managing all nonmagical aspects of running Bára, and by all
accounts did it well. Oria should be grateful to have his
assistance at this time.
If she could stand to be in the same room
with him.
“Folcwita,” she greeted him. “What news do
you bring—are we invaded?”
“Obviously,” he bit out.
“Not quite, Princess,” Ercole, captain of
the city guard, answered, pushing through the doorway. “The main
gates remain closed, but only because a few of the faithful city
guard hold them. There’s intense fighting there, both inside and
out. I have to say, without the battle mages, we’re bound to lose.
Our numbers are not great and their warriors exceed our skill.”
“Then why are you here instead of there?”
the folcwita demanded.
Ercole shook his head, his lined face gray
with exhaustion and despair, his once splendid uniform soiled with
blood and other matter Oria couldn’t identify and didn’t care to
examine too closely. “One man will make little difference at this
point, though I will go back as soon as I’m released. I’m here at
your summons, Princess. To give you the information you requested.
What do you need to know?”
Oria fought back a headache, an aura forming
at the edges of her vision such as she hadn’t experienced since
early adolescence, when her hormones and burgeoning magic collided
and conspired to send her to bed for days on end in a darkened,
soundproofed chamber, with only Chuffta’s quiet thoughts for
company.
“ I’m still here.”
“What of—” not just her brothers “—the
sorcerers and our forces still outside the walls?”
“We don’t know for sure what their status
is.” Captain Ercole looked at his hands, scrubbing absently at the
bloodstains. “It’s certain that they cannot return with the gate
closed, so they’re likely in dire straits, pinned between the wall
and the Destrye forces. With the priestesses dead, they’re down to
their own reserves of magic, if they have any left at all. The
golems have all fallen, which surely means Priest Sisto is dead.
They have no help there.”
Priestess Febe, Priest Vico, and Folcwita
Lapo all startled at that—not at the news of his death, but
something else. Through the roar in her head, Oria tried to parse
what upset them. Something they didn’t want her to know.
“Priest Sisto’s golems were outside the
wall?” But Ben had said something, hadn’t he? “Harrying them
with golems all the way.” She’d only partly listened at the
time, concentrating on keeping her brothers’ bristling grien out of
her head.
Captain Ercole rubbed a hand over his face,
chagrin oozing off of him. “They’d become the mainstay of our
defense.”
Oria hadn’t known that, but why would she?
Aside from the occasional family meal, she had rarely participated
in discussions of the particulars of Bára’s defenses. She’d only
encountered Priest Sisto’s golems a few times, the most salient
during a demonstration at the temple, as part of her lessons,
probably a good ten years before. With an otherwise minor magical
ability to manipulate silicates, the priest had refined his art to
ambulate creatures made of the stuff. Nasty things with no
intelligence, the golems did not move quickly or with any agility.
The lesson primarily demonstrated how even minor magics manipulated
with inventiveness and ingenuity could produce large-scale
results.
They’d become useful for menial work around
Bára, she’d understood, particularly for unpleasant tasks that
humans preferred to avoid, such as clearing sewage pipes of
blockages. Her father and Nat had discussed it once.
“I know of the golems, but how are they
useful for defense?” she asked.
The folcwita stepped in, preempting Captain
Ercole. “Why use human men when the golems served the same purpose
with no loss of life? The golems made far superior soldiers.”
The captain glared at the floor, obviously
disagreeing but not arguing.
“Priest Sisto gave them fangs,
accounts did it well. Oria should be grateful to have his
assistance at this time.
If she could stand to be in the same room
with him.
“Folcwita,” she greeted him. “What news do
you bring—are we invaded?”
“Obviously,” he bit out.
“Not quite, Princess,” Ercole, captain of
the city guard, answered, pushing through the doorway. “The main
gates remain closed, but only because a few of the faithful city
guard hold them. There’s intense fighting there, both inside and
out. I have to say, without the battle mages, we’re bound to lose.
Our numbers are not great and their warriors exceed our skill.”
“Then why are you here instead of there?”
the folcwita demanded.
Ercole shook his head, his lined face gray
with exhaustion and despair, his once splendid uniform soiled with
blood and other matter Oria couldn’t identify and didn’t care to
examine too closely. “One man will make little difference at this
point, though I will go back as soon as I’m released. I’m here at
your summons, Princess. To give you the information you requested.
What do you need to know?”
Oria fought back a headache, an aura forming
at the edges of her vision such as she hadn’t experienced since
early adolescence, when her hormones and burgeoning magic collided
and conspired to send her to bed for days on end in a darkened,
soundproofed chamber, with only Chuffta’s quiet thoughts for
company.
“ I’m still here.”
“What of—” not just her brothers “—the
sorcerers and our forces still outside the walls?”
“We don’t know for sure what their status
is.” Captain Ercole looked at his hands, scrubbing absently at the
bloodstains. “It’s certain that they cannot return with the gate
closed, so they’re likely in dire straits, pinned between the wall
and the Destrye forces. With the priestesses dead, they’re down to
their own reserves of magic, if they have any left at all. The
golems have all fallen, which surely means Priest Sisto is dead.
They have no help there.”
Priestess Febe, Priest Vico, and Folcwita
Lapo all startled at that—not at the news of his death, but
something else. Through the roar in her head, Oria tried to parse
what upset them. Something they didn’t want her to know.
“Priest Sisto’s golems were outside the
wall?” But Ben had said something, hadn’t he? “Harrying them
with golems all the way.” She’d only partly listened at the
time, concentrating on keeping her brothers’ bristling grien out of
her head.
Captain Ercole rubbed a hand over his face,
chagrin oozing off of him. “They’d become the mainstay of our
defense.”
Oria hadn’t known that, but why would she?
Aside from the occasional family meal, she had rarely participated
in discussions of the particulars of Bára’s defenses. She’d only
encountered Priest Sisto’s golems a few times, the most salient
during a demonstration at the temple, as part of her lessons,
probably a good ten years before. With an otherwise minor magical
ability to manipulate silicates, the priest had refined his art to
ambulate creatures made of the stuff. Nasty things with no
intelligence, the golems did not move quickly or with any agility.
The lesson primarily demonstrated how even minor magics manipulated
with inventiveness and ingenuity could produce large-scale
results.
They’d become useful for menial work around
Bára, she’d understood, particularly for unpleasant tasks that
humans preferred to avoid, such as clearing sewage pipes of
blockages. Her father and Nat had discussed it once.
“I know of the golems, but how are they
useful for defense?” she asked.
The folcwita stepped in, preempting Captain
Ercole. “Why use human men when the golems served the same purpose
with no loss of life? The golems made far superior soldiers.”
The captain glared at the floor, obviously
disagreeing but not arguing.
“Priest Sisto gave them fangs,
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