Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  Around him, he heard his warriors begin to whoop. Their dragon, their protector, had not stirred forth in dozens of cycles, not since she laid final waste to Taral's capital. With her leading them to battle, they could not lose, nothing would stand against them!

  Glaw looked over at his shaman, "Let her know of our loyalty!" he called.

  The shaman, though, looked afraid. "Glaw," he said, "There is something wrong here. I do not sense Kalamanath."

  "No!" Glaw shook his head. He pointed at the looming shadow, which now hovered almost directly above them. "What else could be so vast? Of all the dragons, Kalamanath is the greatest... and nothing else could be so vast!"

  Before his shaman could answer, there came a noise like a roar and then a column of flame swept from the skies. Glaw watched in horror as the flame washed across his camp, engulfing warriors, igniting tents, and leaving billowing steam and smoke in its path.

  "No!" Glaw shouted, "Kalamanath, I am Glaw Nara, these are my warriors and we serve you loyally!" He grabbed his shaman by the shoulders. "Tell her, tell her!"

  Above him, the shape shifted and for a moment, he hoped that the great dragon had heard him.

  And then another column of fire washed down, this time directly at where he stood. The fire washed over him and he could feel it eat into his flesh, could feel his eyeballs rupture from the heat. Glaw's world exploded into agony.

  ***

  Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken

  Christoffer winced as the windship's flame caster fired a second time, this time engaging a large clump of the Norics who had looked to be preparing another attack on Trelhaven. Flame casters were most useful against ships, normally, and generally had short range and limited effect against infantry.

  That was one reason the windship mounted only one flame caster. Yet the one it did mount was designed to engulf an entire ship with a single shot. With how effective fire could be in causing panic, Christoffer hadn't protested when Wizard-Captain Gunther proposed to use the flame caster to open the counterattack.

  I'll not argue the effectiveness, he thought as he watched Noric warriors scurry around in a panic, many of them throwing away weapons in order to run faster. He didn't doubt that those same Norics would have fought to the death against his men as they came ashore, yet fire raining upon them from the sky was too much for them to take.

  Over at the mercenary encampment, though, things looked to be different. He saw the ground forces assemble and there were more than a few heavy casters that rotated to face the sky. That was one reason that Gunther had come on this side of the seige encampment, though. The enemy casters would have to fire over the town of Trelhaven to reach them, well over two miles.

  Any energy they carried at that point would be wasted. The only thing that might have an effect would be Wizard's Shot. Christoffer felt fairly certain that if they'd had Wizard's Shot, then they would have used it already against the town.

  And in case Gunther and I were wrong about that... he looked off to the north, where the second windship awaited out of sight of the enemy. The second windship had not run out her casters. Instead, it had deployed a broad lattice of copper wire. Whether this new contraption from the Iron Wizards would work as they claimed it would, he didn't know, but in theory it should counteract any enemy attacks... or so they'd told him.

  "A lovely morning, isn't it Your Grace?" Wizard Captain Gunther said as he came forward.

  "More for some of us than others, I think," Christoffer said with a nod towards the fleeing Norics.

  As planned, the majority had fled directly away from the fire, which led them up along the coastline towards the north. Should happen right about now...

  Close range caster fire tore into the leading ranks of the Norics. A moment later, out of the mist, the army contingent that had landed a few hours earlier marched in steady, measured ranks.

  Most of the Norics panicked at that point. Christoffer could see that the army had things well in hand, so he turned his attention back to the south.

  The traitorous Lord Admiral Hennings' men had formed up into ranks, ready to repel an attack from the city or from the sea. A quick estimate confirmed that they had assembled their entire strength, just over five hundred men dressed in the black jackets of the Grand Duke's Army and twice as many mercenaries.

  As armies went, it wasn't a huge one, more of a raiding force whose purpose was to seize Trelhaven before Christoffer could respond. The town would have given Lord Admiral Hennings a foothold north of the Ryft, a place from which to resupply men sent overland and to base some privateer operations within the Boir Sea.

  With the five thousand Norics to back them, it might have worked, especially with some of Hennings' agents in place throughout the Grand Duchy. Only luck had worked against Hennings' men, luck and the bravery of Trelhaven's militia in the face of such a dire threat.

  Christoffer's lips pressed in a hard line as he thought about what had happened to all too many of his subjects... and about what fate had nearly befallen the entire city. Hennings' men, for one reason or another, had nearly allowed five thousand Norics loose in a city, for the looting and rape of their own countrymen and women.

  "Wizard-Captain Gunther," Christoffer said as he stared at the assembled ranks of the enemy. "Prepare the Wizard Shot."

  "Yes, Your Grace," the windship's commander said. Christoffer could forgive the man's obvious glee. He was about to fire the weapon for the first time in combat. At least they had an appropriate target.

  A moment later, Wizard-Captain Gunther nodded as a midshipman hurried up, "Ready, Captain."

  Christoffer glanced up and saw that the signal flags flew in warning to the town. It looked as if most of the defenders were down from the walls, all but a handful of spotters.

  "You may fire when ready," Christoffer said.

  ***

  Admiral Elias Wachter

  Elias squinted over the distance to shore as the Ubelfurst swept along the coastline. He gave a nod to Captain Gunnar, even though he practically itched to give the commands himself. I'm not the ship's commander anymore, he reminded himself, yet it felt wrong, somehow, to not be the one barking out orders.

  His job was bigger, now. He knew that. Yet in Elias's heart, he still longed to captain the ship.

  "Signal flag is up, Admiral," Captain Gunnar said.

  "Very well," Elias said. He looked over to see that most of the crew were down, below the protective bulkhead. He followed Captain Gunnar into shelter. At this range, they should be protected. Still, it wasn't as if they had used these things very much.

  "Sir," Captain Gunnar asked, "have you seen them fire Wizard's Shot before?"

  "No," Elias said as he watched over the bulkhead. The mist had lifted enough that he could see the wedge-shaped hull of the windship clearly. He thought he saw the port on the windship's underside open. A moment later, something flew out, fast enough that his eye couldn't follow.

  He turned his head just in time to see dirt geyser up from the center of the enemy formation.

  "Was that it?" Someone asked.

  In response, the entire hilltop erupted as dirt and stones exploded upwards. A moment later, the shockwave hit the Ubelfurst, hard enough that the ship heeled over. At the same time, the roar of the explosion hit, a deep billowing roar that made Elias's bowels shake.

  "Ancestors preserve us," someone said.

  Elias wasn't about to argue with the sentiment. He knew that each Wizard's Shot took countless man hours to construct and that the Iron Wizards spent vast quantities of energy to make one... yet the destructive capability terrified him.

  Rocks and debris began to rain down. Most of it landed around the hill, but small bits of gravel and the occasional heavier stone hissed and struck the water or rattled as it hit the ship. Here and there a man cursed as a hot stone landed on him, but no one cried out for a medic.

  He had understood the Grand Duke's decision to field the weapon. The renegade Lord Admiral Hennings had enlisted
the help of Norics in order to seize a loyalist town. In the process his men had killed hundreds of the Grand Duke's people. In return, Grand Duke Tarken wanted to set a precedent and send an unequivocal message.

  Yet as the dust began to clear, Elias couldn't help but wonder if they had turned the page from one type of horror to another. The hilltop was gone, the hill itself was no longer a smooth, clean rise, but a shattered crater, stripped of all greenery and topsoil. A crater at least fifty yards across smoldered and steamed on the hill's slope. Nothing remained of the men who had stood there.

  The destruction shocked Elias even through his hard headed practicality. Yes the Grand Duke had saved the lives of those of his men who would have died fighting Lord Admiral Hennings' mercenaries... but at what cost?

  ***

  Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken

  Christoffer winced as he saw a few large chunks of rock smash into the town. They had already evacuated most of the town's populace, but he hoped that those who had remained as well as the militia were safe.

  As several more chunks of debris rained down he gave Wizard Captain Gunther a look, "That was our smallest Wizard's Shot, correct?"

  Wizard Captain Gunther nodded, "Yes, Your Grace. As instructed, it was the smallest and oldest that the Iron Wizards still had on hand."

  Several fires had broken out from buildings where hot rocks had smashed down. As the smoke and dust began to clear, leveling off in a mushroom-shaped cloud, Christoffer began to make out a huge crater, at least fifty yards across and perhaps ten or fifteen yards deep.

  Perhaps we should rein in the Iron Wizards a bit more, Christoffer thought. They had assured him that this one had merely half the destructive potential of the next smallest. Ancestors, he thought, if I understood them correctly, the one aboard the Ubelfurst is ten times as powerful.

  He tried not to think about the fact that the Iron Wizards had created twenty-five of the devices... or that three of the ones they'd made were missing. The renegade Iron Wizards who went south probably took them, he thought, but who knows what Hennings could do with even one?

  He showed none of his concerns on his face as he gave Wizard-Captain Gunther a nod. "Very well, bring us in, Wizard-Captain. We have a city to liberate."

  ***

  Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken

  A few hours later, after the cheering had subsided and the fires had all been put out, Christoffer gave a sigh as he took a seat.

  "My Lord," Siara said as she came in the room, "Worn out already? You aren't growing old on me, are you?"

  He gave her a level look, "I am old." He felt it, too, though he knew as a Starborn he his body would remain healthy for a long while yet. He shook his head, "I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't have used that damned thing."

  "What good is a weapon if you don't use it?" Siara asked. She made a throwaway gesture. "We both read the spy reports from Lady Diana. This was a throwaway attack, made up of convicts and criminals and backed by mercenaries and Norics." She came over and sat on his lap, her preganancy only now starting to show, yet he felt wonder as she cupped his hand to her belly. "We cannot allow your enemies to think they can attack with impunity. Our future depends on them fearing you."

  He quirked and eyebrow at her, "And what if our enemies decide they need better weapons?"

  Her face went hard, "Then we kill them before they make those weapons."

  He sighed and pulled her close against him. "Sometimes the world is not so simple, my love."

  She lay her head on his shoulder, "That is why I'm here, my Lord, to make the choices simpler for you." She squeezed his hand. "Our sons lives versus the lives of those who would hurt them. Are there no simpler choices than those?"

  "Sons?" Christoffer asked with surprise.

  "Well," Siara smiled, "only the one for now. But there will be others."

  "Oh?" Christoffer asked, returning the smile. "You seem fairly certain of that."

  "Trust me," she said, "we will have many, many sons."

  He chuckled at that and held her close for a long while. "What did you think of my speech?" He asked after a long while.

  "I liked it," Siara said. "But more importantly, your men liked it, and the people of Trelhaven liked it. They liked how you gave them praise for standing their ground. That you were able to save them means more of your people will fight for you."

  "They're fighting for themselves," Christoffer said.

  "It is the same thing," Siara responded. "A warlord is only as strong as his people."

  "I'm hardly a warlord," Christoffer said. "I was selected by the nobility to lead my people, under the laws of the Grand Duchy."

  "Of course," Siara said. Her light tone suggested she humored him more than anything else. “Have you given much thought to my father's request?”

  Christoffer closed his eyes as he considered how to answer that particular question. Her father had no other children. Marka Pall was the most powerful warlord among the free Solak Armen. While the Armen didn't pass along power through bloodlines, their warlords often chose their successors, based upon skill and strength... but they often chose from among their immediate families, which frequently received better training, equipment, and more food.

  Marka Pall had sent a message to them, requesting that they take on two of his nephews as fosterlings. Both young men had already been selected as potential successors, and Marka Pall wanted them trained in safety, away from the threats of his rivals.

  Christoffer's issue was that he could well be training future enemies. He had more than a few reservations about that. “What are your thoughts?” Christoffer asked.

  Siara chuckled and shifted on his lap, “Ah, redirection... you've already made up your mind but you want to hear my thoughts? Very well.” She kissed his ear, “I think that there is danger in showing my people the civilized ways of war. It could easily backfire if they unite all the Armen in the North and come south in force.”

  She moved around to kiss his other ear, “But at the same time, you might teach both boys the benefits of civilization. More than that, they will spend time with our sons, become their friends... possibly forge alliances that last into adulthood.”

  Those were things he had considered, right enough. “So what do you think I'll decide?” Christoffer asked.

  “You'll chose to take them in,” Siara responded. “But you'll watch them like a hawk and if either of them looks to be a threat...”

  “I'll not hurt a child,” Christoffer said with narrow eyes.

  “Of course not,” Siara said. She kissed him on the lips. “It is the combination of that softness and the greatness within you that makes me love you all the more.” Christoffer felt his heart race as she kissed him again. She pulled back and her hands caressed his face, “I think, my love, you are not as old as you fear... Perhaps we should practice some more in the making of sons.”

  They did not talk again for some time.

  ***

  Grand Duchess Siara Tarken

  Trelhaven, Grand Duchy of Boir

  25th of Anoor, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Siara sat at a small desk to the side of her Lord's seat, a stack of parchment and a jar of ink handy. She liked the room that her husband had selected for meeting the townsfolk as well as those dignitaries here in the southern area of Boir who braved the weather to visit. So far they had met dozens of merchants, tradesmen, and minor nobles. From what she understood, Gervais had also interviewed almost a dozen prospective armsmen, many of whom had longstanding family ties to the Grand Dukes of Boir.

  All the better, she thought. She wanted her husband and children to be protected from their enemies. She liked Gervais, though she found his code of honor amusing, he had proven his loyalty when he faced the Armath Kuull.

  "The emissaries from Taral, your Grace," Gervais Wachter announced as he led the group inside. Siara sat up in interest as he led them in. She had heard much from both her husband and Admiral Elias Wachter about the fallen Duchy, tho
ugh she'd known little and cared less about it before.

  The central duchy, Taral had fallen to a massive alliance of Noric tribes... backed by a mad dragon. Dragons weren't native to the north, so she didn't know exactly why they called it a "mad" dragon or even really what it looked like, beyond the fact that it had laid several cities to waste and destroyed Taral's defenses.

  The men and women who came in behind Gervais were taller than she expected. In fact, that was their distinguishing characteristic, all of them were over six feet in height. Their hair ranged from coal-black to pale blonde, with flashes of red and auburn through the group. As always, the variance in the southerners struck her as peculiar. Then again, they weren't as insular and tribal as her own people... nor were there the penalties for standing out.

  In dress, the Taral emissaries varied as well. Several of them wore furs similar to the Norics. Others wore what had to be carefully-cared for finery that looked dated even to her. The majority, however, wore armor. Even that, though, looked old, though carefully maintained and repaired.

  Much of it better than most of my father's warriors could afford, she thought.

  After they came into the room, she noticed how they split into different groups. Those groups avoided each other as well as they could manage, she noticed. The largest, by far, gathered behind a big, redheaded man. The next biggest, though, gathered behind an old woman. The other groups seemed like smaller, family or clan groupings, two or three at the most and though they might not realize it, those smaller groups also aligned themselves on the two larger groups.

  "Thank you for meeting me," Siara's husband said. "I understand that many of you have traveled very far."

  "Some need not have made the journey," Said the big, redheaded man who headed the largest group.

  "Einion," Baron Erich said in a low voice. "He's the Count of Panagor, one of the largest surviving towns in Taral." The woman paused, "He also has assembled the largest alliance among Taral."