The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [152]
She had imagined the valley sloped away from the keep on the other side, just as it did on this side. It didn't. Instead, the keep stood at the top of a nearly vertical escarpment. While from the way they had come the wall looked to be no more than ten feet high, on this side it plunged down a hundred feet to the valley floor below, sloping out slightly as it went.
It looked as if the wall had at one time been perfectly smooth, but in many places the facing stones had cracked and crumbled. There were enough handholds that a skilled climber—or a nimble creature, like one of the feydrim—would be able to scale the wall, but it would be slow going, and an archer could easily shoot anything that tried to climb up. Nor would ladders do much good. Such a tall ladder could be pushed away from the wall before even the fastest climber might ascend it.
“What do you see up there, Your Majesty?” Durge called out to her.
“Hope,” she called back. “I see hope.”
The restoration of Gravenfist Keep began that day. The first order of business was to clear away hundreds of years of debris from the keep's courtyard and to make a place to set up a temporary camp. As Commander Paladus and Sir Vedarr gave the orders, Grace toured the keep with Durge, Tarus, and Oragien so that they could come up with a plan. There was no way to know how much time they had until the Rune Gate opened; they had to be sure they completed the most important repairs first.
All agreed the wall would be their first priority. There was no need to build it back any higher, but they had to remove the loose stones, square off the top, and add crenellations so that archers could safely stand atop the wall and take aim at any who tried to scale it. Durge also suggested adding a few machicolations, so that fiery naphtha—of which they had many barrels—could be rained down upon the enemy.
The next task would be to clear out the barracks and repair the roofs. On closer inspection, it was not going to be as terrible a task as Grace had feared. The roof beams had rotted away, but there were plenty of trees close at hand to fashion more. Most of the original slate shingles lay scattered on the ground, and more could easily be mined from the walls of the valley, which were made up of the stuff.
The main keep was also in better shape than Grace would have thought possible. Its roof remained, though with countless holes, as did each of the five floors within, a fact that astounded both Grace and Durge, since they were made of wood. Then All-master Oragien pointed out the symbols that had been etched into the thick beams hewn of sintaren trees.
“Every part of this keep—every stone and every beam—has been bound with runes of power,” the old runespeaker said. “Great magic yet abides here.”
So Falken had said, but how could they awaken that magic to help them? Grace fingered the bound rune in her pocket. If it was really a key, then where was the keyhole it fit? So far she had seen nothing, but surely they would find it as they cleaned out the keep.
By evening, the keep's courtyard had been cleared, and in the barracks the men had swept away a foot of dirt to find solid stone floors beneath. They used the canvas from the tents to fashion temporary roofs, while a corral for the horses had been built outside the keep from freshly felled duskneedle trees.
That night, as stars shone in the sky, they gathered around a great bonfire, and the last casks of wine—which had been saved for just this occasion—were all tapped so that every man and woman could have a cup or two. Some of the men had brought drums and flutes, and they played boisterous music, while others stomped and clapped their hands and a bold few broke into a wild dance.
Grace sat on a log bench on the edge of the firelight, content to watch rather than join in, while Tira slept soundly in her arms. A great whoop rose from the men when a number of the women—the Spiders Samatha and Karthi, and most of the younger witches—picked up the hems of their skirts and joined in the dance. Lursa