The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  Staring. At him.

  "Ah," said Audsley, adjusting his spectacles. "Um. Yes." He flexed his legs and jumped up.

  Up he flew, a good ten yards, turning slowly as he ascended so he could stare across the ranks. "Hello!" His voice echoed in the silence. "My name is Magister Audsley, and now that I have your attention, I – ah – command to you to listen!" Redundant, he cursed himself. Avoid redundancy! "Your, ah, Castle Laur has been, shall we say, taken! By force! You are all to lay down your arms! Or, well, you've seen what I can do, have you not?"

  He searched the faces of those closest to him. Slack-jawed, some nodded, others just stared. Nobody dropped their weapons.

  "I assure you, I am quite serious! There's more flame where that came from. In fact, that was just a little part of my power! Oh, yes, yes, indeed, I can unleash much, much more! If I wanted to, that is. I could melt the very stones!" Audsley found himself getting into the swing of it, and even adopted a fearsome scowl. "Blast down the towers! Send them shattering and falling upon your heads, each great block a fallen star dislodged from the heavens, knocked asunder by – well, never mind."

  Tóki stepped forward. "Drop your weapons! Now!" It was a vicious bark, his voice sharp and brooking no denial. Weapons slipped from nerveless fingers.

  Audsley decided to accentuate the command with a few bursts of flame, mere puffs that he sent in various directions as he spun. More weapons dropped to the dirt.

  Tóki growled out orders, and immediately his soldiers split into groups, rushing out to herd the guards into groups and move them toward the wall, away from their weapons.

  Audsley took a shuddering breath of exaltation. He'd done it! He'd really done it, shown them what he – well, his demons – were capable of!

  To your left!

  What happened next took place so quickly that Audsley could barely tease apart the sequence.

  A flare of urgency and appeal from the Aletheian demon. A flicker of fear, an awareness that he would not grasp the situation, the danger, in time. An understanding, a request and permission given, and Audsley's arm whipped up and to the left to unleash a gout of flame.

  An arrow cindered mid-flight. Audsley looked up to where the archer was standing: a young man, fierce-eyed and pale, his fellows shrinking back from him. He'd tried to kill him.

  You must kill him, said the Sigean monk gravely.

  I can't, said Audsley, staring with sick fascination into the young man's eyes. He had a high forehead, eyes close together, hair cut roughly short like a boy's. Eighteen?

  If you do not, you lose all authority, whispered the Aletheian. It must be done! Your lives depend on it!

  Audsley flew up slowly till he was level with the man. The people on the wall around him cleared out so that he stood alone. Why? Why did you do this? Why must I reward his bravery with death?

  But he knew. Deep in his gut, he knew that the young soldier had crossed a line. That every soul now was watching to see the expected consequence carried out.

  Unhurried, the man raised his bow and drew a second arrow. The arrow shook. He knew he was dead. Still, he nocked the second arrow and drew it back.

  "Oh, you poor, brave soul," Audsley whispered helplessly. "Forgive me."

  Tears shone in the archer's eyes, but he pulled till the fletches of the arrow were alongside his ear.

  Audsley couldn't breathe. He'd never killed a person before. Couldn't he let the archer go with a warning? Hadn't burning the arrow been enough?

  The archer inhaled, held his breath, then let the arrow go.

  Audsley brought up his hand and let loose a gout of flame. The arrow burned and disappeared in its center, then the fire rushed out and enveloped the young man. He screamed, the sound rising in agony before it was cut short. The force of the flames knocked him back between two crenellations, and he fell from view.

  Audsley cut the flames, hands shaking. He wanted to vomit. The archer's expression was branded into his soul. What bravery! And yet he was dead and charred, his life cut short by his demonic power. Oh, Ascendant, if you are still listening to my wicked soul, please, please grant that you man Ascension. Please reward him for his nobility!

  "Sin Caster!" The voice cut through the night, just as powerful as Tóki's roar. Surprised, shocked out of his misery, Audsley turned in mid-air to stare down at the keep steps. A man in resplendent armor had emerged, his plate a pure, enameled white, his cloak the deepest ivory. He was holding a helm molded into the face of an angel with a white horsehair crest under his arm; his own face was stern and surprisingly young, his blond hair cut close to the scalp.

  The Ascendant's Grace, Audsley realized with a shudder. The second purest and most holy man in the Empire.

  Audsley floated down. "I am no Sin Caster, your Grace."

  The man lifted his chin, nostrils flaring in anger and disdain. "I know evil when I see it."

  "As do I," Audsley said softly. He hung in the air above the steps, level with the Grace but fifteen yards away from him. "I've heard of your corruption."

  The Grace's eyes narrowed. "Coward. Striking at me and mine while my Virtues are away!"

  Audsley shrugged. "Cowardice or wisdom, I'll not quibble. Still, the time has come for you to pay for your sins. Where is Lord Laur?"

  A figure stepped out from the crowd behind the Grace, tall and saturnine, dressed hastily in fine robes and barefoot. A weak chin stopped him from being handsome, but he had the dark eyes, thick hair, and broad nose of a Kyferin. There was something inscrutable about him, a masterful sense of control, and he met Audsley's gaze with flat confidence. "You summon me as if I were a stable boy?"

  "Magister Audsley, my lord." Audsley gave a half-bow. "We've met before, though you might not recall."

  Laur frowned. "Audsley. Iskra's man. This is her doing."

  A new voice cut through the night. "It is."

  Strong, perilous and fair, it caused an ocean of heads to turn and stare at the postern gate. Lady Iskra strode forth, clad in white, surrounded by her Agerastian honor guard, a sword belted at her hips.

  "All mine. I have come for justice, Mertyn. And by the blood of my son, I shall not leave these walls before I have had it."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Iskra crouched at the base of Laur Castle's hill, enveloped in a fuligin cloak, one hand tented on the grass for balance, the other resting lightly on her thigh. She was poised as if at a starting line, prepared for a race, eyes locked on the distant postern gate, waiting for the signal that would indicate that the castle was theirs, that she could approach, that justice was in the offing.

  She'd lost track of Tóki's soldiers as they snaked their way up the hill, every buckle blackened, a writhing column that humped and crawled its way along right under the eyes of the sentries, a hundred strong but looking insignificant beneath the beetling mass of the castle. She'd waited, not thinking, not worrying, but simply intent, her world narrowed to a point, a single fleck of focus that was the postern door.

  Time passed. Seconds, minutes, or perhaps hours; she couldn't tell the difference. She existed in an eternal now, an eternal moment of breathless anticipation. Within that castle were the murderers of her son: her brother-in-law and the Ascendant's Grace. Two untouchable men. She closed her hand into a fist, clenching at mud and grass. Tonight she would prove them otherwise.

  Suddenly, violently, flames erupted from within the castle. Iskra stiffened, eyes going wide as she stared at the conflagration that rose like a fountain's plume of water into the air high above the castle's walls, and for one terrible second she thought a single dread word: dragon.

  A second later, the roar washed past her and her guards, a rumbling cacophony that was so unnatural she had to fight the urge to turn and run, to race away into the dark. She had to clench at the ground again as if it were a branch and hold firm. The flames rose higher and higher, searing the night sky, defying the heavens, then just as suddenly burnt out, their source cut off, leaving a final uncoiling ball that dark
ened to crimson and died.

  "By the Ascendant," growled one of her guards, shifting beside her like he too wanted to turn and run. "What the hell was that?"

  Understanding dawned. "Our magister," whispered Iskra. "Or, more accurately, the demons that ride him."

  The man hawked and spat.

  Cries and shouts filtered down through the distance, and then she saw the signal – two quick flashes near the postern gate. Her guards began to hustle up the hill, the other three Hrethings following her, the Agerastian Honor Guard a loose circle around them. Iskra's chest tightened as if bands of iron were being welded around her ribs, but she clenched her jaw and hurried alongside the others, her feet sinking into the loam, moving closer and closer till they reached the high wall and passed through the narrow portal.

  The scene inside the bailey was fragile and fraught with peril. Audsley was hovering in the air, gazing down upon a knot of knights and lords gathered at the head of the keep's stairs. Tóki's men had moved out to control the other guards, but despite the fiery display, Iskra could immediately tell that the situation was still precarious; a man in enameled white armor was standing defiantly in front of Audsley, a second moving to join him.

  Iskra's entire being coalesced into utter hatred. Mertyn Laur, the man who had usurped her rule of Kyferin Castle, had banished her and then sent men to murder her and her own.

  Laur was frowning at her magister. "Audsley. Iskra's man. This is her doing."

  Enough. More than enough. It was time for these men to learn the meaning of consequences.

  She pitched her voice to carry and strode forward. "It is." Hundreds of heads turned to regard her, but she ignored everyone but the Grace and Mertyn. "All mine. I have come for justice, Mertyn. And by the blood of my son, I shall not leave these walls before I have had it."

  Fear flickered through Mertyn's expression, but it was immediately masked beneath a veneer of disdain. "Iskra." He turned to the Grace as if they were sitting at a high table and she was approaching from the back of a hall. "You were correct. I should have killed her when I had the chance."

  Sublime rage scalded and scoured her from within. If only she had Audsley's power; if only she could unleash her fury in a great and cleansing wash of fire!

  She stopped at the base of the steps, her entire body trembling, and glared up at the two men. "I've taken Kyferin Castle, Mertyn. Jander Wyland is dead, but he killed Roddick before I could cut his throat."

  The words hit them like blows. Mertyn's eyes opened wide, while the Grace raised his chin, mouth narrowing to a hateful slit.

  Silence surrounded them all. Hundreds of armed men and women watched, riveted, from the tops of the walls and their base.

  The Grace recovered first. He was barely older than Kethe – in his early twenties – but steeped in an arrogance born of a life of privilege and worship. He stared down at her and smiled with a confidence that looked strange on his youthful features. "Then, your son's death rests on your head. Regrettable as it is, one should not play at war unless one is willing to suffer losses. Especially when you're so clearly on the side of evil."

  Mertyn nodded. "While I regret Roddick's death deeply, I agree with the Grace. Your attack was no doubt as treacherous and underhanded as this one. Your pain is nothing more than justice for your sins."

  "Is that so?" She understood in that moment how limited revenge was, how the actual act could never live up to the dream. There would be no sincere regret, no honest admission of their wrongdoings. No, men such as these were incapable of repenting, of understanding, of seeing events outside their own limited points of view. That was their true failing.

  "If this is an avalanche, then it is you who set the first pebble in motion, Mertyn. Your treachery. Your choosing to make my son a political tool. None of this would have happened without your betrayal. Did you think I would wait quietly for you to kill me? Did you honestly expect me to give up my son and accept death?"

  Mertyn smiled coldly. "I swore to you that I would treat Roddick as my own son, and indeed, I treated him with every courtesy. Wyland was a broken man. If I have made a mistake, it lies in having trusted him to oversee Kyferin Castle. I am sorry for your loss, Iskra, but I agree with the Grace. This tragedy is your doing."

  Iskra struggled to remain calm. "Because of you, my son is dead."

  "Both our sons are dead," he responded. "But you don't see me throwing a tantrum like a child. This is what happens when you vie for power, Iskra. If anything, my acceptance of these realities only proves that I am more suited to rule. Now, come. Let's speak of practicalities. You cannot hold my castle with your paltry force. You've made your point but overplayed your hand. The time has come to draw this farce to an end. I'll allow you a full retreat and a day's march to escape my wrath."

  Iskra laughed. To her great satisfaction, something in her mirth chilled Mertyn and silenced him. She put her hands on her hips and smiled. "Oh, you poor, stupid man. You think I want anything to do with Laur Castle?"

  Mertyn exchanged a confused glance with the Grace. "What are you talking about? We're at war. You've captured Kyferin, and now you clearly seek to seize Laur. Have you lost your wits, woman?"

  "No. I care nothing for Laur Castle or its soldiers. They are all free to go home as soon as I leave, as those who are loyal to you at Kyferin will be when I abandon it. I want nothing of your castles. I want nothing of your petty way of conducting war. I've come for one thing, Mertyn. I've come for your head."

  "Women," sneered Mertyn. "I made the mistake of thinking you a rational being. I see now how my error has brought about my downfall."

  Iskra stilled. Mertyn stood above her, hunched and resentful, looking both pathetic and defiant, sullen and petulant. The fire of her anger died inside her chest, and the urge to voice some cutting rejoinder died with it. There was no moral victory here. No besting of the man. There was only dragging herself down into the mud with him, a trading of insults that would change nothing. Mertyn was simply who he was: a bloody-minded, political beast of a man who cared nothing for others and lived his life according to rules set down from up on high.

  "Audsley," she said quietly.

  The magister looked down at her. "Now?"

  Iskra nodded.

  Audsley extended his hand and sent forth a brief gout of flame. It slammed against Mertyn's chest, knocking him back, searing his robes and charring his flesh. The lord fell onto his back, writhed, kicked his heels, made a horrific choking noise, then lay still.

  The Ascendant's Grace swallowed audibly as he stared down at the dead lord. Then, to his credit, he drew himself together and turned to glare at Iskra. "What may seem a victory to you, Lady Iskra, is but an invitation to be judged by the Ascendant. This murder and all your other perfidies will be revisited upon you a thousandfold when you die."

  "Perhaps," said Iskra, feeling weary and cold and sad and grim. "But this murder pales in comparison to the sins I am contemplating. You cannot grasp the scope of what I am about to attempt. I blamed Mertyn, you see, for Roddick's murder. Now I see he was a victim himself. A victim of this world, of his upbringing. A world that made his actions not only permissible, but admirable." She smiled tiredly up at the Grace. "The world you represent. A world, I might add, which I plan to destroy."

  The Grace drew himself up, but before he could speak, a guard from their far left let out a wild cry. "For the Ascendant! Defend his Grace!"

  And he led a wild charge forward.

  Audsley spun around, fire streaking from his palm and scorching a line in front of the feet of the dozen or so guards who had broken free of Tóki's cordon. "Enough! I will burn you where you stand if you take another step!"

  The Grace looked around the courtyard and raised his arms in supplication. "You heard the woman! She plans to destroy Ascendancy! This is your hour of glory! Will you not defend all that we hold dear?"

  "Shit," said Tóki.

  "For his Grace!" the same soldier screamed, and ran forward.

/>   Audsley grimaced and rained fire down upon the man and the band that followed him. For a second they were dark silhouettes within a curtain of crimson, and then they collapsed.

  "For his Grace!" The cry was taken up on all sides around them. "For his Grace!"

  "Lady Iskra," said Tóki. "We have to leave. Now."

  The Ascendant's Grace was grinning wolfishly at her. "You thought me but a man? No, I am a symbol carved into the heart of every man, woman and child in this empire." He turned again to the hesitating ranks teeming along the walls, surging fitfully toward their weapons, only to fall back when menaced by Tóki's soldiers. "Now, my children! For the Ascendant! For the glory of your souls! All who die tonight shall Ascend, this I swear!"

  "Please stop!" Audsley's voice was nearly a wail. "No, you there – stop!"

  Fire washed down and engulfed a second group that had begun to run forward. Screams filled the air.

  "Iskra!" Tóki took her by the elbow. "We have to go!" Then he paused, looking past her and up the steps. "But first –" He pulled out his dagger with lethal intent.

  The Grace took a step back. "Do you know who I am?"

  "I'm a Hrething," growled Tóki. "You're nothing to me." Then he hurled his dagger at the man, grunting with the force of his overhand throw. The blade reappeared a second later in the Grace's throat.

  Everybody stilled.

  The Grace staggered back, hands scrabbling at his neck. He pulled the dagger free, and blood geysered out, spraying over the steps. He swayed, trying to speak, then his legs gave way and he collapsed.

  "All right," said Tóki, voice tight. "Now it's time to go."

  The knights who had stood clustered around the Grace stared down at the dead man, then looked up in shock. A heavyset older man raised his blade. "For the White Gate! For the Ascendant! Charge!"

  Iskra ran.

  Screams of outrage echoed around her. The thin thread holding back the soldiers snapped. They poured ahead, engulfing Tóki's soldiers, tearing them down and racing toward Iskra and Tóki.