Hammer to Fall

"Well, this isn't the first time it's happened, and it certainly won't be the last." She draws a glass of water as she speaks, glancing over her shoulder at the line behind her. "We've withstood worse. Heaven knows the city can take whatever they throw at us."

She takes a drink and we amble away, through the dusty streets. There is a stillness in the air, a lurking tension; this is the taste of siege, brought in on a dead wind. But she's right- the city will not fall. The city cannot fall.

"I'm going to the barracks tomorrow, to see a recruitment officer," I say, as casually as I can. "They won't take me, of course, but I'd rather have the rejection now, than worry later that I could have done something."

She shakes her head. "They'll never let you on the Wall. You're of more use where you are."

"Probably." I shrug. It isn't worth thinking about; what will be, will be. The city won't fall, and my presence in the guard won't change our death toll by more than one, regardless.

She stops suddenly, and I turn to her, feeling her fear as a palpable thing in the air, stirring the siege tension into a war-frenzy, thrumming with terror. She is staring at the cup in her hand, knuckles white and trembling ever so slightly. A line of spittle hangs off her lower lip.

The bottom of my stomach drops out as she looks up at me, face pale.

"There's something in the water."

I'm not fast enough to catch her when she falls, paralyzed by fear as I am. The cup rolls out of her hand, spilling water onto the street. I can see the sickly tint to it, greenish-yellow against the pavement; my mouth waters, the sweet-sour precursor to vomit.

In my mind, I can hear the sound of rocks crumbling.