Some were not fazed but others still distrusted magic with a loathing born of ignorance. The fact the City had been saved by the use of magic did not seem to change the entrenched viewpoint of some.
Overall there came quiet. Too much quiet.
The Empress Martine was up to something.
After breakfast, Cristal was in the study with the door open, consulting maps when she felt a touch on her arm and whipped around. There was no one there. A giggle, then Raleen materialised.
Cristal’s jaw dropped before she could gather herself.
“What. How?”
Raleen smiled proudly before explaining.
“I puzzled over the ability of being able to see through a glamour and how it felt when I used that skill. I’ve been trying to figure out what makes a glamour work and finally succeeded last night. It’s something like throwing a mental blanket over things so they can’t be seen. I don’t know how it works exactly but it’s the opposite of being able to see through one. The problem is, it makes me tired to keep it up for too long.”
“Well, that makes four talents, and to think, just a few weeks ago you had only the unwitting ability to make people give you gifts. You’ve come a long way in such a short time Raleen.”
Raleen glowed; it was the only way to describe her radiance.
Suddenly there was a trumpet call from the walls and Cristal listened intently.
“Attack on the west wall. We’d better go in case we’re needed.”
They left on foot with Lareeta in close attendance. It wasn’t far and horses would encumber them. When they arrived the Commander in Chief was already there.
“Good day ladies. The fighting is fierce but we seem to be holding them.”
At that moment there was another trumpet call from the north east corner and Jorgen whipped around to his Aide de Camp.
“Get the reserves up here then rouse those who are sleeping and tell them to prepare to fight. Immediately!”
The Aide de Camp took off at the run and as the reserves raced up to the north east corner of the wall a trumpet sounded from the southern end of the city.
Cristal looked to Raleen and Lareeta.
“The Draakon Reavers have arrived, is my guess. We need horses for speed.”
Lareeta raced off to the manor ahead of them, the other two in fast pursuit but by the time they arrived, breathless, Lareeta was already saddling Binaway. Raleen’s Trollop and Cristal’s own horse were tied to the hitching rings, already saddled, waiting. All three rode out post haste.
At the docks, a crowd of men milled about in no particular order or formation. Some from the army and some civilian. All attention was directed out into Moreland Bay, where nearly a hundred red sails could be seen sailing for Belvedere’s harbour. The Reavers had waited until the tide was just right and the sunken ships guarding the passage into the harbour were fairly well covered with water. The red sails snapped down, almost in unison and oars appeared along both sides of the Reaver ships as they neared the harbour entrance.
Cristal found Cradon, easier to spot from horseback, frozen to the spot at the sight of so many of the Reaver’s ships. An army Captain was having difficulty controlling his men and the civilians were milling around uncertainly. Something needed to be done and fast. Nudging her horse through the press, followed by Lareeta and Raleen, Cristal drew up beside Cradon.
“Methinks you might want to take command of this rabble and get on with our plan.”
Cradon looked up at her desperately.
“How?”
“Get up here on my horse, she’ll stand firm and I’ll double with Lareeta. Think of this rabble as a mob of disobedient sailors and get them organised. We don’t have much time.”
The Reaver ships were looming closer and starting to enter the passage. The scuttled ships lying on the submerged bar would only slow them down for a while. The first Reaver ship came up to the easternmost of the sunken ships and a few Reavers jumped over the side and attached stout ropes to the exposed masts of the ship. They regained their own boat and a barked command could be heard. The sweeps started to churn backwards as the rope took up the strain and the front of the Reaver ship dipped low in the water as the load came on. Another Reaver ship came up and dropped a rope onto the exposed mast and also rowed backward, bow dipping. Shortly there was movement amid swirls of silt in the water, slow at first then more rapidly as the sunken ship started to move and pull out of the sandy bottom. The Draakon Reavers were cheering and jeering at each small motion of the blockage as it came free.
Cradon was astride Cristal’s horse, watching the efforts of the Reavers.
“Master Cradon?”
“Yes Cristal?”
“The oil? We need to be ready.”
“Oh, yes, sorry. Of course, right away,” he responded, clearly mesmerised by the Reaver’s performance.
Cradon rose in the stirrups and in an extremely loud voice, more suited to the poop deck of one of his own ships, barked at the milling crowd.
“All of my people, you know what to do. Army Captain, please use some of your men to remove anyone from the dock area without a task, unless they have a weapon and know how to use it. Then ready the remainder of your men to assist mine. I’m a Council member and have another Council member with me. We have anticipated this event and are taking charge.”
Privately, the army Captain gave a sigh of relief and set about the tasks he had been assigned. As unarmed people left the docks, others appeared bearing new, poorly made swords. Although they looked rough and unfinished, the swords were sharp and borne by men who looked likely to wield them. Who was he to argue, every man with a sword was valuable at the present moment.
From the eastern shore and the redoubt on the end of the western arm of the harbour, arrows were raining down into the Reaver ships but Raleen was the first to spot a squad of Martine’s troops marching down to the barricaded fishing shacks on the eastern shore of the harbour. The men over there spotted the enemy squad about the same time and abandoning their position, jumped into the three waiting rowboats and rowed as if possessed for the opposite arm of the harbour mouth, right in front of the Reavers who were pulling the first wreck off the sand bar. Gaining the western arm of the harbour behind the encircling wall, the men landed safely and tied up their rowboats before joining those in the redoubt to resume fire on the enemy.
The shields along the sides of the leading Reaver vessels blocked many of the arrows shot at them and one of the sunken ships was almost clear of the passage now. Martine’s troops on the far bank sent up a cheer and made obscene gestures at the citizens of Belvedere on the quayside.
Cradon’s voice could be heard above the background noise.
“Two men to a barrel. Ready the oil.”
A warehouse door was opened and men entered, returning with oil barrels which they rolled out and stood on end at the edge of the quayside. Again Cradon gave commands.
“We have to wait until the first Reavers are almost to the quayside and as many ships as possible are in the harbour. It’s a risky move but necessary. Anyone who does not want to fight Reavers had better leave now. Just remember, if the Reavers get past us, those who leave now will just have to face them later.”
The Reavers had now roped up to the second sunken ship and proceeded to tow it out of its position. With the previous disturbance to the sandbar, it was easier to dislodge from the silt than the first. Some of the arrows from the shore were finding their marks but not as many as could be hoped. It took time but as soon as the second ship was dragged clear, the Draakon Reaver galleys rowed for the harbour. Soon, twenty or so had passed the harbour mouth and fanned out to attempt to land as many men as possible at one time. Cradon’s face was contorted with controlled fear and concentration as he tried to judge the best time to act.
“Broach barrels,” he bellowed.
The cask heads were smashed in a splintering cacophony.
“Pour out the oil. Now!”
Fift
y or so barrels were upended and as the Draakon ships loomed ever closer to the docks the oil slowly moved out to meet them, rainbow colours coruscating on the surface of the water. The Reavers could be seen clearly now, gathering in the centre of each galley on a walkway, armed to the teeth and working themselves into a frenzy. The first galley was about fifty yards from the shore and closing fast when Cradon roared.
“Fire the oil.”
Men on the quayside scrambled for someone with a torch.
No one had one.
Cristal hissed to Lareeta.
“Get me closer to the water.”
Lareeta obliged, urging Binaway with her knee. Cristal leaned out and with her right hand sent a spear of green fire into the floating oil. It flashed into flame immediately, forcing those closest to the water to retreat as the flames raced with a menacing roar across the fuel-slicked harbour waters to envelop the Reavers’ longboats in a fiery shroud. The throng crowded on the docks were awed by Cristal’s display of magic but only momentarily, as the momentum of the lead boats carried the enemy right to the quayside. Enraged and maddened Reavers leapt ashore, bloodlust darkening their vengeful, scarred faces.
Men from both sides went down as battle was joined. Lareeta fought to get her horse away from the edge of the harbour as more Reaver boats, well alight, reached the shore. Many were ablaze in the harbour and Reavers could be seen weighing up their choice between a slowly burning boat or the fiery sea. The army Captain barked a command and his well armed veterans waded into the battle. Soldiers and townsfolk fought fiercely side by side to repulse the Reaver attack. The new swords may have been poorly made but the steel was true, as were the hearts of the men who wielded them.
Blood curdling screams came from Reavers swinging axes and swords and men grunted and howled as steel bit deep into flesh. The tide of battle ranged up and down the quayside as the Reavers regathered and charged again and again, attempting to burst through the defenders but the men of Belvedere stood firm against the onslaught. Cradon himself came under attack as he was urging a group of townsmen to defend the warehouse. Raleen and Lareeta, with Cristal sat behind her, rode to assist as howling Reavers closed in. Binaway used her flailing hooves to strike the enemy, somehow avoiding the flashing steel of weapons.
In the harbour, the tide had finally turned and the fiery oil was being drawn back through the harbour mouth to the Reaver boats beyond. They dropped back out of range of the flames, their numbers depleted by over twenty vessels at least. Still the fighting on the docks was fierce, with no quarter being given or taken. Twice more Cristal had to use her magic and once Raleen thrust back an organised group of Reavers with a small hand motion to allow a tired straggle of defenders to regroup.
It was appreciated.
Eventually all the attacking Reavers lay dead and the docks were piled with bodies belonging to both sides, the spaces in between slippery with blood and gore. Men lay wounded, groaning with pain, some faint and silent from blood loss. Quiet descended in the aftermath of battle. Cristal broke into that hush.
“Anyone not injured should help a wounded person to the hospital. Find carts to take those who cannot walk. There is a chance you will be healed by Kuiran if you can get there in time.”
Raleen studied the dead Reavers with a small amount of satisfaction. They were ugly and brutish, although still human. Some of these dead may have been responsible for the death of her father. This was just deserts.
Cradon spoke once more to the weary defenders from the back of Cristal’s horse, before dismounting and surrendering it to her.
“Well done men. A most excellent job. I need some of my own fellows to organise a guard. You’ll be relieved soon by fresh men. The Reavers may try again and we won’t get a warning next time. The harbour is now open. They’ve not finished with us yet.”
Once again the momentum of the attack was turned. Martine called her army back from the walls of Belvedere. The Reavers had been defeated for the moment and were now sailing away. She’d been bested again, almost as if someone knew her every move. That couldn’t be. Could it? Who was the traitor?
Evening fell and hostilities were suspended as the Dominion wounded were tended in the camp at the rear of Martine’s army. Moans and groans from the injured men could be heard through the walls of her pavilion as she reclined on her resplendent chaise. The interior of her double-walled tent, heated by braziers on chill nights, was warm enough for the merest wisp of silken robes. Empress Martine was a woman of deep sensuality, utterly convinced of her right to luxury and personal comfort.
Even at war.
A crackle of light and there sat the Dark Mage in one of her deeply upholstered chairs. He often used theatricals when entering her tent. She offered him cafke from the brew pot near the fire. He nodded acceptance.
The cloaked and hooded Mage spoke quietly as he received his steaming cup.
“They have a Mage of great skill defending them. I don’t know who he is but he’s very clever and subtle. He froze the insides of my clouds which caused them to rain and the forces of the lightning to dissipate. He’s powerful but not very cautious. I can’t work out if it’s arrogance or faith in true ability. I’ll find out when we cross swords again.”
Martine faced the Dark Mage.
“How did they know to have a talented Mage ready? How did they know of the Reaver’s attack? Who used magic up there on the walls?”
Her voice was rising in pitch as her anger surfaced. She stopped, lifting her cup to her lips and took a sip of cafke.
“Sorry, I’m maddened at the thought of a traitor in our midst.”
“No traitor I think.”
The dark form steepled his fingers.
“Perhaps they have good tacticians. We’ll have to change track. How do you feel about a siege while I work out a way to get us in? Their food supplies will not last forever and their Mage may not expect something simple like a tunnel, say?”
Martine’s ageless brow furrowed in a frown.
“That’s all very well but it’ll take a long time to complete and it’ll be so boring staying here. As you know, I have to return to Goristoum for a few days at four weekly intervals. I’m due back there in a week or so.”
“I can arrange that,” the Dark Mage said. “Easily. I have a flying beast ready in the hills. It’s large enough to carry two on its back. I’ll return here to watch over things after I drop you off and wait for five days before I return for you. Warn your troops not to fear the beast as it will be fully under my control.”
Martine brightened, considering other options as she refilled her cup before resuming her relaxed pose on the settee.
“This war could actually be quite entertaining. What do you think of a siege tower instead of a tunnel?”
The Mage nodded, considering.
“A siege tower. What an excellent suggestion. It would induce fear and trepidation in the inhabitants of Belvedere when they see the size of the tower taking form out here. Panic is contagious, a useful tool. Construct two. There’s plenty of wood to the west of the city. Gives your men a task to keep them busy and eventually gets your army over the wall. The more defenders and inhabitants we kill in Belvedere, the more room there is for your people. A siege it is.”
Martine and the Dark Mage agreed on their plan, malevolent smiles flickering bright and dark across their faces.
5. Tarkent.
The Broken Lands were gradually falling away behind Arwhon, Shiri, Chalc and the Barsoomi Riders as the ground rose steadily ahead of them. In the south eastern corner of the Broken Lands, the boulders were not so large or prevalent, which allowed for more arable farmland. Here the country was dotted with small villages and farms. Ahead of the travellers lay an expanse of rocky mountains. Not as high as they were further north but steep in places, with exposed cliffs and crags. This was the shortest way into Tarkent without riding through Debrishar to the south. Although it was not the easiest road, none of the small band wanted to risk travelling th
rough Dominion territory again.
Chalc led. Behind, on each side of him rode two of the Black River Tribe Riders who had accompanied Shiri and Arwhon to the Darkwood those many months ago. Their seeress had asked Randar, Conda, Breeta and Neta to accompany Arwhon, Shiri and Chalc on their travels. Wherever they went. The four Riders had jumped at the chance, not only to guard Arwhon and Shiri but also to see new lands. Sihron’del rode behind the two Riders followed by Arwhon, who enjoyed the view of Shiri from the rear and finally, the other two Black River Riders leading a packhorse.
The evening air chilled as they climbed and Arwhon drew his M’Herindar cloak about him, feeling the warmth it offered. He knew Shiri was comfortable in her supple yet tough and insulating armour. Chalc was Chalc and could take care of himself. The Riders rode bare armed, their cloaks draped behind them, seemingly unaware of the keen evening air.
Topping yet another rise the group rode in under the trees onto level ground. There were signs of a couple of old fireplaces on it, ringed with stones and a trickle of a spring, tinkling down a low cliff, fed into a small pool at its base. Between pool and trees a clear grassy area looked to be made for the horses.
“This will do. We’ll make camp here.”
Chalc sounded as he always did. Sure, confident. Arwhon relaxed somewhat as Chalc took charge, arranging things as he wanted them. Horses between their camp and the cliff, plenty of grass there and the horses would be protected. Two small fires were set, much less easy to see from a distance as one big one and a simple precaution. It was details like that which kept you alive.
The Riders offered to keep guard during the night. No one argued and it became part of their routine. Not to say Arwhon didn’t train himself to sleep with one ear open and become familiar with the normal sounds of the camps each evening. They slept on the ground, wrapped in blankets. The small tent they’d brought was not necessary, as autumn had not yet given way to winter.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 14