The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  He gave me no time to question him. He clamped his hands onto the sides of my head and the pain of the Thought Link made me yell and fall to my knees. It was at this point he crammed his memories into my head, but most of all, he gave me the Dark Seed, the Pyromantic Spore that I would eventually pass to my son, Havoc. The pain clouded everything. I could make no sense of the memories, but I felt the underlying fear in his heart, the fear that the future of us all was hanging by the thin strings of fate. I now know he was worried about the Helbringer and the Brethac Ziggurat.

  I tried to grit my teeth to stop from crying out, and I opened my eyes to look up at him in defiance. He looked down at me with eyes of pitch black, as void of light as the deepest pits of the Hinerlander’s Hel.

  That is when I finally screamed.

  Arrival

  ‘Heroic stories are easy to embellish, especially if you’re in them.’

  Old Hinterland proverb

  1

  Aln-Tiss 3039 YOA

  It is ironic to find out how often the past and future coincide. At this moment, Shanks and I are sitting under my hunting pavilion, which is similar in size to the awning under which my father and I last saw Telmar before the battle. He turns the pages as he reads the latest chapter I’ve written of his life in the Black Ledger.

  He does not often leave the safety of the citadel, but I insisted he come hawking with me. Hawking is my favourite past time, and one he has taken a keen interest in from the queen, who usually accompanies me. Unfortunately, she is absent on this trip as she is away visiting Lady Vara, my sister-in-law, at the Rouge in the Sky Mountains.

  Beyond the pavilion is the Aln Forest. The lush greenery of the trees sway in a slight breeze from the south and it is hot and muggy this late in summer. The forest is a royal hunting ground, which once covered most of the Aln Plain, though now it has shrunk after many years of felling. Now, the hundred and fifty square miles of woodland nestling inside the crescent of the Aln Hills, is all that remains. Many years ago, during the reign of the first Southspire kings, the forest became the continent’s first protected royal sanctuary.

  Shanks closed the book, his eyes watering as he looks at me and nods once. ‘You have seen the truth for yourself.’

  ‘Yes. My father’s knowledge and inaction towards Namwi, your mother and Lord Selwin’s plan, made me very angry towards him at the time. I realise now that you had several battles to fight, your curse, the Brethac Ziggurat, the Helbringer. It was difficult for you to focus on which evil to overcome first, so you lashed out. I loved father dearly, I still do. I miss him every day. Though, I hated him for his involvement in the Brethac Ziggurat, yet I will never forgive you for his death,’ I said to him.

  Shanks nodded. ‘I did not expect you to. I loved him too, Van. If I had the power to change the outcome of that day, I would.’ He stared off towards the small group of serfs and Hawkers tending the hawks and falcons on the other side of the clearing. ‘Did you ever find out if your grandfather was ever a member of the Brethac Ziggurat?’

  I had been dreading this question since I wrote the last chapter. I shook my head.

  ‘No. However, to be honest, my head was so scrambled with what you put in there I had forgotten the whole conversation you and father last had, so I never confronted him.’

  He was silent for a time, and then said, ‘do you remember the events after the battle?’

  ‘Not much.’ I pointed to the ledger. ‘I can’t remember much about the last few hours. Most of what happened was from your memories as you watched from a distance. Afterwards, it is all fragmented. I carried my father over the ford and at one point I laid him down to take off his heavy padded jupon, and then carried him again until nightfall.’

  Shanks nodded. ‘Talien was so concerned enough about your safety that he followed you, remaining out of sight from the hill slopes. In the morning a patrol from Fort Curran picked you up.’

  ‘Apparently I was sick and fevered for over two months. One similar to the sickness that your father always suffered from when he received the Dark Seed from Styx’s corpse, although I never became sick in the years afterwards as he did.’

  ‘I think I may have had something to do with that,’ said Shanks. ‘I did not want you to suffer. So I made sure it remained dormant for as long as possible.’

  ‘Thank the gods for small mercies,’ I said sarcastically, and he actually smiled back.

  ‘If you were fevered for that length of time then you would not have been at the Battle of Troche?’

  ‘No, but I do remember Kasan sitting by my bed asking for overall command of the Rogun forces. Apparently my grandfather became so enraged on hearing about father’s death that he sent out a proclamation of war against you and placed me in control of the army in the east. I was in no fit state to comply, and I vaguely remember agreeing to Kasan’s wishes.’

  ‘That act may have won the war for the Roguns,’ nodded Shanks. ‘Prince Kasan was a much skilled battle tactician, more so than your son or General Elkin was even at such a young age.’

  I had to agree with him on that score. My brother was to be the driving force that finally defeated Telmar’s army almost a year later. However, in order for him to gain overall command, Marshal Praxis had to die, and Telmar obligingly did that for him.

  I looked back at the old man beside me and sighed. ‘I have no more bad dreams now,’ I said. ‘No more of your memories to haunt my sleep.’

  ‘But it’s not over, is it?’ he asked me.

  I slowly shook my head. ‘I have come this far. So I need to finish it.’

  ‘I agree. My mind may be damaged but the latter memories I have could still be plucked out, thanks to the extraction disciplines that Lord Ness performed on me before he left to go on the quest with your son.’ He looked off into the sun dappled trees. ‘This is why I started drawing the Door, at some point in that year it comes to Dulan-Tiss and I’m there to see it, though I have no recollection of getting there with my time taken up with Kasan’s campaign against me. What I do know is that it also has something to do with Harlequin.’

  I knew what he was asking, because it was the only way for me to finish his story. I must admit that there was also curiosity on my part. How did he confront this unstoppable Helbringer if he truly believed the Door would appear?

  ‘Very well, I shall perform the Thought Link on you and together we will see the fate of the citadel.’

  He nods. ‘I will guide you to the dark place where I hide my memories,’ he said. ‘Together we will be able to unlock them.’

  As I laid my hands on his head and reached into his broken mind, I once again felt the familiar touch of fate that wove both our lives together over forty years ago.

  2

  2984 YOA

  While I lay in a bed, drenched in my own sweat, Marshal Praxis moved his host out of Fort Curran in a bid to catch Telmar and bring him to open battle. Kasan had received confirmation from King Valient of another two thousand heavy infantry arriving within ten days while he visited the garrison at Pander Pass. It was there he heard about the death of his father and he quickly raced back to Fort Curran. Unfortunately Praxis, with a large host of foot, horse and missile, was marching on Aquen by the time he got to the fort.

  King Telmar’s scouts followed Praxis from the Haplann Hills. The king gathered his host and vacated Aquen by the end of spring, but left a token force there under Lord Joaquin. Then he retreated southeast, burning the land as he did so. What he did next was something widely regarded as so tactically inept that many historians thought it madness.

  He split his army into two.

  While he commanded one half and Count Talien the other, they played a game of chase with Praxis that forced the marshal to move his much larger army into a grassed valley at the edge of the Tressel lands called the Vale of Troche. He followed a constantly retreating Talien into the wide valley, only for the count to block the exit as he took a tactical position on the high ground and used the late
Lord Kelpo’s archers to hold the marshal’s forces back. Meanwhile Telmar, with the bulk of his Ranger Infantry and Berserkers, was lying in wait in the lee of the valley’s southern ridge. While Praxis reformed for a second assault at Count Talien’s host, Telmar’s men crested the ridge in full view of the marshal. Once spotted, Praxis sent the full power of his heavy horse up the long slope of the ridge with the intention of driving the King’s infantry off.

  His tactic did not go according to his plans.

  Telmar, emotionally fired with painful volatile energies that he had intentionally refused to expel, finally unleashed two large balls of superheat straight towards the charging horse.

  I have to make note at this point that Rawn Masters could only produce a Fireball about the size of their clenched fist and throw it a short distance. Sometimes a particularly powerful Rawn would “Blend” elements to give them the effect they wished, such as using the Wind Element as a source of momentum. I have learnt from my son that Pyromantic Fireballs are ten times the size and propelled to their final destination by sheer force of will.

  The Fireballs slammed into the earth in front of the cavalry squadrons, rending the air with a calamitous boom of noise. The ground exploded as the impact threw horse and rider high into the air before landing with bone splintering force over a hundred yards from their original position. One of the Fireballs bounced along the ground and struck the Longbowmen and foot soldiers behind the charging column of horse. The front rank of bowmen instantly incinerated and several other ranks received the full force of the explosion, mashing them into red pulp as the missile carved a path through them.

  One of the first to fall was Marshal Praxis himself, as the Fireballs decimated his men and then finally ploughed into his bodyguard of heavy horse. It was this battle, above all the others, that exposed the truly awesome power of the Pyromancer, and the fear of him rose exponentially.

  As the scattering debris descended back to earth, carrying with it bits of soldiers, horse and equipment, Telmar turned to Jarl Olav and Cokato. ‘Fall upon them now, gentlemen.’

  What followed was an undignified rout for the surviving Roguns as the Berserkers harried the survivors out of the valley, pushing them west. Fortunately for the late marshal’s remaining men Prince Kasan had force-marched his War Wolves to aid the marshal, but he was too late. Instead, he commanded the survivors in a professionally organised withdrawal back to Fort Curran. This act saved many lives and his fellow officers, who accepted his command abilities, commended his actions that day. I too was proud of him when I heard after my recovery, and I knew he was the perfect man to lead the Rogun Host against Telmar, so I passed my commission onto him, though still held nominal command of the army in its entirety.

  Kasan soon planned for an invasion of the Dulan plain, and the defeat of King Telmar’s Host.

  3

  ‘You want me to give up Aquen?’ asked Telmar as he stood on the ramparts of the Aquen Keep looking down on the stagnant waters of the moat. It was midsummer and the king had taken the last few weeks to draw together Militia forces from the outlying villages in the Wyani area and south by the foothills of the Tarridun Ridge. Now his host was ten thousand strong, however, over half of it was peasantry and mercenaries.

  ‘Aye, sire,’ said Joaquin Ri. ‘It’s not well fortressed and too close to Kerness and Sonora to have any viable tactical use. With the Roguns breathing down our necks we would be better off out there...’ said the big Ri as he waved a hand to the south, ‘...and fight them from woodlands and hillock, you could be easily trapped here if you stay. After all of the information you have shown me about this Door of yours, to be trapped is the last thing you want.’

  The king had to agree with his Consul, and he nodded. ‘So you believe me about the Door?’

  Joaquin Ri nodded. ‘Your research is sound. I may not be a Ri of the Ri Order but I still have a duty to the Arts to stand against evil. If I had known of the Brethac Ziggurat’s true intentions I would not have asked you to join them. For that, I am truly sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, my friend,’ said Telmar. ‘But if we have to quit Aquen I want you to take up your role as Regent of Dulan-Tiss and head back there.’

  ‘What of the threat of the Helbringer?’ Lord Joaquin asked.

  ‘That’s why I want you to go. All the information I have on the appearance of the Door in other cities is that it always shows up in the city centre, which would mean the Hub Citadel. I want you to return and prepare an evacuation of Dulan-Tiss, starting with the Hub.’

  The big Ri rubbed his chin in contemplation. ‘It will be difficult; the Lords of Parliament will not like it.’

  ‘There is still Martial Law there is there not? Force them out, they respect you and will obey you.’

  ‘Very well, sire, I shall do as you ask. And you?’

  Telmar shrugged. ‘Time is running out. I need to deal with the Roguns and be back inside the capital’s walls before midwinter, or we are all doomed.’

  4

  By midsummer, 2984 YOA the army of the Vallkyte king had vacated Aquen town and moved south to use the terrain of the Tarridun foothills to his advantage. He had hoped to rest his men at Duncattrine, but Kasan’s strategy was to weaken the king’s resources and tactical havens.

  He sent the young and inspiring captain of horse, Elkin of Bell, the now famous general, who was in command of “Flying Columns” of Mounted Infantry, eastwards to sack the villages loyal to Telmar that stretched up and down the western edge of Lake Furran. Kasan was using the same tactics as his opponent had done with the cavalry columns of the Lords Sandbrea, Withermorne and Edgemuir, though Elkin would become more famous for his military campaign at this stage of the war.

  Contrary to his orders, Elkin decided to take Duncattrine before Telmar arrived. In the dead of night he and his men broke into the fort and killed the garrison there. Afterwards he torched the food stores and poisoned the well, then set fire to the place. By the time Telmar’s host arrived from Aquen the whole fort was a blackened ruin. Even the south and east walls of the stone keep had collapsed from the intensity of the fire. The king, and his tired and hungry men, moved into the Wyani Highlands, a mountainous wooded terrain that fringed the north side of the long Lake Wyani and was just an extension of the Haplann Hills.

  Elkin followed up his victory at Duncattrine by carrying out a string of daring raids and attacks on the local militia that flew the Tressel colours. He sacked the villages along the lake and succeeded in forcing the surrender of the small town of Little Dorit. However, he was not to have it his own way for long. An old knight by the name of Sir Tawnly organised a large host of local militia and trapped Elkin inside Little Dorit. Elkin’s soldiers held them back for four days while he occasionally pulled his men back from the defences and sent them out along a hidden route through dense woodland to attack Sir Tawnly from the rear. The militia forces were sandwiched by Elkin’s men and butchered to a man. Sir Tawnly was amongst the dead.

  Today, the locals of Little Dorit still remembered the battle with much sadness and woe.

  Elkin was not to have all of the glory. Kasan had left Hagan and myself in control of the army that watched the frontline, which stretched from Sonora down to Lake Furran, while he took his War Wolves north then east. He picked up more soldiers on the way, mainly Sonoran Lancers and Mutresi Hillmen. His plan was to cut off Telmar’s supply line and force him to come down from the mountains to fight him. This plan met with great success as villages fell to his host. Even more good news arrived when we heard that Aunt Cinnibar and the Havant Guards had finally restored order in Sonora and captured the rebel knight, Sir Mytan of Farness. This act provoked an angry response from Telmar’s loyal followers in Farness. An army under the command of the Barony Charter Lords, Chiltern, Farness, Lakemount and Leathern, marched on Sonora in a bid to free the knight. Unfortunately, they met Prince Kasan as they moved from the garrison outside Farness, and although the prince was caught in the open, his t
raining with the Wolves had proved productive, the enemy charged on horseback only to fall foul of the Wolves’ wall of long schiltron spears. The Sonoran Lancers finished the job as they hit them in the flanks.

  Barons Leathern and Chiltern both died in the battle of Farness, rumour has it that Lord Lakemount took ship and went into exile. Devin, Count of Farness, lived long enough to face capture and was imprisoned in a Sonoran dungeon, yet he died from his wounds weeks later. The once proud order of the Barony Charter ended on that day and so too was the chance of Telmar’s supply lines continuing.

  By late autumn Kasan had moved south, then west in the hope of pushing the king onto our waiting swords and shields as we lingered on the frontline. Little did I know that when the fight did come to us, Telmar was in Dulan-Tiss fighting a monster, from Hel.

  5

  The citadel burned, brightening the darkness outside its walls.

  Telmar stood on the outskirts of the stone Rings of Dulan. Harlequin hovering beside him, but the glowing Powerball remained silent as his master’s tears streamed down his face at the sight before him.

  Telmar’s worst fears had been realised. He was too late. The Helbringer had come, and with it, came death.

  Yet, something popped into his head, an epiphany. A wondrous glorious idea was forming as he tore his eyes from the burning ruin of the Vallkyte capital to look from the stone rings, then towards the glowing Powerball. The idea was forming into a ray of hope, but the sluggish barriers of the dream were slowing the process.

  Then the dream broke and he rose up into…

  …consciousness.

  He was instantly alert and his senses were screaming a warning to him. There was a presence in his tent and he gripped the hilt of a dagger he had hidden under his pillow and pointed it at the chest of the intruder, and jabbed upwards.

  However, material things could not harm this intruder nor flimsy walls of the king’s pavilion keep him at bay. Nothing could keep him out if he wanted to get in. The white triangle-shaped eyes of Cronos looked forlornly at the dagger, and then at the king.