A Kingdom Under Siege

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Hiaga put her mouth near the long tube sticking above the deck and said, “Quarter-speed.”

  Moments later, the longship began to slow, and two other longships passed them, heading toward the blockade. The vessels appeared as faint shadows slipping across the water.

  Hiaga called out again, and the oars of her ship fell still. The man with the light flashed another signal. One more vessel sailed past them as Hiaga’s longship and the rest of the fleet settled. Sculdin leaned against the rail and stared toward the string of blue lights dividing the eastern bay from the city.

  He was eager for it to begin. His wait was short.

  Blasts of green flared from the flash cannons onboard the lead crafts. The resounding thumps were met by crashes as the cannonballs crashed into the blockade. Distant shouts arose, only to be drowned out by another volley from the cannons. Some lights blinked out. Others began to sink. Fires arose on one blockade ship, the orange flames lighting the night and reflecting off the water, making it easy to see the silhouettes ahead.

  The third longship passed the first two Ri Starian vessels, navigating between them at full speed. Without stopping, the beam at the prow of the longship smashed into the bow of the blockade ship adjacent to one that was sinking. The Kantarian ship rocked and shifted, creating a gap between it and the sinking ship. The oars of the longship continued turning, slowly pushing the blockade ship aside until the longship squeezed through the gap.

  “They breached the blockade!” Sculdin said with a clenched fist. “Once my Infiltrators destroy their magic defenses, Brock will have no choice but to react. When he does, we will have them!”

  The other two longships began to fire again, launching cannonballs at the blockade while the Kantarian soldiers and sailors aboard scrambled to respond.

  “I got your men through, Sculdin. What now?” Hiaga asked.

  “Now, we wait.”

  “For what?”

  “First, watch the castle.” He pointed toward the tallest building, towering above the southeast corner of the city. A flash of green emerged from the rear of the building, turning orange as the thump of the explosion reached his ears. “Perfect.”

  “That’s why you mounted a catapult to one of my longships?”

  “Yes.”

  “To fire one flashbomb at the castle?”

  “Consider it a signal of sorts.”

  “A signal for what?”

  “For our army to attack, which will force the defenders on the north wall to react.”

  A loud crack sounded, followed by another.

  “What was that?”

  Sculdin pointed toward the blockade. “Look!” He chuckled in glee. “It worked.”

  “Is that…ice?”

  “Yes. The blockade is frozen in place. They cannot break free to stop us from landing on shore!”

  “So, I can tell my fleet to begin the assault?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his hands together. “And while my team sneaks in from the south, our troops on land will strike from the north.”

  Hiaga called for the oars to resume at full speed, the man with the lamp signaling the fleet to follow.

  She turned toward Sculdin. “Why did you place all those men on the lead ship if you knew it would became trapped in ice before reaching the river?”

  He stared at the frozen bay, lit by two burning kingdom ships, the onboard fires now raging. In the distance was the longship that had broken through the blockade, now trapped in ice near the river mouth. His Infiltrators on board were descending a rope ladder and running across the ice, toward the west riverbank. Those men had volunteered for a role that would make them heroes, but it was a suicide mission. If any survived, it would require a massive stroke of luck.

  “Those soldiers are the final piece of the puzzle. If they can negate the magic that is undoubtedly keeping our infantry at bay, the city will soon be ours.”

  34

  Twisting Winds

  A haze of pain masked all else. Within the void, there was nothing but agony and smoke, masked beneath a red-tinted haze.

  A pale blue glow appeared, flaring brighter and brighter, turning everything to frigid cold.

  Brock gasped, a shiver wracking his body as his back arched. His eyes opened to the light, and a face hovered over him. It was an old face. A kind face, the man’s eyes full of relief.

  “It is done,” Minister Dryfus sighed.

  “Thank Issal,” Dalwin said, crouching lower as he patted Brock with a blanket. “We had feared the worst.”

  A half circle of guards stood over him, all staring down in concern. Brock sat, up, his stomach yearning for food, his muscles shaking as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Pain came from his chest. He looked down at the gaping holes in his still smoldering doublet.

  “Ouch!” He grabbed the shirt and pulled, tearing it open as he yanked it off.

  “Your burns were bad, your Majesty,” Minister Dryfus said as Brock tossed the ruined doublet aside. “The lump on your head was also quite serious. You should rest.”

  Remembering the explosion, Brock turned toward the throne room. The doors had blown off, the interior still burning, and black smoke filled the room. Everything smelled of soot.

  “How long was I out?”

  “The explosion occurred just a couple minutes ago, Brock,” Dalwin replied. “We rushed in and found you on the floor.”

  All eyes were focused on him, waiting.

  “Thank you for the healing, Minister Dryfus.” Brock said to the old man as he pulled his feet beneath him and rose on shaky legs. He set his jaw, his anger boiling inside. “They made a mistake.”

  Dalwin’s brow furrowed as he glanced toward the fire. “What do you mean?”

  “They didn’t kill me.” He turned to the guards, his voice growing louder. “Pretencia is in charge of the Citadel defenses while I am out. You will obey his orders as if they were my own. And for Issal’s sake, set up a bucket line and put out this fire before it spreads.”

  The guards thumped fists to their chests, turned, and ran out to fetch buckets and water.

  Dalwin gripped Brock’s shoulder. “Where are you going?”

  “To lead my army. Wayport is a Kantarian duchy, and I’ll not allow the Empire to take it as long as I still breathe.”

  Bending, he picked up his staff and stood. A hand gripped his wrist.

  “Please, Sire,” Dryfus pleaded. “You must at least eat something. The healing taxes the body…you need your strength.”

  He nodded. “I will stop by the kitchen on my way out. Besides, I need a different shirt.”

  Without another word, he ran to his quarters. After donning a black sleeveless jerkin with a red Chaos starburst on the chest, he stopped by the kitchen. A quick meal had him recharged, the cavernous hunger in his stomach sated.

  When he reached the front entrance to the castle, he found guards waiting.

  “I suppose you two plan to escort me?”

  Grim nods answered the question. Rather than argue, he ran outside with the guards a step behind. Explosions shook the city, and a burst of green flame lit the night sky over the north wall. Flashbombs rained down, detonating again and again, causing massive damage. In the citadel square, thousands of people huddled in fear, hoping this would not be their end.

  Please be safe, Broland, thought Brock as he sprinted down the steps, through the crowd, and out the citadel gate.

  Broland ran along the wall, shouting for everyone to retreat. Arcanists and archers ran along the catwalks and across the rooftops, fleeing toward the city center. By the time the walls were cleared, the enemy catapults were in position. One launched and Broland ran toward the nearest catwalk. As he reached it, the flashbomb hit, striking the ground outside the walls and destroying the last intact Shockwave rune in an eruption of green flames and chunks of earth. Rather than damaging the invading army, the arcanists had wasted their ability on nothing. It would be an hour or longer before those people could again wield their magic.
By then, it would be too late.

  Broland sprinted across as another bomb struck the wall. A wave of heat washed over him, and the catwalk began to fall. He made a desperate dive, his upper body landing on the nearest rooftop. The footbridge crashed to the street below while he held on to the clay roof tiles.

  Dragging himself up in short, effort-filled bursts, he lay on the roof for a breath before rising to his feet and breaking into a run. Behind him, flashbombs began raining down. A tower of flames lit the night and made navigating the rooftops easy as he reached the next catwalk and scurried across. A number of buildings later, a scaffold waited at a gap that was too broad to jump. He climbed down the scaffold and was soon in an alley with a twelve-foot tall wall blocking the north route.

  When he reached the city center, the arcanists and archers who had fled the wall were there, many hunched over with hands on their knees, gasping for air. Those men and woman had joined the core of the city’s defense – an army exceeding a thousand. Even then, their force was a quarter of what waited outside the city walls – walls that would soon be nothing but dust.

  Broland pushed his way through the crowd, toward the fountain at the center. Glowlamps lit the area, many on posts, some held by the soldiers gathered there. The last of the crowd parted and he stopped.

  A man stood there, alone. His head was bald and his arms bared to the shoulders, dressed in a black leather jerkin with breeches and boots to match. A red starburst marked the left breast of the jerkin, matching a bigger symbol marking the man’s back. Even without hair, Broland would know the man anywhere just by his stance.

  “Father! What happened to your hair?”

  Brock turned toward him. “Thank Issal.” He looked toward the fires to the north. “I hoped you had the sense to retreat before it was too late.”

  Another bomb ignited to the north. “In truth, it was a close thing.” Broland stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I fear we were betrayed. They knew our plans and how to counter them.”

  A deep grimace crossed Brock’s face as he stared toward the destruction. In that moment of silence, in the reflection of flames from his father’s eyes, Broland feared the man. He had seen that look once before when Chadwick swung from the gibbet. For the second time, he understood what it was to be king.

  “Budakis.”

  “What?” Broland said in shock. “He would never betray you.”

  Brock shook his head. “Not intentionally. However, he used to keep a journal. I wonder if he kept notes on our defense plans and those notes fell into the wrong hands.”

  “Kony,” Broland nodded as he said it, knowing it was true.

  “We must change our plans.”

  “And do what?”

  “Attack.”

  Tenzi stood at the helm, watching distant explosions light the night. Wayport was under attack – a violent assault meant to cause destruction and draw the defenders toward the north wall, which was surely about to fall. The shadowy ships sailing into the unprotected harbor were the true threat. If successful, they would infiltrate the city and strike the defenders from behind. Tenzi could not allow that to happen.

  She glanced up at the sails, stretched full by the westerly breeze. At least something has gone right tonight, she thought. With a stare like an animal stalking its prey, she watched the other boats, gauging their speed to hers. It would be a close thing, but she had surprise on her side so long as nobody spotted her ship too soon.

  “You were a good ship, Razor.” She slid her palm along the wheel, feeling the polished wood and the pulse of the vessel for the last time. “All things must end. Perhaps we will go down together.”

  A man climbed upon the quarterdeck, interrupting her moment. “You wished to see me, Captain?”

  “Yes, Stein. I wanted to thank you for our years together. We have had a good run.”

  He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “What’s this about, Tenzi?”

  “We are about to engage with the enemy, but they outnumber us seven ships to one. You are the only arcanist onboard. Do you have any ideas?” She pointed toward her quarry, a half-mile away. “They seek to breach the city walls and they possess flashpowder. You know what that means.”

  “Their sails are down. How are they moving?” he asked as he stared at the enemy fleet.

  “Ri Starian. They have oars, driven by a crew down in the hull.”

  “If we can stop them from rowing?

  “That would work.”

  “Why not smoke them out?”

  She shook her head. “No good. The oar openings are too tight. Not even Parker can get a flaming arrow in there.”

  Stein stared at the ships for a moment before speaking, his tone grim. “Permission to call for the ballistae, Captain.”

  “Do it but hurry.”

  Stein leaped to the main deck and gathered six crew members who rushed to the storage room. With an arm full of bolts and a glowlamp in the other hand, Stein led the sailors carrying the three ballistae toward the bow. The ballistae were cranked into launch position while Stein sketched runes on the bolts.

  In the meantime, the Ri Starian longships drew nearer, now close enough that Tenzi was able to see silhouettes moving amid the dim light of the shuttered lamps on deck.

  Parker returned to the quarterdeck and settled beside Tenzi. “I wish we had a larger crew. Those vessels are filled with soldiers and we have, what? Ten sailors on board?”

  “It wouldn’t matter; they have flashbombs,” Tenzi said. “Besides, we aren’t going to board them.”

  “What?”

  “I have other plans,” she said, firm in her resolve. “Ready the longboat and prepare to jump ship on my signal.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “You intend to ram them?”

  “Well, one of them.”

  “The others?”

  “Stein is doing what he can.”

  Parker stared at her for a moment and then nodded. “As will I.”

  He turned and bolted down the stairs as Tenzi’s gaze shifted to the bow. Each of the three ballistae were resting on the rail while the sailors holding them braced themselves. Stein stood between the ballistae, waiting. Finally, the man’s eyes began to glow bright red as he gathered Chaos. The first bolt began to glow red and the ballistae fired, launching the heavy metal projectile toward an enemy longship. It struck with a tremendous crack, the bolt turning a hot white and setting the hull ablaze. In sequence, the other two bolts fired, each striking a different longship and setting it on fire.

  Shouts and screams rang through the night.

  “Abandon ship!” Tenzi bellowed. “To the long boat!”

  The sailors onboard Razor hurried toward the lifeboat hanging over the port rail. However, she remained behind the wheel, staring down her target.

  Motion to the starboard drew Tenzi’s attention, and she found an enemy craft bearing down on Razor. A flash of green lit the night, and a cannonball hit Razor mid-deck, blasting a spray of planks and rail pieces across the deck. Tenzi ducked behind the wheel as shards rained on the quarterdeck. The dust cleared to reveal a chunk of the ship missing and a body lying on the deck, dead.

  Panic struck. She leaned forward and stared at the shadowy corpse, trying to determine if it were Parker. No. Not him. Please.

  A flaming arrow arced from the bow, followed by another, and another, all landing on the deck of the craft ahead of them. The arrows hit enemy sailors, setting their clothing ablaze and creating havoc as the flailing, burning men stumbled about. Others on board the longship scrambled to avoid the flames.

  Parker appeared in the night, running toward the quarterdeck with his bow still in hand. He swiped his knife through the lifeboat rope and it fell into the bay, taking the sailors onboard with it. Circling the hole in the deck, he reached the stairs just as the Razor collided with the enemy longship.

  Crashing, cracking wood and grinding hulls joined the screams that rang in the night. The force of the collision drove Te
nzi into the wheel and to her knees. Pulling herself upright, she found Parker lying on the deck. He rose to his feet and ran toward her.

  “What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “You were supposed to get off the ship!”

  He stumbled up the stairs and grabbed her hand. “I’ll not leave without you.”

  An explosion of green flames took the Razor, the force of the blast knocking Tenzi and Parker to the quarterdeck and sending debris raining down upon them. As it settled, she uncovered her head and looked around. Parker’s shirt was on fire. She urgently patted at it, burning her hand as she smothered the flame.

  “Thanks,” he groaned, taking her hand and helping her up. “Now, let’s jump ship.”

  “Good idea. On three.” She turned toward the stern. “One. Two. Three.”

  As the pair ran toward the rail, the other flashbomb struck. A blast of green flame surged around them, propelling them off the ship and into the darkness.

  35

  Attack

  The longship circled the sheet of ice, the oars cutting through water mere feet from the frozen edge. Two trapped ships fired on the blockade, the third ship now abandoned, the soldiers and sailors either gone or dead.

  Fires burned on the blockade vessels even as archers stationed upon them loosed volleys upon the longships. Yes, the sailors on the two longships trapped outside the blockade had been sent to die, same as those aboard the ship that broke through the blockade. As planned, the distraction also trapped the kingdom fleet when the arcanists used their dark magic to freeze the area where the river poured into the bay. The remaining longships headed toward shore unchallenged.

  Explosions sent bursts of green and orange flames into the sky over the city. King Brock has little choice but to respond, Sculdin thought, assuming he survived the bomb that struck the throne room. The north wall had likely turned to rubble, as had anything located near it. If allowed to continue, the assault would destroy Wayport and everyone inside. By now, the Kantarians will be preparing to meet the army. I wonder if they know about our muskets.