a formal farewell. “You really should have touched the stone, you know,” Kehlbrand told Vaelin as he prepared to spur Derka in pursuit of the others. “I’m not saying you would have had any chance,” he went on, the familiar grin now returned to his lips, “but at least it would have made this all so much more interesting.”
“I’ll look for you on the walls,” Vaelin assured him. “Or are you too craven . . .”
His words were swallowed by a sudden resurgence of the army’s prayers, Vaelin seeing how they were all stabbing the air with their lances and swords to match the cadence of the chants. His gaze was soon drawn upwards at the sight of a tall, dark silhouette rising above the throng. It resembled a castle tower, but with a more jagged outline, growing in bulk as it drew closer. As Vaelin watched, a pair of towers resolved out of the noon haze on either side of the first, with yet more appearing soon after.
The army’s clamour became frenzied as the towers approached, the ranks parting to reveal teams of oxen fifty strong dragging the towers across the plain, their huge wheels carving trenches in the earth. Vaelin saw how the light caught the flanks of the towers, not with the dull sheen of timber, but the hard gleam of iron.
“Did you imagine,” Kehlbrand asked, shouting above the now animal roar of his host, “that I had naught but the Divine Blood to call upon?”
The prospect of drawing his sword flitted briefly through Vaelin’s head, but the distance between them was too great. The Stahlhast would have time to evade the charge, and Vaelin knew Kehlbrand’s skills were more than sufficient to fight him off before the army swarmed forward.
So all he could do was meet Kehlbrand’s gaze and shout, “You made a child touch the stone and had us murder him! I’ll have a reckoning for that!”
Turning Derka about he rode hard for the city. The Darkblade’s laughter, audible even above the fanatical tumult, chased him all the way to the gate.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
“Towers of iron won’t burn.”
Sho Tsai gave no reaction to Vaelin’s words, continuing to watch the towers. There were twelve of them in all, drawn by long trains of oxen in a slow but inexorable progress across the plain. As they drew closer the nature of their construction became clear, each one standing eighty feet high with walls fashioned from overlapping plates of hammered iron. Luralyn, speaking in tones of appalled admiration, pronounced them the most remarkable contrivances ever to emerge from the workshops of the Stahlhast tors.
“It must have taken a year, at least,” she said. “Another secret he kept from me.”
The towers had been grouped into pairs, three of which had already halted in a wide arc to the north. Vaelin knew the others would take the rest of the day to move into position, covering every approach to the city. Come nightfall they would launch a simultaneous assault, allowing the defenders no opportunity to concentrate their strength. Vaelin could see no stratagem that might prevent seizure of the outer wall.
“Retire to the second tier, General,” he told Sho Tsai. “Conserve our strength. They’ll never be able to manoeuvre those monsters through the streets of the lower tier.”
“Thereby giving the enemy an easy victory,” Sho Tsai pointed out. “And stoking their courage, whilst our men retire in shame.”
“Shamed men can find dignity in fighting another day. Dead men can’t.”
The general’s gaze grew sharp with warning but the expected stern reminder of their respective status was forestalled by Tsai Lin. “May I crave permission to speak, General?” the Dai Lo said with a deep bow.
Sho Tsai’s eyes slid from Vaelin to his adopted son, narrowing yet further. “What is it?” he snapped.
“Towers of iron won’t burn, this is true,” Tsai Lin said. “But the men inside those towers will. I believe . . .” He paused, taking a hard breath. “Lord Vaelin is correct, the outer wall cannot be held, but neither should we allow the enemy a bloodless triumph.” He turned, nodding to the mostly empty houses of the lower tier. “Not when we can greet them with an inferno birthed by the fires of Heaven.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The remaining hours before sunset were filled with frantic labour as hastily assembled work parties broke down the doors and shutters of every house in the lower tier. The interiors were stuffed with all manner of combustible material, in addition to the