Juliet McKenna - The Gambler's Fortune

“Did you catch that?” asked the first, running a three-fingered hand over grayish hair.

The torch-holder screwed up his eyes with effort. “I can’t make no sense of it.”

“Then go ask. Ebrin will know.” Bracers with the fastening bar rolled it between his hands.

Three Fingers turned to ’Gren. “What’s the news?”

“Send your man to your commander,” ’Gren said curtly, face invisible beneath his hood. “Let us pass.”

“They sent signal to secure the gate.” The torch-holder gestured to a distant flame swept urgently from side to side on the top of the wall.

“Secure it behind us,” ’Gren’s voice was soft with benevolent menace. “Or do you claim some authority over the gray?”

Even in the uncertain light of torch, brazier and starlight, I saw the man blench. Bracers pushed the gate open at once. ’Gren strode through, back straight, head high, managing to radiate subtle threat. Sorgrad was a few strides behind, cradling Aritane, shielding her face with a protective fold of blanket. I scuttled along at his heels, head down in my grubby smock. ’Gren lifted one hand in a lordly wave once we were through the irregular tunnel and the solid wood slammed emphatically behind us, bar rasping home. Whatever dangers lay outside, we were safe from pursuit.

Deprived of firelight, it was a dark night. Glare above the parapet only cast a deeper shadow at the foot of the wall where the path curled away down toward the looming mass of a spoil heap. I blinked and the night-sight my Forest blood favored me with gradually sharpened. Good night-vision was a trait shared by all the ancient races, which was one reason we’d waited for the darkest night Halcarion offered us.

“I could get used to this,” Gren was chuckling to himself.

“Don’t,” advised Sorgrad. “Real Sheltya catches you in that gray, we’re all for a flogging.”

“Is she still off the board?” I peered at Aritane. “Maybe I should give her a few drops on the bandages, just so she gets the fumes?” I rummaged in my belt-pouch for the vial of tahn tincture.

“Then I’ll get a light head as well, but if you fancy carrying her, go on.” Sorgrad hefted her in his arms. “Any more and we might as well just drop her down a mineshaft anyway. I thought you wanted her to wake up eventually.”

“I don’t want her getting enough of a grip on her wits to use enchantments,” I insisted.

“Hush!” ’Gren halted like a scenting hound, eyes distant. The brazen clamor of horns came up from the lower valley again, clearer this time. “That’s a call to arms!”

“Wait here.” I ripped off the hampering smock and, tucking my skirts up into my belt, climbed the nearest spoil heap. The broken rock was treacherous and I was soon using hands as well as feet. Reaching a vantage point, I kicked the toes of my boots into the stubborn debris, forcing a footing. Spots of light dotted the slope, the broad orange blooms of cook fires and the smaller sullen red of braziers. Canvas tents glowed like giant horn lanterns, shadows grotesque and distorted on their sides. Black outlines passed in front of fires, hurrying urgently to and fro.

The river was a streak of blackness curving untroubled down to the rocky ridge. Fewer lights, hidden by the curve of the land, pierced the darkness beyond. The frantic scream of the horns came again, floating above hostile roars, bellows of defiance and the unmistakable clash of sword on sword.

“Livak!” Sorgrad’s low voice clearly carried his urgency. I started to descend, hands and feet feeling in the dark for any secure hold. I was halfway when a stretch of sun-shattered clay betrayed me and I slid the rest of the way, vicious stones scoring deep into my thigh.

“What is going on?” Sorgrad’s question was more important than my stinging gashes.

“There’s a fight going on, but I can’t say who’s attacking who.” I ripped off my shredded stockings; skirts really are for women with boring lives.

“Maybe we should have brought Sandy along,” quipped ’Gren through the muffling gray wool as he pulled it over his head.

I nodded. “I could stand him dabbling in his water and inks just about now.”

“You take the prize package for a stretch.” Sorgrad handed Aritane over to ’Gren without ceremony. “It’ll hide all that blood.”

We moved cautiously on. Our path through the spoil heaps brought us to a close-knit circle of shelters. We took a pace back toward the concealing gloom near the cliff face as a mail-clad runner hurried up, shouting. “Take your valuables and get into the fess! Lowlanders are attacking in the lower valley! Jeirran’s going to make a stand at the ridge.”

“Good luck to him,” I murmured doubtfully.

A drum beat echoed back from the steep rock towering above our heads.

“I’ve heard that rhythm before,” I said slowly. “Winter before last, in the camps along the Caladhria border.”

Sorgrad listened. “The Lakeland mobs used a cadence like that.”

“So it’s men from the Gap?” ’Gren’s eyes were bright as a stag-hound’s scenting blood. “They’re not so tough. Let’s get going.”

“Not with her to carry.” I nodded at the unconscious Aritane. “What are the other ways out of this valley?”

Sorgrad sucked his teeth. “Precious few, that’s the whole point of having the fess here. I don’t fancy trying a pass up there with dead weight on my back, never mind the night and lack of any gear.” He nodded at the sharp jags black against the star-studded sky.

“Could we keep out of sight until the moons rise?” I suggested.

“Two quarters still isn’t enough light.” Sorgrad shook his head.

’Gren was kicking at something. “Livak, get this open.” It was a small building, roofed with stone slates and thick walls densely mortared but barely chest-high to me. Double doors at the front were securely locked so it wasn’t some child’s playhouse. I winced as sharp gravel bit into my naked knee and I ran my fingers around the lock plate. “Just what is it with you people and locks?” I muttered crossly as my probing revealed the intricacies of this particular fastening. “Is everyone as dishonest as you pair?”

“You don’t steal another man’s ore, not yet his ingots.” I heard the smile in Sorgrad’s voice. “But if he were to lose his tools, so he couldn’t go digging till he got them back or traded for new ones, now that would be something else.”

I nodded pointlessly, unseen in the shadows, finally snicking the last tumbler free. “So what’s worth my trouble?”

Sorgrad reached in blindly. “Rope.” He slung a coil over one shoulder. “Sacks; ’Gren, shove a few around the girl. Ah, that’s what we want, lanterns.”

“Pass one over.” I felt for my tinderbox.

“Don’t light it,” warned Sorgrad. He must have caught the scorch of my glare despite the gloom. “Sorry.”

“Let’s have a pry-bar.” ’Gren looked around with some difficulty over Aritane’s rump. Pushing one into his hand, I took one for myself as well and passed a third to Sorgrad. I didn’t fancy my chances trying to explain to anyone that this wasn’t actually my fight so this would have to do as a weapon.

People rushing for the fess didn’t even look our way as they stumbled over discards in the dark, faces tight with fear. A few figures were forcing their way in the other direction, toward an ever-increasing tumult. Some were mailed with swords in hand, more were trusting to leather, picks, axes and cudgels.

I saw the eagerness in ’Gren’s eyes and prodded him meaningfully. “Can’t fighting wait until you get back to Lescar? That’s why we need to get your lady friend back to the wizards, so they can call off Draximal’s hounds, remember?”