metallic quality to his voice that I had never heard before, strident and determined. The riders returned to their ranks, leaving Orgos’s body crumpled and motionless by the wagon.
And then, when things seemed as bad as they could get, the silence was broken by the distinct clanking of the gatehouse machinery in a different key.
“Someone is raising the portcullis!” said Garnet.
It was the duke, or, rather, a few desperate citizens acting on his orders.
“For certain considerations,” the duke boomed from the tower, “we, the people of Ironwall, will bequeath our city to you in return for mercy. . . .”
In other words, he was going to use this pointless capitulation to barter for his own survival. The countess glanced at her husband and I thought I saw her smile, a short, brittle smile of amused contempt. I stared at her, at her husband, and at Raymon, who was speechifying from the tower. The sound of the gate ascending registered as one last insult to Orgos, who had died to keep it down.
It wasn’t courage or principle, just a blinding anger that made me grasp the great rope that descended through the tower. I had no thoughts of dignity or honor as I slid down, only an irrational fury. We were dead anyway, and I didn’t care anymore. After a lifetime doing all I could to stay alive and safe in the world, I was struck by the obvious: In a world like Arlest’s, staying alive wasn’t worth the effort.
Better to die telling him what I thought.
SCENE LIX
Realism
The vast iron grate, which had started its slow ascent, was high enough for me to pass through. I stooped towards Orgos, who lay still and bleeding, but only long enough to wrench his heavy sword from his fist. I would take it with me in tribute, I thought. As soon as I stepped through the gate and straightened up, I shot my tiny crossbow—the one Orgos had given me—at the closest raider and brandished his long sword with the yellow stone in its hilt at the man as he backed away uncertainly. The duke of Greycoast’s pontificating surrender stuttered to a halt.
Moving purposefully between the corpses on the bridge, I advanced to where the wagon teetered on the edge, its front wheels already half submerged in the moat, hacking wildly at whomever I ran into. Despite the surprise attack, I barely managed to scratch them. One of them snorted softly as he stepped back off the bridge. It was an odd sound, and for a second I didn’t realize what it was, but then it came again and spread amongst them: They were laughing at me.
That somehow brought me to my senses. I glanced at the sword in my hand, a sword that had always felt uncomfortable however much I’d practiced with it, and I slid it into my belt. I would keep it for my friend till they took it from me, but I couldn’t wield it. Then I climbed into the tailgate of the wagon and, as the boards under my feet seesawed back to something like a horizontal plane, got behind the nearest scorpion crossbow and swung it round. Arlest was impatiently ordering more soldiers to clear the way. I felt for the trigger as he turned to look at me, sweat breaking out all over my body. Arlest’s eyes met mine down the grooves of the huge crossbow, and for a second he seemed unnerved. But only for a second. Then there was nothing but scorn in his face.
“You’re a murderer, Arlest,” I said to him, my voice surprisingly calm. “A butcher.”
“No, William,” he said, almost calmly, “I am a soldier. A professional man of the world, while you are an emotional amateur. Not even that. You weren’t even a fighter before you came here, were you?”
I said nothing, but stared at him, wondering what I was going to do. I had a crossbow trained on his heart. The portcullis still ground its way up. Time wasn’t a factor to either side anymore. But it somehow seemed imperative to continue the conversation. He wouldn’t listen, but there were things I needed to say anyway.
Arlest didn’t seem to care what I did. He merely called insults at me across his troops. “Let’s not play games, now. You are a coward, Will Hawthorne. My men told me how you hid behind a wagon when they attacked you on the road from Seaholme. We laughed about it. You are hiding again, even