Act of Will

SCENE XXVI



The lighthouse

Take the horses and get over to Shelton,” shouted Lisha, “except Orgos. I’ll send cavalry. The barges will be in sight of the lighthouses any minute now, so move fast. If they are going to light the Shelton beacon, they’ll also have to keep the Seaholme lighthouse dark. Orgos and I will deal with that.”



I rode as fast as I could, but I couldn’t keep up with the others. By the time I reached the foot of the lighthouse they were waiting, holding the door slightly ajar. I dismounted shakily, and Garnet nodded silently towards six horses trimmed with crimson that were tethered in the dark by the tower.

There was a sudden flare and I looked up to see the beacon atop the lighthouse ablaze. Moments later the bright orange spot of light that flickered farther up the coast, the light that was to guide the barges into Seaholme, died.

There was only one door into the tower, and we had no idea if the raiders knew we were here. There was only one way up: the tight, dark, and easily defended spiral staircase. . . .

“I wish Orgos were with us,” Mithos murmured as he pushed the door open. “All right, let’s go. Quick and quiet. Hand-to-hand weapons only. I’ll lead, then Garnet. Then Will. Renthrette, cover the rear.”

At the top the fire roared, drowning out all other sound. I looked over Garnet’s shoulder into the tower and up the staircase. It was dark and narrow in there.

Mithos vaulted up the stairs and was quickly around the corner and out of sight, Garnet at his heels, his ax blade sparkling dully. Then I went. Then Renthrette. We were halfway up when I heard a door below us open, its shrunken timbers scraping on the stone floor. Renthrette glanced up at me and gestured to keep going. I pushed into Garnet and urged him up the spiral. There was a cough from below, and a snatch of conversation resounded up the pipelike stairwell. Two of them behind us. At least.

Renthrette slapped at my legs, pushing me higher and faster as the voices began to ascend. And then we came to a halt. Above me, Mithos readied himself, touched by the yellowish light of the beacon that fell down the first four or five steps. Garnet raised his shield and huddled closer to him, the muscles of his calves taut, his knees bent and ready to spring. Below, Renthrette took one more step up and then turned her back on me, her sword arm drawn back and ready.

The first soldiers rounded the corner below at about the same moment that Mithos leapt out of the top of the stairwell. I felt Garnet pause for a moment before he followed him out with a wordless cry of fury. Below, I saw a crimson-crested helm appear in the dark as Renthrette lunged. The tip of her sword glanced off the raider’s armor, and, as he hesitated, I dragged at her tunic from behind, pulling her upwards after me. If there were four of them on the top, then Mithos and Garnet would need all the help they could get. And anything was better than being trapped like a rat in the dark stairwell, enemies above and below.

I’d only gotten two steps higher when the soldier below recovered from his surprise and came after us, drawing his weapon. I took another step up and found my head in the open air, my ears suddenly filled with the roar of fire and the confusion of combat. I leapt up the last few stairs, my sword and shield extended in sudden terror. Maybe I should have stayed in the staircase after all.

One of the raiders lay crumpled by the wall, his cloak spilling out like blood. Garnet was hacking at one who was parrying with his scyax. Two others had pinned Mithos against the raging brazier. I moved towards one of them cautiously and he turned, heaving his huge axlike blade at me. I dived to the side and the weapon swung wildly, catching Mithos’s other adversary in the waist. The wounded man doubled up and Mithos sprang past him, seizing the scyax-wielder by the throat.

Garnet made a feint attack with his ax and then cut at his enemy’s shoulder, but the raider dodged and struck out with his scyax. It caught Garnet’s forearm and opened up a long gash that made him cry out and drop his ax. Renthrette, who was emerging from the stairwell backwards, wheeled and released a shout of anguish.

Her brother had raised his shield in front of him and was sheltering behind it, agony contorting his features. The raider cut at him again with the scyax, and Garnet, taking all the weight of the strike on his shield, shuddered and fell back towards the crackling brazier. I was with him in two strides. The raider sensed my approach and turned to face me.

I lunged, and, as he pulled his scyax across his chest, ready to swing, something Orgos had taught me kicked in. I dropped the tip of my blade under his parry and it connected. It was a weak strike, nothing like enough to pierce his breastplate, but as the sword kicked in my hand I lost my balance and fell forwards. Suddenly my face was inches from his helm and I could see blue eyes through the eye slits and a misty stone like an opal set into the bronze between them, glowing orange in the firelight.

I saw the panicked look in his eyes. He tried to wield the scyax against me, but it was too big and I was too close. I fell upon him and my sword point slid up his cuirass and found the soft flesh of his throat. My body weight carried me forwards. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to.

Then there was a scream, a long, slow cry that stopped abruptly. One of the raiders had fallen from the tower as he struggled with Mithos. Blood streaming from a broad slash in his cheek, Mithos ran for the stairs, where Renthrette was holding off the last two.

“The fire! Put the fire out!” he shouted.

Without another word he flung himself down the steps, sword aloft.

I tore two of the scarlet cloaks from the dead raiders, plunged them into a bucket of seawater by the brazier, and pulled Garnet to his feet. His arm was bleeding heavily but he said nothing as he seized the edge of the cloaks. We stretched them taut over the brazier as the flames jagged out from underneath. The heat was almost unbearable, but just before I released the steaming fabric, the light died and smoke began pouring out. It was done.

The last of the raiders fled, seized his horse, and galloped away before Renthrette or Mithos could give chase. I grasped the stone of the tower to hold myself up and inhaled the sea air deeply, staring out into the darkness until the shock and nausea subsided. I was covered in blood, but it wasn’t mine.

The four of us stood together, wheezing, staring west, waiting. It was almost a minute before we saw the brightening spark of the Seaholme lighthouse flare up to guide the barges in.