The Element of Fire - Martha Wells (best android ereader .txt) 📗

RENIER SPREAD THE gilt-edged map on the table and indicated a spot with one calloused finger. “The Cisternan Barracks were overwhelmed in the first few moments.” He cast a worried glance at Commander Vivan, who was slumped in a chair by the fire.

“They came through St. Anne’s Gate, then?” Thomas asked.

“No. Mind, the reports we have come from grooms and stableboys who were able to seal off the Mews to keep the creatures out of the Old Courts, but they said the attack seemed to come from the inner gate into the palace, not the outer gate. As to how that was managed…” Renier shook his head.

They were in the Queen’s Guard House, in one of the small rooms adjacent to the practice hall. The walls were hung with leather and parchment maps and the door was open to the hum of talk from the hall. They knew the human, or once-human, members of the Host had been used as cannon fodder in the initial attack, and that the fay had come after, but Thomas felt they still did not have an accurate picture of how the invasion had taken place. He said, “We still don’t know what that explosion was.”

“It wasn’t the city armories. You can see them from the top of the inner wall. But that’s what everyone thought. The off-duty Queen’s guards were heading that way to repel what they thought was an attack through St. Anne’s Gate when they were stopped at the Old Hall. My men were right behind them.”

Thomas saw Gideon drawing breath to make a comment, and cleared his throat. Their eyes met and the younger man subsided with disgruntled reluctance. Most of the guards felt that the main body of the Albon Knights should have followed them down into the Old Hall, instead of staying in the relative safety at the top of the stairs. Thomas was willing to concede that someone had to hold the siege doors; whether the task had required almost the entire Albon troop was another matter. But it had been an act of disorganization rather than cowardice, and he wanted to keep the trouble among the two troops to a minimum. Looking back to Renier, Thomas said, “In the cellars it sounded as if the explosion was almost directly overhead; it must have been somewhere in the Gallery Wing.”

“But there’s nothing there to explode, not with that sort of force, not unless they brought it with them,” Renier protested.

“Maybe they did.” Vivan’s voice startled them.

Only an accident of history had placed the Queen’s Guard House in the area protected by the ancient wards of the inner walls. They had lost far too many men as it was, but the Cisternan Guard, and their families living within the barracks and adjacent to it, had been nearly destroyed.

After a moment, Renier cleared his throat. “We should hear from the commanders of the city levies by morning.”

Thomas shook his head. There were over six thousand city volunteers, half musketeers and half pikemen, organized into regiments based on their neighborhoods. Both the crown and the Ministry had the right to call them out, but in the chaos of this night that would be impossible. “The city levies won’t be able to form; they’ll be too busy defending their own homes and it will be suicide to go out into the streets tonight.”

Renier regarded the map again. “The Host has never attacked in force before. It has harried travelers, solitary farmsteads, but never… Well, the gate garrisons will be trapped inside until daylight at least. The Host can’t attack when the sun’s out.”

Thomas had been told by Kade that the main body of the Host was composed of powerful quarrelsome spirits from the Unseelie Court, who could agree on nothing but revelry and fighting the Seelie Court, their opposites in Fayre. In their wake would be fay predators: hags, bogles, spriggans, things that haunted lonely places or preyed on travelers. Thomas said, “They can’t attack in the kind of organized force they used on us in the Old Palace, but there’s a mob of dark fay following them like scavengers after an army. They aren’t organized, but they can stand the daylight and they will attack at any opportunity.”

Renier pursed his lips in disapproval. “You heard that from Kade Carrion, I assume. I’d prefer another source for that intelligence.”

Thomas controlled an inexplicable surge of irritation, and without too much acid in his voice asked, “Who else did you have in mind to question?”

Frowning, Renier shook his head. “Still… There’s no help for it, I suppose. Does she know if Grandier is aiding them?”

“No, but he must be involved somehow.” Thomas considered a moment. “The Host was depending on surprise, and they had help. Someone knew to go down into that cellar and take the keystone, and whoever it was is probably still here with us.” Dontane might have known who that traitor was, but he must have died with the other prisoners and the guards in the Cisternan Guard House.

Renier looked up. “Perhaps the man who killed Dr. Braun got the location of the keystone out of him before he died.”

Thomas managed not to roll his eyes. “Braun was killed instantly; he wasn’t tortured for information.”

“If we could get the keystone back—”

“It could be hidden anywhere.” Thomas shook his head, frustrated. “We can’t count on that.”

“Well, we can’t beat our heads about it now.” Renier leaned over the map. “The corridors in the outer walls have been sealed. The rooftops and the open areas of the Old Courts are protected by the wards, and the iron-shod siege doors are keeping them from coming through the King’s Bastion to us. The only thing we can do now is wait it out.”

If Renier wanted to “wait it out” with a traitor in their camp it was his business. But Thomas had no reason to argue the point while he still had a few more preparations to make.

Lord General Villon and the siege engine cavalry were posted at the Granges, a royal fortress about fifty-five miles to the south. It was the mobile force closest to the city, except for Denzil’s small private garrison still in residence at Bel Garde. The fay might be able to take the city, but they couldn’t hold it. They couldn’t close the iron-hinged gates, use the cannon mounted on the walls, or the stockpiles of arms. Villon had proven troops and a populace that would rise to aid him as soon as they saw his flags.

Renier rolled up his map and went back out into the hall. Thomas caught Gideon’s arm and said softly, “If anyone’s going to offer to hold Renier’s sword while he falls on it, it’s going to be me; is that clear, Sir?”

Gideon smiled reluctantly. “Yes, Sir, it’s clear.”

As the others left, Thomas hesitated a moment over Vivan, but he had no idea what to say to him.

He walked out through the hall, where things were beginning to calm down as the night wore on without attack. The refugees in the house were mainly palace servants and retainers who didn’t mind bedding down on a clear space of floor as long as there was a roof overhead and plenty of iron lying about. They were stretched out on blankets along the walls or huddled in groups telling each other their horror stories from the last few hours. Their children played on the second-floor balconies with nerveless unconcern, but no one apparently felt secure enough to put out any of the lanterns, despite the number of people trying to sleep. The only real disturbance was an old woman kneeling in the far corner praying at the top of her lungs, while a nervous young girl anxiously pleaded with her to stop.

Queen’s guards and the few remaining Cisternans were prowling the house like caged cats, checking their weapons over and over again and alert for anything. The refugees of higher class were crowded in the Albon Tower and the Gate Bastion, with the King’s Bastion being kept as a buffer area between the fay in the Old Palace and the fortified court. Thomas had preferred this arrangement, knowing that if he had to have a large group of civilians under his protection in a battle, it was better to have ones who were trained to take orders without question. Ravenna and Falaise and their entourages were safely ensconced on an upper floor.

In the entrance hall he found Phaistus, standing before the partly open doors and looking tentatively up at the cloudy night sky. “What are you doing?” Thomas asked him.

Phaistus jumped, then shifted the heavy coil of rope tucked under his arm. “Berham wanted this in the tower, Captain.”

His reluctance was understandable. On the open roads of the country, the Host traditionally attacked from above, swooping down on men like hawks on mice. Except that hawks were unquestionably kinder in dispatching their mice quickly than the Host would be with human captives. The wards still clinging to this side of the palace were supposed to protect them while outside, but the wards had failed before.

“Well, come on then.” Thomas hauled him out into the open court.

The night air was chill, the court lit only by light seeping through