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AuRon remembered what Naf had told him of it as the men buckled on their helmets and shields.
Ghihar. The old city of the Ghi men, walled in the days when they had enemies on every border or fought civil wars with the population downriver.
It was a simple enough plan. They’d size the old city’s small garrison, free Hieba from her house—and whatever other hostages the Queen kept who wished to leave the prison that masqueraded as fine homes—and leave before the sun rose, Hieba and her daughter upon AuRon’s back, Naf and his men riding on the fresh horses under the standard of the Citadel Guard, who would have been taken prisoner in their beds and then locked up tight in one of the old towers. AuRon could fly quickly enough that they’d be back in the borderlands by the time the sun rose.
Dirty weather would only slow the roc-riders and make their search difficult. It seemed likely that they’d see some, judging from the wall of clouds coming up from the south.
Of course there was the problem of the dragons the Queen was known to employ.
AuRon would take care of diverting them. And even if he did see them, he could outfly anything scaled.
The first job was to get the men across the river and onto one of the lesser roads leading to the citadel.
He did the swimming. All they had to do was hang on to his fringe, half in and half out of the water. They showed admirable fortitude in the crossing, sucking air as the cold water struck their loins and puffing like nervous baboons he’d hunted in the jungles.
Four trips later, he and Naf and the men were hurrying up the road toward the citadel, while residents barred their doors and shutters.
A pair of men ran off up the hill toward the citadel, ringing handbells.
Naf made a hissing noise and arrows brought the unfortunate pair down, three in one and two in another, tightly grouped around the upper spine.
“I’m glad your bowmen aren’t shooting at me,” AuRon said.
“Firewatch, I think,” Naf said, lifting their belts and examining the buckles.
The walls of the citadel appeared out of the rain. Water streaked down their sides, running down crevices worn into the masonry over hundreds of years. They were impressive walls for man’s handiwork. AuRon guessed they were wide enough at the top to allow horses to ride upon them or animals to pull siege engines. Dripping fabric sunscreens at the top flapped in the wind.
What had once been a ditch around the walls was now filled with muck and refuse.
“To the gate! Hurry!” Naf called, pointing to a small arch between two towers, like twin legs of some great troll, torn by arrow-slits.
The gate, under a low arch, was a trifling affair of iron bars. He saw lights beyond, an open courtyard of some kind. A horn sounded from the wall at the sight of the soldiers. A glass shattered on the paving stones in front of the gate.
AuRon flung himself against the gate and tore it from its hinges in one solid piece. It landed flat and Naf and his men dashed across it.
“Siegecraft isn’t necessary when you’ve the aid of a dragon,” Naf said.
A man in a twilight-red tunic appeared in the gap to a stairway. AuRon lashed out with a saa, and knocked him back where he had come from, and dragon-dashed out into the courtyard.
Naf’s men paused as they took their bearings, then divided into three disciplined columns, save for a few who stayed behind to care for men blinded by the contents of that smashed glass that had fallen behind him. One file made for a staircase climbing the back of the walls, a second moved toward an angled-in tower, almost a pyramid, at the center of the citadel, and a third, led by Naf, went up a road lined by fine wooden and stone homes with sharp-angled roofs like a row of teeth.
He watched the center column enter the angled-in tower and the other column divide to move around each side of the walls. There was hardly any guard at all atop the walls, and what there was dropped their weapons and ran for the tower doors.
AuRon flew up to the wall and helped the wall-storming party by bashing in a barred tower door with his tail. In another tower a trio of men cranked around a boxlike war-machine. He was tempted to use his flame, but a sudden burst of fire would draw whatever might be riding above in the clouds.
Above all, he must keep the roc-riders busy elsewhere.
He flapped hard in the direction of the face on the mountainside as angry lightning began to flash.
AuRon noticed a strange glow from the top of the face, at the crown of the head. At first he thought it was some reflection of a fire in a chimney, but no fire he’d ever seen burned white.
He suspected he knew the source of the star-like light.
AuRon decided that the easiest way to enter would be through the mouth. The scaffolding blocked the way like wooden bars.
He picked up speed, folded his wings so they angled back as if he were diving into water after tuna. He went through the wood as though it were riverbank reeds.
The scaffolding made a satisfying crashing sound as it fell.
