The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [218]
You should throw yourself over the wall, Durge, as that Calavaner did. It was no accident he went over the edge; he knew he was doomed, and so do you . . .
“Sir Durge, there you are.”
Durge lowered his hand and turned around. A shape appeared in the gloom: Sir Tarus, walking along the top of the wall.
“Yes,” Durge said. “Here I am.”
Tarus halted beside him. There was a bandage on the young knight's cheek. In the fourth wave of attacks, while their attention was focused on the enemy below, another threat had descended from the sky. Hundreds of ravens had swarmed down from the clouds. They were great birds, their wingspans as long as a man's arm. They had pecked with beaks and clawed with talons. In the confusion of beating them back, several men had fallen from the wall, and more might have done so had the witches not woven a spell that outlined the ravens in shimmering witchlight, making them easy targets for the bowmen. The ravens had come again in the last assault, and one had clawed at Tarus's cheek. Durge had seen it: a dirty, ragged gash.
“How is your wound?”
Tarus touched his bandaged cheek. “Sister Senrael said that women will find the scar alluring. I told her that was something I really wasn't concerned with.” He frowned. “She seemed to find that funny for some reason. She was still cackling away when I left her.”
It was funny. Tarus had heard the Call of the Bull. The thought of women chasing after the handsome knight was an amusing one, and Durge found himself grinning. It was strange; for so many years he had thought he had forgotten how to smile. Why was it now, when things were at their most hopeless, that he had suddenly remembered how?
Tarus groaned. “Not you, too.”
“Do not fear,” Durge said. “I am certain not only women will favor your new countenance.”
The red-haired knight peered into the murk. “Can you see what they're doing out there?”
“The smoke is too thick on the air.”
“Maybe the Spiders will see something. Queen Grace has sent them back to the secret door, to open it a crack and peer out. Don't worry—she sent All-master Oragien with them to seal it back up if any feydrim try to get through.” Tarus took a step closer. “So you know why I'm here, don't you?”
Durge pretended he didn't.
“I have orders from Queen Grace. You're to return to the keep at once and get some rest.”
“I will rest later.”
Tarus let out a frustrated growl. “She's your queen just as she's mine, Durge. You have to obey her. Besides, she's right—you have to rest. You're stronger than any of us, I won't argue that, but even you can't go on forever.”
His hand crept back up to his chest. No, he couldn't go on forever, could he?
Tarus gave him a sharp look. “Brother, are you well?”
“I'm fine,” Durge said. “And I will do as our queen orders. I will go rest—until the next assault begins. But before I leave the wall, tell me the state of our men. Have you spoken to Commander Paladus?”
“Not long ago. He was in the barracks, going among the wounded to lend them heart. Although I have to say, I think King Kel has him bested at that.” Tarus laughed. “Did you see him in the last assault? He was grabbing ravens out of the air and breaking their necks with his bare hands. Then one of those fire balls struck him, right in the beard, and set it ablaze. I've never heard such cursing in my life, but Kel's hag was there, and she jumped forward and cut his beard off with a dagger, quick as that. Needless to say, he was less than pleased—I gather he hasn't cut his beard since it started growing—but he got off with no more than a scorched chin, so I'd say he's lucky. The witches were putting salve on it while I was there, and he was telling jokes that would make a sea captain turn red. Needless to say, he had all the men roaring.”
Durge was glad to hear that. Laughter would help wounds mend faster. And many of those men, despite their injuries,