Her Chamberlain, Agmar, came forward, hurrying through the large doors at the opposite end of the Throne room, trying to hide the worried look on his face. He stood quivering in front of her, standing stock still but managing to convey urgency. Martine gazed down haughtily from her throne and nodded permission for him to speak.
“We must clear the Throne room your Majesty. There is someone here who requires a private audience. It is of the utmost importance.”
Martine negligently flipped a hand, thinking of her playthings waiting.
“Oh, very well but make it quick, I’ve been at this all day.”
He bowed and began clearing the room, using his loud official voice to gain attention. When that wasn’t quick enough he called the Guard Captain over and the few remaining petitioners and courtiers were physically bundled out of the large room. When it was cleared, the Chamberlain approached a side door and opened it to admit a wretched individual in a barely recognisable, tattered army uniform, who hobbled behind the Chamberlain on bandaged feet until he came to cower before the Empress.
He bowed extremely low.
“Is this what was important enough to need the room cleared?” she demanded of Agmar. “This piece of filth?”
“Majesty, please hear what this man has to say. He was a Captain of your army, based in Wodderel, in the Broken Lands, charged with keeping the peace.”
Martine’s head tilted to scrutinise the man in front of her. Under all the dirt and signs of travail she recognised the man as the Captain she had placed in charge of The Broken Land forces.
“Well Captain and what have you to say for yourself?”
“Empress, the Barsoomi came to The Broken Lands and camped along its border with Barsoom. Their land was burnt.”
“I know, I had it fired. They were supposed to ride south and seek shelter in Southland around Belvedere. Why, I wonder, did they choose to go north?”
“I don’t know Empress but we were blindsided. Our barracks, a large inn we commandeered, was attacked in the middle of the night. The guards were taken out and most of us had been drugged with something. The few who woke during the attack were knocked out. When we came to we were bound hand and foot. We had no idea how many attackers there were but we suspect it was The Broken Landers who tied us up.”
“What? Broken Landers never get involved in fighting.”
“Maybe they figured tying us up wasn’t fighting. Empress it was the other ones who were there. They were the leaders. Not Barsoomi, not Broken Landers. One looked like an old man from Tarkent and the other, a young man with strange eyes, having no whites and clad in mail and helm. Both had Tarkent style swords only the young man’s had a weird design on it matching his helm.”
An involuntary shiver ran down Martine’s spine and she felt herself paling. It couldn’t be the same person, not the one she had seen, wearing chain mail, swallowed by the Black River after he leaped from the underground ledge at Gildon’s Keep. His eyes had been normal.
“Did the young one wear a ring?”
“Can’t say as I remember Empress but they were in charge of us from after we were captured until the Barsoom Riders arrived to take us south to the border. Five or six days they watched us, one or the other. Told us we would be left untied and trusted but if anyone ran for it they would die. Some tried running, four or five but they didn’t get far and the bodies were left where they fell as a warning to the rest of us. None of the bodies were more than ten paces from a door or a window. We stopped trying after that.”
The Captain paused, looking spent.
“Give him wine, now!” Martine commanded.
A steward came rushing in at the Chamberlain’s command and poured a generous goblet of rich, red wine for the Captain, who accepted it gratefully and drank deeply.
“You! Leave the jug and get out.”
Martine’s voice rose sharply and the steward sprinted for the door, praying he could make it out of the Throne Room before she had him butchered. He had heard that same tone of voice before.
“Continue Captain.”
“Well Empress, after five days we asked to bury the dead and the young fellow let us but some of the men was resentful like and took a couple of Broken Landers hostage. The young man walks into the stableyard in full mail and just stands there, a few paces in front of the rear door. All the other doors and windows had been nailed or bolted shut, apart from those looking out over the stableyard. He wants to talk so I open the door and step out to parlay. He keeps our attention while the old fellow sneaks up and grabs the hostages from the passageway and whips them away. Must have used some sort of magic to conceal himself because no one saw him enter. Some of the men charged the young fellow then but he whips out that sword of his and kills three at once. Never seen anything like it, effortless, every stroke cutting somewhere. He was so fast I could hardly see him move. None of us gave any trouble after that. He told us he didn’t want to kill us but I reckon he could have killed the remaining forty odd without raising a sweat.”
He stopped to draw breath and take another gulp or two of wine.
“Why are you here then? How long ago did all this take place?” Martine was shocked at the loss of the Broken Lands but at the same time intrigued by the tale of the young man. He was a most interesting and perhaps worthy opponent.
“Empress, when the Riders came, the one with the sword told them we were to be taken south to the border and released with no weapons or boots, given a few supplies and made to walk home. Those who disagreed were to die. We walked. If it was the other way about, we would have just killed everyone. It has taken three weeks for us to walk back. Some died but not many. Once we hit the Debrishar border I organised food to be taken back to those behind us and requisitioned a horse so I could ride hard to bring you the news.”
“Chamberlain, find a room for the Captain. Somewhere in the Palace. Feed him, clean him up and give him as much wine as he wants. Thank you Captain, you may go.”
The thin shabby figure pulled himself erect and saluted before turning to hobble out of the Throne room following the Chamberlain. Martine sat back on her throne, elbow on its ornately carved arm, chin in hand, thinking hard. The loss of the Broken Lands was not catastrophic. Yes it supplied food for Debrishar but then most of the army was in the south and at a pinch, extra food could be brought in from Tarkent to service the rest of the population. If not, they could go hungry. It would help to remind those at home there was a war on. Some of Southland’s food supply was secured for now; what the enemy hadn’t harvested or burnt, and she could use it to feed her army. As to retaking The Broken Lands, plenty of time for another little war in the future, after Southland was hers. Southland would give her control of all the lands west of the border with Cheshwon. The city of Belvedere was the jewel in Southland’s crown and soon it would be hers.
Martine sat by herself in the huge Throne Room, considering her little war and how long it would be before she rode into Belvedere at the head of her army.
The construction of the siege towers had started well, with so many men working on them the bases were all ready formed and the wheels were going on soon. In the last week, teams of her men had cut and transported trees using the army’s supply wagons for the task. Her idea was sound; the men of her army had something to keep them occupied and two siege towers were staring to take shape. It was a long process bringing the amount of timber required to the site and sawing it up. Assembling the siege towers took a lot of manpower.
Unfortunately, lightening raids by enemy cavalry were causing problems but it kept her men sharp, scouting and repelling those sporadic attacks. Still, in another month or so she would have the tools to take a hungry city. The Reavers were gathering again, renegotiating the terms for a second attack with the Dark Mage and this time he would be right there to douse the fires on the water of Belvedere’s harbour if they tried the same trick again. No one could deny her. She was going to be the first to take the city of Belvedere. Her name would li
ve on in history, long into the future. A future she would shape.
Carlinna appeared at her elbow, coming in through the doorway hidden by the embroidered drapes behind the throne.
“Empress, your room and the boys await.”
The ‘boys’, sturdy young men, kept in luxurious isolation until she required them to entertain her. One of life’s little pleasures, to be disposed of when she grew bored with them. They thought they would be rewarded and sent away. Death however, stopped idle gossip quickly and finally. It also saved on expenditure.
“Excellent, I grow weary with all these peasants who can’t solve their own problems. Time for my special bath. Get everything ready. Do we have Tarkent girls?”
“Yes Mistress, we have a supply being held ready. Kroy brought twenty or so last trip.”
“Kroy did well. If he wasn’t so ambitious I would have much more use for him but I can’t trust him.”
Martine tiredly prised herself out of the throne and followed Carlinna out through the concealed door.
Only the Guard Captain saw her go.
Half an hour later, Martine lay in her bath of blood and milk, soaking up the life essence of three Tarkent maidens. Their drained bodies had been fed to the drakon. She felt invigorated as the life giving energies flowed into her and once again she gave silent thanks to the Dark Mage who had set her on the road to glory and a long life; raising her from an unimportant second daughter to Empress, placing the spell upon her which allowed this drawing of life force from human blood and asking for nothing in return. Eventually, the blood she was soaking in became depleted of life energy, so Martine called for her wash down bath to be made ready and her servants on hand to bathe her.
Later in her private chamber, she stood and admired herself in the full length, polished silver mirror. Perfect, as always. How could any man resist her? Before heading into her bedroom to enjoy her ‘boys’, her thoughts turned to the young man from Gildon’s Keep who had plunged into the river.
Was it the same person?
Could he be bought?
Waltor and Mendle were having a heated discussion. Actually it was more like a full blown argument. The kitchen of Cristal’s mansion was thick with curses and a couple of junior kitchen hands had sneaked out for a break from it. The disagreement was about food, or rather, the lack of it.
“Ye can’t keep putting out all the food that ye do each meal time. We all have ta eat less or it’ll run out I tell ye.”
Waltor furiously pounded his fist on the table to emphasise his point of view.
“Well, you’ll just have to find more food.” Mendle replied fervently. “My Mistress and guests cannot be fed like paupers.”
“There is no ‘more’ woman. Apart from a few fish what gets pulled out ta harbour, what’s in the city is all there is. The farmers what brought cattle here have made their money, killing one now and again but there be no more left to kill soon. A few old horses ‘ave been slaughtered t’ feed the poor but there’s a lot a extra people crammed into this city and things is running out. If you want t’ go out ta main gates and brave over six thousand enemy soldiers t’ get more food. Go right ahead. This is a siege. We hafta eat less.”
Waltor sat down, slightly out of breath.
“Well I cannot go to the mistress and tell her she is to be treated like a peasant. She is a Lady and needs to be dealt with as such.”
Mendle knew she was on shaky ground but how could she lessen the rations and still keep up appearances?
“Maybe the mistress should be apprised of the problem.”
Both Waltor and Mendle whipped around at the sound of Cristal’s voice. The pair of them had been making so much noise, they hadn’t heard her enter the kitchen when she came to find out what all the fuss was about. Lareeta, her shadow, leaned against the doorjamb, a flicker of a smile running across her face at the sight of the two servants bickering. Both Waltor and Mendle hung their heads shamefully at being caught arguing like commoners.
“One of you please tell me what the reality of the food supply is at the present moment.”
Waltor shuffled his feet then spoke.
“Lot of folks ain’t got much to eat at all, specially them poorer ones. Could be trouble brewin’ there mistress if’n their babies is hungry. This house ha some supplies but Mendle here is use’n too much for each meal. Another month an we be eat’n ta horses.”
“Thank you Waltor, very much. Mendle, come with me please.” Cristal left the kitchen followed by Mendle, her face flushing red and her head hanging shamefully. They went to the study where Lareeta sat discretely in a corner chair as Cristal spoke to Mendle.
“You really must listen to the man Mendle. He was in the food shortage here in Belvedere during the last Dominion war. As was I. He’s a very shrewd old man, even if he doesn’t say much, which is why he’s Head Manservant of my staff. Don’t worry about appearances. Save the food. I may have to give some away yet.”
Mendle’s eyes widened at the thought of reducing their food supply even further. Cristal noticed her reaction but Mendle hadn’t been at the meeting of the Thieves Guild last night. Cristal, through her support of Merdon, the Guild’s representative on the Council of Ten, now held covert, regular meetings with the Thieves Guild. It had been messy, with lots of shouting but the bottom line was, although the poor were sharing foodstuffs, resources were low and riot wasn’t far away. This morning Cristal had called a Council meeting for later in the day and hopefully the food problem and feeding the poor would be dealt with there.
A knock came at the study door.
“That will be all Mendle. Thank you.”
Mendle exited as Kuiran and Raleen came in. They were always together now. Where one went, the other followed. It was charming. Cristal still remembered herself at their age. She noticed an unusual arm band tied above the bicep on Kuiran’s right arm, the one holding his staff. It was not the sort of armband one would expect the young giant to wear, as it was very delicately made and decorated with hundreds of tiny pearls, woven into an intricate eye catching design, difficult to focus on.
“Not more bad news I hope.”
Kuiran looked downcast.
“I am afraid so Cristal. The healing belt has stopped working. It’s why you can see it. No more miracles. I was wondering if I could visit Escarion to ask his help and see if he can power it up.”
“By all means. A good idea. Go any time. I’ll give you the key to the lower door of the church tower. The sooner your healing belt is working again, the better. It’s saved a lot of lives so far.”
Cristal delved into her desk drawer and handed over a big iron key which Kuiran placed in his belt pouch. Raleen touched his arm, nodded at Cristal and they both left. Cristal flopped into a chair and with a huge sigh exclaimed.
“Sieges are so very, very frustrating.”
Lareeta’s reply was a smile. Even with all the differences between them, she had come to admire and respect Cristal more than any other woman she’d known and was proud to call her friend.
Up on the walls, Jorgen de Fries stood surveying the scene before the city of Belvedere. The enemy forces, camped out on the flat ground surrounding the city, stretched as far as the eye could see. Off in the distance, the wagons bearing timber from the west crawled toward the enemy’s camp. Their destination, the ever growing siege towers rising taller every day. There was the problem. When those towers were complete, all hell was going to break loose and he didn’t have any idea how to overcome the threat they presented.
Trelin was helpful as always but even she could not give him all the answers he needed. Trelin, shy sweet Trelin, never judgemental, always helpful. Jorgen scowled. His wife was beginning to resent his visits to Trelin’s house and he foresaw trouble brewing on that front but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, he would far rather have his visits to Trelin than the company of the pretty socialite who’d finally caught him in marriage.
The guerrilla raids by Belvedere’s mounted
cavalry had done little to slow Martine’s timber gathering parties. Far less of Martine’s men came back than ventured out but it didn’t make any difference as far as he could see. The Empress seemed to have unlimited soldiers at her disposal. The defenders on the walls took heart at the small gains but as communication with his cavalry forces was impossible, they had to work independently and not under his command. However, Duke Braden de Marne was an able Commander and Jorgen had faith in the man; which was why he had put Duke Braden in charge of the cavalry.
Martine was an astute commander and had ordered bowmen scattered around the perimeter of her camp as protection against mounted cavalry attacks. As soon as any horsemen appeared, archers felled as many as they could. Cavalry raids on Martine’s encampment had ceased fairly early in the campaign because of her foresight. Jorgen secretly admired Empress Martine’s grasp of war. The woman was a skilled strategist. Damn her to Fate.
Winter was fast approaching and firepits blazed all over the enemy’s campsite, while in the city the inhabitants were running out of fuel for heating, hoarding the small amount they had left for cooking over. Times were becoming hard for those inside Belvedere’s walls and they were going to get a lot harder. Jorgen sighed, why did he have to be the one in charge during such desperate times?
Kuiran unlocked the door to the church tower. He and Raleen slipped in and he locked the door behind him. Escarion had been annoyed at the number of citizens coming to see him over trivial affairs, so he demanded the door be locked and Cristal given the only key or he would depart and leave Belvedere to its own devices.
Escarion was secretly bored, all was quiet in the enemy camp and not much of interest had occurred lately but he still kept an eye on the Dark Mage, who was residing in Empress Martine’s pavilion even if she wasn’t. Escarion had seen the fell drakon beast come back a couple of days after taking Martine away, as had many of Belvedere’s defenders. It had been a cause for concern and rumours were now rife in the city regarding evil magics. No panic yet but undercurrents of unease ran throughout the city. In reality Martine had probably returned to her capital for a while.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 18