Farred didn’t share in the humour of the spectacle. But he understood it. The soldiers of the Empire were tense, fearful, and, having seen the enemy army for the first time, doubtless in shock. The sight of the fleeing prostitute allowed some of them to break the tension. However, before long she was run down and speared by the Drobax, who continued their advance on Burkhard Castle.
When the first of the Drobax got within distance of the imperial lines they faltered, waiting for greater numbers to advance. But the Drobax didn’t operate in formations or any similar kind of tactics. Once there were enough of them they moved forwards again, relying on their greater weight of numbers. They approached in a disorganised mess of shouts and roars, intending to force their way up the castle. But the narrowness of the path meant that they were funnelled into lines of only half a dozen wide, unable to make their superior numbers count by getting around and behind their enemy.
Farred watched the initial clash from his vantage point atop the crag. The Rotelegen soldiers moved down to meet the Drobax with their spears levelled and a horrendous crunch echoed upwards. There was little to see for a while as the two armies pushed against each other, the great force of the Drobax horde pushing against the Brasingians who had the height advantage. Spears wouldn’t be much use down there now: smaller weapons, which could be used in the crush of bodies to stab and rip at the enemy, would be more effective.
The standard of Jeremias, the young Duke of Rotelegen, held firm. After a while his men started to get the upper hand. Their superior armour and weapons, along with the height advantage, began to tell. The bodies of Drobax started to pile up at the bottom of the crag and get in the way of the next line trying to move forward. In the end, they pulled back about fifty metres. The men on the castle cheered, but the Drobax leered back, inviting them to come and fight out in the open.
A flurry of activity at the bottom of the castle ensued, as soldiers from the front lines either made their own way or were helped up the path: presumably those injured in the fighting. Farred quickly noticed the standard of Jeremias was among them. He couldn’t help looking over at Adalheid, but she observed stony faced. It would be a disaster for them if the young duke had been killed in the first of the fighting.
Minutes passed and the two armies remained separated by a few feet of ground in front of the castle. As they got closer, Farred could see that amongst the group of men climbing the path was Jeremias, alive but nonetheless being speedily manhandled up by his bodyguards. The small group arrived at the top. Jeremias yanked off his helmet, his face red with exertion, his hair dripping wet with sweat, but he didn’t look injured.
‘Mother, how dare you order that I be dragged up here? I should be down there with my men,’ he demanded, genuinely fuming.
‘You’ve done your job, Jeremias,’ Adalheid replied matter-of-factly. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by risking your life more than is necessary. Are you hurt?’ she asked, the mother’s concern for her child slipping out at the end despite herself.
Jeremias pulled a face. ‘Of course not—’ he began, but was interrupted by Walter.
‘Well done, Your Grace,’ he effused. ‘You and your men fought well and hard. It was vital we stopped their momentum at the beginning.’
Everyone else joined in with their own congratulations, which succeeded in mollifying the young duke enough for him to drop his complaints. Of course, the truth was that the Drobax had hardly been defeated, and they were already readying for another assault. Many Rotelegen still occupied the bottom of the castle path, apparently unwilling to give up their position at the front, but they were also being supplemented by the men of Gotbeck, proudly watched over by their Archbishop a few feet from Farred’s position. The Drobax charged on in a second assault, a cacophony of drumming, shouts, and the clanging of metal rising to the top of the crag.
As he watched on, Farred had to admit that he had underestimated the Brasingians. He had been all too aware of the terrifying effect the Drobax could have, but had not fully considered the point of view of his allies. They had been waiting for weeks to engage the enemy, their frustration and anger building as the Drobax destroyed their homes, and Baldwin’s orders had been to retreat and concede ground. They had witnessed Farred and the other Magnians ride off to take on the enemy, while they could only watch them go. And they had endured weeks of gruesome stories about the ferocious creatures who had invaded the Empire, so that when they finally appeared, the Drobax may even have been an anti-climax.
Because as Farred watched the carnage, he began to recognise that it was the Brasingians who were the more ferocious. They were desperate to spill blood, snarling with rage and fear, releasing the pent-up adrenaline of all the waiting around they had endured. They didn’t seem to tire or want to stop. They fought with the desperation of the cornered animal, of the outnumbered.
The Drobax had been force marched all the way to the castle: they tired more quickly, and had less to fight for. They attacked a third time, in just the same way as they had done, and with just as little success. Farred reckoned that each attack lasted for half an hour to an hour. After the third attack, the Drobax, presumably receiving an order, perhaps via the booming drums, made a full retreat. They marched away from the castle, and kept on marching, until they were completely out of sight. It might even have been possible for the defenders of Burkhard Castle to wonder if they had imagined the attack, were it not for the pile of bodies that lay at the bottom of the crag.
Every morning, after breakfast, Emperor Baldwin met with his war council. He was joined by the leaders of the armies stationed at Burkhard Castle. Duke Arne of Luderia, father of the Empress Hannelore, sat on his right. On his left was Godfrey, the vigorous Archbishop of Gotbeck. The young Duke Jeremias of Rotelegen attended with his mother, Adalheid. Due to the sickness of Prince Cerdda, Farred attended, representing the Magnians and Middians. Walter the Marshal, Baldwin’s brother, always began the meeting with an account of the defences, supplies, and any other information on the current situation. Finally, Gustav the Hawk, Archmage of the Empire, was usually there. This morning he wasn’t. It was never clear to Farred what his role was, though he would occasionally provide information about the enemy forces. No one ever asked how he obtained this information.
After Walter gave his briefing, talk naturally turned to the attack on the castle the night before.
‘I must start,’ announced Baldwin, ‘with my congratulations on the way Duke Jeremias fought and led his troops yesterday. Your father would have been proud.’
The other dukes banged their fists on the table in appreciation, and so Farred joined in. Jeremias nodded sombrely. Whatever emotion he felt, if any, he kept to himself.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ Jeremias acknowledged. ‘The people of my duchy will be ready to fight whenever you ask.’
‘Nobly said,’ commented Duke Arne.
‘Bearing the attack in mind,’ continued Baldwin, ‘now is a good time to review the disposition of our forces. I don’t want people to gain the impression that myself and the Kellish have been put in a safer location than the other imperial forces.’
‘Oh,’ said Arne, puffing out his cheeks, ‘I don’t think anyone has that impression at all.’
‘We are perfectly content where we are,’ added Godfrey.
‘I think,’ began Walter, ‘that the soldiers will not like to be moved about unnecessarily. We don’t yet know whether the enemy will always target the Duke’s Crag. If the situation arises where one group has done much more of the fighting, then we can think about moving things about.’
Everyone seemed happy with this judgement. The meeting lasted a little longer. It was agreed that Arne’s Luderians would defend the bottom of the crag for the next attack. But in truth, they were ready, and there was very little to do. They just had to wait for the next attack to come.
The meeting broke up and Farred made his way to the Emperor’s Crag where the Magnian forces had been barracked. He dropped
in on Brock and the Middians to pass on the details of the meeting. Farred had now taken over the leadership of the Southern troops and felt responsible for these men, cooped up in some castle miles from their homelands. He spent as much time with them as possible, chatting or playing dice, finding out about their families and lives back home. He was especially careful to spend time with the North Magnians who had effectively lost their prince. Farred took his lunch with them, and in the afternoon, he and Brock went up to the walls of the keep, from where there was an excellent view of the lands surrounding the castle, including the Great Road. He knew that he was avoiding Ashere, but tried to put the thought out of his mind.
‘I wonder what they’re doing,’ Farred said as they gazed out into the distance. ‘I’ve heard some people suggest that the whole army is marching south to Essenberg.’
Brock considered this, screwing up his face in thought.
‘If you were them,’ said the Middian eventually, in his deep voice, ‘would you do that?’
‘No...I wouldn’t. If I had an army that large, I wouldn’t run away from a fight.’
Brock grunted, nodding. ‘I agree. They’ll be back soon enough.’
There was a pause as the two of them looked out over the landscape.
‘When it’s time,’ Brock said, ‘will you ride out with me.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t die on this rock like a cornered animal. When it’s time I’m going to ride out against them. Walter says I can have a horse. He’ll give you one.’
It was a heroic image, and Farred couldn’t help but like the idea of it.
‘Very well, Brock. I’ll ride out with you.’
They stood in silence for a while, and they were amongst the first to see the return of the Drobax army. From every direction they appeared, a mass of tiny figures closing in on the castle. From mid-afternoon until the evening they came, surrounding the castle, but stopping short of missile range.
The numbers were incredible to see. Men kept shaking their heads in disbelief until it became a general source of humour. They chuckled at the sight and made dark jests about the victory they would enjoy tomorrow. Everyone now realised what Farred and Brock had known for days. This wasn’t an army that could be defeated in battle. It wasn’t an army at all in the sense that people had understood the word up to now. It was a migration.
The Drobax made their camps. As the sun went down, the light from their fires shone out around the castle. It was a terrifying sight yet somehow beautiful, as if all the night sprites had gathered together for a midnight party. The soldiers in the castle began to get their suppers. The mood seemed to drop. There was no escape now—Ishari had demonstrated that they were all doomed. Few of them would get a good sleep tonight.
Farred rose and said good night to Brock. He took in a deep breath. It was time to see Ashere.
When he entered Ashere’s room the smell was worse, and he couldn’t help covering his nose. The Prince was lying on his back, and his eyes had been closed, but he opened them when he heard Farred enter.
‘Hello,’ Farred said quietly, ‘How are you?’
What a stupid question, he thought to himself. He looked worse than ever; didn’t look like himself any more. His body seemed to have shrunk, except for his bones, which threatened to burst out of his skin.
Ashere made a facial gesture which may have been intended as a smile, but was just a grimace.
‘How do I look?’ he croaked, as if there was no water left in his mouth.
Farred moved over to the bed, propped him up and put a drink of water to his lips. Ashere gulped some down but it looked like it pained him to swallow. Farred let him back down.
‘Have you heard that the army is back again today?’
‘Yes, Inge has been in. She told me.’
There was a pause.
‘Farred. I’m dying. I’m in agony,’ Ashere’s voice cracked with emotion when he said these words, as if he was going to break down, but he pulled himself together. He took a deep breath. ‘Please end it for me.’
‘No!’ said Farred in horror. But was he really surprised? Was this why he had avoided visiting Ashere all day?
‘I’m sorry, my friend. I thought I would be much stronger than this. But I can’t take it anymore—’
Again, his emotions got the better of him. A tear rolled down his cheek. Farred’s heart felt like it would break.
‘I don’t think I can do it,’ Farred said, now struggling to get his own words out.
‘It has to be you, Farred. I can’t ask anybody else. Please.’
Farred nodded. He knew it had to be him.
‘Is there any...message for anyone?’
‘If you get out of here alive, tell my brother and sister I love them. I—I hope you do get out of here, Farred.’
There was nothing else to say now. More words would only make the job harder.
Farred gently lifted Ashere’s head, pulled out his pillow, and lowered his head back onto the bed. He placed the pillow firmly over Ashere’s face and pressed down.
To the Prince’s credit it was only at the very end that his arms shot upwards. His hands found Farred’s arms but they had no strength in them. Then the struggling stopped. Farred waited a while longer and then stopped. He carefully replaced the pillow.
He bent down and kissed him on the lips.
‘Farewell, Prince Ashere,’ he murmured. ‘Be at peace.’
11
Prisons
IT FELT GOOD TO GET AWAY from the High Tower and its claustrophobic atmosphere.
Looking at her riding companions, Belwynn got the impression that they felt the same way. Theron, more than anyone else, had taken responsibility for confronting Galenos: organising his supporters, persuading others that the cause was just. Tomorrow he would achieve his goal, and his uncle, Sebastian, would be sworn in as the new Grand Master of the Order of the Knights of Kalinth.
Sebastian was spending the day fasting and praying in preparation for the ceremony. Theron would have no special role to play, and so could afford an excursion today. His squire, Evander, accompanied them as always.
Rabigar also seemed a changed person today. He had gained a new sense of purpose for the first time since the sickening attack in Coldeberg prison which had left him blind in one eye. Now that he had resolved to return to his homeland, he seemed to be more alive, more in charge of his own destiny.
The four of them rode along at a steady pace, being as kind as they could to their horses on a hot summer’s day. The grassland they rode through was scorched dry, with few trees to offer shade. No one felt the need to talk much, but they travelled in an easy, companionable silence.
It was still before midday when they reached the crossroads. Rabigar’s journey would take him south, to the mountainous lands of the Krykkers, where humans were forbidden. They all dismounted. Rabigar and Theron gave each other a rough embrace.
‘Look after her,’ Rabigar growled.
‘I will,’ said Theron obediently.
Rabigar gave Evander a big slap on the back before turning to Belwynn. She suddenly burst into tears, surprising herself as much as anyone else.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ said Rabigar.
Belwynn understood that Rabigar was an exile, and that it was therefore dangerous to return home. But that wasn’t why she was crying.
‘I’ll miss you,’ she explained, sobbing, and feeling like a silly little girl.
Rabigar nodded. ‘I’ll miss you too. But if everything works out the way I want it to, I will see you again soon.’
He climbed back onto his mount, a gift from Sebastian, and continued his journey alone. They waited until Rabigar was out of sight before heading east.
‘I’m looking forward to showing you the fortress,’ said Theron, smiling like a goofy boy. He had remembered their conversation about the High Tower, and had decided that he had to show Belwynn the fortress at Chalios before they left for the north, and missed the cha
nce. Belwynn had been happy to go along and, though she kept it to herself, pleased that the knight was taking such an interest in her.
It was another hour’s ride until they drew within sight. The path Theron led them on grew steeper and rockier; not quite the mountainous terrain that Rabigar was heading for, but part of the same chain. The surrounding area was largely heathland, and while the path towards Chalios was well maintained, the view it afforded was of a sparsely settled landscape, relatively untouched by human habitation.
Chalios was certainly impressive. Not in the same way as the castles of the Empire Belwynn had recently visited, with their carefully designed geometric shapes, and thick walls imposing themselves onto their surroundings. Neither was it like the Knights’ High Tower, designed with beauty in mind. This fortress was a huge rock cliff jutting out of the ground with steep sides. As they rode closer, Belwynn could see that it had been cleverly augmented by human engineers. The path up to the entrance was flanked by huge rock walls and towers, allowing defenders to resist an approaching army from almost every angle. The top of the cliff had battlements and some other indefinable structures, too far up for Belwynn to properly make out. But in essence, it was a natural defensive structure rather than man made. It would be a strong place of defence even without any of the modifications. Belwynn felt that it had a sense of ancient history to it, as if peoples had been using it for the same purpose centuries past, before the Knights of Kalinth existed; and would continue to use it long after they disappeared. The thought was a little melancholy but, at the same time, somehow reassuring.
They left Evander with the horses on the path; Theron explained that there was stabling for horses inside, but that it wasn’t worth risking injuries to them by leading them in today. As they approached the open gates, Belwynn turned around to wave at Evander. He waved back.
‘He looks so tiny sitting there, surrounded by those huge towers,’ she said.
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