“Go easy on the lad,” he heard Brin’s voice say. “He needs to climb. Come on, boy. Don’t try anything foolish, or we’ll carve you up.”
Brin cut the twine around Tapel’s wrists and ankles and then grabbed Tapel’s wrist in a grip of iron, twisting the boy’s arm behind his back and marching him forward. The four men took him out of the trees and down to the water’s edge. As they took Tapel back upriver, he heard the Sarsen slosh and gurgle and saw the nearby supports of Samson’s Bridge silhouetted against the night sky.
No one was crossing the bridge at this hour, and they had the area to themselves. Brin marched Tapel to the three-legged tower, where the thin supports held the prism higher than any of them could reach.
“Boy. Look.” Tapel heard a creaking sound, and turning in alarm, he saw the scrawny man, Benji, holding a drawn bow, the pointed arrow glinting, aimed right at him. “Just so you don’t try to run.”
“You understand your task?” Brin asked, crouching down so he was at eye level with Tapel. “You’re to shinny up this pole here ’til you’re at the top. Remove the glass thing up there. Then call down. Got it?”
Tapel gulped. He knew the towers were important, and he didn’t know who these men were, but he’d gathered their purpose. They wanted to break the chain of reflectors heading east. If Altura called, these men didn’t want the lands of Loua Louna, Torakon, or Tingara sending help.
“Climb!” Brin said, emphasizing his point by shoving Tapel in the back, so he fell down.
Tapel slowly climbed back to his feet and wondered if he could run to summon help. He met the eyes of the man with the bow. He’d heard the swordsman’s words; he’d killed children before, and these men wouldn’t stop at killing him. If Tapel died, they’d just find another way.
Tapel grabbed hold of the thin pole and pulled himself up. Fighting at the Pens had made him strong, and though the metal was glossy, it wasn’t slippery. Soon he had both hands on the tower’s leg and his ankles twisted around the base. His arms on fire, he pulled himself up and managed to climb until he was at the apex, gazing down at the men standing below, heads tilted back as they looked up.
“He’s up,” Brin said. “Boy! Take off the prism, then toss it down.” In a whisper to his friends he said, “We’ll take it far from here and bury it.”
Hanging by one hand and ignoring the drop below, gripping the tower’s support with his wrapped legs, Tapel yanked and pushed at the prism. It took several tries, but he finally heard a click and felt it come away in his hands.
“Throw it down!” Brin called.
Tapel instead leaned back, the muscles in his arm burning to hold him in place, and threw with all his strength.
The prism curved through the air, looking like it would hit the bridge, but it missed. Instead it sailed past the steep riverbank and landed in the turbulent river with a splash.
“What did you do that for, insolent pup?” one of the watchers growled.
“What does it mean, Brin?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Brin said. “Think about it. Why mount the thing on a tower if you don’t need to? It must need to be placed high.”
“Sorry—I thought that was what you wanted me to do,” Tapel called down.
Brin growled up to Tapel. “Keep your voice down. Just don’t mess this part up, or I’ll kill you myself. I’m going to throw you the replacement. Reckon you can catch it?”
“Not really.” Tapel was holding on to his place at the apex of the tower with both arms and legs, but he didn’t think he could hold much longer.
“Out of the way,” one of the others said. He carried a long tree branch from the forest, forked at the end. He took the false prism from Brin and settled it in the fork before carefully lifting the prism up to Tapel’s height.
“Place it at the top,” Brin called.
Tapel released one of his arms and reached for the prism. His limbs were growing weak, and he was worried he’d fall at any instant, knowing these men wouldn’t shed any tears. He placed the glass pyramid on the flat triangle of metal where the last had been. It wasn’t quite the same size as the real one had been, but it settled comfortably, if a little loosely.
“Try to move it,” someone said.
Tapel nudged the prism and it rocked side to side.
“Don’t worry,” Brin said. “I’ll head back to the market and get some resin. That’ll hold it fast. You can come down now, boy.”
Tapel slid back down the metal leg of the tower and came to rest on his feet before sagging down to the ground.
“Well done,” Brin said, clapping him on the back. The man with the bow relaxed the string.
Tapel sighed. He felt dirty, cowardly. But what value would there be in sacrificing his life? The thought didn’t provide any comfort.
Tapel knew that he’d done it because he was scared. Despite himself, he felt tears well in his eyes.