Page 159 of Of Empires and Dust
“I’m not new to these games, Hammersmith. As you well know. It just so happens that Benem’s food of late carries a bit more sweetness than it usually would.”
“What did you do?”
“Me?” Lanan pursed her lips, raising an open hand with only two fingers and a thumb. “I would never do anything. But when Freis Bryer last visited Salme at my request, she planted many Fanril flowers near the main hall – a natural remedy for constipation, if I remember correctly. And I could have sworn I saw one of the cooks from Pirn picking them accidentally. It’s very easy to confuse Fanril with blooming Barntip.”
“Lanan, you’re going to kill the man by making him shit himself to death.”
“As I’ve already said, Erdhardt. I’ve done nothing. I’m simply a casual observer. And my observation is that Benem has been too occupied drinking his bodyweight in water and emptying his bowels to cause me any concern. I’m simply speculating that perhaps the cook picked the wrong flower.”
Across the years, Erdhardt had always known Lanan as a sharp woman, quick of wit and more than capable in a fight. But at that moment he made a personal note in his mind to never make her an enemy. All men died, and there were many ways to do so. But shitting himself to death was one he hoped to avoid.
“Well, the moats seem effective.” He gestured down at three men struggling to haul the body of an Urak from a set of four stakes through its leg, chest, and neck.
“Very much so. Simple, crude, and viciously potent. And that is another thing I must thank you for. Suggesting Dahlen Virandr lead the defence was an inspired choice. Though I dare say he sleeps less than even you and I.”
Erdhardt followed Lanan’s gaze to see Dahlen Virandr on his hands and knees in the second trench, dragging an enormous stone free so the trench could be deepened. “By The Father, the man never stops.”
So much blood and dirt were mixed and mashed into Dahlen’s face and skin he looked closer to a corpse than a living man. Since the Uraks had attacked that first night, Dahlen had always been where the fighting was thickest, he, the Belduarans, and those three dwarves that never left his side. And that had also been true only hours ago when Dahlen had manned the ramparts over the gates from sunset to sunrise. The young man had even leapt from the walls after one of the Belduarans had been knocked from the battlements. The woman had broken her leg in multiple places, but because of Dahlen and the others who followed the madman, she yet lived. Erdhardt himself had carried her back through the gates whilst the fighting had been dying down.
Erdhardt was not surprised to see the man still awake, as that had been the case most mornings, but to see him digging the trench was unexpected indeed.
“How long do you think we can last?” Lanan broke the silence, still looking down at Dahlen Virandr and the others.
“That depends entirely on how hard they come at us. They’ve eased off these last few nights. The mood’s been better. But I don’t doubt for a second they’re going to come back twice ashard. If Camylin falls, we’re next. And they’ll come with much larger numbers.”
“Unless they make for Midhaven.”
“There’s that. But I’d rather prepare for the worst and pray to Varyn for the best. Much will depend on if the forces sent by Dahlen’s father and Calen arrive in time.” Even as he spoke the words, Erdhardt couldn’t quite believe them. It hadn’t been two summers since Calen had passed The Proving. Erdhardt could remember the young lad’s face after he’d emerged from Ölm. How had it come to this? How, by all divine will, was he standing on the walls of Salme, awaiting relief from an army sent by Calen Bryer? It wasn’t even stuff of bards’ tales. It sounded more akin to one of Dann Pimm’s drunken stories, like that time the boy had sworn he’d laid eyes on a horse with a horn growing from its head. “All we can do is fight as hard as we can as long as we can. There is nothing else. Live for tomorrow.”
Lanan gave a half-smile and nodded to herself. “Ylinda Pimm is a good leader. Not as considered as Verna Gritten was, but still, a good leader. But are you sure?—”
“I’m sure, Lanan.” They’d had this conversation already. “My days sitting on councils died with my wife. Someone making decisions about the future of a place and its people should have a will to be around to see that future. As things stand, I’ll settle for doing my best to make sure we see tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” Lanan asked as Erdhardt turned and started towards the nearest set of stairs.
“To let a man get some sleep.”
Erdhardt descended the stairs, nodding to the guards who stood at the gate in a variety of torn leathers, hastily-constructed gambesons, and old shirts. At least all four of them gripped solid steel-tipped spears in their fists now instead of pitchforks and scythes and clubs.
There wasn’t much trade to be found, not with the Uraks roaming across the continent. Even ships were few and far between. But there was one trader who hailed from Skyfell in Valtara who had begun to frequent the sea route between the two cities. It was from him that fresh steel, iron, leather, and fruit had flowed into the city. Though Salme’s coffers would soon be dry, and they would have little left to trade.
He passed through the gates and over the two planks laid across the first trench, which bowed precariously under his weight.
Erdhardt found Dahlen standing in the second moat, shirtless, blood trickling from near fifty tiny cuts across his body, some fresh, some broken scabs, and some which had clearly once been sutured. Sweat rolled down the man’s shoulders and back, and he breathed as heavily as a panting dog. The dwarven captain, Nimara, stood by his side, as did some of the Belduarans and the young lad who had taken to following Dahlen around like a shadow – Conal.
“You need sleep.” Erdhardt stood at the top of the trench, looking down at the young man.
Dahlen drove his shovel into the earth, then rolled his head around, his neck cracking. After a few moments, he looked back, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “You still alive, old man?”
“It’s up for debate.”
Dahlen gave a laugh, wiping the sweat from his brow. “All good?”
“A few new scars to call my own.” Erdhardt pursed his lips and twisted his arm to show a long gash that ran from his elbow to his shoulder. He’d actually not thought about it until that moment, and that was when it began to sting. “Not as many as you though. You’re getting slow.”
Dahlen wiped his hand across his back, smearing blood with the sweat. “Fuck.”
“I told you I could suture them.” Nimara shrugged, sunlight glinting off the innumerable rings laced through her blonde hair. She looked as worse for wear as Dahlen, a piece of her left earlobe missing, a sloppily sewn chunk taken from her right shoulder. In fact, it was clear to see who among them had still not slept from the night before based on the amount of blood and dirt mashed into them.
