“Ey, D’keeper,” said Farys. “There’ll be no need for that.”
“No,” said Joron, “I do not believe there will. Karring, you come with me.”
“Ey, D’keeper,” said Karring.
With that Joron turned and ran up the stairs after Meas and the rest of the crew, through the wisps of smoke that threaded the air with the smell of roasting flesh.
On the first floor he found a few bodies – nobody he recognised. The sounds of fighting came from above and he rushed up to the second floor. What he found puzzled him at first, for though speed was of the essence Meas and Tide Child’s crew were holding back, standing at the top of the stairs screaming encouragement. Then he understood: this sort of fighting was the true domain of Coughlin and his men – they were trained for it. He could see their backs at the next set of stairs, and then the raiders must have broken and they were gone up to the top of the tower.
“Shipwife Meas!” came Coughlin’s voice.
“Joron,” she said, “with me.” She pulled one of the crossbows from her coat and they ascended.
On the top of the tower Kanvey and ten of his raiders remained. They were corralled by Coughlin and his men, all armed with shield and sword, into one corner of the tower, away from the big gallowbow. Narza ran to the bow, looked it over and then kicked it, hard, twice and pulled the cord from it, showing it to Meas.
“Hag’s arse,” said Meas. “They have cut the cord rather than allow us to use it.”
“Why do we need it?” said Joron.
Meas pointed across the strait to the other tower.
“To take down that, before they take down us.”
“What do we do with them?” said Coughlin, pointing at the women and men around Kanvey. “There is little fight in ’em now.”
Meas looked over the little group.
“I need cord for this gallowbow,” she shouted. “I have little time. I imagine the other tower already suspects this one is taken. Anyone who tells me where there is launching cord may join my crew and live.”
“There is none,” said a tall woman with blood dripping down her face from a cut to her head. “That was our last.”
“There is the old cord,” said a small man holding a wyrm-pike in a hand with only three fingers, “in the red barrel on the second floor. But there is not much tension left in it.”
“Mevans,” said Meas, “get that cord. You two” – she pointed at the man and woman – “over here. When Mevans returns you will help him string the gallowbow.” Meas strode to the edge of the tower and, taking the nearglass from her coat, stared down the channel. “Hag’s breath.” She said it so quietly only Joron heard her. “They are near now.” Then she swung the nearglass round to inspect the other tower. It did not look like much to Joron, just a flimsy construction of gion and varisk, but it must have been stronger than it looked to mount a bow like the one in front of them. Mevans reappeared with a length of bowcord and together with the two raiders began to string the great bow as Meas watched the other tower through her nearglass.
“Down!” screamed Meas, and all hit the floor of the tower. It felt as if every brick of the tower jumped, making a noise like a club hitting a head, but so much louder. The air filled with choking dust.
“What happened?” Joron raised his head, spitting out thick air.
“The other tower,” said Meas. “They loosed a wingbolt at us.” She stood. “Everyone down the stairs . . .” she began and then her voice tailed off. Half of the top of the tower was gone, as was their route of escape. Kanvey, along with what remained of his raiders, had vanished. Where they had stood was a void. The wingbolt had destroyed the corner of the building where the raiders had been, the stairs and part of the floor below. Coughlin stood with his men on the edge of the void, looking dumbfounded. “Mevans!” shouted Meas. “Get that bow strung now!”
“Almost done, Shipwife,” he shouted. And if he was at all disturbed by the destruction of the tower he did not show it. “But the fellow was right. There’s little tension left in it. I doubt we’ll—”
“I will hear no doubts!” she shouted, then looked through her nearglass. “They are getting ready to loose again but they are not fleet,” she said. “We are. So we will be ready before they launch again.”
“Ey, Shipwife,” said Mevans as he threaded the bow. “Well, spin it then,” he shouted to the two ex-raiders standing by the bow. “And someone bring me a wingbolt!” Coughlin stumbled over, holding one of the heavy stone bolts, which must have weighed nearly as much as he did.
“Anzir,” he said, “help me load this. I have no wish to be swept off the tower like those other poor fools.”
“Not yet,” said Mevans. “We are not full wound yet.” He watched the two raiders as they spun the winch, and if he was worried about another bolt hitting the tower Joron could not tell, though he could feel the tension rising among those who stood around him.
Meas continued to stare through her nearglass.
“Are we ready yet?” she said. “For they almost are.”
“Nearly, Shipwife.”
Meas did not look at him, only continued to stare through her nearglass.
“Down!” Meas shouted again and they hit the floor once more. The building shook, but this time not as violently. Joron was one of the first to his feet, to find Meas already up and leaning over the parapet staring at the ground. “That one hit the base of the tower. There are cracks in the wall but we still stand. It will not take much more though – it seems raiders are shoddy builders. Come on, Mevans, spin that bow, Hag curse you.”
“Load!” shouted Mevans, stepping back, and Coughlin and Anzir hurried forward, placing the bolt into the bow.
Meas ran across to stand behind it.
“Mevans, two points to seaward if you would,” said Meas. Those atop the tower, covered in dust, aware that death could come at any moment, held their breath as Meas, calm as it was possible to be, lined up her shot. “Raise its beak a touch, Mevans . . . Another point to seaward.” She stared a moment longer until those on the tower were wound as tight as any firing cord. Joron knew the bowteam on the other tower would be spinning their own bow, getting ready to loose again. “That’s it, Mevans. Loose! Loose it!”
Mevans pulled the cord, jumping back as the bow sang its violent song and the wingbolt skidded along the shaft and out into the air. The deckchilder on the tower roared as if their shout could give the bolt extra force and help it on its way.
Their roar was swiftly stilled.
The bolt was not going to reach its target. Mevans had been right: the cord had little fury left in it. The wingbolt glided out from the tower, losing height all the while, and by the time it was a third of the way across the strait was already well below the height of the tower on the other side. They watched forlornly as the bolt splashed into the sea barely halfway across the channel.
No one spoke.
Joron felt that the Hag was a step away from claiming them all. There was little they could do to stop the other tower launching. In the silence he could hear the tower below him creaking and moaning like a boneship caught in a storm. Joron was sure it would not take another hit.