The Phoenix Endangered (44 page)

The air in the garden was moist and inviting. It smelled of
naranjes
and
limuns;
fragrant exotic fruits, and green growing things, and flowers, and water. There was a tiny fountain in one corner, and the jet of water rose straight up and splashed back down upon itself.

“You just wanted to see if I’d do it in there,” Tiercel said. “You really shouldn’t do things like that. I’ve been awake for a whole day, and I have to stay awake for almost a sennight, you know.”

“Do you have no fear at all?” the Consul asked curiously. He walked to a bench—it was probably white, but it looked purple right now—and sat down.

“Of you? Not really,” Tiercel said kindly. “Why would you want to hurt me?”

Harrier could have explained to Consul Aldarnas that Tiercel was like this
all the time
, even when he hadn’t been awake for too long and wasn’t dealing with having to defend a city from a bunch of crazy Isvaieni, but he didn’t really think the man deserved to know. So he just stared at the ground. The floor of the garden was covered in ornate colored tiles, but though they looked a little like the shiny ones he’d seen set into the walls in some places in the city, they weren’t at all slippery.

“I have no desire to hurt you, Lord Tiercel,” the Consul said, and from the faintly exasperated tone of his voice, Harrier thought he was trying to decide between Tiercel being simple-minded (or crazy) and Tiercel trying to drive
him
crazy, and Harrier wasn’t going to help him out there either. Tiercel was just Tiercel.

“Oh, good,” Tiercel said. “I suppose you’d like to hear the plan?”

“Yes. If you would find it convenient to enlighten me.”

It took Tiercel about ten minutes to begin the explanation of the Telchi’s theory that the Isvaieni were already weak from their long journey here, and would get weaker the longer they waited.

“There isn’t enough water outside the shield to supply their army,” Harrier said, when it became obvious that Tiercel simply couldn’t bring himself to get to the point. “They could hold out for longer than Tiercel can maintain the shield if they’re willing to sacrifice their
shotors.
If they don’t do that, after a few days without water they’ll be so weak that your City Guard and our Militia—and everyone in Tarnatha’Iteru who can hold a sword—should be able to go out through the gates and … kill them.”

It was almost as hard for Harrier to say the words as it was for Tiercel, but he managed. At least it would be weapons against weapons, instead of using spells against people who had none. And even though he knew—both as a Knight-Mage and because the Telchi had said so—that the Isvaieni army didn’t have the choice of just leaving, he still wanted to think that they could. If they scattered up
and down the Trade Road, spread their army among all the oases and wells within fifty miles, they could find enough water to survive. He knew they wouldn’t, but they could.

“I’ll convince them the MageShield is going to fall—very soon—by dropping it and putting it back up several times in the next few days. It will look as if it’s flickering,” Tiercel said, his voice flat with sorrow. “It won’t be. The more often it does it, the more convinced they’ll be that it’s only a matter of time before it vanishes forever.”

The Consul thought for a long moment before he nodded. “Yes. If you have no better plan to offer us yet, this is a good one. Where must you be to do your magic?”

“Anywhere, really,” Tiercel said. “But… it might be useful if I were where I could see them. Then I can put the shield back into place just as they reach it.”

“Forcing them to exhaust themselves to no purpose. Yes. It is a good plan. I shall announce to the people that though the shield above them will vanish, it is only temporary, and they must not fear. Then you may do your work.”

“No,” Harrier said. The Consul gazed at him in surprise. “Sir. Think. If it were really happening, if the shield really failed, what would the people do?”

He hadn’t meant to say anything. He hadn’t really wanted the Consul’s attention at all. He’d had to speak up to help Tiercel explain the plan, but he certainly hadn’t expected to do what amounted to
arguing
with Consul Aldarnas.

Only … he
knew
this was important. He hadn’t even thought about it until the Consul had said he was going to announce to the people that Tiercel would be taking down the MageShield and it was nothing to worry about, but the moment he had, Harrier had realized: if the whole plan was based on
tricking
the Isvaieni into believing the shield was failing …

“They would panic,” the Consul said slowly. “They know, now, that this MageShield is their defense.”

“Then that’s what the army will expect to hear,” Harrier said grimly. “Panic. So they’ll need to hear it.”

“There will be injuries,” the Consul said. “Damage to the city.”

“I’m sorry,” Harrier said. “If the Isvaieni think it’s a trick, though …”

“Yes. I thank the Light that you were sent to me. Both of you. It shall be done just as you have said. Now, perhaps, would be best. There will be fewer people upon the streets.”

Tiercel nodded and the Consul got to his feet.

W
HEN
H
ARRIER HAD
been making plans with the Telchi, with the Militia, and with the City Guard, about what to do when the Isvaieni came, one of the things that had concerned all of them was securing the gates—not as much from the enemy, as from the city’s own inhabitants. The lesson of Laganda’Iteru was clear—people terrified by the sight of an approaching army would rush out of the city to their doom, leaving the city gates open and the city vulnerable to assault. The only defense against that was to seal off the gates—as they’d done. And—as Harrier now discovered—to seal off access to the city walls as well.

Though there was little people could do from the top of the wall but either jump to their deaths or—perhaps—climb down the outside of the wall using ropes, desperate men might try, and Tarnatha’Iteru did not possess enough guards to keep watch on all four of the staircases leading to the top of the city wall, and so when Harrier and Tiercel were led up the heavily guarded stairs beside the Main Gate and onto the wall itself, they saw that the other staircases had been smashed to rubble with hammers. It would be impossible to get up to the wall from anywhere but the Main Gate now.

They reached the portion of the wall that was over the South Gate. There the Telchi came to join them—he had been out patrolling the city and the walls, as Harrier would have been under other circumstances. It seemed almost pointless to stand guard over the walls when the city was
surrounded by MageShield, but nobody (Harrier supposed) really understood that, and it was just as well to give people something to do.

“Okay,” Tiercel said in a low voice. “Here goes.”

He didn’t raise his hands, or make any elaborate gestures like the Mock-Mages in the Festival-Day plays, and Harrier couldn’t remember whether he’d waved his hands around when he’d cast MageShield in the first place. It was just that one moment the city was surrounded by a glowing wall of purple fire that made Harrier’s eyes ache to look at it…

… and the next moment it wasn’t.

He blinked. The morning light was sharp and clear and honest, and he could feel the last of the night cool roll in off the desert, and the promise of the baking day’s heat to come. The Isvaieni army was almost too far away to see, but when he looked carefully he could see that the groves a few miles distant were filled with black tents. Even in summer the trees were normally in full green leaf, but now the trees were bare. Harrier supposed the
shotors
had eaten the leaves.

The Guardsmen on the wall gazed around themselves in alarm, and then at Tiercel. They started toward him, and Harrier stepped forward to block their paths, knowing the Telchi was doing the same thing on the other side.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Tiercel has a plan. This is part of it.” He felt like an idiot, and all he could hope was that these men would believe him. The Consul had called him and Tiercel “boys,” and they were, and that was all that anyone seeing them would see. It was easy to forget that, when Jermayan and Idalia and Ancaladar had all treated them like men.

“He will still defend us?” Simac asked worriedly. The young Guardsman was about Rial’s age. He might even be Rial’s cousin—Rial had said that his family was still in the city, and Harrier knew that the post of City Guard was one that was coveted in the
Iteru
-cities. It carried a higher status than being a member of the City Watch did back home.

“Yes,” Harrier said, because explaining all the details of everything just wouldn’t be terribly useful. All anybody really wanted to know was that Tiercel would protect them and Tarnatha’Iteru wouldn’t be overrun.

The Isvaieni saw that the shield was down. The sound of their distant shouting began to reach Harrier’s ears, and then it was drowned out by the sounds of the people in the city behind him. The noise built slowly, shouts and screams and scraps of sentences. Demands for information. The crash of something falling. The sounds of people shouting at each other until their voices blended into a blur of sound that simply rose in volume. Five minutes passed, and ten, and slowly the distant noise from the Isvaieni army increased until it could be heard over the noise from the city, as the Isvaieni stumbled from their tents, and saddled their
shotors
, and began to move toward the city in a vast wave.

“Don’t you think—” Harrier said.

“Wait,” Tiercel said, his voice tense.

The ground shook as the
shotors
galloped forward, and the Isvaieni howled in fury; a bone-chilling sound. The army raced closer to the walls, and closer still, and showed no sign of stopping at all. Then Tiercel gestured, spreading both hands as if he were in the middle of an argument with Harrier and was making a point. And the wall of MageShield fire sprang into place once more, only scant feet away from the noses of the lead
shotors.
The Isvaieni had no warning. The first ranks of the army slammed into the barrier at full speed. The
shotors’
riders were flung from their backs by the impact, falling beneath the feet of the animals behind them.

“Light defend them,” Tiercel said quietly.

The outer edges of the army, seeing the danger, desperately tried to rein in or turn aside. A few of them could, only to find themselves jammed against the barrier further down by other riders who were also desperately trying to escape the carnage. More of the Isvaieni army was swept into a collision with the MageShield by the momentum of the riders behind them, and the center of the column had
no place to go. Riders plowed into each other, crushing those ahead of them against the barrier. Injured and dying
shotors
thrashed and screamed.

The men on the wall cheered at the sight. In the city behind them, the mob-noises slowly turned to cheers when the people saw the shield appear once more.

“I had to,” Tiercel said desperately. “I had to.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Harrier said, even though he felt sick. He knew some people had died down there when Tiercel had flung up the shield right in their path, and he knew Tiercel knew it, too. They could both still hear the bleating of the injured animals—and worse, the cries of injured
people.

He wasn’t going to tell Tiercel that it was okay to have done it because the Isvaieni were going to kill them if they could, because it just wasn’t.

“It wasn’t right,” Tiercel said, his voice agonized.

The rear of the army—about two-thirds of it—had been able to save itself completely. Those people milled about in confusion. Some riders were retreating from the fallen, some riding after fleeing—riderless—
shotors
, others were moving forward to aid the injured.

“You convinced them that your spell failed. That you got it back into place at the last possible minute. You needed to do that, Tyr. They’ll expect something like this to happen the next time. They won’t rush it again.” It wasn’t much comfort. But it was all he could give, because Harrier knew that Tiercel wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth. So it would have to be enough.

Tiercel turned away from the edge of the wall, staggering blindly. He would have gone right off the inner edge and down a hundred feet to the street if Harrier hadn’t grabbed his elbow and dragged him back.

“Is the Mage ill?” Simac asked, sounding worried.

“Tired,” Harrier said.

“I shall accompany you,” the Telchi said.

“Leave me alone,”
Tiercel snarled at Harrier.

“Shut up,” Harrier said, and the Telchi said: “Not here.”

One on each side of Tiercel, they walked back along the wall.

It was a long walk. The Consul’s Palace and the Great Gate were at one end of the city, and the South Gate—where they’d been standing—was at the other. It was a distance of several miles, and going out, Harrier and Tiercel had both been glad to stretch their legs. But going back, all the guardsmen on the wall wanted to stop them and congratulate Tiercel on killing so many of the enemy. Harrier could tell that Tiercel found hearing their praise almost unbearable. He knew he should protect Tiercel. Stop them.
Do something.

But it was all he could do to keep from shouting at them himself, to keep from drawing his swords and simply forcing everyone out of their path.
He killed a bunch of people and you think that’s a good thing?
Harrier wanted to shout.

Only he knew it was. Their whole plan was based on being able to kill all of those people out there, and Harrier knew that in a few days he’d be one of the people riding out of here with a sword to do it, and he was angry and terrified and he hated the thought.

And then he thought of everyone in Armethalieh. His ma and da, and his brothers and their wives, and his nieces and nephews, and Tiercel’s parents and his sisters and his baby brother, and, oh, pretty much everyone either of them had ever
met.
And if they didn’t manage to get out of this city alive and find the Lake of Fire and
do something
, all of those people were going to be in as much trouble as everyone here was in right now, because
the Endarkened were coming back.