The Gathering Storm

“My lord prince!” Lewenhardt scrambled up the ladder to the watchtower platform and leaned out as far as he dared over the railing. He wore a ridiculous floppy-brimmed hat that shaded his eyes better than a hand could.

Sanglant set fists on the wall, rubbing the coarse bricks until all thought of Blessing was rubbed out of his mind and he could concentrate on the distant sound that he alone, so far, could hear. He blocked out all other distractions, the sound of planks being dragged across dirt, boots scraping on steps and ladders as men climbed into position along the walls, the sobs of Blessing, a bell ringing in the town… as he listened for the sough of wind through grass, the beat of the sun on earth, the rumble of distant hooves, and the whistle of wings. He listened to their pitch and intensity.

“Griffin wings.” He braced himself to get a better look.

Was that a thin shriek caught on the wind, a man crying out in fear and pain? It happened too fast, cut short. He could not be sure.

The wings sang, not in a great chorus and yet more than a few individual voices.

“Not much more than fifty,” he said. “Certainly less than one hundred.”

“That’s a fair lot of dust they’re kicking up,” commented Fulk. “Can they be so few?”

“More than one hundred,” said Lewenhardt. “Perhaps as many as two hundred. They don’t all have wings.”

“How can they not have wings?” demanded Fulk.

“Where is Brother Breschius?” asked Sanglant.

“Fremen,” said Fulk, “fetch the good brother.”

Sanglant looked back toward town, visible from here as a jumble of walls and roofs broken by the high tower of the governor’s palace and the pale dome marking the Jinna temple. The steady slope of the ground toward the sea caused the land to melt into a shimmering dark flat, the expanse of peaceful waters. Ships were cutting loose from the quay, oars beating as they moved away from the port to escape a possible attack on the town. The ship Wolfhere had escaped on was already out of sight; according to Robert of Salia, who had found Blessing and her new retinue and escorted them back to the camp, that ship had left the harbor before Sanglant had even got the message that Blessing had vanished.

Ai, God, what was he to do with his unnatural daughter?

How had he been so stupid as to trust Wolfhere?

“I see their wings!” cried Sibold triumphantly.

“God Above!” swore Lewenhardt as other men along the wall got a better look at the riders. The restless glimmer of wings flashed in the light drawn out across grass, sun caught in white and gray feathers.

“What do you see?” He brushed his fingers along his sword hilt.

“I see griffin wings, my lord prince. One pair. And towers, fitted with gold.”

Men hammered away down, knocking beams and wagons into place on either side of the pit.

“A hard barrier to cross,” observed Sanglant as he looked down, “but not impossible. Here comes the frater. Perhaps he knows the secret of these towers.”

Fremen came running back with the middle-aged frater in tow. Breschius had some trouble with the ladder because he only had the one hand, but he used his elbow to hook the rungs and hold himself while he shifted his remaining hand and moved up his feet. By the time he got to the top, the approaching riders were slowing down as they neared the fort. The soldiers setting the barricade in place on the outer side of the pit ran across the last two planks, which were then drawn back into the fort. The town had sealed its gates. The great bell ceased tolling.

“We’re on our own,” said Fulk, a little amused. “We’ve no friends among the townsfolk. Did the governor not like you, my lord prince?”

“The governor does not trust us, Captain. Why should she welcome an army of our size into her territory? If she fights us, she may win, but she and her troops and her town will suffer. If she loses, then she loses all. I suppose she hopes we’ll take the brunt of the attack and allow her to finish off the rest.”

“But we outnumber them.”

“The governor? Or those Quman?”

Fulk laughed. “They are wise to fear you, my lord prince.”

“Are they?” Or was he simply a fool, chasing madness? The moment he first saw the port town and the broad grasslands spreading north from the sea, he knew he had ridden into a world unlike anything he had ever experienced. With Zacharias gone and possibly dead, he was more than ever dependent on Bulkezu’s knowledge. Bulkezu would have many opportunities to betray him or lead him and his army astray. Bulkezu was smart enough to kill them, if he chose to sacrifice himself with them. Yet in such a vast expanse, how could Sanglant track down griffins and sorcerers without the help of someone who knew the land?