by J. S. Morin
“Faolen, can you create an illusion of a half wall?” Brannis asked.
“To what end?” the sorcerer said.
“I expect this wall to be destroyed in the early goings of the battle. We are going to have to fight within the city itself, and I want to funnel the goblins into a few areas to make them easier to contain. If they approach the wall and find sections that are not completely destroyed, they will avoid them, and it will make them more predictable,” Brannis said.
“Why not just make the wall appear whole?” Faolen questioned.
“We want them to believe what they see, or at least not question it overmuch. If they attack the wall and never see any damage, they are going to figure it out and counter it. We need a light touch and some realistically damaged-looking walls to fool them.
“Now, Ruuglor, I want you to rune arrows with magic to carry them farther. On some of them, include runes that will get them through simple shielding constructs,” Brannis continued.
“Will that not foul the aim of the archers?” Mennon asked, listening in on a conversation that only tangentially involved him. He held no rank in the Raynesdark army and would be tucked safely underground when the fighting started.
“It may,” Brannis said, “but the goblins will set up siege engines out of range of the archers, and it will be our only chance to strike at them. I expect that once arrows start reaching them, the sorcerers will use shielding magics, and then the archers can switch to the arrows with the extra runes. I see no need to rune them all; take the time to make more with the distance runes.” Brannis had been giving this thought since he heard about the cannons, and was finally getting the chance to lay his plan out before his politely skeptical sorcerers.
“The arrows ought to reach the goblins without magic,” Mennon added, and Brannis wondered if the fellow knew something of use after all. “Our bowmen are quite skilled, and we have them equipped with excellent bows.”
“The new weapons of theirs will outdistance the bowmen,” Brannis said flatly. He was hoping that he would not have to—
“How can you know that?” Juliana asked.
—explain how he knew that.
“The refugees’ estimates of the placement of the weapons when they were fired. It would seem that extended range is a primary advantage of the goblins’ latest weapons,” Brannis lied.
Well, the statement is probably accurate, but none of the refugees offered anything that specifically useful. I cannot exactly tell them, “I have seen them in action, and trust me: LOOONG range on those things.”
“What of Caldrax? Should we assign him some task as well, for the preparations,” Iridan asked.
“I am putting you in charge of him. Have him help with the wards on the walls. How long those last may play a key part in the battle,” Brannis said.
I can only hope they do not have enough cannonballs to bring down the whole wall. I do not like the thought of laying under siege for long enough for them to finish.
“I did not get the feeling that he was terribly impressed with me. Why would he take orders from me?” Iridan asked.
“You seem to forget, you are Inner Circle now. Even if he is not officially in the Imperial Circle, he would have difficulty justifying any defiance of your orders. If these folk here are not terrified of crossing our new regent, they ought to be,” Brannis said.
“It is getting late. We ought to head to the castle for dinner,” Mennon suggested.
“Indeed. I shall clarify anything that needs clarifying come morning. We have been long on the road, though walking about all afternoon has felt better than sitting a horse. Lead on, Mennon.”
Brannis waited for everyone to start and then began counting down in his head: Three … two … one …
“What about me?” Juliana demanded, getting in Brannis’s path to block the way to food, wine, and respite until she had been heard.
“Oh, just get to know the locals. I will have you in charge of keeping them safe during the battle,” Brannis said in a raised voice. He pulled Juliana close as he started toward the castle after the rest. “I have a different plan for you,” he continued in a much lower voice, barely above a whisper. “I want you to weaken the avalanche wards that keep the Neverthaw Glacier from dropping a mountainside of snow over the city. If things go badly, we are going to bury the city under snow and seek the aid of the stone folk. Raynesdark’s deepest mines cross their territories, and we do not mine them anymore. They would not fight for our sake, but we could probably buy passage through their caverns for our civilians.”
“Would that not destroy the whole city?” Juliana asked, incredulous, slowing them a step farther behind everyone else, lest her voice carry.
“No. The buildings are warded against avalanche as well, though the wards are older. I have been studying magic to make better use of it in warfare, and I was able to recognize the runes as we walked through the city. The avalanche wards on the retaining wall on the cliffs above the city … I read about in the army’s reports on the city’s defenses.”
“So this was your plan all along? No wonder you played coy,” Juliana observed.
“No, it was just my reserve plan in case things go badly. Do you think you can manage it? Use that runed dagger your are so proud of and cross some things out.”
“I can.”
“Good. Let us catch up before we are missed.”
* * * * * * * *
House Pellaton’s dinners appeared to be rather formal affairs, though thankfully less unwelcoming due to the womenfolk attending. Duke Pellaton may have been the epitome of the denigrating nobleman, but the Duchess Daleighah Pellaton was a charming woman. Of middling summers, with only streaks of white through her light brown hair to betray her age, she looked every bit the young maid her eldest daughter did. Veena Pellaton was the image of her mother, with a tiny upturned nose, high round cheeks, and a curved figure. Mennon attended with his lady wife Aila, a plump cheerful woman who talked almost constantly. The heads of Duke Pellaton’s garrison forces attended along with their wives as well, and seemed far more open and personable than their master.
The duke’s elder son Harwell did not attend, possibly meaning it as a personal objection to the newcomers’ supplanting his father’s authority. His lady attended in his place. Gedandra Pellaton was slight of frame and short of womanly charms as well. She slouched like Mennon at the table and had the look of a young lad in the face and the build of one in the body. She was born to the House of Rollack in Naran Port, and the marriage was strictly of convenience. In their brief introduction, Brannis had found her to be quick of wit, which made her instantly more interesting to him than the vapid girl the sorcerer had brought. Caldrax’s lady, who was not introduced as his wife, was a pale, curvy creature, with shadowed eyes that rarely lifted to meet the eye of anyone who spoke with her, and who spoke little—which was thankful, as on those occasions that prompted her to speak, she rarely improved upon her standing among those present.
The duke’s younger daughters attended as well. Demni and Phaelia were twins, not yet of age to wed as sorcerers would judge it, but the nobles tended to err on the side of marrying their daughters too young. They dressed identically in low-cut, corseted pink dresses, with many-layered petticoats fluffing them out. Brannis was unsure whose idea the dresses were, but he found them to be in poor taste; he had been raised by sorcerers, even if he was not one himself, and found nobles’ marriage—and daughter-peddling—practices to be tawdry.
Of course, he was unable to cast blame too far, lest he catch one of his own in the net. While Brannis wore his quicksilver breastplate over mail, and Iridan, Faolen, and Ruuglor wore their formal Imperial Circle garb—which in Iridan’s case was quite impressive—Juliana had taken a different tact. While adhering to the traditional black of the Circle, she wore a strapless gown of scandalously thin material, making the duke’s daughters seem prudish by comparison. She cinched it at the waist with a bloodred sash and had a red silk shawl to ma
tch, to keep the slight chill of the overcity half of the castle at bay. Brannis wished very much that he had aether-vision at that point, as he was very curious how the dress kept itself in place, and whether there was magic enhancing her figure, or whether he had really just not realized …
Brannis managed to keep his attention focused on the conversation as the meal went on. He was seated at the far end of the long table from the duke, with Juliana just on the far side of Iridan from him. He thought he did well to keep his eyes to his food or to whomever he was speaking, but knew that he was not entirely successful. He knew, for instance, that Juliana had left that dagger—or daggers—of hers in her room.
“Sir Brannis.” Duke Pellaton stood and raised a goblet of the spiced wine they were drinking. “May the follies of youth plague not your endeavors, and may all of us live to see their fruit.”
The others at the table raised their goblets as well, as much out of habit and reflex as out of sympathy for the sentiments offered. Brannis raised his as well but did not drink. Instead he stood and offered a toast of his own.
“And to Duke Pellaton. May he extend the warmth of his hospitality to our goblin foes as well, that they might freeze to death and save us the trouble of killing them.”
That drew a chuckle from the table, and a wary look from the duke.
“Your Grace, if the goblins do not attack us, or if your troops turn them aside so easily that no help of ours was needed, I will gladly bear whatever ridicule you wish to heap upon me,” Brannis said while still standing—as was Duke Pellaton—at the far end of the table. “And if at that point you wish to voice your displeasure to the regent, Warlock Rashan, I suspect you might find me relieved of my rank, if not my life. And upon my death, if you wish to toast your foresight and laugh over my grave, I will offer no resistance.
“But until such time as we have either defeated the goblins or I am convinced that they have turned their intentions elsewhere, I expect the full cooperation of the forces of Raynesdark and their commanders. That includes yourself, Your Grace. Sometime in the next handful of days, there will be a goblin army at the foot of your mountain, and I have been ordered by the acknowledged ruler of the Empire to defend it. I will do so with or without your help, though I would be obliged for any aid that is available in my charged duty.”
“Well spoken, boy, I appreciate blunt words. You will have my cooperation, if not my approval; that you may only have if you are both correct and victorious,” Duke Pellaton said.
Brannis did not know if the presence of the duchess softened the duke’s mood or tempered his words, but he suspected that the fact Duke Pellaton had no grounds to defy him without risking the ire of Rashan played a part somewhere. Humility was a dish best served to someone else, yet Duke Pellaton had at least lifted a spoonful of it to sniff it experimentally.
The remainder of the meal passed without further incident. Brannis spoke mainly to his own companions and made a bit of light conversation with the commanders of Raynesdark’s forces and their wives. The House Pellaton end of the table was quieter and kept their conversation amongst themselves as well.
The day’s events had worn Brannis down, and he retired to his borrowed chambers gladly. It felt wonderful to slip into the bath that one of the servants had drawn for him. The runed armor was by far the most comfortable protection he had ever worn, but it was still mail beneath the plates, and hot, sweaty padding below that. Never one for soaking, he washed himself and prepared for a well-earned slumber in a proper bed.
After drying off from the bath, he checked that the books he had brought from the Tower library were still in good order. He had little time to read them while on the road, though he had perused a bit before bed. This night, though, he found that he was more interested in the soft blankets than yellowed old tomes, and put them away once he had seen to their safety.
Sorry, Kyrus. Tomorrow, I promise.
It was chilly in the room, and when the residual warmth from the bath fully left him, it grew unpleasant. The glassed window at the front of the room let in enough light to find the bed with the lanterns out, and lacking magic, he preferred to keep the heavy green curtains wide open. Thankful for the thick carpets on his bare feet, he climbed into the bed.
Brannis closed his eyes and headed off to see what was going on with the crew of the Harbinger.
* * * * * * * *
In the darkened hallway of Raynesdark Castle, a figure clung to the shadows. With thick carpets quieting careful feet, the figure felt its way along. It found its objective at the end of the corridor, the last of the rooms in the guests’ wing, usually reserved for visiting nobility.
The figure examined the door carefully, running a thin-fingered hand over the wood, searching with a practiced hand. It could find no wire or catch to trigger a trap, nor any ward to interfere with its entry—for it knew the ways of aether and was careful of such things. The same thin hand tried the door and found it opened easily and quietly; it was not even locked. It was almost too easy …
The slight figure slipped inside and oh-so-quietly closed the door. The floor in the guest room was well covered in rugs as well, and there was no sound as the figure approached the sleeping knight. The chest rose and fell slowly, rhythmically, almost hypnotically. The pale moonlight from the window was even enough to make out the beating of the heart in the knight’s neck.
Slowly the figure leaned in closer to the knight, holding its breath lest the knight sense the approach by a disturbance in the air. With dexterity and practiced control, the figure got right down next to the knight’s neck …
… and laid a gentle kiss just above the collarbone. Using the distraction of the kiss and the tickle of hair that fell on Brannis as he stirred in his sleep, Juliana eased herself up onto the bed and beneath the blankets. She had noticed on the journey to Raynesdark just how heavily Brannis slept, and was taking full advantage.
She ran a hand up Brannis’s chest and reached her leg across him, slowly drawing herself atop him, straddling his waist. Of course, there were limits to the things even as sound a sleeper as Brannis could slumber through, and some laggardly watchman within his sleeping thoughts saw fit to inform Brannis that “something important is going on.”
* * * * * * * *
Brannis awoke confused, briefly wondering if he had bedded one of the serving girls from dinner. The smell of honeysuckle brought back a wash of memories and cleared up any doubts as to who his bed-mate was.
She hung her smiling face above his, her unbound hair streaming down around the both of them, creating a curtained area for just herself and Brannis.
“Tonight is ours, Brannis,” she whispered and then ran a hand down along his bicep.
“What are you doing here?” Brannis asked softly.
He had not seen that particular smile from her in a long time, and his thoughts began to form small puddles at the bottom of his brain as they melted away. She wore the dress from dinner, but without the sash or shawl to go along with it, or even shoes, as he could feel her cold, bare feet against his legs. Other than her feet, the rest of her felt warm and inviting, the thin fabric of the dress doing nothing to shield him from the warmth of her body.
“We may never get this chance again. Tomorrow we all may die, or be swept up in battle and events carry us away. I do not know. All I need to know is I have you now, for tonight at least,” she whispered.
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. He returned her kiss but hesitated.
Brannis shook his head. “I cannot do this. You are betrothed to my best friend.”
“And I still will be, come morning.”
“That is not the point,” Brannis said.
“But it is,” Juliana said. “It is not Iridan that I came to be with tonight. I want you.”
“I cannot have you.” Brannis barely managed to get the words out. It was the hardest thing he had ever admitted.
She balled up her fist and pounded it on his chest. “Why?” she protested
, hitting him again. “Why could you not have been a sorcerer like you were supposed to be? Did your mother bed one of the stable hands? You were supposed to be mine.”
She pulled back and seemed about to really slam her fist down, but Brannis caught it this time.
“But I am not. Iridan is going to be yours now. He is a good man … and a good friend,” Brannis replied calmly.
“Brannis, you were more a man at fourteen than I suspect Iridan will ever be.”
She seemed about to cry, her breath coming in short gasps in between sniffles. With one wrist in Brannis’s grasp, she held down his other arm and leaned in to kiss him again, making one last desperate attempt to overwhelm his reason with her anything-but-reason.
But Brannis ignored her grasp and let go of her other wrist. He took her gently but firmly by the midsection and lifted her up. Held aloft by her center of balance, Juliana could do little to struggle loose as Brannis sat up and plopped her down in a seated position, still kneeling astride him.
Brannis wrapped his arms around Juliana and pulled her close. She curled up in his arms and began to sob. Brannis said nothing, and Juliana was beyond words, just feeling the strength of his arms holding her and letting loose feelings that had been building to a boil for far too long.
When at last she had run dry of tears, Juliana was able to compose herself enough to leave Brannis’s bed. She kissed him quickly on the forehead, not trusting herself to try anything more, and quickly disappeared down the corridor to return to her own room.
When she was gone, Brannis got out of bed and found his sword. Drawing Avalanche from its sheath, he walked over to the door and pressed the blade flat against the wood, closest to the handle side and oriented up and down. He released his grip and the sword remained in place, held by rune-forged magic and certain to keep out any further intruders, no matter how welcome their intentions might be.