up as rumor spread. If Crim wasn't careful, she'd have panic on her hands, for this was certainly an uneasy mob. Some were fresh from Tir-Eron, she reckoned, or from Half Gorge and South Gorge, which had born the brunt of Ixti's recent incursion. They'd be scared, nervous, and quick to act, when in fact, she had no idea what these supposed warriors' business should be—if any. Worse, if Akalian didn't appear soon, she'd have to act unilaterally, which, where martial matters were concerned, could be a mistake.
She'd reached the stone balustrade by then. Taking a deep breath, she climbed atop it—it was half a span wide but she had a good head for heights, and the important thing was to let herself be seen. Ignoring the murmurs behind her, she scanned the surrounding terrain, searching the fringe of pine woods atop the ridge that ringed what part of the hold wasn't carved into the mountain. There
was
movement there, she acknowledged with a sinking heart; and she could indeed see horses and the white-cloaked figures who rode them, coupled with the flash of metal that could be weapons as easily as armor. Even as she watched, a long line of those half-seen shapes stepped, as by some unheard command, from beneath the shadow of the trees to form a near-unbroken line from left to right—north to south—along the crest of the slope. And—a chill ran up her spine at this—three of every four were mounted. And everything she'd ever read about warfare agreed that infantry generally surpassed cavalry by a ratio of four to one.
So where were the missing men?
She had a terrible feeling she knew. “Back, inside!” she snapped at those who stood nearest. “Arm yourselves andsearch for anyone who acts suspicious or looks like they don't belong here. We've almost certainly been invaded.”
As if her word were some sign, the encircling force moved closer. Eight! How many were there, anyway? A hundred? Five hundred? A
thousand
? It had only taken a thousand Ixtians to overwhelm War-Hold, and it had been well fortified. Her hold was mostly warded against the winter, and far too many doors gave access to the ground, all of which had weather-gates that could be sealed at need but probably weren't this time of year.
In any case, these horsemen weren't there to get in; they were there to assure that no one escaped. They would intimidate and distract, while the infantry picked off stragglers.
And then she heard what she'd both dreaded and expected: shouts, cries, and screams, and louder than them all, the heartstopping clang of metal on metal. From behind her.
Those around her were yelling, too, but an encouraging number were turning to fight the white-cloaked men now issuing from every door in sight. As best she could tell, the invaders were fighting their way upward, securing sections as they reached them, which did not bode well, given that this arcade was two-thirds of the way up the hold's face.
Without thinking about it—or waiting for Akalian, who she doubted would do much good anyway, assuming he still lived—she leapt down from her perch, which put her in a circle of milling kinsmen, and started toward the juncture of two massive stone buttresses where the arcade kinked outward to the left.
She had no doubt what had happened. Some force— probably those mysterious folk who had attacked Avall—were now attacking Gem-Hold. They'd most likely entered by stealth at night—maybe several nights. Not all of the entrances were guarded, after all, and she was certain there were some of which even she was unaware, notably the rumored “Gods' Door” Priest-Clan referenced now and then. Which fit with her suspicions about internal collusion perfectly.
But why?
she wondered, as she thrust aside a panickedwoman, then neatly sidestepped a teenage boy trying to comfort a hysterical sister. Yet logic had already provided an answer. Gem-Hold controlled the source of the magic gems, and those gems were the most precious—and
She'd reached the stone balustrade by then. Taking a deep breath, she climbed atop it—it was half a span wide but she had a good head for heights, and the important thing was to let herself be seen. Ignoring the murmurs behind her, she scanned the surrounding terrain, searching the fringe of pine woods atop the ridge that ringed what part of the hold wasn't carved into the mountain. There
was
movement there, she acknowledged with a sinking heart; and she could indeed see horses and the white-cloaked figures who rode them, coupled with the flash of metal that could be weapons as easily as armor. Even as she watched, a long line of those half-seen shapes stepped, as by some unheard command, from beneath the shadow of the trees to form a near-unbroken line from left to right—north to south—along the crest of the slope. And—a chill ran up her spine at this—three of every four were mounted. And everything she'd ever read about warfare agreed that infantry generally surpassed cavalry by a ratio of four to one.
So where were the missing men?
She had a terrible feeling she knew. “Back, inside!” she snapped at those who stood nearest. “Arm yourselves andsearch for anyone who acts suspicious or looks like they don't belong here. We've almost certainly been invaded.”
As if her word were some sign, the encircling force moved closer. Eight! How many were there, anyway? A hundred? Five hundred? A
thousand
? It had only taken a thousand Ixtians to overwhelm War-Hold, and it had been well fortified. Her hold was mostly warded against the winter, and far too many doors gave access to the ground, all of which had weather-gates that could be sealed at need but probably weren't this time of year.
In any case, these horsemen weren't there to get in; they were there to assure that no one escaped. They would intimidate and distract, while the infantry picked off stragglers.
And then she heard what she'd both dreaded and expected: shouts, cries, and screams, and louder than them all, the heartstopping clang of metal on metal. From behind her.
Those around her were yelling, too, but an encouraging number were turning to fight the white-cloaked men now issuing from every door in sight. As best she could tell, the invaders were fighting their way upward, securing sections as they reached them, which did not bode well, given that this arcade was two-thirds of the way up the hold's face.
Without thinking about it—or waiting for Akalian, who she doubted would do much good anyway, assuming he still lived—she leapt down from her perch, which put her in a circle of milling kinsmen, and started toward the juncture of two massive stone buttresses where the arcade kinked outward to the left.
She had no doubt what had happened. Some force— probably those mysterious folk who had attacked Avall—were now attacking Gem-Hold. They'd most likely entered by stealth at night—maybe several nights. Not all of the entrances were guarded, after all, and she was certain there were some of which even she was unaware, notably the rumored “Gods' Door” Priest-Clan referenced now and then. Which fit with her suspicions about internal collusion perfectly.
But why?
she wondered, as she thrust aside a panickedwoman, then neatly sidestepped a teenage boy trying to comfort a hysterical sister. Yet logic had already provided an answer. Gem-Hold controlled the source of the magic gems, and those gems were the most precious—and
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