by C S Marks
Now it would be left to Hallagond to free Ishtar and Visili, having already exacted their promise to serve the Citadel’s army without question. He unlocked their cells, intending to lead them to the chamber of Ali, where they would swear fealty to him. They would kneel with bowed heads, inviting Ali to strike them dead if he would.
This would take courage, but both men were weary of imprisonment and they were willing. They had also been quite concerned about their fate should the Citadel fall to the Scourge, for they would be taken easily as they sat helpless in their cells. Aiding the City was the only way to assist in saving their own lives. They knelt now before Hallagond, promising to give their best in carrying out the plan.
Ishtar, a short, stocky man, was bearded and dark-haired. There was an air of good humor in his deep brown eyes, reminding Hallagond a little of Azori. Visili, by contrast, was pale, with blue eyes and thinning grey hair. His chiseled face bore a proud nobility that Hallagond had detected from the first. Neither man was in good fighting form due to long confinement, but they would soon come around now that they were free. Both were highly experienced, having seen enough of battle to lend great value to the City’s efforts.
Hallagond took down two cloaks from their pegs in the guard-room, and soon none would notice the three men making their way quietly toward the house of Ali as twilight fell.
“We must accomplish our task before the changing of the guard,” said Hallagond. “We only have about an hour’s time now, so we must be swift.”
“Ah, my friend, that is where you are right,” said Ishtar, suddenly bringing his hand down hard on Hallagond’s neck, sending him into darkness.
Estle had followed behind, but she kept a great distance so that Hallagond would not notice her. She shook her head as she observed him stealing away from the prison with the two brigands in tow, and had followed as she could, but it was difficult in the twisting maze of streets and alleyways. Now she came upon Visili crouching over Hallagond, who apparently had been rendered senseless.
She drew her blade and rushed forward, thinking Visili to blame. “Stop what you’re doing and back away from him, or you die at this moment!” she said, her grey eyes ablaze. Visili was alarmed and backed away, his hands open to show that he held no weapon.
“Put down your blade. I am not your enemy, or his.”
“What happened? Where’s the other one?” asked Estle, who did not lower her blade as yet.
“He has gone…he intends to provision himself quickly and leave the City,” said Visili. “You must go after him. I cannot, as I may be recognized.” He drew a deep, frustrated breath, “Do you not understand? If Ishtar escapes, Ali’s full wrath will come down upon us. You must prevent him, if you can. Go now! I will tend your beloved.”
Estle was angry and fearful, and her next words were hard. “He is not my beloved…he is a fool!” She turned and went in pursuit of Ishtar, to save her beloved fool if she could.
Hallagond soon came to himself; his neck ached and his head was swimming, but he was unhurt. When Visili explained what had happened, Hallagond groaned. “So, she says I’m a fool? Well, she’s right.”
Visili did not doubt it, though he was grateful for his freedom. “Hallagond, we must pursue Ishtar, until he is either recaptured or lies dead at our feet. He must not be allowed to escape, for I have little doubt that he will reveal Dûn Arian to ears that should not hear of it. Like it or not, it is our problem to repair.”
“Do you actually think he will make the difficult crossing alone?” asked Hallagond miserably.
“Ishtar is a survivor. I wouldn’t take the chance.”
Unfortunately, Ishtar was a lot more like Azori than was good for any of them. Now Hallagond would be forced go in pursuit. I’ll need to catch him before he can leave the City, otherwise I’ll have to chase him down.
He could only imagine what his friends would think of him, deserting them on the eve of battle. And what of Rogond? His brother would not understand the reason behind it; he would only know that Hallagond had departed the City, just when he was most needed.
“Sorry to disappoint you again, my brother,” he muttered as he followed after Visili, who at least seemed to be trustworthy. “It appears that my judgment is correct only half the time.”
He couldn’t imagine what Estle would do to him when next he saw her, yet for a moment he was quite overcome with concern. What if she came upon Ishtar alone? Such a man wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or even kill her. At first the thought chilled his blood, but then he thought upon it again, and decided that it would be Ishtar, not Estle, who would be in need of aid.
Hallagond’s mischief was discovered at the changing of the guard. It was not difficult to piece together what had happened; the empty brandy bottle and the sleeping guards explained it all. They would not rouse easily, and it would be awhile before their tale could be told. It was clear that someone had given them a sleeping-draught, and then had released the criminals Ishtar and Visili. When Ali was told, he understood at once, calling Rogond, Galador, and Fima before him. Neither Hallagond nor Estle could be located.
“I have turned out the City Guard and have informed the Minister of Lawful Affairs,” said Ali, his face as dark as a thundercloud. “The guilty ones will soon be found.” He turned to Rogond. “I would like to know where your brother Hallagond is at this moment.”
“I don’t know,” was the honest reply. “I haven’t seen him since Gaelen and Nelwyn left for the frontier.”
“If it please you, Ali, may I see the brandy bottle?” said Fima with a worried look. Ali handed it to him courteously; he knew Fima was not to blame. “This was a very fine brandy,” said the dwarf, examining the bottle and handing it back to Ali.
“Well? Is that all you have to say?” growled Ali. Fima had obviously noticed something of significance.
“For the moment, it is,” Fima replied, his blue eyes glowing with the desire to ask Ali if there was anything he intended to do about it.
“Very well. It is of no consequence, for our people will soon locate those responsible and bring them before me. But you should know that they will be pursued if they have left the City. We cannot allow folk of such obvious low character to escape and betray us.”
“Have a care, Ali,” said Rogond. “Hallagond is not of low character, despite what you’re thinking.”
“Who said anything about Hallagond?” said Ali in a cold voice.
“Obviously, you suspect him,” said Rogond. “My brother is a man of honor. He will never betray the City.”
“Then why does he set criminals free, and leave on the eve of battle? Is he so proud that he would risk everything to prove himself right? Is he a coward, fleeing before the storm?”
“I did not think him so misguided,” answered Rogond. “I will stand by him until I know otherwise.”
Though Rogond’s words were resolute, his heart was troubled. Ali left the three friends trying to piece together what had happened. When the guards finally regained their senses and told their tale there was no doubt—Hallagond had betrayed the trust of those he was set to protect. When the City Guards reported that neither of the prisoners had been found within the city walls, and when it was further discovered that three dromadin had been taken, the truth was undeniable. The fugitives had left the City, taking paths that only those familiar with her design would know, and they were by now well away. Ali ground his teeth in frustration. He could ill afford sending men to pursue them, for the enemy was drawing near the gates, and none could be spared.
Gaelen and Nelwyn stood, as ever, side by side.
The east wind lifted their hair, stirred the deep sand about their feet, and brought with it the scent of the enemy army moving relentlessly toward them. Gaelen closed her eyes and shuddered—they were close, now.
This was the scent of a thousand unwashed bodies, of sweat and blood and rotting carrion. There was a sharper undercurrent there as well, and Gaelen knew it for what it was. Men gave off this sc
ent whenever their darker passions were high—fear or pain or savage lust for battle.
Finan stood by her side, turning his sharp senses toward the northeast. The wind blew his long, dark forelock back from bright eyes filled with the reflection of brilliant desert stars. He snorted, and Gaelen turned to him, stroking his scarred neck and shoulder. What have you heard?
She trained her own sharp ears toward the advancing army, but heard only the wind hissing over the starlit sand. Closing her eyes, she took in one more draught of the chilly, dry air. Then she opened them again, looked into the earnest face of her cousin Nelwyn, and gave her appraisal.
“By first light, they will be here.”
Rogond stood with Galador atop the tallest spire and trained his keen grey eyes to the northeast. The time of battle was near—they could both sense it. Rogond knew that this would be the largest and most fearsome host he had ever engaged, and he drew a deep breath, hoping he would prove worthy at the end of it.
Such was not so with Galador, who had seen strife far greater and more wearisome than this, as he had fought in the Third Battle beneath the Banner of Ri-Elathan, and had witnessed the downfall of Wrothgar. Yet he dreaded this upcoming conflict even more, for he had a reason to survive it.
His beloved Nelwyn stood with Gaelen on the eastern frontier, and he feared for both of them. They were capable, certainly, and their skill as hunter-scouts was beyond question. Though he still considered Gaelen prone to recklessness, he had learned to trust her. He suppressed a shudder, his dark hair blown back from his strong face.
In spite of their looming fate, Galador was now glad that he and Nelwyn had not remained in the Greatwood. They had since come into many adventures, but now he wondered whether they might all have come to the end of the road. The Scourge was large, strong, and savage, with no real vestige of honor left to it. There would be no mercy shown, no quarter asked or given.
Now their own small forces stood ready, awaiting the frenzied return of the scouts. The size and nature of the enemy army would then be known, and there would be some time to modify the defense plan, if needed, in preparation. Galador and Rogond would join the ranks of the Citadel’s cavalry, riding out to meet the mounted riders of the enemy, taking as many as they could before falling back to the safety of the walls. Their foes would not expect this, and would rush headlong, following them right into the sights of the archers standing shoulder-to-shoulder atop the battlements. It was hoped that the archers would repel the enemy long enough for their mounted comrades to regain entrance through the enormous gates, re-securing them before too many of their foes could enter.
In the meantime, the archers upon the battlements would strike with deadly accuracy before the enemy could truly prepare to mount any assault upon the walls. Lured within range before they were ready, the Scourge would have to fall back and re-group. They would, of course, have archers of their own, but they would be vulnerable in the open, whereas those of the Citadel would be well protected on the battlements. The enemy would fall back, waiting until their war-machine was in place before moving on the City.
Then the siege would truly begin.
Galador sighed as Rogond reached out to him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend, they will not fail. You will see Nelwyn again, and then we will face our greatest test.” Galador knew he was referring not just to the perilous task of their mounted warriors, but to the outcome of the war itself. This was more than a struggle between armies. All that was good, fair, and enlightened grappled for its very survival against that which was evil, savage, and ignorant.
Galador smiled back at his tall friend. “I look forward to the day when we may all lift our glasses and toast of victory. You will have earned your place among the most worthy warriors of your race. Gaelen will look upon you with great pride, as she does even now. You have nothing to fear from the betrayal of Al-Amand; there is enough strength and honor in you to serve for both. Your father would be very proud of the man his younger son has become.”
Rogond nodded, still keeping his gaze to the east. “Let’s not mention Hallagond now, my friend…we have a task before us that is daunting enough. We’ll see it done, or none survive. I’m going back down to see to Fima. Will you stay and keep the watch, and alert me if our scouts are seen?”
“That I will,” Galador replied, patting his silver horn. “Make certain the horses are ready, won’t you?” Then he paused for a moment. “Are you certain that all is well with Fima? He’s still not strong, you know. I would hate to lose him, though I will miss his axe.”
“His axe may yet come in handy, Galador. I’m not certain we can hold off the enemy, and keep them from the lower halls. Fima knows his duty, and he has accepted it. He will not waver.”
The wind shifted in the hours just before dawn. It now turned to the south, blowing both the scent and sound of the enemy away from the scouts. Well, it really doesn’t matter so much, thought Gaelen. We’ll need to wait until the enemy is well in sight so that we can get a good look before retreating to the Citadel. We have an excellent vantage point, but the enemy forces will have to get close enough to be counted and evaluated—maybe too close for comfort. Two of the Citadel’s best scouts stood beside her; they were superb horsemen, and she was glad of their company.
As predicted, the first sight of the Scourge came at first light, as the black, starry sky gave way in the east to indigo and deep purple. The scouts took the horses back down into the hollow behind them, commanding them to stay until called for. Then they waited, still and silent, as the approaching army drew nearer, the sharp eyes of the Elves trained on their enemies, taking stock of their numbers and of the weapons glinting faintly in the light of the rising sun.
The wind had shifted back toward them, and now another scent was evident—the one that Gaelen most needed to identify—unwholesome, dank, and rotten.
The enemy host was large and well equipped, but not remarkable, and at first the scouts’ confidence was high. Yet as the eastern sky grew rosy and the sands came alive with early morning light, they beheld the source of the strange scent for the first time. It took the breath from their bodies and the courage from their hearts.
An enormous grey dragon moved with the Scourge, fanning its wings occasionally and lashing its short, powerful tail. The Scourge’s forces gave it an understandably wide berth. Gaelen looked over at her cousin, noting the despair in her face. “A dragon. They have a dragon. Now I understand.” The despair was replaced by determination as they nodded to one another—it was time to begin the long ride back. But they could not tear their eyes away from the dragon, which was unlike any they had ever imagined. Misshapen, bloated, and monstrous, it moved inexorably toward the west, mesmerizing them until long after they should have been away.
One of the Citadel scouts grabbed Nelwyn’s arm. “Forgive me…but they are getting too close. We must fly now if we are to escape them.”
Gaelen and Nelwyn knew that signs of their presence would remain in the sand, and then the pursuit would begin. They had to keep out of the range of enemy archers, and they would be in the open nearly all the way back. They mounted their restive animals and rode as though the demons of darkness flew at their backs.
Rogond made his way down to the deep halls, and thence to the vast inner chambers where all of the most valuable written lore had been moved to keep it from the enemy. It was a massive collection that had taken weeks to secure.
In the midst of it, glowering from under his snowy eyebrows, axe at the ready, stood Fima the dwarf. He was surrounded by the Citadel’s scholars, and Rogond knew they would die rather than allow the enemy even to set eyes on the lowliest parchment. Fima’s talents were of much greater use in this place than as one of hundreds upon the battlements, where Rogond felt he would almost certainly fall. Fima was a fierce fighter, but his recent illness would sap his strength, and his age would work against him. Here, in this cool underground place, he was in his element.
&nbs
p; Rogond called out as he stood before the heavy doors, and heard a faint reply from within. A few moments later the doors opened to reveal Fima’s weathered face. His bright eyes twinkled when he beheld his friend, though his expression was set and determined. Rogond stepped inside, marveling at the enormous store of written lore that lay now before him.
“In a few minutes they will barricade you inside. Are you certain you have everything you will need?”
“I have food and water enough for many weeks, and I have my axe, which is the most important of my needs,” said Fima.
“I pray your axe remains idle, yet I’m relieved that you have it. The knowledge of the Citadel will not be taken easily.”
“Indeed not, for the Scourge will only destroy it…knowledge is of no use to such a people. I hope the wall holds, but I’m ready if it doesn’t.” He patted his axe. “I’m not so sure about the rest of them,” he whispered, eyeing the scholars with some disdain. “I suspect their only experience with combat has come from reading about it.”
“Regardless, I pity the fool who first pokes his filthy head inside this chamber,” said Rogond. Then, with a last farewell, he left Fima to his task. As he turned and looked for what might be the last time upon the old dwarf, Fima called out to him.
“Keep safe, young Tuathan, and try to safeguard our little Wood-elf. May we all meet again and share tales of victory. Thank you for preserving my honor...I know what you have done, why you have set me here. You were right to do so. This is my place, and here I shall prevail, or die.”
“You were set here because the fire of knowledge burns hot within you, and you are sworn to guard it. For no other reason were you chosen,” said Rogond. “I shall look out for Gaelen as I may, but I fear we shall all need looking after before it ends. Farewell, my stout-hearted friend!”
The sand flew from under the feet of the horses as the four scouts galloped toward their destination, but they knew it was still a fair distance away, and the first shouts of their pursuers could now be heard. Gaelen’s heart sank—these people were superb mounted fighters, and were skilled with the bow. It was said that to be struck by one of their arrows was death, for they were tipped with a deadly poison. If she were the enemy, she would have her archers aim for the horses, as they, too, would fall to the deadly darts. On foot, the scouts would be helpless. She risked a backward glance under her left arm, dismayed to see a dozen mounted archers that even now strove to draw within range. She urged Finan forward, and he responded. He would not fail her.