Before the Sky Fell

[ 18 ] The Heart of the Island

-18-

The Heart of the Island

Geoffrey Marg paced back and forth along the terrace that overlooked Eckrondale's fields. Chutes of summerwheat blew in the wind. Golden grains escaped into the sky. Months earlier, the children had ran through the fallows, forgetting their worries and playing games that Marg never quite understood. The farmers would watch and laugh from the shade of the outer walls as the children unknowingly broke up the clods and prepared the fields for planting.

Yet today even the gentle breeze carried an ominous stench that seeped into Marg's nostrils and hinted at the coming doom. The farmers had since abandoned their fields of wheat and flax and oats. The children no longer played in the meadows or streets, but instead sat in the shadows of their hovels in their mother's arms.

Marg's squires had brought word of Dirandale's fall, which meant Tannuchi was likely rubble and sweltering coals as well. Did they make it out? He rested his palms on the stone wall and scanned the vacant fields until they hit the lines of pitch and oil-soaked soil that would catch fire with a single word. Vats of heated sand and boiling water sat on the bastions, ready for archers to toss them over the walls and scorch the doggish monsters that threatened everything Marg had built over the years.

Eckrondale was situated on the rim of a depressed crater. History books said the crater formed during the collapse of the island's only volcano. If Marg had his way, he would have gone back in time and erected the city on something less dangerous. The city was beautiful, though, and its defensive position should have done wonders at reassuring the Steward of Sebolt that his people would find a safe haven in times of crisis. But Marg picked at his dirty nails and tapped his foot nervously, finding no solace in the city's defenses.

Footsteps thumped along the walkway behind him. "The Larks are getting closer," Henderson told him as he approached. "They've moved their camps to just inside the forest."

"I'm well aware." Even a blind fool could have smelled the wafts of smoke from their fires and heard the trees fall outside of Eckrondale. The Larks were probably building siege weapons and arrows that would shower the city when the time came.

Henderson stood beside Marg and placed his hands on the wall. "Don't let your judgment be swayed by Charlotte and the orphan."

Marg turned and grabbed Henderson's shoulder, moving closer until his stale breath swayed the Henderson's hair. His stern demeanor would have made any other man cower, but it couldn't penetrate Henderson's ego. "What have they ever done to you? I left them there, in Tannuchi. I moved here so I could lead. Now they may be dead, because of me."

"And what about everyone else who is alive? This island needs a leader who can push softness aside and get us through the darker days. They'll attack tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, and you expect some lanky archers to protect us? They've barely shot a deer let alone a Lark."

"And where have you been? Heading out on your expeditions into the mountains, gone for days on end, looking for who knows what. My right hand man should be exactly that, right by my side, helping me instead of thwarting my every attempt to ready our men. I should throw you into the dungeons with the drunkards."

Henderson laughed. "It'd be safer there than here. At least the shadows don't cower in defeat."

"We don't have enough men to protect the city, Henderson. The last count was around five hundred guardsman. The farmers can pick up their pitchforks and the hired hands from Ridgewood can grab their shovels, but we still don't stand a chance. I'll surrender before I send these young men into certain death. What would you have me do? March out there and talk to those monsters myself?" Henderson backed away and murmured something beneath his breath. Marg had endured enough. "Do you wish to speak to me or the crows?"