He was starting to make ground.
The Southland forces were closing in as Martine’s own forces surrounded her in defence. She would not wait to witness Arwhon’s success; Southland’s refusal to succumb. She’d depart with her captive. No matter, she still had part of her army left in Graswyn and time on her side. Centuries she believed.
As the laden drakon lumbered into the air, the two opposing sides clashed like two huge waves in a storm. Arrows flew at the Dark Mage and Martine, only to be deflected by his defensive shield of magic and as the drakon turned toward Goristoum, gaining height by the minute, a common little ditty ran through Martine’s mind.
‘He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day’.
She would be back.
Of that there was no shadow of doubt.
Few noticed a gryffon climbing into the air, staying well behind the drakon and soon both had winged out of sight.
In the square, the fighting was intense. Kuiran ran to help Arwhon, the giant cracking a few skulls around him to clear his path. The Dominion soldiers were now completely surrounded but still had numbers. They refused to cede and in spite of evermore likely defeat, their Empress’s actions in Goristoum drove them to continue.
During a particularly fierce engagement, Arwhon didn’t see the Dominion bully who crept up behind him and smashed a wild blow from a wicked club into Arwhon’s head. His helm rang with the impact and red fire leapt from it as Arwhon dropped like a stone.
The Dominion club wielder stomped away looking for more victims, leaving Arwhon lying amongst the fallen. Kuiran had seen the blow and swung his staff yet more fiercely to fight his way back to Arwhon, castigating himself for not standing right beside the person he was sworn to protect. He reached the still body and was relieved to find Arwhon was merely unconscious. The giant carefully took Arwhon’s sword from his limp fingers and wiped it before sheathing it in the scabbard at Arwhon’s back then gently lifted the limp body and ignoring the melee around them, handed the sagging form over the barricade into the care of Cristal, tears in her eyes at the sight of Arwhon once again injured.
The Southland soldiers were incensed at the sight of their hero being handed over the barricade. Arwhon and Shiri had become the mascots of Belvedere and many had stood beside or behind Arwhon as he fought for their lives and their city with Shiri always close by him, protecting his back. Many of the soldiers were also aware of the contributions Arwhon had made to the war on the Dominion and were infuriated Shiri had been taken by Martine. That anger drove the Southland soldiers to destroy the enemy and with a cold resolve they hacked, slashed, bashed and decimated the Dominion forces.
Although the fighting only lasted until near dark, the toll inflicted on Martine’s forces was extremely heavy. During a lull in the fighting, as darkness approached, Jorgen stood on a high spot on the barricades and drew the attention of the remainder of the Dominion forces.
“Your Empress has fled and left you behind. If you yield, we will not harm you. That is a promise, it’s our way. Throw down your weapons and raise your arms if you wish to live.”
Instantly there were a few clanks and thuds, followed by more, quickly turned to a cacophony as weapons dropped to the cobbles and hands were raised high in surrender.
The day was won.
In Graswyn, the Barsoomi King commanded his forces with precision and skill. The guerrilla raids were replaced with more pitched battles as the remaining Riders from the Tribes rode down through Tarkent to join him, swelling his ranks.
Daveed was a clever man. Yes he was King but he knew his subjects well and used the rivalry between the Tribes to turn the battles into contests between them. It was a form of sport to the Barsoomi and they revelled in the action.
Martine’s forces in Graswyn had difficulty fighting the Barsoomi Riders, armed as they were with lances and horsebows. The Riders swept in and speared the front ranks of Dominion infantrymen, turning away as the next wave of Riders came in and then sat their horses off to the sides of the Graswyn army, firing arrows into their midst. The Barsoomi were a fun loving people but took war very seriously. The Dominion had dared to kidnap the Barsoomi heirs. It rankled. Martine had ordered the Barsoom Plains fired; their homeland burnt to ash and inhospitable until spring. A cowardly act.
Prisoners were not taken. The only troops to survive were those who fled as deserters. Many did, once word spread of the severity of the revenge of the Barsoom nation. Before long, King Daveed gained control of Graswyn and sought out their Council of Ten in Talhaven.
Only six still lived.
“You are in charge here now, your country is free.” He told them. “We ride now for Southland to assist those in Belvedere. I recommend you make some amends to your Southland neighbours by dispatching wagons of grain from your stores to the city of Belvedere. The wagons can follow us. I’ll leave the deadliest Riders, those of the Black River and Swift River Tribes to watch over you for a while. In the event any Dominion soldiers dare to return, although there are not so many left.
Remember the name Arwhon nari Tsalk. It was he who has engineered the freeing of the lands from the Dominion. Should he come to Graswyn, treat him as a hero.”
Having said his piece, the King of Barsoom rode out with his retinue, leaving them to organise the grain shipments, most grateful for their freedom. Shortly, after making arrangements with the two northernmost of his Barsoomi Tribes to stay behind and make sure order was kept, King Daveed left on his ride to Belvedere to assist in freeing the city.
Arwhon regained consciousness gradually with a thumping head. He felt a cool moist towel on his forehead and gradually opened his eyes, carefully moving his head to look around him. He recognised the inside of his bedroom at Cristal’s mansion and there beside him, perched on the edge of a chair, was his Grandmother.
“Praise be, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a team of horses and the wagon they were pulling. Did we win?”
“Yes, and we’re back in the mansion again, not too much damage from the looting thankfully and they didn’t find my cache of gold and jewels.”
Arwhon felt a familiar tug in his head and smiled as it eased.
“Duran’s back. Did Breeta return with the mounted forces?”
His Grandmother smiled down at him lovingly.
“Yes, and we had a hard time keeping that horse out of the house. He was so worried about you. I swear he becomes more human every day.”
Kuiran stuck his head into the room and seeing Arwhon was awake, entered. He fiddled with his arm and the healing belt appeared in his hand. He laid it on Arwhon’s chest and one of the little pearls winked and went dull. Arwhon’s headache diminished.
“Well, that was the last one. I was saving it for you. All the others have healed mortal wounds and saved many lives, although I could have used it three times over.”
Arwhon looked up at Kuiran.
“Just see Shiri, she knows the spell backwards now and can recharge it for you. I should be able to give her Power if she needs it.”
There was an awkward silence, Kuiran glanced at Cristal who returned the look and gave a little shake of her head. Arwhon caught it.
“What? Has something happened to Shiri?” he asked anxiously. “Tell me, please, I have to know.”
His Grandmother sighed and took his hand.
“You may have lost a little memory from that bump on the head; Fate knows it would have killed anyone else. I didn’t want to tell you right away but Shiri was struck down by the Dark Mage’s magic. He was too powerful for her and knocked her out. Martine has captured our Shiri and stolen her away upon the drakon.”
Arwhon’s strange eyes widened at the news. Shiri in the clutches of Martine and the Dark Mage. It all started to come back. Escarion had been killed and given him the jewel with his life essence in it. He was looking away when Shiri was hit by the Dark Mage’s spell but he had seen her on the ground when he turned to find
a wall of Dominion soldiers between them.
He must rescue her at once.
Trying to sit up, he collapsed back as wave after wave of coloured lights went off in his head. He felt something in his right hand and looked down to find he was gripping the sapphire Escarion had requested he return to the Kin of S’Ria or use on a worthy successor. The sapphire Escarion had placed his life essence inside. He offered it to his Grandmother.
“Put this with your other jewels, probably the best place to keep it safe. Escarion still exists somewhere within it. He was a good man. We’ll miss him. If ever I find someone worthy of it, I’ll come to get it.”
His Grandmother nodded, saddened at the news Escarion lived on only inside the sapphire and gently relieved Arwhon of the deep blue jewel as her grandson closed his eyes to try to lessen the unwanted light show going off in his head. With his Grandmother stroking his brow, Arwhon fell asleep but dreamt a strange dream.
In it, he sat comfortably in a windowless, stone walled room with Escarion, enjoying a merry fire blazing in the hearth. A misty stranger stood leaning against the fireplace. Escarion did not seem to see the stranger and Arwhon could not make out any facial features on the man. Colours of all descriptions flowed around the room and Escarion appeared to be talking but there were no words. The man of mist observed for a while but when Arwhon turned to ask him a question, the apparition flowed into the fire in the hearth which blazed bright as the sun for a moment before dying out. Arwhon turned back to Escarion but the room dissolved before he could fix on the Mage.
Arwhon’s bedroom was on the eastern corner of the house overlooking the stables and its heavy drapes had been drawn tight. Light did not penetrate easily and Arwhon slept fitfully through the night until lunchtime the following day. Upon waking, thoughts of Shiri flew to mind. He thought again of rescuing her but when he rose, his sense of balance was still affected. Unusually so, for since his training with Chalc, he was quick on his feet. The feeling wore off and Arwhon dressed slowly, donning his beautiful reddish mail, sword and dagger. Downstairs, Mendle greeted him cheerfully and enquired about his health before serving him a meal. The food seemed better than it had been before.
“Where is everyone Mendle?” he enquired as the stout housekeeper bustled about.
“Out working to mend the city, collect food from the wagons left at Martine’s camp and see what can be salvaged for reuse. Cristal said to join her at the Plaza when you’d had breakfast.” She winked at him. “Or lunch.”
As Arwhon finished his meal, there was a tugging in his mind and he immediately headed for the stables. As he stepped outside the door, the winter sunlight hit him. It seemed to split into fine strands of weak fire and he held his hand up to allow the strands to caress his fingertips, flowing like streamers in the breeze. It was beautiful and frightening at the same time.
Billit was back in his stables, old and bent and greeted Arwhon enthusiastically as Arwhon approached the stall with the big grey head hanging over the door. Entering the stall, he stood hugging Duran’s neck as the horse absorbed the attention and sent waves of pleasure back. They had missed each other. In the next stall, Rancid stood quietly, ears drooped, looking bereft. With Shiri foremost in his mind, Arwhon took time to offer some comfort to the one time ornery mule. Rancid picked up a little but he was not happy, his bond mate was absent.
After saddling Duran but before mounting, Arwhon took a moment to fill himself with Power. He felt stronger but not as complete as he normally would and his headache was returning. He must have taken quite a blow to his head.
Once in the saddle he felt at home and rode down to the square. On the way down he was amazed at the transformation which had occurred to the city in such a short time. Citizens were out and busy, pushing barrows with all sorts of contents, some coming in from the enemy camp, some on the way out to it. The barricades were down, with wagons back on their wheels, some being used to cart away the bodies of the dead. Belvedere’s soldiers would be buried individually in a large war cemetery to the west of the walls so they would never be forgotten. The Dominion soldiers however, were being carted to a mass grave for their burial.
Repairs were going ahead at pace and folk seemed renewed, the dour expressions of the previous weeks under siege replaced by determined smiles and pride. Relief played a big part in the change in attitude. Arwhon was greeted warmly by most people he passed, everyone seemed to know his name and none were put off anymore by the strange M’Herindar eyes. He felt welcome in the city.
Arriving at the square, he quickly located Cristal, Raleen and of course Lareeta. They were organising the return of furniture items to their original owners, tables and such like used for part of the Plaza square barricades. At times it was necessary for them to adjudicate in minor disputes. Raleen had found her powers useful for lifting and separating various heavy items without damaging them and she was frequently sought out to help folk disentangle their claimed belongings from among piles of furniture. Dismounting and leaving Duran’s reins hanging, Arwhon embraced his Grandmother and nodded toward Lareeta.
“What did you do with Escarion’s remains? We have to give him a decent burial.”
“There are no remains Arwhon. When you rose from his body after Shiri was knocked unconscious, it turned to dust and a wind came up and blew it all away. He is no more.” She took his hand. “I hate to see you troubled. We’ll get Shiri back. I just know it.”
His head shot up.
“Not we, Grandmother. Me. She was defending me and I love her to distraction. I think she may have been taken to Goristoum. It’s me Martine wants though. The thorn in her side. I aim to offer myself in exchange for Shiri.”
His Grandmother’s face fell.
“We’ll mount an army. You can’t give yourself to Martine, she’ll kill you.”
“That’s as may be but the might of the Dominion is broken and the lands are freed. From the start, it’s all my task may have been. I’m not so important anymore and I’d give my life for Shiri’s. She’s to be the next Queen of the M’Herindar. They stretch in an unbroken line for thousands and thousands of years. How do you think I’d feel, being responsible for a break in the line of succession if I can’t get her back?” He looked around. “Has anyone seen Krissi?”
“Not since Shiri was taken, come to think of it.” Lareeta offered.
Arwhon’s face lit up a little.
“Krissi is fond of Shiri. Perhaps she followed the drakon.”
There was plenty to do as Belvedere enjoyed its first day of freedom from the yoke of siege. Arwhon met with Jorgen to plead for the lives of the Dominion prisoners and was taken by the Commander himself to see the Southland army wounded, bandaged and unable to get about, lying on pallets in many makeshift hospitals. It was horrendous to view the result of the Dominion assault but still Arwhon argued his case, maintaining that if the Dominion prisoners were killed out of hand it made Southland and particularly Belvedere, no better than the Dominion they had just vanquished.
As promised, the Dominion soldiers who weren’t wounded would not be killed but released, weaponless and bootless, to return to Debrishar. Some who did not want to return would be given positions in the ranks of Southland’s army and allowed to bring their families south; mostly those with relatives in the city or surrounding countryside.
During their conversation, Jorgen expressed his sorrow and dismay at the capture of Shiri and offered his help which Arwhon politely deflected. For his part, Arwhon learned Jorgen’s wife had been killed when the city was overrun because she refused to leave her wealth at their mansion and tried to fight off looters. Arwhon was about to express his deep regrets when Trelin came in with tea. The looks which passed between Jorgen and Trelin told it all and made Arwhon realise how much he felt for Shiri. He could say nothing.
The City Guard had given up trying to disarm the poorer people. None would part with their new swords and Merdon was now referring to them as the Citizen Militia which seemed a popular ide
a. At the next Council Meeting it would probably become official. There was a new pride and purpose everywhere Arwhon turned but he was saddened. His best friend had been taken from him by evil incarnate.
Just before dark, lit by the pinkish rays of the dying sun, a winged shape circled over the square, picking out Arwhon and alighting in front of him. It was a very tired Krissi. Immediately, Arwhon’s mind was bombarded by images. Among them, the one he had seen above the pool in the cave of the Wise Ones. Two rows of stakes with bodies hanging from them.
“Excellent Krissi. Clever Krissi. You followed the drakon and know where Shiri is.”
He received an affirmative thought back.
“Good, we’ll leave in the morning. I believe the grave diggers would welcome one less Dominion soldier to bury. I think you’re well enough known to help yourself.”
Krissi rubbed her head against Arwhon, just like a cat, before leaping into the air, snapping her wings out and flying off in search of much needed sustenance.
That evening, around the dinner table, argument flowed back and forth but Arwhon prevailed.
“Kuiran, you are a Prince of the M’Herindar and their only representative here. I will not take you into danger, Arm or not. I need you here for now. Lareeta will remain with Cristal until all danger is past and Raleen, you belong with Kuiran.
The Fall of Belvedere Page 33