by JW Webb
“What news—do they attack?”
“In their thousands, Your Eminence; the city of tents ahead is nearly deserted.”
“Then it’s time we got moving,” said Pashel Akaz. He turned to the closest captain, recognising Kolo Muzen, despite the black chain covering his face from helm to chin. “Captain Muzen, spread the word. We march west through this gap, then on to victory. For Emperor and King!”
Kolo Muzen turned his horse then yelled warning. “Riders attacking!” An arrow struck his shield and another sank into his horse’s side causing the beast scream and throw the captain from his saddle. Arrows filled the sky as the enemy riders sped full pelt toward them. One lucky shaft found Pashel Akaz just below his shoulder pinning him to a wagon wheel. The general never knew who his killers were.
Within minutes the arrows had ceased, and the attackers wheeled their mounts and were speeding back toward the distant tents. Kolo Muzen rolled free from his dead horse. He saw Pashel Akaz lying skewered next to the wagon, and a great rage filled him. The barbarians had attacked them, and now they would pay.
“The general is dead! We must avenge Pashel Akaz!” The other captains joined in the call to arms, and within half an hour the entire Ptarni army marched northeast toward the granite city and the horde surrounding it.
***
Baley hefted a horn he carried and blew three long blasts, announcing the signal. From their hide, Wolves and Rorshai leaped into saddle and urged their beasts gallop full pelt into the Gap of Leeth, tearing through the enemy tents and slaying any living amongst them.
A mile north, Corin and Olen led the volunteers toward the horde surrounding Car Carranis. They got within arrow shot and loosed again, this time into the backs of the Leethmen. Northmen turned in shock and rage as their comrades pitched screaming to the dirt.
Word got through to King Haal that they were being attacked from the rear, but by that time Corin and company had re-joined Halfdan and the main Rorshai force, and were cutting west to distance themselves from both enemies, whilst drawing near to the city from the other side.
And so throughout that long day the miracle unfolded. Kolo Muzen led the Second Ptarnian Army crashing into the rear of King Haal’s horde, and during the course of that day both vast armies almost annihilated each other.
Almost.
Kolo Muzen averted disaster at the last minute, ordering the fifteen hundred men he had left retreat back into the grasslands, and King Haal and Dan Redhand led their surviving warriors crashing through the gates of Car Carranis. The city was breached, and evening had come.
***
Shallan slumped exhausted against the battlements. Yesterday had drained her physically and mentally, and today looked to be worse. And as dawn rose clear and bright she saw them lined up in their thousands for renewed attack. After Corvalian’s death, King Haal had abandoned all caution and now hurled everything at them.
Yesterday, the wooden siege towers had rolled and rattled against the walls, but Ralian’s archers had torched three with fire arrows after hurling oil down on the timbers, and a fourth had got stuck in a rut and remained there tilted at a jaunty angle, its occupants fled in fear of falling to their deaths. That was yesterday.
This morning brought more siege towers. Shallan counted ten. And there were other contraptions hauled by mules and nags and guided by thralls: ballistae, crudely constructed yet capable of wreaking huge damage on the city.
And then there were the warriors of Leeth. They had shot so many full of arrows yesterday and what difference had it made? The entire Gap of Leeth was filled with their snarling faces, and their roars and yells filled her ears. How long could they endure this?
Shallan had skewered at least thirty yesterday, her fingers bleeding and arms aching from working her bow. But the tide had kept coming until nightfall, when they finally slunk back like lolling hounds to their tents for more wenching and boozing, leaving Shallan and her companions gasping for air on the battlements.
And today looked like a longer one. Today, thought Shallan, King Haal is going to appear himself. And in an hour she was proved right. As the second wave of siege towers rumbled close and the ballistae took position, a score of horsemen rode free of the horde, among them the king and his son Daan Redhand—easily recognisable by their rich garb and lofty manner.
They reined in just short of bow shot as their countless foot warriors shuffled into line. Shallan watched as the king and his son seemed to be discussing something new. The younger man, Redhand, looked agitated and angry—a pleasant change from the confident arrogance he usually showed.
As Shallan watched, she saw the king waving his arms and pointing back through his army, and his angry son throwing his own arms up in hostile manner at his father, before turning his horse and riding back through his men. Shallan wished she knew what was going on down there.
A hand tugged her sleeve; she glanced down and saw little Sorrel standing there. “Hey sweetheart, what are you doing up here? I thought Zukei had given you chores to do. These walls aren’t safe.”
Sorrel snorted. “I’ve as much right to be up here as anyone else. We’re all going to die soon anyway, and I want to die fighting and not doing chores!” Sorrel stamped a foot but Shallan could see the sparkle of tears rimming her eyes.
“We are not going to die, sweetheart, that’s just foolish talk. These walls are strong and high, and those villains will realise they are wasting their time.”
Sorrel wasn’t convinced but she shifted her defiant stance and awarded Shallan her bravest smile. “Zukei says I’ll make a good fighter! She’s taught me how to throw stones with deadly accuracy and steal things from under peoples noses.”
Shallan raised a brow at that. She hadn’t seen Zukei this morning and suspected she was over at the north end of the wall, or else above the main barbican and gates where Barin and Ralian were stationed—that being the most vulnerable place and where Haal would most likes focus his attack.
“Zukei killed a hundred men yesterday.” Sorrel squinted up at Shallan’s bow. “How many did you kill, Duchess Shallan?”
“Not nearly as many as that. How did you know Zukei killed a hundred—did she tell you?”
“No, I counted.”
“You were up here yesterday?”
“I was.” Sorrel’s lip twitched.
Shallan shook her head. She didn’t like Sorrel being up here but what could she do? The girl was right: they were all going to die soon, so why shouldn’t she get a chance to fight too?
“Do me a favour, Sorrel. Go find Big Barin and tell him there’s something odd going on between the bad king and his son, and that his son has ridden off somewhere. Do you see where the bad king sits his horse over there?”
Sorrel nodded, “I’ve seen him lots of times, but he looks mad today. Madder than usual.”
“I think so too.”
“Why aren’t they attacking with those wooden towers like they did yesterday?”
“I don’t know.” Shallan was puzzled by the enemy who now seemed confused, and all among their ranks there was shuffling and coughing and such as though none amongst them knew what was going on. “Maybe the king is waiting for his son to return to tell him something?” Shallan suggested.
“That must be it.” Sorrel flashed her that brave grin and trotted cheerfully off to find Big Barin. Shallan watched the girl jog along the walls, dodging the archers stationed like the duchess at their various posts. She returned her attention to King Haal who still sat his horse in ill temper, his head craned back as though looking for something. And still no attack came.
Then she heard it—the distant clash of steel. Someone was fighting way out there. But who and where was impossible to tell. Shallan gazed far out across the Gap and thought she could see horsemen racing through the distant tents. Then she turned her gaze east and saw other warriors advancing on King Haal’s rear-guard.
What was happening? Could it be?
“Corin has come!” Shall
an said to her closest companion archer who shook his head, misunderstanding. “Everything is going to be all right now,” Shallan smiled at the other bowman, who gazed back at her askance as though she’d lost her mind.
“Corin is out there!” Shallan shouted down from the walls and men turned their heads all along the battlements. “And you are fucking dead!”
Shallan pointed at the distant king, who at that moment seemed to turn his head and gaze straight up at where she stood, though the distance assured it impossible for him to have heard her.
***
Hagan Delmorier watched the carnage unfold in The Gap of Leeth and blessed his decision to observe before engaging. He had told Rael Hakkenon he’d seek out King Haal and offer his sword and counsel, as Hagan believed he had more skill and tactics in his head than the entire horde below.
But when he’d arrived late last night, Hagan had the odd feeling something was afoot. Call it a hunch, but it kept him low and out of sight, his horse tied to a tree and his long limbs crouched on the rim of a high shelf looking north over the Gap from the shoulder of mighty Tolfallon.
It was chilly, but he’d brought food and he had his brandy flask, so Hagan was happy to watch from his secure hide that morning. And so it was he got the best seat at the show.
Hagan saw the Ptarnians first. He had no idea who they were, but there were a lot of the fuckers and they were well armed and seemed well trained too. Hagan shook his head in disbelief seeing this alien army march like lemmings crashing into the rear of King Haal’s delirious horde. He could hear the distant screams of men being hewn apart by pike, halberd, and spear. Hagan scratched his head and reached for the hunk of bread he’d stowed in his pocket.
“Give me that!”
Hagan rolled, pulled his longsword free of sheath and levelled it at the goblin perched close on a rock watching him with those evil red eyes.
“Where the fuck did you come from?” Hagan forgot his bread and Gribble dodged around his sword and snatched it up.
“Nothing to eat round here. Don’t fancy my chances down there until they’re all dead.”
“You spying on me again, goblin?” Hagan hadn’t forgotten how Gribble had given him and his men away to the Crimson Guard down in Cappel Cormac. It was a sore point.
“This isn’t about you, shithead; you’re no longer part of our team.”
“I’m glad of it.” Hagan turned his head to watch as the fighting thickened below. “Then at least be useful and tell me what the fuck is happening down there?”
“Bread’s not bad, but I don’t like the seeds,” Gribble complained but swallowed the husk whole. “Bit of a mess down there,” he added with his mouth full.
“You’re telling me.” Hagan reached for his spyglass and the goblin squatted down beside him as though they were old friends. “So who’s that other lot?”
“Ptarnians of course.”
“Ptarnians? What the fuck are they doing here?”
“Invading.” Gribble gave him a superior knowing look that didn’t work on Hagan.
“Ahh, so they are Caswallon’s back up in case Haal’s boys get out of hand—is that it?”
“No.” Gribble produced a weird expression that could have been a smile were it on a human face. “Mr Caswallon doesn’t know about them. Mr Caswallon doesn’t know about a lot of things. That lot serve my old boss.”
“Who’s that?” Suddenly Hagan saw riders wheeling and charging through the maze of tents. They looked like Rorshai but it was hard to tell from this distance.
“What the…?”
Hagan rammed his left eye into the cold crystal of his spyglass to get a better look, but it was no good, whoever the riders were they were moving too fast for him to catch their identity.
“You want to know who that lot is too?” Gribble showed his fangs again.
“Tell me.”
“That’s your friend down there and with him are his old gang and a host of Rorshai.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, goblin?”
“I flew over them at first light whilst they were preoccupied,” Gribble smirked. “I recognised him at once by his long nasty sword.”
“Who?”
“Corin an Fol stupid—who do you think?”
“What?” Hagan gaped at the goblin who licked his lips and hopped along the ridge.
“Going to take a chance,” Gribble muttered. “Enough dead down there to fill my belly until lunch; by then there’ll be a lot more. I love battles!”
Gribble flashed him an oily wink and promptly fell off the ridge, plummeting like a stone, then stretching his wings, he leveled and settled on the closest corpses by the tents far below. Hagan stared at the scene unfolding in disbelief; he could no longer see the riders, but he didn’t need to. Knowing Corin was down there changed everything.
Hagan stood, shook his cold body into action and untied his horse from the tree. Then slowly and carefully he led the beast back to the deer track and down to the timberline a hundred yards below.
Once there, he mounted and urged his beast follow a wider track leading down to the lowest flanks of Tolfallon’s toes. Hagan reached the Gap of Leeth and for the next half hour he warily guided his horse betwixt the maze of tents flanking the rear of King Haal’s army.
He found some food and beer and picked an artful place to await the outcome. Let the bastards kill each other, thought Hagan. Once it’s dark he would steal out from his latest hide and go find Corin an Fol. Hagan smiled for the first time that day.
Chapter 25
Whitestone Bridge
Wind rushing through her hair and icy chill stabbing her cheeks, again she is falling amid darkness and silence. Ariane lands soft as snowflakes on damp stone. A greyness spreads our before her, and now she is standing in a wood, dark trees sombre and silent all around her. Then she sees him and smiles—her father the king! A longsword in his right hand, his armour glinting and chiming softly in the gloom. He approaches that quiet place where she stands, his eyes hollow with sorrow.
“I am dreaming,” Ariane informs him. “I know,” King Nogel replies, his voice gallows grave and rusty. “And yet what are dreams and what reality? Depends on your perspective, daughter.”
“Look what I have,” Ariane smiles, and like a proud child holds the Tekara up for her father to see. He nods and bids her return it to the forest floor where they are standing.
“But father!” Ariane’s face is troubled and she can no longer see him properly. “This shall be our salvation. Father?” She has lost him in the gloom. She looks around, eyes wide, then at last sees his shadow swaying slightly on the edge of her vision. “Where is this place?” Ariana asks her father.
“The endless wood,” his voice barely reaches her. “A lost corner of Limbo. Here I must wander awaiting the outcome. There are others you know hereabouts. All of us are waiting for this the final dance.”
“What must I do?” Ariane spoke to his shadow and the wind answered with his voice, dark and distant.
“Ride out fast ere morrow’s dawn! Take the fight to the enemy and crown to the Glass Throne. Only there can it stall the evil that is coming.”
“Father! That evil is all around us! Caswallon’s web closes tighter and his army surrounds our walls.”
“And yet worse is to come. Far worse. You must be valiant, my daughter, and you must have faith. The Goddess needs you as much as you need her. They too are in deep—the old gods. The Darkest One returns! We shades shiver as His shadow musters huge within the halls of Yffarn.”
“But what can I do?”
“Take the crown to the throne; then shall the king return to claim it.”
“But there is no king! The line was shattered alongside the crown, and though that’s made whole again there is no one at present to wear it. Father, please help me, I know not what to do!”
But her father’s shade has gone and only echoes and whispers remain.
Father…I miss you so!
A stirri
ng amid branches. Ariane feels the soft ground melt beneath her feet. She cries out as the heavy loam swallowes her up, smothering her and choking her breath. She tries to scream, but her voice is muffled and seems to come from a long way away.
Blackness buries her, and Ariane knows she is dying in this dream.
She steels herself. This is the Dreaming.
A message—I must listen! I must learn!
Deep inside the intangible encasing her, Ariane she sees something take shape. A black needle, sharp and long, and so obsidian it renders the void surrounding to dismal grey. Golganak…
A new voice reaches her from somewhere close. A voice that carries authority, wisdom, and power, and Ariane feels the smothering loamy taste of soil fade from her mouth. She lives yet, and gazing out into the black sees a face she knows.
Zallerak?
He is with her in that darkest place. Tall and golden, proud and stern. In his arms Zallerak grips the shaft of the spear, tugging at it and struggling to wrench it from someone she cannot see.
“Ariane!” Zallerak’s strained tones echo across to her. “I cannot hold this…He is too strong! Save the crown and find the king—you know where he’ll be!”
“I do not!” Ariane tries to move but her limbs are leaden and she can see the anguish writhing in Zallerak’s face.
“Ride north,” he chokes. “Kelthara is the key!” Then his face falls away like chalk dust, and after that the screaming starts.
“Ah, it begins. I understand at last! The dragon has…”
Dark wings thunder above and golden eyes mock her until Ariane’s screams have her maids rushing into her room.
***
Ariane woke with a jolt that sent her crashing from her bed. She sprawled naked on the floor, head throbbing and legs akimbo, as her three maids showed their worried faces.
“Go! Come back with tea and cheese and bread. And a pickle. I need to think!” Ariane briskly waved them away. Time to get moving; she had slept way too long. Ariane wiped her eyes free of sleep and swung the drapes wide. “In a mug,” she yelled at the last departing maid. “I need it on the go!” The Dreaming had been vivid, and her mind was still full of it. She needed to act decisively and swiftly. But first she needed that tea.