And thus was Théos led away in the dark moments of the night, made all the darker for these deeds. Yet nothing else could be done, and Geldirana passed by the quarters and had pity on the knight, but told herself that this parting was but a single tear of the parting that would be faced otherwise. She watched from her vantage at the top of the Old Keep as Galon bid Adon well, and then Adon rode off with Théos on horseback, and they took the unmarked roads to Boror, haste ever guiding them.
* * *
Morning came, but it was not fair, for there was a bitter wind and rain. The Old Keep was battered by the siege of storm, and the Garigút were forced to delay their attack until later that day when the war of weather had been won. Then they were all led up to the garrison on the roof of the Old Keep, where from the battlements they were shown the vast arsenal of the Garigút: dozens of catapults, tens of battering rams, several small ballistae, and three rolling-shields (as the Garigút called them). These were large wooden encampments upon wheels, filled with petardiers, sappers and other siege-workers.
“It is time at last,” Geldirana said, and she strode before them with a golden mace in hand. Galon and Geldon brought a bruised shield to her, round and bronze, and half the height of them. She raised the mace and struck upon it; a sound like thunder echoed out into the valley. “Now begins the Siege of the Black Bastion.”
XVIII – THE SIEGE OF NAHRAGOR
The catapults rolled out, creaking heavily under the weight of monstrous rocks. Men and women alike toiled about them, pushing great timber frames or pulling long, thick ropes. Others brought wagons filled with boulders and smaller rocks, and others yet marched with sword and spear in hand, their feet beating down upon the earth in the tumultuous tune of the war drum.
They stopped as soon as they came to the Ridge of Reaping, for there the Valley of Shadow opened up like the jaws of the earth, with great pointed mountains jutting out like sharpened teeth. Clouds hung like the vestures of dark gods, draping down upon the black mass of Nahragor, which loomed like a second pair of deadly teeth inside the mouth of the Ridge. Black and cruel it was, with spikes and spires rising from its hulk, and amidst its shadow there were subtle lights, dull, yet ever watchful, as if the very building itself was awake, staring out with evil eyes.
The Garigút made camp mere metres away from the halting catapults, hoping to be out of range of returning fire, yet also within distance to see the battlefield and make appropriate orders; or when the time came for Geldirana to lead the force down the Valley and into the madness of Nahlin under the murderous glare of Nahragor.
* * *
“I’ve sent the petardiers in three regiments, Way-thane,” Galon said. “One to take the middle of the wall and the other two to take the extremes on either side. So long as they survive long enough to reach their destination, I do not doubt that the walls of Nahragor will be much weaker ere the catapults are launched.”
“Let us hope that we are not punished by our own petards,” Délin said. “Belnavar the Braveheart came to me looking for such wheels of war, and I reluctantly gave him what we found in a workshop of the Gormolok savages. He slew his honour with that choice, and now he is slain, though it seems not by these creatures of cogs. Yet such is oft the way of these machineries, such a dishonourable practice in these days most want of honour.”
“Not all will do battle on an open plain, Délin,” Geldirana said. “It is their dishonour that leads to our own, if it be called such, though I am want to say otherwise. Were we to run to the walls and bang our fists upon the gates, we would be greeted with arrows, rocks, and boiling oil. Let us, therefore, break those walls with rocks of our own ere we think of assailing them with our bare hands and feet.”
Suddenly there came a cry from the battlefield where the central petardier battalion advanced under the canopy of a great wooden machine. A number of Garigút horse-riders came galloping to the camp, haste on their feet and in their voices.
“Way-thane, they’ve spotted our petardiers,” one of the riders said. “We had branch and bush upon the rolling-shields, but they did not fall for the trick for long. They’re firing arrows of fire upon us, hoping they ignite the petards ere we reach the walls. We’ve ordered a hastened advance, but I fear we will lose our best petardiers.”
“This is war, Grêsir, and war involves risk and death,” Geldirana replied. “I did not expect that all three petardier regiments would make it to the walls. But they may yet.”
* * *
And so she turned her intent gaze across the fields again, where the wooden housing of the petardiers rolled forth. Inside, men and women of the Garigút toiled, pushing and pulling, slowly advancing towards the walls of the Black Bastion. Crossbows were hung upon nails inside, weapons at hand for the defenders of the petardiers, should any assail the rolling-shield ere it reached its destination. The petards themselves were sealed in a second wooden box within the main structure, and this had wheels also, for it was designed to be wheeled forth once the rolling-shield reached the walls, and there the petardiers would light the fuse and return swiftly to the safety of the main device.
But it looked increasingly less likely that they would be the ones to light the fuse, for a barrage of missiles were launched against them; some were simple arrows, some were barbed, some were light ballista-bolts, covered in strange black rock that was hot to the touch, and, worst of all, some were laced in oil and burning in great red flames. The wood that the Garigút used was strong, for they did not trust the trees of Telarym, and thus brought the best wood in carriages from Boror over a number of long and arduous weeks—but it was not so strong that it could withstand the battering that now assailed it. Arrows pierced the wood, and some pierced the bodies of the men and women inside, slowing the advance of the lumbering machines across the plain. Holes were punched through, opening the way for more arrows, thin and fine, or barbed and deadly. And the arrows of fire came like a rain of lava, setting the wood alight, causing panic in the rolling-shield as the fire loomed ever closer to the petard-box in the back.
And then doom fell upon them. A new volley was unleashed from the ramparts and battlements of Nahragor, and through a great breach in the front of the siege weapon an arrow of streaming fire came hastening. An eagle-eyed Garigút soldier threw himself before the petard-box and raised his shield against the incoming fire, and so it struck him and set his shield ablaze. The Garigút gave a sigh of relief, but it came too soon, for two more fire arrows pierced the breach and the shield-soldier could do naught to stop them both. One struck his arm, which he raised to block his face, but the other struck the petard-box, and there was a moment where the wood alone crackled under the fire. But the moment was short-lived, for the fuse was lit and the entire thing went up in an explosion of wood and fire, sending splinters and limbs here and there across the battlefield.
* * *
“It seems you speak omens,” Geldirana said, turning her cruel glare upon Délin. “Let me speak plainly then and ask that you do not say anything ere this battle is done, unless it be an omen of the Adversary’s demise.”
“That I cannot offer,” Délin replied. “But I can offer my aid in making his forces’ demise a reality, for I am not unschooled in war, and the Knights of Issarí have ridden to many defended gates with naught but shield and sword.”
“Then perhaps we should have sent you before the petardiers,” Geldirana said. “You would have attracted most of the fire, I expect. But I am keen for no one’s death, unless it be Agon’s and his horde. Now go! Geldon will lead you where you need to be.”
The company departed under the guidance of Geldon, riding in a small wagon that was camouflaged with leaves and branches. Towards Idor-Hol they rolled, leaving Geldirana alone to survey the siege.
Then Galon and Adon came hastening into the pavilion, bowing quickly.
“We both have urgent news, but mine is more pressing,” Adon said.
“Speak then,” the Way-thane commanded. “And tell me why you
are not in Boror.”
“I took the boy Théos with me, but he would not go,” the man replied. “I held him before me as I rode, but he squirmed and spoke a foreign tongue, and ere long he had wormed his way from my grip and disappeared into a grove of trees. I searched for him, but could not find him, and thence I hasted back.”
“Grave news,” Geldirana said. “But I have little time for it, for war is here. If the boy knows not my wisdom, then let him be as one in the wild, and may Corrias see fit to do with him as he wills. But come, tell me, Galon, what is it that presses you so?”
Galon bowed again. “The central petardiers are dead, and they now block part of our advance, but since we cannot now weaken the central wall, let us do what we can with our catapults. Mayhaps a boulder or two will distract these arrow-fiends from the two remaining regiments on right and left.”
Geldirana said naught, but simply nodded. Galon held the curtain of the pavilion up and raised his arm, and then he lowered it suddenly and swiftly. Thus did the Garigút soldiers awaiting orders by the catapults call and shout to each other, turning this way and that, and lastly taking sword to string, unleashing the great rocks into the air, sending them sailing across the sky towards the walls and gates of Nahragor.
A great sound of pounding began, and it rose like a chorus when the other catapults joined the fray. Rock and boulder came down on the gates of Nahragor like iron fists, and it seemed to the defenders as if the Moln had awoken and were pounding upon the walls with their hands of stone.
* * *
The petardier regiment that was sent to the right reached its destination, rolling quickly to meet the walls. Arrows and rocks fell like rain from the clouds of the parapets above their heads, but the battered wood of the rolling-shield met the cold stone of the walls of Nahragor.
The petard-box was loosened from its hold in the back and rolled forth swiftly, crashing loudly against the wall. The petardiers inside hurried back and forth, grabbing their tools, most deadly of which was a simple unlit torch and flint.
“Two minutes,” one of them called out, for there was a din that drowned all hearing. He lit the torch and placed it warily against the petard that was hooked to the wall with bolts and chains. The fuse-rope was splayed and would not take light. The petardier grew frustrated and tried to light the rope further up, where it was still intact, but he was not prepared for how quickly it went aflame, and all grew afraid with the look of panic in his eyes.
“Out!” he cried, and they broke through the doors of the petard-box and raced back towards the rolling-shield. But they were too late, for the fuse was now too short. The petard ignited, throwing them up in a barrage of brick and wood and fire. The rolling-shield was splintered and the people inside were burned and battered. The walls of Nahragor were shaken and ruptured, but it did more damage to the Garigút attackers than it did to the Nahlin defenders inside.
* * *
The petardier regiment that was sent to the left, bordering the Cliff-face of Idor-Rem, was more successful, for they armed the petard-box and managed their retreat to the rolling-shield in time. The wall quaked, and many upon the ramparts were thrown high or buried beneath a mountain of fallen brick. But the wall was not breached, and so the rolling-shield went forth again, and from either side great doors were opened and planks of wood were pushed out. These acted as further shields for the sappers, Garigút soldiers simply armed, yet deadly to fortresses that may withstand even the blast of a barrage of catapult fire. The sappers raced out, digging furiously at the walls, while others looked for cracks and holes within the brickwork, and into these they fed rope tied around prongs of steel. They lit these with fire and made a silent prayer that the heat would melt the mortar that sealed the bricks. Thus did both groups tarry long and hard as the battle raged around them, and many of them fell to arrow or rock, but their work did not go unrewarded, for slowly it was shown that the walls began to weaken, and when the rolling-shield had made its final retreat, then came the direction of the catapults upon them.
* * *
But the defenders of Nahragor were not content with merely firing arrows, for soon the gates were opened and a great shadow, blacker than the darkest night, crawled forth. It spread like water unleashed, as if the gates of the Black Bastion were a dam, and it rose like a deadly black wave. Behind the shadow marched an army of Nahliners, dark and grim, Men corrupted and twisted to the Will of Agon.
“So they have made their answer,” Geldirana said. “They have sent forth shadow, and thus must it be met with light.” She arose not as the Way-thane of the Garigút, grim and imperious, but as the Alar Ardúnar, beaming with an immense inner light, and standing tall as a warrior who feared neither pain nor death.
“What is this which you speak of?” Galon said, growing nervous, staring into the gloom with expectant eyes. “I see a darkness in the distance, but I cannot tell what it is. Pray, what new evil has Nahragor unleashed?”
“An evil that is not new,” Geldirana told him. “But you see only a shadow of the Shadow, for it is only by the eyes of the Ardúnari, and those graced with the sight of gods, that the true nature of what comes hither from the gloom of Nahragor is revealed.”
She strode out from under the canopy of the pavilion and gave another long gaze across the battlefield. She turned slowly and looked at Galon. “This is where the dark rumours of Nahragor come true, general. This is where the mares of night creep into the mires of day. Get your garig ready.”
Galon nodded, bowed, and quickly set off to his regiment, called by his people a garig, which included all in his extended family. Gathering, they called it in the Common Tongue, and a garig was as close in peace as it was in war.
“Ana,” Geldirana called. A young woman came hurrying, carrying a belt and scabbard. “If I am to fall in battle, I would that Galon take the Way-thane in my stead. It is not by my choice that he or she who shall succeed me shall be announced, but I would that my wishes were known. Let us pray that Oelinor, at least, shall offer me some protection from the Candle in the north, and Rúathar some shielding from the west, for I doubt that he feels yet ready to take the Alar unto himself.”
“And you, Way-thane?” Ana asked. “Are you ready?”
“No one really is, Ana. It is too late for that. Now I must get ready for battle. Arm me. I will fight with sword and mace and flail, and the enemies of the Garigút shall know us by the insults against our race, for where there is grace in my attire, there is none in my way of battle. Blood shall rain upon the soil, and I shall cleave the heads from my foes as if they were frail fruits upon a training fence.”
“It will be a bloody day. Blood for the Garigút!” Ana said, speaking the old battle cry of her people. “May you kill many in honour of our ancestors.”
“And you,” Geldirana said.
And so Geldirana was armed with her sword. She donned thick leather armour and gloves, yet still she wore the dress beneath, a hidden elegance beneath the brute of the brown leather on top. Upon her back a great many weapons were stored in straps: mace, flail, bastard sword, and a pair of curved daggers, an heirloom of her ancestors. Thus attired she left the canopy of her pavilion and approached Galon at the edge of the battlefield.
“Long have I loathed the name given to us by many in Boror,” she said. “Yet today we shall be barbarians in battle, for we shall be barbaric—we shall be brutal. We shall ask no quarter, for none shall be given to us. In payment we offer no mercy to any that come from the shadow of Nahragor.” Then she paused for a moment. “Give Geldon the word. He must get Ifferon into Nahragor as soon as we distract the shadow. May Corrias bless us with a long distraction.”
“And a long life thereafter,” Galon said, clasping his hands together in prayer. “Geldon is my brother in blood, but he is also my brother in battle. I would that we could fight together here on the battlefield as part of my own garig, but he has a mighty duty like unto your own.”
“You have many brothers on this battlefield, G
alon,” the Way-thane replied. “Many are better warriors than Geldon too. His skill is in secrecy. He is the Brother of the Veil now, and will shroud the secret weapons of our warfare.”
“I am honoured, then, to fight alongside my sister in battle, be there blood or not,” Galon said.
“Good, Galon. I will need you. You are the general of my army. I cannot be the Way-thane today. The Alar Molokrán is coming. I must face him as an Ardúnar. It will be a grave battle, but, by the Will of Corrias, I shall not meet my grave this day! Shadow will come. Rain will come. And we shall face it with open arms and hardened hearts!”
* * *
Then the rain came. Clouds drew close, and from a great rift in the sky came a torrent, harsh and sudden. It was a dark rain, a black rain of soot and slime and mire. It was not water, but the murk of bog and the filth of the black fields of Nahlin. And it came down like an avalanche of dim snow, a hale as harsh as the wrath of Corrias and the ruin of Agon.
But it was not the rain that broke the armies of the Garigút. The weather was but the forerunner of the will that worked it, the living mood of a monster not yet come. The Garigút peered through the gloom—and then they saw the gloom peer back at them.
The Molokrán had come. The Gates of Nahragor opened. A clang and a clatter echoed out as the hinges were unloosed, mimicked by a sudden thunder and lightning in the sky, brief flashes of light just long enough to illuminate the darkness, to irradiate the terror. The shadow poured out, voluminous to the eyes of those who could see it. Those who could not could still feel it in the pit of their faltering hearts.
The Call of Agon: Book One of The Children of Telm Page 30