The Shadow of Ararat (73 page)

"The rumors are true," Nikos said, sitting on the edge of one of the rough stone crypts. "A Roman army is on the south side of the Talkeh, and it seems to be digging in to stay. At least, they've gone beyond a night camp. From the top of the grain silo, I could make out some kind of big effort east of the city, up the river. I'd guess a bridge, or maybe some kind of diversion canal to lower the waters."

Thyatis nodded and turned around slowly in the circle of space in front of the crypt wall. She met the eyes of the assembled Bulgars, Armenians, and townsfolk one by one. In the wake of the disappearance, the Persians had enforced a very strict martial law upon the city. No one was allowed out after nightfall, and gatherings of more than two people during the day were forbidden. Twenty or thirty people were crammed into the lower vault of the crypt of the Sesain family. It was the only hidden place left that was large enough for them to meet in.

"The Roman army is very fond of siegework," she said, stopping next to Nikos. "In other circumstances, they would bridge the river and surround the city with an earthen rampart on all sides so no one could break out. Then they would really get to work. This army is in a hurry, so I fear that they have a more drastic effort in mind."

Thyatis reached behind her and dug around in the open coffin. Some of the Armenians began muttering among themselves, but Jusuf and Sahul, who were standing by the trapezoidal doorway, glared at them and the locals quieted down. Thyatis pulled out a handful of bones and two skulls, hooked on her fingers through the eye sockets. Nikos brushed aside some of the dust on the floor with his boot.

"The key to the city, to the whole situation, is the bridge over the Talkeh."

She laid a pair of thigh bones in parallel and then two femurs across them at right angles. "Wide enough for two wagons, and the only crossing in the area. It runs into the center of this city, through two octagonal towers." She placed the two skulls at the end of the femurs and laid a forearm splinter across the crowns. "Behind the two outer towers is a courtyard, and then two more towers. There are three gates, one at each end and a gate of iron bars in the middle."

Ribs were placed behind the skulls to mark the inner walls, and then shattered jawbones the gates.

"Most of the Immortals remaining in the city are in that bastion. Our work in the sewers tells us it has its own water gate, so unless the Roman army diverts or poisons the river, they'll have plenty to drink. Doubtless there are food and arms as well. Inside the inner towers..."

Another pair of skulls, these markedly smaller than the first, were placed to mark the final two towers.

"...is another open yard. Right now it gets used as the winter market and to hold caravans when they are assembling to go south. A fine use, but in this siege, it's fifty feet of open pavement between the nearest building"—Thyatis moved Nikos' boot over to demonstrate—"and the inside wall. The bridge has only a low retaining wall on either side, the plaza is wide open. Each is a fine place to die, skewered by a Persian arrow."

She stood, sighing, and brushed her hands off on the long dark dress she had recently taken to wearing, along with the headdress and veil. Jusuf had finally had to appeal to Sahul to convince her that she had to hide her looks. The Persians were offering a heavy bag of royals for the heads of those responsible for the disappearance.

"The Roman army only has one option that I can see—to launch an assault across the river in boats or rafts and try to scale the walls in a rush. If they can seize the rest of the city, then they can bring up siege engines and hammer the bastion to rubble. We must be ready when that day comes. You have all said that you will fight Persia."

There was a muttering of agreement. The harsh policies of the Boar had made him no friends, and since the Disappearance, the threat against the families of these men had faded. Thyatis had been listening to the Armenians while they talked at night, in the darkness, and knew that they counted Rome's presence in these high and distant valleys to be brief, like a summer snow. If the Persians were driven out, they would be the kings of their own land again. She noted that Sahul and Jusuf listened too, and she wondered how the Khazars would like to trade their snowy lands in the north for more temperate valleys closer to the sun. But she said nothing; her mission was simple and straightforward.

"Well," she continued, "we will see our fill of battle. My plan is this to split our men into two forces. One force, which friend Jusuf has volunteered to command, will hide close to the Dastevan, or northern, gate. When the Romans attack, he and his men will rush the gate even as the Romans reach it. With luck, Jusuf will be able to open the gate and the Romans can enter. The second, larger force, which I will command, will see about the southern bastion."

Thyatis smiled in the gloom, her eyes bright in the light of the few flickering candles. "Friend Jusuf has expressed to me his concern about my chances of capturing the bastion. I will tell you, as I told him, that I have sworn to deliver the city to my Emperor, and I will."

Nikos eyed her surreptitiously. His commander was growing very bold.

Full night was passing, stealing away into the west at the rumor of the sun. Two Persian soldiers, Immortals, in their gold and red cloaks, stood on the southeastern tower of the city wall. The river gurgled at the foot of the tower, washing against the stones. The land was still covered with darkness, but the air began to change a little with the hidden touch of the rising sun. The older of the two soldiers, his head covered with a furry leather cap with long ear flaps, stared out into the darkness. The land around the city was desolate and swathed in midnight. His companion shuffled his feet, holding his hands out to the lantern that illuminated the wall below their post.

"Quit doing that," said the older man, his voice muffled by the woolen scarf he had wrapped around his lower face. "You'll ruin your night vision."

"Huh. What is there to see out there? Nothing. Not even the light of a farm."

The older soldier shook his head and returned to watching the river.

Almost invisibly, a chill mist rose, curling off of the water like steam, then climbing the banks. The older soldier, for all his vigilance, did not notice it until the first wisp obscured the lantern. Then he cursed, for the cold had grown worse. He turned away from the battlement and stomped across the icy flagstones of the rampart to the brazier filled with coals. His companion was already there, rubbing his hands over the little fire. They did not see the mist creep along the wall, rising higher and higher like a tide, until it spilled through the firing slits and embrasures of the battlement like pale water. The mist was heavy and where it drifted the sounds of night faded.

Zoë crouched in the bow of the skiff, her fighting staff laid in the bottom of the boat, peering out from under the sycamore branches that hung down almost to the water. The mist had thickened into a soupy fog, reducing vision to only a few strides. Eric and Dwyrin were at the back of the boat, their hands resting lightly on the poles that would drive the skiff across the river. Odenathus lay in the bottom of the boat, wrapped in woolen blankets and a mangy hide that Eric had stolen out of the tents of one of the Gothic
auxillia
.

He was breathing shallowly, though his eyes twitched back and forth. Zoë raised her right hand and clenched it into a fist.

Dwyrin and Eric picked up their poles and rose up into a crouching stance. The skiff rocked gently from side to side. Somewhere out in the darkness there was a signal and Zoë dropped her hand. The two boys dug the poles into the muddy bottom of the little inlet and the skiff, soundless, darted out into the river. They poled furiously, feeling the bottom drop away unevenly under their poles. The skiff slid out over the water, turning first a little to the left and then to the right as they alternated strokes. In the bow, Zoë stood up, her staff held crossways to her chest, her legs braced against either side of the little boat.

Dwyrin kept a weather eye ahead and slackened his stroke as the bottom vanished entirely. He kept the pole in the water long enough for the drag to keep them on course when Eric staggered, his strongly thrust pole finding nothing. Dwyrin grabbed the collar of his tunic in time to keep him from falling into the river. For all the imperfections that Zoë found in him, Dwyrin had grown up in fens and marshes. A boat like this was second nature to him. Eric, trembling from the effort, sat down in the back of the boat. Dwyrin remained standing as they slipped through walls of fog. Zoë looked back at one point and Dwyrin met her eyes with a smile.

She nodded and turned back to her watch. Utter quiet surrounded them as they drifted downstream in a universe of dark clouds and damp, clinging mist. Suddenly the skiff tipped a little to the side and began to crab. Dwyrin raised his pole, peering downstream into darkness. The water smoothed up into a curve in front of the skiff and Zoë caught sight of a standing wave. She struck out with her pole and caught the edge of the bridge piling.

Dwyrin saw it too, and he too pushed away with his staff. The skiff spun away from the looming brickwork. Their staves scraped across the mossy surface as each put his full strength behind the poles. The wave around the piling raised them up and then they shot down the other side. Dwyrin immediately turned to the other side of the skiff and dragged a heavy rope with a large bronze hook at the end out from under the rear seat. Eric ducked down and squeezed behind him to get out of the way. The current was running faster now, and to the right. Dwyrin felt a massive shape in front of him, and then the wall of the city appeared between parting veils of mist.

The Hibernian closed his eyes and felt perception jar around him as the flickering shape of the wall swam into view. There was very little time, but he had proved to the centurion's satisfaction that of the five, he could drop into the second entrance the fastest. His control was still very poor, but now they needed speed most. A shimmering ring of green and yellow blazed to his right and he hurled the hook with all his strength. In the front of the skiff, Zoë had dug her pole into the river bottom. The skiff rotated at the back end, around the fulcrum of the pole, and the back flank of the boat crunched into the wall.

Dwyrin's hook clanged soundlessly into the ring and he whipped the rope around a stay in the back of the boat. Zoë felt the skiff shudder to a halt and grind up against the city wall. The current continued to press at the boat, driving it into the bricks. Eric and Dwyrin began hauling on the rope, and the skiff inched back against the river. Finally they reached the ring and the narrow walkway under it. Zoë pushed past both of them, her long braids piled on the top of her head, and clambered up the slippery stones onto the walkway. Eric handed up the blankets and two lumpy cotton bags. Dwyrin knelt in the bottom of the boat and slapped Odenathus gently on the cheeks.

The Palmyrene boy's eyes flickered open and he groaned, the first audible sound since he had settled into his trance across the river.

"Quiet!" Dwyrin whispered, holding his hand over the boy's mouth. "We're right under the gate." The Hibernian helped Odenathus to his feet and they managed to struggle up onto the walkway. Zoë and Eric had already disappeared. Dwyrin gave Odenathus a moment to catch his breath while he carefully unhooked the bronze grapnel from the ring. Sighing at the waste of a good boat, he lowered the hook into the water and then let the rope slip from his fingers. The skiff, no longer moored, grated on the wall once and then spun away on the current.

"Come on, let's find the others." Dwyrin breathed in Odenathus' ear. The other boy nodded and stood up, his frozen hands tucked into his armpits. It was particularly cold down by the water. They crept off along the walkway. Dawn was less than an hour away.

Thyatis' eyes opened, her mind clear and free of the confusion of sleep. She reached over and found Nikos' ear by touch. Her pinch woke him, though he too remained quiet. Deep night was on the city, but something was happening. It seemed that the air itself had grown heavier. Thyatis rose and gathered up her sword and the long knife. She was already wearing a thick cotton doublet and leather leggings. Over this she had a shirt of iron scale mail that Bagratuni had excavated from some ancient hoard in the countryside. To complete it, he had found an ancient helmet with an iron strip along the top of the helm and flaring cheek protectors. She pulled this over her hair, her braids coiled into a cushion at the top of her head. The leather strap snugged tight on her chin. Beside her, Nikos had also risen and moved among the men, waking them quietly.

Thyatis climbed the steps out of the cellar and carefully pushed the door open into the ground floor of the shop they had taken over the day before. The shop was still deserted, all of the goods packed away. Piles of wooden ladders filled the space, leaving only an aisle between them. She glided to the front, where heavy shutters were closed and barred against thieves. A small spyhole was set into the center of the shutter, and she swung the little iron flap up from it and peered out. The southern square was empty and dark, but by the light of a single lantern hung from a stone wall where the main thoroughfare of the city emptied into the square, she saw that a heavy fog was filling the air.

There was a faint sound behind her, the
clink
of armor. She turned and Nikos was standing there. Men were filing into the room behind him.

"Fog," she breathed. "We couldn't be luckier. Send the word to the other shops. We attack as soon as everyone is in position."

Nikos gripped her shoulder with a gloved hand.

"Are you sure?" His voice was faint and filled with worry. "We've had no word from outside..."

"Victory to the bold," she said, her teeth white in the dim light. "It's the hour before dawn and there's a heavy fog. Regardless of what the Roman army does, we have a chance to capture the bastion by ourselves."

The Illyrian regarded her for a moment more, then shook his head slightly and moved off to prepare the men. Thyatis turned back to the spyhole. Within the next ten grains, they would be ready. She felt a familiar thrill of expectation. Hundreds of men were preparing to move at her command, like a strong swift horse responding to her will. They would live or die upon the strength of her planning and courage. Her fingers curled around the wire-wrapped hilt of her sword, feeling the grooves worn by long use. Even the borrowed helmet felt right on her head.