Yalad stood. ‘Master Ivis, I would like to volunteer to return to the main house. It may be that the High Mason has his hands full with those two witches. Wreneck could well find himself trapped between warring magicks – who will consider the worth of such a small life?’
Ivis twisted round, saw that Anomander was now watching them.
After a moment, the lord strode over. ‘Sand,’ he said, moving to crouch opposite and taking one of her hands in both of his. ‘There is indeed something cruel in this new age of sorcery. But I have travelled with Brood for some time now. When we first found Wreneck, the lad was near death. It was Caladan who prepared a reviving broth for the child. Not the act of a heartless man.’
Sandalath leaned forward. ‘Milord, you know my trust in you is absolute. If you assure me, then I must be satisfied.’
Yalad said, ‘Master Ivis—’
‘Attend to Lady Sandalath, gate sergeant.’
‘Yes sir.’
Thunder shook the building, eliciting shouts of surprise. Anomander moved quickly back to the door that faced on to the parade ground. A sudden flash of actinic light lanced through the shutters, followed by a second eruption that sent shards of stone hailing down on the barracks roof. Soldiers cursed, reaching for their weapons.
‘Lieutenant Marak! Take four squads to the stables and start saddling the horses – Horse Master Venth, prepare to take the mounts out to the summer drill-ground. If we have to, we’ll see them sheltered in amongst the trees.’
Ivis watched as the Houseblades steadied themselves, with Marak moving among them, and then he joined Anomander at the door. ‘Milord, your friend did not exaggerate, did he?’
The First Son had pushed open the door, enough to look out. Snow spun in around him with something like anger, as if the wind itself was outraged. ‘An outer wall has buckled,’ he said quietly. ‘The roof above it simply exploded. But now … nothing.’
‘Milord—’
Anomander punched a fist against the wooden frame of the door. ‘Abyss take this sorcery, Ivis! I feel helpless against such powers. What city can stand against such a thing? What throne is safe, when the air itself can be made to burn? Is this what Urusander will deliver to the battlefield?’
‘If he does, milord, then we must answer in kind.’
‘And who among us can?’
Ivis had no answer. He could see, in the courtyard beyond, a scatter of broken stone and shattered roof tiles on the snow. To the right of the main entrance, the wall was no longer vertical. Massive stones now bulged outward. The guest antechamber. Where the low peaked roof had been was now a gaping space, jutting roof beams lifting splintered fists into the spinning snow.
‘That tower, there, Ivis, to the left—’
Ivis shifted his gaze, and then blinked. Steam or smoke was pouring from its sides, through countless fissures between the stones, but there was no hint of flames or any other source of light. He shook his head. ‘That tower, milord … there is a chamber there, a locked door. All are forbidden to enter.’
Anomander half drew his sword, and then let it slide home again. ‘Does my courage falter here, Ivis?’
‘Milord, wisdom alone keeps you here. When you can do nothing against such forces, what point in sacrificing your life?’
Anomander barked a bitter laugh. ‘Ah, yes, this wise lesson here. If you would hold your enemy at bay, trapped into helplessness, chained to what cannot be known, only feared … why, I begin to comprehend a tactical value to sorcery, beyond its actual manifestation. The question remains, alas: how does one answer it? How does one defeat it? Pray, Ivis, offer me a soldier’s answer.’
‘How have we ever answered such impossible risks, milord? We march forward, under whatever hail awaits us. We bare teeth at the enemy, even as they damn us for our temerity. A true soldier, milord, will never bow to sorcery – this I now believe.’
Anomander grunted. ‘I can almost hear Scara Bandaris, in his manner of laughing when nothing works. I remember, the day we faced the last Jhelarkan horde … “War?” he cried. “Why, another name for shit, my friends. So now, keep your heads ab
ove the flood and swim for your fucking lives!”’
‘Then, milord,’ said Ivis, ‘if you’ll step to one side and give me leave, I have a boy to find.’
The gaze of the First Son was suddenly bright, even as he moved aside. ‘Do not tarry overlong, my friend, lest you force me to come and get you.’
‘My charges, you and them, milord. My responsibility.’
Another detonation shook the grounds, another sudden flash, this time from the east tower. The squat structure wavered, tottered like a drunk on a bridge. Shutters fell away from the narrow windows.
‘Milord, I beg you, do not come after me. If I do not return, take command of the Houseblades.’
‘Best hurry, Ivis. This night seems fraught with grand gestures. I will watch. I will abide, as only a humbled man can.’