Barrick felt strangely empty, like a pottery vessel cleansed by fire. All the things he had worried about for so long, loved so hopelessly, now seemed to have vanished; he could scarcely remember them.
He nodded slowly. “I’ll fight with you, Saqri, yes. You’re all the family I have, now. And when the time comes, I’ll die with you, too, if the gods grant it.” He did his best to smile, but it had become an unfamiliar exercise. “After all, it will be a better ending than what I’ve always expected.”
Part Three
THE OWL
29. A Little Man of Stone
“After more than a year’s journey they reached the grim castle known as the Siege of Always-Winter, but Moros was too frightened to go farther and so he deserted the Orphan at the threshold.”
The fires burning in the mainland city and the Xixian ships still smoldering on the water made the night almost as bright as dawn. Some of the ships had burned to the waterline, unrecognizable hulks that still hissed steam and spat sparks into the dark sky.
I never dreamed I would come back like this, Briony thought, watching the mainland recede as Ena plied the oars. All around her boats slid toward the castle like water beetles converging at one end of a pond. Eneas and his men had been loaded onto wherries in twos and threes, the horses onto barges, and now almost twenty score small Skimmer craft were making their way back across the bay to Southmarch.
Neither Briony nor Ena were much interested in conversation; the short journey passed in silence until the first of the boats neared the ruins of the causeway, now nothing more than a short spit of land between the great outer gate and the edge of Midlan’s Mount. Briony let Ena help her out onto the slippery stones.
“But where do we go?” Briony asked. The huge Basilisk Gate looked down on them like a frowning giant. She had never thought about how it felt to come to this place and see such a daunting thing—always before it had been one of the last signs that she was returning home. “How do we get inside?”
“Not the way we Skimmers go, my lady,” said Ena, smiling. “That’s our secret, and in times like these it’ll remain our secret. But you have no need for secrets, Highness! You have come back to your own house!”
“Not everyone here will be so glad to see me,” Briony said, but Ena was already pushing her boat back from the rocks and into safer waters.
“Take care, Queen Briony! We will meet again!” the Skimmer girl called.
She wanted to shout, “I’m only a princess,” but thought better of making so much noise. The other Skimmers swooped in to deliver their passengers to the causeway; then, when all Eneas’ troops were unloaded, they swung back into the open water. A song rose up among them, deep and barely audible above the crash of the ocean against the rocks. It was in no language Briony knew, and she only guessed it was a song because it had a sort of tune that went up and down like the waves themselves. Who were the Skimmers, really? That Saqri creature had said something about them being the kin of the Qar, but that seemed impossible. The water people were part of Southmarch and had been so for centuries, long before and long after the Qar had been driven into exile beyond the Shadowline.
Eneas appeared out of the evening mist, so tall and stern that for a startled moment she thought he was her father. “Princess, are you well?”
“I am, sir, thank you.” Dawn was still hours away; they had no light but the glare of ships burning on the bay and fires on the distant mainland. “This seems a rather uncomfortable spot to make our camp.” She gestured to the mighty walls jutting out above them, the gate itself as tall as a tall tree all carved in the stony coils of its namesake. “Do you have a plan to get us inside?”
“Well, we are a little late to the inn, but perhaps we can wake the porter.” Eneas called to one of his men, and a moment later a trumpeter had taken out his horn. At a second word from the prince, he began to blow a brazen battle call. Startled, Briony could only put her hands over her ears and shrink away.
Moments later a head appeared atop the gate, then three or four more, helmeted guards crouching so low they were scarcely more than bumps above the battlements like a baby’s teeth nudging through its gums.
“Who goes there?” one of them called, so high above them atop the wall that the wind almost tore his words away. “One of the autarch’s men, hoping for a dram of water to put out your fires? We’ll send it down to you, but not in a way you’ll like!”
“No Xixians, we!” cried Eneas. “We are allies! Let us in!”
“Allies! Not likely!” the man shouted back. “Just blew in on the wind and landed in front of the Old Lizard, did you? Think we’ll let you in? Then you’re a madman, that’s what you are.”
“A madman and a madwoman!” the prince shouted back. “Here is one who thinks himself the rightful heir of Syan, and another who believes herself mistress of this very castle!”
“For the love of the gods!” Briony told him in a horrified whisper. “Eneas, are you mad? These are Tolly’s men!”
“Perhaps,” he said cheerfully. “But perhaps not. Let us find out.”
“What foolery are you at, man?” demanded the fellow on the wall. “Mistress? Your mistress is likely a slattern and you are certainly a drunk fool, fisherman. Get back in your boat and go away before we feather you and your lady properly!”
One of the Syannese soldiers already had an arrow on his string and was preparing to dispatch the guard when Eneas held out his hand. “Leave him be,” he said quietly.
“But, Highness… !” the soldier protested. “Did you hear… ?”
“I heard.” Eneas raised his voice. “It is you who is feeling the breath of Old Knot on the back of his neck, fellow. I am Prince Eneas of Syan. Open the gate! We are allies of your true king!” He turned and said quietly to Briony, “That should start some interesting conversations!”
More heads popped up along the top of the massive gate, and several men held up torches, peering down into the darkness below for a look at the visitors. Briony could only hold her breath and pray for Zoria’s continued protection. The gatehouse above it, and the monstrous towers on either side probably housed a pentecount of men or more. Eneas might have far more men than that, but they had no protection and nowhere to go if the archers began firing on them. The Skimmers were gone and there was no other way off the narrow piece of land in front of the gate.
“That is the Syannese prince!” one man atop the gate shouted. “I’ve seen his banner! That’s him!”
“Liar!” another screamed. “Or traitor!”
“Open the gates!” someone called. “Let them in! They sank them Otarch ships!”
“I’ll kill the first man who goes near that windlass… !” a man cried, and then many voices began shouting at once, and even the figures lined up atop the gate suddenly dissolved into chaos. To Briony’s horror, a figure came flying off the top of the gatehouse, ten times a man’s height in the air, and hit the ground in front of Eneas and his men with a horrible moist thump.