by P J Berman
‘I hope you don’t mean that what happened to me is a common occurrence,’ said Silrith.
‘Of course not, my Queen. But we commonly use these dungeons for dealing with anyone who has committed a major crime, especially if the victim is a noble. We do what we need to do here to find out what we need and then we take the criminal to the other dungeons in the city itself until it’s decided what we’re going to do with them. Fairly straight forward really.’
His manner didn’t surprise Silrith, but yet it offended her that he could talk about another person’s suffering in such a way. There must’ve been innocent people that had ended up in here in the past. She felt sure that most would admit to anything under torture, even if the result was a humiliating walk through the streets, followed by imprisonment or execution. It disgusted Silrith that she was involved in something so despicable. Unfortunately though, she also knew that it was unavoidable, as in this case there was no doubt over the girl’s guilt.
They reached the bottom of the staircase and were now in a long corridor, with many metal doors on all sides. Some hung open, while others were bolted shut; screams emanating from inside.
‘From here, you can get to all the dungeons and torture chambers under the citadel. We haven’t got much space though, so we try not to keep ’em here long before sending them to the city dungeons. They’ve got lots more room there. We’re in here.’ He directed her to a door on her right, where the most piercing screams were coming from.
‘Apparently, her name’s Vaezona and it won’t surprise you to know that she was working for the King,’ said the guard, opening the door.
Silrith was going to berate him for referring to Jostan as ‘the King’ but stopped herself as the screaming seemed to reach new heights the moment she entered the room. She saw that Vaezona, now wearing a dirty rag that could barely be called a dress, was tied down on to a rack. Beside her stood her torturer, who was an obese man with a sagging chin. He wore plain, civilian clothes and was almost laughing as he prodded her bare arm with a red hot poker.
‘Stop,’ Silrith commanded. The grin dropped from the torturer’s face and was replaced by a confused expression.
‘This girl must suffer for her actions,’ Silrith said. ‘That is unavoidable. But how can we have the moral high ground if we take pleasure in her suffering?’
Silrith looked at Vaezona, who had ceased screaming, but still groaned in pain and whimpered as she looked around her, utterly terrified. The skin of both of her arms, as well as her legs and her face, was already scorched all over with poker burns. Verily, it was evident that the torturer enjoyed his work. The thought sickened Silrith. The room stank of piss and, looking at Vaezona lying on the rack, she could see what had caused it, as the pungent smelling liquid pooled out from below the girl’s dress.
‘Now, leave us. I will question her alone.’
Obediently, the two men left, albeit with the obese torturer looking distinctly disappointed, shutting the door behind them. As soon as they were alone, Silrith took her dagger from her weapons belt and cut the rope that bound Vaezona’s arms and legs.
‘Now don’t even think about doing anything stupid. I’ve already shown you I can beat you in a fight and this time I’m the one that’s armed.’ She removed the ropes from around Vaezona’s wrists and ankles.
‘Sit,’ said Silrith.
With some effort Vaezona lifted herself off the wooden contraption and into a seated position, wincing in pain as she did. She pushed herself over to the side of the rack and rested her feet on the floor. Silrith continued to stand.
‘Now, why were you in my bedchamber last night? Who sent you?’
Silrith knew the guard had said it was Jostan, but she wanted to hear it for herself. The girl hesitated. She looked Silrith straight in the eye and all Silrith saw there was dread.
‘It was the King,’ she said finally. ‘Oh, please have mercy on me. He said that if I did this he would free my father. All I wanted to do was save my father’s life.’
‘The most natural thing in the world. But you must see how that would have been to my detriment? It’s hard to forgive someone who tried to kill you, wouldn’t you say?’
The girl began to sob. Strangely, Silrith felt sorry for her, but she couldn’t help thinking how pathetic she looked.
‘Of course, I knew that it was highly likely to be Jostan, so when I asked you who sent you, I was asking for more names than just his. I don’t believe for a moment that you were working alone. You could have killed my maid but never the guard. I’m not stupid. I can see the connection between their deaths and mine. Who was assisting you?’
‘I can’t. He’ll kill me.’
‘That’s the least of your worries now. What is his name?’
‘I don’t know. He never told me.’
Silrith had feared she’d say that. She didn’t look like the type to be privy to that sort of information.
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t know. He wore a mask normally.’
‘Normally?’
‘Yes. The only time he took it off he was facing away from me. He showed his face to that poor maid. Anyway, I couldn’t look at him. I was too scared.’
Surely she was lying. She knew more than this, Silrith decided, shutting out her thoughts of poor Avaresae. Her broken body, like the guard’s, had been found at the foot of the citadel walls in the city streets, her throat slit and blood, presumed to be hers, still stained the floor next to Silrith’s own room. It was most strange that no attempt had been made by the murderer to clear it up though.
The girl’s face lit up as if she’d just remembered something.
‘He said he was a Prince,’ she said.
‘Don’t lie,’ said Silrith. ‘Why would he not tell you his name, but still tell you his title?’
There were two Princes in the city and Prince Kivojo didn’t speak Bennvikan and always stayed with the Hentani. That left only one. Surely not Prince Shappa?
‘He did.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘You must,’ the girl cried.
Silrith paused. This was going nowhere.
‘Thank you. That is all I needed to know,’ said Silrith.
She knew that Vaezona had to be executed, despite the regret Silrith felt about the situation. If she let her live, it would be seen as foolhardy and everyone knew it. The girl had to die.
‘Open the door,’ said Silrith. ‘I will personally escort you to your cell.’
Vaezona hesitated a moment, apparently surprised, but then made for the door. As she passed, Silrith grabbed a handful of Vaezona’s long dark hair, wrenched her head back and sliced open the girl’s throat with her dagger.
Vaezona fell back against Silrith, as if trying to speak, but then she could only gurgle as the blood spilt from her neck. Her eyes rolled back and Silrith took the weight of Vaezona’s limp, lifeless body, slowly laying it on the ground as the blood continued to spurt.
Yes, Vaezona had to die, but there was no reason for her to suffer death by the flames, or by hanging or by disembowelling. A quick death was more merciful. She forced herself not to look at Vaezona’s face as she stepped away from the corpse.
She wiped her blade on the cleaner sleeve of her otherwise blooded clothes, before sheathing it. She opened the wooden door and saw the guard and the torturer still waiting outside.
‘Your Grace?’ said the guard. Both men looked stunned at the sight of their Queen dripping with blood. Silrith realised her deep breaths were making her whole body heave. She hoped that the steely expression she was putting on was enough to make them see it as anger and aggression and not her horror at what she had just been forced to do.
‘Are you alright my Queen?’ the guard asked with a fearful look in his eye.
‘I have found out all the information I require and given her the quick, merciful death she deserves,’ said Silrith. ‘Neither of you will speak a word of this, on pain of death. As far as ev
eryone in the Kingdom is concerned, she died under torture, understand?’
The two men nodded.
‘Yes, my Queen.’
‘Now, you, dispose of the body,’ she said, pointing at the torturer. ‘And you,’ she said to the guard. ‘Find a maid to bring me some new clothes and to wash these. Be quick about it and make sure they know what the consequences of any idle gossip about this sorry episode will be. Now go.’
After changing out of her black tunic and into a clean dress, blue this time, Silrith headed to Yathrud’s meeting room where the others would be waiting for her. She felt like she was about to collapse under the weight of the terrible thing their situation had just forced her to do, but she fought back her emotions and kept her expression cold. She had to present herself in such a way that only a crown could make her look more of a Queen. A great leader impresses with the eye, as well as the word, but most of all through action her book had advised her. Yathrud’s gift was proving useful. Yet this particular action would have to remain a secret forever. Even those directly around her could only be allowed to know that the girl was dead and nothing more than that. She knew she’d had no choice. The girl had tried to murder her after all and yet she wondered if she’d ever be able to forgive herself. She felt sure she’d never have a clear conscience again.
She heard voices from the inside of the room. Unlike the others, this corridor had no guards stationed on it, save for on its far ends, so as to keep anything discussed in this room a secret. She paused a moment to compose herself, then reached out and turned the latch.
The discussion amongst the four men ceased immediately and was replaced by the creaking of chairs as they all stood. Yathrud, Bezekarl, Shappa and Gasbron turned their heads to face her. Gasbron wore his uniform and scaled armour save for his helmet, while the other three men wore fine tunics. Silrith shut the door behind her. They looked at her expectantly, apparently waiting for her to say something. She let the silence hang in the air a few moments longer.
‘I have seen the girl,’ she said eventually, motioning for them to sit. ‘She didn’t say much of note, save for one thing. Jostan has at least one other agent within our midst.’ She searched the faces of all four of them. Could she even trust these men? But then, did she have any choice but to do so, despite the circumstances?
‘She claimed she did not know the name of the man she was working alongside. However, I don’t believe her,’ Silrith went on. She noticed Shappa, in particular, raise his eyes at this. Could it really be? After all, he had been rather negligent. She resisted the temptation to make an accusation.
‘She mentioned something about her accomplice that, if true, gives me some idea of who it might be. However, it may well be a lie designed to mislead us, so I will not tell you what it was,’ said Silrith.
‘She should have been watched far more closely,’ she went on, giving Shappa a hard look. His expression turned to one of indignation and he coloured a little. He opened his mouth to speak, but Silrith raised her palm to hush him.
‘I hope this breach in security will be learned from by all, as indeed it must,’ Silrith concluded.
An awkward silence hung over them again. It felt like nobody was sure what to say next. Yathrud opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sharp note of what sounded like a foghorn. It was the call to arms from the sentries on the ramparts. The note was repeated and in the distance could be heard the distant beating of a drum.
‘They’re here,’ Bezekarl smiled, causing everyone to look in his direction. Silrith was a little bemused that he, of all people, was for the second time looking impatient to get at the enemy.
‘Gentleman,’ Silrith said. ‘An error was made last night, but now it must be learnt from and be put aside. The war has arrived.’ With that, she strode over to the door, leading the others from the room. After descending the stairs and exiting another oak door into the courtyard, Silrith made sure to cut a purposeful figure, leaving the others trailing in her wake amid the organised chaos of a city and citadel preparing to defend a siege. As more troops poured through the gate from the inner ward to the outer ward and then the walled courtyard, people nonetheless respectfully made space for Silrith and her entourage.
Inside Preddaburg’s walls, warning trumpets blew and officers shouted orders, while screams of the panicking civilian population could be heard from the city itself. Hastily Silrith led the group up the spiral staircase in the Preddaburg Gate and stepped on to the walls, laying eyes on the enemy for the first time.
Over the hill they came, marching in square units with hundreds of soldiers in each, with subsequent formations fanning out to march on the flanks of the lead group. It was an imposing sight. Each square saw lines of Divisiomen at the centre, supported by militia and tribesmen, presumably the Defroni, marching at their sides. Silrith had guessed Jostan could raise as many as forty thousand troops and it looked like she was going to be proved right by the time his entire army had arrived. She could see no siege engines yet, but she knew well that no besieging army used their full force in the first attack. This sight was intimidating enough and was surely only the beginning. Above it all came that incessant drum, like the army’s own beating heart.
Dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum
‘I’m glad to see Jostan remembered to bring a few friends to the party,’ Silrith beamed, attempting to show a confidence that she didn’t truly feel.
‘Don’t worry, this'll be a party to remember, my Queen,’ Gasbron added.
Dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum
‘Corpralis. Your report please?’ Silrith called to the officer who’d been on duty. A weathered face with features that suggested ginger hair under his helmet turned to look at her. He snapped to attention and gave a quick salute.
‘At ease,’ said Silrith.
‘Thank you, my Queen. We raised the alarm as soon as they were spotted,’ he stated in a common voice.
‘I don’t doubt that.’
‘They’re all approaching from loosely the same direction for now, my Queen and they appear to be expanding outwards from their current position. The troops on all sides of the citadel and the city are being alerted to look for any signs of enemy reinforcements, especially from the forest.’
‘Thank you, Corpralis.’
Dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum
Silrith turned back to Yathrud, Gasbron and Shappa.
I hope any chance of reinforcements is just a precaution. They must already outnumber us by at least four to one, she thought.
‘How many extra troops were you able to recruit in the end, uncle?’ she asked, her expression neutral, already knowing the answer but hoping in vain for some good news that maybe somehow hadn’t reached her ears yet.
‘About four thousand at the last count. That’s eleven thousand when added to the Divisios, the Hentani and Shappa’s knights. Numbers aren’t everything though, my Queen,’ Yathrud reassured her. ‘Not to mention the fact that when I oversaw the construction of this citadel, I made sure everything was done to make it defensible.’
‘We’ll hold out, your Majesty,’ Gasbron added, smiling for once. He was in his element. ‘Those who are less experienced can be trained during the siege, in the same ways as we’ve been doing since we arrived back here.’
‘Most of them are peasants have only used a knife to prepare their food or at best slaughter an animal. They're not soldiers,’ Shappa pointed out.
On hearing this, Silrith inwardly reminded herself that, compared to the Divisiomen, this was still much the case for her too. She knew the concept of battle strategy well enough when it came to command, but she knew that she still required more training with a sword and shield.
‘No,’ Gasbron replied through gritted teeth, turning on the Etrovansian while strapping on the helmet he’d been carrying up to now. ‘But we’ll have to make the best of what we’ve got. Anyway, many of the population here are members of the Hentani tribe, e
ither by birth or descent. They may have become accustomed to Bennvikan ways, but they still learn the skills of their own culture too. Don’t worry, they can fight.’ He paused. ‘Oh, your Majesty,’ he added in a mocking tone, looking directly at Shappa. The Prince rolled his eyes.
‘Relying on the defeated peoples to help you get out of a tight spot; always a wondrous idea. I know what I’m talking about Gasbron. I did help you train them after all,’ he retorted quietly.
‘You sat on your arse and watched two sessions,’ Gasbron grumbled.
‘What’s that? I didn’t quite hear,’ Shappa chided him.
‘I said, your Majesty, that you’d be surprised how people fight when it’s in defence of their homes.’
‘Why are all the enemy shields painted white?’ Silrith asked Yathrud, deftly distracting the two from their own personal conflict. ‘I’m sure I haven’t seen that before.’
‘I cannot be certain, my Queen. I confess I haven’t seen it before either. Maybe it’s something Jostan has brought in. I can only see the standards of four of the other provincial governing houses though if you include Jostan’s own crest.
‘Yes,’ Silrith agreed, as the enemy infantry splayed out in front of them while the cavalry halted far behind, nearer the hills, well out of arrow range and almost hidden behind the dust kicked up by the infantry.
It was strange that one provincial standard was missing, as Bennvika had six provinces if Bastalf was included.
‘There’s Jostan’s Blue and Silver Eagle,’ she said, scanning the enemy horde. ‘And there’s the Black and White Trident of the Rinttas, the Emerald and Gold Labyrinth of the Tanskelds and the White and Red Serpent of the Haganwolds,’ she said, rattling off the full formal names of each standard.
‘And there’s the national flag,’ she added, peering through the dust cloud the see the cavalry far behind. ‘But I don’t see the standard of the Aethelgards.’
Silrith’s heart leapt as she noticed this. Maybe Oprion hadn’t come south? They’d definitely see his flag if it was there. It featured the same design as the Amulet of Hazgorata, a man and a woman; both of them apparently on fire, wearing armour and carrying swords. They were shown in gold, against an orange background; a colour combination unheard of in any other form of heraldry, so it was very distinctive. What did the absence of the Hazgoratan troops mean? Had Oprion been ordered by Jostan to protect the north? Or had he received her letter and somehow convinced Jostan of his loyalty, whilst quietly planning how to assist her? It was a stupid idea, she decided and not one worth hanging on to. But at least it proved that Jostan didn’t feel secure enough to leave the north in the hands of the Congressate and a few hundred militia.