by Erik A Otto
He still had time, but at most a minute.
He just needed a few more pulses.
But Paulo hadn’t been looking straight ahead.
Another figure, hairless and tattooed with scars emanating from his eyes, had clambered up to the top of the dike from the other side. He jumped on Paulo, thrusting a curved blade deep into his shoulder. The impact threw Paulo off the ramolon, and they tumbled into the rising waters together.
Chapter 24
The Commander
The Purveyor, Darian, and Colonel Mahrtan’s men were soon engulfed by the darkness of the plain after they turned off the promontory. Aisha then watched nervously as her cavalry streamed out of the gates, over the gangway bridge, and along the promontory until they clashed with the edge of the vast Cenaran encampment.
She should be with them.
The others had refused her suggestion. Even her own men refused her. This wasn’t a mission for the Pomerian heiress, they said, not a mission for the High Commander.
So instead she was left up on the battlements to watch, feeling a weight of guilt and helplessness.
The Cenarans were certainly surprised by the attack. In the disarray, her archers were taking many Cenarans down, but farther away, behind the melee, an organized line was appearing among the multitude of tents, and this line began to advance to properly engage her cavalry. Even more worrisome was another group coming off the plain near where Paulo’s men had started their drive north to the dikes. These were gathering on the promontory, cutting the diversion team off from behind, preventing any way of regaining access to the keep.
“Okay, okay. No need to be heroes,” she said.
The cavalry lingered a few minutes more, trying to take out as many of the stray Cenarans as they could. It wasn’t until the now-massive line of the assembled Cenaran counteroffensive engaged them that they turned and fled back toward the keep.
The Cenaran force behind them was in formation as well. The Pomerian cavalry tried to drive through, but too many horses fell in the front. The charge was halted and they went into disarray. More horsemen were struck from their steeds as they tried to avoid running over their comrades.
The cavalry’s retreat was blocked, and more Cenarans were advancing onto the promontory between them and the keep. There must have been two hundred fresh soldiers waiting, not counting the ones who were engaged in the fighting.
At that point Aisha knew they would never get through—she knew her men would never return.
The unengaged Cenarans gathering on the promontory began turning around, looking opportunistically at the exposed gangway over the moat and the open barricade of the keep.
“I’m sorry, Aisha,” Timothur said to her, his hand on her shoulder. Without waiting for a response, he called out, “The gangway!”
A group of horses rode out from the gates. The men dismounted and pushed the gangways into the moat. Seeing these foes in the open, the Cenarans became feverish with bloodlust and ran toward the moat. They screamed their war cries, and those with bows put them to work.
Of the crew who pushed the gangways into the moat, two men fell, but the rest managed to mount their horses and make their way through the barricade. Aisha heard hammers as they resealed the barricade for good.
These hammers also sealed the fate of the remaining men in the diversionary force.
Aisha couldn’t object to Timothur’s order. She had agreed in advance that he would make the call, and the call was right. They couldn’t risk the keep over a hundred men.
So she watched despondently as the remaining men were slaughtered. None even made it back as far as the moat. Many of those men she’d known well and respected. She’d never felt so powerless.
She couldn’t let these men die in vain.
She hobbled over to Timothur, who had been walking down the battlements. “Why can’t we use the other three gargoyles?” she asked.
Timothur paused before he responded, gathering himself. “Commander, we need to be prudent. What if we lose all the gargoyles? Not only will our defense of the keep be decimated, but we’ll be unable to send out messengers to warn the rest of Belidor. If we’re to die here, the least we can do is warn the people of Belidor to prepare for the onslaught, train for guerrilla warfare, or hide in the hills and forests. In the end, that may be the biggest impact we have.”
Aisha shook her head. “This is our one chance. You must believe that, General. What if we need just one more gargoyle? What if five gargoyles allows us victory when four does not?”
Her comments stirred him, she could see, but he shook his head. “Listen, Aisha, I understand. But I’m not sure how we can split hairs over one or two more gargoyles. Besides, who would you trust to take one with traitors everywhere? I would only trust a few, and most of those are already out on the plain.”
It bothered Aisha that he didn’t refer to her as Commander, but something bothered her even more than that. “Do you trust me?” she asked.
He was taken aback by her question for a moment. He couldn’t help himself from looking at her leg.
This only steeled her resolve. She clenched her teeth and waved her finger at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I can ride a horse as good as any man, so I’m sure I can ride a gargoyle just the same.”
His head tilted to the side. “I’m sorry, Aisha. You’re right. I’ve seen you ride, but…” He grimaced. “Fine, Aisha, if you really want to go, you have my support. Take one of the gargoyles.”
It had been an impulsive request, and she hadn’t expected him to actually approve. Did she really just insist on flying a lone gargoyle out to battle?
He took her pause for reluctance. “You may fear the gargoyle, Aisha, I understand, but if you choose not to go, I can’t accept someone else to go in your place. If a gargoyle made it into the hands of a traitor, it would ruin us.”
She scoffed at Timothur’s presumption. “General, I have my frailties, but I don’t fear the gargoyle. I pause because I’m more fearful of the walk down the staircase to the Holy Sanctum.”
His face was blank for a moment, and then he broke into a grin and laughed. “I believe you, Aisha. I will send a man to find Nala, then. She was with Sebastian and the Purveyor down in the Holy Sanctum. She can tell you how to ride the beast.”
“Good idea, General, but I can send my own man.” And she turned toward the stairs.
Enough words. If she was to help the force at the dikes, it was now or never.
Aisha found Nala in the courtyard, looking through some of the broken-down festival stalls that had been pushed to the side. She had a somber look on her face.
“Nala, can I ask for your assistance one more time?”
Nala didn’t answer. She seemed self absorbed, her face a window into some sort of melancholy. Aisha realized she’d best handle this carefully.
“Are you troubled, Nala?” Aisha asked. “Why aren’t you on the battlements?”
“I would rather not watch,” Nala said, reading some torn piece of scripture. “And I’ve always found the Canons to be so poetic. It seemed fitting to read them as we face our fate. Yet when I do, they don’t make sense to me anymore. Like the Canon of Protection. It says, ‘The path to Matteo’s moon requires us to not only protect the virtuous, but also to pacify those who seek to corrupt us.’ Is this why this is happening; because we didn’t pacify the Cenarans? It sounds more like the Cenarans are trying to pacify us—by killing us. But they’re the heathens, right?”
Aisha rested carefully on another chair so she could be eye to eye with Nala. “I don’t know, Nala, honestly. To me, the Canons are just a guide, for idea and inspiration. There are too many situations where the Canons don’t fit if taken literally. In fact, it could be immoral and dangerous to do so. That’s what happened to the Cenarans. They are slaves to their scripture. I’m sure many of them abhor what they’re doing and know it’s wrong, but their faith has given them an excuse to ignore their own conscience.”
Nala
was still puzzled. Ever since Sebastian had returned, she’d been grappling with her faith.
Aisha had no more time to accommodate Nala’s introspection. “Nala, I’m taking a gargoyle out on the plain to help the others. Can you help me retrieve one and teach me how to use it? It’s of critical importance.”
Nala’s eyes went wide. “I…yes, I can. I remember Sebastian showing the Purveyor and the others.” She looked at Aisha’s wooden leg. “I can even go to the Holy Sanctum and bring it here. It will be faster.”
Aisha was about to say she could do it herself, but it would only be her pride speaking. Nala’s suggestion would be quicker, and that mattered most. “Yes, Nala, that would be helpful, and we need it soon. Right away, in fact.”
Nala looked happy to be useful. She smiled and jumped out of her chair. “Right away!” she said, and she ran for the stairs that led down into the Holy Sanctum.
While Aisha waited, she looked down at some of the scripture Nala had been reading. She could do with some inspiration herself.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A voice called to her. It was Hella. She was descending the stairs from the battlements, her dander up.
Aisha grimaced and waited.
Hella made her way across the courtyard to Aisha, wagging her finger. “Timothur told me what you’re doing. You can forget about that. I’m going, not you.”
Aisha shook her head. “Then he must have also told you that I’m the only one allowed to take the gargoyle.”
Hella looked surprised, but she shook her head. “I don’t care. We need you here, Sister. You’re the heir to the throne.”
“Timothur’s order was clear. He said he doesn’t trust anyone else.”
Hella reddened. “Timothur doesn’t trust me! After all this I can’t—”
Aisha stopped her. “Hella! I’m sure he trusts you. He doesn’t want you to go for…other reasons, I think.”
Hella looked puzzled. It was amazing that Hella was so empathic, that she could read people better than Aisha in almost every instance, yet she was blind in this situation. Aisha certainly wasn’t skilled in dealing with men, but with even her cursory knowledge, it was obvious.
“Listen, Hella,” Aisha said, “it doesn’t matter. You’re right that I’m heiress. You may forget, however, that I’m also High Commander. Those are my men that I sent to their deaths, and it’s my call, not yours. I won’t be able to live with myself unless I take this gargoyle out to fight.”
Hella’s lips pursed defiantly.
Aisha continued, “And as much as you hate it, you have always been more like mother. You are the better regent. I might have a few talents, but if we need one of us to rule, it’s not me. If one of us needs to live, it’s you.”
For once, Hella had no witty retort. Instead, her eyes brimmed with tears, and she broke down. Then she wrapped her arms around Aisha, who had to shuffle her weight precariously to avoid falling over from putting undue pressure on her peg leg.
Pomerian royalty rarely lost composure for long. Hella separated herself and wiped the tears from her eyes. She stiffened, and her chin went out like mother’s did so often. “Well, I guess I can’t stop you. I’ll always remember this, Aisha.”
Without making further eye contact, Hella turned her back to Aisha and headed hastily up the stairs to the battlements.
A few moments later, black wings sprung forth from the Holy Sanctum entrance. The massive gargoyle jumped up and glided down to where Aisha was standing. It froze, and its wings wrapped around its body, the way she’d seen it depicted in the Book of Canons.
Nala slid down off its back onto the ground behind it. “Ready?” she asked.
Aisha nodded and walked to the beast’s backside. Nala showed her the control fins and saddle straps. She also gave some pointers for riding she’d heard Sebastian telling the others.
Aisha checked her armor, sword, bow, and quiver, and then mounted the beast. It was awkward, but she could climb up well enough using only her upper-body strength. The gargoyle leaned forward once she was on in order to bear her weight. She shifted around, testing her seating. It felt much like riding a horse, and she could sense no painful pressure on the nerve in her stump.
“Is it going okay out there?” Nala asked as Aisha tried to get comfortable. “Do you think Sebastian is all right?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, Nala. I’m hopeful, though.” Aisha felt the contour of the control fins, trying to visualize Nala’s directions for moving the beast before taking off.
Nala was fidgeting, staring at her feet as she kicked at the courtyard dirt.
“Listen, Nala, you’ve done incredible things to help me—and to help us. Without your message, we would never have stopped the conspirators in Pomeria. Without your assistance through Albondo, I wouldn’t have made it here with my men in time.”
Nala only nodded shyly. Whatever was bothering her, Aisha’s commendations didn’t seem to placate her. But there was no time to address her concerns. Aisha had bickered and bantered too much with Timothur, Hella, and now Nala while her men fought and died.
Without another word, she pulled the control fin Nala had shown her. With a running leap and a flap of the beast’s massive wings, Aisha was away.
The gargoyle’s wings flapped repeatedly as she ascended higher and higher, out of the courtyard, over the battlements and then into the expansive night sky.
Tens of thousands of wyg lamps had been illuminated in all directions. The Old Keep shrank behind Aisha, as did the horde of Cenarans who had collapsed in on her fallen men. This was where the majority of Cenarans were concentrated. More streamed in from other parts of the plain in that direction.
At least the diversion had worked.
Aisha followed the path the Purveyor had shown on his makeshift map. The open spaces where they’d run were visible as dark unlit swaths of ground. These patches were devoid of activity except where a few bands of Cenarans roved, perhaps trying to sniff out the trail of the Purveyor’s group.
Eventually she could see the dikes. At the seawall, streams of water gushed in through two large perforations, and the area between the two lines of dikes was filling. At the safety dike there was another small tear. Near it men and horses fought while gargoyles circled and dove. Along the safety dike, throngs of Cenarans ran to converge on the fighting from both directions.
She immediately directed her gargoyle down toward the melee.
She counted four gargoyles left, including hers, but as she descended, she saw one of them become entangled with a mosquero and tumble off the dike, ejecting the riders of both beasts into the rising waters.
Down the line she watched a shift as Colonel Mahrtan’s men were vanquished, and the victorious Cenarans advanced onto the dike again. She saw a lone ramolon, ridden by the Purveyor, ramming away at the dike. Cenaran forces were converging on him from both sides. They came in vast numbers but were still a ways away. The more present threat she could see was a man crawling over the dike to assail the Purveyor directly in front of him.
She wasn’t able to intervene in time, but she was close enough to have her gargoyle pull the Cenaran off the Purveyor as they tussled in the water. She hoisted him up into the air and then let go, not paying attention to where he might land. She turned the gargoyle down again to immediately return to where the ramolon was.
If the Purveyor had been hurt, or killed…
He wasn’t dead. He was staggering toward the ramolon through the rising waters, but the ramolon seemed to have been spooked. For whatever reason, whenever the Purveyor came close, the ramolon shuffled away from him in fear.
Two more Cenarans scrambled over the dike, following the path of the first.
Aisha hovered the gargoyle over the Cenarans, scratching at their arms and heads. One claw tore a gash across one of their faces. This man fell to his knees and grasped at his wound. The other managed to duck out of the way. He continued toward the Purveyor, wading through the waist-deep waters.
Aisha’s gargoyle flew in behind the Cenaran, gliding in quietly. Her target looked up too late, just as the claws grabbed him and lifted him out of the waters. His body shed droplets as he flailed about in the gargoyle’s uncompromising hold.
Just when she was about eject the man into the night sky, her gargoyle abruptly rolled, dropped the Cenaran and nearly threw Aisha off. The gargoyle managed to flap its wings, righting itself just before breaking the surface of the water. She still found herself slamming into the back of the beast from the force of the landing.
The gargoyle began fidgeting about in the water. Aisha could see the culprit; an arrow had lodged in the creature’s torso just under its wing. The gargoyle fluttered the wing above it and bit at the arrow until its stubby beak grabbed hold and snapped part of the shaft off.
This only made it more agitated.
Aisha used the fins to command the gargoyle to lift off, but the water was too high. The wings couldn’t get enough air to lift them before they slapped into the water. She tried several times, but the beast could only manage a small jump and then would fall back to the waters where its wings splashed uselessly.
She tried to urge it to walk forward—to find higher ground. It was painfully slow, and it occasionally stopped to bite at its torso where the arrow tip was lodged.
She had no time for this. Soon the waters would be too high, and they would be unable to attack the dike with the ramolon.
The Purveyor had returned to the dike and was climbing out of the rising waters. One of his hands held his shoulder, where blood oozed out from the gaps between his taught fingers. He stopped a few feet above the water, lacking the strength to move any further.
