Tamonial considered. “The difference between using a rock to grind wheat and using a millwork,” he decided. “Your people use your stones mostly for power. These were designed to wage war against some of the most sophisticated magics on Callidore. They were supposed to have been collected and entombed, but the Enshadowed preserved them against this time. I do have concerns about humani wizards gaining them,” he admitted. “They were not designed for use by your people. I am unsure if they will be harmful.”
“Charging into a gurvani army to get irionite is harmful,” Astyral pointed out. “And of questionable sanity. Yet that is what us bold, brave, stupid, short-lived humani do, my friend. It’s in our nature,” he said, fastening the chin-strap on his close-fitting helmet. I gave him a quizzical look. “Oh, I’m just as bold, brave, and stupid as the next wizard, just better-dressed. I can think of no better gift to make to my beloved bride than to be wed to a magelord possessing such power. Not to mention an estate in Vanador.”
Tamonial shook his head. “I am continuously impressed by your people,” he said, with a sigh. “Where mine would find security in unity and consensus, yours delights in individual action. Often to their doom.”
“It’s in our nature,” I said, repeating Astyral’s observation. “Let’s get back up to the gatehouse, shall we? We’ll have a better view from there.”
Indeed, as the first rays of the sun pierced the treetops, and the gurvani sappers began a determined attack, I conjured my hammer sigil overhead, in sight of all in the castle, as a sign for the warmagi to prepare. It seemed to puzzle the gurvani, as much as raise a cheer among the defenders. Then I had it disappear in a flash.
Moments later, warmagi began to emerge from posterns or descend the walls on rope ladders. There were some confused looks on the gurvani’s faces as the humani wizards didn’t stop to engage them, but pushed past, attacking only when they had to. Many were using warmagi augmentations to move twice as fast or more to avoid the goblins. Some used spells to aid in their stealth as they snuck past sentries. Some, like Wenek and his lads, gaily blasted and slashed their way across the battlefield. Some, like Caswallon, merely pushed their way through like they were in a crowded market. But all fifty charged across the field at once.
It was a confusing development to an army that was expecting arrows and rocks and common spells. Where our warmagi were forced to fight, at various points, some died in those battles. But most moved beyond the siege and went deep into the gurvani rear.
Cormoran, Tamonial and I fought back from our post in the gatehouse, where we handled the magical defenses for the siege. Goblins continued to rush in with ladders and grappling hooks, and a few were enterprising enough to make it to the top of the wall. But we had determined archers and arrows in abundance, and such breaches were quickly stopped.
They tried to build a barricade to shield them in front of the gatehouse, but Cormoran put Forge’s Fury to the test and blasted every effort with magic. I helped, when I was needed, but I mostly engaged in a long discussion with Tamonial about the specifics of siegecraft.
Just before noon, the first warmage returned from the field battered and bloodied but triumphant, and produced a pure green orb about two inches wide for my inspection. In twenty minutes, three more spheres were brought back to Forgemont by victorious warmagi.
Landrik didn’t seek a sphere; instead, he and Buroso sought out the head of the goblin’s tunnel and destroyed it, killing all who opposed them. And then, on their return trip, just to be assholes, they savaged the baggage train of the gurvani, destroying weeks’ worth of rations. Other warmagi returned empty-handed but not unsuccessful. Where they could, they had attacked strategic positions or laid defensive spellfields behind enemy lines. A few even planted simple constructs along the road to confound the gurvani advance.
In all, seven of the nine spheres were recovered, including those won by Wenek, Caswallon and Astyral, though we lost nearly twenty warmagi in the fight. Hundreds of goblins had been slain. More importantly, Drathmond’s magical corps had been hollowed out. And there were six new High Mages and Astryal, who added a second witchstone to his collection – and requested it be gifted to his bride.
Though battle-weary they wasted no time in attuning themselves to their powerful new stones after I took their oaths. They began testing their new powers on the goblin sappers in front of the gatehouse almost immediately, and with great enthusiasm. Tamonial was extremely helpful in teaching them how to access some of the simpler Alka Alon spells within, though he admitted his knowledge of the ancient sorcery was limited.
But there was no denying their potency. Astyral, himself, claimed at least a hundred goblins in just minutes using his new orb. Caswallon bathed in glory and power as he gleefully blasted a troll to bits with the device, giving a moving monologue while he did so.
I was planning a second sortie with Cormoran when Terleman reached me, mind-to-mind. I thought he was just looking for a status report, but his message was more urgent.
I need you to get your team to Iron Hill, now, he commanded. They need your attention immediately.
Why? I asked, confused. Iron Hill was better prepared and defended than Forgemont, and it had the thickest walls of any castle in the Magelaw. Nor was it far away from Forgemont.
Because about noon today, Iron Peg withdrew all of her people into the mines and shut the doors, Terleman explained. That’s about two-thirds of the garrison, there. That leaves maybe a thousand people, against five or six times that number of goblins.
Isn’t that enough to hold the walls? I asked.
It should be, he agreed, but not for long. Most of the castle’s stores are in those mines. And it may not be the only piece of Iron Peg’s duplicity. I’ve lost touch with all but one of the warmagi there. I have had other reports that have made me suspicious of her, especially since you revealed the existence of her family’s secret cavern.
What kind of reports? I demanded.
The kind that make me want to have one of my most powerful and insightful assets investigate and perhaps take charge of the situation, if the security of Iron Hill is compromised. Gather your men and depart for there at once.
How are things at Megelin? I asked, knowing Terleman would be brief.
We endure, he reported. Bendonal is an able commander, and the castle is well-constructed. How does Forgemont fare?
Not only is the foe discouraged and in disarray, we have six new High Magi and Astyral got another stone, I said, proudly, and explained Landrik’s plan and its results.
That is an intriguing strategy, Terleman admitted. Deploy them wisely. If things go poorly at Iron Hill, you may just need a safe place to retreat to.
I really didn’t like the sound of that at all.
Twenty-Two
Chapter Betrayal at Iron Hill
“Iron is Blood”
Motto of House Farradine of Iron Hill
From the Collection of Jannik the Rysh
The door to the mineshaft under Iron Hill was massive: twenty feet wide and fifteen feet tall, a bulwark of iron and wood designed to obstruct. The crest of Iron Hill was fastened over the lock, fashioned in – of course – wrought iron. The door, constructed in ages past, had been built to withstand the possibility of a battering ram or other forceful attack back when the lords of Iron Hill were more fearful of their feuding Wilderlord neighbors than anything else. It was thicker and stronger than the door to the castle’s gatehouse, and doubtless there were heavy iron portcullis beyond. The iron mine was the treasury of the otherwise impoverished domain, and it was guarded as such.
The door was rarely closed in peace time, due to the traffic into the mine, but since the advent of the war, the workshop area outside of the minehead had been cleared of tools and the door was made ready. It seemed a prudent thing to do, at the time. Should Iron Hill’s thick walls fall, the defenders could fall back into the mines and resist from there.
But Iron Peg had other ideas. Until such a situatio
n arose, she’d restricted the mines with guards, and ensured none but her own people were allowed in. Slowly, as the gurvani army approached, she sent her folk into the mines, one by one. Iron Peg made a big show of strutting around the wide battlements and encouraging the engineers manning the mangonels, she called praise to the archers, and generally called attention to herself . . . while her brothers, sons and nephews gathered her folk into the mine.
Iron Hill was a castle-within-a-castle. As formidable as the earthworks above were, the tunnels and shafts that ran throughout the hill were a second fortification. When Peg got the signal that her people were all within, she excused herself to the privy, gathered the last of her guards and locked the great door.
“Have you tried knocking?” Astyral asked, as we surveyed the problem.
“Repeatedly,” grunted the man who’d taken charge, a local Wilderlord knight named Sir Santhad, who led his small domain’s people to Iron Hill for safety. He seemed to be in charge.
“They don’t answer. I was about to knock with a battering ram when you wizards appeared out of thin air,” he added, accusingly. Apparently, the man was not informed that we were being summoned, and he spilled half a mug of ale down his chest when we popped out through the Ways. He thought he was under attack . . . until he recognized me. He’d been at the Wilderlands Council and knew me by sight.
Santhad was respected by his people as a good lord of a small domain, but his relations with his liege, Iron Peg, had been strained since before the invasion. When she’d raised her banners, he’d dutifully led his folk from their domain to Iron Hill Castle for protection and for service, but Iron Peg and her kin had not treated them kindly. Santhad’s militia were sent to the walls, while his common folk had been relegated to a camp next to the small foundry’s slag heap. Santhad had been given charge of the defense of the gatehouse and was the last of Peg’s vassals left outside of that great door.
It didn’t take the frustrated knight long to explain the situation to us. “My guess is that they feel safer down there and figure that they can come to terms with whoever is in charge, when the war is over,” Santhad suggested. “They were none too keen to be ruled by wizards before the war. Now they feel you lot has gotten us into this one.”
“They would be mistaken in that assumption,” I murmured, while I had Insight inspect the great door. There was only a bit of recent magic on it, the result of the Hesian Order’s spellwork. “And there is no hope in victory in this one without wizards.”
“That’s probably why they took all the wizard folk with them,” Santhad nodded.
“What?” I asked, startled. I’d assumed that they were on the walls, defending the castle.
“Aye, Iron Peg called most of them to her last night, in the mines. This morning, there weren’t hardly a wizard in sight,” he reflected. “Just that wizard who sent you the message. Not a one. Nor any of her folk. Must be a thousand of them, down there.”
I fumed as I stared at the door. That was not just cowardice, that was treachery.
“Terleman said there were over a score of warmagi here,” I said, as my ire rose. “Including five High Magi.”
“This does not bode well, Minalan,” Astyral said, frowning.
“If they do not stand to their oath to defend this keep, they will lose it. Along with a great many other things,” I said.
“Count Minalan does not cozen to craven rebels!” Caswallon assured everyone in the keep. “None who foreswear an oath to the Spellmonger shall profit by such perfidy!” Caswallon was generally angry at the idea of betrayal, particularly during a time of war. It put an especial intensity into his voice that was even more dramatic than his usual boundless enthusiasm.
“I suppose I should call for a battering ram, then,” Santhad sighed. “I’m having the smiths cobble one together—”
“Sir Santhad, Count Minalan has brought five wizards of great power with him,” Landrik explained, gently. “Any one of us could remove this door from impeding our progress in a dozen different ways. No mere door will bar his way.”
“We will use neither ram nor spell to destroy this door,” I finally decided, after a moment’s thought. “It is too valuable as a defense, should the castle be taken.”
“You plan to just walk through it then, my lord?” Santhad asked, skeptically.
“I will attend to Iron Peg and her brothers anon,” I promised, doing my best to control my temper. Destroying the door would be satisfying, but it was unwise to complicate things before I knew what was going on. “Firstly, I’m more concerned with the state of the keep . . . and the siege. If Peg and her kin think they are safe down there, then we can consider them safely kept, at the moment. I would not turn our backs to the foe to face the rebels. And if they have harmed any magefolk, they will face my justice in time.”
Santhad gave a last, longing look at the great door and sighed. “As you wish, my lord Count. As for the siege, we hold as well as could be wished, for the moment. They have bombarded us through the night with their engines, but most have had little effect on the walls or keep. I expect it’s their poor aim,” he opined. “The walls are well-manned, and our own engines return the courtesy. Few of the goblins have chanced within bowshot, alas,” he said, as he led me back toward the surface. My gentlemen followed me.
“The magical attacks have been relatively light, Count Minalan,” assured Corline, the Hesian Order adept who had escaped capture. “They seem to want to pummel us with missiles, instead of magic. Our wards are holding, but there has been little in the way of direct action.” She had been overseeing the mangonels on the battlements and was dressed in the same armor as her engineers, with no outward trappings that indicated her as a mage.
When news came to the battlements that the mines had been closed and the warmagi had been taken by Iron Peg, she’d used the Mirror Array to get a message to Terleman. Corline was extraordinarily level-headed, and her mangonels had continued to fire throughout the crisis.
“Who else is here, of rank?” I asked as we came out onto a broad, paved fighting platform near the gatehouse.
“There’s Captain Marus, of the Iron Band, leading a company of his fellows,” Santhad reported, “and Birthsister Anyala has taken charge of the civilians, but . . . well, once the wizards and the Wilderlords were gone, I guess I am the ranking noble of Iron Hill left above ground.”
I thought furiously, for a few moments, while I watched Corline’s crew of artillery men load and fire a mangonel at the line of gurvani trying to form on the other side of the wall. Iron Peg’s betrayal had all sorts of implications that I was not happy about. It indicated, among other things, the hand of our foe within our camp. And, perhaps, greater problems.
But the situation at hand required my immediate attention. “Bide,” I said to all those waiting, expectantly, for the Spellmonger to do something. I contacted Terleman, mind-to-mind.
What is it? he asked, a slight note of irritation in his mental voice.
Iron Hill has been betrayed, I explained, as concisely as I could. Iron Peg has, indeed, withdrawn her people into the mines. Worse, she’s taken nearly the entire Magical Corps captive. I think that there is a deeper plot at work. She would not have done this if she hadn’t had a plan.
What do you need from me? he asked. Megelin is being assailed, at the moment.
See if you can contact any of the High Magi mind-to-mind, I suggested. Scry out the mines, if you can. But I will take charge of the defense, here, for now.
Good, see to it, he said, dismissively, and was gone. I didn’t take offense at his brusque nature; when Terleman is commanding, he doesn’t spare words. Or even thoughts.
I opened my eyes. “I’ve informed the commander,” I announced. “Astyral, you and Caswallon take a sortie – the Iron Bandsmen, they can be relied upon – and capture the escape route from the mine. I’ll show you where it is on a magemap,” I promised. “I want Astyral to hold that escape route. I want Caswallon to lead a rescue party,” I
informed the big warmage. He seemed to grow an inch taller with the announcement of his mission. “Capture Iron Peg and her kin, if you can, to face the Count’s justice. Kill them if you must. But rescue the magi,” I ordered.
“Sir Santhad, I leave you in charge of the keep. Corline, pray continue your efforts on the engines. Buroso, take charge of the active defense at the gatehouse. Tamonial and Landrik, shore up the magical defenses and scry the disposition of the enemy. I want to meet with the birthsister and Captain Marus in ten minutes,” I decided. “In Iron Peg’s quarters. I expect there are things there that will help answer the riddle of her betrayal,” I predicted, grimly.
“I am not so certain, Count Minalan,” Santhad said, shaking his head. “She had moved her quarters into the mines before we arrived, and took most of her business in a chamber, there. I thought it odd, but . . . well, this is my first siege,” he confessed, guiltily.
I snorted. “This is my third, today. Don’t worry, a little magic may reveal things Iron Peg thought well-hidden. To your tasks,” I commanded. “We all have a lot of work to do . . . and that’s if the goblins leave us alone long enough.”
***
All afternoon I met with Sister Anyala to ascertain the condition of the refugees within the walls and with Captain Marus, who was happy to loan me fifty men from his company to secure the escape route with Astyral. A quick request to Terleman got me two more spare High Magi through the Ways, though he was loath to part with them, and Wenek and Cormoran had things under control at Forgemont well enough to loan me two more, including one with a new Alka Alon irionite sphere. By early evening, the defense of the castle was shored up before the inevitable nocturnal assault began.
Astyral and Caswallon, along with the two lads Wenek supplied, slipped out of a postern door with the Iron Bandsmen before the sun set and proceeded to skulk their way through the enemy line. As a distraction, Tamonial led a sortie of volunteers to attack a squad of hobgoblins who were using their crossbows to snipe at the gate. I watched with great interest as the Tera Alon warrior employed what he’d learned of humani warmagic . . . and improvised by mixing in Alka Alon magic when our sort would not serve. The few score of hobs were forced to withdraw back to their lines, leaving plenty of dead behind them.
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