The Tower on the Rift Page 2

  The man’s face was wracked. “Tallia!” he sang out, a wail of pain. “For pity’s sake, wake!” He rocked on his haunches, overcome by the magnitude of the disaster, shuddered and bent over her again. Putting his bloody hands around her head, front and back, he tried to force open the blocked channels of her brain, straining so hard that his breath came out as a series of little groans.

  In his head the tramping grew so loud that it blocked out all thought. He closed his eyes but the images shone out brighter than before, row after row of soldiers. The mind that directed them—his enemy—was as cold and unstoppable as a machine.

  “Tallia,” he screamed. “Help! Yggur’s coming for me.”

  Tallia’s pupils, which had imperceptibly contracted to points of darkness, expanded in a rush and she knew him. “Mendark!” she whispered.

  Mendark threw his arms around her. Tears starred his eyelashes. They struggled to their feet, swaying together, then Tallia’s eyes rolled and the room tilted in slowmotion confusion. He clung to her until she was steady again.

  “What happened?” she asked. “I don’t remember anything.”

  Mendark held the lantern high. It showed the hall in chaos: tables and benches overturned, lamps smashed, papers and people scattered like hay.

  “Tensor violated the Conclave,” he said, grimfaced.

  “Conclave?” Tallia rubbed her forehead as if she could stir her brain back to life.

  “I called a Great Conclave,” he replied, “to recover the Mirror from Thyllan the usurper, and to free Karan.”

  “I can’t remember,” said Tallia, shaking her head.

  “Yggur’s not far away. I can sense the hate in him.”

  Tallia did not ask him about that. Mendark was a sensitive. He knew. She squatted down, rocking back and forth on her heels.

  “Tensor struck down the Conclave with a mindblasting potency,” Mendark went on. “A terrible spell.”

  “Tensor betrayed us?” she whispered.

  “Yes, and fled with the Mirror. What’s he going to do with it? I’m afraid, Tallia.”

  “It’s starting to come back!” Tallia slumped on the chair. “Oh, my head is bursting!”

  “And mine, but we must get going.”

  Mendark handed her a jug, a tall, waspwaisted vessel of darkblue porcelain. Tallia drank from it greedily, spilling water down her chin and her shirt. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, nodded, which made her wince, and said, “What do we do now?”

  “I can’t think. The Council is in tatters.”

  The Council was an alliance of wizards and scholars, of which Mendark had been Magister until his recent overthrow. He ticked the members off on his fingers. “Tensor’s gone, Nelissa is dead. Thyllan is my enemy and will never be otherwise. Old Nadiril is far away in Zile; he hasn’t come to a meet in years. Wistan is likewise out of reach in Chanthed. That only leaves me, Hennia the Zain and Orstand between us and ruin. Where’s Orstand?”

  Tallia looked around. “I can’t see her.”

  “Find her and Hennia. Protect them at all costs! I’ve got to get to the citadel. If Yggur learns that they lie here helpless… Ahh!” he wailed. “There’s no time!”

  Mendark looked as bad as she felt. They were both wracked by aftersickness, the byproduct of using wizardry, the Secret Art, or being too close when someone else did.

  Outside, where all had been silent, they now heard shouting and screaming. Mendark wobbled his way to the door. The street lamps still burned. The street was wet, though it was not raining now. People streamed past, clutching pathetic treasures.

  “What news?” cried Mendark, but his voice went unheeded. He picked up a spear that lay on the road and stepped into the path of the refugees, blocking their way. “I am Mendark!” he thundered, though it took most of his strength. “ What news?”

  “The enemy has come through the northern gate,” said a bearded man, gray hair plastered to his head. He cradled a whimpering baby in the crook of one arm. Little blue toes stuck out of its sodden blanket, curling and uncurling. “It’s said that Thyllan is dead. Who leads us now?”

  “ I lead!” Mendark cried. “I am Mendark. Magister once more! Go, tell everyone that the real Magister is back. We will defend the walls of the Old City and strike outwards until the whole of Thurkad is free again.”

  The crowd, which was growing every minute, stared at him in silence. He raised the spear above his head. “Go, you fools!” he roared. “I am your only chance.”

  As they scattered he heard a few thin cries of “Mendark! Mendark has returned!” though whether they went in hope or in fear of him Mendark could not tell.

  “Poor fools,” he said under his breath. “What chance is there for Thurkad now?” He lumbered back up the steps.

  “Tallia,” he shouted, and she came running, awkwardly, as if her knees had frozen solid.

  “There are…” she began.

  “No time!” he snapped. “You must do as best you can. I will rally our armies, what’s left of them. Bring the Council to the citadel, and anyone else who can help us. I’ll try to send aid, but don’t wait for it.”

  “But Mendark…”

  “Whatever it is, you must deal with it.” He stood there for a moment, his face haggard, then ran out. His unsteady footsteps echoed on the stones.

  “But most of the people here can’t even walk,” Tallia said softly. “Important people, vital for our defense. How am I to deal with them, alone?” Thurkad was the greatest and oldest city of Meldorin. If it had fallen so quickly, where could they hope to find refuge?

  She went to the door and looked out, but now the street was empty, silent. Misty rain began to drift down. What could she do? Hesitating in the doorway, Tallia noticed a movement in the alley across the street. Someone had put their head around the corner and quickly pulled it back again. The little thin face was curiously familiar.

  It was the street urchin who had guided Llian to Mendark’s villa several weeks ago. Llian had so charmed her that she had refused a silver tar in payment, a fortune for any street child. What was her name?

  “Lilis,” Tallia called softly. “Lilis, come forth.”

  The head peeked around again. It belonged to a hungrylooking girl who seemed about ten, a longfaced waif with platinum hair. Her ratty clothes were spattered with mud up to the waist.

  “Come here, Lilis, I need you.”

  Lilis emerged onto the street, looked this way and that and slunk across to Tallia. In the light from the doorway she looked even shabbier than before.

  “What does you want?” she squeaked, looking tremulous.

  “Come inside.”

  “Into the Great Hall?” The squeak became a horrified whisper. “Could be whipped for that.”

  “Nonsense. The old Magister is back and I am his chief lieutenant.” Tallia took Lilis’s thin wrist and led her inside. “Look,” she pointed. Many of the richest and most powerful people of Thurkad: justices, legislators and wealthy merchants were strewn about like carcasses in an abattoir. “We’ve got to get them to the citadel.”

  Not far away a tall man twitched and shuddered. He was meanfaced, with a misshapen cudgel of a nose and a swollen gash across one cheek. His pale, almost colorless eyes stared unseeingly ahead. It was Thyllan, who had ended Mendark’s tenure as Magister not long before the Conclave.

  Lilis’s eyes bulged. “ The Magister! ” she said.

  “No more! The usurper is overthrown. Mendark is back—the real Magister. Help me.”

  Tallia hurried around the room, checking for signs of life. The guards had recovered and fled, save one who lay in a puddle of blood on the far side. He was dead—had fallen on his sword and bled to death, by the look of it.

  As she turned away to the next, Lilis caught sight of a small bare foot protruding from under the guard’s billowing cape. She lifted the cloth to reveal a small woman with a pale face surrounded by a wild froth of fiery red hair.

  “It’s Karan,” said Tallia, “Llian’s friend.”

  Various emotions crossed Lilis’s face: concern, envy. “Is she dead?”

  Tallia bent down swiftly. “No, but without help she could die.”

  Karan’s face was set in an expression so sad that it made tears spring to Tallia’s eyes. If only I had helped her, she thought, none of this need have come about. She rolled Karan over. Her shirt was bloody from breast to hip. Tallia tore the shirt open, expecting to see a mortal wound, but there was none. It was the guard’s blood.

  Tallia looked around. “That’s strange,” she said, furrowing her brow.

  “What?”

  There had been many people at the Conclave but a lot were gone, including several faces that she was looking for: Faelamor, Maigraith, Llian. “Where’s Llian? He would never have left Karan.”

  “Llian’s gone,” said Lilis. “The big man took him.”

  “Big man?” Tallia asked, checking Karan’s vital signs. The pulse was erratic, her skin clammy, and her eyes flickered back and forth under her eyelids. Tallia lifted one. The eyes were deep green; the pupils hardly reacted to the light. She was probably not in immediate danger though, if kept warm and dry. Tallia tore the cape off the guard, wrapped Karan in it, round and round, and then put her out of the way against the wall. Nothing more could be done for her at the moment. She turned to the next casualty.

  Beneath a window was a mound of fallen drapes, halfcovering a huge jelly of a woman swathed in the scarlet and purple gown of the High Court. The dignity of the office was marred by a red mouth sagging open and dentures hanging out. Her face was as round as the moon, with eyes that looked tiny in their pouches of fat. Yellowgray hair was cut straight across at the level of her ears.

  “Who is she?” Lilis piped up.

/>   “Justice Orstand,” said Tallia, greatly relieved. With Orstand on their side there was always hope. She was the most powerful intellect on the Council, a friend that Mendark relied on greatly. “Water, quickly!”

  Lilis scurried away to return with a blue jug, which she promptly poured on the judge’s face. Orstand shuddered and tried to get up, but wobbled on her legs. Tallia hurriedly thrust a chair under her.

  Orstand looked around the room. “Is Nelissa—?”

  “Dead!” Tallia said harshly. She explained their situation.

  “Oh!” said Orstand. “But Mendark’s right—the Old City is our only refuge.” Its walls were high and strong and the citadel inside it stronger yet. Though surely not enough to resist Yggur.

  “Can you walk, Orstand?”

  Orstand gave a smile of sorts. “See to the others, my friend. When they’re ready to go, I will be too.”

  Embracing the old woman, Tallia went on with her work. There were other dead, quite a few, mostly the old and the frail. Too late for them, but several people were on their feet already after Lilis’s rough ministering with the water jug and a wet cloth.

  Tallia remembered something Lilis had said earlier. “What did you say about Llian?” she asked, but before the child could answer there was shouting, screaming and sounds of battle nearby. Dread shivered down Tallia’s backbone. They would be trapped!

  “Lilis,” she cried. The waif’s eyes showed the fear they both felt. “Go and see what is happening. See how close the enemy is.”

  The girl hesitated, staring at her with those huge eyes. Tallia, thinking that she wanted payment, fumbled for the purse that hung at her waist. Lilis struck her hand aside; then, realizing that she had hit the chief lieutenant of the Magister and might be slain on the spot, leapt away saying, “I go, I go!”

  “Lilis!” Tallia called. She came back warily. “Be careful.” Tallia embraced the grubby little urchin. Lilis looked astounded, then a tiny smile broke across her face. “You will come back?” said Tallia. Normally so capable, she now felt overwhelmed.

  “I come back,” Lilis said, her eyes shining, then she was gone.

  Tallia hurried across to Orstand, who was bent over another of the bodies, trying to bring it back to consciousness. She looked about to collapse again; every breath rattled in her massive chest.

  “I can’t decide who to take and who to leave,” agonized Tallia. “Is a judge more important than a doctor? A wealthy merchant more valuable than a young woman?”

  “You can’t choose that way,” said Orstand, looking up. The flesh sagged off her face like overly wet dough. “The group must come before the individual. Anyone who can’t walk, or falls down and can’t get up again, must be left behind. And that includes me.”

  “I could never leave you behind,” said Tallia, staring at the old woman.

  Orstand wheezed with laughter. “I’d like to see you carry me!”

  Tallia smiled at the thought. Soon seven people were more or less ready to walk. They included Thyllan, his hair sticking out in all directions as though electrified, and Hennia the Zain, the other member of the Council, an old, saggy woman whose eyes had gone blank. A badly bitten tongue hung out the corner of her mouth. There were also two members of the Assembly, the puppet government of Thurkad, long dominated by the Governor on one hand and the Magister on the other. The other two were strangers, though they both looked important.

  They were in much the state that she had been in before Mendark woke her, but she did not know how to do the same for them. Several more were in worse condition, flopped over chairs and benches like dolls stuffed with grass. If they could be roused she might be able to get some of them to safety too. And there were quite a few like Karan, who might live or die, but would have to be carried. Worthy people all.

  Save for Orstand, her seven could have been senile. Thyllan was wandering aimlessly around the room, but most of the others just stared at the wall, mumbling to themselves. Hennia kept saying, “I don’t want to go. Mendark is finished!” Tallia was almost in despair by the time Lilis came running back.

  “Soldiers coming!” she cried. “Must go now!” Grabbing Tallia’s hand, Lilis tried to pull her toward the door.

  Tallia resisted. “We’ve got to take them with us. Give me a hand.”

  Between the three of them they got the ablebodied into a shambling line at the door, but it took all of Lilis’s efforts to keep them there while Tallia tried to rouse the other group. Outside, the shouting and noises of battle grew louder.

  “Must go now! ” Lilis screamed.

  Tallia looked back at Karan, torn between her feelings and her responsibilities. It was not just that she liked Karan. She was a sensitive too, a priceless talent, especially in time of war. Anyone left behind was probably condemned to death, but not everybody could be saved. She ran back to Karan and took her hand, then laid it down again, unable to choose.

  “Go on, Lilis. I’ll catch you.”

  Karan moaned, flinging her head from side to side. Suddenly coming to a decision, Tallia bent down to pick her up, then one of the comatose sat up, a short, rather stout man called Prathitt, a wealthy merchant and legislator. A fussily trimmed spade beard drew attention from his rapidly receding hairline. He staggered toward the door, waving his arms and shouting gibberish.

  Tallia caught him just outside and slapped her hand over his mouth and nose, cutting off the racket. A small knot of people ran past, shrieking and moaning, then a signal horn called from up the street. Another answered it from around the back of the Great Hall. She looked about frantically, to see Lilis shepherding her crew into a mean alley. Orstand, at the rear, moved with the tottering, widelegged gait of a toddler.

  “Hurry!” Lilis screamed.

  Tallia agonized in the doorway. There were about a dozen people left and she knew most of them. Some would die without help. Maybe all of them, if the enemy found them. Her patient began to thrash about again. If she carried Karan, this fellow would give them away. Then someone attacked the back door of the hall, the hammer blows echoing inside. Too late! Pulling the door closed, she hauled Prathitt across the road.

  The rain was falling more heavily now. Within the alley it was almost as black as tar and slippery underfoot. Another clot of people ran down the street. Behind them Tallia heard the rhythmic tread of a squad of marching soldiers. She moved up the alley, slipping and skidding on what felt like decaying leaves. There was an odor of rotten cabbage, and the further up she went, worse filth.

  “Lilis,” she whispered hoarsely.

  There was no answer. Tallia heard the sound of falling water and the next second walked right under a torrent discharging from the roof. She wiped her eyes and stared uselessly into the darkness. The mouth of the alley was a lighted rectangle, partly obscured by mist. The tramping grew louder.

  Prathitt, roused by the soaking, shouted an obscenity and flung up his arms. One fist caught her a painful blow on the cheek. Tallia struggled with him, making more noise than she liked. He was very strong, and when she eventually got her hand over his mouth, he bit her so hard that he drew blood. Cursing, she struck him on the side of the head, knocking him down.

  Someone yelled behind her. Yggur’s soldiers were moving back and forth in the road. One approached the alley, holding up a blazing torch. Her patient began to stir. Tallia put her foot on his back, pushing him down into the mud. The torch went away, though the soldiers could still be seen in the street lights. The rest of the squad must be checking the Great Hall, she supposed, feeling her failure very strongly. Where had Lilis gone with her lot? Probably abandoned them as soon as the soldiers appeared. Who could blame her? There was no one to look out for her but herself.

  Tallia heaved Prathitt to his feet, hauling him backwards up the alley, when without warning he put his muddy hands on her face and shoved. She overbalanced and fell backwards against a water barrel, hitting her head. For a moment she stared into a whirlpool, like being back in her earlier trance, then her head cleared and she sat up, trying to clean the muck out of her eyes. Reeling footsteps disappeared up the lane.

  The light appeared again, and the silhouette of a soldier.Tallia bowed her head, praying that he would not come up. After a long interval the light faded. She crept back to the mouth and saw a squad of soldiers standing guard up the street. No chance of going back for Karan now. Nursing her bruises, Tallia headed up the alley to find her sick.