Beyond the Shadows - Brent Weeks [48]
Immortal, not invincible. Why’d Durzo have to be right all the time? Come to think of it, where the hell is Durzo?
The thought affected Kylar more profoundly than he expected. He’d lived for months thinking his master was dead. In all those months, Durzo hadn’t bothered to come see Kylar. Kylar had thought himself his master’s best friend. Even when Aristarchos ban Ebron had told him all of the heroes his master had been, Kylar had still thought that his relationship with Durzo was special. In a way, learning all the great men his master had been made Kylar feel better about himself. But time had moved on, and apparently so too had Durzo. Whatever brief importance Kylar had had in that man’s seven-century-long life, it was finished.
Kylar sat down on rock. The sleet soaked through to his underclothes in seconds. It made him feel even worse.
~Don’t tell me you’re going to cry.~
You mind?
~Wake me when the self-pity’s done, would you?~
Damn you, you sound just like Durzo.
~So I stay with the man night and day for seven centuries and he rubs off on me. You only spent ten years with him, and look how much like him you are.~
That caught Kylar off guard. I’m not like him.
~No, you’re just out here trying to save the world by yourself—again—by coincidence.~
He did this kind of thing a lot?
~Ever hear of the Miletian Regression? The Death of Six Kings? The Vendazian Uprising? The Escape of the Grasq Twins?~
Kylar hesitated. Um, actually . . . no.
The ka’kari sighed. Kylar wondered how it did that.
“I’m an idiot,” Kylar said. He stood up. His butt was numb.
~An epiphany! Long overdue, too. But then, I’ve come to expect small things.~
Kylar walked to the wall. The last few hundred paces were empty of Ceuran soldiers—none of them were foolish enough to stray within bowshot. The only place the Ceurans had moved closer was along the shores of the Plith, where they were moving great quantities of rock to fill in part of the river. All along the shore and the approach to it, they’d built a corridor to protect the workers from arrows. The wytches had protected every approach to the city except the river. Kylar supposed that they’d figured a couple of meisters standing on either bank could keep any ships or swimmers from making it through the narrow passage. The Cenarians didn’t have that luxury. This was where Garuwashi would attack. Once one bank was filled in enough, he could start sending skirmishers in.
If the sa’ceurai came and fought one-on-one with Cenarian soldiers, Kylar had no doubt who would have the larger pile of corpses at the end of the day.
Kylar walked to the wall. The great stones had been hardened with spells, and fitted more tightly to their neighbors than weight and mortar could accomplish. Kylar brought the ka’kari to his hands and feet.
~I should make you swim.~
Kylar smirked and felt the stone dimple under his fingers and toes. He began climbing.
Any hopes he had that Terah Graesin wasn’t going to do something stupid died as he reached the top of the wall. With four hours until dawn, men were already preparing to attack the sa’ceurai. Most of the soldiers were still asleep, and the horses still in their stables, but a huge area had been cleared inside the south gate. Flags had been planted so that the regiments could find their positions first thing in the morning, and squires were scurrying around, making sure armor and weapons were in top condition. From the size of the area cleared, Kylar guessed that the queen was preparing an all-out attack at dawn, committing perhaps fifteen thousand men for the attack.
He squinted at the flags, doing the math. He wouldn’t have said she had so many men.
The answer was in the flags nearest the gate. More than one flag bore a rabbit. The queen had conscripted Rabbits—and