Spirit Gate

Out of the army came a crack, and a fine, high whir, and then the splintering thud of impact as a heavy object hit inside the town. Dust wafted up from a house a couple of streets inside the i

By the main gate, a flag was drawn up on the pole.

"Now they will negotiate."

Mai yelped, because she was so frightened, but it was only Miravia speaking.

Mai grasped her elbow and pulled tight against her. "I thought we meant to fight them."

"The council must purchase time," said Miravia. "I heard my mother speaking of it to my aunt. Master Feden disgraced himself. Now it is up to him to purchase time. He must delay the assault at any cost. It's said he will sacrifice himself to save the city."

Mai did not need to ask what Miravia meant. She knew how the story would go. An official is allowed out of the walls to negotiate with the enemy, knowing he may be first to be killed. He is led to the tent of the general, or the prince, and taken inside, where he stands at their mercy. He talks at length, and speaks of the honor due to his ancestors and to the gods or spirits who watch over his town. He may sing a song relating to the founding of the first trading post at the oasis, how a mare led her sand-blinded master to the spring in the midst of a howling storm. For these acts we must be grateful, for there are those whom we ca

"You're weeping." Miravia touched soft lips to Mai's damp cheek.

"There's no shame in weeping," whispered Mai.

"No. Our tears water the garden of life. Or so the poets say. Look. Now there he goes. I think it must be Master Feden, but I can't be sure. He's too far away."

The Olossians were distrustful. Rather than opening a gate or extending a ladder, they lowered their negotiator down by basket from the i

"That's a saffron yellow," said Miravia with the sure tones of one who knows her wares. "It's said Feden is a man well filled with himself, but I must say it takes courage to march to your likely death dressed in your most expensive cloth. He might have left it for his widow, although everyone says they hate each other. And his heirs, no less. Oh dear. Have I shocked you?"

An attendant pulled aside the curtain that blocked the entrance to the largest tent. Mai shuddered as the merchant vanished within, to whatever fate awaited him. Who would meet him there, inside the tent? What questions would be asked? And how would Master Feden answer?

They watched the distant tent. Miravia's fingers dug into her forearm, but the pressure seemed too distant to be bothered about. Mai caught her breath in, held it. What was going on inside? Was Feden spi

"What was that?" Miravia gasped, although she could barely force the words out. "I felt as if hands were clawing in my head."

No sound enlivened the air. Mai's ears seemed stuffed with wool, and her throat was choked as with dust and ash. Olossi was strangling.

Then, the catapults woke. Their arms creaked and swung. Mai sucked in air to cry out a warning but no sound came out of her mouth. Six impacts shook the town. Wood shattered. Stone cracked. Dust burst skyward. Shouts and screams cut the silence, and folk hiding in their houses or standing frozen on the streets all came to life at once with shrieks and calls, the buzzing chatter of fear.

"They know," said Mai. "They know we mean to fight them. Maybe he's already dead."

Supine on the bench, hands lax on her belly, Miravia said, weakly, "Look."

A swift shadow darted across the troughs of herbs, succeeded by a second, and a third. Mai flung back her head and stared up into the blue pan of the sky. Four more passed overhead.

Eagles.

The Voice of the Walls boomed its warning cry. Seven times it rang.

Mai ran to look. Along the i

Beyond, the catapults made a clattering grind as they were winched back. Ranks of archers leaped to position, targeting the eagles as they glided low over the besiegers. An arrow flashed in the air. A stream of arrows was released out of the army, against the approaching eagles, but Mai could not see if any hit their target.

As the first flight of eagles swept past, each one released an egg from its talons. Up the eagles beat, seeking altitude. Down these large eggs tumbled, and when they hit the ground they shattered as ceramic does. It seemed a pointless effort as only one out of thirty struck a man, even if that man dropped as though felled by a hammer blow. The rest broke uselessly on wagons, or on the earth here and there with a splatter.

All along the wall, arrows flared as they were set alight. A volley of burning arrows hissed out from the walls into the outer town, where the army had gathered along the wide roadways. Arrows fell among them, and where the twisting flames met the splatter from the shattered vessels, fire burst with such brilliance that Mai cried out.

Now dropped a second flight of eagles. From below a fierce volley met them. One eagle lurched sideways and began to drop fast. Another released its egg early, so the ceramic vessel fell somewhere within the i