by B A Fleming
The Narthal soldiers were now ready. The three hundred Warang had already moved out, forward of the main army. The infantry, archers, and horsemen were organized and standing in the lines of their regiments.
For the experienced and highly ranked soldiers, leather flaps joined the piece meal armor, ensuring their vests were built more for swift and quick movement, than a toe to toe confrontation.
Each soldier was suitably attired with a lightweight sword, and a minor contingent with spears. Although not as resilient as the heavier, stronger swords, the metal salves could be throw about easily, sharpened quickly between battles, and, as often was the case, enabled the soldier to carry two, one off each hip.
The guards stood awaiting Manchur’s attention that the door of the tent. He skulled the half glass of whiskey and walked out. Almost without sound Manchur signaled the troops to move out in the darkness. Dralan, the dragon Arthung sat awaiting direction.
Three hours later Manchur, Wudi, Eji, Basan, and five other commanders stood atop a small hill to the north of the city. Their troops stood in the darkness of the valleys’ below them. The Warang had already placed themselves in small alleyways or corners throughout the northern and eastern township. Ten blocks of streets stood between the edge of the city and the beginning of the fields to the north.
The Morean garrison was positioned at the north-western corner of the main castle, who’s walls consisted of a two-tier system, the rows of stone separated by thirty yards of grass, and a path that ran almost the ring of three sides. Morean garrison poured out from the outer wall and their guards remained on high alert. The Warang ensured that they kept their distance, at least for the moment, as not to draw attention to themselves.
Manchur spoke with his commanders.
“I’d like you to spend the day undertaking probing attacks. Mix it up a bit. Some archers, some small raids, send in squads of horsemen when you can, whatever suits. I want you to keep them distracted. Go stand in the battlefield a bit too, point at various points on the wall. I want them to think that you’re looking for a way to get over.”
“And what will you be doing?”
“Look. If we go straight at them we are going to be covered in blood. We certainly have enough men to take them, but I don’t wish to be the one having to console all their wives when we return home,” he gestured, putting his hand on Wudi’s shoulder.
“Besides, I’m sure this is not the only battle we’ll need to fight in this campaign, so the more men we can save, the better for all of us.”
“So how do you propose we take them then?”
“I’ve already dispatched the Warang during the night. They should be firmly ensconced within the castle walls by midday. They’ll take some rest then set about causing chaos as the sun sets. We’ll have the advantage and the guards on the walls will be staring into dark shadows. If this works, we can shorten the attack by days and save hundreds of our men’s’ lives. Besides, a siege is the last thing I’m looking for.”
They looked at Manchur, nodding their heads. He had briefed most of them individually the day before. “I actually don’t want the troops to know our plans, until they have to. I want the guys to think we are looking for ways in. If they think we are operating on the inside they will expect it. This way they will keep their eyes open and keep searching for a way that you or I might not see.”
They all agreed. With that Manchur turned behind him, calling out to his brother who sat in a small field below him towards the mountains, munching on a goat that he had found.
The dragon launched himself into the sky with three powerful beats of his wings. Within a few seconds he had soared up and away into the darkness.
Not long after Arthung let out a roar closely soaring above the rooves of the houses, sailing in from the north-eastern corner of the city, powering west, directly towards the Morean garrison. Several archers let off shots from the castle walls, which all bounced off his scales. He sailed further along the streets, belching out another roar to wake even the heaviest of sleepers. People started pouring out of their houses. Arthung approached the garrison, breathing in, before letting out a ball of flames that burnt everything, including the five Moreans that shot arrows at him upon his approach.
Arthung let out two sprays of fire across the garrison before circling up and making another run in reverse. The townspeople scattered, ducking into doorways or running down alleys to escape. The creature soared above them, casually letting out bursts of flame upon towers or errant barrels or carts as he passed by.
Soldiers raced about the outer walls of the castle as messengers woke everyone that had slept through the booming thunder of the dragon.
With the dawn light, the scene looked like a different planet. The smoke and flames of fires throughout the streets irritated the skin and burnt the eyes as the residents of the northern streets streamed along the eastern and western walls, gathering in the main city square to the south of the castle.
The residents of the remainder of the city woke to their screams. The first of the Narthal infantry and archers began marching in on the suburb to set themselves up in favorable positions, already ensconced Warang letting arrows fly at the garrison and northern and eastern walls of the castle. Only a few townspeople noticed the black clad Warang, fewer still striking out at them, who were then easily killed by their more adept invaders.
One regiment of infantry that had been held back from the first wave worked in the fields to the north of the city, stripping them of crops, as a train of wagons now made their way back along the paths to their forward encampment, laden with fresh produce, goats and Gozioxy roped and dragged alongside.
Apart from the exchange of arrows, the first contact occurred ten minutes later when a horde of Morean garrison flowed out from the west and a similar sized troop from the smaller eastern gate. They fanned out across three to four streets each, allowing themselves room to duck under cover. This is how much of the battle would be fought, skirmishes of platoons, or at most companies within the streets.
Manchur had chosen this type of attack to limit the disadvantage of the castle walls. He also saw opportunities on several occasions during the first day to send squads of horsemen through to trample Hardular troops before retreating to the fields outside of the town limits and outside of bow range.
The Hardular and Moreans dominated the battles close to the walls, within their archers in range. Skirmishes between the two forces seemed to reveal even results as the stench of the blood started to appear around midday.
The simpler armor of the Moreans gave them more elasticity, covering their chest; but the Narthal armor had the best balance of strength and movement.
Especially with more senior soldiers, the black Narthal armor was obviously expertly made, with the leather and steel providing no sharp edges or corners for blades to dig into.
The shoulders did seem to give less mobility for the Narthal than those of the Hardular, but the multiple plates of layers bent over each other, again finished to a polished deep black also helped the invaders to blend easier into shadows. Open steel helmets of the Moreans were in comparison to those enclosed for the Hardular soldiers. The Narthal had helmets with flaps on the side. The boots were a bit of a loose fit of the Narthal, being mainly created in leather, but had metal protectors on the shins.
Flexible leather pants of the Hardular soldiers, with heavy leather patches on the front of the upper legs, completed their armor in comparison to the traditional pants less Moreans, who had taken to wearing riding pants since arriving in the valley. It was clear that the invading enemy had been carrying much heavier armor than the Moreans. With three different armors, the type and structure of attacks varied between the three realms.
*****
Legati Caius, Crixus and Vuvic stood over the table examining the plans of the northern and eastern parts of town laid out before them. Vuvic looked across at the Salararius. He was the only remaining one in the kingdom at present, although none h
ad chosen to mention this to him.
“The only battle I have faced before was the one of the Morean invasion,” offered Vuvic.
“And I am told that considering your lack of knowledge, experience and strength that your troops put up a commendable fight. My men were surprised by you and your old friend that day.”
“Well, thieves and murderers make pretty handy soldiers.”
Crixus looked across the map. “That dragon needs to be defeated as soon as possible.”
Birds had been sent to Vasa, Caitawalaan and Catheridge within an hour of the first assault. Crixus knew that they could expect re-enforcements by the morning. Anil garrison commander, Frin had already sent a bird ahead, reassuring them that his men were already on the road to the city.
Those troops would surely arrive before the next morning as well. The black dragon had imposed heavy losses, and for the second time since last winter the people of Bhagshau were sent fleeing for their lives towards Anil.
The Moreans had brought with them a handy assortment of archers, and before too many of the public had fled, the castle garrison had been sent out to round up as many marksmen as possible from the hunters and farmers that often stayed over in the town for market day. The extra thirty archers, combined with those of the castle and Morean garrisons would give them enough protection until the other forces arrived.
Arthung was running raids every few hours, burning alive platoons of soldiers mainly caught in narrow alleys. The buildings now simmered in thick smoke across two sides of the castle, not only causing issues for breathing, but also providing ample cover for the black clad Narthal warriors to man strike raids on unaware troops trying to hold lines. In many sections of the city, a pseudo guerilla warfare had emerged with squads of both sides battling right up to the outer walls of the castle, and the smaller fortifications of the Morean garrison, tacked on to the north-western corner.
The garrison had, at least provided some measure of barrier for the Narthal to work their way around to the western side of the castle. The black dragon largely ignored the areas beyond the Morean guard and only light skirmishes ensued in the largely empty and clear streets of the richer western part of the city.
The garrison had been the Royal College in a previous iteration and recent renovations had now provided a small stone walled walkway through the outer Bhagshau castle wall into the main sections of the castle. The walkway was guarded both from the outside and the inside. Riders were sent up to the pass, although word came back several hours later that they had been cut down before reaching the edge of the swamp.
Seymour had thrived in the action and spent all day organizing both experienced and volunteer castle staff in a variety of duties. Many sections of Bhagshau castle now doubled or even tripled in the staffing as squads of men were sent out to stock the castle, as the kitchen erupted with cooks, cleaners and dining room staff. All rooms, including those of the garrisons now doubled their capacity for sleeping, with quarters of minor staff now transformed into bunk rooms.
Volunteer messengers were assigned positions on virtually every corridor of the castle and squires spent their time instructing them on procedures and protocols.
A range of guilds were called upon to provide support services and a small section of Bhagshau, especially closest to the Anil road and the south-western city quarters were set tasks of creating sleeping bunks, extra meals, ale, armor and weapons.
*****
Two of the platoon had ridden ahead to make arrangements for their party. Thargus noticed a sense of uneasiness in the innkeepers’ behavior as they arrived mid-afternoon. He assigned several men to guard outside of the Despotate’ room.
Trajunus heard the footsteps. This inn had not provided safety to him in the past and now it seemed the same once again in his late afternoon daze. He slowly slipped his right foot out of bed, quietly lifting his sword, swapping it to his left hand as he steadied his stance. He watched the door as he lifted his pack onto the bed, pulling the sheet over it.
Trajunus made his way to stand directly behind the door.
Moments later, the door flung open and an arrow drove across the room into his pack. Two soldiers entered, one dropping the bow and drawing his sword as the other forced his blade into the pack, red liquid quickly staining the sheet. Trajunus jumped forward, slicing the second man from behind. The Despotate then guttered the first assassin, who turned to see the naked warrior lunging towards him.
Both fell on the bed. Trajunus sat up and pushed the dead man aside to retrieve his pack, the wine flask spilling its’ contents out across the sheet. He cursed. He removed the flask, dropping it on the floor as he picked up his clothes, now covered in the blood of his enemies or red wine, he wasn’t exactly sure of which. The liquid added to the bloodbath of the scene as he quickly dressed in the only clean corner left in the room behind the door.
Thargus and Thannon ran in, swords drawn. Both were alarmed by the carnage in front of them. Zador crawled into the doorframe, dazed by the attack, blood pouring from a head wound. Lentulus, in the next room, seemed to have slept through the entire chaos.
“They killed my wine flask,” muttered Trajunus as he walked out the door. “Buy me another.”
*****
The Chancellor of Corone Palace sat at his desk. His friend Aggelos had constructed his influence over the senators in the council of men. Aggelos was not stupid enough to be found sitting in the throne room, although his perceived power would probably allow him the pleasure of such a privilege without opposition. Aggelos entered the room, four guards accompanying him with every step he took along the expansive corridors of Corone Palace.
“Chancellor. I come seeking your update,” almost murmured Aggelos as he sat down opposite the Chancellor, who hurriedly stood and bowed. Aggelos waved him down, disapprovingly.
“How does the populous respond to the changes within these palace walls?”
“The civis have long accepted new faces to lead the Empire, my liege. They will not challenge any advent as long as it does not unduly effect their daily habits.”
“And what have you heard through those who would seek to influence?”
“Words are noisy breaths. To think that they could cause so much damage is to encourage such an outcome.”
Aggelos smiled. “You hold more power in this palace than many give you feat.”
The Chancellor returned the smile.
“I am merely a servant of the Empire.”
“That you are, old friend.”
A guard marched in Nolar, who now stood in front of the two men that remained seated.
“What have you to say of your loyalty to Morea, Nolar?”
“I am the ambassador to Prince Casperi of Hardular, my liege. I believe that my role is to express his concern on matters that affects the realm of Hardular. I know that the Prince Casperi held the Emperor Lethos in high regard.”
“Are we to be overtaxed with your opinions?” grumbled Aggelos. “What of your allegiance to your homeland?”
“Yes, my liege. To my homeland, of course.”
“You know, you could always serve the fate of that pig, Mero. Is that what you wish? To be an outcast within the walls of your Emperor?”
“No, no, my liege. I serve the needs of the Empire.”
“And Hardular, if so, why were you caught in Banias?” asked Aggelos. “You must suspect that your Prince Casperi may come now, but not on favorable terms. I think that you have run like a scared rat and should now if you value your life and that of your lovely family, then reflect upon this to ensure that his interests match our own.”
The Chancellor stared at Nolar as Aggelos waved him away, turning his focus back to their interrupted conversation as the emissary was taken to a jail cell.
*****
Mero walked into his quarters after departing a hidden passage just next to his doorway. He had survived the change of fortunes thus far, though was still very weary. The young raven-haired woman stood facing the w
indows, ruffling through the draws of his desk, which overlooked the gardens. It was a small but pleasant room, and Mero had learnt to walk quietly as not to scare intruders.
Mero considered the shape of her body, and for a foreigner, her curves were attractive. He moved up behind her, brushing her arm as he pushed himself against her, locking her hips against the edge of the desk top. She startled, whimpering slightly, but he had done this before with several of his servants and had perfected the move over many summers.
He held her waist with his right hand as he lifted up the strands of the few remaining pieces of hair that were not held in a hair bun, kissing the back of her neck gently. Malena had tensed, but after a few seconds slowly relaxed, bring his right hand around onto her breast.
His grip softened, allowing her to lead him. A few more seconds passed as Mero continued to kiss her neck. Malena felt him slightly move off her and she twisted her hip slightly, indicating her preference to turn around. Mero obliged.
She continued to allow him to kiss her neck. He tried to kiss her lips and she turned her head away.
“You will be mine, bitch,’” he half whispered at her face, returning to his increasingly biting mouthfuls of neck.
Malena drew the hair pin out from her black mess of hair, holding the three-inch-long silver dagger in-between her fingers. He pulled her in towards him. She pushed the blade through his tunic, deep into his stomach, twisting it and ripping a wound across as he stumbled back, falling off the blade, eyes widened.
Mero looked at her, at the blood instantly pouring from the wound as he started to drop in shock. Malena, expressionless, watched him fall to his knees, clutching his stomach as he called out. Two soldiers ran into the room. The men looked to her and then to the man sprawling on the floor between them. She half-heartily waved them to remove him as she looked around for the basin, firstly striping naked before washing her dagger and then her skin in the places where the blood had splattered. Within a minute she turned to find all three men gone and another entering the room with a wet cloth to wipe up the remining blood, all ignoring her as she sought a fresh piece of clothing from the storage chest. Once redressed, Malena picked up a parchment from the desk top that she had previously removed and left the room, ducking into the secret tunnel.
