One of the horsemen turned in the saddle and saw her; he wheeled his horse toward her. In that same instant Charis knew he was an enemy.
The other three rode past the tower and down again to the shore. She turned and gazed toward the sea. A ship, dark of hull and sail, had entered the estuary on the incoming tide. It was still too iar away to see any details, but she guessed that the ship was full of Seitfewas’s men, come to lay an ambush for her brother.
There was no time to think wfast to do. The horseman was bearing down on her. She traned to meet him and saw that he had a sword in his hand. Site tacked away to give herself room. The rider saw the nswwnsefflt mid, thinking she would turn to flee, spurred the horse to trample her from behind.
But Charis did not flee. She let the horse gallop to within a few paces and then simply collapsed before it, rolling to the side as the hoofs thundered over her. By the time the rider turned the horse and trotted back to see his handiwork, Charis bad reached the tower. S amp;e dipped inside unseen with one thought in her mind: warn Kian. But how?
She gained the watchtower platform and ran to the breastwork. The ship had landed, a plank was down, and scores of men were streaming ashore to clamber up the steep, rock-bound bank. Whirling away from the breastwork Charis’ eyes fell on the brazier. She ran to it and grabbed up ‘the crystal, snapping the thong. The sun was gSewisg on the horizon, but the first rays had not cleared the rim of the earth. “Hurry!” she muttered under her breath and froze: Footsteps inside the tower.
The bare platform offered no place to bide, but on a sudden inspiration she turned and grabbed the fieece and leaped onto the thatch roof. She lay on the Bat roof and, turning the fleece over, spread it over her as the rider climbed onto the platform beneath her. Charis held her breath.
She heard him move to the iar side of the tower and peeped from under the fleece to see him, back turned toward her, gazing down at the ship and bis cramades Below. He called to them and waved and then turned to look inland. “He is not looking for me,” she realized. “He means to stay here. Of course, that was his intention all along; he is to watch for Kian and give the signal to the others. Well, I can help him there,” she thought gripping the crystal in her hand.
Moving with infinite care, she stretched her hand to the edge of the fleece, turning the crystal this way and that, but the sun was not yet high enough for the rays to catch. “Come on, come on!” She urged the dawn to greater speed. “Hurry!”
It was stifling beneath the fleece and Charis thought she would suffocate any moment. She pushed the fleece from her face and peered out. The enemy still stood half-turned away from her, looking over the landward hills. “Curse you, Bel! Hurry!”
She felt the crystal grow warm in her hand, looked, and saw the thing glowing with a rosy-gold light as the first feeble light of day struck its surface. The crystal gathered the sunlight and focused it to a burning ray. Holding it very steady, she willed the stone to ignite the roof beneath her.
A thin wisp of smoke rose like a thread from the coarse thatch and was joined by another and then another. The smoke threads mingled in the air and drifted toward the enemy rider. There was a flame now, a pale yellow fluttery thing, weak but growing.
Charis held the crystal steady, giving the fire every chance to build. “Go, go! Hurry!”
She heard a sniff and another. She glanced from beneath the fleece just as the enemy rider, smelling the smoke, turned toward her. She threw off the fleece and leaped right at him in the same fluid motion. With a loud yelp, the startled horseman fell backwards. Charis was on him in a heartbeat, tugging at the knife in his belt.
The rider recovered from his momentary fright and grabbed her hands, but not before she had the knife. The man scrambled to his feet, his fingers tight around her wrists. Eyes bulging, he laughed unconvincingly. “You are real after all,” he said. “I thought I had seen a shade down there.” Then he looked beyond her at the flame sprouting over the thatch. “Here! What have you done?”
She twisted her wrists in his grip and the blade bit into the flesh of his arm. “Ow!” He dropped his hands. Charis raised her knee in the same instant and planted her foot firmly on his chest. She kicked with all her might, springing backward through the air to land on her hands. The rider stumbled and struck the stone breastwork; his breath rushed from his lungs in a gasp and his helmet clattered from his head.
Charis whirled to see the flame deepening, spreading across the thatch, a plume of white smoke thickening to a column. She grabbed the fleece and began fanning the flames.
A moment later hands were on her, an arm thrown across her throat. She was dragged off her feet and thrown aside viciously. She struck the wooden planking.
Pain shot up along her spine and into her brain in a sickening, black flare.
The rider stooped and yanked the fleece out of her hand, turned and began beating out the flames.
With a groan, Charis dragged herself to her feet. She stood, leaning against the breastwork, shaking her head to clear the gray mist from her eyes as the fleece rose and fell again and again. When the flames were out, the enemy horseman turned toward her. “Now I will settle with you,” he said, his voice thick with rage. There was blood splashed over his clothing from the cut on his arm.
The blow caught Charis on the jaw just below her ear and nearly took her head off. She rolled against the breastwork but did not go down. The enemy came toward her. She closed her eyes.
His fist lashed out and smashed her cheek. Charis tasted blood in her mouth. Her fingers fought to hold on to the stone. The man drew his arm and loosed a vicious backhanded slap that snapped her head to the side. The pain cleared the gathering mist and she saw the rider coming for her, hands grasping for her throat; beyond him, the fire had rekindled. She slid back against the stonework, holding on with one hand.
Her attacker stepped close and reached for her, but she spun, bringing the knife up as she turned. The blade slid easily between his ribs and blood spurted with a bubbling hiss as the pierced lung deflated. The rider stared at her dumbly, his hands fumbling at his side.
“Stay back!” Charis spat through bleeding lips. “Come at me again and I will kill you.”
The fire crackled as the thatch caught and sent a gray-black cloud rolling skyward. “It will not do any good,” the man wheezed, his hand pressed to his side.
“We will wait and see.”
“They will see it down there and send someone.”
“Let them.”
“Give me the knife and I will see that you are not harmed.”
“Kian is my brother!” she snapped and then winced at the pain the words cost her.
The rider grimaced and pressed his hand to his side. Blood streamed from the wound, and in the early morning light Charis saw that his face had gone the color of ivory. He swayed on his feet. “Give me the knife.” He held out his hand and stepped toward her unsteadily.
“Stay back!” Charis hissed.
The rider lurched forward; his knees crashed down on the platform. His eyes rolled up into his skull, and he toppled onto his side and lay still. Charis stared at him for a moment and then cautiously crept to him. She pressed her fingertips to the side of his neck and felt the flutter of a weak pulse. She pulled the man’s garment aside and examined the wound. It was clean and the blood already congealing. Her pit experience told her he would live.
She heard a shout from Below and with her hands on her knees she straightened herself, feeling hot knives ripping along her spine. The pain was making her groggy, but she gulped air to keep her head clear and moved to the stone breastwork. Six enemy troops had climbed the bank and were running up the hill to the watchtower.