A Rising Darkness

by Nikki Dorakis

  There was only one other problem with my plan. To cast a spell of such magnitude, even when it was being channelled by an enchanted staff, would require an enormous expenditure of energy. Once the spell was cast and the walls were breached I would, like as not, need a few days to recover. And as long as I was indisposed, the king would remain likewise.

  Much as I disliked the deceit, there were many things I had kept from Janir—from all of the monarchs in fact. I had discovered a weighty old tome in Anubis’ library in Delos—almost five hundred pages—of chemical and alchemical formulae many of which were highly dangerous either because they were toxic, explosive or pyrogenic. Several of the formulae had the potential for military application and one, a substance called ‘Dragon’s Breath’, had so caught my imagination that I commissioned its production several days before we left Delos and began our march to Medravia. No-one knew of its production—not even Dthor.

  As the sun broke clear of the horizon its strengthening light fell on the full might of the alliance army ranked as it was almost twice the width of the city’s curtain wall and stretching back over the meadow land for over a cord.

  I finished delivering my instructions to the ballisteers and the artillerymen on the trebuchets and onagers and then made my way to the kings and their generals where they were assembled atop a low hill ten ranks from the head of the militia. Janir was conspicuous by his absence, explained by Balten as a relapse of Janir’s earlier food poisoning. Korlaq shot the prince a suspiciously knowing look.

  “Well, highness,” I supplied, “your father does have the rather foolish habit of leaving part of his supper and eating it later the next day. I have told him of this, but he still insists on doing it.”

  Balten gazed around at the massed soldiers and then turned his attention to me. “Are we ready, Ez’n.”

  I nodded. We were as ready as we would ever be. “But wait for the signal.”

  “What signal?” Markos asked as I turned Vyrnath towards the ranks of the Kyr-Garrin.

  I gave the young king a smile that told him I was plotting. “You will know it when you see it, King Markos.” So saying I kicked Vyrnath on weaving my way through the ranks until I reached the White Guard.

  Flanked by Jae’nt and Tariq on my left and Dthor and Kylos on my right and Aenar, Faedron and Maegor behind me I signalled the siege mechanics forward. The machines groaned and creaked as the teams of heavy horses hauled them into position. On my second signal the Kyr-Garrin formed up and began to follow me towards Medravia.

  As we drew close a salvo of flaming arrows shot from the battlements lit up the dawn sky before falling earthward and setting fire to a carpet of thresh and pitch. I smiled to myself. It seemed that our enemies had been quite gainfully employed overnight.

  Tariq turned to Jae’nt. “Now what?”

  Jae’nt turned to me expectantly.

  “It is a deterrent, nothing more. And,” I added as he went to speak, “it tells us something of the range of their bowmen.”

  “Can we get closer?” Kylos asked, “Should we get closer?”

  I twisted slightly in the saddle and pulled Gorgoth’s staff from its holster. I leaned towards the younger archer smiling. “I do no need to go closer,” I told him in quiet confidential tones.

  In truth I would have preferred to be closer, I might then expend less energy conjuring the storm I needed. As I readied the staff and adjusted my position to give me maximum stability Dthor took off his gauntlet, drew his dagger and pulled up my sleeve. I gave him a forbidding look. “Not this time, ‘b’zaddi,” I said quietly, “This could kill me and if you are blood-linked it could take you and Jae’nt both.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing,” I told him sternly, “Who would there be to protect the king if we all fell here?”

  Dthor re-sheathed his weapon and shoved his hand back into his gauntlet. He shot me a resentful, angry look which softened almost at once. “I will not let you fall,” he said, and edged his mount so close to Vyrnath that our legs were touching. He placed his hand on my thigh. “And, furthermore,” he said, “I know all will be well. Wizards do not die easily.”

  “More is the pity.” I replied

  “Do not say that! NEVER say that again!” His hand clamped on my leg with such passion and ferocity that I winced from the pain. He released his grip. “Do what you must.”

  The clouds gathered above us quickly as I activated the staff. My settans of study and practice with the artefact had paid off and I was now adept at using it. I still had a way to go before I could consider I had mastered the finer points of thaumaturgy, but I had learned enough for my purpose.

  Overhead the sky growled and flashed and the staff began to glow. The first bolt I launched struck the hoarding. The wooden gallery exploded scattering splinters, shards of wood and bodies before bursting into flame. The second bolt reduced the top storey of the central bastion to rubble and the third destroyed the central gatehouse and reduced the yett to scrap metal.

  As I watched the gatehouse fall I began to feel sick and dizzy. I only had one more casting left in me and this would have to count. I glanced over at the artillery captain. The man saluted and readied his men. I turned my attention back to the city, placed my fingers in the grooves on the staff and twisted. The bolt of lightning that burst from the end of the staff turned my vision white for a moment. The bolt of energy was as thick as a man’s waist. It snaked its way across the meadow and struck the wall with such force that the impact kicked back nearly unseating me. The curtain wall exploded showering the city and surrounding meadow with shards and chunks of burning stone several of which fell so close to our position we could feel the heat from them.

  Legionnaires began to spill through the breaches yelling battle cries and obscenities. Over to my left the thunderous thud of the trebuchets and onagers as they launched their payloads filled the air, replacing the growl of the thunder as the storm dissipated.

  The first salvo of missiles hit the advancing soldiers full on in the leading ranks. The projectiles burst into a bright gold fire that began to spread from man to man until almost all of the front three ranks were alight. The second launch sent the missiles over the wall to just beyond the breach. There was a brief pause and then a column of flame roared into the sky.

  Dthor took my arm to steady me. “Now, that is what I call a signal.”

  I gave Dthor a weak smile as the staff slipped from my grasp and the world began to spin crazily. Medravia seemed to tilt at a ridiculous angle and faded into a gathering darkness. I became aware of Dthor hauling me out of my saddle and cradling me against him. He kissed my head and whispered, “You will not fall, Meriq. Not while I live.” Then I knew nothing more.

  †

  CHAPTER 41

  MEDRAVIA

  THE FIRST thing I became aware of was light shining through my eyelids and warmth on my face. Sensation returned slowly and I was suddenly conscious of someone holding my hand and something rough chafing the sensitive skin behind my knuckles. My eyes felt as if they were stuck shut; the lids unnaturally heavy. Then came the light touch of a moist cloth, cool and refreshing across my brow and over my face. My eyes flicked open. At first it was as if I was looking at the world through finely spun cotton, until gradually everything came into focus and I found myself looking into Dthor’s sudden-blue eyes.

  “The king?” I croaked; my mouth and throat felt as if someone had filled them with sand.

  Dthor nodded reassuringly. The king was settled and being tended by Jalin and Olanna, a Morlan healer who had been Karyn’s senior apprentice. Dthor himself had approved her as healer to the Kyr-Garrin when she responded to the proclamations I had sent out when Karyn was dismissed from our ranks.

  My consort turned slightly; still pressing my hand against his face as though he was afraid to relinquish his hold in case I slipped away from him. He picked up a goblet of water from the nightstand only letting go of my hand so that he could support my head as I dr
ank.

  “How long?” I asked, my voice much clearer and stronger following the drink.

  “Three days,” Dthor said quietly, “I was so afraid I was going to lose you, Meriq.”

  I lifted my hand and brushed a wayward lock of hair back from his face. “You forget, ‘b’zaddi, wizards do not die easily.”

  “More is the pity,” he answered and grabbed me to him, holding me so tightly that it was almost an effort to breathe. He lowered me back on my pillows and rose slowly, “I will let the men know you are awake and I will return later, I have military affairs to see to that I have neglected while you have been resting.” He gave me a mischievous grin and left. “See that he eats,” he told a healer as he left, “and do not left him get out of that bed until Olanna has seen him.” He turned back to me. “Behave yourself,” he said sternly and left.

  Much to my chagrin I had to remain bed bound for a further three days. Despite my best efforts to escape, I just did not have the strength to dress myself or walk. The casting had seriously depleted me, but it had won us a solid foothold in the lower part of the city.

  Faedron was the first to visit with the news that the Black Legion had been all but destroyed in the lower city. There were still some small pockets of resistance, but these were becoming fewer by the day, the army being greatly aided by the local populace who, it seemed, had welcomed us with open arms as a liberating force rather than a second set of invaders. The main problem now was breaching the castle and its keep. “We could really use your brain, Meriq,” the corporal said quietly so that Olana would not hear.

  “Well you cannot have his brain, or any other part of him until he can stand, wash and dress unaided, Faedron” Olanna said sternly as she arrived at the bedside.

  “Ye gods, woman,” Faedron said, startled, “you have the hearing of a Kendirith battle dog.”

  “Good of you to notice,” Olanna replied grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to his feet. “Now away with you, the Ez’n needs his rest or he will never get out of here.

  The Medravi had given over several of the larger government buildings in the lower city so that the kings and the war council might have somewhere to meet as they made their plans to take the main castle. Several of the larger villas and mansions had been vacated by the merchants and nobles to provide accommodation and a veritable army of locals had volunteered their services in cleaning the barracks just so recently occupied and vacated by the Black Legion.

  Janir and I arrived at the meeting hall just as Balten was about to seat himself with the other reigning monarchs. He stepped quickly to the side and sat down in his normal place. The king’s quick eyes took in every reaction as it occurred and then walked slowly to his seat.

  Despite the fact that the Life Link was back to its normal level, the king was still weak. The length of time I was out of commission had allowed The Wasting to advance and it was now becoming almost impossible for me to create the illusion that the man was in peak health. His current gauntness, however, could be easily explained away as his recent indisposition.

  The meeting was, thankfully, a brief affair. Discussion centred mainly on the recent perceived victory of taking the lower city and policing it to protect both the citizens and the militia from Strike-and-Run attacks by the surviving Black Legionnaires. The surviving soldiers had, it seemed, taken a leaf from the book of their contemporaries in Delos and were current hiding not in the sewer tunnels, but in the catacombs beneath castle and the upper city.

  “We could spend the rest of our lives searching those tunnels,” Balten complained, “and we would still come nowhere close to capturing them.”

  “And they have access to supplies from the upper city, so we cannot starve them out.” Zarin added. The colonel turned a poisonous glare at me. “Well, wizard, do you have any suggestions?”

  I returned an equally venomous look. “Well, we cannot use flooding to flush them out as we did in Delos, but we have plenty of the Bane Briar sap left. With the right equipment we could gas them.”

  “And just how long would the construction of “the right equipment” take?” Korlaq demanded.

  “About three days, General. I have already designed it. I just need the artisans to build it.”

  “Meriq, I swear you take pleasure in baiting my General,” Markos said when the War Council had dispersed and only the kings, Dthor and I remained.

  “Somewhat,” I admitted, “but I would prefer more of a challenge.”

  I pulled a cloaking stone from the pouch on my hip and set it in the centre of the gathering. Janir gave me a questioning look. “Meriq?”

  “I have been plotting,” I told the king.

  Dthor looked anxious and Markos rolled his eyes heavenward. Aarin wriggled forward on his seat and looked eager.

  “Oh by Zoar’s teeth,” Dthor said taking a goblet of wine from Jalin as he passed with a tray. “I do SO hate it when you say that.”

  “But,” the king said taking the tray from Jalin and setting it aside, “no campaign day would be complete without it now, would it?” He pulled Jalin down beside him on the couch. “So tell us.”

  The plan was basically a simple one. I wanted to get a group of about ten of the kayetim into the upper city to scout out the positions of the Black Legion, their centre of command, barracks and significant fortifications. Once that was done we would despatch the entire squad armed with a batch of grenades and use the same Strike-and-Run tactics the legionnaires themselves had been using.

  Markos looked puzzled. “But Meriq, that would take forever and we cannot remain here indefinitely.”

  “We will not need to, Markos.”

  I reached again into my satchel and produced a small vial of black liquid and a small shallow brass dish. Holding the vial about half a cubit above the dish I let a single drop fall. The liquid burst into bright red fire, the conflagration no bigger than a candle flame. I invited the young king to extinguish it.

  “Not a challenge I think you should take,” Dthor cautioned.

  Markos smiled. “Have I ever given you the impression that I am intimidated by a challenge, Dthor.”

  The captain grimaced. “No . . . and that is what worries me.”

  Markos tilted his goblet and splashed the flame with his wine. The fire crackled and almost doubled in size. Markos emptied his goblet into the dish and the flames flared angrily spreading rapidly, spilling over the rim of the dish and on to the table top.

  Janir looked startled as Dthor threw a pitcher of water on to the table and the flames leapt up to almost man-height. I pulled a salt pouch from my satchel and threw a handful of the contents into the dish, scattering the remainder over the burning table; the fire died instantly. Janir and Markos sat looking stunned. Aarin applauded and laughed. All three eventually turned to me, their expressions begging for an explanation.

  “It is called Dragon’s Breath, your majesties. I found the formula in one of Anubis’ old grimoires back in his library in Delos.”

  Janir took the little flask from me, turning it around in his hand so carefully that I almost laughed at his caution. I reassured him that the potion needed air and a sharp impact to detonate it, hence why I wanted to enlist the aid of the kayetim. The assassins possessed the necessary stealth to penetrate the city undetected and the skills to vanish into the shadows once their deadly payload had been delivered.

  The strikes would be mostly surgical since the kayetim would be targeting only those structures identified as being of military interest. Once the targets were ablaze and the legionnaires engaged in trying to contain the fires, a couple of the kayetim would make their way to the gatehouse to reposition the sliding drawbridge and raise the portcullis. The rest was up to the soldiers and their commanders. I gave Janir a reassuring nod. “And no magic needed.”

  The king laughed. “Oh and that’s right up there alongside ‘What could possibly go wrong?’ I swear by Zoar Himself that if I have to have another flux or bout of food poisoning . . .”
/>   “I doubt that will be necessary, my king.” I smiled.

  Markos and Aarin rose. They would take the plan to their generals and consult with them and as they took their leave I handed each a small package containing a sample of the Dragon’s Breath, salt and a cloaking stone.

  “You are leaving nothing to chance, Meriq,” Markos observed.

  “Seers are notoriously curious,” I replied, “and they are even more so when their vision has been opposed.”

  “You have a Seer in mind, I take it,” Janir said as the door closed behind the departing monarchs.

  “I have, Majesty. And I think Markos needs to be wary of Korlaq.”

  “A fact I am sure the young man is acutely aware of,” Janir replied.

  The kayetim left the camp shortly before dawn and headed off towards the castle and the gassing crews began priming the pumping equipment. According to the denizens of the lower city there were only two entrances to the catacombs and the tunnels debouched high in the upper city within the castle. Armed with that information it was clear that we would have to find out whether or not the Legionnaires were camping in the tunnels. To that end I despatched a couple of Kendirith scouts to locate the enemy while I supervised the deployment of the gas delivery equipment.

  The devices were simple enough, a large vat to contain the sap, a fan one and a half cubits in diameter secured to a vent which in turn was fixed to the top of the vat and a second vent which formed the delivery outlet. The entrance to the catacombs was covered and seal by and oiled tarpaulin which in turn was secured and sealed in place with pitch.

  The Bane Briar sap was highly volatile so the fan driving air across the liquid would cause it to evaporate and the vapour would be sent into the tunnels in a sufficient concentration to either kill or disable the legionnaires, or so I hoped. In any event, the fumes in the tunnels would irritate their lungs and compromise their breathing and this in itself would make them more vulnerable to attack and much less able to defend themselves.