“Huh,” said Moriah. “We’re all still alive. That is really very surprising.”
“We have fought urvaalgs once or twice before,” said Third. Moriah suspected that was something of an understatement.
“Damned things,” said Selene. “I always hated them. The smell! It stays with you. Like…well, a bad smell, for lack of a better metaphor.”
“We’re going to encounter more,” said Calliande. “The Drakocenti are creating a vortex of dark magic around the Great Eye. It’s going to draw urvaalgs and other creatures of dark sorcery as rotting flesh draws flies.”
“Maybe those urvaalgs will kill the Drakocenti for us,” said Moriah.
“I doubt we’re that fortunate,” said Ridmark. Oathshield still glimmered with white fire, throwing stark shadows across his hard face. “We need to keep moving. Which way, Moriah?”
He was right. Moriah collected her thoughts, caught her bearings, and pointed. “That way. It’s not much farther to the stairs.”
Ridmark nodded, and they continued into the Shadow Ways.
***
Chapter 22: The Battle of Cintarra
Some of the tension in Niall’s chest started to ease.
Accolon had ridden hard to the forum before the Prince’s Palace, raising his banners in the center of the square. Sir Peter sent parties of men to arrest the lords of the Regency Council. With them Accolon dispatched heralds, men who proclaimed in loud voices that the Regency Council was dissolved and its members placed under arrest, that by the authority of the High King, the Crown Prince Accolon Pendragon was assuming the regency of the city until Prince Tywall came of age, or more importantly, could be located.
And to the lasting surprise of Niall, it was working.
After the events of the last few years, he had begun to expect the worst, though maybe he shouldn’t have. After all, he ought to have been executed in Castarium for stealing two sheep and a pig, but that had ended better than it should have. Castarium was safe, the corrupt abbot had been exposed, and Niall was now a man-at-arms in service to Lord Ridmark.
And Accolon’s efforts were working.
Five of the members of the Regency Council had been arrested. Sir Owain Redshield, the Constable of Cintarra, had sided with Accolon over the Regency Council, and his soldiers escorted the arrested lords to the cells below the Prince’s Palace. All of them loudly protested their innocence. Niall was not moved. Even if they were not part of the Drakocenti, they had stood by and done nothing while Cyprian and the Council had seized the lands of the commoners and pushed Cintarra towards revolt. The worst part of all was that the enclosures had been done to cause deliberate harm, not out of mere greed or stupidity, but with malice. Niall remembered standing in Queen Mara’s hall, listening to that fat oaf Sir Tristan describe Cyprian’s plan for pushing Cintarra into chaos. He also remembered his aunt crying and attempting to hide her tears as they left Ebor, remembered the despair and hunger he had seen everywhere in Cintarra.
It made him furious, and it had all been done on purpose. If a man walked in a forest and a branch fell on his head and killed him, that was a tragedy, but it was simply poor luck. But if a bandit took that branch and killed a man to take his gold, that was somehow worse. The bandit should have known better.
The Drakocenti should have known better.
Niall was angry…but it looked like the Drakocenti and the Council were about to fall.
“I can’t believe this is working,” said Niall.
“Eh, lad?” said Vegetius.
They stood in the center of the forum, not far from where Prince Accolon sat atop his horse. Vegetius, Niall, and Lord Ridmark’s other men-at-arms were part of the guard of soldiers around the Crown Prince. Both Sir Peter and Vegetius had agreed that the Regency Council and the Drakocenti might make a last-ditch effort to kill Accolon and save themselves, and so guards remained around the Prince at all times. Meanwhile, the sounds of fighting and rioting throughout the rest of the city had quieted, and Sir Owain had been able to send parties of men to put out the fires.
“That they would listen to the Prince’s men,” said Niall. “Everyone was so angry. And then when the Regency Council murdered those priests…”
“It’s because of the enclosures,” said Vegetius. The decurion looked relaxed, but he was somehow watching every street leading into the forum at once. “The Crown Prince spent the last week reversing enclosure after enclosure and telling the villagers they could go home. They know he’s on their side.” He shook his head. “Stupid of the Regency Council to murder all those priests.”
“But that was just a distraction,” said Niall. “They wanted everyone to fight so Cyprian could open the Great Eye.”
“Don’t you worry, lad,” said Vegetius with complete confidence. “Lord Ridmark and the Keeper will make short work of those cultists. You saw them fight at Castarium.” Niall nodded to concede the point. “Some fat bankers with a taste for dabbling in dark magic aren’t ready to fight the Shield Knight.”
Niall drew breath to ask a question, and then a strange noise filled the forum.
It was a deep, roiling moan, and after a moment, Niall recognized it was a war horn.
It was coming from the south, from the sea harbor of the Eastern City.
“What the hell is that?” said Vegetius.
At the same moment, Prince Accolon jerked in his saddle as if he had been stabbed.
“My lord?” said Sir Peter. “My lord?”
###
Accolon Pendragon watched the forum, his mind racing in a dozen different directions.
He had wanted to accompany Ridmark and the others into the Shadow Ways to stop Cyprian and the Drakocenti. In fact, Accolon had wanted that almost as keenly as he had ever wanted anything. He knew now, beyond all doubt, that Cyprian and the rest of the Drakocenti had been responsible for Caitrin’s death, that they had sent Caldorman to murder her. If not for them, Caitrin would still be alive, and Accolon would have his first bastard child.
They were going to pay for that.
Today, if Accolon could arrange it.
But he was the Crown Prince of Andomhaim, and he had his duty. He had neglected his duty during the months he had spent praying and fasting in the Monastery of St. Bartholomew. Likely that time of austerity had been good for his soul, even if Caldorman had turned out to be a false monk and a traitor to the realm of Andomhaim. But while Accolon had been in the cloister, he had ignored his duty to his father’s realm. He had not seen the evil festering in Cintarra, the danger rising to threaten all Andomhaim until it had come within a hair’s breadth of killing him.
Never again, Accolon had vowed. Never again would he neglect his duties. If justice was denied within a realm, it was like a poisoned wound – the toxins built up and up until they reached the heart.
Which meant Accolon was needed here, overseeing Cintarra, and putting down the riots without bloodshed and further destruction of property. Accolon had realized that he had no choice, that he would have to dissolve the Regency Council, try its members for the crimes of apostasy and treason, and assume the rule of Cintarra himself. His father had given him the authority to act, but Accolon hadn’t dreamed that he would have to go so far.
He hoped his father would approve of what he had done.
Right now, Accolon’s duty was to wait and be seen, wait while his men and Sir Owain’s calmed the rioters, wait while the remaining Council members were arrested and brought to the Prince’s Palace, wait while Ridmark and Calliande descended into the Shadow Ways to stop Cyprian and his spell.
Every soldier he had ever spoken with had said that waiting was hard, but by God, it was still a difficult thing to experience firsthand.
He started to turn in his saddle, intending to give an order, and then the world froze around him.
Everything went motionless and blurry, and all the color drained out of the world. Accolon wondered if he was having a stroke, or if the Drakocenti had somehow poisoned him and h
e was hallucinating in the final moments before death.
Then he saw the woman, the only thing in the world that still had color and motion.
Accolon had never met the Guardian Morigna in her first life when she had still been human and Ridmark’s lover. He had seen the grief her death had wrought on Ridmark when he had been the Shield Knight’s squire during the war against the Frostborn. Accolon had met Morigna in the days before the titanic battle at Cathair Animus in Owyllain, the last stand against the Sovereign’s hordes, and she had been in the body of an elven woman, green-eyed and red-haired, clad in golden armor and a gray cloak.
Now she stood before him, and she looked exhausted, dark circles beneath her green eyes, and soot and blood smeared across her armor.
“Guardian?” said Accolon.
“Prince Accolon,” said Morigna. “I am sorry I could not warn you earlier, but Agravhask and his priestesses are hunting for me, and I only have a moment. The Shield Knight has gone to stop the Drakocenti from opening the Great Eye, but you must defend Cintarra. The enemy is coming to attack, right now. Look to the sea, Prince Accolon, and fight with all your strength.”
“The sea?” said Accolon. “What do you mean?”
Then the work exploded back into color and motion. Accolon looked around, bewildered, but there was no trace of Morigna.
“The sea?” said Accolon again. Why the devil hadn’t Morigna said more? On the rare occasions that Ridmark spoke of the Guardian, it was with a mild hint of exasperation, and suddenly Accolon understood his mentor’s annoyance.
Even as he looked around, the noise came to his ears.
It was a low, wailing moan, the sound of a mighty war horn.
It was coming from the south.
The sea was to the south…
“What the devil is that?” said Sir Peter, scowling.
“The sea horn,” said Sir Owain. The Constable looked shaken. “The guards in the harbor lighthouse are sounding the sea horn.”
“What is the sea horn?” said Accolon. “Lord Constable, please explain.”
The young knight looked up at Accolon. “Lord Prince, guards are always set in the lighthouse, watching for enemies to approach from the sea. The sea horn is only to be sounded if foes approach from the water.” He looked bewildered. “But…but there are no enemies to the south. No one can cross the southern sea, not for any great distance. It must be some pirates from the Isle of Kordain. But the sea horn has not been sounded for decades, not even in my lifetime.”
Morigna’s warning flashed through Accolon’s mind. However she had managed to send him that vision, he was sure it had cost her a great deal of effort. She would not have done it for any light reason.
Something was wrong, something beyond the dangers that Cintarra had already faced.
“Sir Owain,” said Accolon. “Can we see the harbor from the southern curtain wall of the Palace?”
“Aye, and a good distance farther into the sea,” said Owain. “But surely you don’t think…”
The sound of the sea horn cut off.
“I would rather find out for sure,” said Accolon. “Sir Owain, you’re with me. Sir Peter, you’re in command until I get back. Let’s move!”
He kicked his horse to a gallop and rode for the gate of the Prince’s Palace. Sir Owain and his guards followed. Accolon raced through the courtyards and gardens of the Palace, rushing past servants who watched him with wide, terrified eyes. With so many disturbances in the city, it seemed that the servants had abandoned work for the day and were waiting to see what happened. Accolon could hardly blame them. He wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen himself.
They reached the southern garden, and Accolon jumped from the saddle and ran to the curtain wall. He scrambled up the stairs to the ramparts and stopped at the battlements, looking over the dockside district and the sea harbor. A half-second later Owain and his escorts caught up to him, crowding onto the rampart.
“My God,” said Owain. “What are they?”
From the wall, Accolon saw the warehouses and taverns of the dockside district and the harbor itself, where hundreds of ships, ranging from merchant galleys to fishing boats, sat at stone quays. The lighthouse stood on a narrow, stony finger of land that jutted into the water, and past the lighthouse was the great blue-green expanse of the southern sea.
Right now, the lighthouse was on fire, dark figures swarming around its base.
And nearly two dozen warships floated beyond the lighthouse.
Accolon had never seen anything like those ships. They were huge, at least twice as large as any vessel of Andomhaim. The ships were black, either painted black or assembled of some dark wood. Each ship had three towering masts, huge crimson sails rippling in the wind. The crimson sails were adorned with a peculiar sigil, a double ring with four bent lines rising from the top, and four more bent lines descending from the bottom. It reminded him of something, but he could not quite bring the recollection to mind.
The scores of longboats rowing into the harbor demanded his attention.
Each boat looked like it could hold thirty or forty men, and there were nearly a hundred of them rowing past the lighthouse.
Which meant there were thousands of soldiers heading for the quays.
Accolon could not make out the details of the men in the longboats, but they all had dark armor and spiked helmets. They wore red clothing beneath their armor, perhaps cloaks the color of blood, and…
“Lord Prince!”
Accolon looked back and saw Niall staring wide-eyed at the approaching longboats, his face drained of all color.
“What is it?” said Accolon.
“The red orcs, my lord,” said Niall.
“Red orcs?” said Owain. “But…but they’re just a rumor…”
There was no conviction in Owain's voice.
“Red orcs like that attacked the men of my village when we traveled to Castarium, my lord,” said Niall. “They must have come from the sea! I never thought of it. That’s why people have only seen the red orcs near the coast, they’re coming from the sea…”
“Whatever those devils are, they’re not friendly,” said Vegetius. “Else they wouldn’t have burned the lighthouse to silence the horn. Probably killed the guards as well.”
“He’s right,” said Owain, his shock and doubt vanishing. “My lord, we must defend the city.”
Accolon nodded. “Sound the call to arms. Cintarra is at war.”
###
Niall ran through the wide street between the two warehouses, following the Prince’s banner as Accolon and his standardbearer clattered towards the quays. Across Cintarra, the alarm rose, with church bells clanging and war horns blowing. The militia had been summoned, with every man of Cintarra capable of bearing arms charged to assemble and report for battle. Niall’s mind whirled. He had thought they would come to Cintarra to stop the Regency Council and the Drakocenti, that he might wind up fighting in a civil war between the different factions of the Cintarran nobility.
But the red orcs…
Perhaps he should have realized. But the sea? When had foes ever come from the sea? No one could cross the sea.
But the red orcs had.
They raced for the quays, and Accolon reined up.
“I will put my banner here,” said Accolon. “Sir Peter, Sir Owain, there isn’t time for a proper plan of battle. But we must hold the orcs at the docks, keep them from taking the quays. If we fall back to the Prince’s Palace, the city might be lost.”
“Perhaps not,” said Sir Owain. “We can hold in the Prince’s Palace for a long time. And if we retreat to the Western City and break the bridges after us, we can hold for longer yet.”
“You sent the messenger to Queen Mara’s castra?” said Accolon.
“Aye, at once,” said Owain. “I never did like having a fortress of the Anathgrimm so close to the city…but by God, I’m glad it’s there here now.” He looked at the Prince. “The red orcs must be allied with the D
rakocenti. For them to arrive and attack on the same day the Drakocenti murdered the priests and are attempting to open the Great Eye…such a coincidence is beyond belief.”
“It is,” said Accolon, voice grim. “Or the same evil controls both the Drakocenti and the red orcs. Sir Peter, you command the left, Sir Owain, you command the right. Hold at all costs. Reinforcements are on the way, both from the city militia and from the Anathgrimm. We cannot lose the city to the invaders.”
The two knights bowed and rode away, and Niall stood with Vegetius and the other men-at-arms, serving as the Prince’s guard. He watched as footmen rushed forward, moving to man the quays and repulse the landing of the red orcs. Companies of crossbowmen hurried forward, both men-at-arms in Prince Tywall’s colors and groups of militiamen. That was good. Hopefully, they could shoot many of the red orcs before they reached the shore proper.
“Suppose you were right about the red orcs, lad,” said Vegetius.
“Did you think I was lying?” said Niall.
“Nah,” said Vegetius. “But I figured you were just wrong. You must have seen some Mhorites or some big kobolds or something, and they turned into red orcs in the retelling. People can remember all kinds of things wrongly.” He shook his head. “Not you, though.”
“Believe me, sir,” said Niall. “I really, really wish I was wrong.”
“You and me both.”
The longboats drew closer, dozens of them, the orcish rowers pushing hard. The orcs looked like the ones Niall and the men of Ebor had fought on the road from Cintarra to Castarium. They had skin the color of blood, instead of the green common to most of the orcish nations. The soldiers wore black chain mail and spiked helmets of the same dark metal. Curved swords hung at their belts, and some of the soldiers carried shields and short, recurved bows.
One of the longboats approached the quay closest to the Prince’s banner, and a decurion shouted a command. The crossbowmen raised their bows and released, and a storm of quarrels hurtled towards the longboat. A half-dozen of the crimson orcs fell, one of them falling into the water. But there was a flash of blue light at the head of the boat, and suddenly a figure in a hooded red robe stood there, the chest of the robe adorned with the same eight-pointed double-ring symbol as the warships.
Dragontiarna: Thieves Page 33