The Deepcombers

Chapter Forty Five

Lon exited the cookhouse and his eyes drifted east. His heart sank. There was still black smoke and now it seemed a little thicker than before. It was there to be sure, but it was still some distance away. He looked up at the watch tower. How much better could they see the skyline from up there? And just what could they see?

Calbians hustled along the promenade with goods and supplies. They prepared for what was coming. He looked at them and he could see it in their eyes. Did they blame him? No. They all smiled and nodded at him with respect or looked down at their feet depending on their social standing; nobody glared accusingly.

Captain Owen caught his eye. The pink skinned Calbian officer nodded in his direction but didn't smile. He turned away to contribute to a nearby discussion of tactics with junior officers. Lon watched as he pointed out new artillery positions. The young lad studied the scene below the promenade and was surprised to find the Calbians were already well prepared. He counted six ballistas already set on the tallest buildings. There were also plenty of roofs with water barrels and buckets and troughs. He hadn't seen any of this activity when he'd come down the hill; he'd been so focused on filling his stomach. But now he had a good breakfast and all these little details came to his eyes.

Calbian fire brigades had pull-carts which were water troughs on wheels. They each had buckets slung at the sides. Lon saw how they were filled in the river. The empty cart was simply backed into the stream and then attendants would close a rear plate and pull it out again full of water. Other teams had wheelbarrows filled with wet ashes and wet blankets. When in you live in a settlement made of wood, you fear fire and Lon was impressed with all their preparations.

Jarl and Tharus were both here, farther down the line. They also had a water cart and blanket cart and six feigor in their fire brigade. Their crew was a motley arrangement of red skinned Calbians too weak to be swordsfeigors and not skilled enough to be archers. Lon knew they were just town-militia by their uniforms; they had none. These were tinkers and tailors and leather tanners all hastily conscripted into an emergency fire brigade under the big cat's command. He had to hand it to Captain Owen, he'd said the foreigners would not be allowed near the walls, and this was sensible compromise and a good way to harness their experience. He saw them stow ladders and buckets and he watched how the big cat would give orders and the swampkin would translate. Good luck to them.

Lon made for the trail-up to Zed's grotto but then spotted Valari in the crowd. She looked really fragile this morning. Her eyes were closed, and she had the morning sun on her face. She took baby steps, and everyone gave her a wide berth.

"Valari?"

"Lon."

"Is Saeya up?"

"She's up."

"You look weak Val . You're going to get some more sleep?"

"I slept." She blinked. "Ten hours or more."

"Did you get anything to eat?" Lon asked. Valari looked repulsed by the suggestion.

"No," the brunette looked pale. She made a blank face and pointed up the hill toward Zed's grotto, "you go ahead. I'll get there."

"Oh no. Val. You should rest."

"Don't ..." She pulled away, "I'll be fine. You go ahead."

Lon knew well enough that she must be obeyed without question. He nodded and turned his back. Part of him was happy to know she headed for Zed's as he hoped to see more of her before he departed. Was this to be his last day in Atarskal? Would things ever be like they were? Probably not. That was sad.

High overhead the green granite columns of Ephram's shrine loomed in the mist over the waterfall. He hoped to climb up there today, and if he failed and died, well then he 'd never seen any of these fine people again. Still he wanted just a few more hours of happiness and so resolved to wait and tell them all of his travel plans later. He just wanted things to remain as they were for a few hours longer. Today might be the last day of his life. Just like on the Annabelle. Oh back to that again. Back to how it was where everyday could be the last day. . .