by Greg Curtis
But as annoying as the innkeeper's larcenous ways were, they still annoyed him less than the meanderings of the nine assembled lords of Therion as they vacillated over their plans. To launch the war or not? To take back their homes? To attack or defend? And if they attacked, when? Back and forth their arguments ran without a decision ever being reached. It wasn't good enough. Marcus wanted to shout that at them. Shout it to the stars above. But as the heir to the House of Barris, he couldn't. It was bitterly unfair.
These nine lords – nine men all of advancing years, and all looking as though they had fallen on hard times – were all that remained of the Court, at least in Bitter Crest. As such they should have had only one thing on their mind. To take back Therion. To save the people and return to their home. But to listen to them you'd think that they didn't know what they should do. That there was actually some sort of choice to be made. But there simply wasn't. Not anymore. They were running out of time.
And yet they were content to ignore that and remain in Bitter Crest. To send out patrols, one after another into Therion, scouting the lay of the land, warning the people, rescuing a few, and skirmishing with whatever enemies they encountered but never really advancing towards the city. They seemed to think it was the wiser course of action as they strengthened their forces. And they didn't want to take risks. What they forgot of course was that war was always a risk. And that as they strengthened their forces so too did Vesar's armies grow. And Marcus had the horrible feeling that the Cabal wizard's army was growing faster than theirs.
Meanwhile, they faced another problem. That they would soon run out of coin to pay their soldiers. Most of them were in financial trouble. Their business concerns had been stolen from them. What they had left were only the remains of what they'd been able to bring with them as they fled Therion. And soldiers, even those with homes that had been stolen from them and dead loved ones to avenge, still needed to be paid. Even while they sat around and trained. Not to mention that they needed to be equipped and fed. Sooner or later they would end up without an army.
And all the while the progress on that accursed temple was advancing. What it would do when it was complete Marcus didn't truly know. He'd read the reports that Edouard and the others had prepared and they painted a stark picture of it being used to steal the life blood of those with magic and use it to build armies of those armoured wind demons instead of just the ones and twos of them their patrols had encountered so far. But deep in his marrow he had the fear that it would do more than that. That it was truly some terrible weapon. Edouard was right. No one would have launched a coup and killed thousands to build something good. And why else would Vesar's soldiers be so desperately rounding up the men from all the nearby towns and villages just so that they could work on it?
So far they had taken them in their thousands. It had to be important. Worse than that, though Simon had apparently all but destroyed it as he'd fled the city, with the numbers of workers now being used to rebuild it, he was sure its completion couldn't be that far away. They had to strike before that happened.
“Gentlemen, it's time!” Marcus raised his voice as he looked around the room and fixed each of them in turn with a determined stare. He was tired of all the excuses being made and the endless delays being foisted on them by reluctant lords. In any war there was a time for regrouping and licking one’s wounds and there was a time for striking back. After months in Bitter Crest he was fast coming to the conclusion that the time had come to strike. But the rest of the former lords of Therion seemed unable to accept the same understanding. “It's past time!”
“We're not ready.” Lord Aman was the first to say it, but only by a little. Others had the same thought and looked to want to give it voice.
“We're as ready as we will ever be.” Marcus wasn't about to listen to their doubts any longer. “Between us we can amass an army of thirty five hundred. That's more than enough to begin the attack. To liberate a dozen or more towns and villages as we head back into Therion. We can free the entire south west as far as Breakwater and cut off the enemy's resources.”
“Those in the cities of Farring Cross can amass a larger army still and strike from the north. And if we work together, striking both fronts at once, Vesar's forces will be divided. Vulnerable. Then, once we've taken the south west and they have the north it becomes a matter of simply taking the rest. And then when we're done we can lay siege to the city. A city with few defenders, limited supplies and broken walls.”
“We can do this. Now. But the longer we wait the harder it will become. And sooner or later it will become impossible.”
“Thirty five hundred is still only a small army,” said Lord Perrin-Wright, pointing out the obvious. It wasn't a force large enough to retake the realm. But a war was won in stages. By setting objectives and achieving them. And besides, he seemed to want to continue as they were, doing little and letting Vesar amass his forces and build his damned temple. Of course what he really wanted was someone he respected to tell him what to do. He wanted King Byron to be there and give him the command. Or the king's right hand Lord Julius. But both were dead and Marcus was what they had left.
“It's large enough for what we need. And if we do nothing, if we continue as we are, then sooner or later Vesar's army complete with those armoured wind demons will come here and Bitter Crest itself will be lost along with perhaps many more cities.”
“You don't know that!” Lord Perrin-Wright's tone rose a little as he tried to deny the obvious, and Marcus knew he was speaking from a place of fear. He wanted to believe – to hope – that one way or another the war was over. That things weren't going to get any worse. Even if it meant never reclaiming their home. But then he was an old man who had seen one of his sons killed and another badly injured. His family's farms had been burnt to the ground, and his home was gone. He was at the stage where he couldn't stand to lose anymore. That Marcus understood. But he also knew that they couldn't allow fear to dictate their actions.
“Yes I do!” He carefully emphasised every word so that they heard the certainty in his voice.
“You've seen the reports. You know the details. Vesar is building his accursed temple. He is desperate to have it completed as soon as possible. And we cannot let that happen. Both Ascorlexia and my brother Edouard agree; when it's built it will allow him to build not just a few of these armoured wind demons, but an army of them and others of those accursed machines. And there is only one reason he would want an army – to do exactly what the Cabal wizards of old tried to do. To build an empire from the destruction of our world.”
“If we do not act now we will lose. We will still all be sitting here arguing about when to strike against a city with no walls and few defenders when an army of those things arrives at our doorstep.”
“Your brother –.” Lord Perrin-Wright wasn't giving up.
“– Is right!” Marcus interrupted him. He would hear no more of their fears and doubts. “He has provided our soldiers with the musket balls we need to destroy those wind demons. He has given us the knowledge of the previous wars and the way they were fought. He has visited the powers and gained their knowledge as well. And he's told us what other demon machines we can expect and how to defeat them. And we now have a spark of weather who is willing to use that knowledge against them. That makes two sparks of fire, a spark of lightning and another of light.”
“We have the forces we need and all we are going to get. Over the coming months we may be able to increase our forces a little. But it will be at a cost that we cannot continue to pay. Vesar meanwhile is building his forces faster than us. And when that accursed temple is built and he can build all the foul demon creatures he wants, he will be unbeatable. From now on our chances of victory only roll down the hill, and soon we will have no chance left.”
“Then he will come for us. Those wind demon things will walk right through Bitter Crest, destroying everything. This city has no walls to stop them. The fire dog demons will kill everyone that
stands against them and chase down the survivors.”
“So today we have to make a choice. Standing our ground is no longer an option. We advance or retreat. We either use our army, or we run away.”
“My lords I call for a vote. Take back Therion or flee and let our enemy have everything. Our estates. Our lands. Our businesses. And our pride.”
It was a gamble calling for the vote, but it had to be done. He had to force the issue. Otherwise they really would be sitting there dithering like a bunch of old women when the war was finally lost.
“Gentlemen raise your hands if you choose to fight.” Marcus called for the vote and then waited nervously as the old men dithered.
It was the longest wait of his life.
Chapter Forty Four
It was a beautiful summer’s day when the rock gnome's army struck and Edouard like several others was simply enjoying the warmth of the day. Stretched out in a deck chair in the garden, letting the sun bake him. And at first he didn't know what was happening. All he knew was that the silence of the morning was unexpectedly broken by the sounds of musket fire and men shouting echoing up from the town.
“What the –?”
Even as someone started to ask they all realised that none of them had an answer and the question died. Edouard quickly realised that there was only one way to find out. Without opening the gate and peering out and risking getting shot that was. He rose from the chair as quickly as he could and headed for the fort at a run. After that there were the stairs to the first floor and then many more stairs to the top of the lookout tower, all of which he took at a run. Many others had the same thought and he could hear their feet thumping on the stairs behind him.
Reaching the top of the tower and then collapsing breathlessly against the rail and looking down at the town Edouard could immediately see the cause of the commotion. The veiled soldiers were in Breakwater. Apparently they'd had enough of sitting in their camps and had invaded the town. Why he wasn't completely sure. But what he was sure of was that they were breaking down doors and marching into peoples' homes. And then they were marching the occupants out, rounding them up like sheep. Why?
Then he saw the chains and manacles and realised why. They were shackling up the townsfolk together as though they were taking them prisoner. But not prisoners. Slaves!
“They're emptying the town of men to work on that damned temple!”
Whichever of the women said it Edouard wasn't sure. But he was sure she was right. They'd all read the reports. Vesar's soldiers were abducting whole towns and villages, bringing them to the city and forcing them to work on his temple. Now apparently they'd decided that Breakwater was a good place to recruit more slaves. An enemy fort atop its hill and the presence of Tyrel's handmaidens was no longer enough to deter them.
It could not be allowed!
As he stood there watching, breathing a little heavily from his run up the stairs, Edouard knew that one thing above all else. These were his friends. This was his town, his home. This monstrous crime could not be borne. It was then that he turned around, pushed his way past the others who were all crowded around trying to see, and found the stairs down. On the way he grabbed two of the muskets hanging in their racks. It was time to act.
In the drawing room he quickly gathered two pistols as well and a powder horn and a bag of musket balls, before he marched out the front door to the gate. Then he turned the wheel that slid the gate open and marched out on to the road and headed for the town.
The others started yelling at him from the tower. He could hear the alarm in their voices as they realised what he was doing. He could hear the sound of feet on the stairs as they gave chase. But he didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that this crime had to be stopped.
Two hundred paces down the road he judged that he was close enough, and raised the first musket to his shoulder. It was a surprisingly heavy weapon but just then it seemed uncommonly light in his hands. More than that though, the sound it made when he sighted his target and squeezed the trigger was almost musical. Of course the veiled soldier didn't think so as the musket ball tore right through him.
He just stood there, shocked perhaps as he looked down at his middle and the dark blood already drenching him, and then fell to the ground in a heap. The city guard's muskets might not be able to kill these soldiers in one shot but his could.
Satisfied with the result, Edouard sighted the next few veiled guards and sent them to their graves as well. It was so easy. Just aim and fire, aim and fire. And the rock gnomes didn't even seem to realise they were under attack. He'd emptied the second musket into their midst before they did and by then eight of their number were down; dead or too badly injured to give them any more trouble.
Of course they started screaming then. Yelling orders at one another as they spotted him up the road, and several started charging him. But that was a mistake. With scarcely a thought he sent a couple of fireballs their way and they began screaming for an entirely different reason. Most people found it difficult to concentrate on attacking an enemy when they were on fire. Most people found it difficult to do anything at all except scream and try desperately to put the flames out. The rock gnomes were no exception. He only wished he were a flame and capable of bathing all of them in fire.
Then of course he had to reload his muskets. The pistols weren't accurate enough at range, and it took many painfully long seconds to pour the powder into the barrels and then ram the balls home. Very long seconds during which he worried that they would be on him. But they weren't. Most couldn't seem to reach him as they charged him, the ward of misdirection still working, and when any of them got too close he tossed another fireball or two their way.
A minute later he once more had two fully loaded muskets in his hands and was taking sight when he heard the sound of more gunfire from beside him. He looked around to see Kyriel and a couple of the men standing there beside him with muskets in their hands. And he watched easily another dozen of the veiled guards fall to the ground.
It was then that things turned against him as the rock gnomes finally realised that if they couldn't reach them they could still shoot them. Musket balls would not be turned aside by Kyriel's ward. Funnily enough neither they nor him had even considered the idea. But then Edouard hadn't been thinking. He'd just been reacting.
Musket balls came flying at them, undeterred by Kyriel's ward and he suddenly realised he was exposed. Standing there in the middle of the road he had no cover. Meanwhile the rock gnomes were taking cover behind whatever houses and other structures they could find so that they could take careful aim before shooting at them.
More fireballs streaked out of nowhere and Edouard realised that Fergis had joined the fight, and unlike him he seemed to have thought the problem out. His fireballs were aimed at the buildings, and they were setting the town ablaze. That in turn was creating complete chaos in the town. People, men women and children, were running and screaming in panic, disturbing the rock gnomes as they tried to return fire and spoiling their aim. More importantly the town was filling with smoke, making it hard for them to see anything and so their shots were wide.
“The trees!”
Kyriel called out, telling them what they needed to do. She even began pulling Edouard to one side of the tree lined road when he was too slow to run. Realising she was right he finally ran with her to join the others behind the trees, and then used them as stands to hold the muskets as he sighted more of the enemy in the smoke filled streets.
After that the battle degenerated into a series of smaller skirmishes. The rock gnomes could barely see them through the smoke and were spreading out as they tried to surround them. To come at them from different angles. But of course the ward still left them confused and turned around. Meanwhile they in turn could barely see the enemy either and so the rate of firing slowed considerably. In time it became a series of sporadic musket shots as they each tried desperately to spot the others in the smoke. And all the while the people of Bre
akwater were running and screaming in panic, sewing their own brand of confusion.
But that worked to their advantage. As the pace of battle slowed and the enemy spread out wide, it gave them more time to reload their weapons. And his weapons had both greater range and accuracy meaning that they had the advantage even though they were outnumbered.
At some point Edouard felt the sting as something streaked by his cheek, but he paid it no mind and a few seconds later he watched as his next target fell down. Some of the others took wounds too, and he watched Mara helping one of the others back up the hill to the fort.
Then Gwen acted and the entire battle changed in a matter of heartbeats. There was a sound, a rumble in the ground under their feet, and suddenly huge sprays of water were jetting into the air throughout the town. The water of course made things difficult for those below as they had to contend with sodden weapons and clothing. It was a brilliant tactic. With wet powder the rock gnomes’ weapons failed to fire repeatedly, leaving them defenceless. It also cleared away much of the smoke giving them all targets to fire at. Naturally he took the opportunity – they all did – and suddenly the veiled soldiers were falling to the ground at an astonishing rate. All that practice with the weapons had clearly been worth it.