“Yes, Honored Chancellor,” the taller soldier said. “But our boats are miles up the river. It will take us some time to get back across and reach the army.”
“Then you’d best go, and my thanks and the fortunes with you,” Tain said.
We stayed on the wall long enough to see them safely down the ropes again.
“Will they make it in time?” I asked.
“I hope so.” Tain’s fingers twitched, and we both stared down toward the lake, as if we could see through the ground to what waited below. The maddest of long shots, putting our hope in something that hadn’t been used in hundreds of years. Yet what else did we have, if the army attacked before we could warn Aven to hold off?
We found Eliska directing repairs to the tower, one arm bandaged and her hair caked with dirt and blood, but otherwise unhurt. She followed us without argument back up the bank and listened as Tain outlined our plan, such as it was. She read the journal entries herself, mumbling under her breath, sometimes sounding incredulous and other times admiring.
“Is it even possible?” Tain asked, a boy again in his hopefulness.
Eliska opened her mouth, then shut it and shook her head, spreading her hands. “I just don’t know,” she said. “Tresa writes that this was probably the greatest feat of engineering in the known world. But they kept it a secret from half the new Council. It was a brilliant, cruel plan, and—”
She broke off and we jerked our heads back to the lower city at the sudden sound. Distant but powerful, the thunderous roar chilled me. We looked at each other. “They’ve attacked,” Eliska said, sounding hollow.
And before we could even react, another sound came, this one closer, and it took a moment to register what had happened. Then Tain’s whole body jolted and his eyes went wild. “No!” he shouted. “Stop!” He scrambled to his feet and took off down the slope.
“Tain!” I followed him, swearing.
As the horn faded, our soldiers poured through the remains of the Finger and across the bridge, swarming to engage the rebels from this side as well, trapping them between two fronts. Before he could get caught up in the crowd, I lunged with a desperate burst and caught Tain’s arm. “Stop,” I yelled, hauling him back out of the stream. “I’ll deal with this. You go with Eliska—you need two people. If the Os-Woorin room is ever going to help us, now has to be the time and it has to be you. Go.”
His face worked and his eyes darted between the bridge and me and back again, then he slumped and nodded. “You stop this,” he said to me, as much a prayer as an order. Then he turned and ran back up the hill.
I let myself be carried as far as the tower, then threw myself up the stairs instead of streaming through onto the bridge with the rest of them. I burst out onto the roof.
Our peace flag lay trampled in a corner; in its place, the bright red of full attack billowed in the cold morning air. From here I could see above the mist to the chaos on the west shore. Our people were still outnumbered, even against the reduced force left to defend this side, but the suddenness and ferocity of our attack had put the rebels on the back foot. I tore down the red flag with clumsy fingers and fumbled with the heavy fabric of the green. “Who took this down?” I demanded, looking around at the frightened faces. Two children, not more than ten or eleven, raised their hands like scared schoolchildren. “On whose orders?”
“Cr … Credo Bradomir’s.” A fat lad with wild curls held aloft the horn with shaking hands, his eyes downcast. “He gave the attack order. We sounded the horn like he said.”
I thrust the green fabric at the children. “Get this back up,” I said. “You signal a retreat, and don’t you stop blowing that horn until every man and woman is back over this bridge, or you run out of air, do you hear me?” He gave a quivery nod but I’d already run to the other side of the tower, taking care near the edge where a catapult strike had smashed the corner off. Behind me, the boys signaled the retreat as I craned, trying to see Bradomir’s bright armor and cloak. How long will it take this bloody mist to rise? I spotted an Order Guard yelling commands from an arrow perch on the half-crumpled wall below me. “No one interferes with that flag,” I told the group on the roof before I went back down the stairs. “Chancellor’s orders.”
I counted steps in my head on the descent and leaped off the landing, taking the two stairs at once, then skidded around, swearing, as the count finished uneven. Just ignore it. But that had never worked before, and whatever part of my brain governed my damn compulsions cared not for the urgency of the situation. I froze. A panicked sweat broke out over my face and neck. In the end it was easier to just go with it than to fight a pointless battle, so I hopped up the last two stairs on my right leg, then took the last two back down, one at a time.
I pushed through the clumps of men and women who had been heading out onto the bridge but who now milled about, confused, as the sound of the retreat horn penetrated. I sprang onto an empty weapons chest and bellowed at the crowd piling into the room. “Chancellor’s orders! Get back and assist the wounded, all of you!” I pulled a burly woman up next to me. “You stay here,” I said. “No one goes through in this direction, even if Credo Bradomir or anyone else challenges it. Call people back from the bridge and send anyone trying to go back to the field to help the hospital staff.”
I peered past her out at the wide stone bridge. How long would Tain and Eliska take down under there? Would the machine even work? About to cross the bridge, I hesitated. I was wearing nothing but a filthy, damp tunic; I had no armor and no distinguishing clothing that would grant me attention from a distance. I needed help from someone with visible authority.
At the arrow perches on the wall, I hollered at the Order Guard. “Can’t you hear the signal? Order the retreat!”
He looked down at me, frowning. “What? But we have them!”
“I need you on the other side of that bridge to get our people back. Chancellor’s orders!”
He looked back over the bridge, one hand half-rising as if to point. Then he looked at me more carefully and dropped it. “Yes, Credo Jovan,” he said, and he scrambled down the ruined wall to follow me. His distinctive bright uniform made him easy to spot, and he carried a small horn around his neck and a proper decorated shield over his back.
“We’re going to need to sound that horn once we get over there,” I said. “The people on the other side can’t hear it from here.”
“Yes, Credo,” he replied, but shot me sidelong looks as he rebuckled his shield and unsheathed his sword. I took the horn and seized a shortsword from a passing man as we went back into the tower, heading for the smashed gate. Once there, I heard a familiar voice and anger raced through my veins.
“Wait here,” I told the Guard, and stepped back outside.
Bradomir stood on the steps, cloak fluttering in the breeze, arms raised, yelling out to the people I’d just sent away. “Full attack!” he cried. “You cowards, we need to attack! Get back over there!”
I stepped down behind him and kicked hard into the back of his knee. Bradomir crumpled like paper and fell forward down the steps with a noisy cry and crash. He stared up at me, pain and fury twisting his handsome face. No remorse or pity tinged the contempt coursing through me. “Get up.”