by D. M. Murray
The troops broke and dashed in past the open gate.
“Shut the gates!” Subath cried. “Spears ready!”
As the last of the men scrambled across the drawbridge and past the gate, the horde of creatures clambered over bodies of monster and man. Broden and Subath had joined the knot of men beside Kalfinar, thrusting spears as the gate slowly shut. Bows twanged above them as the monsters clawed, trying to get past the forest of spears in front of them.
“Hold them off!” Subath roared in a ragged voice as the gates narrowed further. “Hold them o—”
Subath’s order was cut short as he was yanked to the slushy ground, one the creatures having crawled under the spear points and hauling the old warrior off his feet.
“Not like this, you bastard!” Subath roared as he saw the monster clawing up towards him. He shook free a boot and crashed his heel into its snarling white-eyed face. “Shut the fucking gate!” he roared again, still smashing his heel into the pulpy face of the creature.
The gate narrowed almost shut now. Subath scrambled to his feet and grabbed his spear, thrusting it into the skull of the creature just as the doors of the gate thumped together.
“You all there?” Broden asked as the old battler wiped the snow off his arse.
“Aye, I’m fine, laddie. Sure I’ve fought off worse in a whore house?”
Broden clasped Subath’s wrist and smiled. “Made it.”
“Aye, better late than never, Chief Marshall.” He grinned his ragged smile at Kalfinar and slapped him on his shoulder.
Broden turned his head and grinned wide at his cousin. “Chief Marshall, eh?”
Kalfinar shook his head. “Don’t you two start. Were there many of them out there?”
“More than I’d care to imagine,” Broden said as he cleaned his sword with a handful of snow. “They spread amongst the people they take. What of Olmat?”
“He’s fading. Won’t be long,” Kalfinar said, clasping wrists in greeting.
“Sorry to say it had better not. Carte’s nearly on her arse.”
“Aye.” Kalfinar looked Broden and Subath, “Abbonan’s engaged raider’s ships in the bay.”
“And we’ve lost the outer city,” Subath said with a weary sigh. “We were overrun.”
Kalfinar rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “Aye, we’re very nearly on our arse.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Everyone who’s able, get out there on the plain and gather up whatever arrows and bolts can be salvaged,” Thaskil called from on top of the battlements. “Never mind your sensitivities. Take them from the flesh as readily as you would the ground. Bring them back and separate them out. We’ll need every last one you can retrieve.”
He turned back to Bergnon, who stood behind him beside Sergeants Omree and Rushnall, both of whom eyed the traitor with suspicion.
“When do you think they’ll come again?” Thaskil asked Bergnon.
“Night, I’d guess,” Bergnon mused, looking out across the plain. The large black cloud of smoke still billowed from the trench as it burned its final fuel. “They’re hiding their strength behind that wall of smoke.”
“Maybe a good thing,” Thaskil muttered. “Seeing an army that size of would steal the heart of a man.”
“Aye, it may do, but it also hides their movement, their unit numbers, and their strength. I’d rather be frightened than blind,” Bergnon added. He walked to the edge of the battlement and watched as citizens and soldiers alike scrambled to collect as many arrows and bolts as they could, many being ripped from bodies of dead raiders. “You know we have to get rid of the bodies. This place will become unholy with the stink before long, and then comes disease.”
Thaskil joined him, looking at the sea of corpses covering the bulwark and littering the plain.
“A field of corpses,” Thaskil muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. What’ll we do with them?” Thaskil quickly changed the subject.
“We burn them,” Bergnon mused. “In front of the breach. It’ll slow their approach.”
“What about the rest of the walls?” Thaskil asked. “Won’t they attack from any other side?”
“Why would they?” Bergnon asked, bemused. “Didn’t I teach you anything? It is the path of least resistance, lad. Why work at a wall without a great big fucking hole in it if you don’t need to. And they have the numbers to spend.”
Omree interrupted, “Why should we listen to him? It’s because of this snake we’ve got a breach at all.”
Thaskil waved his hand in acknowledgment. “I know,” he sighed. “I know.”
“I’m dead anyway, Sergeant, regardless of what happens,” Bergnon said, a humourless grin crossing his battered face. “I can at least do the right thing before I die.” He held the gaze of the younger man for a moment. “I’m not stupid enough to ask you to trust me, but against your better judgement, you may just have to.”
Omree threw up his hands in mock surrender and turned away, exasperated and exhausted.
“They’ll come to the breach again. Now we need to make sure we have some surprises for them when they do.”
“Like what?” Thaskil asked. “We’re down to our last of everything.”
“Not everything. In the basements of the High Command, in a cool house in the north wing, there should be mining powder. If we use that powder in concentrate, it can devastate.”
*
The flames of the trench began to sputter out as the sun was setting. Thaskil returned from washing himself and donned a fresh uniform, fittingly that of an Apulan city guard. He stooped and looked at himself in the glass of a shop window as he made his way back to the breach. It felt odd to be in the red surcoat he grew up seeing, rather than the deep green of the Free Provinces Pathfinders.
An old soldier came running from across the street. “Lieutenant Thaskil, Sergeant Omree wants you on the wall right away, sir.”
Thaskil broke into a sprint and bounded his way towards the breach and up the steps to the battlement, two at a time. He arrived in the soft rays of the evening sun to see Omree and Bergnon staring across the plain.
“What is it?” Thaskil asked.
“Look,” Omree said, pointing ahead. “Behind the smoke and the haze. It’s the Solansian forces.”
“I can’t. I can’t see any…”
Thaskil’s words trailed off as he stared beyond the grimy smoke of the smouldering trench. The massive army he had expected was not there. The body of troops was still substantial, but Apula had held back more in the past.
“Where’ve they all gone?” Thaskil asked no one in particular.
“Carte,” Bergnon offered. “That’s the only place they can go. They want to end this quick. Grunnxe must have thought he had Apula sewn up and decided he wanted to taste the sweeter fruit.”
“We must send word.” Thaskil rummaged a small piece of waxed paper from his pouch and scratched a message onto it for the command in Carte. “Omree, take this and replicate it. Send out a half-dozen Carte birds. They need to know Grunnxe’s coming.”
*
“Subath! Broden!” Harruld stood, arms wide, and a smile wider still as they entered his chamber. “Some good news at last.”
Evelyne stood up from beside where Olmat slept. She rushed over and gave Kalfinar a hug and a kiss.
“This is new!” Broden said, his eyebrow arching.
“Aye, well,” Kalfinar fumbled for words as Evelyne’s fingers found his.
“Don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Broden said, raising his palms. “And in any case, I’m happy for you both. At least some joy can be found in this hell.”
“Thank you, Broden,” Evelyne said.
“A dispatch has come in from Apula,” Harruld diverted the subject, sitting down in his seat as all eyes turned to him, expectant. “Apula holds.”
A whoop came from Broden and Subath.
Kalfinar deflated. He hadn’t realised he’d held his breath in the
moment.
“Thaskil and the ranks have held Grunnxe’s forces off so far, but it seems grave news follows good.” Harruld’s face was weary and grey.
“What is it?” Kalfinar urged.
“It appears that despite being instrumental in an act of defence, the trench of pitch they burned at Apula obscured the fact that much of Grunnxe’s army departed. It’s feared that they make their way to Carte.”
“But that’ll take them weeks,” Broden said.
“They’d be quicker by boat, if they go by the Valeswater,” Kalfinar added.
“Sooner,” a weak voice came from behind, causing them to turn around. Olmat was awake and turned his head. “Grunnxe is spirited by the darkness. He’ll soon be at our door.”
*
The old king’s heart thundered in his chest as he looked upon the city of Carte. He turned towards the Priestess and growled, “This is what we’ve come for! This city will bring back the Cullanain to the Solansians and re-establish our Solansian Empire. We will yolk the people and they will serve the great Master God, Balzath.”
The Priestess shuddered, her grey, pallid skin barely visible under her heavy hood.
“Is there something you want to say, oh once-powerful Bhalur?” Grunnxe made a mocking bow at the former god, laughing and wiggling his tongue.
“Nothing, Your Highness,” the Priestess replied, the hatred in her voice scarcely contained.
“Wonderful,” Grunnxe replied, “because I don’t think our great god would care much for you addressing his new herald with such contempt, would he now?”
The Priestess paused. “No, he certainly would not.”
Grunnxe fixed his stare under the hood of the Priestess. He could not see her face, but he imagined it was twisted in rage and, inwardly, was grateful to have the protection of the Master God. “Good, now let’s get everyone dismounted and into formations. I want to present in front of our new city in time for the full light of morning to make us shimmer.” Grunnxe smiled at his nodding commanders. “Let’s allow them the glorious sight of the sun reflecting off our forces before we rip them asunder, eh?”
A great cheer rang into the air from the gathered commanders and officers.
Grunnxe allowed himself a smile, but his eyes were locked on the Priestess, who stood without motion or voice, likely staring at Grunnxe with hate-filled eyes from under her hood.
*
Abbonan beat back the stinking raider with experienced thrusts and parries. The conceding raider tripped backwards, providing the opening Abbonan needed. He slid his blade into the man’s chest, finishing him with a quick twist of the wrist before pulling the sword free and evoking a weak spurt of blood. Abbonan wiped his forehead with his coat sleeve and looked about.
The raiders had been largely repelled from another boarding, but in the distraction, several of their larger ships had broken free and were closing on the docks.
“They’ll be laden with men!” Abbonan roared out. “Onagers, prepare for long range fire. We need to stop those ships docking.”
“Sir, we’ll need to get closer. They’re almost out of range.”
“Damn it!” Abbonan snapped and ran towards the wheel, finding his helmsman struggling with an arrow in his gut. “Malvern!”
“It’s not so bad, My Lord,” the helmsman groaned, lifting his palm to reveal a bright red stain across his belly. “It’s not in deep.”
“Dajda, nevertheless man, get below decks to the physician. I’ll take the wheel.”
“Aye, My Lord.” The helmsman released his sticky grip and laboured towards the stairs.
“Right, lads,” Abbonan roared as the last of the raiders was cut down and their ship set to flame. “Let’s get off after these bastards!”
The roar went up loud and the sailors set about their stations, readying the ship to sail after the advancing raiders.
“This was all just a bloody tactic to get the fucking raiders on shore.” Abbonan was muttering to himself, not really heeding the noise. “You’re a fool Abbonan, a damned—”
He saw a flash of light to his left and felt his head wobble. He dropped to his knees and heard muffled voices calling out to him. He tried to stand and take the wheel before falling back onto one knee.
“Bloody inconvenience,” he muttered, wet and bubbly. Flecks of blood landed on the wood of the wheel, the details of which he now noticed in intense minutia. The grain of the wood. Its anomalies and warps within its fibre. A small fly stuck in the varnish of it. “Bloody inconvenience.”
Placing his hand to his throat, Abbonan felt the feathers at the end of the arrow shaft pressed neat to his neck and, with his other hand’s trembling fingers, felt the majority of the arrow’s body. He took his hands away and held them to his face, shining wet with bright, red life.
“Bloody inconvenience.” Abbonan’s knee gave way and he collapsed onto his back, staring up as the morning sun stained the sky whilst his draining life stained the deck.
*
“Hal,” the guardsman called over his shoulder to his comrade. “You better take a look at this.” He motioned beyond the arrow slit.
“What is it?” Hal replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground below his arrow slit on the other side of the outer wall. “I’m kind of busy here with those bloody creatures. They’re still trying to climb the walls up to us. Suppose it makes it nice and easy for me to ping them in the head. They just keep looking up and I keep firing.” He laughed as he released another arrow, finding its mark in the head of the creature below. The thing crashed to the ground and was soon obscured by the advance of another.
“No, Hal, I don’t mean the creatures. I think you’re going to want to see this.”
“Fine,” Hal snapped, turning from his work and stomping over. “Move over and give us a look.” Hal’s mouth sagged open as he peered out the arrow slit to see the huge army advancing on them, billowing a massive plume of dust in their wake. “Dajda have mercy.”
“I think we’ll have to send a pigeon to the High Command.”
“Aye, I think so.”
*
“He’s slipping away. I can feel it getting closer.” Evelyne brushed Olmat’s thin hair as he slept in Harruld’s private chambers.
“It pains me so to wish death upon him.” Kalfinar stood behind Evelyne, buckling vambraces over his mail sleeves.
“It’s his role in this. There’s no ill in your wish. It’s what’s required.”
“Doesn’t stop it feeling wrong. Damn it!” he snapped, fumbling with the buckle.
“Let me.” Evelyne stood from where she sat with Olmat and turned Kalfinar’s forearm over, taking the buckle and pulling it tight.
He looked at her as she busied herself sliding leather through buckle. What eyes you have.
“What’re you going to do?” she asked as she finished buckling the leather of the other vambrace.
“We’ve to fight for the city. There’re too many of our people out there. If we abandon them now, they’re at the mercy of those monsters. Before long, Grunnxe will come too. With no one manning the walls, he’ll just flood right into the city and we’ll all be damned then. We can’t afford to just sit here behind these walls. The longer we wait for Olmat to die, the more of our people are slaughtered and enslaved by Balzath. No, we’ve got to fight.”
She nodded at his words, but her eyes were full of sorrow. Don’t foul your eyes with tears. “We’re mounting an assault of the city. We’re pushing back to take the outer walls.”
Evelyne raised her hands and took Kalfinar’s wrists in them. She pulled Kalfinar close, her ice-blue eyes brimming with tears. “When you go out there, be careful and come back to us here.”
“Aye,” Kalfinar mumbled, pulling her into an embrace. “We’d better get back to the others,” he said, breaking away before leading Evelyne into the hallway.
As they entered Harruld’s study, a clerk ran up the stairs and entered behind them.
“Chief Marshall,” the m
an said.
“Speak.”
“The Solansians.” The man’s whole body began to shudder.
“What news, man?” Kalfinar snapped.
“The news is grave, sir.” The young man stumbled over his words, his voice thick with emotion. “The Solansians, they’re before the east gate of the city.” The clerk’s chin wobbled and his lips trembled as he spoke. “We’re lost. The city’s lost.”
“We are not lost!” Harruld’s chair screeched back and he stood with fury, slamming his fist into the table, causing water cups to jump and spill. His voice boomed around the room, blasting the frightened clerk in the face and even taking Kalfinar by surprise. “The city is not lost and will not be lost. This is Carte, the seat of the Free Provinces. We will fight to the last breath and we will reject them one and all! Have some courage, damn you! Have some faith! We need only hold strong until Dajda can wake and bring forth the Anulii. We need only stay strong for a short while and we shall prevail! Nothing is lost. Nothing!” Harruld’s chest heaved in and out as he regained his breath.
The clerk stood statue-still, chastened, and appearing ashamed.
“Fetch me my armour,” Harruld snapped, causing Kalfinar, Broden, and the others gathered to look at him in shock.
“Plate or leather, My Lord?” The clerk asked.
“Leather.” Harruld replied grimly. “Too weak for the damn plate.”
At once, My Lord.” The clerk scurried over to the large press at the far end of the study and began lifting out the governor’s armour.
“Father, you cannot—”
“Kal, Chief Marshall or not, don’t presume to tell me when I can and cannot fight for my people. We need every sword we can swing this night.” Harruld walked over to his window and lifted his eyeglass, scanning the city.
Kalfinar walked up behind and clasped his shoulder.
“Then fight with me, Father,” he whispered.