Standing in the street with his canes propped under his hands, the Domne rallied his bowmen and put them in charge of the hunt for the remaining wolves.
Gently, Minick helped Stead out of the Domne’s house. Together, the brothers set about organizing the evacuation of Houseldon.
The firecat’s blaze was too well established to be fought. Even without the distraction and damage of the wolves, with nothing on their minds except the safety of their homes, the Domne’s people might not have been able to beat this fire. But the truth was that they were seriously distracted, badly hurt. And there might be more attacks—When Minick suggested fighting the flames, the Domne forbade him flatly.
Instead of trying uselessly to save Houseldon, every man, woman, and child who could move himself, lift weight, or accept responsibility was put to work getting supplies and possessions, horses and livestock, infants and invalids out of the stockade.
Geraden ignored all this activity. Taking Terisa with him, he put together a breakfast for the two of them, then found a quiet corner in his father’s house where they could eat in peace.
Baffled, she asked him what he thought he was doing.
“Saving time,” he muttered through a cold chicken sandwich. “We’ve got to eat sometime. Better now than later.”
That didn’t shed any light. She tried again. “What’s going to happen?”
“They’ll go up to the Closed Fist and dig in. With all the stuff they have to carry, they won’t get there for two or three days. But I don’t think that matters. If Eremis had anything else ready to attack with, he would have used it by now. I think the first danger is over. And once they’re entrenched in those caves and rocks, he’ll need an army to root them out.”
Terisa didn’t understand him at all. Dimly, it occurred to her that the Closed Fist would be an impossible place in which to work glass. “You keep saying ‘they.’ Aren’t you going with them?”
He shook his head and tried to hide the gleam in his eyes.
She studied him as if she had become stupid. His home was in flames around him. Soon Houseldon would be reduced to ashes and cinders. The survivors were being forced into hiding. One of his brothers had been seriously hurt. People he had known all his life were dead. Really, it was astonishing how much his mood had improved.
He was hard and strong, she could see that; but the grim iron was gone, the bitterness. Last night, he had remembered how to laugh. The shine in his gaze promised that he would be able to laugh again.
Looking at him, the numbness which too much fear and destruction had imposed on her heart began to fade. Almost smiling, as if she already knew the answer, she asked, “Why not?”
He shrugged cheerfully. “I’ve been looking at everything backward. My usual instinct for mishap. In a sense, what happened today is good news. What Eremis did today is good news. It means he’s afraid of us – too afraid to wait until he can strike intelligently and be sure of killing us. He thinks there’s something we can do to hurt him.
“If he thinks that, he’s probably right. He’s too smart to scare himself over nothing. All we have to do is find it.”
Incongruously, while Houseldon burned, Terisa felt some of the past night’s joy come back. “Maybe his plans aren’t ready,” she said. “Maybe we still have time to warn Orison.”
“Right. And along the way we can try to warn some of the lords. When they know what’s going on, maybe the Fayle or even the Termigan can be persuaded to do something against him.”
She couldn’t help herself; she jumped up and kissed him, hugged him so hard she thought her arms would break.
“Come on, mooncalves,” Stead snorted from the doorway. “The fire’s already on the other side of the lane. This house is going next.”
In response, both Terisa and Geraden started to laugh.
They left Houseldon holding hands.
By midmorning, the Domne’s Seat was little more than a smoldering husk.
From his stretcher, Tholden watched the ruin and wept as if he had failed; but his father would have none of it. “Don’t be silly, boy. You saved all our lives. Houses can be built again. You saved your people. I call it a great victory. Nobody else could have done it.”
“That’s right, Da,” Quiss said because her husband was too emotional to reply. “He’ll agree with you when he’s had a little rest. If he knows what’s good for him.”
Ignoring embarrassment, Geraden kissed all three of them. Quiss and the Domne kissed Terisa. Then Terisa and Geraden went to their horses, the bay and the appaloosa which had brought them down from the Closed Fist.
“Now it’s your turn, Geraden,” the Domne announced in front of all the inhabitants of Houseldon. “Make us proud of you. Make what we’re doing worthwhile.” Then he added, “And, in the name of sanity, remember to call me ‘Da.’ ”
Helplessly, Geraden colored.
Terisa wanted to laugh again. “Don’t worry, Da. I won’t let him forget.”
When the Domne’s people began cheering, she and Geraden rode away to meet Mordant’s need.
THIRTY-FOUR: FRUSTRATED STATES
Toward the end of the first day of the siege – the day which eventually led to Master Quillon’s murder and Terisa’s escape – Prince Kragen indicated his ruined catapults and asked the lady Elega what she thought he should do.
“Attack,” she replied at once. “Attack and attack.”
Raising one eyebrow, he waited for an explanation.
“I am no Imager – but everyone knows that Imagery requires strength and concentration. Translations are exhausting. And in this” – she gestured at the catapults – “you have only one opponent. Only one Master can use the glass which frustrates you. He must be weary by now. Perhaps he has already worn out his endurance.
“If you apply enough pressure, he must fail. Then you will be able to bring down that curtain-wall. Orison will be opened to you.”
Despite his confident demeanor, his air of assurance, Prince Kragen couldn’t restrain a scowl. “My lady,” he asked softly, harshly, “how many siege engines do you think I have? They are difficult to move. If we had brought them from Alend, we would be on the road yet – and Cadwal’s victory would be unchallenged. We were forced to rely on what we could appropriate from the Armigite.” Thinking about the Armigite always made Kragen want to spit. “It seems likely to me that we will run out of catapults before that cursed Imager is exhausted.
“Then, my lady” – almost involuntarily, he wrapped his fingers around her arm and squeezed to get her attention, make her hear the things he didn’t say – “our first, quickest, and best hope will be lost.”
“Then what do you mean to do, my lord Prince?” demanded Elega. Apparently, she didn’t hear him. Perhaps she couldn’t. “Are you prepared to simply wait here until the High King arrives to crush you?”
Prince Kragen lifted his head. Too many of his people were watching. By an act of will, he smoothed his scowl, put on a sharp smile.
“I am prepared to do what I must.”
Bowing to conceal the grimness in his eyes, he walked away.
That night, covered by the dark, he sent a squadron of sappers to try to dig the keystones out of the curtain-wall.
Another failure. Scant moments after his men set to work, Orison’s defenders poured oil down the face of the wall and fired it. The flames forced the sappers back – and gave enough light for Lebbick’s archers. Less than half the squadron escaped.
The next morning, when he had had time to absorb the latest news, Prince Kragen announced that he would take no more risks.
He didn’t withdraw from his position. He spent all his time projecting confidence to his forces, or designing contingency plans with his captains, or consulting with the Alend Monarch. But he took no chances, incurred no losses. He might have been waiting for High King Festten to join him in some elaborate and harmless war game.