Rix jerked his head from side to side.
“And what’s the first thing you do when you get here?”
“You tell me. You know so much more than I do.”
The sarcasm settled like a wet blanket.
“You call for paints and brushes,” said Tobry, “even though your hand has gone dead and you’ve vowed to never paint again. You take Maloch in your good hand and, Lo! Tra la! Like magic, your dead hand comes back to life just long enough to paint a mural depicting the opalised body of Axil Grandys. And what do you do then?”
Rix did not reply.
“Nothing!” said Tobry. “Nothing about the mural strikes you as the least odd or worrying. You draw no parallels, see no omens. You continue on your merry way as though nothing had happened.”
“I’ve been sweating about it for ages,” cried Rix, nettled beyond forbearance.
“Yet you still wear the sword,” Tobry said inexorably. “You still go up to the observatory and moon over the mural every night.”
“How the hell would you know what I do?”
“I asked Glynnie and she told me that much, because she was so worried about you. Rix, can’t you see that this obsession with Grandys — or perhaps a better word is infatuation — is perilous?”
“He’s been dead almost two thousand years, Tobe.”
“But his sword is up to something and it’s out of your control. And there’s another thing — ”
“Make it the last,” snapped Rix.
“All right. I know it came as a shock when the chancellor told you that you were Herovian, and directly descended from Grandys himself. And I know your life had been shattered by the fall of your house, and you felt you had nothing left — ”
“Get to the point, if you’ve got one,” Rix grated.
“You needed to fill the void in your life, but I wouldn’t advise you to adopt Herovian ideals uncritically.”
“I’m not like you, Tobe. I’m not a deep thinker.”
“You’ve got that right. You’re not even a shallow thinker.”
Rix gritted his teeth but let it pass. “I don’t know much about Herovian ideals — no one will tell me! But I know they believe in honour, nobility — ”
“And blood, Rix. Bloodlines were everything to them. That’s why Grandys made Garramide one of the strongest fortresses in Hightspall — to protect his only child. They also believe in racial purity, drunkenness, brawling and contempt for the arts, to name but a few. Grandys made a point of destroying every thing of beauty the Cythonians had created in thousands of years. How do you reconcile that, Rix?”
“I can’t. But… he was just one man.”
“A man who epitomised his people. He also believed that the mentally disabled, infirm and crippled should be done away with, to preserve the purity of the race.”
Rix was in dangerous waters and had no way out. “That was all long ago — ”
“Herovian beliefs haven’t changed,” said Tobry. “And before you get too involved with them, hasn’t it occurred to you that you count as a cripple, Deadhand!”
CHAPTER 49
It was impossible to sleep with the enemy camped outside the walls of Garramide. After tossing in his bed for hours, listening to the blizzard shrieking like the injured men down in the healery, Rix rose and went up to the main watchtower behind the gates. Even wearing a heavy, down-filled coat with a fur-lined hood, it felt petrifyingly cold outside now.
“Lord?” said Nuddell as Rix entered the guardhouse. Nuddell was warming his hands over the brazier, but must have just come in from the wall — he had an epaulette of snow on each shoulder.
“Hope you haven’t been here all night,” said Rix, joining him.
“Just an hour. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me either. Anything to report?”
“They’re still out there — but they’re wishing they weren’t.”
“I’ll bet,” said Rix. “Even when Tobe and I went hunting in the mountains, I’ve never known it to be this cold.”
“Blizzard’s blowing off a thousand miles of ice,” said Nuddell. “A man could freeze to death fully dressed out there.”
“Let’s hope Oosta and her healers are hiding somewhere warm.”
“Let’s hope they’re still alive.”
Rix turned away from the brazier, reluctantly. “If anything happens I’ll be down at the healery.”
Glynnie was already there, changing the dressings on the man with the amputated arm. There were shadows under her eyes and she looked as though she’d had no more sleep than Rix, but she was smiling at the soldier, trying to be cheerful. Despite the pain, he was smiling back. She’s done great good here this night, thought Rix.
All the blood and mess had been cleaned away, and so had the amputated limbs and Droag’s body. “How are we doing?” Rix said quietly.
“We lost two in the night. Scanzi of a head wound — he never came to, just slipped away — and Pentine with that terrible gash across the belly. I never held any hope for him… but still…”
“He was a decent man, a widower with two little kids.”
“And now they’ve got no one.”
“They’ll have a home here as long as I’m in charge,” said Rix.
Dawn was breaking outside, and he was doing the rounds of the wounded, speaking to all those who were awake, when a rosy-cheeked lad came running in, so swathed in coats that he looked like a ball on legs. “Lord, er, Rixium?”
“Yes, lad? You’re Thom, aren’t you? How’s your hand?”
“Can’t even see where the splinter was, Lord Deadhand.” Thom gazed at Glynnie, worshipfully, then turned back to Rix. “Sergeant Nuddell bids you come at once.”
Glynnie swung around, staring at Thom.
“Bad news?” said Rix. “They’re not attacking again?”
“Didn’t say.”
“What are you doing up so early, lad?” said Rix as he accompanied Thom back to the watchtower. Rix wiped his eyes. Even in the sheltered yard the wind was so bitter that his eyes were watering and the tears freezing on his cheeks.
“Cel-celebrating your great victory,” said the boy, skipping along.
“We haven’t won yet.”
“But we’re going to.”
Nuddell met them at the top of the steps. “You’ll want to see this,” he said, heading across to the outer wall. Rix followed, impatiently, and looked over.
“Can I see?” said Thom. “Can I see?”
Rix picked the boy up and perched him on his right shoulder.
Thom hooted and waved his fists. “They’re running, the cowardly dogs!”
The attacking force was halfway across the plateau, heading for the escarpment and the road down. More than twenty mounds lay in the snow where their camp had been, and many more below the parts of the wall Rix could see from here.
“Whatever they are, Thom, they’re not cowards,” said Rix. “But they suffered a bitter defeat at the wall yesterday, and last night was a killing cold that would have drained them to the dregs. Few men would be in any condition to fight today, and if they stayed, tonight will be even colder. Off you go.”
He walked the length of the wall, speaking to each of the guards and making sure they were up to the job, then headed down to spread the good news, though by the time he was inside the whole fortress knew it.
“They lost a hundred and sixty-six dead, plus many wounded,” said Rix to the assembled people. “Such a defeat that they could hardly have attacked again even without the blizzard. They won’t be back until the weather improves. Today will be a holiday — ”
He paused until the cheering died down. “But after that, we can’t rest until we’ve strengthened Garramide to hold out twice that number.”
One after another, the people of Garramide came up to shake Rix’s hand and thank him personally. Protest all he might that it was a team effort, no one would listen. He had saved them and they would never forget it.
“That was mightily well done, Rixium,” said Swelt, last of all. “I’ve written half a dozen dispatches and I’ll send them out by carrier hawk within the hour, to the six corners of Hightspall.”