Lescari Revolution 03: Banners In The Wind by Juliet E. McKenna
Authors: Juliet E. McKenna
Tags: #genre
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the road. Horses jostled but obeyed their masters, slowly backing and sidling through the treacherous stream. In their midst, Failla saw the captain's standard: their rebellion's golden circle of hands. Surely Tathrin must be safe if that banner still waved so boldly?
'Open the postern, not the main gates!' Dinant was bellowing through the trapdoor to the ladder leading down to the watchroom below. 'Send twenty men out to block off all the alleyways, in case any scum are lurking there!'
Straightening up, he assessed the advancing column's ragged progress and yelled along the walls. 'Watch for vermin among the warehouses. We don't want renegades sneaking into cover while we're beating them back from the gate!'
The only thing Failla saw moving amid the ramshackle buildings was the inexorable fire. It was spreading in all directions. Shutters flapped open as roofs sagged, their rafters consumed from within. That was another puzzle. Those mouldering buildings were very far from tinder-dry, after all the autumn's rains. Whenever she'd been up here on the walls, the stink of mould and rot had tainted the breeze.
New cries came up from below. 'Buckets! Buckets!'
'We let everything outside the walls burn!' Dinant shouted down the clamour of protest as he ran to the inner face of the gatehouse to look down into the town. 'That leaves no cover for attackers to get close to the gates. Just get buckets ready to quench any embers blowing over the walls!'
The upturned faces looked horrified at that prospect. Men and women hurried away to the town's wells.
Looking at the burning hovels, Failla didn't think there was too much danger of sparks drifting on the wind. Fierce golden fires swiftly consumed the damp timbers and shingles, leaving only dull black charcoal. Now there was surprisingly little smoke rising. She used Dinant's spyglass to look more closely. Was that a glimpse of flickering crimson at the heart of each conflagration or just her suspicious imagination?
'Here they come!' Dinant was warning those clustered within the gatehouse.
The battered Triolle militiamen staggered into Ashgil. Failla watched sergeants in the quartered brown and blue of the Tallymen and the Shearlings' bold russet surcoats swiftly rally each separate militia company. With shouts and gestures, they directed men to tend to their own casualties as they reckoned up how many had come through unscathed. The Triollese were less hardy, collapsing all along the street. Some men were weeping; others slumped against the buildings to sit dead-eyed with shock.
Failla saw townswomen offering water, bandages and salves to the injured. There was no sign of concern over these men's erstwhile allegiance. They had come to Ashgil's aid and in the current crisis, that was enough.
Looking back to the road, at long last she saw the captain's standard approaching. Kilting up her skirts, she hurried down the ladder to the watchroom and on down the spiral stair to the cobbles smeared with blood and soot.
'Tathrin!'
For a heart-stopping instant he looked blankly at her, as if he had no notion who she was. Then a smile of delight lifted the exhaustion from his face. Only for a moment though.
'Is there some headquarters for the town's militia?'
As Failla nodded, Tathrin leaned forward and stretched out his hand.
'Show me. I must tally our losses and wounded and see the rest billeted and fed.'
'I can help you.' As he clasped her forearm and pulled, Failla set her foot on his stirruped boot. 'We should send for a man called Dinant.'
Springing up, the soldiery doubtless got a splendid glimpse of her garters. But they were too far gone to express admiration and Failla couldn't have cared less.
Tathrin smelled of stale sweat and fresh smoke. As she settled herself sideways in front of his saddle, his arm tightened around her and he pressed his face into her hair. 'Thank Saedrin you're safe,' he murmured.
'And you,' she said with equal fervour.
Gren rode up on the side
'Open the postern, not the main gates!' Dinant was bellowing through the trapdoor to the ladder leading down to the watchroom below. 'Send twenty men out to block off all the alleyways, in case any scum are lurking there!'
Straightening up, he assessed the advancing column's ragged progress and yelled along the walls. 'Watch for vermin among the warehouses. We don't want renegades sneaking into cover while we're beating them back from the gate!'
The only thing Failla saw moving amid the ramshackle buildings was the inexorable fire. It was spreading in all directions. Shutters flapped open as roofs sagged, their rafters consumed from within. That was another puzzle. Those mouldering buildings were very far from tinder-dry, after all the autumn's rains. Whenever she'd been up here on the walls, the stink of mould and rot had tainted the breeze.
New cries came up from below. 'Buckets! Buckets!'
'We let everything outside the walls burn!' Dinant shouted down the clamour of protest as he ran to the inner face of the gatehouse to look down into the town. 'That leaves no cover for attackers to get close to the gates. Just get buckets ready to quench any embers blowing over the walls!'
The upturned faces looked horrified at that prospect. Men and women hurried away to the town's wells.
Looking at the burning hovels, Failla didn't think there was too much danger of sparks drifting on the wind. Fierce golden fires swiftly consumed the damp timbers and shingles, leaving only dull black charcoal. Now there was surprisingly little smoke rising. She used Dinant's spyglass to look more closely. Was that a glimpse of flickering crimson at the heart of each conflagration or just her suspicious imagination?
'Here they come!' Dinant was warning those clustered within the gatehouse.
The battered Triolle militiamen staggered into Ashgil. Failla watched sergeants in the quartered brown and blue of the Tallymen and the Shearlings' bold russet surcoats swiftly rally each separate militia company. With shouts and gestures, they directed men to tend to their own casualties as they reckoned up how many had come through unscathed. The Triollese were less hardy, collapsing all along the street. Some men were weeping; others slumped against the buildings to sit dead-eyed with shock.
Failla saw townswomen offering water, bandages and salves to the injured. There was no sign of concern over these men's erstwhile allegiance. They had come to Ashgil's aid and in the current crisis, that was enough.
Looking back to the road, at long last she saw the captain's standard approaching. Kilting up her skirts, she hurried down the ladder to the watchroom and on down the spiral stair to the cobbles smeared with blood and soot.
'Tathrin!'
For a heart-stopping instant he looked blankly at her, as if he had no notion who she was. Then a smile of delight lifted the exhaustion from his face. Only for a moment though.
'Is there some headquarters for the town's militia?'
As Failla nodded, Tathrin leaned forward and stretched out his hand.
'Show me. I must tally our losses and wounded and see the rest billeted and fed.'
'I can help you.' As he clasped her forearm and pulled, Failla set her foot on his stirruped boot. 'We should send for a man called Dinant.'
Springing up, the soldiery doubtless got a splendid glimpse of her garters. But they were too far gone to express admiration and Failla couldn't have cared less.
Tathrin smelled of stale sweat and fresh smoke. As she settled herself sideways in front of his saddle, his arm tightened around her and he pressed his face into her hair. 'Thank Saedrin you're safe,' he murmured.
'And you,' she said with equal fervour.
Gren rode up on the side
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