Chapter 2 of 4·6 min read·The same night, over several hours
The Ring Outside
The tracks crossed the inner road before Kaelen could get his boots on.
From the Spire window, he watched them cut through the black snow in a line that did not belong to any one animal. Some were narrow and sharp at the toe. Others dragged, leaving dark grooves in the frost. They came from the north slope, passed between two shuttered houses, and vanished behind the cooper’s yard.
Elora stood back from the glass, holding the lantern he had told her not to bring near it. “They’re closer than yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Are they coming in?”
Kaelen pulled on his second glove. “I’m going to find out.”
He took the lantern from her and set it on the table, out of reach of the window. Then he checked the latch. It was already fastened. He checked it again.
“Stay in the stair room,” he said. “If you hear three knocks, bar the door.”
“What if it’s you?”
“Then I’ll knock three times.”
“And if it’s not?”
He looked at her. Elora nodded once, as if she had been given a proper answer. She would remember the rule. That was what mattered.
Oren waited at the bottom of the Spire with Vey and two town guards. Snow had crusted on his shoulders. Vey carried a short-handled axe and looked as if she had been awake all night.
“Tracks at the east lane too,” Oren said. “And behind the smoke sheds. No one saw them cross the gates.”
“They didn’t cross,” Vey said. “They went around.”
Kaelen turned his lantern toward the road. “How many?”
“Enough that counting them would be a waste of time.” She pointed with her axe toward the north. “They’ve gone past the houses. Some came close enough to mark the road. The rest kept wide.”
A larger force, then. Not three hungry things following an easy warmth. A group that could afford to spread out and watch.
Oren rubbed his hands together. “The lower gate is the weak point. We’ve got pitch there, but the wind’s pushing east.”
“Then don’t pour it until they’re in reach,” Kaelen said. “Keep the fire covered.”
Vey gave him a look. “You planning to come down there?”
“I’m here.”
No one argued. Oren handed him a length of chain with a hooked end, the kind they used to drag burning timber into a ditch. Kaelen took it. The metal bit through his glove.
Next
With a larger Skahl-skin force gathered beyond the wall, Kaelen must find out whether Verndall can hold without the main bell—and what the bell would take if it cannot.
They followed the tracks to the east lane, moving along the lee of the houses. The snow had already begun to soften over the prints. Black flakes collected in the seams between stones, melting into oily stains wherever they touched warm masonry. Near the smoke sheds, the trail split. One line turned toward the lower gate. The other curved away from it, skirting the town’s outer wall.
“They’re drawing a ring,” Oren said.
“Or checking the wall,” Vey replied.
The tracks stopped at the same stretch of ground. No prints led up to the gate. No prints went back the way they had come.
Kaelen crouched. The wind pushed the lantern flame sideways. He could see a shallow mark where something had planted its foot, then shifted its weight. They were standing out there, watching the gate, close enough to find its warmth and far enough not to show themselves.
A shout came from the east.
The three guards ran first. Oren followed, his hand already on the knife at his belt. Kaelen heard the gate crew calling to one another as he reached the outer yard. A heavy shape had dropped from the wall into the snow. Its hide cracked as it moved, each step shedding black flakes.
A second Skahl-skin came behind it. Then a third.
“Pitch!” Oren shouted.
The gate crew pulled back the covering on the trough. A man with a torch leaned over to light it, but the wind snatched the flame away. The first creature had already crossed half the yard. It turned its head toward the people huddled near the gate, tracking the beat of their bodies.
Kaelen ran for the iron hook. He caught the burning end of a pitch-soaked board and dragged it across the ground. The first Skahl-skin changed direction toward him. It did not flinch when the flames licked its feet. It came on, hide blistering and shedding flakes, one hand reaching for his coat.
He hauled the board into the open channel beside the gate. “Now!”
The crew tipped the covered trough. Pitch spilled onto the flame and caught with a hard, spreading roar. Fire filled the channel between the gate and the yard. The first creature stumbled into it. Its charred limbs broke apart as the heat climbed over its torso.
The other two did not stop. One moved toward the gate crew. The last angled around the fire, fast enough that Kaelen saw the defenders turn too late.
A light flashed from the Spire.
Once. Twice. Then three quick flashes toward the narrow passage beside the cooper’s yard.
Elora.
Kaelen looked past the creature. A dark shape had come up behind the defenders in the passage, hidden from the yard by the wall. He shouted, but the wind tore the words away.
Oren heard him and followed his gaze. “Back! Off the wall!”
The crew scattered. The Skahl-skin lunged into empty space, overbalanced, and struck the gate’s iron brace. A guard drove a burning pole into its side. Another threw a torch. The creature’s hide caught and blackened, and it folded against the gate with a dry clatter.
The wounded man was still on the ground. One of the gate crew had a strip of blood showing between glove and sleeve. Kaelen knelt beside him while Oren wrapped the cut in a clean cloth. The wound was deep, but the man could move his fingers.
“Can you stand?” Kaelen asked.
“Can I?” the man said through his teeth. “I’m standing, aren’t I?”
Oren gave a short laugh, more from strain than amusement. He and another guard helped the man up. Vey came over with the torch still in her hand.
“Three came through,” she said. “How many stayed out there?”
No one answered.
They did not ring the Pyre-Chime. Kaelen felt the choice in the ache of his hands around the iron hook, and in the place where the bell’s first note waited behind his thoughts. He had held the town without paying it another memory. For that, there was relief. It did not last long.
He climbed back to the Spire as the storm thickened. Elora was in the stair room, just where he had left her, with the lantern shutter resting open on her knee. She looked at his wet gloves.
“You saw the one behind them,” he said.
“I saw it move. I didn’t know if it would go for the people or you.”
“You sent the signal.”
She nodded. “I thought you’d look.”
He set the iron hook against the wall. Then he took her hand and turned it palm up, checking for burns or cuts. There were none. Her fingers were cold. He closed his own around them until they warmed.
“You did well,” he said.
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
She leaned against his sleeve. He let her stay there while he watched the narrow window. The black flakes kept coming, tapping softly at the stone.
Before the next hour ended, Oren returned to the Spire. He had counted the tracks from the east road to the northern slope. The paths curved around the town in a wide arc. Beyond the marked road, they joined into a churned band of prints so dense the snow had disappeared beneath them.
“They were waiting beyond the wall,” Oren said. “The three at the gate were only the front of it.”
Kaelen looked toward the north-facing window. He could not see the slope through the fog. He could see the dark stain the snow had left on the sill.
The outer ring had bought them a night once. Fire had bought them a few minutes now. The tracks outside had not moved far enough to call it retreat.
Oren lowered his voice. “If they come all at once, the gate won’t hold.”
Kaelen glanced toward the stair room. Elora had fallen asleep sitting up, her hand still curled around the lantern shutter.