“Well there are bloody peasants all over the country, aren’t there?” Nara said. “That’s rather the point of them.”
“If it’s a rebellion, which we still cannot say. It’s still possible this is a fast-moving invading army and it’s gone through one of the border cities already.”
Lazar sat forward. “Through one of the other cities?” he croaked. “What of our families?”
Cold hands squeezed around my ribs, and the air seemed to get very heavy. We had been in Telasa only a bit over a week before and seen family there; could that lively place have been overwhelmed by invaders only days later? In the shock of the attack, I hadn’t thought about who else might have been a victim of it already. “We sent messengers to the cities and estates,” I said. “Has anyone heard back? Credo Javesto? Anyone?”
Heads shook around the table.
“You saw smoke,” Javesto murmured to Nara, stricken. “The other day. In the direction of my estates.”
Whichever way we looked lay grief. Had we lost a city, or had our own estates risen against us? All the Credolen had family in the other cities, and often out on the estates as well, albeit generally more distant relatives. If, indeed, the people had risen in rebellion, what had they done to the stewards and other estate managers? Or if a city had fallen—though surely, surely, some word would have reached us—that could mean even more dire consequences. I thought of Mother and Alozia and all our cousins, growing tea and living a peaceful life absent intrigue.… What had become of them?
A high cry escaped Nara. “My little ones,” she whispered, her face a rictus of pain. I’d never pitied the old bastard before, but sympathy ran over me now in a hot wave. The Ash family, diminished through years of producing mostly male children, all doted on the little twin girls finally born well past when the last childbearing heir had expected it. I’d seen bitter old Nara around those girls, and she was an entirely different woman, caring and playful. Lazar, too, quivered with silent emotion; he was famously close to his enormous family, who spent the year trudging between Silasta, Moncasta, and one of his estate plantations. We all felt it, to varying degrees, and the shared emotion around the table smoothed some of the lingering tension between us. We were all in the same position here.
“We can’t do anything for our families if we can’t defend ourselves,” Tain said, and this time everyone responded to the quiet authority in his voice. “Marco, Eliska, can we hold the city?”
“The perimeter walls are sound,” Eliska said. “Thirty treads high; forty on this side of the lake. And I’ll have that gate permanently secured.” Silastians liked to pretend that we had always been a beacon of peace, trade, and tolerance, but our ancestors had built a country and its capital expecting to have to defend it with force. We’d forgotten that, over the years, but perhaps the rest of the country had known better than us after all. “Unless they have full siege weaponry, they’ll have to resort to coming over the walls.”
Marco nodded. “Today’s attack was opportunistic, hoping to catch us off guard. But this is no spontaneous attack. Whoever is out there is organized. They took out our communications, and they may have … neutralized … our settlements outside the city to reduce the chance of someone getting word to our army. We must assume they could be working with one of our neighbors; I do not wish to speculate, but if the Doranites are involved, it is possible the intention is to keep our army busy in the south with these small raiding forces while they take the city.” He looked at the shocked faces around the table. “I … I do not mean to alarm you more. This could be a benefit. If they are confident that no help will be returning for some time, they may intend to try to starve us out rather than storming the walls.”
“The harvest,” said Marjeta, the quiet Artist-Guilder. “We thought it was bandits but they delayed the harvests. We are at our lowest in food supplies.”
“We’ve barely any weapons, not enough food, no soldiers.… What’s going to happen to us?” Fear quivered behind Varina’s haughty tone, the stiff toss of her braided hair, and the shake in her shoulders.
“We can make weapons,” Eliska said. “We have stockpiles of peat fuel, oil, metal, and stone. I’ve got workers in my Guild who can craft a stairway out of metal that looks like it’s made of lace. If the Warrior-Guilder will work with me, I’m certain they could fashion whatever defensive weapons or machines we need.”
“I have a number of sculptors in my Guild who could assist,” Marjeta offered.
Practical suggestions seemed to lift the mood.
“The Craft Guild can help with leather work and armor.”
“It’s not just Order Guards who can shoot a bow. Athletes, anyone who’s been hunting, anyone who took military classes at school.”
“So we’ll need bows, slings, and anything else we can shoot at them.”
“And shortswords to use for when they breach the walls,” Marco added. “Not too heavy, just something everyone can swing and stab.”
I wondered if I was the only one to mark how he said when, not if.
* * *
Night fell fast, spreading its shadows over the buildings and gardens with a sudden chill uncharacteristic of the season. Or perhaps it was just in my head. The hours blended together in a mass of huddled conferences, scrawled plans, and suppressed panic. The army outside our walls had taken no further action, which heightened the tension as we waited to see what it would do.
The air felt heavy around us. It was the darkest part of early morning, and Tain and Marco were giving the five brave volunteer runners their last instructions. Tain spoke to them all individually, thanking them and wishing them luck. He looked much better than I felt.
The two smallest had the unpleasant exit through the sewer tunnel that opened up downriver in the marshlands to the north. Though they perhaps had a greater chance of emerging unseen, their path to our army would be far longer. I would assist the other three, lowering them over the south-east wall where it met Solemn Peak, and they would use the mountain itself as cover. The south side of the city was riskier, but if they got out undetected they could reach the army in days rather than weeks. My sister’s admirer Edric was the only Credo among the five, and guilt suffused me as I regarded him; cocky but warm-hearted, he was a truly decent young man. The others I didn’t know well but recognized from sporting events. Their families would rise in honor and recognition of this feat. Their loyalty to their city and country made my throat tight with emotion. Silasta was a place worth loyalty, worth risk. Such a visceral reminder of its importance was a balm at a time when everything in the world seemed to have fallen to despair and treachery.
We had done our best to disguise them, though not knowing exactly who made up the attacking army, we were only guessing. We had dressed them as ordinary farmers and hidden their tattoos with cosmetics from the Performers’ Guild. Under the country-style baggy pants, scarves, and shirts, all in pale, nondescript colors, our runners wore hardened leather breastplates and thigh-guards. Enough, perhaps, to give them a chance of getting through alive. We dared not armor them more heavily for fear of attracting attention and weighing them down.
I scanned their nervous, solemn faces and tried not to imagine the worst. The disguises would not pass close scrutiny, but if they could slip through the heavy shadow of Solemn Peak in the dark, we had a chance.