There was little left to be done for the moment and so Swech took a bath, rinsing the grit from her body. Grit was everywhere these days, as the storms from Durhallem and distant Wheklam continued to vomit toxic filth into the air. The next mountain would move soon, though at a far enough distance that she would not even be likely to feel the great eruption when it occurred.
Once she was cleaned and dressed she left the small apartment where she had met with the others and moved back toward her home deeper in the city.
There were things to be done. There were appearances to keep. She felt a flutter in her chest at the thought.
The meal would be a quick one of necessity and she was not sure it would even be one that she shared, but she could not afford to take that chance.
The servants had done their work and the oven was warm. The roast had been finished and the fruit and cheese had been laid out. It only took a matter of a few minutes to pull the cooking bird from the oven and place the dough into the heat to finish baking.
By the time everything had been laid out properly the sun was rising.
She checked to make sure her clothes were proper and that her hair looked as good as it could after cooking and then she went out to the porch and waited in the early morning breeze.
When Merros Dulver came through the open gate into her private estate she stayed where she was. The general came to her, as he always did, and he smiled an apology. “I cannot stay but for a moment, Dretta. The armies of the Sa’ba Taalor are gathering.”
Swech smiled warmly and nodded her head. “Then you should eat. You will have a busy day saving us from the savages.”
He smiled gratefully and sat across from her at the table. “You are wise, Dretta March.” He poured himself a cup of cold water and then watched as she set up a plate with a collection of his favorites. “I worry, Dretta. Will you be safe?”
“I will not leave my home, Merros. I will be safe here until you return to me.”
He ate his fill and then she led him inside and away from prying eyes. He would be going to war soon. The thought of war, of combat and bloodshed, always left her aroused.
The horns sounded from outside Canhoon and were answered immediately from well within the wall.
The first wave of grayskins did not look as intimidating as many had expected as they moved toward the closed Western Gate. They had numbers, to be sure, but they did not march in unison and few of them seemed to have any weapons.
The gates were closed just the same and the guards waited, gathering together to watch the figures, a dozen of them all told before the first horn sounded. Most retreated back to their posts, shamefaced by their lack of proper behavior. A few continued to stare until the watch captain roared his orders. Captain Tinner was not known for his gentle touch with a lash. They moved quickly to get to the proper places after that.
Tinner was a good man, seasoned and trained and well used to making sure that the city was kept safe. It didn’t matter that no one had attacked in over a century. Tinner was a career soldier and knew the value of discipline. He was one of a dozen or so men who’d made absolutely certain that the walls of the city stayed in good shape and was the first to send men out to clear the tents and supplies from those who wanted to use those walls as a lean-to.
He was also smart enough to know when something wasn’t right. He ordered that the group traveling toward them be hailed and so they were. He watched as they continued on, making no sign that they had heard the hail. After the second and third attempts failed he called for one of his guards to hand him a bow and took careful aim.
The arrow sailed true and slammed into the thigh of the leader of the group, a solitary man wearing the colors of the Imperial Army and acting not at all a part of the same.
That the arrow struck true was a given. He could see it where it stuck, watch it shift with each step the man took.
Tinner called for the alarm to sound and was rewarded with a blast from the horn closest to him and several others as well.
As the sound issued again and again from around the outer wall, the gates were doublechecked and tested for security. Canhoon was sealed from traffic in all directions and the smaller doors near the gates were sealed and barricaded with stout wooden supports.
Behind the walls, safely locked away from the invasion, the people of Canhoon and the refugees who swelled that city’s population stared uneasily at the walls meant to protect them. They were here now, trapped, whether or not they wanted to go anywhere at all.
Tinner watched as the marching shapes moved to the doors and pressed against them, moving to force their way through barriers that would have withstood nearly any force known to the Empire.
He gave the signals and the archers along the wall took aim, firing into the crowd that pushed forward. Arrow after arrow struck flesh and the shapes that should have screamed or made noises did nothing at all save continue on as they had.
He gestured to one of the runners, a lad of twelve, too young to fight but fast enough to work conveying messages. While the boy waited he wrote a quick note and ordered it taken to the office of General Dulver.
The message was simple: The dead have returned, as you said they might.
He kept his calm. There would be no panic on his watch. Sorcery was almost inevitable and after the display of the day before it was also no longer surprising.
Merros looked upon the dead things battering at the Western Gate and felt his stomach turn. They were dead. They certainly looked dead and they most decidedly smelled dead. They were also his soldiers, or had been in life.
Desh Krohan stood next to him on the high wall and looked down. His face was somber and his demeanor was worse. He was not a happy man.
“They’re very dead. I wouldn’t waste any more arrows on them.”
“Yes, well, it took a few volleys before the watch captain decided exactly that.” He looked at the wizard and then down into the moving collection of the dead and shook his head. “What do you propose we do about them?”
“Well, you could burn them but you risk burning your doors at the same time. They’re mostly metal, granted, but the heat it takes to burn a body is substantial and the structural damage if they don’t stop moving might well be enough to cause troubles.” Desh looked down and shook his head. “That’s why we outlawed necromancy in the first place.”
“Necromancy?”
“That.” He gestured. Below him the dead kept pushing against the doors, which stubbornly refused to be pushed open, for which Merros was exceedingly grateful. “Any sorcery that deals with the dead or their spirits.”
He bit his tongue, fully aware that the man he was dealing with had brought back Goriah’s body when she was killed and that the body had not been buried or burned.
“My suggestion is leave them where they are.”
“Leave them?”
“It’s that or burn them. I mean I suppose you could send someone out to cut them down, but it won’t go well.” Desh shook his head. “It never does.”
“Well then. That’s that. We’ll leave them until I can think of a better way. The guards won’t be happy about it.”
“The first one that complains, give him a sword and suggest he cut them all down to smaller pieces that are more easily scattered and burned. That should calm down the discontent.”
“You are wonderfully mad, Desh Krohan.”
“‘Be a part of the resolution of the difficulties, not a portion of the complaint about the same.’ That’s what Theurasa Sallis always said.”
“Who?”
“My teacher a long, long time ago.”
“Did you speak with the young woman, Cullen?” He wouldn’t have asked, but ever since the woman had been introduced to him Desh had seemed unsettled, even more than he’d been after destroying a small army.
“I did.” Desh frowned, worrying his lower lip. “She has been… enlightening.”
“Who is Moale Deneshi?” He asked because he felt it might b
e important. He had no desire to pry into the sorcerer’s life. It wasn’t healthy to do so, but the man’s reaction to the name had been as strong as if he’d been bitten in his privates by an angry goat.
“She was my lifemate a long time ago. She gave her life to preserve the Mother-Vine. It’s complicated and nothing you need to worry about.”
Merros nodded his head and took the hint, but he also knew the man was lying. Whatever had occurred the situation wasn't over yet. He could sense it. That, however, was the least of his concerns.
“They’re coming from all directions, Desh. This is going to be a long and bloody siege.”
The sorcerer looked at him. “I admire your optimism.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The Sa’ba Taalor are going to destroy us in short order, Merros. If they continue to raise the dead to fight on their side then we will surely be overrun within a few weeks at the most. The corpses will bring sickness. Plague winds, at the very least. If they decide to place one of their volcanoes on this city we’re all dead anyway.”
“Do they plan to do that?”
“No. Corin has looked into the matter. The next of their mountains will rise far to the east. Likely where they are fighting now.”
“Desh, I’ve got a lot of troops in that area.” The sorcerer nodded. “Advance notice might save a few of them.”
“I’m letting you know what I know. There’s likely going to be an eruption in the far east. That is all that I know. Everything else is guesswork.”
“What makes you think it will happen in Elda?”
“It’s a stronghold for your military over there. They’ve successfully been holding off the Sa’ba Taalor. It’s what you’d do in the same situation with a similar weapon. It’s what I’d do.”
Merros stared furiously at the man with no idea of how to respond. He hated that the man was right.
“They’re coming. The real enemy. They’re almost here.” Desh pointed. The army was impossible to miss. A thousand people moving on the Imperial Highway had seemed impressive. This, however, was much more than that.
Merros looked on and felt his stomach fall away into the very bowels of the planet. They did not wear matching armor. They did not carry identical banners, or swing weapons that looked alike, but there was no doubt that the moving river of flesh that filled the highway was an army.
Helmets of every imaginable type, shields great and small. Swords and maces and chains and bows and odder items he could not hope to fathom were carried in the ready hands of the Sa’ba Taalor as they came forward.
There were tens of thousands of them. They continued on toward the Blasted Lands for as far as his eyes could see, and they moved in perfect unison. Thousands of feet rose and fell together, sending out a synchronized thunder with each step forward. At regular intervals bannermen carried vast red flags emblazoned with the black face of an iron god. That face was familiar to him. He had seen it once on an iron box that offered a crippled young man a chance to use his hands again. That had been a few months ago but it felt like a lifetime.
“These are the forces of the King in Iron,” Merros said. “This is only one portion of their army.”
Desh Krohan nodded his head. In the distance, a great distance off, actually, they could just make out the shapes of the mounted soldiers. It was hard to say for certain, but there seemed a good number of them as well. “It might take them less time to take the city than I originally thought.”
Nachia Krous looked out from her tower and tapped the sword against her hip. The armor was not comfortable, but she wore it. If her army were prepared to fight she would be prepared as well. Her brother, Brolley, stood nearby. He, too, was dressed in armor. He seemed far less calm than she did.
Brolley was currently staring at the gigantic black mark on the land where Desh had cast his destructive spell. He’d been staring at that spot a great deal.
“There are soldiers down there,” he said.
“Yes, Brolley. I’m currently looking at them. There are a very large number of them, really.”
“No. I mean to the north. There are more soldiers. They aren’t all moving together but they’re there and they are forming up. I don’t think there are as many as you’re looking at, but it still seems a lot of them.”
Nachia sighed and walked over to look where her brother was staring. He was correct. There were a great deal of them and they were gathering, falling into a loose formation.
She had already looked to the south and seen more of them. The only point that seemed unimpeded was the east, and that was likely an illusion. It was only a matter of time before they were well and truly surrounded on all sides.
There was a temptation to call for Desh Krohan. It was strong, but she ignored it.
He would come when he was ready and would likely not be long in heading in her direction. There was a war to fight and she had chosen her commanders. She had to trust in them a bit, and for now she would watch and observe.
Nachia looked to the east, just in case an army might be hiding.
There was no army, but there were a great number of people.
They were entering the city in an orderly fashion and even from as far away as she currently was she thought she could feel them looking toward her in her tower.
This was the Pilgrim, perhaps. The man they claimed gathered the faithful to his side and planned to help the Empire.
She hoped the claims were true. They needed all the help they could get.
The mass of soldiers stopped at what had to be a carefully considered distance. They were just out of range of the crossbows, which meant they were beyond the range of the archers as well. The dead did not care either way, but continued to push and batter at the doors with no noticeable effect.
Desh Krohan looked at Merros and shook his head. “You should go to the palace, General.”
“I’m needed here.”
“No, actually, you are not. The watch captain seems quite competent and you are needed where you can best strategize and prepare for a multitiered attack on the city.”
The First Advisor was not joking. He meant it, and Merros could see that, but he wasn't at all pleased by the notion.
“I didn’t come out here to investigate and run.”
“Were you planning to throw open the gates and strike down the dead? After that, were you going to singlehandedly kill the entire force of invaders waiting out there?”
“Desh–”
“No.” Desh cut him off, speared him through with a dark stare. “It’s not a request of you, Merros. Get to the palace. I need you where you can do the most good and that’s not here.”
“I’m a soldier, damn it.”
“You’re the commander of the entire army! I have four hundred swords on the way here and a thousand more being rallied. Go to where you can do me the most good and prepare for the siege, Merros!”
He hated to leave. He hated even more that the damned fool sorcerer was right. Had he known then, back before the madness started properly, all that he knew now, Merros Dulver wasn't completely sure he would have accepted the commission into the military at a higher rank. Command was a necessary evil, but not one that sat well with him in this circumstance.
He looked out over the wall again as rank after rank of the Sa’ba Taalor moved to the sides of the road and formed into precise lines.
They did not speak. They did not shuffle impatiently. They simply stared at the massive doors of the Western Gate as more of their people moved forward and slid into position.
Merros turned and walked away, his fists clenched in cold fury.
The men at the Eastern Gate had planned to bar the smaller doors, but the Pilgrim stopped them.
He walked to the heavy, reinforced door and walked through the threshold with one hand bracing the door open and the other on his sword hilt. His countenance was harsh and the guards hesitated for only a moment but that was enough. It was only a matter of moments before the faithful began s
pilling into the courtyard closest to the gate, and they moved quickly, not taking the time to linger.
They were a large gathering, dirtied by their time on the road, lean and hungry and universally as somber as the man who led them. Had there been a dozen the City Guard would likely have contained them and locked the doors. But they were not a dozen or even a hundred. They were literally an army. They kept walking across the threshold and moving to the side allowing the next person through as their leader held the door and gestured for them to move to the appropriate place.
Hendil, the captain of the watch for the Eastern Gate shook his head and let them enter. They were not the Sa’ba Taalor. They were citizens of Fellein and his orders said nothing of killing their own in an effort to close a door. Better to let them in and recruit them as far as he was concerned.
By the time the last of them had come through the doors it was a calm, sweating tide of people who closed and barred the doors for him. Without another word the man who led them walked on and headed deeper into the city. He marched as a man with a mission in mind, and his people followed the same way.
As he moved toward the second wall of the great city he was joined by a scattering of others.
One such was Teagus, the priest of Etrilla, who looked to the Pilgrim and smiled. “I dreamed of you.”
“No. You dreamed what the gods want you to do.”
“Yes, but I dreamed that you would lead me.”
The Pilgrim looked at him for a moment. “Will you follow me and do the bidding of the gods, Teagus?”
“You know my name?”
A woman answered for him. She was lovely and dark and there had been a time when Teagus would have done all that he could to convince her that sleeping with him was the will of the gods.
She said, “The Pilgrim has known the name of every last person to follow him. He has walked this path before.”
“I don’t understand.”
She smiled. “You will. Soon. Very soon.”
The Pilgrim answered as well. “Etrilla has called me from my resting place and summoned me back to the City of Wonders, here to do the will of all the gods as they follow Kanheer into a time of war. We who have sought peace and the comfort of a simple life are now called to do battle for our Lord of the Blood. We who have harvested grains and hunted game must now defend all that we have loved and all that we could hope to love against an enemy that wishes an end to everything we would see kept whole, Teagus of Tyrne. Just as they struck down your city, they would strike down all that matters to us.”
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