The return to her troops was timed for this evening; another flight back to Southland, hopefully her last before victory. Once she had possession of Belvedere, the Dark Mage was probably unnecessary and she could send him home. He was beginning to concern her, with his cryptic comments and lack of respect. Her troops in Graswyn were fresh and she would take back Tarkent with them as soon as Belvedere fell. After that, well, all other lands would succumb to her Dominion.
Eventually.
King Daveed of the Barsoom had reached the south of Tarkent and was busy in his tent, receiving reports from scouts returning from northern Graswyn. He had moved quickly in response to the letters from Chalc and Arwhon, both stout sensible men who had risked their lives to save his son and daughter and indirectly his lands, although Martine had subsequently burnt them. A pox on the woman!
Daveed saw the sense in trying to remove the Dominion from all the lands, as Barsoom would then be safe from further attack. He had quickly sent word among the Tribes, setting out as soon as he had a decent force, with more to follow. It had been a quick, hard ride but they were Barsoomi and Barsoomi never complained of riding. It was what they were born to do.
The Barsoomi scouts reporting to him had been careful to avoid detection, often spending a lot of time off their horses to steal closer to the Dominion forces they observed, each learning more of the disposition of Martine’s troops in Graswyn.
The information coming back with them was interesting. Discipline appeared lax. The Dominion troops had been down in Graswyn a long time and had been under no real threat. They had relaxed their guard and often spent whole days playing dice or cards while their Captains drank in local inns. The local Graswyn inhabitants went about their business and made money from the troops where they could. There was no information available from further toward the coast, as it was too risky to scout that far afield.
Information from the port towns was non existent.
Still, King Daveed had nearly one thousand Riders with him, scattered in small camps among the forest of trees along this part of the border and those numbers would be enough to cause a dent in any army. Hit and run, no pitched battles and of course rotating his Riders so there were fresh fighters ready for the next engagement. Standard tactics for Barsoomi Riders. They would begin the campaign once the next batch of Riders arrived from the north.
Possibly tomorrow or the day after.
Martine, wrapped in her warm furs once again, climbed into the saddle behind the Dark Mage for the long trip back to Belvedere aboard the drakon. This was it. In the next few days she would triumph and eventually become a true Empress. The beast lifted off and as it cleared the Royal Palace she saw the row of stakes, like saplings bearing strange fruit. The suspended bodies of those who betrayed her, stretching nearly a mile and a half down both sides of the Imperial Way. A smile played over her sensual lips.
Power was all.
Many hours later, Escarion felt the aura of the Dark Mage before he saw the reptilian beast carrying the cloaked figure and the Empress Martine. It was night but that didn’t affect Escarion’s ability to see the disruption in the energies of Air, eddies where the wing beats caused currents in the streamers of Airmagic. The great beast came to land near Martine’s pavilion as Escarion hurriedly left the safety of his tower top and descended the spiral stairs. In a short time he was admitted through the gate of Cristal’s mansion and was announced by Waltor, as he quickly entered the house. The Mage was shown to the dining room, where the evening meal was about to be served.
“Have you eaten Escarion?” Cristal enquired of him.
“No but...”
He was interrupted.
“Please sit and join us. Mendle! Another place if you please.”
They were all at the table; Cristal, Lareeta, Arwhon, the beautiful Sihron’del, Kuiran and Raleen. Escarion had their attention.
“Martine and the Dark Mage are back. Tomorrow or the next day the attack will begin.”
There were nods all around. None of them seemed particularly perturbed by the news. In fact he sensed a little relief in some. A place was set before him and a generous meal was set down. Chicken, sprouted beans fried with turnip slivers and carrots. Fresh bread was on the table and all present helped themselves.
“Particularly fine meal,” Escarion observed. “Under the circumstances.”
Cristal looked up. “If Martine attacks tomorrow, it may be the last decent meal for any one of us. If she attacks the day after, well, we’ll have had two good meals.”
She looked around the table with a smile on her face and received only smiles in return. These people were all committed to defending Belvedere to their death, if it was necessary. Escarion sincerely hoped none of those here would pay that price and added his own opinion of Martine’s tactics.
“I personally believe it will be tomorrow night or the morning after. She will need a little time to gather her officers, receive reports and confirm tactics. It’s hoped news of Duke Braden de Marne’s latest raids will annoy her. He has been doing quite well recently.”
No one could reply as their mouths were too full of the fine repast to answer. Escarion tucked in with gusto, someone had mentioned hazelnut loaf for desert.
After the meal, Arwhon and Shiri sat off to one side together and he supplied her with Power as she charged the pearls in the healing belt. Continually drawing Power from Arwhon and not having to sing the song meant the replenishment went relatively quickly. In a few hours she had completed energizing another two hundred pearls or so which left roughly another hundred to go. A little job for tomorrow, if Martine did not attack.
The morning after her arrival, Martine’s good mood rapidly dissipated in the face of reports which came to her from her Captains and the temporary Commander she had left in charge. The Commander allowed the various Captains to present their reports individually. Guerrilla raids had been a nuisance for the last four or five days but they had lost only two further supply wagons. Martine had heard enough and sent the Captains away before turning to the Commander.
“What did that idiot mean, ‘only’ two supply wagons lost? That’s a substantial amount of food. Have the supplies from Graswyn arrived yet? No! Find out where they are and get them here immediately. Right now, I will address my army. Assemble all men not on duty, out of bowshot of the walls of course and have my horse saddled.”
Her wishes were quickly carried out and before long the Empress Martine dismounted to stand high on an empty wagon. Dressed dazzlingly in tailored jacket and trews of red silk, her burnished, close fitting breast and backplate emphasised her spectacularly female figure. With her dark hair unbound and flowing in the breeze, Martine looked as a goddess from legend. Before her, the troops making up her army stood in serried ranks as if on parade. Her saddled white horse was tied to the wagon and all was quiet.
“Men, the time has finally arrived. We will attack the city of Belvedere at first light tomorrow.”
Cheers erupted from the throats of the soldiers before her. They had been waiting here a long time and for a lot of them, patience was wearing thin. They wanted action and were happy it had come at last. Martine continued.
“The siege tower will be moved into place before dawn. Your Captains know what is to happen. Your job is to fight and your reward will be whatever you can carry from the city.”
Again the cheering was loud and longer this time.
“Now, bad news. The Broken Lands and Tarkent have temporarily been retaken by rebels. In Tarkent, some traitors actually surrendered to the rebel forces. Surrender is not the way of the Dominion. I will not tolerate it. Those soldiers who slunk back to Goristoum have been removed, as stains, from our glorious army. Over two hundred and forty of their cowardly carcasses are now hanging from stakes along the Imperial Way. I tell you this because tomorrow we are in a fight to the death. I don’t wish any prisoners taken, except for highborn or Belvedere’s military Commander, nor is their surrender an option. All who fight
us must die. Men of the Dominion, we will triumph.”
Again there was cheering but not as loud as before. Some of the younger soldiers were looking at one another, visibly disturbed by the news some of their number had been killed for surrendering to the enemy. Most of the old timers were not perturbed. This was the Dominion they had grown up in. Kill or be killed.
The Empress Martine descended from the wagon bed and mounted her horse, riding through her army on a last inspection before the final assault. She rode in rhythm with her horse, hips moving backwards and forwards, her lustrous hair blowing free in the breeze, a picture of health and totally desirable. The soldiers gazed in awe at their beautiful Empress as she rode among them.
A woman worth dying for.
Alert for the call to battle, quiet permeated Belvedere, broken sporadically by the rasp of stone on steel as defenders sharpened already sharp weapons, easing the waiting with the repetitious familiarity of routine tasks. Hospital facilities were set up in the lower, older part of town and stretcher parties with small carts organised for the carrying of the wounded. The area was well away from the expected area of conflict and kept the space behind the walls free for the movement of soldiers. On the quayside, Kuiran dipped his staff into the murky harbour water and soon after a brown head bobbed up to greet him.
“Greetingss young Kuiran. Have you come to sswim with me?”
“No Ssarista, I would like to but I cannot now. The attack will come soon and the ships of the Draakon Reavers will probably be involved. I came to see if your offer of help was still in effect.”
“Thosse black hulled shipss have killed many of uss for ssport over the yearss. We have gathered here to help and will keep watch. Do not fear young Kuiran, we will sswim together again soon.”
The brown head slipped beneath the surface and was gone. Kuiran breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about. He returned to the mansion where his belt was handed back to him by a somewhat weary Sihron’del.
“All the pearls are charged with magic and will heal. I suggest you only use it on serious cases. There are only four hundred healings in it.”
Kuiran thanked her and tied it above his massive right bicep where the belt became invisible once again. It was time to lightly oil his mail gauntlets and prepare for war.
The evening meal was once again a delight to behold but no one had much of an appetite. Suspense was building and stomachs were unsettled as each of the people around the table dealt with the prelude to war. Conversation was light, the operational matters having been dealt with, so only a few minor details were discussed among them.
Cristal gazed around the dining room at the art works and finery she had collected over time and spent her life among. Most of her years had been spent in this mansion, her home.
Would it still be hers after the conflict?
They all retired early but each knew sleep would be elusive, with certain knowledge of Martine’s attack upon the walls of Belvedere on the morrow.
The warning cries came echoing down from the walls before dawn along with cacophonous trumpet calls. Most residents of Belvedere had spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning as they waited for the coming of the new day and at the first cry of alarm, had leapt from their beds. Most had slept in their clothing.
Jorgen was already up on the wall. In the dark before dawn, a sharp-eared sentry had heard the sound of creaking cordage and the occasional grunt as five hundred men, hauling on ropes, rolled the huge siege tower toward the walls. Fire arrows were sent out into the night and each diminutive fire picked out a small piece of the scene before them. Some of the arrows lodged in the tower itself but were quickly extinguished. The tower drew closer, then suddenly a hail of arrows came from the enemy in the dark, whispering over the wall in a deadly swarm.
“Take cover and return fire but pick your targets,” was the order repeated all along the wall.
Bowmen scrambled into position behind the crenulations but had difficulty in locking onto targets in the dim light. Boys, specially picked, too young to fight, scurried around the street below looking for unbroken enemy arrows to take back up the wall for the bowmen to send back. More fire arrows were launched by the defenders and the siege tower was now seen to be appreciably closer. Over on the western side of the north wall, scaling ladders suddenly crashed against the stone of the battlements and the enemy ascended them en masse, roaring and bellowing. Cries went out for reinforcements as some of the enemy soldiers neared the top, longknives clamped between their teeth, swords or other weapons on straps across their backs or slipped under belts.
The assault had begun.
In those ferocious first few minutes, the clash of two opposing armies reverberated throughout the city, the sounds carrying in the stillness of dawn as light began to streak the eastern horizon. The scene on the walls was chaotic, as the enemy forces tried to fight their way over the walls of the city and the siege tower inched ever closer. The Dominion soldiers hauling the tower across the ever decreasing space between it and the walls were now within range of bowshot but each man on a rope had a compatriot beside him with a large shield held overhead, protecting them both and clear shots were not easy to come by.
Boiling water and rocks were hurled down from the walls but as one enemy fell, another jumped to take his place on the ropes. Two full battalions of Belvedere defenders, armed to the teeth, were waiting on the wall for the enemy. On the street below, the remaining two battalions were held in reserve, in anticipation of the swarming assault when the aerial drawbridge of the siege tower fell.
Another separate offensive by Martine’s forces, this time on the eastern wall and a company of soldiers were dispatched to deal with it. All of the Southland army within the walls of Belvedere was ready and armed; there would be no rest today.
Jorgen stood in the high gatehouse on the right of the gates; the elevation enough to observe the action as daylight brightened to light all he surveyed. Martine’s forces had attacked on three fronts at once, the assault ladders were feints, obviously to draw forces from defending against the siege tower, but they could not be ignored. Any enemy coming over the wall was bad news. Jorgen looked at the knots of soldiers fighting, swords rising and falling as the enemy was hacked from above and the ladders pushed off the walls but as fast as they were felled they were being stood up again.
The siege tower was almost in position now and soon the real battle would begin. Its bridge dropped with a thunderous crash onto the top of the wall not fifty paces from Jorgen and he saw four rows of enemy troops run at the defenders, more streaming into the back of the tower at the base. A relentless horde waiting to enter Belvedere. Jorgen turned to the trumpeter by his side.
“Call for reinforcements. Now!”
The trumpeter wet his lips and it took two or three nervous attempts to make the call before the sound of his trumpet summoned the waiting reinforcements. Troops came running as the first wave of the enemy, rushing across the aerial bridge, collided with the front line defenders on the wall who forced them back with the ferocity of their defence. Not only swords but axes, hooked blades, short spears, staves and huge clubs with spiked steel heads were utilized with force and savagery by the Dominion horde. Some of the enemy carried shields and these came first, protecting those behind. Jorgen passed a command to his Captains.
“Have the bowmen fire onto the bridge, try to block it with their dead.”
Wave after wave of arrows sheeted onto the siege tower bridge, killing the enemy soldiers crossing it but the bodies were callously hurled over the side as yet more Dominion soldiers took the place of the casualties.
On the walls the situation was becoming dire. Blood and gore rendered the battlements slippery and soldiers were loosing their footing as weapons rose and fell incessantly. The dead of both sides were piling up and bodies were trampled as the wave of fighting moved back and forth. The air was filled with the sounds of weapons clashing, commands, grunting and cries of pain as those on eac
h side fought on without let. No breath to spare for anything more than the hefting of weapons. Cut, slash, parry and riposte. Duck, dodge, weave and thrust.
So it went on, the strangely musical and gruesome dance of war. Jorgen closely observed the fighting below. In spite of the bravery of the defending forces, the enemy was gaining ground. Time to lock the upper doors of the gatehouses letting on to the battlements and bar the doors on the inside. A small force would be left to cover the unforeseen and he would stay here as long as possible, it was a useful observation post. If the enemy wanted to open the main gates they would have to fight their way down the open stone stairways from the battlements first.
Martine watched with satisfaction from a position at the rear of her army as the first wave of the assault clashed with the defenders. She turned to the Dark Mage beside her.
“The Reavers should be approaching the harbour soon. Time for you to go to its eastern side and maintain vigil. Make sure any fires on the water are extinguished. We don’t want the Reavers to fail a second time.”
The Dark Mage grunted and turned to make his way across the bridge over the Wandering River and down to the harbour. He was in his element as a spectator to the slash and gore of Men at war. He cared not who won or lost. If he kept using Martine, many more would die but he was deeply disturbed by her attitude toward him. She had no respect. For now though, the battle was satisfying.
The Belvedere bowmen were running short of arrows. The Dominion archers directed their arrows high over the walls to avoid hitting their own men. A lethal rain fell in the streets behind the defenders, amid which the brave arrow retrievers dodged and ran, although not a few of their number lay dead, pierced by the very articles they were collecting. Jorgen stood tense with concentration, his eyes everywhere and trying not to count the dead. His forces had weathered the first storm but the hand to hand fighting was fierce and Jorgen didn’t know how long they could hold the wall. He looked around to see if he could spot Kuiran or Cristal or any of her household and then, off in the distance, out to sea he spotted red sails. Not a couple but many. At a rough count there were over sixty Reaver ships bearing down on Belvedere’s harbour. Once more he turned to the trumpeter.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 30