“They’ll learn that just as quickly at our side, facing down our enemies,” Jerico said as the two resumed walking.
“Perhaps.” Lathaar glanced over his shoulder at the building they’d worked so hard to rebuild. “But I’d rather they be here when they realize it, not dying on a battlefield. Give them time to grow, both in heart and body. We’ll bleed and die like we always have to buy them that time.”
“So be it,” Jerico said, picking up his pace as they crossed the dying grass. “If Karak wants to rear his ugly head again, we’ll cut it off and burn the pieces so we can return home. We were supposed to be done with all this, Lathaar. What happened? Where did we go wrong?”
Lathaar swallowed, thinking of Ashhur’s rage burning so hot in his chest.
“Heavens help us, I don’t know.”
12
Jessilynn and Dieredon lurked at the forest’s edge, observing the distant Castle of the Yellow Rose in the morning light. They saw dozens of sprawling camps, pastures, and gardens within the castle walls, likely tended by refugees fleeing to safety. The walls were short and thick, easily scalable with ladders, this opponent had no ladders, only sharpened claws.
“Maybe we should wait until nightfall,” Jessilynn said.
“These creatures see better at night,” Dieredon said. “No, we must go now. Follow me, and stay close. Should we be spotted, do not panic. If we are swift, we still might reach safety in time.”
Jessilynn nodded, pretending his words were comforting. Spread out before her, in similar arrangements to how they’d camped back in the ravine in the Vile Wedge, was the growing army of the King of the Vile. Groups of bird-men, twenty to thirty in each group, dotted the flat grasslands between the forest and the wall. Most were still, possibly sleeping. Far more active were the groups of hyena-men that lurched about in greater numbers. Even from a distance she could hear their yips and snarls. Most gathered near the wood gate, the sole opening through the curtain wall, though several patrolled the surrounding areas, and Jessilynn spotted a second large pack guarding the rear of the castle, as well as the road that led in from the north.
But the wolf-men had the greatest numbers of all. They formed a single enormous pack, nearly a thousand strong, just beyond arrow reach of the walls on either side of the gate. Though they were many, Jessilynn knew that number was a fraction of the total forces the beast-men could muster. As for the goblins and the goat-men, she saw no sign of either.
“Why so few wolf-men?” Jessilynn asked.
Dieredon squinted at the throng.
“Manfeaster is yet to arrive. That’s why the camps are so disjointed and uneven. This is only a pen to keep Arthur from fleeing, not the actual conquering force. Once Manfeaster comes, the beasts will assault the walls from all sides with far greater numbers. Come. There will be no better time to sneak past.”
“Wait,” Jessilynn said, grabbing his wrist. “What do we do when we reach the wall?”
Dieredon grinned at her.
“Do you think something as simple as a wall can keep us out? Now try to keep up.”
Dieredon ran from the cover of the trees, quiet as a whisper. Jessilynn focused on keeping her head down and her body hunched as she raced after him. The faded grass was tall, reaching up to her thigh, and she prayed that the cover might be enough to keep the two of them hidden as they approached the western wall of the castle.
Dieredon led them on a path between two clusters of bird-men. They were so close, she couldn’t imagine they might miss her, but she trusted Dieredon as they rushed along. At one point, when they were halfway to the wall, he dropped to his stomach. Panicking, Jessilynn did the same. He gestured for her to join his side, and she slowly crawled through the grass.
“Patrol,” Dieredon whispered.
Jessilynn nodded to show she heard, then waited. The elf kept his head down, and it seemed like he was counting. After about a minute or so, he slowly rose on his hands and knees, peering over the grass. Shaking his head, he dropped back down, mouthed the words ‘not yet’. Jessilynn lay still, fighting off her rising panic. They were in the open, with no place to run should they be found. What if their scent reached the sensitive noses of the hyena-men and wolf-men? There’d be no outrunning them, no fighting them off.
Stop it, Jessilynn told herself, digging her fingers into the dirt. They would reach the wall, or they would die trying. Worrying about anything else was pointless.
Dieredon pushed off to his knees, peered over the grass, and gestured for her to follow. Jessilynn rushed after him in her painful back-bent stance. To her left she saw the patrol that had stalled them, a good twenty wolf-men loping lazily around the castle. As they ran, they drew closer to the bird-men, and Jessilynn saw that many indeed were asleep. Good, she thought. Maybe they might get a lucky break after all.
When they were several hundred yards out from the castle wall, Dieredon dropped back to the ground. Jessilynn settled down beside him. They were at the edge of the tall grass; the remaining space between them and the castle was wide open, more padded dirt than grass. There’d be no hiding as they crossed the final distance. She thought the elf waiting for an opportune time, but instead she was surprised to see him ready his bow, aim skyward, and release an arrow toward the wall. It went streaking past one of the soldiers stationed atop it, missing his head by several feet. Jessilynn couldn’t decide which surprised her more, that the elf had attacked one of Arthur’s men, or that he’d missed.
Embarrassment replaced her surprise as she realized it was neither. Dieredon glanced about to ensure none of the creatures saw, then fired a second arrow, again missing the guard. The guard braced his hands on the parapet and stared down, and Dieredon waved as if they were close friends. The soldier nodded in confirmation.
Now we wait, Dieredon mouthed to her.
The soldier they’d alerted wandered further down the wall, then returned with two compatriots. They moved unhurriedly, doing little to alert the besieging army that something was afoot. After a minute, another soldier arrived carrying a bundle of rope. Dieredon grinned.
“Time to go,” he whispered.
He lurched to his feet, and this time there was no attempt at stealth, no hiding or keeping low. Dieredon ran as fast as his legs could carry him, and Jessilynn sprinted after him. The soldiers tossed the rope over the wall at their approach. After only a few seconds, Jessilynn heard a single high-pitched shriek. They’d been spotted. Several more animal sounds followed, then dozens. She pushed onward with strength born of fear, ears ringing.
Dieredon reached the rope and scampered up the wall with ease. Even though she knew better, Jessilynn spared a glance over her shoulder. Dozens of bird-men from each encampment were rushing toward her, and further away came the wolf-men patrol.
Run, she told herself. Run, run, run!
Lungs burning, she reached the rope and grabbed on. She didn’t even bother to slow down, slamming into the castle wall.
“Hurry!” Dieredon shouted from above. Arrows flew from his bow, and she heard pained cries as the approaching bird-men dropped one by one. More howls, more shrieks. Soldiers up top had joined in defending her, bolts plunging into the vile army. A body of a bird-man rolled beside her, an arrow lodged in its eye. Jessilynn stared at it; panic froze her in place. She had to move. She had to act.
Jessilynn grabbed the rope and began to climb, but she was weighed down. Her armor, while light compared to the platemail Jerico and Lathaar wore, still had significant portions of chainmail. And then there was the matter of Darius’s sword...
Though it pained her, she reached across her back and undid the leather clasp of the enormous sword’s sheath. The sword slid free, landing below her in the dirt with a heavy thud. The weight no longer on her shoulders, she pulled herself up, all her concentration on putting one hand higher. As she neared the top, Dieredon leaned down and helped her over. She collapsed on her back, gasping for air.
The soldier they’d first alerted stood above
her, grinning.
“Welcome to the Castle of the Yellow Rose, you crazy bastards,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
The soldier escorted them through several refugee camps to the castle proper. Jessilynn winced at the sight of the frightened and hungry people, most sleeping on the ground or on shared blankets. Only a few of the young and the elderly had been given tents. Their arrival seemed to give hope to the people, and Jessilynn tried to smile and stand tall as the downtrodden greeted her. Even as they cheered, or shook her hand, she felt like she were a living lie. They thought she symbolized the arrival of an army come to save them. They were wrong.
Once past the camps, they reached a well-worn dirt road leading to the keep. It was a tall but plain structure, four square sides of even length. Its only real decoration was the impressive yellow rose painted across the front, the flower dipping with a single petal falling free. Vines grew from either side of the castle doors, coming together to form the stem of the rose. The yellow rose was the symbol of the Hemman family, who had ruled the North for decades.
“We’ve already alerted Arthur to your arrival,” their escort said as they climbed the gentle rise. “I’m sure he will be happy to greet such distinguished visitors.”
“I’m sure he will,” Dieredon said. “I doubt he’d received too many visitors lately.”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” the soldier said, waving a hand toward the refugee camps behind them. “We have far more visitors than we can feed and protect.”
Dieredon smiled grimly. “True enough.”
The castle doors opened, and the soldier bid them to enter. Unescorted, Jessilynn followed the elf inside to find the lord of the castle waiting for them beyond the entrance.
“Greetings,” said Arthur Hemman, “and welcome to my home.”
He was an older man, though his perfect posture and sparkling green eyes seemed like that of a young soldier. His hair and beard were carefully trimmed, and both contained a significant portion of gray. He wore a thin suit of chainmail over his clothes, and over it, a tunic bearing the yellow rose.
“Greetings, Lord Arthur,” Dieredon said, and he bowed low. “I am Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves. With me is Jessilynn of the Citadel. We’ve come to pledge our aid.”
“The Citadel,” Arthur said. “It still makes me smile knowing it was rebuilt. You continue a proud tradition, Jessilynn. Jerico once crawled through mud-filled tunnels to bypass a siege of my castle, and now you sneak through an army of beasts to do the same.”
Jessilynn blushed. To be compared to Jerico in any way seemed ludicrous. All she’d really done was run for a bit and then climb a rope. Did he have to make it sound so...valiant?
“Thank you,” Jessilynn said, not sure of what else to say.
Arthur smiled, gestured for the two to follow him.
“The situation isn’t quite as dire as it seems,” he said as he climbed a set of stone steps. They exited at the third floor, into a wide room filled with a rectangular table and dozens of chairs. Spread across the table was a worn map of northern Mordan. Scattered about the map were sheets of parchment, and when Jessilynn glanced at them, she saw symbols marking extensive catalogs of provisions, weapons, and numbers of soldiers.
“It seems dire to me,” Dieredon said as the lord took a seat before the map.
“I said not quite as dire, not that things were pleasant,” Arthur said. “Our food should last several weeks, and our water all winter. We’ve culled fighting men from the refugees as they arrived, and so far the primitive beasts out there have shown no capacity to build something as simple as a ladder to bypass our walls. Even if they tried, I have five hundred manning the walks. We’ll spill our share of blood, but we’ll hold them back.”
Jessilynn thought of the thousands upon thousands of strong, fast creatures the King of the Vile commanded. Only five hundred? Arthur thought he could hold them off with only five hundred? It seemed Dieredon had the same fears as her, and he was not afraid to speak it aloud.
“Your men will not be enough to hold back the tide,” he said. “What you see out there is but a shadow of Manfeaster’s full power. When they arrive...”
“When they arrive, they will find elves and paladins to stand against them alongside us,” Arthur said. At their awkward silence he paused, and leaned back into his chair. “Reinforcements are coming, are they not?”
Jessilynn stared at the map, and the Citadel that seemed so close on paper, yet so far away.
“No,” Dieredon said. “The only reinforcements will be soldiers for Mordeina, though I cannot say when they will arrive.”
“A cruel jest this is, isn’t it?” Arthur said, sighing as he drummed his fingers. “Representatives of both elves and the Paladins of Ashhur arrive at my doorstep, yet you come alone in offering aid? Forgive me for saying this, but you two are not enough.”
“We were never meant to be,” Dieredon said. “Nor should we need to be. Where are the angels? Have you not called for their aid?”
“I have,” Arthur said. “Again and again I shine light from the little cylinder they gave me, lighting up the night sky like a thunderstorm, yet nothing. No message. No reinforcements.”
Arthur stood, and he picked up one of the parchments detailing their provisions.
“I haven’t been rationing as carefully as I should,” he said quietly. “I wanted to keep my soldiers strong and ready to fight. Once aid came, we’d scatter them with ease. Once...” He looked up at Dieredon. “I’ve talked with the various refugee groups as they arrived, and it’s clear we’re being converged upon from all sides. You said this...Manfeaster commands them. I believe you, if only because it explains why the different beasts are working together to lay siege to my home. Tell me, how many of these creatures does Manfeaster command?”
Dieredon did an admirable job keeping his expression passive.
“Fifteen to twenty thousand, by my estimate.”
“Twenty thousand,” Arthur said. He slumped in his chair. “Ashhur save us all. I only have five hundred, Dieredon. Five hundred against twenty thousand! Even with the aid of my walls, it won’t be enough. And if they find a way to break through the doors, it’ll be a massacre.”
The lord’s words left Jessilynn more and more unnerved. She’d thought being inside the walls would allow her to feel safe, but now she only felt trapped. Why had they come? Why had she thought she might accomplish anything against such numbers? She’d seen the army for herself. She knew the numbers Manfeaster commanded.
Dieredon put his wicked-looking bow atop the table and stared at Arthur with the confidence of an elf who had never once suffered defeat.
“You lose faith,” he said. “With Jessilynn and I guarding your walls, your five hundred will fight like five thousand. No matter how well organized they might seem, no matter how strong their king might be, these creatures are still primal beasts that will turn on one another in enough time. All we have to do is survive, so that is what we’ll do. Help will come, from the Citadel, or Mordeina, or the angels. This threat is too grave to be ignored.”
Arthur rose from his seat, leaned his arms atop the table.
“I know the reputation you carry, Scoutmaster,” he said, meeting the elf’s gaze. “And I watched Jerico stand against waves of enemies like an immovable mountain. Even if that little girl over there is capable of doing the same, it won’t be enough. You’ve not come to save us, only die with us.”
That was it. Jessilynn could stand no more, especially to hear herself belittled so insultingly.
“There were once two Kings of the Vile,” she said, “until this ‘little girl’ killed one of them, alone and surrounded by dozens more of the creatures. I didn’t give up then, and I won’t give up now. If we die, we die, but we’ll die protecting innocents from the evil of this world. It’s not our fault so many others refuse to do the same.”
Arthur turned her way, and it took all her willpower not to wilt under his gaze.
/> “When the end comes, I will be out there with my soldiers, bleeding and dying with a sword in my hand,” he said. “And after I fall, the people I swore my life to protect, those not already slaughtered on their flight here, will be torn to pieces. I have not given up, paladin. Do not misread my frustration for hopelessness. My fury is not for you, but those who would abandon us in our time of need. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. You have my permission to explore the castle as you wish, as well as all castle grounds. Forgive me, though, for I have no rooms to offer. Right now, my castle is reserved for the sick and the dying.” The lord shook his head. “Which is everyone behind my walls, if the south abandons us to our fate.”
He turned from the table, and a moment later Lord Arthur vanished down the stairs. Jessilynn felt herself trembling in the cavernous room, overcome with anger, frustration, and fear. When she caught Dieredon looking at her, she bowed her head and crossed her arms behind her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap like that. Jerico told us of Lord Arthur, and of how noble he was, but that dour old man was nothing like the stories.”
“Do not judge him too harshly,” Dieredon said. “Nothing is crueler than giving hope to a hopeless man and then immediately snatching it away. Now come with me. We need to see how much time we have.”
Jessilynn kept quiet and followed the elf back to the stairs. Instead of going down, they climbed up until they emerged onto the roof of the castle. Jessilynn crossed her arms against the sudden chill of the wind. Dieredon walked to the parapet and gazed westward. From such height they had a beautiful view of the surrounding grasslands beyond the protective wall surrounding the castle grounds. Everything in the far distance was hazy, but Jessilynn knew Dieredon’s sharp eyes would be the envy of a hawk.
“It’s as I feared,” Dieredon said as he shaded his eyes from the sun. “Pray angels come swiftly, Jessilynn. We have two days, maybe three at most, before we’re out of time.”
The King of the Vile Page 14