by Martin Ash
And hard on the heels of this torment came another. A lurking suspicion which, once its first seed had been planted, took root and flourished in the dark, seething morass of his mind: had Olmana transferred her affections to another?
Who could it be? One of his generals? It seemed improbable. Preposterous, in fact. Yet who else was there? Anzejarl took to scrutinizing with smouldering intensity all who came into his presence. He sought a betrayal, a giveaway glance, a smile, a favouring look by Olmana. But he detected none, which did nothing to dampen his suspicion but caused the acid furnace in his breast to burn with ever greater intensity.
In Olmana's eyes these days there were things he had never previously seen. Or had he simply never permitted himself to see? In his infatuation, his besotment, his lust and greed, had he made himself blind? Had the hardness, the scathing intensity, the sheer malevolence that was now so evident - had it always been there?
In the night his dreams remained filled with visions of her, transformed and hideous, operating upon him in nameless ways, holding over him a glowing crystal and chanting in some low and incomprehensible tongue. And they were not dreams! Not always. Olmana no longer kept her metamorphosis secret. She had let him see her in the flesh, in her other form. She had taken perverse delight in seeing him appalled and repelled. She played with him, and she turned him more and more against himself.
Woman, what are you?
Anzejarl considered the crystal. Through its agency Olmana bestowed and maintained the Gift. She kept it hidden from him. Were she to learn that he had uncovered her secret he believed she might not control her fury.
But was this rosy crystal the key to the power she held over him? Anzejarl weighed the question again and again. What if he held the crystal and she did not?
He could not risk such a manouevre just yet, for it was through the crystal and the Gift that he commanded the trolls and slooths, so vital to his conquest of Enchantment's Reach. But when Enchantment's Reach was his, when he no longer had need of his allies, perhaps then would be the time to test Olmana.
These thoughts he forced from the forefront of his mind as he concentrated upon drawing up final plans for the imminent assault upon the Greatest Prize.
ii
It was a cold, bleak and moonless night. Some hours after darkfall, from within the dense pall that covered the night sky, and the veil of softly falling snow, the slooths came. They brought with them payloads of oil and fire, followed by war-trolls and scores of elite Karai shock-troops.
Their initial objectives were three-fold: the citadel of Orbia and its barbican and gate, and the main gate and barbican of the city-castle itself.
As the first troops struck, coloured flares were simultaneously hurled over the walls by gigantic trebuchets brought close under the cover of darkness. And from somewhere on the cliffs below the sound of frantic, rhythmic drumming rose hauntingly into the night.
Unbeknown to Enchantment's Reach's defenders, within the drumbeats was a message. Combined with the flares it was the agreed upon signal to the leaders of the True Sept, alerting them to the long-anticipated turn of events, instructing them and their members to flood out from the burrows of Overlip. This was the time to rise in force and fury against King Leth and the army and government of Enchantment's Reach. This was the Great Battle, the time of the Chosen, the time to hinder and harass and disrupt, to spill the blood of the Unbelievers, shed the lives of the Godless and Unrighteous, to restore at last the True Faith and the Child of Legend, that the land might become again the domain of the One True God, the father of the Child. This was the time of the Unity.
*
Pader Luminis was at work at his desk in his newly-appointed chambers when the first reports were brought to him. Others followed with more details, almost by the minute. Fierce fighting had broken out within the Palace precincts. At least fifty trolls had been landed close to the gate, actually inside Orbia's walls. Others were outside, with numerous shock-troops in support. Further units were within Enchantment's Reach, battling for the main gate. Wave upon wave of Karai warriors was being transported in. Some were being landed on roofs, others managed to get directly down to the streets. The soldiers of Enchantment's Reach were putting up stalwart and heroic resistance, but were in many places hard-pressed to know from where the next attack would come.
Conflagrations raged throughout the city-castle. From outside Karai troops had rushed up the scarp and were storming the walls, taking advantage of the defenders' need to deal with the attackers within. Siege engines had been hurriedly brought into range to batter the defences with stones.
Then came word of fighting around the entrances to Overlip. The reports were confused, but there was little doubt in Pader Luminis's mind that his and King Leth's former suspicions were now confirmed. The True Sept had risen in alliance with the Karai and was fighting its way free of its rocky labyrinth with all the spirit and fervour that its fanatical command could summon. There were reports of Sept members deliberately flinging themselves upon the defenders' blades to allow their comrades to move in from behind them and hack down the defenders before their weapons could be drawn free.
It is the time, acknowledged Pader to himself, shaken. And I am not the man to meet it.
He could only place responsibility into the hands of his generals now. His was not a mind schooled in military matters. With his Crown advisors he had prepared for this day, knowing it must come sooner rather than later. Even so, this was sooner than anyone had anticipated.
Perhaps the first troll attack should have served as a warning. Certainly it had alerted Pader's generals to new possibilities. But even so, they had anticipated at least a couple of weeks more of night-raids and methodical, slow-intent attrition. What could have persuaded Anzejarl to attack so soon? Or had this really been his intention all along?
It mattered little. The fact was that the Karai were here, now, battling among them and storming the walls in overwhelming force. And for as long as they had slooths, more and more of them would be brought into the city.
Leth? Issul? Where are you? Can you help us now?
It was a desperate plea. The last remaining hope that, with Orbelon, Issul might have fulfilled her quest, have found the mysterious Soul of the Orb, freed Leth and their children, and be returning even now at the head of some new force capable of vanquishing the Karai.
Pader looked out into the cold night, saw the numerous bright fires that lit the city, heard distantly the sound of fighting through the silent tumbling snow, and wondered how, without such help, his troops could hope to survive this night.
The hours passed without let-up in the fighting. It became plain that, step by bloody, methodical and utterly-determined step, the Karai were gaining important strategic footholds throughout Enchantment's Reach. Chaos reigned about the ways to Overlip as the valiant defenders found themselves attacked on one front by the shrieking fanatics of the True Sept, and on another by the eerily silent warriors of the Karai. Under such onslaughts they were in many instances being beaten back, forced to yield more and more ground to the invaders.
Out of the black air the influx continued, and there was no way to stop it. More and more Karai, fresh and eager for the slaughter, were carried in to augment the forces that slowly chipped away at the defenders of Enchantment's Reach. For the government it was impossible to gauge a true picture of the struggle, as battles were being fought on so many fronts: in the streets and squares, in strategically important buildings, in the palace of Orbia itself. What was abundantly plain, however, was that the foe was not being contained.
The bloodiest and most relentless fighting took place in the vicinity of the two gates: of Orbia Palace and of Enchantment's Reach itself. But elsewhere units of defending troops were thrown into sudden disarray as, without warning, knots of apparently friendly citizens turned upon them viciously and with no quarter, revealing themselves to be True Sept members battling in support of the gem-eyed invaders and their monstrous allie
s.
At the huge arched gate and barbican of the city-castle the fighting took an ominous turn. Slooths, freed from the task of transporting troops, began supplementing the trolls and warriors who battled inside the walls, and the assault-troops, battering rams and engines that pounded the walls and gate from outside. Swooping and diving, the slooths sought areas of the ramparts that were not protected by the hastily erected defensive structures. Hapless soldiers were plucked from the parapets and flung shrieking into the dark and snowswept oblivion that was all that existed between them and the invisible forest floor thousands of feet below.
More: the slooths now attacked the new defences themselves. Massive wings beating, they grasped mesh and netting with their powerful claws and wrenched them wholesale from their moorings. Large gaps were rent upon the ramparts and roofs of towers, whole areas being stripped away, leaving the soldiers wide-open to attack from above. Under such pressure they were more hard-pressed than ever to deal with the Karai who now crowded the gate and rushed to the walls with scaling ladders out of the darkness. As the night wore on it became apparent that the barbican and gate, the vital stronghold that was the most important key to the city, was in real danger of being overrun.
A similar story began to unfold at the gate of Orbia Palace. Here, due to the high, densely-packed buildings close by on either side, and the more effective defensive structures, the slooths had a less easy task. Nevertheless, assault was diverse and relentless, and within the gate the war-trolls and Karai fought to occupy the approaches, thus preventing reinforcements from relieving the beleaguered forces manning the gatehouse itself.
The fighting continued without let-up through the night. In the snowy dark the Karai and their allies, with their superior vision, were distinctly advantaged. The winged slooths and large-footed trolls were also less affected by the ground which was becoming more and more slippery and hampering the movements of regular troops as the snow accumulated.
As dawn broke Pader Luminis, gazing from a window in the upper level of the Royal Palace, grew despondent. The extent of the Karai encroachments into the city-castle became plain. It was a strange scene that he gazed upon. The snow no longer fell, but a pure white cloth two inches deep lay upon the city, cladding roofs, walls and parapets. The picturesque tranquility of this scene was at odds with the ugly backdrop of fires and plumes of dark smoke curling high into the laden sky, and the sight here and there in the streets of exhausted men, beasts and Karai fighting for their lives.
Slooth-flights had ceased hours ago, in the dark hours, but it was evident that some hundreds of Karai and war-trolls had been transported over the walls, and had established strong, well-chosen footholds from which they were not going to be easily uprooted. Reports arriving virtually by the minute indicated that losses on both sides had been punishing, but in a number of locations the enemy had succeeded in gaining the upper hand, forcing the defenders of Enchantment's Reach to abandon several important positions.
At the high window Pader Luminis took off his spectacles and wiped the lenses, shaking his head and muttering to himself. 'This is a terrible day. A terrible, terrible day that I had hoped never to have to witness.'
Beside him stood Kol. He leaned upon a crutch. His right arm was in a splint and sling. His face was contused and swollen and a rigid frame had been set around his neck, preventing him from turning his head. His encounter with the war-troll in the Palace had left him with multiple injuries, lucky to have lived. Nevertheless he had insisted in rising from his bed. His features were pale, drawn tight and contorted with pain. He said, 'Do we have the capability to repulse them?'
Pader Luminis hesitated, then began, 'I fear--'
A lump rose involuntarily in his throat and choked off his words.
In the chamber behind them stood three of Enchantment's Reach's most senior knights, vexation etched into their features. Aides and messengers came and went, bringing hastily scrawled notes or verbal reports of the latest developments.
The hours passed and there was no let-up. Reports continued to indicate the worst. Sir Grenyard stepped up alongside Pader Luminis and said in a low voice, 'Lord Protector, we must consider contingency plans for your safety.'
'My safety?'
'We have to consider your removal to a place of safety, before it is too late.'
'What place of safety would that be?'
'It may just be possible to take you from Enchantment's Reach, while the enemy is distracted. Alternatively--'
Pader Luminis fixed him with a steely glare. 'Sir Grenyard, I am going nowhere. I wish to make this very plain. And should Prince Anzejarl ever succeed in breaking through our defences and entering our beloved Enchantment's Reach, then I, as Regent and Protector pro tem, shall be here to receive him, to discuss terms and conditions.'
Sir Grenyard stiffened. 'My lord--'
'Is that understood?'
'Quite, my lord.'
Pader inhaled a tremulous breath, and released it. 'Are you saying that the situation is now beyond hope?'
'It is - ahem! - it is only a matter of time, my lord. Without outside intervention we are doomed.'
*
The day wore on in its bloody and unalterable fashion. Snow came in flurries, ceased, fell again. The fighting showed no surcease. At last, with the first intimations of dusk beginning to gather about the heights of Enchantment's Reach one further message was brought to Pader Luminis. His heart sank as he read the fateful words: the outer gate and barbican of the city-castle had fallen. The full force of the Karai army was pouring into the city-castle. Prince Anzejarl had called for an unconditional surrender.
The day was lost.
iii
On his sleek jet stallion Prince Anzejarl sat tall and proud beneath the arch of the huge, battered main gate of Enchantment's Reach, surveying the massive barbican and the fabulous city towers beyond. Huge, lazy snowflakes drifted past his seamed white face, settling on his cloak, the shoulders of his black armour and his mount's long mane. He chewed on bitter ghinz and briefly savoured the rapture of a victory greater than any he had so far experienced.
Beside him was Olmana, the hood of her heavy winter cape thrown back. The lightest breeze played with loose strands of her lustrous, snow-specked red hair. She gripped her horse's reins tightly, her lips stretched in a tight, passionate smile and her startling green eyes lit with a triumphal blaze as she gazed towards the glittering marble towers of the Palace of Orbia.
She shifted slightly, then twisted in her saddle and looked back through the great gate into the slowly gathering murk that hung above the far forest below. Anzejarl noted the change in her expression. Her smile shrank; some new concern haunted her eyes. Anzejarl was conscious of the hidden currents passing behind her beautiful brow. She doubted. She questioned. What? He knew no details; she confided nothing. But her concern revolved around the mysterious Child that she sought. Quite recently something had changed. Though she strove not to show it, Olmana seemed confused. Something had come adrift.
Olmana grew aware of his gaze upon her. She turned back, a spasm of irritation flitting across her face.
'Do you sense the Child?' Anzejarl enquired softly.
Her lips twisted, her look conveying only displeasure and contempt. She said nothing.
All around them, lining the streets, were Karai warriors. In their thousands, silent and proud in victory and the knowledge of a task well-accomplished. Isolated skirmishes were still being fought here and there throughout the city-castle, but Anzejarl knew - as did the city's defenders - that the fall of the barbican and gate marked the end. The battle was won. To fight on was pointless and futile. It was obvious to all concerned that, once inside the city, the Karai could not be repulsed. Their numbers were overwhelming. Further fighting would result only in a tidal flow of blood and needless loss of life, with the eventual outcome never in question.
In acknowledgement of this, and in answer to the terms his herald had borne to the Palace of Orbia, word h
ad now arrived from the government of Enchantment's Reach. Capitulation was offered. The government demanded only Anzejarl's assurance and guarantee that there would be no slaughter, no reprisals or vindictive measures of any kind taken against the citizens or soldiery of Enchantment's Reach. The government and Crown of Enchantment's Reach recognized Prince Anzejarl as a descendant of a long and venerable line, an honourable and distinguished member of the Karai royal dynasty, a warrior and noble bound by the codes and strictures of his people. Hence the government, in soliciting his protection for the population of Enchantment's Reach, was prepared to accept the integrity of his word.
Strangely, although the document bore the Royal Seal it was signed not by King Leth but by his Lord Protector, Pader Luminis, a man of whom Anzejarl had only the vaguest knowledge. He had been a junior ambassador many years ago, on a diplomatic mission to Zhang. Nothing about him stood out in Anzejarl's memory.
The lack of Leth's signature set up a series of questions in Anzejarl's mind, but he had sent back word of his agreement nonetheless. The Greatest Prize was his. He could agree to anything, as he pleased. He was his own Law, and his word to an inferior species was of negligible account. Silently he damned their foolish human impertinence.
Moreover, decisions as to the precise nature of what happened next were not his. The thought grated as it rose into consciousness. He glanced narrowly aside again at Olmana. It was she who would decide the fate of the citizens and soldiery of Enchantment's Reach.
He spurred his horse into motion, beginning the journey up the long, snow-covered boulevard that led to the Palace of Orbia.
iv
Pader Luminis, torn and all but broken, grappled with his conscience as he waited in nervous anticipation with several members of the Crown Advisory Committee in the Hall of Wise Counsel. Had he made the right decision? Should he have fought on, even knowing there was no hope?