Wings of Wrath (58 page)

Now they were waiting for the moment when dawn would provide enough light that they could be sure of their footing, but no more. The air itself would seem heavy and gray, then, and from a distance land and sky would appear to merge into a single entity. The company had dressed with such surroundings in mind, setting aside their brightly colored uniforms for garments of gray, layered pieces daubed with paint to match the colors of the monument. Hopefully it would be enough for Ramirus' spell to be effective.

They already knew that his sorcery was working from the contact they'd had with a company of guards the day before. The locals had saluted them in passing, apparently not noting the various details that might have put a lie to their disguise, not least among them the fact that several of Kierdwyn's men had their hands on their swords, ready to draw them the instant there was any sign that they were not well received. But the meeting had passed without incident, Ramirus' sorcery muting the locals' suspicious instincts, making it seem that all was as it should be. Kamala's analysis of the Wrath's effect—and how the sorcerers might weave their spells around it—had apparently been accurate. They had all breathed a little easier after that.

But this part of the journey would test Ramirus' sorcery anew. It was one thing to pass for a guard when one looked like a guard, in a place where guards were doing what guards presumably were supposed to be doing. But no one should be traveling in this stretch of open land. No one should be climbing the tower. No mere disguise would convince Anukyat's men that the invaders belonged here if they were sighted in this phase of their operation. Thus the captain had called for making the approach in the tenuous light of early dawn, so that they would have some cover from the darkness while moving in, then full sunlight soon afterward to facilitate their climb.

When he thought conditions were right, the captain led them along a serpentine path, from one patch of mist to another. While they were inside the fog banks it was hard for Gwynofar to see any farther than the two men directly in front of her, and she had to trust to the column to keep its bearing and just follow blindly along. But that meant that from the outside they were all but invisible. Perhaps the gods were favoring this enterprise after all, she thought.

Quickly but carefully the company moved, leather boot soles slick against the wet grass, bits and pieces of climbing gear slapping softly against the backs and thighs of the men who carried them. Overhead—nearly invisible against the predawn sky—Kamala flew in erratic patterns while she watched for danger, wary of adopting any configuration that might reveal her interest in a particular stretch of ground beneath her. But there was no sign of trouble . . . yet.

As for the tower ahead of them, Gwynofar did not have time to look up at it yet. That was probably best. Fear would come in time, no doubt, but that did not mean she had to issue it a formal invitation. The magnitude of this undertaking was just starting to sink in. Even if fate favored them and they managed to get into the Citadel safely, climb it, and locate the so-called Throne of Tears—and channel its power properly—what were the odds they could withdraw safely after that and get home without incident? No one had ever asked the question aloud—at least in her presence—but she knew that they were all thinking it. Kamala in her bird form could carry word home of anything they discovered, but she could not carry people.

One thing at a time,
she told herself.
Focus on what is before you
.

Finally they reached the base of the tower. The earth gave way to a rubbled slope and then to solid rock, cold and damp to the touch. The captain led the way up a short incline to a place where a jutting ledge overhead would block the view of any sentries above them. It was a larger protrusion than Gwynofar had expected it to be based on the images they'd studied in their preparations. In fact, all the sculptural features of the tower looked much larger up close than she had expected.

Which led her to finally peek out around the ledge and look up to see the true size of the thing.

Against the early morning sky it soared: majestic and arrogant, immeasurable. The first direct rays of dawn struck its summit even as Gwynofar watched, capping the tower in fire. The view was dizzying; it seemed to her that she could feel the weight of the massive monument looming over her, daring her to take its solidity for granted. Daring her to feel safe.

Rhys put a hand on her shoulder, directing her attention back to the business at hand. The men were already stripping off their outer boots, and she began to do the same. Lazaroth had provided them with special shoes for climbing, designed to the Guardians' specifications, as well as soft boots to wear over them while approaching the target. The leather of the tight climbing shoes was so thin that Gwynofar could feel the texture of the rock underfoot, and Lazaroth had added something to the soles that he said would give them a better grip. She tried to slide a foot forward along the dew-dampened rock, and it was surprisingly difficult. That discovery should have reassured her—it meant that one more bit of sorcery was working as it should—but in fact it did just the opposite. For the first time since their departure from Kierdwyn, the magnitude of their task suddenly struck home. She looked up at the monument again—its whole summit was glowing with golden light now, a blazing beacon against an ever-lightening sky—and thought, with a sudden wave of nausea,
that's where we are going
.

The first part of the climb would be along a series of angled formations, not much more challenging than some of the rock formations she had climbed as a young girl. But after that the monument became abruptly vertical with few handholds that she could see, and nothing to break a fall except the sharp rocks at the bottom. Ullar had decided that the best course of action was for his scouts to climb that part first, segment by segment, then pull her up behind them. Now that she saw the monument up close she was relieved to have such a plan. She remembered Ramirus' words of warning about her enhanced strength, and how it might affect her coordination, and she knew that the last thing she wanted to do was maneuver on that steep rock face alone.

Now Rhys came over and wrapped a thick piece of rope around her waist, knotting it so that there was a secure loop in front. Another man took all their discarded gear and tucked it into a shadowy crevice, covering it with a piece of gray cloth that matched their clothing. From a distance it should be all but invisible. Through all this they were silent. So silent. Each person knew what was required of him and did it, wary of offering up so much as a whisper of sound for the enemy to hear. There was no way they could predict when Ramirus' sorcery would or would not protect them; they would proceed as though there were nothing to protect them from discovery but their own stealth.

The need for silence had cost them one of their most valuable tools. Lazaroth's spikes had been tested on a rock outcropping the day before, and while they had worked well enough, they were far from silent. That hadn't seemed like an issue in Kierdwyn's castle, but here it could mean the difference between life and death. Too much risk, the captain had assessed. They could not afford to stress Ramirus' protective spell that much. Gwynofar hadn't been all that sure she agreed, but now that she was here, in the midst of this vast silence, she realized that he'd been right.

Which meant that the men would have to make their climb with nothing more than stubbornness and a few mundane tools to support them.

I believe in you,
Rhys mouthed to Gwynofar as he tightened the last knot on her harness, and he kissed her on the forehead; she hugged him tightly, allowing herself the luxury of trembling in his arms for one last time. He would be nearby to protect her if anything went wrong.

Watching as the first climbers began their ascent, Gwynofar could not help but hold her breath. They moved with eerie agility, one limb at a time, clinging to such subtle cracks and protrusions that sometimes it was easier to believe they possessed a spider's power of adhesion than a human's clumsy grasp. At one point they abandoned handholds entirely, bracing their backs against one side of a vertical gap and their feet against the other, their bodies bridging the open space as they inched their way up the walls with nothing but friction and raw muscular strength keeping them in place. It was slow and painful work, and Gwynofar's body ached just watching them.

But they had left a trail of new handholds behind them, twists of rope that they had anchored into various crevices along the way for those who must follow. As the other men began to climb, the first two took shelter on a ledge high overhead. Once they had found a solid anchor for their ropes, they lowered one end to Gwynofar, and Rhys helped her hook it onto her belt. There was a pulley system to help distribute her weight as they pulled her up to the ledge, but that did not lessen the sensation of vertigo as the ground suddenly dropped from beneath her, or her instinctive panic when the motion of the rope swung her against a jagged outcropping. She did her best to keep in contact with the monument as she moved, bracing herself against it in order to stabilize her motion. It took enough concentration that she had no time to look down, which was probably a good thing.

When she reached the ledge two of the men lifted her up, positioning her with her back to the monument while they unhooked the pulley system from her belt and replaced it with a safety line. The lead climbers had already begun the next part of the ascent. Three more to go, she remembered. She was already high enough that looking down made her heart lurch in her chest. But that was good, right? Each new pitch meant that they were that much closer to their objective. And thus far no one had seen them.

We've gotten this far,
she thought.
We're going to make it
.

She could not see Kamala anymore. But with the monument blocking her view in several directions, it was not something she was going to worry about.

Shutting her eyes, she waited for her turn at the next ascent.

Kamala was directly over the Citadel when she saw a man emerge on top of one of the towers, carrying a plain wooden box. He was not dressed like a guard, but wore a pricey gown of blue brocade that glittered with golden highlights when the first rays of the rising sun struck it. Probably one of the people in charge of this place. For one wild moment she was tempted to strike him down where he stood, but she knew the risk was too great. Such an action would raise alarms all over the Citadel. Brave as her companions were, she had no illusion about them being able to hold their own against the full might of Anukyat's forces in battle. Stealth was of paramount importance.

Her senses on high alert, she watched intently as he looked out across the landscape, studying the land in all directions. The sight of it made her blood run cold. Rhys' people had reached the base of the tower already and so were safely out of his line of sight. But if what this man wanted was a vantage point from which he might look out over the entire area, he might well decide to visit the upper chamber of the third Sister himself, or send others to do the job. And that would be very bad right now. Less than an hour ago Kamala had scouted the upper tower and confirmed to Rhys and his company that it was empty. Under normal circumstances it would probably stay that way. But this new variable could change everything.

Kamala watched as he leaned down to unlatch the box, reached inside, and came up holding a gray bird in his hands. He held it still for a moment, then raised up his hands and let go. The pigeon took to the air with a frenetic flurry of wings, clearly anxious to escape this place as quickly as possible. As it flew off southward, Kamala could see that there was some small object strapped to its leg.

A messenger pigeon.

She would have taken off after it immediately, but the man was still on the roof, watching it fly into the distance. If he saw a larger bird suddenly appear out of nowhere to snatch up his messenger, that would surely put him—and perhaps the whole Citadel—on high alert. But if the bird got too far for Kamala to catch up with it . . . well, that would depend upon what sort of message he was sending out. She felt her avian heart beating wildly as she waited, precious seconds passing with agonizing slowness.
Surely you have something better to do,
she urged him silently.
Go do it
.

By the time he finally went back inside the Citadel, the pigeon was so far away that chasing it down would not be a quick or easy task. Kamala did not want to leave her watch station for any length of time while Rhys' company was making its climb, but if Anukyat were trying to contact his allies, that was even more urgent. Some of those allies had very large wingspans and would have no trouble picking Rhys' men off the side of the great monument.