War of Shadows (9 page)

Blaine was tall enough to see over most of the people in front of him. He remembered the old Donderath shipworks, a large building that before the Cataclysm had been the pride of the kingdom, turning out the majestic sailing vessels that made up Donderath’s cargo fleet and navy. Since the Great Fire, the building stood empty and abandoned, hunched on the edge of the waterline.

Now the old shipworks was a pile of rubble, with dust still rising from its sagging walls and splintered beams.

Just in the time they had been inside the Rooster and Pig, the sky had turned an ugly shade of gray. The wind had been brisk on their trip into Castle Reach. Now it lashed the waves into whitecaps and swept down the cobblestone streets, driving leaves and debris in front of it. The waves pounded against the
new seawall, splashing nearly to its rim. Rain fell, and from the look of the sky just a little farther out to sea, the isolated drops were likely to become a torrent very soon.

“I think the mages were right about the storm—and wrong about the timing,” Kestel murmured. “I don’t like the look of those waves.”

Blaine shook his head. “I spent too long out on the boats in Edgeland. That’s a storm sea.” He looked to Folville. “We need to start getting people to shelter.”

Folville stared out at the angry sea. “I think you’re right.” He climbed on one of the benches and clapped his hands loudly.

“There’s a storm coming,” he shouted. “A bad one. Get inland, or up high. Don’t wait.”

The Rooster and Pig’s patrons gave Folville an incredulous look. “I’m not afraid of a little rain,” a man said, lifting his tankard. “And besides, where better to sit out a gale than with plenty of ale?”

Most of the others chuckled at his joke, but Blaine heard the nervousness beneath the laughter. A few of the pub’s customers headed out the door, fighting against gusts of wind to make their way up the street.

Folville turned to Blaine. “Whether you planned to or not, you won’t be going back to Quillarth Castle tonight. You wanted to warn us. Well, m’lord, we’re warned. And I’d be much obliged if you and your men can help me save my people.”

“Get inside! Go now!” Blaine shouted to be heard above the howling wind. His voice was raw and he was soaked to the skin. Kestel stood near the door to the tall brick building, encouraging dazed city dwellers to move more quickly.

“How many more can you fit in there?” Blaine shouted.

“A few dozen more, not a lot,” Folville replied. “This is our last building. Anyone who doesn’t make it in here is going to need to head farther north, to the warehouses.”

Folville was drenched, hair clinging to his thin face, his cloak a sodden mass of wool. Captain Hemmington and his men were farther down the plaza, helping a stream of miserable men, women, and children make their way through the high winds and sleeting rain toward shelter. A thin scrim of ice coated everything, making footing treacherous.

Blaine eyed the warehouse. It was an old building, sturdy enough to have escaped the Great Fire largely intact. A soldier jogged up through the rain to where Blaine stood. “Captain Hemmington sent me to tell you that the water is getting higher, m’lord. We’ve evacuated people from the lowest streets.”

Blaine nodded. “We’re going to have to get to shelter ourselves soon.”

“Aye, m’lord. I’ll let him know.” The soldier headed back toward Hemmington’s position, nearly losing his footing several times on the slick pavers of the plaza.

Blaine eyed the stragglers. Over the course of several candlemarks, Folville’s people, along with Hemmington’s troops and Larson’s garrison, had urged thousands of residents to get to safety. Blaine was unsure that the high winds might not drive the storm surge high enough to pose a danger even to those on the second floor of buildings within sight of the sea.

“The third floor is full,” Kestel reported. Her hooded cloak had kept her relatively dry, but Blaine could see that her lips were tinged blue with cold. “Fourth floor still has some room.”

Kestel eyed the people still trying to make their way across the plaza.

“I think they’ll be the last,” Blaine said, following her gaze. “I suspect everyone else has found somewhere to batten down.”
Blaine glanced at the sky. “Not any too soon, I wager. We haven’t seen the worst of this yet.”

An intrepid bell ringer had stayed at his post. As the last of the bells tolled the candlemark, Captain Hemmington and his exhausted soldiers herded the final stragglers into the building. Larson had sent word that he and his soldiers would hole up in one of Folville’s other shelters.

“It’s getting hard to stand against the wind,” Hemmington said as he sent his men on ahead of him into the warehouse. He shook the sleet from his cloak like a wet dog. “Too bad we can’t use the first floor, too, but it’s sure to flood.”

Once, the structure had been a warehouse, before the Great Fire. Then it sat damaged and abandoned before Folville’s men took it for their own, replacing or boarding up broken windows, shoring up its supporting beams and patching its ruined roof. They would be high enough to escape the storm surge, Blaine thought, but he wondered whether the building would hold against the winds, which seemed to grow stronger minute by minute.

Men and women, entire families, old and young, crowded into the shelter. They had felt the storm warning in their bones and brought only what they could carry. Some clutched wailing infants and terrified small children. A few hung tenaciously on to dogs they refused to leave behind. Most came only with the clothes on their backs or a small bag of hastily gathered belongings.

Blaine struggled to close the door against the wind. The downstairs shutters had been secured, but they banged against the sill. Rain struck like small pebbles being tossed against the siding.

“Let’s find a place upstairs where we can see what’s going on in the city,” Blaine said.

They climbed the steep, narrow steps, stopping at each landing to look in on the people sheltered on that floor. Some milled about, or spoke quietly in small groups. Others huddled over crying children or tried to calm disoriented elders. Though it was cold outside and growing colder, the press of bodies warmed even the large, open room.

“You have provisions?” Blaine asked.

Folville nodded. “I’ve got men on each floor to make sure the provisions are rationed evenly. With luck, we won’t be here long enough to need them.”

Blaine eyed the refugees. Most had a bleak, hopeless look, as if this last round of hardship, on the heels of the Great Fire and the Cataclysm, was nearly too much to bear. A few sobbed quietly. The third floor was as crowded as the second. Despite the large number of people, it was strangely silent, quiet enough to hear the wind battering the building. From time to time, something crashed against the brick or shattered against the wooden shutters, hurled by the wild winds outside. Those nearest the windows flinched, but others, lost in their misery, did not react at all.

Blaine and Kestel worked their way over to the fourth-floor windows facing the sea, but darkness and driving rain made it impossible to see out. “How long do you think it’ll be until the storm gives out?” Kestel asked, slipping up beside Blaine.

He shrugged. “Hard to say. If we’re lucky, maybe it will be over by daybreak.”

The question, of course, was what would be left after the storm passed. People had just begun to rebuild. Devastating storms could undo all that. If the storms continued, residents would abandon Castle Reach, leaving the former seaport deserted.

Blaine and Kestel returned to the first floor, where they found Hemmington and his soldiers, as well as Folville. One
of the soldiers peered through a broken shutter. “I pity anyone who’s out there. The wind is driving a lot of garbage around. Looks like it’s ripping the tile off some of the roofs.”

“Hopefully, not ours,” Folville said. The old building creaked and wind whistled through gaps, as if the entire structure was moaning. Lanterns cast a dim glow over the large rooms. The air smelled of smoke and lamp oil.

Hemmington posted two soldiers on watch by the door. “I’m less worried about people breaking in than water seeping under the door,” he said. “You see a leak, I want to know about it.”

Time passed, and no more bells tolled. Without the bells, it was impossible to gauge how long the storm raged. “We’ve got water coming in,” the watchman shouted in the middle of the night. Blaine climbed to his feet and saw water pouring in under the door from the flooded street.

“Get upstairs,” Blaine ordered.

“Water’s still rising,” the guard said. “I’m betting the seawall didn’t hold.”

Blaine and Kestel made their way back up to the fourth floor. The building had been used for storage, and with the sudden storm, casks and boxes were pushed up against the walls to make room for all the people. Old lumber leaned against the wall, along with boards and a battered door that had seen better days. Cartons of provisions lay stacked against one wall, covered by tarpaulins.

The wind rattled through the tiles on the roof and battered the warehouse with its full strength. Harried mothers tried to soothe squalling, frightened children. Men passed the time playing cards or dice. The crowded room smelled of wet wool and unwashed bodies. Fear was tangible, even on the faces of the soldiers.

One of the soldiers climbed up the stairs to make a report.
“No one is going anywhere. The entire first floor is flooded almost to the ceiling. The street’s just as bad, maybe worse with the current. There’s nowhere to go.”

Kestel slipped through the crowd, talking to a mother with small children in one corner or speaking quietly with a group of men huddled along the wall. Folville and Blaine did the same, trying to keep the frightened people as calm as possible. All around them, the old building creaked louder as it strained against the storm.

Huddled in the large room, mothers held their children near. Blaine could hear voices chanting prayers, while others sang softly to themselves, rocking back and forth to blot out the sound of the storm.

A crash overhead brought the room to a standstill. One loud crack after another sounded, followed by something that sounded like a hail of heavy stones rattling down the building’s roof.

“We’re losing the tiles,” Blaine said to Folville. “Just how well did your engineers reinforce this building?”

Folville paled. “We fortified it for a ground assault. We weren’t expecting the danger to come from the sky.”

Another crash sounded overhead, and another.

“So they just replaced the roof. They didn’t do anything to make it strong enough to withstand an attack,” Blaine said pointedly.

“No. They didn’t.”

Water dripped from the ceiling. As the crowd tried to move away from the water, it quickly became apparent that new leaks were everywhere.

“We’ve got to start moving people down below,” Blaine said to Folville, eyeing the water stains on the ceiling. “We’re going to lose the whole roof if these winds keep up.”

“I think you might be right,” Folville said nervously.

“We’re going to get you down below, where you can stay dry,” Blaine shouted above the murmur of voices. “It will be crowded, but you won’t be wet.”

The murmur grew to a loud buzz as everyone spoke at once. Folville put two fingers to his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. “Quiet down!” he shouted.

“The stairs are narrow, so line up,” Blaine yelled. “Bring your things. Let’s move.” Kestel and the guards roused the fearful and hesitant. At the doorway, Blaine and Folville barked at the group to keep moving in single file. The line moved slowly. Blaine eyed the roof and listened to the wind outside.

A strong gust of wind slammed against the warehouse, making the building shudder. Overhead, Blaine heard a deafening crack and saw the far corner of the ceiling begin to ripple.

“Get down the stairs now! The roof is going!” Blaine shouted.

Kestel and the guards shouted at the laggards, dragging those too terrified to move. More of the tiles peeled away, opening holes to the storm. The temperature plunged as the cold wind swept in, driving the rain with it.

“Go, go, go!” Blaine shouted.

The terrified stragglers surged forward, and Blaine heard the guards below yelling for people to move faster or be trampled. A huge gust howled across the broken tiles, stripping them away.

“Move!” Blaine shouted.

Kestel grabbed an old woman by the arm and dragged her toward the stairs. The guard scooped a pregnant woman into his arms and headed for the door. Blaine went after a woman with two small children. The little girl tried to pull out of her grasp, shrieking in fear, and the boy had lost a shoe and was hobbling, crying to go back for it.

Pieces of heavy tile fell from the ceiling, crashing against the
floor and sending shards into the air. The guard dropped to his knees as one of the tiles caught him across the back. Folville went after the downed man, dragging him toward the exit.

“You’ve got to move!” Blaine shouted above the wind. He slung one child under each arm, expecting the mother to be just a step behind him. With every passing moment, more of the roof tore away, and he feared that if the wind stripped off their remaining shelter, he and the others might be swept away.

A section of tile smashed to the floor between Blaine and the young mother. She crumpled, bleeding where the tile had struck her in the head. Kestel and Folville ran toward him from the stairwell. “Take them! I’ll get her!” Blaine yelled, thrusting the screaming, panicked children into their arms.

More of the roof fell with every moment. Blaine grabbed a discarded door that lay propped against the wall, holding it overhead like a shield. Tiles slammed down on him as he dodged toward where the woman lay. Shards of tile pelted him, slicing through his pants below his cloak.

Blaine slung the woman over one shoulder, shielding both of them with the door. The wind whipped through the room, pelting them with sleet. Blaine struggled to keep his footing against the gusts. Just as they neared the stairs, the rest of the roof gave way with a groan and a thunderous crack. Broken tile and timbers showered down, and the full gale force of the winds ripped through the exposed room.