by Erik A Otto
Ultimately Timothur had agreed that—after initially supporting his offensive on the gatehouse—Aisha would focus her efforts on apprehending the Conductor, whether he was friend or foe.
The remaining garrison men regrouped behind carts and stalls. Soon they would muster sufficient resolve to fight back. In the meantime, her archers focused on any men still not under cover.
Aisha and her men released another volley. Several more garrison men were hit.
There was disconcerting movement in the stables behind her, and also dark flickers could be seen along the battlements of the courtyard walls, where the arrow slits revealed the passage of garrison men called to action.
It was time to move on.
Aisha barked out her commands, “Hanish, Benton, cover our backs. The rest, to the Conductor’s quarters.”
She charged ahead on her horse, stowing her bow and drawing her sword again. They would need to ride straight into the courtyard, over the fallen garrison men, and then angle directly through the procession of festival stalls.
Their horses veered back and forth toward the procession, navigating the lumpy surface of fallen men and debris. The garrison men who’d taken cover had the presence of mind to throw something at them as they passed. Luckily these men had no bows, just bone blades and knives, and equally fortuitously, these men were not well-practiced at throwing projectiles at moving targets. They had no impact with the exception of a solitary blade glancing off one of the horses behind her. The horse didn’t even slow its pace.
They weren’t as lucky when they arrived on the holy procession. They had to ride in a single file in the narrow space between the festival stalls. A man, looking to be a noble of some kind, darted out from behind a stall and cut at her with his sword. His blow was aimed at her leg, but she managed to parry it. Then the man cut into the haunches of a horse three men back from her. The horse fell face-first into the ground and ejected its rider. Behind that horse, the next reared. The rider managed to hold on, but the others veered off to avoid the downed animal. Several horses in the line ended up plowing into one of the larger stalls, toppling it in a jumble of horse, rider, painted wood, and scrolls.
Then two other assailants came out from behind hiding places along the procession and engaged the halted train of cavalry.
There was no time to dwell here. “To the tower!” she yelled to the two horsemen still immediately behind her. They looked back with some hesitation. “They will follow,” she reassured them.
They arrived at the main keep building entrance and dismounted. Her two men fell in step in front and behind her as she entered the building. She looked back to see more swords swinging and horses caterwauling and clashing. No sense could be made of winners or losers.
She left the fray and proceeded up the stairs.
Stairs and more stairs. She hated stairs. She was careful at first and managed the entire first flight without pain, but then she caught her peg on the first step of the next set, reminding her of what an achievement the first flight had been. From then on, every few steps she would experience another jolt, driving her to expletives and perspiration.
Eventually she made it the three levels up to the Conductor’s chamber. She would always make it, as long as she didn’t give up.
The door was closed. She tried the knob carefully, but it was locked.
She yelled into the closed door, “Conductor, this is Aisha Pomerain. We mean you no harm. We wish to put an end to hostilities. Open this door, and we can talk.”
“The Conductor will not sully himself with you,” a voice said from inside the door.
“Who speaks for the Conductor?” Aisha asked.
“Colidas Barbitan. You have been tainted by heinous infidels, Pomerian, and have become one yourself. You will be brought to justice, to Matteo’s justice. We only need to wait for your pitiful mutiny to be quelled, and then we will have our way with you and the rest of your misguided ilk. ”
If she recalled correctly, Barbitan had no children at the Cena school. Perhaps she could reason with him. “Barbitan, if you stand down, you won’t be harmed. You will be set free when we take the keep. Otherwise, if you stand with the Cenarans, you will be prosecuted for treason.”
There was a pause. Then she heard, “What is this of Cenarans? This is ridiculous heathen banter. You will never succeed, infidel.”
Would she have to kill another innocent man, one of the great monks? Barbitan would also be useful in stopping the butchery and mending Belidor, if he could be swayed.
She sighed, remembering her mother’s harsh words and knowing she had no choice but to continue. “Break it down,” she said to her men.
One of her men tried to hack at the lock with his sword. The other tried kicking at the door. After several attempts, the latch on the door snapped, and it flew open.
In front of Aisha was the expanse of the Conductor’s personal chamber and study. The room was well kept, containing a large bed with several armoires on her left, and the study area and desk on her right. Colidas Barbitan stood in front of the desk in the study area, a bone blade in his hand. Behind him was the door to the adjoining worship room, slightly ajar.
Blood dripped from his blade.
Colidas looked ready to charge at her when he first saw her, but he hesitated when her two guards advanced into the room behind her.
“Where is the Conductor?” Aisha asked.
He looked down at his blade, then shrugged. “Think of your future, Princess. You don’t really think you can stop them, do you? They are savage, but they know how to rule the commonfolk with a firm hand. When they take our lands, they will need our help. You and I, we could have more influence than we’ve ever had.”
So there it was. Barbitan was a traitor. But he had no children in the Cena school. What would make him defy his people? “You are misguided, monk,” she said. “They come to eradicate us.”
“No, they come to rule us, and they will need people like you and me. They rule with faith. Their military and economy is intertwined with it, much like it used to be when the monks held sway in Belidor, when there was no Great Defender and the Conductor was only an errand boy. The Cenarans will allow the monks to finally return to proper prominence. We will no longer be set below these feckless clerics. We have kept the peace for seven hundred years, and we will keep it for seven hundred more.”
Aisha shook her head. “You have deluded yourself. Your faith has been tainted by ambition. There is no other way to see this; you commit treason and send millions to their death. Yet, if you desist now, you will not be killed.”
He waved his hand in dismissal, laughing. “Don’t you see, foolish woman? It’s you who should be pleading for your life. I have the power, because when they come, I will say who lives. If you and your men join me, you will live. It’s that simple.”
Commotion could be heard coming up the stairs. Aisha was relieved to see it was one of her men. He huffed and held his arm, under which a wet patch of red showed. “Commander, the gatehouse is secured, and the drawbridge has been lowered by the Truthseeker and the Purveyor. The cavalry will enter momentarily.”
Barbitan glanced out of the chamber window that looked over the promontory, no doubt seeing the stream of cavalry charging toward the keep.
He turned back to her with a dark look in his eyes.
“Look at the numbers we have, Barbitan. The outcome is obvious. Or perhaps you need an accountant like me to help you with the math.”
Colidas tensed. “Any piddly numbers you bring won’t matter when the Cenarans arrive. So come for me, Princess. Let us fight honorably, and let Matteo decide.”
Aisha knew what he was asking. He wanted a one-on-one fight with her, a vestige of some monk code of honor. She shook her head. “I’m not schooled in the art of war, nor in the teachings of the faith like you are, Barbitan, so I don’t know what’s right in the eyes of Matteo. Like I said, I’m a simple accountant, and the math here doesn’t tell me to do as you say. A o
ne-legged woman against an experienced warrior? I don’t think so.”
She turned to her men. “Shoot him down.”
Her men looked surprised, as did Barbitan, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to risk any more injury to her or her men.
The three men with her took out their bows and loaded them.
“You coward!” he said, before an arrow struck him in the shoulder. Momentarily set back, he finally realized his only option. He charged them as another arrow impaled his chest.
He dropped to the floor, onto his knees, then fell forward, burying one of the arrows deeper into his body before the end of it snapped off.
She hobbled up to him, took out her knife, and slit his throat.
When she turned back to her men they were glaring at her. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing, ma’am…Commander. Well done.”
“Good, then follow me.”
They proceeded through the Conductor’s quarters and tread cautiously into the chamber of worship. A circular table dominated the room, with an array of chairs surrounding it. There, sprawled on the table, was the Conductor, his neck opened, feeding a pool of blood. Off in the corner was the girl with raven hair, with her head in her hands, crying. A staircase of pure Matar bone rose up from the back of the room into a newly paved wall that had a circle of eyeglass letting in a faint ray of light. This staircase must have previously scaled up into the Matagon Spire, before it was destroyed on the Day.
Aisha checked the Conductor’s pulse. He had none.
“Damn,” she said. She took a chair and sat, thinking for a moment while her men surveyed the ghastly scene.
So the Conductor wasn’t a traitor.
Perhaps Barbitan had been manipulating the Conductor. She’d heard the Conductor and he were always close, and Barbitan had much more tenure, so the Conductor must have listened to his counsel. It was such a shame. If they could have reached him earlier, they might have swayed him. He would have been invaluable.
“Damn,” she said again.
She grappled with their situation. The garrison might fight to the last man…and they couldn’t afford to lose the entire garrison, nor any more of the Royal Guard or Timothur’s men for that matter. But without the Conductor’s assistance to quell his subordinates, what could they do?
She would have to try to stop it herself.
She pushed on the table to stand up. “You, over there. Apprentice. What’s your name?”
“Perenna. Perenna de Nagar,” the girl said, opening her hands from her face to reveal herself.
“Show me to the balcony where the Conductor does his orations, and get me his bullhorn.”
The girl showed a look of dismay, but she bobbed her head in acquiescence.
Luckily the balcony was only down one level, so she had to endure only one more flight of stairs. When Aisha arrived, the cavalry was just beginning to enter on the far side of the courtyard. A mix of noblemen and garrison men had collected into a cohesive group and moved to counter them. Other garrison men were up on the battlements next to the gatehouse, still trying to gain entry. Nearer to her, three of her men were on a balcony below, firing arrows at anyone who approached the main keep building. The procession, which had once been a neat line of displays, had been transformed into a jumble of wood, horses, and men fighting, hiding, or dying.
She put the wooden bullhorn to her mouth.
“For the love of Matteo, stop! Stop this madness at once, all of you, and no one else will be hurt.”
Many of her cavalry circled in her direction, while a few skirmished with the resisting nobles and garrison men near the gate. Otherwise, she noticed no change in the action.
She yelled even louder, “I say again, stop fighting, and you will not be hurt! We are loyal to Belidor and have come to oust traitors in our midst. All you garrison men, all you nobles, put down your weapons, and you will be spared.”
The cavalry numbers swelled. Some started lining up in front of her, while others bested some of the more organized bands of nobles and garrison men. Their expanding numbers gave her words weight. Men on the battlements nearest to her who had been hurtling projectiles paused, putting their heads above their cover to hear her better.
“One last time. Stop and you will not be hurt! If you aren’t traitors, you will be spared, but if you continue fighting, you will be considered traitors, and we will strike you down!”
More men stopped fighting. A group of nobles who’d been hiding among the procession stalls lost their nerve. They stood up and dropped their weapons. Others on the battlements farther away did the same, and even those who fought for the gatehouse gave up. Whatever Aisha’s words, with several hundred Pomerian cavalry in the keep courtyard, the battle was clearly lost.
Aisha waited for the tide to turn completely. When she could see the scuffles had stopped across the entire courtyard and all the battlements, she continued, “I am Aisha Pomerain, High Commander of Pomeria, and successor to the Pomerian throne. A great conspiracy is in play. Traitors aim to hand the Old Keep to the Cenarans. There are many in Belidor, and some in this keep, who are involved. These people have been blackmailed, their sons and daughters taken from the Cena school or otherwise abducted. These aren’t traveler’s tales. My sister and brother have been taken as well, and the same threats made on the king and queen of Pomeria. The Cenarans come soon, perhaps even tomorrow, and they will not stop until every one of us is dead or enslaved. They come with great beasts like the gargoyle you’ve seen today, but worse, and in uncountable numbers.
“We will ask some of you to go, including all of you with children in the Cena school. This isn’t an accusation of guilt but rather a measure of prudence. The rest can stay or go as they please. We wouldn’t hold you against your will. Before you leave, though, consider this. Consider that you may think it madness to stay here, with infidels and a gargoyle and without the ability to tell friend from foe, but I assure you, when the hordes of Cenarans ravage our lands, it will seem like madness to be anywhere else but behind the strongest fortifications. So we ask you, kindly, and with Matteo’s grace, to stay. Not only that, but to stay and fight. Fight for our faith, fight for Belidor, and fight for your lives. Because if the Cenarans take the keep, we are all but vanquished.”
She let her words brew, then concluded, “Whether or not you stay or go, I ask all of you to drop your weapons and move to the center of the courtyard. Those who do not will be killed, with no exceptions.”
The people only stared blankly at first. They might not believe her, but at least she had delivered the message—at least they could make an informed choice. Even if they didn’t believe, even if they were traitors, they would likely stop fighting here. The killing would end, for now.
When it was clear that she was done speaking, a few who hadn’t dropped their weapons did. Many began moving toward the center of the courtyard, hands raised. Her horsemen circulated and picked weapons off the ground, then formed a circle around the center. More garrison men, priests, and nobles trickled toward the expanding circle. Some came cautiously out of the many doorways that lined the periphery of the courtyard, others off the more obscure sections of the battlements.
Aisha handed the bullhorn to one of her men and hobbled away from the bannister. She gritted her teeth and descended the remaining flights of stairs, then exited into the courtyard. More and more keep residents were joining the circle. Hopefully all of them would come. She hated the idea of having her men seek out these people in the recesses of the keep to kill them like rats.
Aisha crossed around the periphery, giving some commendations to her cavalry as she went, trailed by the two men who had helped her take the Conductor’s chamber. The last of her horsemen had entered, and Timothur’s infantry had begun entering the courtyard, as well as the Purveyor’s Fringe contingent.
Finally she reached the battlement stairs, climbed up them, and crossed the span to the gatehouse. The eyes of the keep were on her. Everyone’s ears
tuned in to every wooden step she made with her peg leg.
The door was open. Timothur sat against the wall with Darian, Hella, and the remainder of Timothur’s men in similar positions, looking spent. Sebastian and the Purveyor arrived soon after.
“Well said, Aisha,” Hella said.
“I doubt that, but it did the job,” Aisha said.
They seemed rather morose considering what they’d just achieved. Aisha tried to rouse some enthusiasm. “I suppose congratulations are in order, for all of us.” The Purveyor and Sebastian nodded grimly, as did Timothur’s men, and Hella and Darian as well.
But Timothur remained unmoved. “And the Conductor?” he asked.
“Barbitan, the head monk—he was a traitor. He killed Preto. We killed Barbitan but couldn’t get to the Conductor in time.”
Timothur didn’t look pleased.
“You did the best you could,” Hella offered.
“Yes, we have the Old Keep. An incredible feat,” the Purveyor said. Everyone nodded again. Hella patted her on the back.
Again, Timothur didn’t join in the revelry. He sat there, his face heavy, deep in thought.
“Are you alright, General?” Aisha asked.
Timothur pursed his lips. “Without the Conductor…” He turned to the Purveyor. “Is there any way to get the drawbridge up?”
The Purveyor frowned. “Get it up? Well, I could look, but the two chains are severed, and one was pulled up into the earth. I don’t know if we could reconnect them, and even if we did, I don’t know if they would hold the weight. Maybe tonight we can begin working on that. We might be able to get it up before the Cenarans come, if that’s what you’re worried about.”