by J. S. Morin
Jinzan brought them to Lord Feldrake’s chambers and threw open the doors. G’thk had been using the lord’s room as his own but had largely left the lord’s clothing unmolested; the wardrobes were too high to be any use to him, and the garments were neither valuable nor offensive to him. Luckily the same apathy extended to Lady Feldrake’s wardrobe as well, which Jinzan tore open and began to pillage. He grabbed the first dress that came to hand and brought it over to Celia.
“It seems Lady Feldrake was thicker around the middle and the bust than you, but she was near to your height. Put this on,” and with that, ropes uncoiled from around her and dropped to the floor. He pressed the dress into her hands, and she looked at it critically.
“This is much too large for me,” she said, holding up the maroon-and-white dress to her middle and wrapping it well over halfway around her.
“I suppose that is what bearing heirs does to a lady’s figure,” Jinzan called out from the wardrobe, where he was already picking out more suitable travel gear from among Lady Feldrake’s belongings. He found petticoats and a long jacket, picked one from an astonishingly large collection of scarves, and found some fur-lined boots, which like as not would be too large for the girl. He tossed each in her general direction as he found them.
He retreated from the wardrobe to find her dutifully struggling into the dress he had handed her. It was wool and much warmer than the damaged chambermaid’s outfit she had been wearing, and it seemed she was having trouble lacing up the back. It was a lady’s dress and it was expected that a lady would have servants to help with such tasks. Jinzan was impressed by the dexterity she showed in even getting as far as she had, working at the laces behind her back, and he could not help if his gaze lingered down the loose-fitting front of it before taking her by the shoulder and turning her about. He deftly finished up tying the back and pointed to the belt he had left at her feet—the last item he had taken from the Lady Feldrake’s collection.
As expected, the boots flopped loosely as she walked; Lady Feldrake must have been a largish woman. Celia took the liberty of obtaining an ermine hat and matching gloves as well, before they departed.
“Are you not going to put something warmer on,” Celia asked with unexpected concern in her voice, as they approached the main door of the manor.
“No. It is a simple work of magic to spare myself the worst of the elements, and it reminds the goblins that I am not so weak as they are,” Jinan said. “I will see that you get a horse to ride, and you will keep by my side. If the goblins see you alone, outside my sight, they will beat you and send you back to me … and that is if you are lucky. Now come along and you can witness the fall of Raynesdark. Once we are safely within the captured city, we can figure out how to best to see to your situation.”
“Are you not worried you waited too long? I would expect that they would have sent reinforcements by now, and be ready for you,” Celia said.
Jinzan wondered if she might perhaps be cleverer than she let on as well. Since when did a Seventh Circle know or care anything about military matters?
What is it that they teach Kadrin children these days? Do they all feign incompetence to lull you into underestimating them?
“The goblins’ dragon-goddess is joining the battle. We will meet her at the city in two days’ time. I do not care about the reinforcements they might have added—and I doubt they will have any—the dragon will overwhelm them. Kadrin has grown weak. Their armies have shrunk as they trade for their wealth now instead of plundering for it, and the Imperial Circle is a cowardly bunch of old men, with no combat experience worth wooden sword.”
“So you have not heard then?” Celia asked, goading him.
“Heard what?” Jinzan could not help but take the bait she had left for him.
“That we have a warlock again.” She grinned.
Jinzan studied her face for a moment. The self-satisfaction was evident and seemed genuine.
No, Kadrin is producing too good a crop of liars these days for me to take a prisoner’s word for such news. Perhaps she is referring to the demon that the goblins heard reports of. Ni’Hash’Tk will have to deal with that. I have my own plans to attend to.
“We shall see,” was all Jinzan could counter with.
Even he had to admit that he had not made it sound as ominous as he had hoped.
* * * * * * * *
[Bring me the assassin,] Ni’Hash’Tk demanded. She loped along, forcing the rest of her army to keep up with her and brooking no rest.
[Your Magnificence, the assassin has already departed some hours ago,] said the priest beside her.
He rode a ground-hawk, a large short-feathered, flightless bird that was strong enough to bear the weight of armed and armored goblin cavalry. They were fierce creatures that were difficult to train, but they were the fastest land creatures that would bear a goblin in combat.
Ni’Hash’Tk’s army had shrunk some since she had given the order to quicken their pace. While the troop had been intended for quick travel, there were still not enough mounts to go around. Many of the goblins had managed to crowd atop the chk’p’dn lizards that drew the human rock-launchers, and all the available ground-hawks were being ridden, whereas many had been led on leashes previously, to keep them fresh for battle.
All the goblins who could not find faster transportation than their own feet had fallen behind hours ago. Ni’Hash’Tk assumed that Gkt’Lr was among these.
[Send someone back for him. Bring him a ground-hawk and order him to rejoin us.]
The dragon’s angry growl spooked the priest’s bird, causing him a moment’s panic as he fought to regain control of the skittish animal.
[He did not fall behind, Mighty One,] the priest said, careful not to “correct” her. [He went on ahead of us. If he cares to maintain stealth, we could not catch him even if we sent up skyriders to search for him.]
[Curse that impudent little mouse. He had best make good use of his early arrival. If I find he has not taken enough hearts when we arrive, I will crush him in my jaw and spit him upon the ground,] Ni’Hash’Tk swore.
The eating of a goblin as punishment was at least seen as a noble death—a service to the goddess. Being spat out, though, was a horrible insult, the ultimate rejection by the dragon, beasts known to eat anything they wished, even things most would consider to be inedible.
[As you wish, Your Magnificence,] the priest responded.
Ni’Hash’Tk looked ahead to the east. Through breaks in the trees, she could make out the mountain range the Kadrins called Cloud Wall. The translation of its draconic name was “Godsforge.” The volcanoes had been dormant for millennia, but at one time, they belched forth fire and ash and were the home of the fiercest of dragons, before the stone warlords came and took them back for the metals they hid.
Unlike the goblins, who could just see the mountains when the terrain allowed them an unobstructed view, Ni’Hash’Tk’s superior eyesight allowed her to make out the city, nestled against the mountainside: the future home of her son, Ruuk’Pt’Kaan.
Chapter 29 - Tour of Duty
Try the road and see the woods,
And feel the wind at sea,
Just pack up all your worldly goods,
And come along with me.
We’ll see their sights and eat their food,
And tarry with their lasses,
If their lads break up our mood,
We’ll kick their scrawny asses.
Whene’er we stop, which shan’t be soon,
With no place left to roam,
We’ll pack up ’fore the next day’s noon,
And set off back for home!
They sang as they rode, the mood lighter than it had been upon their departure. When traded stories began to wear thin, the mood of the travelers had grown solemn. Brannis had a lot churning in his thoughts, and he had grown prone to long periods of introspection, lost in thought as the others carried on quiet discussions around him, careful not to disturb him.
The effects of the tattoo Kyrus had inscribed on his shoulder made Brannis nervous. It had seemed like such a clever idea when he had conceived of it—taking a cultural difference between the worlds and combining two arts into a formidable defense. Kyrus seemed no worse for the ward he bore two days later, but how long would that be the case?
He had made casual inquiries about the use of wards for protecting their persons and the troops, on the pretense of finding innovative ways to combat the goblins’ expected attack. None of the four sorcerers had thought it a prudent idea. Iridan worked with wards regularly and thought that it would be unhealthy, though it might work temporarily. Ruuglor thought that simply writing on the skin would not hold up to the rigors of sweat and rubbing cloth, and the rune would be ruined before it provided any real benefit. Brannis could not convey the idea of a tattoo without having to get into more detail than he thought appropriate. He let the matter drop, not satisfied at all with what he had heard.
Brannis knew that it was dangerous to go into battle with troops whose morale was poor, but these were not “troops” in the conventional sense. When conscripts and knights often jested and sang on their way to battle, it felt different. The conscripts, especially if they were completely green, as many were, were easily deluded into the gloried notions of battle that the troubadours peddled. Knights … well, knights were hard to deter. They knew the sins of blood and flesh they were about to face, and faced it anyway; the brotherhood of the knighthood was what they leaned on to get them through.
With Iridan, Ruuglor, Faolen, and Juliana, he was traveling with educated, cultured, and, except for Iridan, untested neophytes. Wars were pages in history books, celebrated with parades. They knew they would see things they had never wished to see, and would fear for their lives, and Brannis could not just sing a trail song to get them to forget that.
It was Juliana, of all people, who had broken the mood by breaking into song. She had an impressive repertoire of trail and tavern songs, many of them bawdy enough to make him blush—though only because the tawdriness of the lyrics was accentuated when a young lady sang them. She did not, however, have the voice for them. She could keep time well enough, but the notes held little melody after she was done wringing the tune out of them.
“I apologize for the ones with overly strained meter and poor rhymes,” Juliana said. “I learned them from the traders that frequent the city, and translated many of them into Kadrin myself. Much of Kadris is boring, and the songs our bards write are the same. Things are much more entertaining down by the wharfs, where you find all manner of exotic foreigners.”
Brannis suspected that young sorceresses of the Sixth Circle needed to be kept busier if she had so much time to spend hanging around dockside barrooms, where she said she learned most of the songs she knew. The songs sounded vaguely familiar, at least as best as Juliana could render them, but Brannis knew the words to only a few.
“I used to wonder what you did with your free time,” Brannis joked. “I guess now I know.”
“Brannis, that is no way to talk about a lady!” Iridan jumped in, indignantly defending a perceived slight to his betrothed’s honor.
“Well … I had meant the translations,” Brannis clarified, and Iridan might have begun to blush, if the cold air rushing by them had not already reddened his face.
Onward they flew—for in truth their horses had not touched the ground in hours—and the mountains engulfed them. They made their own passage as best they could, but their luck only held so long before they were forced to ascend. The sights all around them were magnificent as they worked their way up the steep grade of the mountainside. The horses, trained as they were to obey without question, carried along as if they were on level ground and not mounting the vast craggy rocks of the Cloud Wall.
Their ascent brought them up above the snow line, the point where it was winter every season and where the ice no longer melted before it took on snow again. As they crested the peak—a flat-topped caldera of an inactive volcano that was a tower’s height deep in snow—they could see much of their day’s ride ahead of them. There would be at least three more mountain crossings before they could reach the other side of the range, perhaps four if there was one obscured from view by larger mountains.
Brannis resisted the urge to call a halt, unsure of what sort of footing was presently beneath them. So long as the horses kept in motion, they would continue to remain airborne just above whatever paltry ground lay below them.
“Keep moving. Resist the temptation to stop and gawk!” Brannis urged as he took his own advice and allowed his mount to continue on down the far side of the mountain.
The effect was both thrilling and terrifying. As they had ascended, it was easy to look forward and see the height of the peak shrink as they approached it. Now that he was heading down, Brannis could see the entire descent in its vast panoramic glory, spread out before and below him, with nothing to save him from a fatal plunge but the magic of the horseshoes his mount wore.
With gravity to aid them and no footing to worry about, the horses sped ever faster as they went down. Brannis kept a light hold on the reins, hoping that the horse could react faster to obstacles in their path than he could, since the scenery was hurtling past as an awesome rate. Within moments, his horse had cleared the snow line and, not long afterward, reached the valley between mountains in less than a tenth the time they had taken to ascend.
For three more mountains, they repeated the exercise, speeding down one mountain and carrying that momentum halfway up the next. The whole endeavor was upsetting to both the nerves and the stomach, and all but Juliana managed to lose some portion of their morning meal along the way. The sorceress seemed, however, to enjoy the ride.
* * * * * * * *
“Well, at least the goblins will be hampered by the weather,” Brannis said, feeling cheerful. “And we seem to have reached the city before them.”
Indeed, there was no goblin host camped out in sight of the city, nor any sign of their imminent approach. Brannis’s course had brought them out just north of the city. Winter had come early to the western face of the Cloud Wall, and they stood in ankle-deep snow beside their mounts, thankful to be near the end of their journey.
Between them and the city lay Neverthaw Lake, through which the blue-green glacial waters of the Neverthaw River ran. The lake had once been a quarry during the early days of Raynesdark’s construction. With wards to keep them intact, the stone structures of the city had little need for additional stone, and the quarry eventually fell to disuse and was allowed to fill with water.
Into the lake crashed Draxel Falls, named after the sorcerer who had diverted the Neverthaw’s headwaters to fill the old quarry. It was a majestic sight, especially in winter when the falls partially froze. Though not yet winter, it was late enough into the autumn that Brannis and his companions were able to see the falls in the early phases of its icing over.
The city of Raynesdark sat partway up the mountainside, tucked snugly in against the rock. Naught but stone could be seen of it. The outer walls, the defensive towers, and the tall buildings and castle keep beyond: all were built of the same dark stone once quarried just outside the city. Presumably, in bygone ages, there were wooden structures, but Raynesdark was among the oldest cities in the Empire, and after long enough, folk tired of replacing buildings. Warded stone lasted like nothing else and, with the attentions of a wardkeeper, could be maintained indefinitely.
Brannis knew that while the city was largely hidden by the massive wall as they looked up at it, there was only so much above ground to be seen. Harsh weather had driven many of the inhabitants underground, where whole subterranean districts of the city lay. He had studied maps of the overcity, the undercity, and all of the mines, and the overcity was the smallest part of the whole complex. What was above was mostly commerce and trade, barracks for Duke Pellaton’s garrison, and summer abodes for the wealthier of Raynesdark’s citizenry. Duke Pellaton’s castle was a massive fortifie
d structure that was built into the mountain itself, spanning the overcity and undercity, and offering entrance to the ancient and disused upper mines. The lower mines, the lifeblood of the city, were accessible elsewhere from the undercity.
The road approaching the city paralleled the river, just far enough away that it did not wash out in the spring floods. Upon reaching the base of the mountain, the wide trade-way meandered its way up to the city gates by way of a half dozen switchbacks, keeping the grade low enough for wagon teams to ascend safely. The setup also afforded the city’s defenders an excellent vantage overlooking any approaching invaders, who would either have to take the long road or scale numerous smaller cliff faces to climb up directly.
“Though we have made it in time for dinner, I find that I no longer hunger for it,” Faolen remarked. He had taken the worst of it throughout the five days’ journey, from saddle sores and leg cramps to aching back and nausea over the mountains.
“There now, no need for gloom,” Iridan said. “We have arrived, and our journey is finished. We can prevail upon Duke Pellaton for proper accommodations tonight and recover from this ordeal.”
“Oh yes,” Juliana said. “I feel much better now that we have put ourselves in the path of a goblin army. I cannot be soon enough rid of these scaaaary horses and slip into a nice relaxing battle for my life.”
“Mind you, only Iridan and I are expected to join the battle,” Brannis said. “The three of you are noncombatants once the fighting begins. You will stay with the peasant folk, helping with any evacuation as needed. Beforehand is when I will really need you. There will be much that needs doing, and we do not know how long we have. Hopefully Duke Pellaton will have scouts with a better idea of where the goblin army is. At the most, Illard’s Glen is a two-day march from here. It is mostly a matter of when they decide to strike.”
“If you do not mind me asking—and mind you, this has played about my mind for days now—but how can you be certain they will strike here and not Korgen?” Ruuglor asked.