The War of Embers

by James Duvall

  “They've brought Tamlin out every day with a sword against his throat to make a point of it,” Thomas said soberly. “Same problem with the soldiers. Half a dozen golems ready to go through the walls of the barracks like a storm wave into the harbor. There'd be naught but blood and bone left afterward.”

  “Joshua, you'll attack the tower. Thomas and I will take take the barracks.”

  “The armory has been cleared out,” Thomas warned. “Tell General Tamlin. He will know where other caches are.”

  “I understand,” Joshua said. He stretched his wings, the wind around them growing cold as he prepared to leave.

  “We will see you at the gate,” Rickthicket said. He doused his light and climbed onto Sir Thomas's shoulder with grim intent written on his little gray face.

  “I will be there,” Joshua said and then spiraled up into the night sky. When he reached Halder's Tower he landed on the roof, curling his long tail around the circumference of it to make it harder to spot from the ground. He had a few minutes to ready himself; Rickthicket and Sir Thomas would need time to get to the barracks.

  From his vantage point he could see Ralian archers had taken positions on the walls around the crusader's gate to the north and the gate of the Scepter and Sword to the west. Joshua could not see them individually, but even at this distance he could make out the distortion in the air of large volleys of arrows released at once and falling like a dark curtain over the invaders at the gates below.

  At the foot of the south tower were only three golems. They were harder to distinguish in the dark and from nearly directly above, but the smaller two looked like Shalebacks. The third had ruby pauldrons permanently affixed to its onyx shoulders and stood taller and wider than the usual fare. A flash of light to the west brought Joshua's attention back to the horizon. Fireballs flew along the streets like Fourth of July rockets.

  Joshua bounded clear of the tower, gaining altitude with fevered pumping of his wings. Once he had risen high enough to crest St. Penathor's white tower he let himself begin to fall. He turned over backward to complete the dive, pointing his nose toward one of the Shalebacks. The power of the nightstorm tingled in his claws like lightning bolts charged and ready, crackling with anticipation.

  Raw power sliced the air in bands, Joshua's momentum carrying him through the golem even as it broke into hundreds of pieces from the sheer violence of the collision. Stone gave way like butter to hot, knifing claws. The golem's heartstone clattered along the cobblestones, shedding glinting ruby fragments like blood.

  “Get that!” Gulderthag commanded in a heavy voice. The other Shaleback reached for Joshua, but found the night seeker much quicker than it had anticipated. Joshua ducked under the clumsy attempt at a bear hug and reached up with his glowing claws, bringing down half the golem's arm in a solitary blow. The other arm came out of nowhere, smashing into the side of Joshua's head with a ringing blow.

  Staggering under the force of the hit, Joshua took a few side-steps to the right to keep his feet beneath the trunk of his body. The golem pressed its advantage, coming in for another swing, but this time it did not have an arm to sacrifice to the dragon. Joshua pumped his wings to assist a leap backward and then struck like a viper, reversing direction in the span of heartbeat and neatly severing the golem's head from its body. Blinded, the stone torso should have groped about uselessly, but it somehow kept up the fight, swatting at Joshua as though he were no more than a large, cold-winged fly.

  A flash of red in the corner of his eye brought Joshua around quick enough to dash out of Gulderthag's reach. He circled the building once, trying to clear the noise from his still-throbbing head. That had been much too close. On the second pass he sprayed Gulderthag's eyes with icy blue flame. Even dragon fire was not hot enough to soften a golem's stone, but it could still blind temporarily. On the third pass, Joshua aimed for the eyes again, this time strafing downward so that he was skimming the road as closely as he dared. He reached out with a shining claw, intent on slicing the golem's leg off at what served as the rock monster's knee.

  Joshua could tell immediately that he had erred. His claws did not slice cleanly through, instead catching on the harder core. He let go as quickly as he was able, but the damage was done. The impact wrenched his foreleg hard enough that he was very afraid it had been torn off at the shoulder. Torn muscle throbbed within.

  “Now is your time for breaking,” Gulderthag said dispassionately. He put his hands to the ground. Runes on the backs of them began to glow with ruby red light. Joshua felt the ground quiver beneath his chest, but it was not the same tremble of golem footfalls. It was smaller, more isolated, like a mole digging up to the surface. Joshua was several body-lengths from the golem. He lifted his foreleg to see. The ground raced up toward his nose, a thin spire of stone erupting like a stalagmite. His head jerked back just in time, but the second he had not seen and it lanced up through the webbing of his wing on the opposite side.

  With a roar of pain Joshua blinked away tears. He had to focus. Gulderthag would finish him in seconds if he didn't. Desperately he swept enchanted claws through the base of the lance that had impaled his wing using his good leg for balance. The lance slid free, cold air stinging a bloody wound that was certain to leave a scar. More lances popped up, forcing Joshua to dance around them, favoring one leg and only able to flap one wing without a sharp stab of pain to distract him. He was staying ahead of them for now, but the lances came faster and faster and there was only so much space to withdraw to before he was pinned against the wall or the tower.

  Two spikes jutted up on his left, a third on the right, precisely where he was trying to be to avoid those on the left. At the last second he twisted around it, a stone spire bruising his side as he crashed into it sidelong, an easy price to avoid it piercing his vulnerable white underbelly. Ahead there was space, so Joshua surged into it. Another spire blocked his path. He felled it with a single strike and took it in his jaws. Dancing through the veritable minefield he made his way toward Gulderthag, eyes ablaze with magic as he poured everything he had left into his claws and wings.

  Vaulting the final row, Joshua pumped his wings to drive himself into the golem's chest with as much force as he could muster. The spire plunged into the golem's chest like a rider's lance. Joshua released it as he caught the big stone torso against his chest, wrapping his claws around it and tearing fervently at the stone body. Gulderthag's fist hit him like a sledgehammer to the ribs again and again, letting out a primordial scream. Joshua could only roar his wrath back as the two of them clawed and struck, biting and bashing as they sought each other's vital heart. Joshua wrenched off one of the golem's arms, the other still pounding away as they turned a slow circle, shedding pebbles and scales and blood.

  In the end it was Joshua's glimmering claws scored a strike again Gulderthag's heartstone and the golem seized violently. With a desperate yank, Joshua tore the glowing heartstone free of the cold onyx body. The effect was immediate and welcome, the golem's grip on him relaxing in death. The stone that had once been Gulderthag became lifeless once more and Joshua sank to the ground, bloodied and broken.

  ***

  Charles Tamlin could hear that the battle for Camden had begun, although he had not expected it to sound so close so suddenly. If Anthony was smart he would have attacked from the Crusader's Gate and the Gate of the Scepter and Sword to force the ralian defenders to defend two fronts at once. There was only the traitor's gate near Halder's Tower, serviced only by the river and too easily plugged by a small cadre of golems, assuming of course that the golems had not had the foresight to simply collapse the gate, trapping would-be invaders on their boats and leaving them vulnerable to arrows from above and kegs of burning oil that would quickly bring a ship to a fiery end like only a dragon's wrath could compare.

  It came as a great shock when the tower door opened and a young man came in alone. His face was covered in blood and grime. Blood trickled from a wound over his eye which was nearly swollen sh
ut. He walked with a limp and looked about to fall down at any moment.

  “The keys,” Tamlin shouted urgently. The young man nodded wearily, standing still and cradling an arm that looked to be broken. He scanned the room slowly.

  “I don't see them...”

  “I have them,” Khaebus said, appearing at the top of the stairs. He had a sword in one hand, held very much like he did not know at all how to use one, though it would probably still be enough to defeat the wreck of a man that served as his opponent. The tip dragged along the ground as he walked to meet the would-be rescuer with timidity in every step.

  “Steady now, where is your sword?” Tamlin said evenly. “Soldier? Your sword?”

  From the other end of the hall he could hear but not see Rigby, Longstrom, and Handol calmly advising the soldier to keep his fists up and take the torch from the iron brace on the wall if he had no other weapon.

  “I don't need one,” the man answered, then was enveloped in deep blue flames that burned bright enough to force Tamlin to avert his eyes. When the fire was gone, a wounded night seeker stood in the man's place with a feral gleam in his eyes. “The door was a little narrow.”

  The sword in Khaebus's hand clanged to the ground, clattering as it bounced down the last few steps and finally came to rest against the shoulder of the stairs.

  “Give me the keys and I will let you live,” the dragon said.

  “Garrodar... it wasn't my idea,” Khaebus said frantically as he withdrew a few steps.

  The dragon did not immediately follow. It leaned on one side to keep weight off its injured limb. “I don't care about your ideas and I don't care who you are. Give me the keys.”

  Khaebus yanked them off his belt and tossed them before the dragon like a hunk of meat before a hungry lion. He bolted up the stairs and slammed one of the upper doors behind him. The dragon made steady, uneven strides over to the keys and picked them up in its teeth.

  “Tamlin? Are you Tamlin?” the night seeker asked weakly, its amulet glowing with soft power as it spoke.

  “I am,” Tamlin said, raising his hand and reaching out through the bars. The dragon came to him and deposited the keys in his open palm.

  “Thomas says... the armory is empty...” the dragon said in a pained voice. Then it curled up on the ground and closed its eyes.

  Barking orders even before he'd managed to get his keys into the lock from outside the bars, Tamlin readied his men for battle.

  “Rigby, Handell, get the weapons from the lockers at the practice grounds. Bring as much live steel as you can carry.”

  He tossed the keys to Longstrom. “Loose the others, see to it that someone places Khaebus under guard. We may need to trade him when this is all said and done.”

  ***

  Through his spyglass Anthony Graham could see the Crusader's Gate shuddering like a ship tossed on the waves. Smoke rose from the square. Part of the watch tower was missing, carried away by a catapult shot that had gone wide of its mark. At least the arrows had stopped. Another boulder arched high overhead, coming down like a flaming meteor and ending the Crusader's Gate in a shrill wail of metal and the roar of breaking timbers. The sound took Anthony back to the War of Ashes when the very gate had fallen and he had drawn his sword in a final defense that had ultimately turned the tide. He raised his hand and the flagman ordered the attack. At long last the catapults fell silent. Their crews started repairs as best as could be made in the field while others used mule teams to collect the boulders thrown back by the city's defenses.

  Columns of men advanced on the smoldering gap. All along the wall the siege towers rolled into place. Ralian archers readied their bows, keeping the dark-shafted barbs pointed at where the soldiers of Arcamyn would soon emerge. The bridges fell into place, connecting tower to wall. Inside, Graham's archers waited until the moment starlight fell upon their eyes, then loosed at once. Swordsmen surged past them, finishing those archers that were not taken by the initial wave of arrows.

  “Messenger, sir,” Captain Wicker said, pointing out a rider coming in fast from the south.

  The courier did not stand on courtesy and dismount, instead bringing his horse right alongside Sir Graham and placing the missive directly in his hand.

  “Sir,” the soldier said, bowing his head briefly.

  “Report?”

  “Captain Cannis reports the Ironfoot regulars are still bombarding the Scepter Gate. They've moved their siege into position and have taken to the battering rams. Thacker's light are securing market square. Sir Thabe has been found. He has taken command of archer units Shield and Halberd. They are moving in to support Thacker with stone breakers.”

  “What of the golems?”

  “Many, sir.”

  “Take this to Captain Cannis.” Graham penned a quick answer and sent the dispatch rider away with it with all due speed.

  “Hold up the rear,” Graham said to Wicker, drawing his sword. “Send the signal lights up if the enemy shows. I expected more resistance.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wicker said, offered a quick salute, and hurried off to send the change of rear command through the lines.

  The monument to King Rufus and the War of Ashes stood proudly over the rubble of the same gate that had fallen on the day that caused the monument to first be built. Sacrys and Dakrym still watched over it, solemn expressions forever carved into their watchful faces. Graham paused a moment to wipe the dust from Dakrym's back. He could feel the shadow of the white dragon's wings over the city tonight.

  In the near distance he could hear the popping of stonebreaker arrows, bursting all over the city like festival balls at the autumnal harvest faires. Thacker's men had already begun establishing a forward base of command. Graham found the hook-nosed man bent over a map with his lieutenants huddled around.

  “Captain,” Graham said. “Fine work.”

  “Thank you, Sir Graham. We've got rocks everywhere,” Captain Thacker said, pointing out the largest concentrations on the map.

  “Corral them in the market,” Graham said, tracing attack routes through the streets. “If you bring a unit through here and here, I'll take the reserve up on the other side. We'll get them out and the open and we can catch them in the crossfire of both archer groups.”

  Thacker's lieutenants looked to him for specific directions and he sent each of them along the routes Graham had laid out.

  “Archers are on the rooftops,” Thacker said. “Most of the ralians have withdrawn to the palace. The dragon mercs set Tamlin and his men loose. Last I heard they were running havoc through the palace halls, rounding up the rest of the ralian resistance. No sign of Kreen.”

  “Gulderthag?”

  “Destroyed,” Thacker reported. “By the night seeker. Tore him up pretty bad though, not sure if he'll pull through.”

  There was a time when Graham would have stopped at every dying soldier he found to say a few words on his behalf but those were the days before the War of Ashes and command offered few opportunities for a moment to pause and reflect or commiserate with the wounded and dying. There were many of both on the road to the marketplace, more than had fallen on the road to Camden. As their commander passed they would see him with his head held high, marching toward the glory before him with an unsheathed sword, gleaming with silver as bright as Sacrys's scales.

  The plan had not gone without its hitches. All of the golems had been corralled into the marketplace but very few of archers could find a shot between the cloth canopies. The golems stomped through market stalls without hesitation. Flame-tipped arrows would converge anywhere the canopies fell, blasting the stone giants apart. In most golem encounters that would have been enough to end the attack simply given enough time and arrows, but the golems seemed to react. Before Graham's eyes they made a reckless charge into lines of infantrymen armed with clubs, pickaxes, and heavy hammers reinforced with steel bands. Men died by the scores. The ground shook like an earthquake and the sound was as though every building in the city had begun to
collapse in a great symphony of drums and choking dust.

  “Kreen is here...” a low voice rumbled as though sourced by an avalanche. “Crush the fleshlings.”

  “Sir Graham!” a voice called from the rooftop. Graham looked up expecting to find an archer but instead found the Sadean mage. She was dressed in robes of vivid blues and stark whites as a proper mage of the Frostwind order ought, even though Graham knew she was not. It was at his own insistence that she wear them. Mages needed to be easily identifiable on the battlefield, lest soldiers unwittingly come between them and a target.

  “Sir Graham!” the Sadean girl called again, waving him over.

  “Can you see Kreen?” he called up to her.

  “I can!” she shouted over the din. She raised her staff, pointing it into the fracas. A blast of cobalt light hit one of the golems in the chest, having no apparent effect. Two more and the creature's chest took on rime and then crumbled from within as the water inside froze and expanded like a thousand tiny chisels. Syrrus felled two more in similar fashion, then jumped down and landed nimbly at Graham's side.

  “I'm going to blast my way through,” she said, looking into the gap she had created with grim intent. “You may come if you like.”

  Graham followed in the wake of a hailstorm of icy comets. His sword blazed with light as it sliced through any golem that tried to step into the gap created by its felled brother.

  In the midst of all the smoke and the fire and the dust, Graham finally laid eyes on Kreen. He stood tall as a tower, his implacable will unbending as a storm-wreathed mountain. Syrrus's magic flashed again and again, keeping the lesser golems at bay. Like an archer, her power was not limitless and her quiver of spells would soon run dry.