Chapter 16: The Descent

The morning had been terrible. Most mornings were, when Dane Wrickon had a hangover.

He couldn't remember much of his final counseling session with Elaene (though he remembered that it happened), and he could barely remember backing some gear and heading out the door.

The Summer Rush bubbled merrily along the road, clean and blue. At certain points in the valley, as the path twisted and contoured along the hills, he could hear both the Summer and the Spring Rush at the same time, in an odd sort of harmony.

The Spring Rush was an artificial offshoot of the Summer Rush, which branched off almost immediately after the waterfall at the Wall. It followed a different valley down to the bottom of the island, and was further diverted to the farmlands for irrigation before it rejoined the Summer Rush near Glen-Deoch.

There were few travelers on the road besides Dane. Those he passed greeted him, and he responded with a noncommittal wave and a grunt. Perhaps he would be feeling more sociable by the middle of the afternoon, when the sun had retreated behind the mountains a bit.

Somewhere ahead of him were the fifty or so soldiers in his command that the Sunset Knight had sent down with him. They must have left without him. Dane couldn't blame them; he had been late getting up, late to his meeting with Elaene Alkalae, and late getting on the road.

He could always think of some excuse when he met up with them. Probably in Glen-Deoch.

Damn Lito for sending him on this insane, suicidal mission. Damn himself for going drinking again for the first time in about week and a half.

As he thought this, he mentally came up short. A week and a half? That was it? It felt like much longer. He hadn't realized how much of a weight his drinking had become until he had been out from under its shadow, for a time.

His thoughts blackened as he descended further into the depths of Olean.

* * * * * * * *

His men were waiting for him, relaxing at one of the taverns in Glen-Deoch.

The town was constructed mostly out of rock, with thatched roofs. None of the building were higher than one story, unlike the stone towers in Caeledonia that he was used too. As a result, though, the tavern had a comfortable and intimate feel to it, due to its size.

Dane walked confidently up to the group of soldiers, clearing his throat. They had already been eating, and, from the look of it, drinking.

“Hello, men. How was the first leg of the journey down?”

There were a few small responses. Nothing major; no one was trying to start a conversation here.

“I regret that I was unable to join you for the first leg of the journey. I had some last minute planning with my commander about this mission.”

“Will you join us, sir?” One of the men motioned to the stone bench.

Dane shook his head. “Regretfully, no. And you all should finish your meals. We get back on the road in thirty minutes.”

“In the dark, sir?”

He nodded. “I'll be buying some alchemical torches. We don't know when the prisoners are going to make their way up to Invercard. It could be tomorrow. It could be tonight. We need to get there with all speed. I'll see you in the square in thirty minutes.”

Dane turned around and left before he had to deal with any responses. As he passed the bar, his stomach groaned in addition to the now regular sense of thirst. He hadn't had anything to eat since the early morning.

Food is for people who don't drink, he told himself firmly, and headed out to buy some torches.

* * * * * * * *

Dane and his men traveled further down the valley. The path had begun to get rockier, while they couldn't see beyond the light of their torches, but he could hear the Rush increasing in speed. Soon it would, as Salva Santori had put it that one day, flip vertically, becoming the Autumn Rush.

Vesper Grant marched along side him, holding the torch that lit their way.

“Sir, have you given any thought to the defense?”

Dane ran his hands through his hair, made damp by the evening mist.

“I have not,” he admitted.

“Fifty soldiers, plus however many fighting men there are in Invercard, verses all the prisoners of the Drain? Those aren't good odds, sir.”

“I am aware,” Dane said. He wasn't used to people treating him in this way. Lito Laeth had picked men outside of her personal guard for the mission-- guards on the Wall, some soldiers from Raven's Run, and the like. Few of them knew Dane, which meant that his reputation was mostly intact. It was certainly strange being treated with a modicum of respect.

His stomach continued to trouble him, and he had been having trouble thinking. How were they going to hold off the hundreds of prisoners? He would have to wait until Invercard to see.

“The Sunset Knight wouldn't have sent us down if she weren't confident we could hold,” Dane said, attempting to project confidence.

They continued their journey. The valley narrowed into a canyon, with ghostly walls looming high above them. The Rush no longer roared about them, although they could hear the trickling of the various streams and small rivers that would eventually join the Rush.

Eventually, the pah took a sharp turn, back along the Rush. They could see the alchemical fires of the city of Invercard, burning a couple hundred feet below them. The city was still intact.

* * * * * * * *

Dane and his men had entered the city with haste. Dane had immediately demanded to see the leader of the night watch. While the rest of his men were fed and quartered for the evening, he walked the walls of the town.

Joel Barker, a grim man, walked with him.

Dane had refused any of the steamed apple brandy that the blacksmith was drinking, but had accepted some bread to quiet his hunger.

“Broken out..” Joel spat off the wall. “We haven't had any groups of priests come up that path in the last week. I suppose now we know why.”

“We do,” Dane nodded. He looked out across the rocky field. He couldn't see where the path lead, down another gully and down towards the Drain, but he could imagine it well enough.

“How'd you find out about this anyway? I'm surprised you go the word first, and not us.”

Dane scratched his chin. “Ard-Abthen sent us a message down their waterfall.”

“Damned strange,” Joel said. “What do we do?”

Dane considered it. The wall was only about twenty-five feet high. It would be easy for a group of dedicated prisoners to scale it. They could man the walls, pour boiling oil down... but the mountains were too gentle around Invercard. There were no imposing cliffs, as there were at the Drain. The prisoners could swarm around Invercard and attack at any point.

Or worse, venture into the mountains and avoid Invercard altogether. That... that could be disastrous.

Dane shivered. “Let's send someone else on patrol,” he said. “I'd feel more comfortable talking inside somewhere, anyway.”

* * * * * * * *

Dane watched as Joel took another pull of the apple brandy. He dug his fingernails into his leg, and forced himself to look elsewhere, feigning nonchalance.

“Here's the issue,” Dane said. “We need them to attack the city.”

Joel scowled. “You want to explain that, boy?”

“There are too many gullies in this area. If the prisoners wanted, they could head into the mountains and rejoin the path up above. They would have a clear journey to the farmlands, and we would be useless. We need them to attack.”

Dane spun his knife around his thumb idly as he spoke. Its well polished edge caught the fire and cast it into corners of the room.

“If they believe that they can take Invercard cheap, they will try. If we present a strong defense, they will bypass and pillage the Island Above. We need to present a weak force, at the beginning at least.”

“That's quite a strategy,” Joel said. “Allowing our city to burn.”

“If it's not you, it's everyone else,” Dane said. “Invercard can take care of itself a lot better than Glen-Clachan.”

“Sunken hells,” Joel said. He stared into the alchemical fire in the hearth. “That we can. I've been a blacksmith for thirty years; I can handle myself. Most of the men around here are strong and clever.”

“I don't want to see fighting in the streets,” Dane mused. “Too much chance for wanton destruction and murder. But I don't know where else we can pin them.”

“How much time do we have?”

“I was a little surprised they weren't here already,” Dane admitted. “We need to assume they could attack as early as tomorrow.”

* * * * * * * *

They had talked deep into the night. The alchemical fire had grown dim before Joel tossed another handful of powder onto the rocks. Together, they had put together the beginnings of a plan to both lure the prisoners in and defeat them. Joel had left to sleep, leaving Dane alone with his thoughts before the fire.

Dane couldn't sleep. He had too much pressure on him to even consider it. He knew that Lito had been forced to send an insignificant force down to hold Invercard, and was betting it all on him. If Dane failed...

That wasn't worth thinking about.

Dane searched the guardhouse for a piece of paper and something to write with.

He wrote a handful of lines down on the paper.

Refused drinks on two occasions.

Guided fifty men down to the Island Beneath

Came up with a plan to save Invercard

Somehow, it didn't seem enough.

Dane knelt by the fire, and lit one of the corners of the parchment. The fire ate it up hungrily, as Dane continued to grasp it by one end. He watched the ink start to boil as the fire burned the paper around it, until finally that section too was consumed.

Even though he had some minor victories earlier in the day, Dane couldn't help but feel depressed. It didn't matter. After the battle, if they managed to hold out against the prisoners, he doubted he could turn down ale during any celebrations that they would have. He would be drunk again, at a time when he should be feeling the happiest, not a day after his last relapse.

A week and a half? Was that the longest he had gone without getting himself hopelessly drunk? Dane couldn't remember.

Depression cooled into an iron realization. If he managed to get himself killed during the defense, and stay away from drink before then... well, that would do him a lot of good during the Solemn Vigil.

The fire continued to die down as Dane thought about it a little more. He couldn't purposefully kill himself during the battle-- the gods would see right through that. No, he had to fight his hardest at every second-- and, in the end, lose if he wanted this to work. Unless there was some kind soul in the army out there that was willing to go after him relentlessly, and kill him no matter what.

Dane was almost disgusted with himself that he was thinking about death this much. He couldn't help it, though. The prisoners could be a scant quarter of a mile outside the city. The attack could come by morning.

“Crone at the Cliffs,” Dane said, amidst the gathering darkness, “you know that I feel pretty gods damned conflicted about the attack tomorrow. I promise that I will do my best to stay fighting and stay alive. But if you don't have the desire to let me die in battle... if you have the desire to let me live...” Dane took a deep breath, and finished. “You better provide an avalanche of help with my drinking, or...”

Dane trailed off. Or what? What kind of threat could he possibly bring to bear on a lesser deity? Aer would do as she damned well pleased, and there was nothing that Dane could think of that could possibly sway her.

“I'm counting on you for this one, Aer. Don't make me regret it.”

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