by Pedro Urvi
Lasgol bowed his head. “And unfortunately, mine with yours… now I understand…”
Komir picked up his sword and sheathed it. He seemed in a trance, beaten by circumstances, but by sheer power of will he stood tall.
“I’ve been searching for these answers for so long… without rest… days of pain and suffering. At last I’m getting the answers I longed for. After so many ordeals I’ve found out at last who is the one responsible for my parents’ death, for my torment.” He looked towards the end of the room, his gaze distant, his mind elsewhere. “I’m beginning to see clearly what I must do… to see which is my path…”
“If you’re thinking of confronting the Dark Lady, Komir, that’s madness. Listen to my words, you’ll die without a shadow of a doubt.” Yakumo warned him.
“That decision is mine, and mine alone. And it’s already made,” Komir said with such conviction in his voice that all knew what he would do.
And that decision by a young and tortured Norriel, at that significant moment, would mark the destiny of Tremia for many future generations. A moment of transcendent importance like no other in more than three thousand years. But neither the young man nor the group with him would ever be aware of that fact.
“It’s time to go, I already have the answers I’ve been after for so long,” said Komir, and holding his medallion with his hand he caused it to show them the hidden passage under the altar of the Lord of Air.
They went down to the chamber where the portal was to be found.
Kayti, seeing that Komir was lost in thought once again, explained to the others about the portal and how they had used it to travel across Tremia.
Sonea and Lindaro could barely contain their joy at the discovery and immediately applied themselves to inspecting it, studying every rune and inscription on the extraordinary Ilenian artifact.
Hartz shook his head as he watched the two scholars acting as if they had found the greatest treasure of the Universe.
“There’s no time for that,” he told them. “They’re waiting for us in Rilentor, the siege of the city is about to begin.”
“Just a moment, please! This artifact is a prodigy! We have to study it!” Sonea begged, her large eyes wide as saucers as she analyzed every detail in front of her.
Lindaro backed her up. “Yes, please, it’s an amazing discovery!” he said without even turning round, totally absorbed in the enigmatic object.
Komir was still lost in thought.
“This rune…” said Sonea, indicating one of those on the lower part of the ring. “Isn’t it the rune that symbolizes the Moon?”
Lindaro looked closer, his nose almost stuck to the wall.
“Hmmm… interesting… I’d say yes, it is… Almost certainly it’s the rune of the Moon.”
“Really interesting, I wonder what its meaning could be… Where will it lead to?” Sonea wondered aloud.
At that moment her medallion flashed and the runes began to shift in the ring, moving at great speed.
“Oh… oh…” Sonea said.
“No, no, no!” cried Kayti.
The three runes which marked the way back disappeared and were replaced by three others, with the Moon in the middle.
“What have you done?” cried Hartz. “Put the others back where they were!”
“Which ones were they?” Lindaro asked, his face red.
“There are hundreds of them, and you have to know the exact combination of the three,” Sonea said, blushing like a ripe tomato.
“Well, you should know!” Hartz said angrily.
Komir came back to reality from his dream-like state. “By the three goddesses, how on earth could you have moved the runes?”
Sonea tried to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened, it was the medallion…”
Yakumo stepped closer and placed his hands on the portal ring. He made use of one of his dark powers.
“It’s denying me access… You try, Lasgol, your Gift is more akin to this type of magic.”
Lasgol stood beside Yakumo and tried with his own power.
“It’s no good. It won’t allow me either.”
Iruki pointed to the three runes which marked the destination, at the top of the outer ring.
“Doesn’t anybody know the runes of the Temple of Ether?”
“Only Haradin has any idea of how to manage the portal,” Komir said.
“You try, Komir,” Hartz said. “Perhaps you can work it with your medallion,”
Komir held his medallion and concentrated, but nothing happened.
“No, I think it’s impossible without knowing the exact runes… at least that’s the feeling I’m getting. And now I have the Moon rune stuck in my head…”
“So what do we do now?” Hartz asked him.
They looked at each other. Nobody had any idea what to do.
“We can’t stay here,” Lasgol said.
“Sure, but we can’t go back to the surface either, the enemy is there waiting. Why don’t we cross it…?” Kayti asked nonchalantly. “There’s nothing to lose by seeing where it leads us, we might find a way out there.” She was trying to hide her interest, but she was eager to cross and find out what was on the other side of the portal. The mention of the Moon had caught her attention at once, since it was connected with her own mission. Besides, in that group things were not often coincidences.
“Then, we’ll cross it,” Hartz said, and without waiting for anybody he took his sword from his back and went in. “I’ll be waiting on the other side, wherever that is.” He beamed at Kayti and crossed over.
“I’m going with him,” Komir said, and followed him.
Kayti smiled and immediately went in after them.
The others crossed after a moment.
Under siege
For several days the Norghanian army punished Rilentor with their destructive siege weapons. Rocks and granite rained incessantly on the great wall. Giant missiles of pure rock crashed against the protective barrier, trying to find a weak spot that would collapse. But the structure remained strong. For the moment.
Gerart, above the great gate, watched the missiles crashing, destroying battlements and parapets. Great pieces of granite were flying in all directions. He was worried. This wall appeared as robust as that of the Fortress of the Half Moon, and there the wall had never broken, but this one was two hundred paces or so longer and oval in shape, almost circular. Would it hold? He was not at all sure. If it gave way they would be lost. The Norghanians would enter the city like a stream of savage death and destruction and there would be no way of stopping them; they outnumbered the defenders by at least four to one, and their infantry was superb. From where he stood, Gerart could see the men propping and reinforcing the areas most badly hit by the devastating enemy missiles. They worked with the renowned Rogdonian efficiency. Two sections were already showing signs that they could crumble if the relentless punishment continued, one to the east of the main gate and the other to west. It might not hold… he thought.
King Solin came up onto the gate, accompanied by Haradin and escorted by a dozen Royal Swords.
“My Lord Father…” said Gerart, and greeted him with a formal bow.
“They’re inflicting real damage on the wall. The wall of kings…” he said, looking at the points where the impacts had been most destructive.
“Will it hold?” Gerart asked with a slight tremor in his voice.
“This wall is robust and strong, like the people it defends. It has never yielded to the enemy. It will hold,” the King said with an authority which left no room for doubt.
Haradin smiled broadly, so that Gerart felt a certain relief.
“How many catapults and ballistae?” he asked as he looked to the north-east, beyond the Thunder and Snow armies, where the siege weapons had been set up.
“Close to a hundred.”
“And they’ve placed their whole army between us and their catapults.”
“They also have two giant s
iege towers, hidden in the forest,” said Haradin.
The King and Gerart looked at him in surprise.
“I have my informants…” said the King’s Battle Mage, with a grimace.
A huge granite missile passed over their heads and shattered against a house in the lower part of the city. Half the building collapsed into ruins with a deafening roar, raising a cloud of dust. Another followed, hitting another house and completely destroying it. Massive pieces of rock flew in all directions. Another blast of rock followed.
“They’re beginning to make serious inroads into the lower part of the city,” Gerart said.
“Yes, they’ll raze it to the ground,” his father replied. “It’s something I’ve seen before. They prepare the assault. When they take part of the wall they’re looking to get into the city, and they need to level the ground for their men.”
Gerart nodded in comprehension.
“Tell me, Haradin, can’t you unleash your devastating power on that sea of Norghanians?”
“Too far away, your Majesty. The Mages of Ice have told them where to stand so as to be out of reach of my power.”
“I see…” Solin said with a snort of resignation.
“But remember, your Majesty, the limitations of magic are universal. Their Ice Mages can’t reach us either.”
“Sooner or later they’ll advance, and in that moment I’ll be able to use my power against their hosts.”
“Yes,” Solin said uneasily, “but if they go on sending missile after missile they’ll flatten the lower city and the greater part of the wall.”
“There’s not much more we can do for the moment, your Majesty,” Haradin said, and bowed his head.
Solin looked at the sea of enemies in red and white which stretched at his feet, and then at the siege weapons beyond them, further away.
“We shall see…” the King said with his gaze fixed on the enemy.
Sumal was eating a meal of field rations beside the campfire. Night had fallen quickly over the plain and the stars were shining brightly. Surrounded by Norghanian soldiers, he was listening closely to everything being said around him. The spy was fascinated by the amount of information he could gather from the informal chitchat of the soldiers, particularly from the Quartermaster Sergeants. In the mere three days he had been infiltrated among the Norghanian troops he had been able to find out their exact number and distribution, their weak points, and any number of details of great strategic value for his master, the great Zecly. He smiled. Count Volgren had taken for granted that he would go back to his own people: a mistaken assumption. The work of a spy of his caliber had only just begun. Perfectly camouflaged in his attire as a Captain of the Snow Army, he already knew the composition of each of the three infantry armies, the officers in command, their orders, including the Invincible of the Ice who made up an independent fourth army, as secretive as it was fearsome.
To his right a group began to sing cheerful songs of the snow, and soon other groups joined them. If he had not been risking his life, Sumal would have felt almost comfortable among these rough but cheerful northerners.
Another quiet evening, he thought. He knew there was no order to attack for the infantry and that in the morning they would renew the punishment against the lower part of the besieged city. He had just relaxed, stretching his legs, when a strange sound reached his ears. He stood up and tried to locate it, like a hunting dog. It was coming from the forest, behind him. This unsettled him, and he went on staring into the darkness of the forest. The Norghanians did not seem to have noticed and were carrying on with their singing. Sumal walked towards the first trees and the sound became clearer. A dull beating, rhythmical, like a muffled drum. What was that sound?
Suddenly the guards stationed along the edge of the forest began to cry out in alarm.
“We’re under attack!”
“Look out!”
“Cavalry!”
And as if they had appeared out of the very night itself, Sumal watched in astonishment a charge by Rogdonian Lancers. The line of horsemen was almost as long as the forest itself. Sumal calculated there must be about four thousand Lancers at full gallop.
But this was senseless suicide!
There were thousands of infantry soldiers who would annihilate them. What madness was this? With eyes wide as saucers he watched the Lancers launch themselves against…
Against…
The siege weapons!
Sumal smiled. Very intelligent… and daring too. They attack the siege machines which happen to be poorly protected by the rearguard, and under cover of night. Where did these Lancers come from? And more important, will they succeed? I doubt it, it’s too risky.
In an instant the whole war camp was up in arms. The mixed army, in charge of the defense of the rearguard, mobilized against the attackers.
“Lancers, charge!” Kendas shouted as he led the centre.
He spurred his horse and launched himself against the astonished guards, who were giving the alarm in the form of chaotic cries. They ran them through with their spears and went on swiftly towards the catapults and ballistae. Kendas was well aware that they only had one chance. They had to take advantage of the surprise factor to gain their goal. If not, the mission would fail and they would all die.
The Norghanian soldiers were already running towards them with spears and pikes. They had no more than a moment at their disposal. Kendas reached a huge catapult, huger than anything the Lancer might have imagined. I hope it works… he thought as he emptied oil on to it from the enormous skin he carried on his back. When he had emptied the contents he looked left and then right to see his comrades following his example. He stood up on his stirrups and made out the line of siege machines. The Lancers were on them.
But time was running out, the defenders were almost on top of them.
Kendas put the war horn to his lips and sounded it three times.
A short time later, which seemed an eternity to Kendas, a hundred riders who had been hidden in a ravine appeared at a gallop. They were carrying burning torches.
“Quickly, quickly!” he urged as he saw the Norghanians arriving to defend the catapults.
Kendas looked at his men and did not stop to think twice.
“Charge! For Rogdon!” he ordered, knowing they had to stall the advance of the defenders for one crucial moment more.
The Lancers charged the first line of Norghanians, and the impact was brutal. The men of the snows fell under the war horses and deadly spears. But many Lancers too fell in the charge. When one fell he was surrounded by a crowd of enemies and hacked to pieces savagely.
But the brave sacrifice bore fruit.
The Lancers carrying torches reached the catapults and ballistae without being intercepted by the Norghanians. They threw the torches at the war machines and the fire spread throughout the whole line with unusual intensity, leaping from one machine to the next, since they had been set up close to one another to make the loading of missiles easier. In the blink of an eye the fire was consuming the machines amid flames that lit up thousands of Norghanians racing towards them amid savage howls.
“Retreat!” shouted Kendas, seeing himself surrounded by enemies.
He turned his mount, spurred it and galloped away as he sounded the retreat on his horn. The survivors followed him at once, leaving behind a trail of flames which lit up a sea of raging Norghanians.
While he was fleeing at full gallop, Kendas did a mental recount. He had lost about a third of his men, which saddened him. But he knew they had gained a small but deeply significant victory. Most of the enemy siege weapons would be destroyed. The Norghanians would not be able to put out the fire in time. Sacrifice was duty for the Lancers. He took one last glance behind him, and with a stab of pride saw the enormous glow of the flames amid the shouts and curses of the enemy.
“For Rogdon!” he cried, his spirits newly aroused.
On the wall of the capital Gerart gazed at that same glow in the distance.
“They did it!” he cried, full of pride and satisfaction.
“It’s too soon to be sure, but it looks as though they have,” King Solin said beside him. “An excellent plan, Urien. Once again you’ve served me well, beyond the expectations of your King.”
The old Royal Counselor bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
“Always at my King’s orders,” he said in a soft voice.
“Humble as ever,” Haradin said with a broad smile. “There’s no-one like Urien for coming up with a successful stratagem. You certainly have an exceptional mind, you old fox.”
“I’m just sorry we couldn’t destroy the two massive siege towers,” Urien said, bowing his head, “but they were placed too far apart from the catapults and ballistae. It was one or the other. The surprise factor was the key to the plan, there was no way we could destroy both targets. They’d all have been killed if they’d tried…”
“It was a master-stroke, Urien,” the King said. “When they send the towers we’ll deal with them. For the moment we’ve managed to delay the assault, and now we have a moment’s peace to reinforce what’s been damaged, and most of all, the men’s morale. This small victory fills me with satisfaction.”
But the King’s satisfaction did not last for long. At dawn on the sixth day, to the south, the great plain awoke filled with men in black and gold, proudly carrying banners which showed a radiant golden sun. Past midday, an army as big as the Norghanian one, if not bigger, took up its position until it filled the south as far as the eye could reach.