the sky, too-' He stopped abruptly, and a strangely furtive look came into his eyes.

The man, Gruntle realized, had a secret. 'On the sky? What for?'

'Uh, in case Korbal Broach tries the rooftops.'

In a city of widely spaced domes?

'The point I was trying to make,' Buke continued, 'is that there's eyes on the house. Luckily, Bauchelain's still holed up in the cellar, which he's turned into some kind of laboratory. He never leaves. And Korbal sleeps during the day. Gruntle, what I said earlier-'

Gruntle cut him off with a sharply raised hand. 'Listen,' he said.

The two men stood unmoving.

Distant thunder beneath their feet, a slowly rising roar from beyond the city's walls.

Buke, suddenly pale, cursed and asked, 'Where's Stonny? And don't try telling me you don't know.'

'Port Road Gate. Five squads of Grey Swords, a company of Gidrath, a dozen or so Lestari Guard-'

'It's loudest there-'

Scowling, he grunted. 'She figured it'd start with that gate. Stupid woman.'

Buke stepped close and gripped his arm. 'Then why,' he hissed, 'in Hood's name are you still standing here? The assault's begun, and Stonny's got herself right in the middle of it!'

Gruntle pulled free. 'Sing me the Abyss, old man. The woman's all grown up, you know — I told her — I told you! This isn't my war!'

'Won't stop the Tenescowri from lopping off your head for the pot!'

Sneering, Gruntle pushed Buke clear of the door. He gripped the weighted bar in his right hand and in a single surge lifted it clear of the slots and let it drop with a clang that echoed up the corridor. He pulled the door open, ducking to step through onto the stairwell.

The sound of the assault was a thunderous roar once he reached street level and emerged to stand in the alley. Amidst the muted clangour of weapons were screams, bellows, and that indefinable, stuttering shiver that came from thousands of armoured bodies in motion — outside the walls, along the battlements, on either side of the gate — which he knew would be groaning beneath repeated impacts from battering rams.

At long last, the siege had unsheathed its sharp iron. The waiting was Over.

And they won't hold those walls. Nor the gates. This will be over by dusk. He thought about getting drunk, was comforted by the familiar track of that thought.

Movement from above caught his attention. He looked up to see, arcing in from the west, half a hundred balls of fire, ripping paths through the sky. Flames exploded within sight and beyond as the missiles struck buildings and streets with hammering concussions.

He turned to see a second wave, coming in from the north, one of them growing larger than the others. Still larger, a raging sun, flying directly towards him.

With a curse, Gruntle flung himself back down the stairwell.

The tarry mass struck the street, bounced in a storm of fire, and struck the curved wall of the Camp not ten paces to one side of the stairwell.

The stone core punched through the wall, drawing its flames after it.

Rubble showered the burning street.

Bruised, half deafened, Gruntle scrambled free of the stairwell. Screams sounded from within the Uldan Camp. Smoke was billowing from the hole. Damned things are fire-traps. He turned as the door at the bottom of the stairwell banged open. Buke appeared, dragging an unconscious woman into the clear.

'How bad?' Gruntle shouted.

Buke glanced up. 'You still here? We're fine. Fire's almost out. Get out of here — go run and hide or something.'

'Good idea,' he growled.

Smoke cloaked the sky, rising in black columns from the entire east side of Capustan, spreading a pall as the wind carried it westward. Flames were visible in the Daru quarter, among the temples and tenements. Judging that the area safest from the burning missiles would be close to the walls, Gruntle set off east down the street. It's only coincidence that Stonny's ahead, at Port Road Gate. She made her choices.

It ain't our fight, dammit. If I'd wanted to be a soldier I'd have joined some Hood-damned army. Abyss take them all -

Another wave from the distant catapults clawed paths through the smoke. He picked up his pace, but the balls of fire were already past him, descending into the city's heart and landing with a staccato drum-roll. They keep that up and I'm liable to get mad. Figures ran through the smoke ahead. The sound of clashing weapons was louder, susurrating like waves flaying a pebble beach. Fine. I'll just find the gate and pull the lass out. Won't take long. Hood knows, I'll beat her unconscious if she objects. We're going to find a way out of here, and that's that.

He approached the back of the row of market stalls facing Inside Port Street. The alleys between the ramshackle stalls were narrow and knee-deep in refuse. The street beyond was invisible behind a wall of smoke. Kicking his way through the rubbish, Gruntle arrived at the street. The gate was to his left, barely visible. The massive doors were shattered, the passageway and threshold heaped with bodies. The block towers flanking the aperture, their blackened sides bearing white scars made by glancing arrows, quarrels and ballista bolts, were both issuing smoke from their arrow-slits. Screams and the clash of swords echoed from within them. Along the wall platforms to either side, soldiers in the garb of the Grey Swords were pushing their way into the top floors of the block towers.

Thumping boots approached from Gruntle's right. A half-dozen Grey Sword squads emerged from the smoke, the front two ranks with swords and shields, the rear two with cocked crossbows. They crossed in front of the caravan captain and took position behind the pile of bodies at the gateway.

A wayward wind swept the smoke from the street's length to Gruntle's right, revealing more bodies — Capanthall, Lestari, and Pannion Betaklites, continuing down the street to a barricaded intersection sixty paces distant, where there was yet another mound of slain soldiers.

Gruntle jogged towards the troop of Grey Swords. Seeing no obvious officer, he elected the crossbow-woman nearest him. 'What's the situation here, soldier?'

She glanced at him, her face a flat, expressionless mask covered in soot, and he was surprised to realize she was Capan. 'We're clearing out the towers up top. The sortie should be back soon — we'll let them through then hold the gateway.'

He stared at her. Sortie? Gods, they've lost their minds! 'Hold, you said.' He glanced at the arched passage. 'For how long?'

She shrugged. 'Sappers are on their way with work crews. There'll be a new gate in a bell or two.'

'How many breaches? What's been lost?'

'I wouldn't know, citizen.'

'Cease your chatter over there,' a male voice called out. 'And get that civilian out of here-'

'Movement ahead, sir!' another soldier shouted.

Crossbows were readied over the shoulders of the crouching swordsmen.

Someone called from outside the passageway, 'Lestari Troop — hold your fire! We're coming in!'

There was no relaxing evident among the Grey Swords. A moment later the first elements of the sortie trundled into view. Cut and battered and bearing wounded, the heavily armoured foot-soldiers began shouting for the Grey Swords to clear a path.

The waiting squads split to form a corridor.

Every Lestari among the first thirty who passed through was encumbered by a wounded comrade. From beyond the gateway the sound of fighting drew Gruntle's attention. It was getting closer. There was a rearguard, protecting those bearing the wounded, and the pressure on them was building.