“Blind with rage and consumed with revenge, Tāhūbād wanted his entire army to storm the fortress. His advisors counselled him against it. Their army had been pummelled by a plague of large desert locusts for two days. Their food provisions had been ravaged, their purple worms slaughtered and many siege engines confiscated. Their magic had been repelled, up to ten thousand slaves and soldiers and hundreds of horses crushed beyond recognition. Their naval fleet had been utterly destroyed without so much as a fight, and their leader blatantly insulted like no person had ever done since Tāhūbād proclaimed himself supreme Mugar overlord. Their confidence, not to mention their military capacity, had been severely undermined. It sat at an all time low. They needed to wait a while and re-arm. His advisors advised him to do just that.
“Despite this advice Tāhūbād ordered the storming of Bethendel. He fell like a rat into Moses’ well-set trap. Their insulting image and humiliating effigy worked more effectively than any magic; than any devious infiltration. Tāhūbād’s giant scorpions spearheaded a new charge, followed by horsemen, shamans and slaves carrying hundreds of scaling ladders, those that weren’t confiscated by Moses’ men. Rastamals flew ferociously forward, roaring in unison. The combined effect of such a terrifying sound on the battlements stunned all but the most battle-hardened defenders. It stunned lesser clerics and spellcasters and even half a dozen roc loaded with fiery boulders who turned in a large arc to retreat. This gave Mugar horsemen time to almost reach Bethendel’s walls without being harried by too many arrows or spells.
“Bethendel Fortress’s outer walls stood one hundred and fifty feet high. Every conceivable type of fortification ran along the entire length of its walls which were built into the sheer, jagged mountains on both sides, extending from Octopus Bay to Coral Sea either side of Sandboot Peninsula, impossible to climb and impossible to pass. Towers rose another thirty yards higher, spaced every sixty feet. Massive iron doors were preceded by a gigantic drawbridge before which stood a heavy iron portcullis. On either side on the massive iron doors stood towers filled with murderholes and battlemented platforms jutting out where boiling oil and heavy rocks could be dropped onto attackers.
“Moses stood resolute on the battlements, visible to his men, undaunted by these horrific rastamal roars. As ladders, battering rams and scorpions prepared their onslaught, Raysal-El-Hin’s druids, clerics and spellcasters unleashed their spells, incantations and conjurings designed to inflict maximum damage.
“Cloud kill!” roared a high priest of Raysal-El-Hin. A massive white cloud formed quickly across a large space which included a rampaging rastamal. Instantly invaders clutched throats, coughing horribly, screaming in fear before writhing in the agonising throes of death. The rastamal wasn’t killed, but it fell from the sky, vomiting violently. Two giant scorpions halted, quivering. They flipped onto their backs. One died. The other shook convulsively.
“Vortex!” cried a Bethendel priest, extending his staff outward. A loud whirring sound preceded a mighty wind, circling faster and faster, growing wider and wider, getting more and more powerful, till it sucked into its crushing, tumbling power slaves, ladders, soldiers, horses and scorpions; even a rastamal fell victim to its thunderous circulating winds. Everyone was thrown helplessly, mercilessly and continuously into one another till every bone was shattered and every body smashed to a pulp. The vortex swept the ground before it and rose more than three hundred feet high.
“Lightning strike!” A bolt of lightning from a wizard’s wand shot directly into the thorax of a giant scorpion, lighting its body up like a firefly despite bright sunlight. It sizzled and crackled loudly, its sting and pincers falling off. The bolt blistered all five men riding it into charred corpses.
“Mugar shamans retaliated with their own spells. A huge fireball sped directly for protected battlements above the portcullis. A loud explosion shattered stonework. Boiling cauldrons of oil and piles of rocks, not to mention the battlement wall itself, exploded outwards in every direction. Twenty Raysal defenders were incinerated on the spot.
“Other fireballs and destructive spells exploded against walls, inflicting severe damage. A battering ram appeared out of thin air, its ram-shaped head thudding again and again against the massive iron portcullis and the doors behind it, bending bars dangerously with each magical sweep of the ram. Archers fell from battlements with each thunderous impact. More archers fell victim to enemy spells. Others ran from battlements, confused. Yet others surrendered their weapons.
“More roc returned to drop their fiery boulders onto the invaders. Each thunderous boulder wrought maximum damaging, claiming at least a dozen lives as the enemy charged shoulder to shoulder. They had nowhere to hide when they saw doom descending from above. Bethendel’s archers unleashed a rain of death. Thousands of arrows found their mark.
“Still they advanced. Ladders extended to the tops of battlement walls and ramparts, magically held in place. Defending spellcasters broke these spells wherever they could. Nonetheless, climbers braved arrows and spells, rocks and oil. Many fell to their death. But their sheer weight of numbers saw more and more ladders positioned along the walls.
“Many eventually succeeded in getting to the battlements, engaging in hand-to-hand combat with defenders. Here’s where rastamals did most damage. Flying low and fast, weaving in and out, they targeted spellcasters, clerics and druids, their tail flailing this way and that, sending many to their death. They gouged and slashed with front and hind claws and snapped with deadly bite. Often they charged with lethal horns. Their thick scales defended them from most arrows or blows. Champion fighters confronted the rastamals, killing some and driving others back. Roc dropped their fiery boulders on ladders, destroying one after another.
“Moses ordered his spellcasters to defend, block, dispel or neutralise shaman spells while his archers loosed wave upon wave of whistling arrows into enemy ranks. Invaders fell in droves. The slaughter was immense til Mugar commanders received word from Tāhūbād to retreat, which they immediately did.
“Tāhūbāds’s humiliation was complete. His army suffered losses at a rate of fifty Mugars to one Raysal defender. Even worse, his insulting image lay practically unscathed across the fortress wall, in plain and provocative view of his entire army. His effigy, by contrast, was the first thing Tāhūbād commanded his generals to destroy.
“Tāhūbād fell into a frenzy. Not only were his losses so numerous, but that forhan Moses had the vile audacity to have him almost assassinated by his own guards. Their poison was so powerful his clerics could not completely heal him. His right arm hung limply at his side, wrapped in a sling. His skin around the affected area periodically changed colour. It also crawled, giving him the sensation of a thousand ants running around inside his arm. Frustration drove him into frequent fits of rage.
“He sent messengers to Gestal, Gurah and Lalus, doubling his army, Gurah’s force never arrived. More enemy warships sailed to Octopus Bay. Galleys weighed anchor outside Rayham Fortress, their narrow hulls allowing them safe passage through the treacherous coral reef. They waited far from shore to avoid roc sorties. Siege engines were brought in from surrounding regions and modified for galley use. On land they gathered more giant scorpions and other monsters.
“After two weeks fresh troops and ships arrived. Mugars made final preparations for another onslaught. By this time warships of the Central Alliance had rounded Cape Dread and were moving speedily toward Rayham Fortress.
“Earlier, after the failure of the initial Mugar advance, Mugar slaves were sent in horse drawn carts to reclaim the countless corpses and dead horses from the battlefield. They dumped bloodied corpses into the carts with gladness, happy to witness the lifeless bodies of so many of their cruel masters. Secretly they hoped for defeat. Perhaps they could escape if enough Mugars died.
“Those Mugar corpses that lay in piles along the walls were gathered up by roc and dropped onto Tāhūbād’s convalescing army, killing many more unsuspecting soldiers resting
in tents. This added insult to injury. Giant scorpions and purple worms were left to rot on the battleground, a testament to Mugar defeat and humiliation.
“More significantly, before the second assault, Lord Aelred arrived on his mighty Pegasus, Silverwing. It was extraordinary to witness such inspiration from one mighty warrior.
“The long-awaited day finally arrived. Trumpets blew. Horns sounded. Cries of “Attack!” rang forth. From the south, Mugar galleys advanced by oar through treacherous coral for a landing outside Rayham Fortress, timing their attack with another advance by Mugar warships in Octopus Bay. In the north, Tāhūbād’s siege engines advanced. A combined, co-ordinated attack was under way.
“To cut a long story short, enemy warships in Octopus Bay were crushed by roc bombardment and giant octopi, as they were before, but this time they also had to contend with a naval battle against Central Alliance warships. Those enemy galleys dodging the treacherous coral reefs were confronted by galleys from Central Alliance and Lafarrhine. They rowed themselves into a deadly trap. Catapult bombardments from Rayham Fortress were relentless. Combined with roc bombardments and Storm! Spells by mighty Druids that blew their galleys into the jagged reefs, the enemy was decimated. Rayham Fortress remained unbreached.
“In the north, Tāhūbād’s armies once more laid siege to Bethendel Fortress. Specially-crafted siege engines combined with a much more strategic attack made battlement positions considerably more difficult for defenders. Moses led with spells and boulders from his roc. Rastamals roared and ravaged as before, but in the heat of battle Lord Aelred slayed one then two rastamal on Silverwing, instilling a sense of foreboding across Mugar armies that Moses’ men could feel in their bones.
“At the mere sight of Aelred flying forth, defenders’ spirits soared. He raced across siege engines with his glowing blue sword, Kalandahir, picking out leading shamans. He lanced them, then attacked one siege engine after another. Kalandahir slashed this way then that, cleaving off heads and slaying entire platforms. Other champions joined him, flying wherever engines or ladders made headway. They engaged ground forces, hacking off scorpion pincers before sinking lethal swords deep into their thoraxes. Silverwing thrust her wings with such power that ladders fell, bringing with them dozens of screaming Mugars who fell silent upon hitting the ground.
“Finally, the combined might of Raysal spellcasters and archers, roc bombardments and courage, not to mention the swordsmanship of champions like Aered and other paladins, drove invaders back. Unexpectedly Aelred ordered raising the portcullis and opening the drawbridge and iron doors, leading out Raysal’s cavalry to inflict as much damage on Tāhūbād’s retreating army as possible. Raysal horsemen cut down their opponents til their weapons almost fell from their arms with fatigue. Aelred and other paladins attacked rastamals and other monsters. Roc, too, led by Moses, bombarded the enemy till they were nothing but a rambling remnant of disorganised men.
“They captured thousands of Mugars who were forced to dig massive pits further north into enemy territory. Mugar corpses were thrown into them. Mugar slaves were released and sent home to their loved ones. Moses’ men gathered as many provisions, horses and goods as they could, including carts, chains, ropes, tents, weapons, artillery and all the loot they could find. The insulting canvas image flapping from battlement walls had been destroyed beyond recognition by Mugar shamans at Tāhūbād’s express orders. Further south around Rayham Fortress, Mugar sailors still alive were captured and sold into slavery, their galleys and warships commandeered by Central Alliance naval commanders.
“Victory celebrations resounded around Raysal-El-Hin for a week. Heroes were honoured and deeds of bravery recounted a thousand times. Banners were unfurled off Bethendel and Rayham Fortresses and from parapets, towers and palaces across Raysal-El-Hin.
“More completely than his armies, Tāhūbād’s pride had been destroyed. This was his third successive defeat, all decisive, firstly against Raja Shrinkath and the Steppes then two against Moses Al-Shaddai.
“His empire was shaken, brought to its knees one could say. Two Mugar nations, namely Gunnedah and Gurah, began trading relations with Raysal-El-Hin in secret. This amounted to an unspoken declaration of disloyalty to Tāhūbād. Both nations continued their subtle political movements toward independence. That was when Del Sayyid made clandestine contact with King Xertes which has subsequently developed into a highly secretive but fruitful relationship. Del Sayyid has become a fifth column within the Mugar Empire, an invaluable asset keeping King Xertes informed of Mugar intentions regarding war.”
Talarren fell silent. After another bout of magical spells on Gladron they headed for a meadow beside barley fields five leagues outside a large town. “We won’t be so conspicuous here,” Talarren said. “All the same, I prefer not to let others see Gladron. It’s a large town, but they don’t see too much myth and magic here. Put on your hood.”
Talarren tied Gladron to a tree, though she could easily escape if she wanted to. He left Esmay to hunt then led Razel to a farmhouse and rapped loudly on a decrepit front door. Presently a stout woman appeared with a large apron and a frown.
“Ma’am, I’d like to buy one of your sheep, if I may?”
She looked him up and down, afraid. His impressive sword hilt gleamed in its scabbard. “Roger,” she yelled. “Come quick.” A large red-headed man in his forties ambled from an adjoining room, as if about to berate his wife for another intrusion into his meal. His face blanched when he beheld Talarren and a hooded woman.
“This ‘ere gentleman wants to buy a sheep,” she said, stepping slowly backwards.
“No’ for sale, squire. Try two farms up on yer righ’. Finney has a ‘ole ‘erd of ‘em.”
Talarren procured his purse. “I’ll give you six silvers for your largest sheep.”
Roger and his wife stared at Talarren’s coins, an overly-generous price for a sheep. “Well o’ course, squire, why didn’t you say so sooner? Follow me.” He took the coins, then led Talarren around the farmhouse into an adjacent stable. A pungent odour of hay and plough horse greeted them. A baying donkey, a handful of sheep and two goats eyed them suspiciously. Roger pushed his way through and grabbed a bleating sheep.
They took it to Gladron. Talarren snapped its neck and let his mount feed hungrily. Esmay’s cry from above signalled that all was well.
“Let’s get ourselves something to eat in a local tavern,” Talarren suggested. “Remember, secrecy is our watchword. Others talk. We listen.”
They strode through busy streets. Farmers were returning back from town squares and markets with fresh produce and livestock. Children were being called in for supper. A beggar sat rattling a tin cup. Talarren tossed him two silvers. The skyline darkened. People shuffled indoors to warm fires.
A loud hum and chatter greeted them as they turned a corner. A large sign of a windmill hung from a freshly-painted tavern wall. “Winter Windmill. They must be doing well,” Talarren observed. “Let’s see what we can learn.”
They entered unobtrusively, or tried to. A large man with enormous forearms holding a pint of beer laid eyes on Razel. He followed her as she and Talarren found a table huddled into a corner, directly under a large lantern. The cosy tavern was decorated with ornaments lined up along a thin shelf running along the wall. Moose heads with enormous antlers stood sentinel under wooden rafters. Freshly painted shields hung from walls, crisscrossed with old swords.
“Nice tavern. Not as good as Appac’s.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting this Appac you keep mentioning,” Razel said. “He sounds intriguing.”
“Indeed he is. If you do, disregard his appearance. There’s far more underneath.”
“As there is with me,” Razel retorted.
The large forearmed man approached. Two others with an equally unfriendly bearing stood behind him. “Well met,” he said, his voice gruff and deep. He extended his hand to Talarren. “Is this your daughter?” His eyes rested on Razel with open ad
miration.
Razel giggled. Talarren glared at her. She checked herself immediately. Why did Talarren make her feel so immature sometimes? He could be such a spoilsport, she thought. “Why don’t you join us?” Talarren asked suddenly. The man signalled to his comrades to push off. His enormous hand grabbed a spare chair and placed it beside Razel.
“I’m Roger. This is my friend, Rosy,” Talarren said.
“What sort of friend?” the man asked in his gruff, deep voice.
“Why don’t you tell us your name?” Talarren asked.
“Onesimus,” the hulking man said. “I’m a man-at-arms for Lord Hathorne,” he added proudly.
Judging by the way he was dressed, Onesimus and his two comrades had earned themselves some leave and were looking for distraction in town. Overconfident. Cocky. Dangerous if drunk or insulted. Talarren needed to handle him carefully. He wanted to question locals without Razel present. She’d kick up a stink if she knew. He decided on a plan. She’d figure it out, but by then he’d have discovered what he wanted to know.
“Why don’t you get the lady a hearty supper while I get us some ale?” Talarren suggested. Onesimus’s eyes lit up like a magician’s fireworks. He raced off.
“Good work, Talarren,” she said. “I couldn’t bear that scoundrel one moment longer.”
“My name is Roger,” he corrected her. “I’m afraid you’ll need to suffer his company a while longer over dinner. Get as much information out of him as you can. He’ll talk more freely without me around. Understand?” Talarren said sternly. “And watch for pickpockets.”
Razel pouted, her beautiful face flawless as always. “I don’t like this.”
“Deal with it.”
Onesimus dumped a plateful of food on their table. “There’s a good lad,” Talarren said, winking at Razel. “I’ll get myself an ale.”
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