CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!
As Julia slumped into Brian’s arms, the screams rose around her, pummelling her down into the dark without mercy. She would never stop hearing them. The tower was groaning and shaking. It was falling, or was it her?
She was falling, falling forever—
Darkness.
* * *
Purcell of Elvissa, Lord Protector of the East stared up into the sky and frowned. He thought he’d heard thunder just then, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He and his men were just a candlemark out from Athione and they could see the fortress, but it was too far yet to make out the banner. The fortress was like a huge stopper in a bottle keeping the Protectorate on its own side of the mountains. He was sure it had not fallen, and would not now that he was here. At least, that’s what Purcell told himself.
The men were tired, but he decided to push on. Keverin had a notoriously good wine cellar, and he was looking forward to relieving him of some of it. Days of marching had done wonders for his appetite. Why, he must have lost ten pounds or more! So, it was with the expectation of a warm welcome that Purcell arrived before the east gates of the fortress. They were shut tight of course. He would have done the same in Keverin’s position, but he was puzzled when he found no activity to indicate the defenders were going to open them.
“Ho the gate! Open,” Purcell shouted.
“Who are ye?”
Purcell was speechless. What kind of idiot did Keverin use for a gatekeeper?
“Open the God be blessed gate man! Can’t you see the banner?” He quickly checked to make sure, but his mountain on blue field was fluttering overhead where it should be.
“I can see fine. Any fool can fly a pretty banner.”
“You damned imbecile! I’m Purcell of Elvissa! Get your cursed captain!” When the guard didn’t reply, Purcell assumed the idiot had gone to fetch the watch captain. “Stand easy lads,” he said turning to his road weary men.
With a groan they collapsed into tired heaps. Some took a drink from water bags, while others just lay and went to sleep. Purcell looked on unhappily. If they needed to fight he was in trouble. The men needed at least a day and night to recover, more probably two or three. He had set a brutal pace in his determination to get here, but now he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Just as Purcell was about to lay himself down for a nap, lightning crackled across the clear blue sky. He jumped with its abruptness, but it was more than that. It had struck nearby.
Craaaack! Craaaack!
Booom!
The ground seemed to leap up and slap Purcell’s feet. By the God that had sounded close! His men scrambled to their feet pointing toward the west. He backed away from the gate trying to see what they were looking at. He saw clouds of dust rising into the air near the pass, if not actually in it. The cursed sorcerers are attacking right now! Cursing the gatekeeper, Purcell looked impotently on as the fate of the kingdom was decided while he cooled his heels outside.
CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK! CraAAAAacK!
KABOOOM!
The roar this time sounded like an avalanche in winter. The sound went on and on as clouds of debris were flung high into the air. Dust and small stones rained down on Purcell and his men. They yelled in fright and quickly ran to the walls. They pressed themselves flat in an effort to shield themselves. Purcell could feel the walls vibrating and shaking in the aftermath.
“It’s a slide!” Someone shouted. Another thought it might be a natural landslide.
Not with lightning like that, it’s not!
Silence reigned. Purcell cautiously left the safety of the wall, and looked about. The ground was completely white as if covered in fresh snow. It wasn’t snow. It was dust and gravel. He could still hear a rumbling, or thought he could. The noise had been so intense, that the silence sounded loud. In the distance he could see people in the town running too and fro in panic. He didn’t blame them.
Eeeeeek!
Purcell snatched for his sword with heart thumping, but there was no enemy to fight, only a contrite looking guardsman peering out of the open gate.
“Sorry m’lord, the God cursed—pardon m’lord. The Hasians breached us early this morning. I didn’t dare let you in without orders m’lord.”
Purcell bit back what he wanted to say about incompetent guards and what they could do with their gates. “How bad? Are they inside?”
“Aye m’lord, there’s fighting in the west courtya—”
Purcell cut him off. “Move, move, MOVE!” He bellowed to his men. He slapped them on the back as they neared, trying to hurry them inside the gates. “Lock her up tight man, and show us the way!”
The gatekeeper knew an order when he heard one. He quickly complied and ran into the citadel. Through corridors and halls he charged leading Purcell and his men via the quickest route toward the fighting.
Purcell reached the west courtyard and a scene of utter madness. Dead men lay on all sides. Blood and other things were splashed over the cobbles. The gate was gone, and both towers were down with a goodly portion of the west wall. A captain, clearly desperate and out numbered, was leading the defence. There was no sign of Keverin. Purcell charged toward the fighting.
“Elvissa!” He roared in rage and his men followed him.
“Elvissa, Elvissa!”
“Athione!” The defenders answered desperately.
Purcell drove into the enemy. His men hacked their way forward forcing the Hasians back. Laughing and roaring Purcell cut down any in his path. He was unstoppable in his anger. He forced the enemy away from the gate with his ferocity. His men followed where he led and soon the courtyard was empty. Not satisfied with this, the defenders kept going. The Hasians fought back hard, desperately trying to hold position, but step by step they were forced back. There were so many men down that Purcell could hardly move without stumbling upon the corpses. Many of them were legionnaires, but thousands of Devans were dead as well. Blood was running in rivers down the road and he had to be careful not to slip in the stuff. The Hasians reformed into a square as their numbers dwindled, but slowly Purcell and his men whittled them down until only a handful remained. Undeterred, the last Hasian sergeant still living ordered a charge and his men complied.
Roaring his hate, Purcell hacked another man down and suddenly it was over. He blinked in bemusement still shaking with battle lust. His line had ever that problem. Berserk with rage was how his father had died—his brother also. The groans of the dying faded to silence as his men methodically gave them the grace. Gasping and sweating, Purcell bent to catch his breath and realised that he was standing on the brink of a sheer cliff, which went down hundreds of yards. The road had been severed roughly twenty yards from the fortress.
What happened here?
The crevasse was at least two hundred yards wide with the road continuing on the other side down to the pass. Hasian legionnaires stood on the other side watching him. Purcell stood tall trying to make a good impression. Raising his sword high, he gave them a salute. To his surprise, the group moved apart and a man in good armour stepped forward to salute him in return. The Hasians formed up and marched back down the road in good order.
Purcell watched the man until he was out of sight.
* * *
Navarien lowered his sword and led his remaining men back down the road. Lucius had been right. They had needed to weaken the Devan mages before attacking. He should have listened! He had been so pleased when Lucius changed his tactics that he did not question the plan. He had welcomed the chance to act! Now he wished he could take back his suggestions. This mess was his fault. If he had not pressed Lucius to attack... he sighed. Although the sorcerers had collapsed in exhaustion after hitting the ward as Belgard said would happen, Navarien had been pleased with the results of the strike. The gate was destroyed as intended, but more than this, the wall was breached allowing his men to attack on a wider front. He had quickly pushed third battalion up the road to secure the breac
h. Then second and fourth battalions marched to reinforce. Navarien had followed in direct command of first battalion.
Then disaster had struck. Somehow the enemy had saved one of their mages to use in a counter attack. Navarien had seen sorcerers in action many times, but this was beyond anything he had ever witnessed. Lightning flew through the sky and where it grounded, his men died. They had fought well. He had hoped to take the fortress despite the setback the Devan mage represented, but he needed to get his men inside the citadel. He had hoped the lightning would be unable to seek them in the halls and corridors, but he never had the chance to test his theory.
Lightning crashed down again, but this time it grounded in the middle of second and fourth battalions. Fifteen hundred men dead—a calamity on a scale never before witnessed among the legions. Worse, the mountain itself was shattered leaving a crevasse hundreds of yards across.
Navarien remembered staring at it in stunned disbelief, then looking impotently on as the Devan’s destroyed his third battalion to the last man. Never had the Protectorate met such a defeat. Half his legion gone—it had taken two candlemarks at most.
Navarien led his men wearily back into camp and dismissed them. The injured would be tended by the sorcerers when they recovered, but there were very few. Lightning rarely left survivors, and those injured in other ways were trapped on the other side of the crevasse. The Devans were even now putting them to death. They had no sorcerers to heal such hideous wounds. Giving them the grace was all they could reasonably do. Navarien closed his eyes trying not to see the scene. There were so many familiar faces he would never see again. He forced himself to open his eyes and take a deep steadying breath.
It was time he went to make his last report to Lucius. Navarien had no doubt his life was forfeit. Lucius would have no choice. The only thing in doubt was whether his execution would come now or later. He strode through the camp ignoring the stunned looks of his men. They were his no longer. His captains tried to get his attention, but he raised a hand and shook his head.
He did not stop.
Navarien walked straight into Lucius’ tent without trying to tidy himself. He found Lucius standing silently to one side with Belgard seated upon the only chair staring into a mirror. Rather than wait Navarien immediately came to attention and gave his report to Lucius. The sorcerer listened in silence. He didn’t reprimand Navarien—he didn’t say anything. Instead, he shook his head slightly in warning.
“A very concise report, General. I have been watching our nemesis in the glass.” Belgard smiled pleasantly as if talking about the weather and not the near destruction of the legion. “It seems I was mistaken about the usefulness of the girl they brought through the gate.”
Navarien clenched a fist and turned to Lucius. “Am I relieved of command?”
Belgard answered. “No. You still command the legion General. You see, Lucius was the one relieved. I’m lead mage of the Fifth Legion now.”
* * *
Purcell stumbled back to the fortress intent on finding Keverin, but he was nowhere to be found. Everywhere he looked wounded men were being rushed through the gates, or rather, through where the gates used to be. It must have been a terrifying sight watching those ancient walls and towers coming down—like the end of the world. Thousands lay dead, many more legionnaires than Devans thank the God, but there must have been close to two thousand dead guardsmen, maybe even twenty five hundred. It was hard to tell when they lay in such tangled heaps.
Purcell noticed one strange thing. Many of the legionnaires had died without a mark on them. No sword had killed those men. Magic, it had to be. Although they were his enemies, death by magic was a bad way to die. It felt somehow dishonourable. Purcell snorted at the thought. There were no good ways to die. If he had to choose, he would say dying in bed with his family surrounding him was the way to go.
Purcell collected two of his captains on the way to the citadel. “Assemble our boys, and settle them in barracks. See to it they get food and rest. Detail some of the stronger men to care for our dead. I might need some of the men to help stand watches and such later, but not yet. Report to me in a candlemark with the butcher’s bill.”
Both men nodded, and excused themselves.
Purcell continued into the fortress. The captain he had seen leading the defence stood near a pile of rubble directing his guardsmen. The men were digging frantically in what must be a gate tower by its location. The courtyard was a complete shambles. The towers were down, there didn’t seem to be one stone left atop another. The wall on each side was little better. It needed major rebuilding. If it hadn’t been for the new crevasse, Athione would have been lost. The captain seemed to be the only man of authority in the courtyard. Purcell approached him and asked where Keverin was.
The captain was intent on the digging. He made his salute while keeping one eye on his men. “My thanks for your timely assistance, my lord. I’m Senior Captain Marcus at your service. My lord Keverin was injured when the wards collapsed. He’s inside being tended by Lady Jessica.”
“How bad?”
“It was close my lord,” Marcus admitted. “He lost a lot of blood, but I think he’ll live. He managed to get a tourniquet on in time.”
“Good. I’ll visit him in a moment. I—” he broke off as an excited shout took Marcus’ attention.
Both men watched as a group of four guardsmen lifted a timber clear of the rubble. One man lay on his stomach and wiggled around until he had his head and shoulders in the hole. Purcell heard him say something, but was unsure what it had been.
“They’re alive, Captain!” The guardsman shouted when he reappeared.
“Right! You men grab those timbers.” Marcus turned to another group. “You lot go help them. I want those stones braced before we dig any deeper—well move!” Marcus roared.
Purcell was impressed with the volume of Marcus’ orders. He certainly knew how to get the job done. The guardsmen quickly braced the loose stones before clearing the lower ones. In short order they had a cave like opening cleared, and the short guardsman went in again. It wasn’t long before he came back out dragging someone in green.
By the God—a woman!
“What idiot let a woman get mixed up in this?” Purcell shouted angrily.
Everyone looked at him in a cold and angry silence.
“Back to work!” Marcus roared, though he too was looking askance at Purcell.
Purcell looked around with a frown. Any one would think he was in the wrong!
“Careful!” a short guardsman said. “She’s been hit in the shoulder—arrow.”
Purcell could see it as the men pulled the unconscious woman clear. Her dress was soaked in blood and torn where the arrow thrust through. Her beautiful face was pale from loss of blood and smudged with dust. Her hands were thick with dried blood. The guardsman went back into the hole and emerged with a fellow guardsman this time. As soon as he was clear, the young man shook off the offered hands and limped over to the woman.
“Brian, stay by me,” Marcus ordered. “Udall, take her inside to Jessica.”
An older man, a sergeant, hoisted the woman in his arms and walked away. The guardsmen followed her with their eyes until she disappeared from view. They turned back to their tasks murmuring to each other.
“Report!” Marcus said.
Brian braced to attention, and began his report. Purcell listened in stunned disbelief. Everyone stopped to listen, allowing Purcell to scan their faces. He had expected to see outright shock at the young man’s words, but instead they were nodding to each other. He could even hear a few comments that verified some points of the report. Purcell shook his head. No woman could do what Brian insisted she had done. Calling lightning and killing men—it was impossible. Only men wielded the God’s gift of magic. It had always been so.
“All right, Brian,” Marcus said kindly and clasped Brian’s shoulder for a moment. “Get some rest.”
“Yes sir.”
Purcell watched
the young man limp away. Then after Marcus had detailed some men to watch the Hasians, and some others to continue tidying up, he followed him into the citadel.
“You are injured, Marcus,” Purcell said noticing the blood and the limp.
“It’s nothing my lord, a mere scratch only. My lord is with the rest of the wounded in the great hall. Lady Jessica is tending them with some help from the town folk.”
Purcell dodged a group of boys running toward the courtyard carrying buckets of bloodied water. Purcell stared after them for a moment before continuing with Marcus.
“All our mages are dead except two. Mathius is dying, the other... well.” Marcus shrugged. “Renard is unconscious, but his eyes are open—like in a trance my lord.”
Purcell hissed in dismay. After all the work to assemble the library and attract mages to study in it, they were all dead. Mortain had set them back years. Worse still, although the road was closed, the sorcerers could still use their magic to attack Athione from a distance. There was no doubt the crevasse protected the fortress as well as the gate did, better maybe, but it also meant a counter-attack was impossible.
Purcell entered Athione’s great hall and stopped still in shock. Wounded men lay in dozens of rows on the floor. Men were groaning or screaming in pain. Many lay silent—unconscious. There were hundreds of men here, and more being brought in all the time. If too many more arrived, they would spill out the door into the entry hall. Marcus had stopped when Purcell did. He was too polite to show his irritation, but Purcell was aware of it in any case. He knew how busy the captain had to be, especially now. Marcus had the entire fortress in his charge.
Purcell moved on through the door and along the rows of misery. Jessica was tending to the injured girl. The torn dress had been replaced with a clean white nightgown. The dirt and blood was gone, and she looked much better, but the arrow had yet to be removed.
Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 Page 12