There were no walls around Irek. The city’s leaders often argued over the merits of building a wall, something huge and fortified like the battlements containing the highland capitol of Parith where the Elder lived, but whenever the issue was raised it was invariably shut down. Walls were for cowards, the lowlanders said. If a man wanted to protect his home, he did it with steel and muscle and his own two fists. The citizens of Irek were not rabbits to hide in their warrens.
This was—Venick thought with another almost-smile—somewhat disingenuous, since the marshlands made it difficult for an enemy to invade Irek by land, and thereby acted as anaturalwall. But no one ever mentioned that.
Venick stood knee-deep in those marshy waters now, staring up at the two watchtowers that marked the city’s entrance. The towers hadn’t just been built on stilts—they weremostlystilts. Thin, crisscrossed wooden bars led to a small box perched at the top of each where the watchman would sit. An eagle’s nest in a tree.
For the dozenth time, Venick checked his surroundings, and for the dozenth time, he found himself alone. There wasn’t anyone in sight—not his army, which was hidden in the nearby northern woods, or even Dourin, who waited in the reeds on the watchtower’s opposite side. It was early afternoon, meaning the city would be awake and alive, but the watchtowers were set away from the main streets, too far for anyone to simply wander this way, unless they had business.
Please, that no one did today. Please, that the road leading into the city stayed empty of travelers as Venick lifted the axe over his head and brought it down again with a heavy-handed swing.
Thewhackof the weapon through the rigging. Thezizzof the rope splitting under the blade, buckling up into the air. One of the watchtowers gave a shudder as its support fell away, but remained standing. That was good. Venick didn’t want it to collapse.
Not yet, anyway.
He left his axe in the river and sloshed out of the brown water. Luckily, it wasn’t that uncommon to see townspeople in various stages ofmuddyandwet, since many families had to climb through the muck to reach their own front doors. True, some houses had canoes, slender river rafts designed to sweep women and children from their doorsteps to dry land and back again, but such vessels were a luxury. It was a symbol of status in Irek to be able to move in and out of your own home without soiling your skirts.
Some luxury.
But wasn’t this what Venick had missed about his city? Wasn’t itthis?The gritty earth, the sticky air, the muddy roads and dirty horses and wayward people? Even now, Venick could hear the occasional burst of laughter from distant streets, and the low beat of drums, which were often played and shared—the instruments passed around in turns—for the enjoyment of all. This was Irek: soggy boots and lively music and shared pleasures.
Venick shook off the worst of the mud before climbing the wooden ladder up the watchtower. He balanced on the skinny platform at the top and rapped the door with his fist.
The answering watchman was middle-aged, unshaven, groggy. He squinted at Venick as if he were far away. “What’d you want?”
Venick arranged his expression into his best imitation of urgency. “This watchtower. It’s about to fall. You need to get down immediately.”
The man rubbed his red eyes. “This some kind o’ joke?” Words slurred, gaze unfocused. He looked exhausted.
Or drunk.
“It’s not a joke.” Venick still couldn’t see Dourin. He couldn’t have said exactly where the elf was now. But he did see one of the final remaining ropes that tethered this watchtower upright begin to vibrate, as if caught in a sudden wind—or under the edge of someone’s saw.
“Can’ leave my post,” the watchman said.
“Are you hearing me?” Venick had been counting on the watchman’s easy acceptance of the danger. Had not been counting on a drunken idiot. He let some real urgency enter his voice. “The tower is about to fall. If you stay here, you’ll be crushed.”
“I check them ropes every night, and I didn’—hey.” The man’s eyes seemed to focus. “I know you.”
Venick glanced again at the rigging. He hadn’t told Dourinlook for my signalorwait until we’re down to safety.Had only handed over the saw and trusted the elf to do the rest.
So. There wasn’t much time before the final rope snapped. Not much time at all before this whole tower became a splintered heap of rubble, and them along with it. Venick grabbed the watchman’s arm. “Come with me,now.”
“Now wait just a—”
The final rope split. It curled into the air like a flying snake. The watchtower gave a shudder, then pitched sideways. This time, it was the watchman who hollered, “Go!”
They slid down the ladder, hands and legs wide, skimming over the rungs. Venick’s feet hit the earth first, followed closely by the watchman's. They barreled out of the tower’s way, turning back just in time to see it fall.
Venick had hunted large game before. He knew how it was to burst from the brush, bow lifted, prey set in his sights. To release the arrow and watch the elk or deer—running, always running—trip and crash. Big game always fell more quickly than seemed possible. Slid farther.
The tower did, too.
It dropped in an instant, careening into the earth with a thunderouscrash. The watchman stood at Venick’s side, gaping at his ruined post. “But—how did you know?”
“The rigging,” Venick replied gravely. “It was frayed. One of the ropes had already snapped. The other looked ready to give.”
“You saved me.” The watchman’s face was pale. “You saved my life.” He dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “My life’s price. It’s yours. Anything—anything at all that you require. I am in your debt.”
Venick set his eyes on his city. Overhead, a seagull whirled. Its black-tipped wings cut a line through the blue sky. “Actually,” Venick said, “thereissomething you can do for me.”
