by Matt Heppe
As he neared the door one guard said, “What’s that? Behind you!”
Orlos slammed Forsvar into the closest guard, sending him flying back into the foyer. Before the second guard could react, Orlos punched him in the face with Forsvar’s rim. The man’s helm did little to protect him as Forsvar crushed his nose and sent him reeling into the wall.
Orlos stood for a moment, dumbfounded. It had taken just two heartbeats to take out the two guards. He was no warrior. Was it Forsvar?
“Alarm! Seal the keep! Seal the city!” a voice roared from within the keep. Orlos dashed through the door, drawing his spiridus cloak over him once more.
“He just went out the door!” someone shouted.
Bells rang out, tolling high above him in the keep. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Orlos hobbled across the bailey. The gates were open, but then he saw that the portcullis was down.
Several guards emerged from the two towers next to the gate. They scrambled to put on their helms and tighten the straps on their coats of plate. More bells rang out.
“Seal the city!” someone shouted from the great keep. “Let no one leave.”
“To your posts!” a guard shouted in front of Orlos. “Bring the courier horses.”
Orlos stood in the middle of the bailey, frozen in indecision. The portcullis was closed, and soon the walls would be crowded with guards. How long would he be able to hide? When the sun rose his spiridus shadows would be much weaker.
Four soldiers spilled out the keep’s main door, scanning the bailey as they fruitlessly searched for him. He had to get out now. Even with his spiridus cloak, he couldn’t stay hidden forever.
Two horses were brought out of a stable near the gate. A third horse was giving the stable hands trouble, rearing as they tried to get it out the door.
“Ride to the city gates,” a guard said as riders ran up to the horses. “Have them barred. No person is to leave or enter the city.”
“What’s this about, sergeant?”
“Damned if I know.” He turned towards the gate. “Open the portcullis.”
Orlos saw his chance. He ran past the crowd of men, trusting in the distraction provided by the horses and their confusion at what was happening.
There was a loud clang and the portcullis started to rise. Orlos pressed himself next to the wall, just a stride from the iron bars.
“Stop! Don’t raise them! Drop the portcullis, you idiots!”
Orlos threw himself to the ground, his sword clanking on the stones. The portcullis’s spear-like tips had just raised enough for him to crawl under.
“What’s that? Over there?”
“Stop him!”
Orlos scrambled under the bars, suddenly filled with fear that the portcullis would drop on him, pinning him to the ground. Forsvar was unwieldy on his arm, and he lost his grip on his sword.
He reached back for it but then saw the men running for him. He lunged forward, but the back of his shirt snagged on an iron tip. He heard the fabric tear and felt the icy pain as the iron dragged down his back.
Someone grabbed at his good ankle, pulling him back, but Orlos ripped his leg free and rolled clear. Four men stood just a stride from him. The first threw himself flat and came for Orlos.
There was another sharp, metallic clang, and the portcullis dropped. The man under it screamed in agony as the iron bars pierced him. Orlos jumped to his feet and ran into the dark city square.
“Shoot him! Kill him! He’s taken Forsvar.”
Orlos ran a few more strides and then knew he had to turn and raise the Godshield. Two bolts cracked into the shield, while more struck the street near him. Orlos ran a few more paces and then raised the shield again. The shield shuddered under the impact of another bolt.
It knows when I’m in danger. Without him even thinking of it, the shield moved and a bolt shattered against it. Or did I move it? Did I know?
Guards shouted and more bells joined the cacophony. The city would be sealed now, but there would be some way out, certainly. First he had to get clear of the square.
Orlos took a deep breath and let his spiridus cloak flow over him. Then, with Forsvar still held at the ready, he ran. A few bolts smacked into the pavement close behind him and spun off into the darkness.
Orlos’s leg still burned, but not so fiercely as before. He’d sprained it—badly. He could still walk on it, but running seemed beyond him. Orlos turned downhill, knowing the river was that way.
The city gates would be barred. Even invisible he didn’t see how he’d pass them. But the river might provide some escape. He could steal a small boat and just drift past the walls.
Orlos limped down the street. Stately, tall homes hung over the narrow street here. He imagined the crowds that might fill the streets during the day.
Alarm bells rang from the walls, and he saw lights start to flicker in upstairs windows. He’d lost track of the time, but it still had to be the middle of the night. Despite his fatigue and pain, he drove himself forward, knowing that he still had a long journey to make.
What would he do? He could never go to Belen alone. He had to have Telea with him, at least. But how could he get her across Salador? Here he was, limping down a street in Sal-Oras. He could barely hope to save himself.
Orlos heard the clatter of hoof beats behind him and sheltered next to a rain barrel. The horseman flew past, riding at a gallop despite the dangers of riding so fast over cobbles. He was about to leave his shelter when another rider came up, this one riding at a trot. He had a bell in his hand and clanged it over and over, yelling, “Call to arms! Call out the guild companies!”
A few doors opened, and men stepped out onto the street. “What’s going on?” one asked. He wore a nightshirt but held a war hammer in his hands.
“Muster your companies!” the rider shouted. “Form on your squares.”
“Are we under attack?”
“I don’t know,” the rider called over his shoulder as he rode on, ringing his bell and shouting out the alarm.
People stuck their heads out their windows and called to one another. More doors opened. Orlos left his hiding place and walked as quickly as he could manage. Soon the streets would be crowded with armed men.
A door flew open next to Orlos, and a half-armored man stumbled towards him. Orlos raised Forsvar and put his shoulder into the shield. The man struck him and flew back into his door before falling to the street.
“What’s that? Over there?” a woman’s voice called from above Orlos.
His spiridus shadows had been shredded by the impact with the man, and Orlos hastened to weave it back together. “I see something! A shadow in the street.”
“I don’t see anything,” a man’s voice said. Orlos glanced up and saw him in the window.
“There’s a shadow of a man moving down the street.”
Orlos tried to put her out of his mind, to not think about her and give her vision any credence. She didn’t exist. He didn’t exist. He was nothing but the wind.
“Help me with my arms!” the man said. “You’re seeing spiridus.”
Orlos passed through another square. Men in armor with spears and crossbows were gathering. Not many yet, and he managed to evade them. More were coming, though.
Just ahead a large tower guarded the northernmost of the three bridges crossing the Treteren River. The road split here, with one branch crossing the bridge, and the other descending towards the river. Two riders sat mounted at the closed tower gate.
“Open the gate, you akinos!” a rider shouted. “We must muster the companies!”
“It’s a First Alarm,” came a shout from the tower. “The bridges are closed.”
“You Dromost loving idiot! I have to get to the East City.”
“Then you should have brought the authority to open the gate.”
Orlos paused at the sound of another rider approaching. “Seal the gates! No one crosses!”
“I have to cross,” the messenger replied.
“Shut up. There’s a spy. He’s attempting to escape the city. Search everywhere. He must be stopped. They say he’s nearly invisible. Call up the River Guard.”
Orlos got moving. He took the road towards the river, leaving the arguing men behind.
He hastily sheltered by the base of the tower as one of the riders swept past him. There’d be no more boats now. Unless he got to one quickly. Even then, they’d be watching the river. He’d be trapped inside the city.
He limped down the hill. There was less activity here, and the houses weren’t so fine, but still, windows were lit and people were coming out to the street. If he couldn’t get a boat, he might be able to hide here. They couldn’t keep the city closed forever.
But Telea was waiting for him. So were Calen and Sindi. How long do we have until the Dromost Gate opens? I can’t be trapped here. Orlos kept moving. He saw the river below him, dotted with reflected lantern light.
The alarm had beaten him here. There were docks, but there were guards on them. Out on the river he saw a galley bearing four large lanterns. Another was being made ready to leave the quay.
Orlos crept back up the street, looking for a place to hide. Storage sheds crowded the base of the bridge tower. Orlos slid through a narrow gap between two sheds and found a hiding place. It stank of cat piss, but it would have to do.
Horns blared in the distance. Somewhere he heard a voice shout, “Attack! The city is under attack!”
Chapter Twenty-nine
“They are stupid, savage beasts,” Cam said, looking down at the body of a dead unluk. For two days Morin’s army of ghuls had paced the southern flank of Cragor’s army, attacking parties of unluks while keeping themselves hidden from the main force.
“They don’t know when to run,” Ayja said. “They only know to attack and only flee when it’s too late.” Nearby two ghuls snarled and scrabbled over a wounded unluk, until the smaller ghul was forced to find another victim. Ayja had become immune to the sight.
She shook her head. No, not immune. They were people once. Now all I wish for is their deaths. I want them to have peace.
“They need better officers,” Cam said. “The varcolac don’t understand retreat. They need human—not varcolac officers.”
“I don’t think a human could command the unluk,” Morin said. “They’d be viewed as food. Only the varcolac have the strength and ferocity to cow the unluk into submission.”
Morin paused and looked through the darkness at the field littered with dead unluk and ghuls. “They feed my army and make good ghuls,” he continued. “My army gets stronger each time we fight them.”
“Not by much,” Cam said. “The unluks give as good as they get, or close to it.”
“But their wounded and captives become new ghuls and feed my pyren. We are winning on the balance.”
“Will you fight Cragor’s army?” Ayja asked. She wanted this over. She wanted an end to the ghuls and the unluks both. Ayja would do whatever it took to make it happen.
“He’s too strong in the open field,” Morin said. “It was never my intention to fight a pitched battle. I was going to take my army over a secret pass into Rigaria and catch Cragor at unawares. Now, well… now things have changed.”
“You have to stop him before he takes Sal-Oras,” Cam said. “If he captures the city and takes Forsvar, you’ll never defeat him.”
“I don’t think Cragor knows we’re here yet,” Morin said. “We’ve killed every unluk who’s attempted to flee.”
“He might worry when his scouts don’t return,” Ayja said.
“These aren’t scouts. There’s nothing to scout. His surprise is complete. I think these unluk have been sent out to lay waste to the countryside and prevent any resistance from forming.”
“So then what will you do?” Cam asked.
“Sal-Oras is very close. He’ll storm the city as soon as he gets there. It’s then that we’ll attack—when his army is most focused on the assault. Let’s move on. The ghuls are done feeding and my pyren are strong.”
As they walked from the field of corpses Morin called out to two lyches and six pyren. “Bring up the army,” he commanded. “We’ll fight soon. Maybe even tonight. I want them close. No more raiding. No scavenging. I want them near and ready for battle.”
One of the lyches, Adun, laughed. “The ghuls are always ready for battle.”
“Then bring them close.”
The lyches and pyren saluted and departed. Morin led Ayja and Cam into the darkness. They walked along a wide, well-used road, not a country lane like they’d walked the past few days.
Farms dotted the moonlit landscape, but Morin paid them no heed. The pyren and ghuls nearest Morin ignored them, but well after they’d passed, Ayja heard the terrified screams from behind them. She hardened her heart against them. There was nothing she could do.
I’m like my father now. They die for the greater good. She shot a glare at his back. He doesn’t care about them. They mean nothing to him. Their suffering means nothing.
A small town appeared in the distance ahead of them. Morin waved a pyren closer. There were four of them escorting Morin, Cam and Ayja. Ghuls ranged out to either side.
“No ghuls near that town,” Morin said. “There are too many people there, and the alarm will be raised.”
“I understand, Your Highness,” the pyren said.
“I want the army to pass to this side of the town. Not to the west.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Carry on.”
“That’s the town of Eston, isn’t it?” Cam said.
“Yes.”
“We’re very close to the Ost-Oras Gate then,” Cam said. “We’re not too late.”
They skirted the town, keeping to the wide fields, tall with late summer wheat. A dog barked towards town, and Ayja worried that some ghul had gotten past the pyren. The dog barked a few more times and then went quiet.
Ayja strained her ears listening for some sign of trouble, but it was hard to hear anything over the whisking stalks of wheat they trod through. Then she heard something—the distant tolling of bells. She looked back to the town, but the sound came from off in front of them.
“What’s that?” she asked. “Do you hear the bells?”
Morin and Cam stopped. “I don’t,” Cam said.
“Yes,” Morin said. “Sal-Oras. They’re ringing the alarm bells. Cragor has arrived.”
Ayja’s heart thudded in her chest. They were close enough to hear tolling bells? Then the battle was truly at hand. Morin picked up his pace and Ayja had to jog to keep up.
“This will be a close run thing,” Morin said. “I hope you’re right, Sir Nidon, and that we aren’t too late.”
The field ended in a gully with a stream running through it. They waded across the stream and up the far bank. Ayja heard splashing behind her and turned back to see dozens and dozens of ghuls crossing behind her. There were pyren there as well. Further back she saw more ghuls crossing the open fields. Could Morin have a thousand of them?
They were in a light forest now and passed quickly through it. Ayja heard horns sounding and felt the weight of the approaching battle. She sensed the mass of Cragor’s army waiting for them ahead, and the onrushing pressure of Morin’s ghuls coming on from behind.
Morin stopped at the edge of the woods and Ayja and Cam came up beside him. There, ahead of them, were the walls of Sal-Oras, looming in the darkness. Visible in the distance was Cragor’s army.
The army stretched out along the highway to the east, thousands of unluks disappearing into the darkness. They carried no torches or lanterns, but still some moonlight found its way through the clouds to glint on helms and spear tips.
Some of the unluks crowded around the gate, and even at a distance of several arrowflights, she heard shouting as orders were bellowed. The army wasn’t deploying, though—there was no need. No one resisted their advance.
“They’ve taken the Ost-Oras Gate,” Cam said. “They’r
e pouring into the city.”
Morin looked over his shoulder. Ayja followed his gaze and saw crowds of ghuls gathering in the forest behind them. The ghuls were hungry and made it known by their growls and dreadful moans. Their chorus was horrifying.
For the first time she was grateful for Morin’s escorting pyren, who held the massed ghuls at bay. She had no doubt the ghuls could think of nothing more than devouring her and Cam at that moment.
“I see no sign of resistance,” Cam said. “Sal-Oras never saw them coming.”
“This invasion has been planned for a long time,” Morin said. “I gave Cragor too little credit. I’m sure he cut the roads long before the Duke of the East Teren even knew the invasion had begun.”
“If he put some of his eternals into the city, they’d have had no problem opening the gates.”
“Well, Sir Nidon, what would you suggest?”
Ayja glanced at Morin, not hiding her shock at his asking Cam for advice. If Cam noticed, he made no sign of it.
Cam pointed off to the north. “Only the vanguard is in. There are thousands more strung out on the road. They haven’t spread out because they’re all heading for the gate.”
“Get to it, Nidon.”
“They don’t know we’re here. We drive right for the gate, seize it, and close it. We’ll lock the bulk of his army outside the city, and before they can force their way in, we destroy Cragor and his vanguard.”
“If he’s with the vanguard,” Ayja said.
Cam snorted. “He’s varcolac. He’ll be with the vanguard. I imagine the eternals and all of his best soldiers will be there.”
“How will we fight them all?”
“I’ll bring my lyches and pyren with me,” Morin said, “and as many ghuls as I can manage to get through the gates. Most will throw themselves at Cragor’s army. I won’t be able to control them.”
“We’ll have to hope the city bridges are still held against Cragor,” Cam said.
“Even if they aren’t, the Great Keep should hold,” Morin replied. “Ilana still holds Forsvar, and Cragor’s eternals can do nothing against the Godshield. Handrin is there as well. I understand he’s a strong elementar.”