Vengeance of Hope

by P J Berman

  Either way, Oprion wasn’t present. Still troubled, she thought about what the significance of the white shields could be. Her blood turned to ice as she realised the likely meaning. She couldn’t tell a soul unless her suspicions were confirmed, she decided. There was no point lowering her soldier’s morale.

  She moved away from the others and Shappa followed.

  ‘Why didn’t you reprimand Wrathun for such insubordination?’ he asked angrily.

  It took Silrith a moment to regain her thoughts and remember the petty argument with Gasbron that Shappa was referring to.

  ‘You two were having your little disagreement under your breath. The junior officers and soldiers weren’t likely to overhear, so I was content to let you fight it out,’ she said.

  Shappa bit his lip.

  ‘I know he is an experienced soldier,’ he said. ‘But I believe that my insight is as useful as his or Lord Yathrud’s.’

  ‘I quite agree. But we are all in this together and if we are to lead these people we require their respect. A slight erosion of the class divide in some areas can help this along.’

  ‘And of course I agree with that, my lady, but-’

  ‘-but nothing. We’ll talk about this later.’

  ‘Yes, your Grace and I apologise for my negligence in watching the girl.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Now go to your troops and see that they are prepared. Ah, Uncle,’ she called over Shappa’s shoulder, moving past him and back across busy walls towards Yathrud.

  ‘Where’s Bezekarl? I didn’t notice him leave us.’

  ‘Oh he said he was going to inspect the troops on the West gate,’ said Yathrud.

  Silrith nodded. Loud calls could be heard from the approaching army and now the figures of individual men and women could easily be picked out.

  Dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum, dum da-dum,

  ‘Company, halt,’ came the order from somewhere down below. Forty thousand feet hit the ground one last time as the drums gave one final note and the army came to a standstill. By now their formation must have stretched half a mile wide. Gasbron watched with Silrith now at his side again.

  ‘Their Divisiomen won’t be able to do much for now,’ he said. ‘I expect they’ll start building a battering ram and some ladders.’

  ‘Gasbron’s right,’ Yathrud said. ‘Siege towers are almost impossible to transport, so have to be built on arrival. It’s possible that they will build some, but I expect that their initial attack will be with their militia using ladders, supported by their archers.’

  Orders were being given down below. Looking left and right, Silrith could see that the militia and the tribesmen, who had marched on the flanks of each Divisio unit, were now moving forward to congregate into a singular line at the front of the army. Among them, Jostan had brought with him many archers to support his infantry and she could see that their ranks included both longbowmen and crossbowmen.

  Standing on the ramparts in a sapphire dress and covered in jewels while surrounded by soldiers made Silrith feel rather overdressed and, more to the point, more of a target.

  It’s the tunic and breeches for me for the next little while, she thought to herself. She wanted to be a soldier like the rest of them and anyway, she had no intention of giving some eagle-eyed enemy archer any help by standing out in her bright colours.

  ‘I must go and prepare,’ Silrith stated, turning on her heel. ‘Knowing Jostan he’ll probably want to taunt us with a parley soon.’

  Chapter 17

  For Jithrae, one thing was very clear. Sitting in an iron cage on top of a cart is no way to travel. As they had progressed ever southward, he felt every single bump in the road and as he was buffeted about, he’d had plenty of time for thought. When he’d joined the army, he knew his chances of finding Vaezona were small, but the fact that he’d come so close, yet so far, wrenched at his heart and tore away at every fibre of his being. He tried to force it to the back of his mind, but it was an impossible battle.

  Additionally, in the dark recesses of his mind, there was something else - the knowledge that his own haplessness had put Vaezona in far more danger than she had been in before.

  So disillusioned was Jithrae becoming, that rather than trying to escape, he had taken to spending much of the day sitting and watching the world go by, twiddling at his thumbs and his fingers repetitively. As the army had crested the hill approaching Rildayorda, which was fronted by the Preddaburg citadel, like many others he had been impressed by its size and its imposing beauty.

  Unlike others though, he had been forced to wonder if his daughter was in there and if she was in danger. He begged the Gods to let him hold her again and take her home, away from all of this. It was torture not knowing if he would ever see her again, or hear her voice.

  Now though, an hour after their arrival, much of the besieged fortress was obscured by tents. As those who mattered paused to consider their next plan of attack, the camp was rife with a hubbub that was almost akin to that of a town, as soldiers bustled this way and that. In the midst of it all, opportunistic camp followers, mostly prostitutes, plied their trade. This had been the case all through their journey and one night Jithrae had even had to look away while one serviced the soldier who was guarding him. He thought of taking advantage of the distraction, but there was no weapon within reach or anything with which to pick the lock and anyway, they were doing it against the cage door.

  Lost in his thoughts, Jithrae failed to notice a dark shape fall over him.

  ‘Oi! You! Out!’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘Out!’

  The cage door had been swung open and a guard, the one who was addressing him, stood beside the one who’d been on duty.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Jithrae asked, shocked.

  ‘The King’s changed his mind.’ Jithrae’s heart leapt. ‘It’s the front rank for you laddie!’ Jithrae’s heart sank again. ‘We’ll take you to your unit.’ Life was going from bad to worse and possibly getting shorter.

  As evening started to fall, Silrith, now clad in her black tunic, which had been washed clean of blood, and also wearing her chain mail, breeches and boots, while carrying her helmet, was again standing on the battlements. Finally, she saw what she’d been waiting for; significant movement towards the back of the enemy line. Quickly she hot-footed it down the Preddaburg Gate’s spiral staircase, through the walled courtyard, into the inner ward and made her way between the small buildings, through the Alyredd Gate and into the main courtyard, where she found Yathrud, Shappa and Bezekarl conversing with Hojorak and Kivojo about their plans through Blavak.

  She felt that the relationship between herself and the Hentani leaders was strained already, though she could not put her finger on why. This troubled Silrith greatly and she vowed to address the problem at the next opportunity. Gasbron was also there, giving a last inspection of a unit of Divisiomen.

  ‘They’re coming. I thought they might,’ Silrith said to Yathrud, smiling and slightly breathless. ‘A small party under the cover of parley. White flag raised.’

  ‘Horses. To me,’ Yathrud commanded. Their animals were brought around by a pair of stable boys moments later and each mounted their steed. Without another word, they followed her back the way she had come, only stopping for Gasbron to call for three mounted Divisiomen to join them as their armed guard. As the gates opened inward and the portcullis outside began to rise, they left two by two, with Silrith and Yathrud at the head of the column, followed by Shappa and Bezekarl, with Gasbron and the Divisiomen bringing up the rear. Conversely, out of the ten horsemen that approached them, one was well ahead of the others. Silrith smirked.

  Always first in line until the real fighting begins. I’d expect nothing less of you, cousin, you fool, she thought.

  ‘It’s like he doesn’t realise that leading troops and showing off to them are different things. You have the better of him there, my Queen,’ Yathrud said, clearly thinking the same thing.

  Jostan
reined in before them, astride a sleek black stallion. His face gave a hint of surprise at Silrith’s presence. Like her, he was bareheaded, but at least her helmet was under her arm. He carried none at all. In fact, his elegant bright white robes, gold chain and gaudy jewels were in stark contrast to her more functional garb. Even Yathrud and Shappa were wearing their armour now, as they had been since shortly after the enemy army’s initial approach.

  ‘Well, you all look ready for a battle,’ Jostan remarked heartily. ‘Except we’d have thought your noble allies might have seen to it that you had some decent armour though, dear cousin. You look like you could be Lord Yathrud’s squire. A quick haircut and the look would be complete.’

  Silrith’s eyes flared at the derogatory comment.

  ‘Say what you like, Jostan, but a weapon, a shield and the will to personally fight my own battles will suffice,’ she said.

  ‘And these great walls,’ Jostan interjected. ‘It’s very easy to be confident when you’ve got something to hide behind. Just remember though, the differences between confidence and arrogance are very subtle. We wouldn’t want you to get the two confused now, would we? That could be fatal.’

  ‘Oh we have reason to be confident,’ Yathrud stated smoothly. ‘There is a crucial difference between our cause and yours. In principle, our troops fight for our Queen’s right to rule, but really they know that it is their homes and families they defend; all of which you have come here to destroy.’

  ‘You see Jostan,’ Silrith added, moving her horse in closer. ‘Whatever we royals like to think, the personal values held by our soldiers drive them far more than any loyalty to authority. My troops either fight or die, taking their families with them. Yours, on the other hand, have a third choice. Can you really guarantee they won’t desert you the moment the going gets tough?’

  Jostan’s blood boiled. Silrith could see it in his face.

  ‘You see that white flag?’ he raged. ‘It’s up to you as to whether or not it’s replaced by a black one. A black flag carried aloft for my whole army to see. You know what that will tell them. You know what that will mean for the people of Rildayorda when the walls are breached. The time for parley should not be wasted, cousin.’

  Silrith was undeterred.

  ‘Do not think me a fool Jostan. You didn’t march all the way here for a parley. That’s not in your nature.’

  ‘Then you’ve decided your own fate, Silrith. We’re sure you’ll live to regret it, briefly, before we decide when and how to bring that time to an end.’

  ‘Or rather, when you order it to be ended?’ Silrith corrected him. ‘Wasn’t that what you meant to say Jostan? Always getting other people to do your bidding for you; how brave of you. Meanwhile, I’ll be using my own sword to kill your troops myself.’

  ‘It’s a pity both armies aren’t led with such honour,’ Yathrud added.

  ‘Quite,’ Silrith acknowledged him approvingly. ‘To lead soldiers, one must become a soldier, wouldn’t you say Jostan? I don’t need fancy clothes and the biggest stallion on the whole damned battlefield to boost me, by the Gods!’ She indicated Jostan’s clothes and mount.

  Jostan was enraged by this.

  ‘You dare speak to us in such a way?’

  He looked at Yathrud.

  ‘Think on what this means for the people of your city Lord Alyredd,’ he said. ‘We have refrained from the temptation to forcibly convert them to our religion and instead have decided to keep the peace of this nation by tolerating other religions and cultures in the interests of commerce and mutual benefit, meanwhile leading the army to protect the country from rebellious tribesmen and this is how you repay us? You take in this murdering witch and seek an alliance against us with Bennvika’s enemies? Well, let us tell you both, in the name of almighty Estarron, Lifeblood of the World, not a man, woman or child will be spared his judgement and his hunger rises. As you see from the shields our soldiers carry, we are blessed by the one true Lord. The city will burn. The men will be put to the sword, the women will be ravaged until they moan for death, then ravaged and ravaged again, before we slit their throats and the children,’ he paused for effect with a particularly malevolent smile. ‘The children shall suffer no less than their parents. Before your life is over Silrith, you will see infants carried aloft, spitted on the ends of my troops’ spears and all because of you.’ With that, he galloped away.

  It was a chilling promise.

  ‘He’s all about threats and nothing more,’ Yathrud reassured Silrith unconvincingly as they trotted back through the portcullis.

  ‘Is he?’ she countered. ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘It’s not in his interests to destroy Rildayorda. It’s a prospering city and every King needs money,’ Yathrud said.

  Silrith pulled on her reins to stop the horse as they entered the walled courtyard, while the remainder of the party dismounted and went about their duties.

  ‘The salt mines and whorehouses of Bennvika are ever in need of repopulation, so some will survive, I grant you that,’ she said. ‘But rest assured that if we fail, there will be death here on an industrial scale.’

  They both dismounted before Silrith continued.

  ‘Jostan’s hubris knows no bounds. That’s a grave concern, but an even greater one is his religious beliefs. He’s clearly already begun converting his troops. That troubles me greatly.’

  ‘Yes. It appears that he considers himself a servant of Estarron. Some say he claims to be the chosen one, or even the God’s own son. But do you really think he will try to do away with our Gods?’

  ‘I cannot foresee anything else,’ Silrith replied. ‘When my aunt went to Verusantium to marry Jostan’s father it was on the condition that she converted to their religion and once she did so, she became a fanatic and would accept no other beliefs. She even tried to convert me at one point. Jostan is even worse. Believe me, for all his decadence the man is obsessive about his religion and accepts no alternative view.’

  ‘I see. So to him, it is Estarron’s way or nothing?’ said Yathrud.

  ‘Yes, that is precisely what he believes. I shudder to think where that might lead. After all, there is no one so godless as a religious fanatic. It is our duty to protect these people from such a man.’ Silrith paused for a moment, pondering her own words. ‘It’s quite a responsibility when you think about it, isn’t it uncle?’

  Yathrud opened his mouth to reply, but just at that moment, some way above them, a number of voices burst into song. Shappa was now up on the wall and had got the soldiers singing on the ramparts, with those down below soon joining in; Divisiomen, militiamen and Etrovansians alike and even some of the Hentani. Shappa turned round to look at those below and caught Silrith’s eye.

  ‘A fine tune, good Prince,’ she called, before turning to Yathrud as her mood lifted. ‘They’re in high spirits uncle. That’s a good start. Come, let us take to the walls.’

  She headed up to the wall on the left side of the Preddaburg Gate with Gasbron and Bezekarl, while Yathrud moved to join Shappa and his troops on the right. Silrith now stood amongst Gasbron’s soldiers, consciously noting those Divisiomen who had helped her escape en-route to her place of exile.

  They were supported by the units of militia spearmen, swordsmen and crossbowmen. The people had flocked to join in defence of their city. As she passed, every soldier turned and fallen to their knees, lowering their weapons and bowing their heads while uttering ‘My Queen,’ as she walked the length of the wall.

  She stopped as she heard a voice that hinted at less conviction than the rest. She turned to see a young spearman. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, with a chin still devoid of even a shadow of stubble. The kneeling boy shuddered as he peered from under his kettle hat.

  Feeling a motherly warmth take hold of her heart, Silrith bent down and looked him in the eye. She could sense his heart was racing.

  ‘What’s your name, boy?’ she asked lightly, gently taking his face in her hands with a
kindly expression.

  ‘Dazyan, my Queen, Dazyan of the Southtown.’

  ‘And do you fear, Dazyan?’

  ‘No, my Queen.’

  Silrith gave compassionate smile.

  ‘Nonsense,’ she said, raising her voice so that all around her could hear. ‘But there is nothing dishonourable about fear. We all fear. After all, what is fear really? Fear is what brings value to the things we do in spite of it and there can be no greater honour than that.’ She motioned for the kneeling soldiers to stand. ‘The thing about fear, is that it can always be superseded. There’s always something stronger. Always.’

  As she said this, she turned to look over the walls. A flag as black as night was being carried in front of Jostan’s army, meaning that if the city fell, every man, woman and child inside was to be put to the sword. At the same moment, the drums started up again and trumpets sounded in the distance as ladders were brought forward and the enemy prepared for a frontal assault.

  ‘All of you, ask yourselves,’ Silrith continued. ‘What is it that you fear the most – the one thing above all else? Is it this army that stands outside our gates? I think not. They are nothing. I can see some of you have felt the wrath of many blades before and lived to tell the tale – and some faces the better for it! I’ll wager that any fear you feel is fear on behalf of others. Fear for those who depend on us. Your children, your elderly kin and anyone else who depends on you for their safety. But that is why you are here. You’re here so that you can say one thing; that when fate decreed that you were the only thing that stood between all that is sacred to you and all that is evil, you stood firm. Take your fear and turn it to fire; a fire that burns like a flaming wall from which our enemies will melt away! Some of you served under my father. But he was not simply my father, or my late brother’s. He was as a father to all his people. Yet now he lies dead, slain by the usurper Jostan. Do you intend to let his murder go unavenged?’