“Wait, we came to help. What can we do?”
The man eyed the hill. “We left the rear of the camp undefended. Can the Wardens guard it for now?”
“You do not need us at the river?”
“Not at the moment, no. But if soldiers chose to cross farther down…”
Ahaesarus got the message. He instructed most of his fellow Wardens to head back up the hill and form a perimeter around the women and children. Olympus and Judah stayed behind and entered the tower with him. What they found inside was a huge round room, packed with crates and bulging burlap sacks. A wide spiral staircase wound up the full height of the structure. The men who were firing arrows or strange balls of magic flame from the windows lined the staircase.
“Turock’s up top,” said their young guide. “Oh, and my name is Bartholomew. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Ahaesarus said as the young man started up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the Wardens’ names. The three of them followed him up. Given their larger size, it was a much greater effort for them to squeeze past the archers manning the windows. At one point, Olympus collided with a man holding a crossbow. The man would have tumbled from the window if Ahaesarus had not grabbed the back of his breeches. The crossbowman turned abruptly, looking ready to attack whoever had almost killed him, but after taking one look at Ahaesarus’s intimidating form, he spun around and continued to fire on the enemy. Ahaesarus stared at the shortsword hanging from the man’s hip, then at the other men who lined the stairwell. It was uncommon to see weapons in Paradise, yet every defender had steel at his disposal, presumably pilfered from those of Karak’s soldiers who had been killed after crossing the river. The sheer abundance told him just how many had tried, just how dire the situation must be.
They were led to the very top of the tower, which ended at a hatch leading into another round room. The young man climbed up first, and the Wardens followed closely behind. Ahaesarus heard multiple people shouting and cursing, but one of the voices stood out from the rest. It sounded upbeat, almost playful. He hoisted himself through the hatchway, squeezing his shoulders together make it through, and looked around. Three men were present besides their young guide, and all were looking out of the three east-facing windows. The two on the outside wore long brown robes, while the robe of the one in the middle was a strange shade of violet. A thick mane of reddish-blond hair flowed from beneath the strange tilted cap on his head. His back heaved as he leaned out the window, and the air crackled with energy, raising the tiny hairs on Ahaesarus’s arms.
The bearded youngster in the tattered doublet cleared his throat.
“Master Turock?”
The garishly dressed spellcaster bent backward, glancing over his shoulder. He was an odd-looking man, with a carefully maintained mustache and pointed beard. His face was intense, his smile not humorous in the least, and his blue eyes did not seem to register the three Wardens.
“What is it?” he asked in that same playful tone. “Can’t you see we’re toasting Karak’s hairy cocks out there at the moment?”
He turned around again and started uttering more words of magic.
“Um,” Bartholomew said, “help arrived from Mordeina. I thought you might like to know.”
The red-haired man whirled back around, and this time he did see Ahaesarus, Olympus, and Judah. His eyes widened, his smile grew broader, and he made a sweeping bow.
“Oh my, Wardens of Ashhur, come to assist us in our troubles.” He stood up and slapped Bartholomew on the shoulder. “Can you believe it, lad? My wife’s mother actually proved her worth for once.” He turned to the Wardens. “So Olympus and Judah I know, but who are you, with those golden locks and that severe-oh yes, severe-stare?”
The man laughed, even as the continuing sounds of death came pouring in through the window. Ahaesarus felt completely at a loss.
“Ahaesarus, Master Warden of Paradise,” he replied.
“Oh, I have met you! You visited when Martin was named kingling, yes?”
Ahaesarus nodded. “I did, though I do not remember you, and I feel that I would if I had been given the privilege of meeting you.”
“I do tend to be memorable. It’s a trait I like to encourage.”
An arrow flew through the window just then, so close that it lifted Turock’s hat from his head. Arrow and cap struck the stone wall, the arrow snapping in two. The redhead stared in horror at his now ruined hat, and for the first time since Ahaesarus’s arrival, he actually seemed angry.
“Fuckers!” he screamed, heading back to the window. As he began barking his magical phrases, lightning leapt from his fingertips. “Bartholomew, bring them back downstairs,” he snapped over his shoulder. “We’ll be done here soon. Now go!”
“We have some questions-” began Judah.
“Can’t you see we’re busy? Get out!”
Ahaesarus glanced at his fellow Wardens, who shrugged. He returned the gesture.
“We will aid your fight as best we can,” he told Bartholomew on their way back down the stairwell. “Tell us where the need is greatest, and we will defend you with our lives.”
The young man exhaled deeply. “I thank you for that.” An explosion sounded, and Bartholomew flinched. There was sweat running down his brow despite the night’s chill. “And I must apologize for Turock’s…er, pointedness. He’s under a bit of stress at the moment.”
“Do not worry yourself over it,” said Ahaesarus. “We will work this all out after the battle is over.”
They reemerged into a night filled with fire, arrows, and pained cries. Bartholomew pointed the way, and the three Wardens spent the next two hours hefting sacks of freshly fletched arrows from inside the tower, bringing waterskins to the fighting men, and tending to wounded soldiers. Whenever he looked to the river, Ahaesarus could make out little beyond fire, billowing black smoke, and piles of corpses at the edge of the river, some dragged into the water by its harsh current. Ahaesarus could only hazard a guess as to their enemy’s numbers. Whenever a soldier bearing the sigil of Karak on his armor rushed through the fire, he was either struck down or carried away by the river.
Ahaesarus felt utterly useless as he ran from menial task to menial task, constantly dodging incoming projectiles, no easy task given his large size. A part of him realized he was putting his life in danger for absolutely nothing. The citizens of Drake, led by Turock’s spellcasters, had the situation fully under control.
Do not fall into that trap, he told himself as he handed a fresh waterskin to a short, blond, robed man. You told Isabel you would do whatever it took. At the moment, this is what it takes.
The cross-river skirmish lasted only another hour or so. Come sunrise, the barrage of arrows from the other side slowed to a trickle. When it finally stopped, Turock left the tower and joined his men on the shore. The flames were petering out, and the smoke on the Tinderlands side of the Gihon had cleared as well, revealing a mess of bodies splayed out on the rocky, uneven ground, some still bleeding out, others burnt beyond recognition. Ahaesarus guessed the enemy had lost at least fifty men, though it was difficult to tell given how many had been carried away by the current. Only three of Drake’s defenders had perished. An eerie quiet came over the defenders, whose fatigue showed in the huge black circles that had formed under their eyes. Soon the men were wading in the shallow edges of the river, extracting snagged corpses and carting them north along the bank, dumping them in a massive, stone-rimmed firepit. As Ahaesarus helped remove the bodies, he noticed they were small, even for humans, as if they were underdeveloped. The fires were lit, the bodies burned, and the near constant chill that had pervaded the evening gave way to oppressive heat.