by Doug Niles
“Why did you come?” asked the duchess, turning to him suddenly. “It cannot have been easy to get here—I know about the magic shield raised by the Cleft Spires. And couldn’t you do more to help us by being with your army, and riding at its head?”
Taken aback, Jaymes pondered before replying. “Whatever did this to your city, it’s a force that alters the balance of this war. This battle will be decisive. I needed to see this creature for myself, to formulate some kind of strategy to fight it.”
“What can you, one individual, do?” she demanded then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know how important it is to keep up hope; it’s the only thing that keeps us going. But how can we muster any optimism in the face of this?”
She indicated the gap where the gatehouse had been, where the enemy was busy within Jaymes’s view. Under a screen of heavy shields rolled in on carts, dozens of ogres were hauling rocks away. They were building tall, wide barriers to either side, clearly clearing a path for an attack that would smash through the city streets at some point in the near future.
“We showered them with arrows on the first day,” Brianna explained with an edge of bitterness. “But we have only so many arrowheads, though the armorers’ smithies are working day and night to produce all that is necessary. We’ve been melting down pots and pans, shovels and plows. But we can’t maintain a constant barrage.”
“They’re very methodical about it, aren’t they?” Jaymes watched a team of ogres maneuver a shield forward, while a dozen others advanced, picked up the rocks strewn everywhere, and started to heave them to the sides. The rock barrier, as it rose continually higher, gave protection to the ogres, while funneling an attack into the city.
“I suppose this is just one of several routes of advance that are being prepared,” said Jaymes quietly, “and when they are ready, then he will once again release his elemental.”
“And what will happen to us then?”
“I have with me a tool, a magical tool. The wizard thinks it might allow me to understand something vital about this conjured giant. In any event, I think our goal must be to strike at those controlling the elemental. It will be waste of time to attack the elemental itself.”
“A waste of time,” murmured Brianna, frowning.
“But there is cause for hope. Imagine a vicious dog, restrained by chain and collar, clubbed by a brutish master. When freed, that dog can be counted on to turn on its master. Perhaps we can free the elemental to turn on its controllers.”
“My Lord Marshal,” the duchess said, smiling suddenly. As she took his arm her excitement was palpable. “You must tell me more about this vicious-dog strategy. And I’m certain you’re famished and tired. Please, let’s return to my palace—I will provide you and your companion with guest apartments and then ask you to join me for dinner.”
Moptop and Jaymes were shown to private rooms in the palace. The dinner invitation, it seemed clear, did not extend to the kender, and Moptop would have felt slighted if he didn’t feel the tug of more interesting temptations.
“You go ahead and have a boring dinner,” he told Jaymes cheerfully. “I’ve never been in a palace under siege before, and I’m going to have a look around this place.”
“Try to stay out of trouble,” the lord marshal counseled, not very optimistically. He took the time to wash some of the dust out of his hair and beard; then he surprised himself by deciding to shave, trimming his whiskers to some semblance of neatness. By the time he was finished, a servant girl had come to escort him to the dining room.
There were several other guests, including two noblemen, Lords Harbor and Martin, and Lord Martin’s son, Sir Maxwell, who was a Solamnic Auxiliary Mage—a Kingfisher. An empty chair had been placed at the table, in memoriam to a brave captain named Cedric Keflar. He had led the valiant but futile defense of the West Gate, paying with his life.
“He left behind three children and a wife who is terribly sick,” Brianna explained sadly. “And yet he did his duty by us all on that terrible day.”
“The Oath and the Measure compelled him, Your Grace,” said Sir Maxwell. “He was an inspiration to all of us who served under him.”
“Tell me,” Jaymes said, turning to the Kingfisher. “Have you found much use for your spells in withstanding this siege?”
The young man nodded seriously. “Not yet. But I have been marshalling my resources, and I have ideas for what may be helpful in the future, my lord.”
“Sir Maxwell has proved an excellent spy,” Brianna said. “He masks himself in all manner of sorcery and has become thoroughly familiar with Ankhar’s camp.”
“That is good,” acknowledged the lord marshal.
“Why is it taking so long for your army to come to our relief?” asked Lord Harbor. “We hear of victory after victory, yet these triumphs are remote to us, and so far as I know, your troops are still on the far side of the Vingaard.”
“Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think you do,” Jaymes replied.
Over a meager meal of bread, dry cheese, and thin soup—all of which was presented on elegant china and eaten with silver utensils—Jaymes shared information about the campaign to date. He outlined the ongoing plan for crossing the Vingaard.
“The three armies were to have launched this attack yesterday morning. By now the issue should have been resolved,” he declared, feeling a twinge of annoyance that he couldn’t claim to know what his army had accomplished during his absence.
“We will pray for the best, of course, and know that, if courage and ingenuity can prevail, your army will have crossed successfully,” said Sir Martin, offering a toast.
“I have seen the barricades and breastworks in the street,” Jaymes noted, awkwardly changing the subject. “How well are you prepared to stand against another attack?”
The duchess nodded at Lord Martin, who wore the tunic of a Sword Knight with the golden epaulets of a high-ranking officer. “Bartholomew, can you summarize our situation?” she prompted.
“Most of the wall, and the other two gatehouses, are still intact. But the destruction at the west gate has created a tremendous vulnerability, as you no doubt saw today. We have established command posts at inns, stables, and warehouses within the area of devastation and committed most of our reserves to holding those streets. But if the fire giant comes like before, I don’t know how we can expect to hold anywhere.”
That bleak assessment, all too realistic, cast a pall over the rest of the meal and conversation. But finally the food was eaten and the other guests departed. The duchess rose and indicated two soft chairs near the large, currently chilly, hearth.
“Please understand that your visit here has boosted morale,” she began, taking one of the chairs and gesturing him toward the other. “My morale, in any event. I’m pleased you have risked coming. And I am intrigued about this magical tool you speak of possessing. What more can you tell me about it? I pray it gives us a fighting chance.”
He shook his head ruefully. “It is not a weapon. At best, it will allow me only to learn certain things about this creature. I have to believe that this knowledge, this intelligence, will lead to a winning tactic. I can’t promise any more than that.”
The serving girl returned to the room, bringing a fresh bottle of red wine—a rare vintage that, Jaymes suspected, the duchess had been saving for a very long time.
“That will be all, Darcy,” the duchess said after the last plates of dinner had been carried away. “But you may leave the bottle.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the maid, curtsying politely then closing the door behind herself as she departed.
“So you were a friend of Dara Lorimar’s?” Jaymes asked, settling into the chair beside her.
“Yes, and of Selinda du Chagne’s. I come from Palanthas but spent summers on the plains. Lord Lorimar’s estate was a favorite refuge of mine, and I do remember seeing you back then, when you worked for the lord as his guard captain. Dara was a little bit in love with you, I think. I’
m beginning to understand why.”
“She was only a girl,” he said. His tone was cold, cutting off further inquiry. “And she died too soon to know anything about love.”
“You are a strange man,” Brianna rebuked him sharply. “Cold and frightening, but frightened in your own way, as well.” Then she smiled almost coyly. “Don’t you think I know that you killed my husband? That you stole the Jewels of Garnet from his wagon?”
He blinked, momentarily taken aback, before shrugging. “I didn’t come here to apologize. He deserved to die. And I needed the jewels—for Solamnia,” he replied.
“Yes,” she said tersely, “you are right. The duke did deserve to die. He was a coward, venal and greedy at heart. And he abandoned his city when his people needed him the most. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Of all the possible reactions, that is not what I expected to hear from you,” Jaymes allowed softly. “To be honest with you, I must tell you the rest of the story—the whole story. I killed your husband to punish him for a terrible crime. But, as it turns out, he didn’t commit that crime. Someone else did. Someone who remains free.”
“You killed him because you thought he killed Lord Lorimar?” asked Brianna, smiling thinly. “Yes, I heard that. But I know he didn’t have the courage for such a deed.”
“He had a reputation as a splendid swordsman; he’d faced men in duels to the death and always won. Except that last time, of course.”
“But he fought you because you challenged him; usually he was very careful to arrange his duels so that he couldn’t possibly lose.” She shrugged. “So he died for something he didn’t do, when there were many things he did do for which he deserved punishment. But enough of this talk—I don’t want to reminisce about my late husband.”
Jaymes looked at her with fresh, wondering eyes. She was indeed a rare woman.
The duchess leaned forward with the decanter and filled his glass with wine, rich and full and almost the color of blood. Then she added enough to her own so it, too, was full. She raised it to him, and he followed suit.
“You, my dear Lord Marshal, are just what this nation needs—if it’s ever going to be a nation again. You don’t lose your head in battle, and men seem to follow you, even die for you. Lots of men.” She smiled again. “And some women, too, I would dare to venture.”
He shrugged. “For the most part, I do things by myself. I act alone.”
“Tonight,” she said, sliding into his willing arms. “You will not be alone.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BATTLES ANEW
‘The Solamnics have crossed the river at the south ford—using a bridge made of pontoon boats—and have established a strong position on the east bank,” Captain Blackgaard reported. He was still covered with dust from his long ride but had wasted no time in reporting to Ankhar when he reached the army’s position outside Solanthus.
“Can they be pushed back into the river?” growled the army commander.
“Doubtful, my lord. Very doubtful,” reported the veteran officer and former Dark Knight. “At best, the goblins might be able to hold them for a few days. And Rib Chewer’s warg riders will harass them well as they advance. But there are now at least a thousand knights on this side of the river. They can go where they will, and I suspect they soon will be coming here.”
“This bridge—how did they build it so quickly?”
Blackgaard described the pontoon and plank operation, and Ankhar frowned, shaking his head. “Ingenious, I admit. And this ‘bridge’ was sturdy enough for armored knights to cross?”
“Indeed, lord. And they used magical concealment, a conjured fog, to slip it across without our men detecting their activity.”
“Huh! But it is clear they are acting with desperation,” the half-giant reflected. “They must have heard about our pet and the attack that has left Solanthus vulnerable. I wonder how they are able to obtain such information so soon. Well, no doubt about it, the elemental king has captured the full attention of the knighthood.”
“You are right, lord—they are desperate. The marshal threw his whole army at us in three great attacks. The Solamnics suffered heavy losses, but they seem determined to forge ahead.”
“All the more reason why we must smash the city now,” the half-giant concluded. He addressed several goblin runners who were standing by, waiting for orders. “Summon Bloodgutter, and that hob Spleenripper. Also Eaglebeak Archer. Bring the Thorn Knight and my mother to me as well. I will go to await them at my watchtower.”
Within a few moments, Ankhar’s key lieutenants had joined him on an observation hillock just out of bowshot range of the former West Gate. The half-giant stood on the earthen rampart, high above the level of the plain, his fists braced on his hips. He glared across the gap created by the elemental’s swath of destruction and studied the still-standing walls of Solanthus. The Cleft Spires rose from the center of the city, the twin monoliths outlined clearly as the morning sun rose from the horizon beyond the city.
The captain of the Lemish Ogres arrived, having followed a covered trench back from the ruins of the West Gate. “Have the attack paths been cleared?” Ankhar asked Bloodgutter, one of his most trusted captains, a cunning and savage warrior.
“Three routes are ready,” the captain replied. “Two more will be open by tomorrow.”
“We can’t wait until tomorrow. We attack today.”
“Yes, my lord,” the ogre replied, snorting aggressively. “We’re ready to kill.”
“I know that. Here is the plan. You will send a third of your troops up each attack route. Push past the human defenses and seize the buildings immediately inside the walls and the towers to either side.” He turned to another subcommander, one who had been part of his great horde ever since they had first descended from the Garnet Mountains some three years earlier. “Spleenripper, I want you to send a thousand hobs and gobs after each group of ogres. When you get into the city, spread out and drive the humans before you.”
Spleenripper cackled, gesturing to the ranks of brutish warriors already gathered behind the hillock. “We are already in position. Give the word, lord, and we will move!”
Ankhar nodded, turning to the captain of his goblin archers. “Eaglebeak, your companies must shower the humans on both sides of the gap with arrows. Shoot as fast as you can—don’t worry about using all your arrows. By tonight, we will be able to pick them up from the streets of Solanthus!” That worthy warrior, too, pledged his obedience.
Finally the half-giant turned to Laka and Hoarst. The Thorn Knight in his ash-gray cape stood there, listening stoically, while the old shaman, for her part, hopped back and forth on her feet. She barked with mirth as her stepson asked to see the small, delicate box. The rubies lining the cover and sides sparkled brightly in the midday sun.
“The king is ready, my lord—my son!” she crowed. “I will release him upon your command.”
“Good.” Ankhar looked at Hoarst, who nodded and pulled his cape back, just enough to reveal that he gripped the slender wand, the tool that barred the elemental from attacking them, ready in his right hand. The half-giant nodded, satisfied.
“Eaglebeak, assemble your archers. As soon as they launch the first volley, my mother will open the ruby box.”
The morning light heightened Brianna’s gaunt features, and as she blinked herself awake, Jaymes couldn’t help but see she was close to starvation. But she smiled at him, and warmth in her eyes softened her thin face and seemed to give life to her cheeks, her eyes, her lips. He had been propped up on an elbow, preparing to rise, but now he lay still, regarding her.
“You’re an admirable woman,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You didn’t deserve to suffer a man like Rathskell, and yet now you’re doing his job far better than he ever did. The people of Solanthus are fortunate.”
“I … I’m not usually like this,” she said, sitting up and demurely holding the blanket to conceal her nakedness. “But … I needed—”
“I needed something too,” the man replied, touching her cheek. “I understand and I’m glad that it happened.”
“So am I,” she said before abruptly popping out of bed with the blanket draped, toga style, around her. “Now you have to get out of here.” She glided to the wall and pushed on a panel, revealing a dark passage behind a door he had not noticed before. “This will take you back to your room—hurry,” she said.
Jaymes returned to his bedroom along the secret hallway. It was already past dawn, and he could hear the sounds of footsteps and dishes rattling in the kitchen, all proof that the ducal palace was astir. He dressed quickly and was slinging Giantsmiter in its heavy scabbard over his shoulder when someone knocked, rather insistently, at the door.
“Come in,” he barked, picking up one of his miniature crossbows, making sure the spring was cocked, ready to receive one of the lethal bolts into the firing groove.
A courier in golden epaulets, one of the officers who had been at dinner the previous evening, opened the door and bowed his head briefly. “Forgive the intrusion, my Lord Marshal, but there is activity in the enemy camp. The duchess has been informed as well. She suggests we observe from the tower nearest to the ruin, atop the city wall.”
“I’ll be right with you.” The lord marshal prepared his other crossbow and settled both of them in the straps at his belt. “Take me straight to the wall,” he said.
They proceeded at a trot past many of the defensive breastworks that had been set up in streets, at intersections. Jaymes glimpsed archers assembled atop flat-roofed buildings and a walled courtyard where a small company of armored knights had gathered, holding the reins of their horses. They arrived at the base of the city wall, where four Sword Knights stood guarding a small door. The four knights stepped aside to let the two men pass so they could head up the interior stairs.
A few moments later, Jaymes climbed, slightly breathless, onto the top of the tower nearest to the ruined gatehouse. He was rather surprised to find the duchess already there. Brianna looked at him in welcome, though he saw no trace of the soft familiarity that had been in her eyes when he left her. She gestured to the plain beyond the city.