They're in the temple! Spear Lady's probably dead by now!” Attavaia's voice rose and Chanalugh gave her a shake. Others turned, the damage done, even faces atop the squat water-gate tower showing pale down into the court a moment.
Someone pressed a cup of milky tea into her hands; there was even a pitcher of fresh yak's-milk out here.
Well, they needed their strength; it was no foolish indulgence. Too hot, too sweet, and she gulped it down, scalding her mouth.
Her hands were shaking.
“We heard the tower falling,” offered a girl belonging to her own dormitory, her childhood friend and neighbour Sister Enneas. “Like thunder.”
“We defend the goddess,” Sister Chanalugh said firmly. “So long as we can.” She turned and stalked off, a tall, ungainly body, gift of a foreign father. They called her Sister Stork, behind her back.
“And then what?” someone asked, off in the darkness.
“Then we die,” muttered Enneas. “’Vaia, did you hear, did Attalissa really say this warlord was a wizard come to eat her?”
That rumour, and worse, had been running through them as they carried sheaves of arrows from the armoury, met other girls wide-eyed and edgy in the passages on their own urgent errands.
“I don't know.”
“Did the Blackdog say? He would have told you.”
“He told me—”
A shout, a burst of light. Someone had lobbed a jar of burning pitch up over the wall, shattering on the stones, spraying fire. A sister shouted, spattered with it, but mostly on the bronze scales of her armour, a little on the cloth below the short metalled sleeves, quickly beaten out.
Nothing followed it. They grew bored, outside, and wasted what must have been meant for making torches.
Attavaia climbed the narrow stairs to the tower roof, looked down. The foreign mercenaries seemed in no great urgency. They clustered not right at the gate, but further down the steep climbing path, and a handful on the lakeshore. They had a boat, but there were no longer any scaling-ladders in it. Till Sister Chanalugh had sent her scouting over the roofs, she had thought that despite the horrible losses they had suffered here at the water-gate, they would win. The raiders had nearly come over the walls, and had been driven off. Their bodies, and those of sisters, too, littered the ground at the wall's foot. Many had slid and bounced all the way down. It was not quite a cliff here, but there was no straight way up.
The raiders were fewer in number than they had been when they retreated from the wall, fewer even than there had been after she had fired what was their last arrow and watched a woman fall and counted, Six. She had taken six lives. She wondered how many Rideen had claimed, before they killed him at the town bridge. They would have killed him; her brother would not have run. Perhaps he and she would meet on the long road to the land of the Old Great Gods and compare their tallies.
Most of the attackers here must have been summoned off to some other duty, and these remaining were counted enough to keep anyone from escaping this way.
The temple's boats had gone with the lay-servants, the novices, and the old who could be persuaded to go, before the raiders had come to pen them in. Some might still be on the lake, depending on where they sought to land.
A strong swimmer could make the southern shore. She had done it twice, once to prove to herself she could, once to win a bet with Enneas. Best to start from the southern tip of the islet, though.
“They'll wait till dawn,” Sister Chanalugh said softly at her side. “Have your dormitory collect all those tiles you broke. Knock down some more, and bring them up here. It'll slow the godless bastards down a little, anyway.”
“Yes, Sister.” Attavaia went obediently to collect Enneas and the others. Only four of them, of the six who had shared a room last night. The attackers had plenty of arrows, but the worst had been when the mercenaries came swarming up the ladders
Someone pressed a cup of milky tea into her hands; there was even a pitcher of fresh yak's-milk out here.
Well, they needed their strength; it was no foolish indulgence. Too hot, too sweet, and she gulped it down, scalding her mouth.
Her hands were shaking.
“We heard the tower falling,” offered a girl belonging to her own dormitory, her childhood friend and neighbour Sister Enneas. “Like thunder.”
“We defend the goddess,” Sister Chanalugh said firmly. “So long as we can.” She turned and stalked off, a tall, ungainly body, gift of a foreign father. They called her Sister Stork, behind her back.
“And then what?” someone asked, off in the darkness.
“Then we die,” muttered Enneas. “’Vaia, did you hear, did Attalissa really say this warlord was a wizard come to eat her?”
That rumour, and worse, had been running through them as they carried sheaves of arrows from the armoury, met other girls wide-eyed and edgy in the passages on their own urgent errands.
“I don't know.”
“Did the Blackdog say? He would have told you.”
“He told me—”
A shout, a burst of light. Someone had lobbed a jar of burning pitch up over the wall, shattering on the stones, spraying fire. A sister shouted, spattered with it, but mostly on the bronze scales of her armour, a little on the cloth below the short metalled sleeves, quickly beaten out.
Nothing followed it. They grew bored, outside, and wasted what must have been meant for making torches.
Attavaia climbed the narrow stairs to the tower roof, looked down. The foreign mercenaries seemed in no great urgency. They clustered not right at the gate, but further down the steep climbing path, and a handful on the lakeshore. They had a boat, but there were no longer any scaling-ladders in it. Till Sister Chanalugh had sent her scouting over the roofs, she had thought that despite the horrible losses they had suffered here at the water-gate, they would win. The raiders had nearly come over the walls, and had been driven off. Their bodies, and those of sisters, too, littered the ground at the wall's foot. Many had slid and bounced all the way down. It was not quite a cliff here, but there was no straight way up.
The raiders were fewer in number than they had been when they retreated from the wall, fewer even than there had been after she had fired what was their last arrow and watched a woman fall and counted, Six. She had taken six lives. She wondered how many Rideen had claimed, before they killed him at the town bridge. They would have killed him; her brother would not have run. Perhaps he and she would meet on the long road to the land of the Old Great Gods and compare their tallies.
Most of the attackers here must have been summoned off to some other duty, and these remaining were counted enough to keep anyone from escaping this way.
The temple's boats had gone with the lay-servants, the novices, and the old who could be persuaded to go, before the raiders had come to pen them in. Some might still be on the lake, depending on where they sought to land.
A strong swimmer could make the southern shore. She had done it twice, once to prove to herself she could, once to win a bet with Enneas. Best to start from the southern tip of the islet, though.
“They'll wait till dawn,” Sister Chanalugh said softly at her side. “Have your dormitory collect all those tiles you broke. Knock down some more, and bring them up here. It'll slow the godless bastards down a little, anyway.”
“Yes, Sister.” Attavaia went obediently to collect Enneas and the others. Only four of them, of the six who had shared a room last night. The attackers had plenty of arrows, but the worst had been when the mercenaries came swarming up the ladders
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