Kuiran was overjoyed.
“Shiri and Arwhon. It really is great to have you back. My guess is you don’t need us right now though,” he said indicating Raleen and himself.
Arwhon smiled. “No, we don’t but I would ask a favour. See if you can find some offal or bones or hide, anything to feed to Krissi. I’d hate to have her help herself to one of the farming families out the back.”
Kuiran realised Arwhon was not joking and looked over at Krissi curled up innocently in a corner of the room.
“Is she really that dangerous?”
“She killed and ate Kroy about three weeks ago.”
Kuiran grinned at Arwhon when he heard the news Kroy was dead then he got up and rapidly left the room with Raleen in tow. Arwhon felt confident Kuiran would find something for Krissi. For the next three hours he listened to Shiri singing the healing song over and over as he supplied her with more and more Power at regular intervals. She used all of it and in that time had managed to activate only twenty of the little pearls scattered over the belt.
Only three hundred and eighty more to go.
Dinner was pleasant. Cristal had to constantly remind herself that Trelin and Jorgen were not a couple, although they dovetailed together so well. Cristal had been a guest at Jorgen’s wedding and had decided then the woman Jorgen had chosen for a wife was very superficial but how could anyone tell a new groom his wife was shallow? Especially when his new bride was so buxom and beautiful and they made such a handsome couple. Time tells, she thought.
Arwhon and Trelin got on like a house on fire and eagerly talked tactics at every opportunity. The news the King of Barsoom could, at this very moment, be marching to take Graswyn gave Jorgen much hope and hearing of Arwhon’s recent talks with Duke Braden de Marne buoyed the man further. Arwhon mentioned to the Commander the importance of confidence in the leaders, as this was what inspired the rank and file soldiers of the army. Trelin agreed with Arwhon and the subject of the conversation changed to troop morale and its importance in the tide of battle.
Krissi lay sleeping in the corner, near the fire, her huge belly testament to the scraps of hide, hooves and odd bits of bone from a recently slaughtered horse which Kuiran had paid handsomely for and lugged back to the mansion. He had watched in disbelief at the speed with which Krissi had devoured the pile of broken and bloodied remains of the horse carcass placed in front of her, picking up hooves and bones and swallowing them whole before rending the hide into shreds which she gobbled down in great gulping spasms.
Raleen and Kuiran excused themselves before it grew too late and soon after that Jorgen left to deliver Trelin to her home before continuing on to his wife’s usual frosty reception. A joyless prospect.
The dark shape, winging in at sunrise, drew Escarion’s attention as it made dark eddies in the bright shimmering bands of Airmagic. He watched as the beast landed outside Empress Martine’s tent. The Dark Mage emerged first to take his seat, then Martine, wrapped in thick expensive furs from head to toe, exited the tent and climbed onto the second saddle strapped to the drakon’s lower neck at its shoulder. The drakon took off, flapping its huge, leathery wings to gain height before turning north east and flying away. Escarion observed it until the tiny dot on the horizon disappeared from view.
Martine loved this mode of travel; it was so exciting being this high from the ground and so informative too. The air was frigid and she was sure icicles were forming on the end of her nose. Below were the blackened remains of Barsoom. Burnt at her command.
Evidence of her magnificent power.
They flew over the fired Plains for hours before Martine noticed the country starting to green and rise into uneven terrain in the distance ahead. She knew that beyond the horizon but shortly coming into view, was the mountainous backdrop to Debrishar, heart of the Dominion. Soon they would be in Goristoum where she would be able to partake of her special monthly treatment. Since reaching her centenary, the special bath had to be undertaken monthly. No longer could she extend the intervals between treatments without suffering the damaging consequences of rapid aging. The problem seemed to be worsening of late.
After another four hours of flying, the huge creature set down in the rear courtyard of the Royal Palace in Goristoum. Even before it had finished moving, Martine eased herself out of the saddle and hurried toward the rear doors. Before she got there, they were flung open and Carlinna ran towards her, stopping in front of Martine, wringing her hands and curtseying all at the same time. The behaviour was so totally unlike any Carlinna had ever exhibited before, that Martine became suspicious.
“Have you been eating those special mushrooms I imported from Draakonia, or trying new mixes of exotic herbs?”
“No Mistress, not at all but there is terrible news. Have you heard?”
“Heard what girl! Out with it; come on, tell me.”
“It would be better if you were sitting down with a glass of wine Mistress.”
“Carlinna, you’re trying my patience. Tell me now.”
Carlinna could not avoid it. She had made her Mistress displeased and there would be punishment if she didn’t tell now. She let it all out in a rush.
“Tarkent has rebelled and freed itself from the Dominion. The soldiers who were at the garrison there, those who were not killed in the fighting, were sent home weaponless and without boots. About two hundred and fifty of them came back. Some others have deserted.”
The Empress Martine was speechless. She stood stock still, the blood draining from her face as the implications hit her. Never in her wildest dreams did she believe Tarkent would rebel, especially with the Royal family held hostage in their own Keep.
“Were the Royal Family killed as I ordered if there was rebellion?”
“No Mistress, they were rescued before the rebellion started.”
“Do you know who led the rebel soldiers?”
“The story told is of a tall, young man in chainmail and helm, with a Tarkent style sword spitting red flashes and cutting through the swords of those who opposed him. It was he who ordered the prisoners sent home and not killed.”
Martine’s pulse raced. How could it be? The same person campaigning in the Broken Lands with the Barsoomi. The Barsoomi who should have gone south to Belvedere when she ordered their homeland burnt but didn’t. Who was he?
“Was there a woman with him?”
“So the story goes Mistress. A beautiful pale-haired woman dressed all in green armour. Someone reckoned even a crossbow bolt wouldn’t go through it.”
The Dark Mage sauntered past. He had heard everything and was quite enjoying Martine’s consternation. It was fine by him, whatever the outcome. As long as Men died en masse he didn’t really care who won. That young man however, was setting an annoying trend by letting defeated prisoners go. The practice might take off and become popular. Definitely not good. Men had to be eradicated!
“Bad news Martine?”
He smirked as he said it. She couldn’t see the smirk because his face was buried deep within the hood of his cloak but she could hear it in his voice.
“Yes, very. We have some planning to do. I have to take Belvedere. We cannot fail or all is ruined. You’ll help me to take it by using your magic.”
“I must remind you,” the Dark Mage muttered, “that direct use of magic to harm Man is against the Treaty.”
“I don’t give a damn about your precious Treaty you idiot, break it. Kill people and enjoy it for a change rather than have me do it for you. Don’t you realise I know I’m being used by you. I’m not a fool, I’ve used you also. Look at me, over a hundred years old now. No one can surpass my beauty.”
Martine’s temper had cooled to icy determination. She set her jaw, her first intention now was to repair to the Throne Room to dispense certain fierce justice, after which she would dine, Later, there were her play boys to exert vicious domination over before surrendering to a well-earned, restorative sleep. A sudden thought hit her.
“Carlinna
, what of Kroy?”
“It is said he was killed and eaten by a gryffon.”
The Dark Mage’s head shot up at mention of a gryffon. The only beast in all the lands which magic, good or evil, could not affect. Oh, you could hide one with a glamour or repel one with a magic shield but gryffons could never be harmed or destroyed by the use of magic. Where had the one which ate Kroy come from?
He asked Carlinna, who replied.
“The young man with the flashing sword. It is said to listen to him.”
The Dark Mage grunted and waved his hand in the direction of his flying creature which took off to hunt a ghastly feed then wait until it was summonsed again. Then he strode off into the Palace. The Dark Mage had things to attend to also.
Martine spared a thought for Kroy before entering the Palace herself. Useful bastard when he was alive. What a way to die.
As the Empress strode into the brilliantly candle-lit Throne Room, heated by a huge blaze in its great fireplace, she threw off the expensive furs which were immediately gathered up by her attendant servants. She’d dressed for the occasion early this morning, for beneath her furs she wore a fine silk gown in a subdued red with matching slippers. At her throat were rubies. Martine ascended the Throne. It felt good to be home again, where luxury was hers whenever she wanted, as her right.
The doors at the far end of the vast room opened and her Chamberlain came hurrying in, obviously alerted to the fact his Empress had returned to the Palace. He swept past the Royal Guardsmen, who stood rigidly to attention and halted before her.
“Greetings Agmar, before you start with all the drivel I have to put up with, there’s a little task I want seen to.”
“Empress, I am yours to command.”
“Excellent. How many soldiers returned from Tarkent?”
“Two hundred and forty three, Empress.”
“I want every one of them ritually strangled and the bodies hung by their wrists from posts, spaced twenty paces apart along both sides of the Imperial Way.”
For a moment, only a moment, the Chamberlain’s face registered shock, then the mask was replaced. Martine noticed the momentary lapse however.
“May I ask why, Empress?” he dared, with a submissive bowing of his head.
“By all means Agmar. I’ll not have any of my soldiers, not one, yielding to the enemy. This will be a lesson, broadcast throughout the rapidly dwindling Dominion. Any soldier who surrenders to the enemy will die by my hand. I will not have an army of soldiers who give up. It’s a weakness and we will not maintain Dominion through weakness. Get onto it right away. I want to see those bodies swinging by tomorrow. They’re to hang until they rot and fall from the arms.”
The Chamberlain bowed deeply and retreated backwards, well away from the Throne before turning around quickly and hurrying out. After dining Martine turned to a more personal release of frustrated power. Her waiting boys were soon made aware of their mistress’s desire for vengeance and domination to calm her thwarted ambition. She exacted her dues before dismissing them and falling into a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, after a leisurely breakfast, the Empress took herself to an upstairs balcony overlooking the Imperial Way as it descended through Goristoum, down the hill from the Palace. Already, on both sides of the avenue, there were bodies hanging from posts for over a mile. Her face registered a cold, hard smile, her soldiers would not be so keen on surrendering when word of this spread.
The Dark Mage appeared beside her.
“Very impressive Empress. I see you and I are of like minds on this. Remember, in just over one week we have to be ready for the attack on Belvedere.”
She turned to regard the hooded Mage.
“I want the man with the sword, the one with the fancy design on his helm and the M’Herindar baggage who protects him. I owe them both a year of torture for what they have dared do to me. You must help me capture them.”
The Dark Mage nodded his assent.
“We only need take one of them, the other will soon follow. I’ll try for the girl. M’Herindar, hmmm. Could be interesting.”
“I don’t care how you do it, I just want them. They have interfered in my plans far too often and I’ve no intention of putting up with either of them any longer.”
Martine turned and stalked off. Today was the day for a soak in her personal bath of blood and she was eager to begin it.
The Dark Mage watched her go. Martine was becoming too full of her own importance. How dare she order him around like a servant?
He was Gahidrin’derth, the most powerful of the Q’Herindam Mages and soon, when his plans came to fruition, he would be elevated to become King of the Q’Herindam, a position he would create. One such as he should be spoken to civilly. Besides testing his patience, Martine was rude and demanding. The Dark Mage thought about revoking the spell he still controlled, the one which allowed Martine to steal life essence from blood and smiled with dark humour.
Her rapid aging could be amusing to watch.
In Belvedere, the army and the citizens were being kept busy. In anticipation of street fighting, barricades were being set up across all the roads and alleys in the city which allowed access to the Plaza from the northern wall and also across streets leading from the Plaza back down to the harbour. Just in case Reavers came up from the docks.
The central square was the place where a last stand would be made and it was important to slow the tide of enemy soldiers which would pour into the city once the front gate was broached. There was no doubt it was the way Martine’s forces would enter the city, as the siege tower had been pulled even closer to the north wall overnight, although it was still out of range of return arrow fire. It loomed over the wall, casting a pall over the activities of the inhabitants as they went about their business.
Escarion had made a point of informing Arwhon about the departure of both Martine and the Dark Mage on the drakon.
“Soon after they return, is when I would expect an attack,” the Mage offered.
“My thinking also, Escarion. Please keep your eyes and ears open and let me know immediately they return. We have to be ready for them. I must go, duty calls.”
Arwhon turned, striding off. “See you later,” he yelled over his shoulder as he headed down the church tower stairs. There were plenty more preparations yet to make.
Catching sight of Jorgen de Frie in the main square, Arwhon hurried over to him.
“Greetings Commander, I was wondering how the plans for getting the women, children and older citizens out of the western gate were progressing?”
Jorgen looked harassed, there was so much to think of and time was swiftly running out. Trelin helped but he was only one person and there was a limit.
“I haven’t got that far yet. Would you mind talking to Duke Dalvan and ascertaining if he would use the City Guard to organise the evacuation please. The Guard will be superfluous if Martine’s forces manage to enter the city. Probably get in the way of the army.”
Arwhon thought for a moment then nodded in agreement.
“Thank you Arwhon, its one less thing for me to do.”
Jorgen inclined his head in appreciation as he turned away to get back to ordering his Captains to increase the height of the barricades blocking entry into the Plaza. Farmers had been displaced and their wagons rolled into position and tipped up on their sides to strengthen the defences. If Martine’s forces broke into the central square, they would eventually be able to take command of the whole city from there.
The Plaza was the key.
Arwhon made his way to the City Guard barracks situated in the north east of the city and was quickly led into Duke Dalvan’s presence. The Duke had changed his attitude in the last month or so, finally realising a lot of Cristal’s household guests were very capable people and had the best interests of Belvedere at heart. With a wave of his hand he invited Arwhon to sit and sent his servant off for some dregs of cold ale. The pair sat sipping from the tankards of flat beer as they
went over the plans for the evacuation of Belvedere and the best routes to move women, children and the frail through to the west gate.
“If Empress Martine leaves a contingent of soldiers at the western gate, your City Guard will need to clear them away before any civilian leaves. Will they be up to the task?” Arwhon queried.
“Thanks to Chalc, Kuiran and even Lareeta, the Guard is better equipped to fight now. The men seem to have a belief and purpose they had not shown before.”
The Duke took a swig of his ale and looked at the tankard with distaste as he set it down.
“I wonder how long it will be before Martine attacks?” he pondered.
“Not long now.” Arwhon replied before draining his mug and rising to take his leave. “Hope the last of the ale holds out.”
He hurried back to the mansion for his next task, supplying Shiri with yet more Power as she charged up further pearls on Kuiran’s belt. He had heard the spell song over eighty times now and he was growing tired of the refrain. Still, he only had to listen to it another twenty times before Shiri would be able to perform the spell without the song. Relief was in sight!
Over the next few days, the bustle of activity in the city died down as the final preparations for defence were completed. Patrols on the wall were doubled but that aside, the streets were virtually deserted. Each day was like Solvenday before the ale houses opened in the afternoon, with only a few folk moving quickly along the streets going about their business. There was a brooding, hushed expectancy in the air as everyone waited for the final attack.
Martine felt strong, full of warrior energy, freed from reliance on unworthy others. It was winter and cold, with the sky over Goristoum a thick, cloudy grey, still her spirits were buoyed. Everyone she dealt with at the palace responded to her with an alacrity that had been missing until the posts carrying the soldiers’ bodies had been erected alongside the Imperial Way. There were no petty squabbles to adjudicate anymore, as the injured parties in such disputes feared real injury if she became displeased with them, so sorted out their own problems. Her vengefulness was a controlled white heat, she felt ready to conquer the world, solely in command. Starting with Belvedere.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 29