by Lee LaCroix
“Master Ayden, the housing in the barracks is full beyond all means, and we still have new recruits looking for shelter. What shall we do with them?” Dontas asked him, standing at his side.
“Find any vacant building in the city and house them there, speak with the landlords and strike a deal,” Ayden replied, not looking up from his papers.
“But Master, our budget on coin is already stretched thin. We owe much to the city’s merchants already, and I’m not sure we can take on the burden of property tax,” Merill advised, kneading and unwinding his fingers over and over.
“Either we take those houses, or the Vandari do… it’s really that simple,” Ayden argued.
Merill unleashed a low moan characteristic of his wearied age but could not bring himself to disagree. Ayden could not look at him. Instead, he searched through his documents, ledgers, writs of ownership, and trade agreements, looking for anything that would lead their finances onto stable ground. More hair fell from his head as he straightened himself in his chair, and with a smile, waved Garreth through the office doors as soon as he appeared.
“Master Garreth, it is good to see you. We have heard nothing from those scouts yet, Do you bring word from them?” Ayden asked, trying not to betray his need of better news.
“One of our strongest has ventured there. The fact that he has not returned yet makes me assume the worst,” Garreth began, placing his hands upon the untied desk.
“There is no reason to be optimistic now!” Dontas argued, staring at Ayden.
“We need to prepare the city to the best of our abilities, before it’s too late,” Ayden began.
“Dontas, prepare our forces. Prepare your battalions for field formations. Make sure our siege weaponry is properly calibrated and stocked as heavily as possible. I want this city ready at a moment’s notice well before sundown,” Ayden ordered, staring up at the stoic-faced man.
“Merill, advise the people of the safest course of action. Those who can flee the city should do so now. Have the rest lock their doors, prepare barricades, and gather supply in their basements for the upcoming siege. Their safety and survival of this battle is our number one priority,” Ayden said as he turned to the aged man in robes.
“See to your duties and do not return until they are fulfilled. Every breath that you now take brings you closer to this ultimate end… to the realization of our freedom or our destruction. Do not let us betray the people that have lifted us here to free them and have given their lives to strengthen us. Let us depart,” Ayden stated as he stood from the table and led the three out of the room.
Chapter Twenty
The city was silent. The lapping of the waves frothed below. The gulls boasted nearby. The sun began to set in the west, and the horizon was stained orange, red, and purple as it faded into the darkening blue sky. The polished surface of the Telfir Peninsula shined a fiery hue in the lateness of the day. Scores of Kal’reth watched out over its expanse from walls, out of windows, on steps, and on top of sandy hills outside of Andalvia. Each of them waited, stilled with patience and shaken with nervousness, for a sight foretold in the most outlandish rumour or the darkest of nightmare. It was not the marching of men that they heard first but the beating of hooves, which rang out over the river valley. A single rider came into view, speeding across the lighted length.
“They’re coming, they’re coming. They’ll be here before nightfall,” Eyrn explained as he dismounted his horse and passed his reins off to a soldier at the gate.
Eyrn crouched under the gate as it hung, nearly too heavy to lift after all its recent fortifications including a second layer of thick wooden panelling and panels of metal reinforcement; an endeavour that depleted the city of the last of its lumber supplies. He ducked under the thick chains that hung across the gate, which would be secured against the stone exterior of the surrounding buildings, giving the gate a steadfast structure. The Malquian continued onto the empty street, which was barren from entrance all the way up to the gates of the fortress and tower. Every door was closed, every wall was plain, and many wagons or vendor stands on the street had been forced onto their sides, further blocking any entrances to domiciles. As he passed by the market, all the tents had been taken down, and all the tables and stands had been piled in an alley against the far wall. Only dust, splinters, and strands of cloth remained there.
Eyrn made his way west towards the dock and took the steep steps up towards the wall from the street. Between every ballista, there was a catapult and three archers. Their longbows were strung, and their arrows sat in great piles next to the stony shot for the catapult and the weighty bolts of the ballista. Facing the peninsula on the wall’s nearest face, Ayden and Dontas stood alongside Garreth, Ilsa, Behn, Kayten, and Novas. They all peered out over the stretching formation as Eyrn approached.
“Their forces approach. The first thousand will be the vanguard as they move their siege weapons into place, which are following shortly after. I assume the rest of their troops will trickle through their siege line as necessary to keep their defense as secure as possible,” Eyrn explained.
“Do you think our own siege weapons will be effective enough?” Ayden asked.
“We have the height advantage. Our catapult shot will travel a greater distance. But I’m guessing the Vandari will take that into account and will position themselves safely. They did build the bloody things after all,” Behn replied.
“How do they expect to win this conflict then? Even if they exhaust our ground troops, they will have little chance to damage our defenses all the way up here,” Ayden asked.
“I’m unsure, but we have gone to great lengths to secure the city gate, which would be their point of access into the city. They would spend many men forcing their way to the gate through our defenses, but they have thousands, and perhaps that is enough,” Garreth told him.
“Let us hope they have the sense not to push us that far,” Ayden stated, staring over the wall.
“I do not think they have rallied that number to threaten us alone,” Dontas declared.
As the bottom of the sun touched the edge of the world, the Vandarian army seemed to pour from the union. Their shadowy silhouettes, dark shades of men contrasted against the fiery orb, were seen in the distance long before their marching could be heard. Shoulder to shoulder, the enemy of the Kal’reth moved onto the peninsula row after row, stretching from one side of the Telfarr to the other. The entire mass of their vanguard choked the elevated land across its width, and the shining ground could hardly been seen from the great height of the city walls. Brave men and women, the seven hundred soldiers of Andalvia stood on the opposite side of the peninsula and watched as the Vandari marched towards them and then stopped at the peninsula’s middle.
There was a stretching silence as Dontas looked out from the front of his soldiers, waiting for Vandar to send their terms. The wall of Vandarian shields did not move and did not part. Behind them, the cranking of machinery could be heard. At first, Dontas thought he saw flags or banners as large wooden poles sprung into the air. But as they were lowered and tightened back down to the ground, Dontas could just make out the giant scoops on the ends of the tall trebuchets. The coiling protest of ropes screamed like a turbulent sea vessel, the clattering of churning metal gears grinded like a fervent smithy’s shop, and the calls of siege commanders rang out loud and clear beyond the Vandarian ranks. There would be no words; there would only be war.
Every Kal’reth held their breath as the silence finally resumed again and pushed out it out as it ended. They brought their eyes up high to the death that flew over them. Soaring higher than any catapult shot, the long arm of the trebuchet lifted its payload high above their heads and straight towards the tops of the city walls. They watched as barrels, not boulders, flew towards the wall. While some landed on its face or soared over, the Kal’reth were left awestruck when massive fireballs emerged from the splinters of wood. In the light of the bloodfire bombs, Dontas raised his sword.
“The trebuchets must be destroyed now. The walls, the men, and the entire city will not stand for such bombardment!” Garreth screamed over the roar of the explosion.
He watched as the barrels continued to pulverize the city, flying over their heads and scorching sandy stone buildings to blackness or demolishing their frames entirely.
“Ballista! Aim for the base of the trebuchet or the ammunition deposits!” Garreth yelled.
“Catapult! Bombard the backline of their vanguard. Dontas must be reinforced!” He stated.
Garreth, Eyrn, and Behn rushed along the wall and checked each siege measurement.
“Fire!” Garreth called out.
He could feel the wind rip around him as the tension of those powerful weapons were loosed, and he watched their weight fall upon the Vandari in the distance. The ballista bolts, the arrows of giants, screamed towards their target and found their mark just beyond the line of opposing siege.
“Reload! Set your sights closer! Aim lower!” Garreth relayed to the rest of them.
The hefty boulder of the catapult was near impossible to misdirect, and landed in the mass of Vandarian soldiers that stretched from side to side on the earthen bridge.
Down on the peninsula, Dontas could hear the screams of his enemies as he finally broke into a stride, lifting up his two-handed sword from his shoulder pauldron and charging the frontline with his soldiers beside him. With a sturdy wall of enemy shields in front of him, Dontas brought down his sword from on high and swept right, knocking a shield aside. As a Vandarian countered with a lunge, Dontas stepped to the side before landing a solid kick to a Vandarian’s stomach. Dontas brought down his sword from on high again, and delivered a crushing blow to his downed opponent.
“Hold the line! Beware your sides! Do not let them flank!” Dontas commanded.
He looked from side to side, all the way to the steep edges of the peninsula that fell to the raging Dykos, and saw that his soldiers still held their ground. After a roar, he grit his teeth and slammed his sword upon another shield, determined not to give his age-old enemy any more ground.
“Everyone get down!” Garreth yelled.
He had seen the bloodfire barrel from a distance as it travelled upwards from the size of a pebble, increasing in size as it flew towards him. He felt the searing heat above him as he tossed himself to the side and watched the flames rise over him. He turned back to see where he had leapt just in time to see a catapult teeter on the edge of the wall and fall inside towards the city. He soon felt hands upon his shoulder, pulling him up to his feet. Garreth turned to meet the face of his son.
“We’re gonna get slaughtered up here. It’s probably safer down there!” Novas shouted.
Garreth looked back and forth at his son, the siege weaponry, and the battle below.
“The siege is critical to our victory, and I need to command them!” Garreth explained.
“Our battle is down there! We are needed down there! Look! They have a commander!” Novas yelled in return and pointed beyond Garreth.
Garreth turned to see Ayden directing a crew to load a ballista bolt into its holster and watched as he used an eyeglass to spot the next target. Garreth watched as the ballista bolt flew out from the wall and landed with a splintering smash in the woodwork of a tall trebuchet, tossing its sturdy scoop over the side of the peninsula.
“Malquians! With me!” Garreth shouted as he unsheathed his sword and held it to the sky.
Darkbreaker shimmered golden red in the light of the setting sun, and Garreth drew his allies towards him. Garreth, Ilsa, Novas, Kayten, Behn, and Eyrn made their way down the steps of the wall and hurried towards the battlefield below.
The crimson red tabards of the Crown Aegis rippled in the cooling wind like the nearby waves on the sunset shore. The forty Malquians, remaining volunteers for the frontier expedition, watched the battle continue from outside the city gate as arrows darkened the sky and fire lighted it. With four rows of ten, their hearts were slow and sure. While some were veterans of the burning of Bouldershade or the Battle of Deepshine, others shook and rattled, feeling the upcoming conflict dragging them forward like a cliff side dive. For the seasoned, the scene before them seemed torn from their fevered memories of the invasion of Malquia, and they recalled the flames that cut through the sky and the steel-plated Vandari who shined like scales of a viper. For the others, the tumult ahead had been summoned from their darkest dreams; the sky was the hue of the blood that was spilt and soon turned black like death, choked with the endless shouts of anger and screams of torment.
It had seemed the strength of the Crown Aegis had been lost even before the single swing of their swords; they had heard the news, and they knew the odds. Seven hundred of their Kal’reth comrades and forty foreign soldiers versus thousands of the warriors of the reigning Order. It was enough to break a person down inside, to corrode their will, and to extinguish their courage. But, they held on for some reason, a reason that was apparent to them as their commanders took the front of the formation.
His size was great enough to block out the sun, and the sunset turned his steel plate armour a fiery tinge. As thick as his armour was his sword, and Behn the Mighty held a claymore handed down from father to son, and from a brave man slain by the treacherous Blackwoods to his vengeful brother. The blade was testament of the man’s strength. As fierce as the stormy sea he had traveled upon, his sword was like the great waves that could break the greatest galleon. There was the Eyrn the Swift, a peerless warrior who had trained more than half of them in the sword, in the shield, and whatever weapon they had desired. If Behn was strong like the sea, Eyrn was quick like the wind. The man’s reinforced leather armour did not slow him at all, and the strikes of his twin swords exploded from him like peels of white-hot lightning.
There was the mistress of the black, the raven to his eagle. Like a shadow standing straight up, little light did Ilsa shed. As quick as dark descending upon the extinguished candle, Ilsa stalked her prey, always hiding on the edge of sight where a man could not trust the corner of his eye. In a single blink, those pristinely dark daggers, forged from the polished slate of her homeland, could pierce a man multiple times in a single breath and leave him breathing through new holes for a short time. And then there was the flame, the embodiment of passion, the power of will. Driven from her home to avenge the murder of her father, Kayten wielded the bloodfire-forged broadsword Blazeheart; a blade crafted by a mind of crackling sparks and a body of underestimated strength and fortitude. The heat of battle set her heart and blade alike aflame. With stalwart shield, she supported her allies in the front line and was determined that no one would take from her again.
His first memories were of dawn of a new day, bright and genuine. Since sighting those arrows to save his father, to save his future love, and to save the country that birthed him, Novas had fought for the causes he believed to be right and virtuous, for his decisions were determined by an upbringing free of worldly temptation and a respect for the balance of life and death. Gifted a radiant set of sunsteel armour and the shining longsword Dawnbringer by the fiery-haired smith, he entered the battle as one of the heralded warriors of light, who were celebrated by their allies and feared by their foes. He gathered his strength, swearing not let another friend die in this fight.
The ranger, the rebel, the eagle, the commander, and a warrior of light, Garreth had gone by many titles. Undeniably one of the major catalysts in the rebellion at Amatharsus and the supreme liberator in the invasion of Malquia, he remained the greatest paragon of the King’s virtue, meeting injustice with the entire strength of his heart and his mursame blade Darkbreaker. From vanquishing Rakash Dommath to capturing the infamous Lord Vyse, Garreth’s triumphs inspired his allies in his presence, and he led them into battle with absolute conviction.
Every helmet of the Crown Aegis rose to the sky and looked upon their leaders. They all knew
the tales, they all had trained with them, shed blood beside them, and had followed them across the sea. Perhaps, the men and women of the Crown Aegis had joined them on this voyage to safeguard the vulnerable Kal’reth, but they had also come for another reason; to write themselves into the legend that their allies forged, not only in speech or word but in memory and dream. As Garreth marched them forth towards the harrowing battle, they all knew they were stepping into history, and they steeled themselves as all brave warriors of the past had done.
“Behn, Eyrn, I want you to take the left. Novas, Kayten, I want you on the right. Ilsa and I will take the center. Soldiers, I want two lines of twenty behind us. If we all remain strong, we will not be flanked, and we will not be moved. It is time to relieve our sandborne friends,” Garreth ordered as his troops breached the face of the peninsula.
“Good luck, Father,” Novas offered with a nod before taking off to the right with Kayten.
“Commander,” Behn and Eyrn echoed before taking off to the left and unsheathing their blades.
Garreth looked at Ilsa, who was looking back at him, and expecting her to speak. The look in her eyes was words enough; more words than they could speak before meeting the sea of swords. All the words they had spoken, all the strength they had given each other, and all the love that they exchanged. They each withdrew their weapons and began to stride.
