* * *
Accadus stirred from his slumber. Wearily, he opened his eyes and sat up. In the corner of his command tent there was a shadow. For a moment he felt terror, but relaxed as the shade moved into the light.
“Are you ready, my apprentice?” the ghostly apparition of Danon asked softly.
Accadus got up from the uncomfortable travel bed and walked over to a bowl in the corner of the room. With a contented sigh he relieved himself, before turning his attention back to the shadow.
“I have been ready for two weeks, master,” he replied irritably. “I trust you found what you were seeking in Stormglade?”
He’d had the border legions right where he had wanted them, but Danon’s delay had forced him to withdraw and wait. His forces had destroyed all of the border forts except for the one guarding the Zulus Bridge.
“I did not,” Danon said. “The wizard and his friends destroyed the sigil stone. But do not worry; I will get what I want. My forces will march upon the Watchers and you will assault the east. Together we will crush the Delfinnians, and the Sundered Crown will be yours.”
Accadus smiled and rubbed his hands together. Finally, the war was about to begin.
* * *
From his vantage point on a nearby hill, Accadus looked across the valley of Zulus. The slow moving waters of the Zulus River glittered in the noon sunlight. Normally, such a sight would have been considered beautiful. Today, however, the image was spoilt by the hordes of undead that were ambling across the fields.
On the river’s far bank, the brave soldiers of the King’s Legion were battling desperately to hold the Zulus Bridge, the only crossing point for hundreds of miles.
The bridge was defended by a fort and the legionaries inside. Ballistae bolts crashed into the undead and flaming arrows fell like rain. Scores of the undead collapsed to the ground or fell into the river, but most made it to the fort’s walls and began to clamber up. Accadus smirked at the panic of the legion defenders.
Sharp twangs sounded as his army’s catapults fired one after the other, the noise reverberating off the foothills. Massive stone projectiles arched high in the air before smashing into the fort’s battered walls. Undead and legionaries were sent flying in all directions.
Accadus adjusted his chainmail gauntlets before raising his hand to signal the Sarpi forces to advance. It wouldn’t be long before they battered their way inside and the road to Balnor would be open.
A horn sounded, and five thousand black clad Sarpi began to advance on the fort. The undead had done their job of thinning the number of defenders. The number of arrows lancing down from the fort was greatly reduced. The middle rank of Sarpi warriors carried long ladders which they would use to scale the forts walls. Accadus narrowed his eyes as he spotted a legionary leap onto the battlements and bellow a rallying cry to his men. The red plume on his helmet showed that he was a commander. Accadus smiled.
“Let us see how long your men’s resolve will last,” he muttered to himself. He kicked his heels into his horse’s flank and charged down the hill towards the fort. As he drew closer he raised his hand and narrowed his eyes. He muttered an incantation and magic flowed through his body. With a cruel laugh he launched the fireball he had summoned. The deadly projectile shot from his hand and struck the legion commander. The force of the impact sent the man flying backwards out of sight, but his agonised scream could clearly be heard.
The battle raged on. But before the sun had set, the fort surrendered.
25.
The bells of warships tolled out over the sound of the waves lapping against the quayside. It was night, and only the small lanterns affixed to sterns indicated that there were indeed ships bobbing on the inky waters. The light of the moons and stars was hidden by thick clouds that drifted lazily in the autumn breeze. The King’s Navy was at anchor in Kingsford’s harbour; the high tides created by the gravity of Esperia’s two moons prevented the fleet from staying out at sea.
The fleet was two hundred strong and every scrap of space in Kingsford’s huge harbour was occupied by a wooden war galley. The ships’ decks bristled with ballistae, grappling hook launchers and catapults. Some had barrels of fire water strapped down to the decks. The liquid was magical in nature and once it came into contact with the air, it exploded with devastating force. No deadlier weapon was available to the navy. Marines patrolled the ships’ decks, but their lanterns only offered feeble light to cast back the night. If any of the soldiers could see in the dark, they would have spotted a dozen small black sailed ships taking up position at the harbour mouth. None of the ships had lanterns lit; the Sarpi sailors had no need for them. Their eyes glinted; to them the night was as clear as day.
Sintinius stood on the bow of his ship with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. Word had finally come from the master and the war had begun. The Delfinians were unprepared, divided, and weak. He and his small fleet of ships had sailed from Retbit in the east, around the coast, and passed the isle of Zahnia undetected. The Sarpi were the masters of the night and excellent sailors. They had almost been spotted by a small fishing boat from Yundol, but before it could flee his men had sent it to the bottom of the sea.
He gestured to the ship’s helmsmen to steer the ship into the harbour. Around them, the other Sarpi ships did the same. Silently, they cut through the water, the autumn winds giving them plenty of momentum. Once the small fleet was lined up and sent sailing towards the anchored fleet, the crews of the other ships jumped overboard. Sintinius held his breath at the sound of the crews hitting water. The splashes were quiet compared to the raucous noises coming from the plethora of brothels and inns that lined the quayside. No one would hear them. Eleven of the twelve ships in the Sarpi fleet had been manned by a skeleton crew of half a dozen each; only Sintinuis’s vessel had a full complement of sailors. He paced the deck as his men helped the other crews clamber up the hull. Once all were on board, he watched the now empty ships as they sailed on into the heart of the harbour. He waited until the first ship crashed into a much larger legion vessel. One after the other, the rest of the unmanned ships struck. He turned and nodded to the archer who moved to his side. The archer reached into his cloak and took out a firestone. He touched the magical stone to the pitch-covered arrow tip. The arrow flared brightly as the pitch caught light, and he had to look away for a moment. The archer stepped forward and drew back the bow’s cord.
“Aim true and a great victory we will have here this night,” Sintinius said.
The archer smiled and loosed.
* * *
The sailors stumbled out of the Buxom Wench’s doors in a fit of laughter. The establishment was renowned for the beauty of its ladies and the potency of the ale it served. The three men had spent most of the evening inside enjoying the delights on offer. After all, what were sailors supposed to do when they couldn’t take to the sea? Laughter, music and the sounds of giggling whores made the Kingsford quayside one of the most vibrant nightspots in the city.
“Ere, I think that bloody whore’s nicked me amulet!” slurred one of the sailors.
The others laughed at him.
“She probably needed something extra after the poor effort you gave her, Maril, you dozy git.”
Maril was about to slur an expletive to his friends but a light moving through the night sky caught his attention. Others quickly followed.
“What the heck is that?” Maril exclaimed, pointing at the object that was now falling towards the anchored ships.
The object landed, and the harbour exploded.
* * *
Fire ripped through the fleet as flames carried on the wind. The pitch painted onto the hulls of the Sarpi ships had done its job perfectly. Red hot fire leapt from ship to ship, and then it struck the legion vessels with the fire water tied to their decks.
A devastating explosion shattered ripped through the fleet, capsizing ships and sending the deadly, blazing liquid flying in all directions. Wherever it struck, it burnt like the
surface of a thousand suns. Panicked sailors leapt into the sea to escape, but even the water itself burned.
Agonised and anguished screams of men trapped below the decks of the warships could be heard above the roaring of the flames. The fire water struck the buildings along the quayside, instantly setting them ablaze. Men and woman, both drunk and sober tried to flee, but both the sea and the ground itself were on fire. There was no escape from the horror.
The archer’s aim had been perfect. Sintinus’s eyes glinted in the firelight as he watched the bulk of the King’s Navy reduced to splinters. With the Delfinnian fleet sinking to the bottom of the harbour, there was now nothing to stop the bulk of the Sarpi navy assaulting the city from the west.
Danon’s plan was going perfectly.
26.
A great cloud of dust rose into the sky on the westward horizon, the only sign so far that Danon’s army had left Stormglade and was advancing across the plains. From the distance of the cloud, Faramond guessed that the host was only two days behind. He patted his horse affectionately and rubbed it behind its ears. The trusty animal had been with him through many battles, and he took comfort that they had both lasted this long. Behind him, and moving far too slowly for his liking, were his people. Their city camp had been dismantled and packed onto the wagons in record timing, and now all ten thousand of the Keenlance tribe were on the move. Men, women and children were all on horseback or in the backs of wagons, and riding in a great arc behind were the warriors.
A horn sounded from somewhere far to the south. Faramond shielded his eyes against the sun’s glare and smiled. Another plume of dust rose into the air from that direction, signalling that one or more of the other tribes of the plains had heeded his warnings.
“They must be … what? Half a day away, judging by the speed of the wind and the height of the dust,” he mused to himself.
Scouts from other tribes had hailed them earlier in the day. If all ten of the great tribes met and merged, it would mark the first horde seen in over five hundred years. Such a sight would surely bring terror to their enemies, even if that foe was Danon.
* * *
Faramond’s guess had been correct. It was mid-afternoon when the vanguard of the Sigin and Delfin tribes came into view. There was a wary standoff as the three tribes approached one another, but very soon the peoples of each were all mingling together peacefully. The Sigin were a very different people from the Keenlance. For one, the warriors preferred to wear no armour, and their long curved swords were double the length of a Delfinnian broadsword. Instead of bows, they preferred to use crossbows. Their banners displaying a sword cutting through stone fluttered proudly in the breeze.
The Delfin tribe were different again. Their banners were of a slightly different design to those that flew over the battlements of Sunguard and the kingdom. Markus the Mighty had been king of the Delfin tribe before going on to conquer the Golden Empire and winning the Magic Wars. After that conflict, many of the tribe chose to settle the lands beyond the Watchers and help found the Kingdom of Delfinnia; the rest, meanwhile, had chosen to continue their nomadic existence on the Great Plains.
Luxon rode with Hannah. Normally, the sight of such an impressive gathering would have excited him, but his thoughts were dark. Hannah tried to comfort him as best she could, but the loss of his mother and best friend was still too raw. They rode behind a wagon being pulled by four large and smelly oxen. In the back was Kaiden and his family. The knight had regained consciousness, the delight of having his wife and child at his side beating the pain. The healers Grigg and Huin were also in the wagon. The old healer enthralled Alira with tales of his adventures, whilst Huin kept little Ilene happy with games.
“Do you think it will be enough?” Hannah asked quietly, shaking Luxon out of his daydreaming. He looked at her tiredly and his expression softened. Fear was etched on her face, a fear he knew all too well.
“It has to be,” he replied simply. “No word has come from the other seven tribes.”
“I am afraid, Luxon … I’m afraid I’ll lose you; I’m afraid I’ll never get to see my family again. I’m sorry,” she said, looking away.
He reached over and squeezed her hand tightly.
“You won’t lose me, Hannah,” he said with more conviction than he felt. “One day, when all of this is over, we will visit your family in Robinta and you will show me where you grew up. I will not let Danon win. The darkness will not win,”
“Why does Danon do this?” Hannah asked, a hint of despair in her tone. “What does he want? He ruled the world once and was defeated, and yet he keeps coming back to darken everything. Is he mankind’s curse?”
Luxon looked at her. What she said had struck him. In all the tomes he had read and the stories he had heard, not one of them said why Danon kept trying to enslave the world.
“The legends all say that he was one of the first men – the brother of Niveren himself. The bishops would say that because Niveren was good, so Danon was his evil counterpoint … but there must be more to it than that. Perhaps knowing the why could be the key to defeating him?”
“If he was once just a man, than how can he still be around now?” Hannah asked.
Luxon raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled.
“Someone obviously fell asleep in lore class,” he chided.
“I was never into studying lore. Dissecting things and putting things back together with my magic was much more my thing.” Hannah smiled. ‘It’s good to see you laugh. So then, mister smartass, tell me: how can Danon still be around? I know that necromancy can extend a user’s life for centuries, but not forever … not like him.”
“I remember Master Ri’ges telling us that the first men were different to us,” Luxon said. “Taller, stronger and imbued with magic. Every one of them was a powerful wielder. They were also said to have been immortal.”
Hannah’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“When Danon turned on his brother, there was a terrible war. Neither man could outdo the other. Danon gained the upper hand by using dark magic. In order to stop the world falling to evil, Niveren prayed to the god of balance, Chiaroscuro, for aid. The god answered; horrified that balance would soon be tipped in favour of the darkness, he asked Niveren to prove he was worthy to be the Light’s champion. He endured numerous trials to prove that he was worthy, but none of them were enough to convince Chiaroscuro. Eventually, when things seemed grimmest, and probably out of sheer desperation, Niveren offered his immortal soul, the greatest gift bestowed upon man by the gods. Needless to say, the offering pleased Chiaroscuro. The god took Niveren’s immortality, ensuring that all of his descendants too would now be mortal. In exchange he forged a mighty weapon to slay Danon …”
Luxon paused as he thought.
“The weapon was Asphodel, wasn’t it?” Hannah asked breathlessly.
Luxon smiled. Every time the sword was mentioned, people grew excited. There was a reason every good storyteller had their heroes wielding the weapon; it always got the audience’s attention. Virtually every story in the Great Library mentioned the blade in some form or another.
“Yes,” he replied finally.
Hannah clapped her hands together.
“See, I knew that,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.
A look of confusion crossed her beautiful face. Her dainty nose wrinkled and her wide blue eyes narrowed.
“Wait a minute … Niveren sacrificed his immortality for Asphodel, so why is Danon still around?”
“The clerics say that Niveren’s mercy spared his hand. The two fought in a duel that lasted for ten days and ten nights. By the end of it, Niveren emerged the victor, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill his brother. Instead, he banished him to the darkest corner of the world. Danon kept his immortality, his soul endures, and he uses his powers to possess new bodies when required. Even when Zahnia the Great banished him to Void, Danon’s soul lived on, bound to this world.”
“Imagine if Niveren had k
illed him,” Hannah whispered. “Imagine what the world would be like …”
* * *
As the day progressed, more tribes merged with the Keenlancers until the number of people and horses marching east was in the tens of thousands. The sun was beginning to descend in the sky by the time the great host came into view of the Watchers. The legionaries and soldiers manning the walls offered prayers to Niveren at the sight. Commanders bellowed orders at their men to prepare the mighty fortress’s defences.
Ferran and Baron Baltar watched the horde from the battlements. Sweat was visible on the baron’s brow and he licked his lips nervously.
“You had better be right about this, Ferran. A tribal horde has not marched on the Watchers for over five centuries. If they come seeking war …”
“They are not here to fight, Baron. Look,” Ferran replied, pointing to a small group of riders that had broken off from the horde.
Luxon’s blue cloak was clearly visible. Riding with him was Faramond and Sophia.
Baltar led the way down towards the gates. The huge iron portcullis was down and hundreds of legionaries stood in formation, spears at the ready. On the battlements were archers and the crews of the ballistae that lined the walls. Further back, on the secondary wall, were the huge trebuchets that were being loaded with massive stones. The two men made their way through the gathered ranks.
“You two are a sight for sore eyes,” Ferran said warmly to his wife and Luxon, who were waiting on the other side of the portcullis. Sophia kissed her husband through one of the gaps in the metal.
“I never thought that I would be happy to see this place,” Faramond said.
War for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 2) Page 20
