by P D Ceanneir
Havoc’s heart raced. This must be the where the youthful Baron Telmar retrieved his grandfathers wooden sword all those years ago. Nostalgia enveloped him; a span of forty odd years separated him and another Pyromancer where they both stood in the same location.
‘By the gods!’ whispered Verkin as he crawled out of the hole behind Havoc, ‘you’ve done it, boss.’
Magnus and Little Kith cleared the rest of the debris away and helped Havoc as he attempted to move the heavy iron grill. It made a grating noise on the stone path as they pushed it to one side. The prince climbed out. Luckily, their exit sat hidden behind a statue of the My’thos god, Tri-nut that held up part of the opening to the library entrance, a statue of the My’thos god of stone, Arcun, was on the other side.
‘Verna. You little darling, we are home,’ said Magnus as he climbed out after Havoc.
‘It’s not our home yet,’ whispered Havoc in a commanding tone, ‘Verkin, come with us, Kith, stay here and wait for the others, we will keep in touch.’
‘Right boss, good luck,’ said Little Kith and smiled at Havoc as both men gripped wrists in a warrior’s handshake. The other two did the same then they followed the prince out of the courtyard entrance.
It was early morning. Half moonlight chased through the clouds as the trio crept quickly and quietly from the library. They used the shadows to hide themselves along the walls of the buildings. As they moved towards the Northgate, Havoc noticed there were some changes made in the palace grounds. Large stone barracks, built in the local yellow granite stone, now replaced the old wooden one, which Plysov’s army had burnt down when they invaded the citadel, and a new banqueting hall stood next to it.
The academy lawn was unrecognisable. White army tents now covered the once beautiful scene. High fences enclosed the area to the old training grounds and tilting lanes, which the Vallkytes now used as a corral fields for the cavalry horses. Havoc knew from his father’s spies that the rest of the Vallkyte and Nithi force were camped on Carras Isle.
All was quiet; some guards walked the walls of the citadel near the east gate, they were too far away from the princes group to see them. The trio passed the academy entrance without incident, they headed for the Northgate stables where Havoc had killed his cousin, Soujonn, during the Vallkyte invasion, but as they reached the stables they saw two Vallkyte soldiers entering with bags of grain for the officers’ horses.
The trio followed, creeping up behind the two soldiers and broke their necks before they had time to drop the sacks and draw swords. Havoc and Verkin changed into the guard’s uniforms. They hid the bodies in the straw and climbed the ladder to the hayloft.
‘Now we wait here,’ said Havoc, ‘and hope Plysov is spoiling for a fight.’
Chapter 21
The Battle of Aln Plain
The loud beating on the oak doors did not wake General Plysov; he was an early riser anyway and had just finished shaving his face and partly balding head when the knock on his apartment door sounded, loud and ominous. He walked quickly to the door in four long strides.
The pale faced, and obviously very nervous Senior-sergeant, flinched at the general’s dark frown when the door flew open. Plysov looked down his hooked nose at him.
‘Yes, what is it?’ snapped the general.
‘Begging your pardon sir, but Commander Zerkis sent me to fetch you. He tells me that the Roguns are massing on the northern edge of the plain.’
The generals frown disappeared, replaced by wide brown eyes. He hesitated for a few seconds letting the information sink in.
‘Excellent!’ was all he said with a slight smirk before he slammed the door in the sergeant’s face.
‘He used to be a young protégé of mine when I was instructor of battle tactics in Dulan-Tiss,’ said General Elkin to the king as they rode side by side at the head of the Rogun army. It was a bright day in late Augraniar 3031 YOA; though a chill autumnal wind blew in from the south to rustle the tall stalks of grass over the plain.
‘Who was that?’ Vanduke asked.
‘Plysov, he was good, never trained better. Never liked him though, cold hearted bastard he was.’
The king laughed and looked around him at his army. Infantry and spearmen marched together in ten box formations of four hundred each. Heavy cavalry flanked them on each side. Archers on foot and the famous Rogun Horsed Archers with their short composite bows and their white tabards over steel carapaces, formed up with the front line of Carras Knights, whose silver armour shone in the early morning dawn light. Their mounts, equally protected in mail armour over padded blankets, trotted forward in a tight line.
He raised his hand and the army halted just over three miles south of the Rattan Plateau. He turned to his Consul.
‘Now my friend, it’s up to you to draw out the poison thorn from the wounded city,’ said the king.
‘Let us hope Prince Havoc is in position, or this may be a short fight,’ said Ness Ri.
‘He will be my old friend,’ said the king with confidence, ‘He will be.’
Havoc watched through the silver clouds of the Muse Orrinn. Mirryn had an unbelievable knack of being close to him whenever he needed. Now she was sitting on a drainage spout in the shape of a winged gargoyle on a windswept section of the palaces southwest libraries fluted spire. At his command, she took wing and circled around the palace grounds. From her encompassing view of the citadel he saw a dark smudge to the north, obviously the Rogun army entering the northern part of the Aln Plain. He could just make out a lone rider gallop towards the citadels east gates. From the look of the riders white cloaked attire he knew it was Lord Ness. After a time, the Ri was allowed entry through the gates and escorted under armed guard to the main palace.
Lord Ness, being a member of the Ri Order, always gained admittance wherever he went by the laws of the land. As a Ri, and King Vanduke’s Consul, he had neutrality in any political or military conflict and, like all Ri’s, was seen as a peaceful ambassador.
Once Mirryn lost sight of Lord Ness as he entered the large double doors of the palace entrance, the prince closed the Orrinn and looked at Magnus and Verkin as they huddled together in the dark corner of hayloft.
‘He’s in. There’s no going back now,’ he said.
The stocky, blonde haired Commander Zerkis nearly choked on his wine, part of the red liquid dribbled down his stubbly chin. He slammed his goblet down onto the table that sat in the centre of the palace throne room, pushed his chair back and stood up, leaving his breakfast uneaten. Then he looked at Ness Ri in astonishment.
‘Surrender!? You want us to surrender the citadel to the Rogun king?’ he said. Plysov, sitting at the head of the table that sat at the far end of the richly decorated room, did not bat an eyelid as he continued to stare at the standing Ri. They offered wine to Lord Ness, which was the usual Vallkyte acceptance of safe passage for most people. The Ri showed his distain for such an offer by not even acknowledging the wine at all.
‘Yes commander, of course your army is free to leave through the Pander Pass, after you relinquish your weapons, banners, and standards,’ said the Ri in a level tone.
The commander clenched his fists while Plysov remained silent.
Deep booming laughter echoed from the dim lit corner of the room where the throne canopy and garlands of fine velvet curtains fringed the upper vaulted ceiling. Lord Ness was surprised that most of the riches within the palace remained intact, only a few of the larger portraits were missing from the entrance vestibule. The laughter came from a heavyset man with a baldhead; he had a golden feather tattooed on his scalp and a bushy black beard. He walked over to the table with another man, slightly shorter and sporting a silver feather tattoo similar in size to his companions, he had an old battle scar running along the side of his chin, which made his mouth jut out onto the other side.
Lord Ness had met the older one before, Mad–daimen, the other, he presumed due to similar looks, was his brother, Raimen.
‘The Ri in
sults us, General,’ said Mad-daimen as he stopped next to Plysov. The Nithi lord’s brother walked around the table towards the Ri looking him up and down. His beetled brow and dark eyes showed nothing but malice. Lord Ness knew the man was trying to be intimidating but he ignored such threats. ‘What makes you think we will give in to this proposal?’ asked Mad-daimen giving the Ri a yellowed toothy grin.
‘Your supplies are running low, you will receive no help from the destroyed fleet at Cosshead and the Rogun Navy are blockading the Sonoran supply lines.’ Lord Ness said levelly. He saw the general flinch as he mentioned Cosshead. ‘The Roguns hold the Pander Pass and Banferry,’ continued Lord Ness, ‘also, the Jertiani are watching the Southron Pass. You have three choices, stay here and starve. Or disarm, leave and live.’
‘And the third choice is?’ asked Plysov, though, he already knew the answer.
‘Go out and meet King Vanduke in open battle.’ Lord Ness’s smile brightened as the Nithi lords smile faded. The sound of a small blade drawn from a rusty scabbard filled the room. Lord Ness felt the edge of a dagger pressed against his throat.
‘Our answer will be your head, herald. Which we usually send back to your king,’ said Raimen’s voice close to the Ri’s ear. He heard Mad-daimen and Zerkis both laugh.
Lord Ness sighed; he slowly lifted his hand and placed a finger on the blade at his neck. The weapons wood and leather hilt heated up instantly, turning a bright red. The smell of burning flesh and steam wafted from Raimen’s hand as his palm melted to the hilt. The man screamed like a girl and tried to drop the blade. Liquefied fat and sizzling blood splattered onto the floor from the burn. As a further insult, Ness Ri flicked his hand and a blast of hardened air slammed into Raimen to send him spinning over to the other end of the room, yelling just as loud as the screaming gale, whereupon he slammed into a marble pillar and slumped to the floor.
Four guards by the main entrance rushed the Ri who ignored them and stood calmly watching the general with a raised eyebrow. Plysov lifted his hand to halt the men in mid stride.
‘One more step gentlemen and it will be your last!’ shouted Plysov as he stood from his chair, ‘a Ri can go anywhere because no one can stop them.’ He explained as he walked towards Lord Ness.
‘You are correct master Ri, my situation here is tentative at best. I do not wish to go to battle but the old orders from my king are clear “Destroy the Roguns” so my compliments to King Vanduke, I will meet him on the plain forthwith.’
‘I will go and give him the news general, good day to you,’ Lord Ness bowed towards Plysov and also to a disgruntled Mad-daimen. He turned and left without another word.
Havoc did not need Mirryn to know that the Vallkyte and Nithi army were on the move. An hour after Ness Ri rode from the west gates he saw soldiers forming up into marching columns.
‘Looks like they are going for it,’ said Magnus squinting through the gaps in the wooden walls of the loft.
The camping army on Carras Isle walked under the high arch below the royal apartment building; they flooded over the Two-way Bridge in their thousands. High sea waves crashed against the tall columns of the bridge a hundred feet below as they marched over it. However, moving the host of this size took time, the sun had not reached its zenith when the large double-doors of the east gate were opened and the serried ranks of Vallkytes and Nithi streamed out quickly and formed into long defensive lines allowing their colleagues to exit the citadel unhindered.
Plysov’s army was large in infantry and they alone outnumbered the Roguns two to one. What the general lacked in any great degree was cavalry. His number of horse was far less than that of King Vanduke’s. Nevertheless, he kept his small number of cavalry on his flanks and his archers there also for support. In this battle, he was going to rely on the sheer bulk of his infantry to smash the lines of Roguns.
‘Scares the crap out of me every time,’ said Elkin, ‘a larger army heading towards you.’
‘It’s not that bad, I’ve seen worse,’ sniffed the king.
Vanduke felt calm as he watched the distant army get closer. His reserves were numerous, half could be called to fight while the other half guarded the passes into the Sky Mountains, this was to stop the enemy leaving the battle field in either victory or defeat, and to give the Roguns a means of escape should anything go wrong. In addition, his reason for stopping close to the mountains was to draw Plysov away from the citadel and give Havoc time to do his part.
General Plysov had been less than cautious in his defence of the city; he had left eight hundred men. They staffed the battlements of the citadels great wall and watched their army march north to meet the Roguns. Havoc was elated to learn of the enemy numbers within the walls, but each man had bows and they had the advantage of height up on the palisades and archery towers.
‘Verkin, head back to Little Kith, bring out the Raiders while they are looking the other way. Inform, Mad-gellan, Mactan, and Felcon to take the east gate with their companies, Major Powyss and the rest will join Magnus and me at the north gate,’ said Havoc. Verkin acknowledged the prince with a nod and they parted. Havoc and his brother walked slowly towards the small guard hut at the north gate, hoping that their cloaks would not draw attention to them. Havoc wore the Vallkyte helmet and chest armour while Magnus stayed close behind his taller brother in order to hide from suspicious eyes. They could see men in the archery towers and the battlements; others on the ground moving carriages of replacement arrows and fresh water into position in case of a siege. Thankfully, no one paid them any attention.
‘We had better mingle with those men at the gate,’ said Magnus covering his green armour with his grey cloak, he put up his hood to cover his hair and face, ‘your disguise is good but they might rumble me.’
‘Go into the gate hut, it looks empty, you may find Vallkyte armour in there, I will stay by the gates,’ said Havoc.
Verkin ran all the way to the library staying close to the cover of the other buildings. He was just about to pass the ewe tree when a shout came from the library entrance.
‘You there soldier! Where are you going?’ said a thin Vallkyte sergeant. He had two other men beside him. ‘Commander Zerkis wants everyone to the walls.’
Verkin’s head started to pound again. It was a headache that just would not go away even with herbal medicine; he thought fast, ‘yes sarge, I’m here to make sure everyone is doing just that.’
‘Oh! And who sent you?’
‘Er, the commander himself, sarge,’ Verkin felt vulnerable under their gazes.
‘That’s strange, we’ve just seen the commander,’ said the sergeant squinting at Verkin, ‘I’ve never seen your face before, whose unit do you belong to?’
Verkin felt that the game was up. He saw the other two soldiers place their hands on their sword hilts.
‘Ah, bugger it!’ he said as he broke into a run, unsheathed his sword, and charged the small group. The fat sergeant was the only one surprised at Verkin’s charge, his face showed fear as Verkin shoulder butted him sending him sprawling. Verkin swung round knocking away a lunge from one opponent and defending against the other and he managed to bring his blade down on the other mans sword arm, sliced through the tendons at the wrist, thereby disarming him, but the first soldiers attack was furious as he was forced to back himself up to one of the cloisters arches. He defended repeatedly with his shorter sword, which gave him a disadvantage against his opponent’s longer one. Then suddenly, his opponent stiffened and fell to the ground with Gunach’s large double-headed axe in his back.
‘Do you want to make a little more racket!’ scolded the dwarf, ‘I’m sure General Plysov didn’t hear you.’
Powyss appeared behind the dwarf with several others. They dispatched the other two Vallkytes; more Raiders were coming out of the grating like rats fleeing a flooded sewer.
‘Where’s the prince?’ asked Powyss.
‘At the north gate, sir,’ said Verkin, ‘he wants you to attack now,’ he rubbed hi
s forehead and groaned.
‘Are you alright?’ asked Powyss.
‘I’m fine,’ Verkin growled at him through gritted teeth, ‘just a bad headache.’
The Rogun infantry brought shields to bear on the king’s order. The sound of them clashing together reverberated across the plain and the soldiers followed this with a loud hurrah and stood their ground. Hardened by years in the mountains they were ready for a fight.
King Vanduke had formed his army into a long curve with the Rattan on his right flank and the sprinkling of houses from Barnstown’s suburbs on his left. Beyond Barnstown, was the long thin crescent of the Aln Hills stretching to the west and effectively cutting off any enemy retreat unless they were to cut over the plain. The king placed four hundred men behind the town’s northern edge; they were to act as reserves and to stop any flanking move through the deserted Barnstown by Plysov.
The Vallkyte and Nithi host kicked up dust from the dry grassland as they marched onwards. Nithi warriors formed the front line; they looked like a dense thicket of spear and axe’s. Mad-daimen marched with them on their right, his brother, with a thickly bandaged hand, on the left. He had moved them at a jog a good distance apart from the Vallkyte host and closer to the Roguns left flank. Vanduke felt he was wise to have Barnstown guarded; Mad-daimen looked to be attempting a flanking manoeuvre through the town.
Thankfully none of the guards paid Havoc any attention at the north gate they were more interested on the events slowly unfolding out on the plain. Vallkytes in the archery towers, that sat either side of the gate, narrated the events to those on the ground.