“Me?!” croaked Asaeld. “How could I know about it? You’ve killed all my instruments! I’m sorry, Emperor, I don’t know how to help you.”
“It was you! There’s no point denying it! You want Cambria to lose this war, you rotten swine!” Loralon shouted, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy tunic stained with congealed blood. Asaeld didn’t drop his smile, empty as it was of a couple of teeth, knocked out by a few well-placed punches.
“Oh, Emperor, how could you say such a thing?! I swear by the Gods, I’ve never wished to see the end of Cambria! It’s your end I wanted to see! There’s quite a difference! I WANTED NEW ORDER HERE!”
“Cambria hasn’t been attacked for... for...” stuttered Loralon in terror.
“For a few centuries, my lord. But to be more precise, it hasn’t lost for a far longer time... But there’s always the right time for everything...” Asaeld returned, crowing with joy.
“And now what do we do, for love of the Gods?!”
“Are you by any chance asking me for advice, Your Majesty? Well, I’m not in the best state to give good advice, but... first of all... let’s leave the Gods out of it. I don’t believe they can be of help to you. And then... if I were you, I’d start getting ready...”
“FOR WHAT?!”
“For him,” Asaeld answered, with a smile.
The doors were flung open again, but with far more violence. Loralon rose, eyes wide, and saw Dunwich rushing towards the throne, crossing the empty chamber in huge strides. He was dirty, tattered and bedraggled. And visibly thinner. But above all, his eyes were those of a man who’d lost all reason a long time ago.
“I knew you’d come back to me sooner or later...” Asaeld murmured.
“LORALON!”
It was the voice of one man, yet it boomed like that of an entire regiment. Parro tried to move between them, yet before he could even open his mouth, Dunwich unsheathed his sword and lunged it right through his chest. The chancellor tumbled to the floor with not even a cry.
“Well done, my boy...”
Loralon let go of Asaeld’s neck, stepped back and threw his arms wide, beaming. He’d watched his best friend die an instant earlier, but at that moment only his own life existed – nothing else.
“Dunwich! Thank goodness you’re alive! You must help me, we have to prepare the city’s defences, and there’s so much I have to tell you...”
“YOU’RE A VILE SODDING SWINE, LORALON!”
“I understand you might be a little... upset... but right now we have to think about Cambria, my boy! And there’s much you should know... about Asaeld, about how he’s manipulated you, about what he was doing behind your back, behind our backs!” the Emperor shouted, taking a further step back, in dread.
But Dunwich didn’t seem to have listened to a single word.
“Asaeld, are you alright?! What have they done to you?”
“Loralon put me in prison, because I was a danger for his plans...” the Lance cried, his voice brimming with sorrow. “He’s the one who took our men from the front, Dunwich! He alone is making us lose our war!”
“No, you must listen to me! Asaeld is a cunning snake. He’s lying to you – he’s always lied to you...”
Dunwich spanned the throne’s steps in swift strides. Loralon turned to flee, but the younger man was much quicker. He seized him by the neck, and squeezed with brutal force.
“Dunwich, wait... I beg you, my boy. Listen to me...”
“I’ve had enough of you, your plans and your frigging councillors!” Dunwich drove him to the ground, thrust a knee into his back and began tugging with all his might.
“It’s your fault! You took away all my men! You took away the Lances! I’ve been fighting for weeks, every day and every night, without sleeping and without eating, just to stop the rebels! I’ve watched all my soldiers die! THEY WERE MY COMRADES! THEY WERE MY FRIENDS!”
“Go on, Dunwich... Go on!” Asaeld yelled.
“Wait... wait...” mumbled the Emperor “It’s not... the way... you think...”
“Die, you repulsive bastard!”
He pulled a last time, and the bones in Loralon’s back shattered. Asaeld wept for joy behind him. Dunwich swivelled round with the goggle-eyed gaze of a man who’d just woken from a long troubled sleep. Asaeld raised his arms, and nodded to the chancellor’s corpse.
“He’s got the keys. Come on, set me free... Now we’ll settle everything!”
“Asaeld, what have I done?” Dunwich asked, glancing around, dazed. All the wrath had seeped from his eyes. Just mortal exhaustion remained, and a gaping chasm where his oath as Imperial Lance had previously lain.
“You did what had to be done, Dunwich. Or rather... my lord. You’re the new ruler of Cambria now. And I’m your first and most loyal servant!”
A low mingled cry began to creep up to the hall windows. The city had spotted the foe at the gates. Cambria had awakened from its sweet dream, without time to catch its breath before plummeting into the nightmare.
“Let’s go save our city, Dunwich!”
***
‘When we’re at the foot of the walls, if everything’s gone smoothly, Cambria won’t know what to do. They can’t hole themselves up in refuge. After two years of famine and plague, their supplies won’t be plentiful enough to hold out long. They’ll try to draw us into battle outside the city.’
Adraman repeated off by heart the words of the speech he, Berg and Mordraud had prepared for the council. He needed to believe it was a perfect plan. Just the thought of assailing Cambria made his teeth chatter.
“CHARGE!” he bellowed to the ranks behind him. He’d lost many men during the lengthy crossing of the region, but he’d nonetheless managed to arrive there, in the shadow of the Empire’s capital, after sweeping away the troops at the central front. They’d fought foot by foot, straining to halt the rebel forces. But they hadn’t succeeded.
‘When the battalions swarm out the great gate, we’ll already be there. Their archers will strike us down unrelentingly, but we mustn’t pull back. They have to be afraid of us, messing themselves in fear.’
He’d only seen Cambria once, a long time ago, and it had become a mere blur on Eldain’s maps. In the flesh it was a truly formidable city, compared to their little fiefdom. It was astounding they’d battled so long, at equal arms, with such a giant, Adraman mused, deep in admiration. The buildings’ rooftops shone in the warm early summer sunshine, and the multicolour windows seemed aflame with the hues of the rainbow. The city walls were vast, rippling with steeples and soldier-crammed turrets. Sumptuous mansions, adorned in polychrome stuccowork and white marble statues, looked out onto avenues paved in porphyry, in the generous shade of century-old trees.
It was the city of the Gods.
And they’d come to destroy it.
“INFANTRY! STAY COMPACT! Berg...” Adraman embraced Berg, and they greeted each other with a fond gaze. “See you inside, friend!”
“You can bet on that! Good riding, Adraman!”
“Try and hold out as long as you can!”
All the infantry divisions began heading down towards Cambria’s huge solid brass city doors, famous all over the continent for their mammoth size. No one alive could recall the last time the enemy had managed to breach them. Adraman felt another shudder rattle his teeth.
“MEN! BE BRAVE!” he bawled with both lungs. “For Eldain!”
“ELDAIN!”
“Death to Cambria!”
“DEATH TO CAMBRIA!”
Adraman went to helm his horsemen and paused to observe. Mordraud was at his side, in silence. When Cambria’s doors opened, flooding the plain with the Empire’s troops, he felt his heart lurch. Mordraud’s hand sought out his friend’s, who squeezed in reply.
‘Once the battle beneath the walls is underway, our men will be on their own. Cambria has thousands of soldiers, but none are ready for combat so close to home. They’ll be too scared. Ours can hold out a good while, even if the arrows go
on hailing down on all, friends and foe alike. We just have to wait for them to unsheathe their most precious weapon: the Lances...’
The mêlée had grown ferocious. The flow of Imperial forces seemed endless, but Adraman’s men were compact, determined and ready for all. Eld was showing Cambria what real madness was. The units moved in an orderly fashion, even under the hail of arrows, forcing the enemy to also endure the deadly metal clouds. Berg was doing an excellent job, down there. But they couldn’t withstand it all indefinitely. Mowed down by the cavalry, pierced by arrows, pounded by waves of foot-soldiers, Eldain’s army was gradually shifting west, instead of converging towards the city gate. An incomprehensible move for any strategist, but not for Adraman.
The doors, which had shut behind the last infantry battalion, began opening again. Less than an hour had passed since the start of the battle, but it felt like a century for those still waiting to snap into action, hidden among the trees of the dense forest. The extremity of Chestnut Gorge, where the majestic Hann gushed powerfully between narrow and steep rock faces. The most mountainous point near the capital. The wind was to their favour. The air was mild and crystal clear.
‘Gripped by panic, Cambria will act in haste. Not spotting our men on horseback, they’ll let the Lances out in order to decide the battle as soon as possible. Their cavalry’s slow, heavy and compact. We’ve witnessed it in action a hundred times over on the Rampart. Lethal in attack. Ungainly in defence. They’ll stake everything on the Lances, and their choirs.’
The chanters were stretched out in long rows and were filling the air with complicated risky harmonies, vicious basses, and solos bravely riding the colossal resonances. Darts of light, balls of fire, bolts of lightning and immense black boulders rained down from the walls. They formed in a vortex in front of the chanters, who moved like a single body, directing with their arms where and when they wanted the resonance to take shape. Flames materialised from nothing and exploded above the soldiers’ unwitting heads. Arrows of deadly green light streaked by, zapping the ground hoofed up by terrified horses. The Arcane had kicked into action, striking everyone and everything, without distinction. Adraman squeezed Mordraud’s hand tighter. His men were dying in droves. As if he himself had condemned them to death.
‘The doors will open, to bring out the Lances. But with them, Cambria will send other men to the scrum. That gate will stay open a while – we don’t know how long, but it won’t be brief. All our hopes for victory hinge on this point... on this moment when Cambria is vulnerable... And that’s when we’ll make our move. Small, light units with no hindrances. Anyone who falls is left behind. We can’t afford to slow up, not even for an instant. Galloping at full speed, we’ll ram the gate as one mass... And if we manage to get in...’
The brass doors were open at last, and the first regiment of Lances reached the battlefield. Swarming around them were foot-soldiers, going to take the places of their fallen comrades. The chanters, who hadn’t stopped spewing harmonies at the foot of the walls, suddenly ceased their song. Colours returned to their natural tones. Billows of smoke rose all over the battleground. The craters left by the explosions revealed heaps of twisted mutilated corpses from both factions, impossibly intertwined. The Lances began moving towards Eldain’s infantry, striking up their fearful murderous chants in perfect voices. The gate remained open to let out as many troops as possible.
‘...And if we manage in get in... We’ll thank Cambria for the invitation!’
The time had come
“Mordraud...”
“What is it, Adraman?”
“I’m glad he’s your son.”
“Thank you...” Mordraud uttered through tears. “My friend.”
The horde of horsemen poured out of the wood, stirring a storm of dust, leaves and black earth.
“CHARGE! CHARGE!” bellowed Adraman, with Eldain’s sword high above his head. “DON’T SLOW DOWN! DON’T STOP!”
The heavens were vomiting clouds of arrows. Cambria’s first riders reached them, endeavouring to intercept them, but Mordraud swerved from their path, driving the assault front in two. The rebels didn’t attempt to engage in battle. Their sole objective was to reach the gate, at any cost.
“DON’T TURN BACK! DON’T SLOW DOWN!” Mordraud yelled. “ADRAMAN! TIGHTER ON THE LEFT! TIGHTER, DAMN IT!”
His men were following him, head bowed and trunk close to the horse’s back. Those in the rear were stopped by the Imperial cavalry, and found themselves alone, fighting against hundreds of enemy troops. They were wiped out in a few moments. A tempest of arrows skewered two soldiers a few paces away. Behind him, another ten fell almost simultaneously, punctured in the chest.
“DON’T SLOW DOWN! CHARGE! CHARGE!”
Adraman was shifting to avoid head-on collision with Cambria’s cavalry, and Mordraud did the same too. They had to pass through the middle of an infantry battalion trying to position itself to block their route. The doors had begun to close.
“FASTER! FASTER!”
Behind him, the momentum was crumbling. Many had fallen, struck by arrows. Others had had their path barred.
“HEAD’S DOWN, LADS! STRAIGHT FOR THE GATE!”
The horses plunged into the foot-soldiers ranged before the entrance. Their lances glinted in the sun, ready to put an end to the rebels’ race. Mordraud unsheathed his sword and roared at the skies.
“FOR ELDAIN! DEATH TO CAMBRIA!” he bellowed, furiously swiping the tips off the lances near him. He tugged on his reins and the horse leapt into the air. It came to land beyond the front lines, trampling a cluster of soldiers. Mordraud spurred it on, as he randomly slashed at as many heads as he could in passing. He saw Adraman a short distance away as he converged towards the doors, which were now near. Huge blazing spheres began falling from the walls, with a cascade of dazzling darts. These skimmed the ground and shot towards them, slipping across the grass like poisonous snakes. Mordraud put his head down and shut his eyes. The blast almost ripped his ears off. The horse whinnied, riddled with terror. Mordraud forced it on. The infantry broke up, crushed by the monstrous hail of resonances that was beating down on them too, mercilessly. A bolt struck his back, and Mordraud lost his breath. It wasn’t the first time. He already knew how much it would hurt.
“WE’RE THERE!” Adraman shouted to him. They were side by side again. All that remained of their forces was a few dozen horsemen, their eyes wide in amazement at having survived so far.
The doors were still open. Just a little, very little. But they were open. Cambria had carried on with orders to let more troops out. They’d messed it up on their own.
“EVERYONE INSIDE!” Adraman ordered. Mordraud overtook him in his gallop. He aimed for the crack between the two huge brass panels, and shot inside the city of the Gods. Adraman was close behind.
They’d made it.
“FREE THE ENTRANCE!” Mordraud yelled, springing down from his animal. Foot-soldiers, Lances and cavalrymen were all congregated opposite the gate, mouths gaping. Seeing a rebel within the walls was something that went beyond their powers of comprehension. It had all happened too quickly. They didn’t have precise orders. They weren’t ready to defend themselves home by home.
Adraman’s cavalry streamed in for as long as they could, and the last jumped off his horse, leaving the poor beast jammed between the two wings of the gate. It was used as a braying wedge. Outside, Berg’s infantry formed into a shield to protect the troops intent on racing into the city on the horsemen’s heels. Mordraud and Adraman gathered their men and set in motion the bold defence of the opening. The foe was everywhere, but the arrows no longer showered down, and not even the chanting could be used against them. Eldain’s sword vibrated in Adraman’s hands, as sharp and lethal as a razor. Mordraud staked everything on brutal might. No one could withstand the power of his attacks for long. Shields toppled away, swords were truncated. Mordraud felt something give way in his left shoulder. Perhaps a bone, or muscles tearing. He didn’t slacken off, no
t even for an instant.
“Mordraud! Listen!” Adraman shouted, as he finished off a Lance, to the chest.
“What is it?”
He was covering the man’s back, and in the meantime signalled to the foot-soldiers who’d managed to get in through the gap, left open by the jammed horse. They were looking for the machinery room, while Mordraud and his men endeavoured to free the entrance.
“This sword must never fall. You hear me?! The enemy must not have it!”
“I’m with you, Adraman. Now just concentrate on keeping it firmly in your grasp!”
“You can count on that! They’re waiting for me, at home!” answered Adraman, smiling, while engaged in a duel with another Lance. Mordraud turned before he could say what he was about to say.
That wasn’t the time.
Not before, not then.
Never.
“Chief! We’ve found the cogs!” a soldier called from a slit window by the doors. It was Hammer.
Dear old Hammer.
“OPEN THEM UP THEN! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!”
Hammer nodded and ran inside. The brass wings began widening again, just as other infantry units joined the road stretching far into the heart of Cambria. The first torches flew to the roofs of the homes. Hammer and the others must have found the fire, concluded a jubilant Mordraud. The liquid mass of their men poured in. The city gate was in their hands.
“SPREAD OUT! HOUSE BY HOUSE! FIGHT ON SIGHT!” Adraman ordered. “MORDRAUD! WITH ME!”
They charged off, chased by their horsemen. Cambria’s defences flowed against Eldain’s infantry, but the road was free. Other groups slid into the side-streets, seeping all over the city like an unstoppable tide. Anybody ending up in front of them was swept away. Civilians fled in all directions, screaming wildly and bolting themselves up in the homes not yet overwhelmed by the foe.
“WE HAVE TO REACH THE PALACE!”
Mordraud was at his side in the race. The rebels streamed through Cambria’s streets, washing them with destruction and death.
***
“Everybody out! Get your weapons in the entrance hall and hurry to the city doors!” Dunwich yelled to the prisoners in the cells. They were all Lances, reduced to hunger and tatters, and frighteningly skeletal. A sight that stirred no regrets at having broken their dear Emperor’s back.
Mordraud, Book One Page 69