by AZ Kelvin
Quinlan turned to face him.
“Let no man break we friends asunder!” they finished in unison and embraced warmly.
“Edwynn Gerlynn, your face rekindles glad memories,” Quinlan said and introduced the others. “Edwynn and I grew up together playing on the piers of Calamere.”
“Seems ages ago now, old friend,” Edwynn said.
Quinlan noticed the uniquely reinforced black leather armor his friend wore. He bore two crossed short swords on his back and was loaded with daggers and throwing knives. A crossbow was slung over his shoulder and quivers of bolts were strapped to each thigh.
Edwynn bowed low. “I’m your guide for tonight’s festivities.”
“Subversion squad?” Kian asked.
“Yep,” Edwynn replied. “My boys and I will get you in there safe and sound, don’t you worry.”
Quinlan could barely make out the rest of Edwynn’s men standing behind him in the growing darkness.
“The idea is to follow the main incursion force as soon as the wall is breached. We stay out of the fighting and stick to the shadows. Our mission is to reach Teivas Keihas not fight in the battle. Understood?”
A Gwylari courier reported to Joseah.
“The Gwylari and druid forces are in position and ready to proceed,” she said. “Let us move to where we can observe.”
Quinlan could see two other staging areas to the east and west of Trossachsmuir preparing to initiate the same attack. The Vakerian encampment fires lit up the eastern hills. The Kalnuvian encampment did the same for the fields west of the city.
Catapults and trebuchets filled the sky with giant stones and firepots of naptha and nails. The moon had not yet risen and war masters of Trossachsmuir had darkened the city. A dozen large fires dotted the high towers where colored flags shone in their light. Trumpeters sounded coded instructions to the commanders of the city’s defenses. One of the fires went out as they watched from a hill near the Raskanish offensive.
“That was one of our teams,” Edwynn said. “Now the fun begins. Come, it is time.”
The main objective force took their position behind and to the side of the host of Gwylari and druids. Somewhere in the host ahead was the rest of Grove Seven preparing to do their part. In front of the host was a line of troops pushing carts mounted with large shields toward the walls of Trossachsmuir.
The main host began to move up with them. A dim glow came from many different spots in the darkness as the druid conduits channeled the energy of the world around them, passing it on to fellow druids. The sound of chants mingled together when the first of the giant rubble piles was encountered. The Gwylari and the druids used the channeled energy to fast grow trees with mighty roots.
The advancing force reached the giant rubble piles outside the gate. Massive roots rose from the ground reducing the piles and pushing the rubble from the main roadway. The trees grew along the road and their roots reached the barbicans standing on each side of the portcullis. The foundations of both gate and the walls around it crumbled with a crash in the distance.
More fires around the tower had darkened as the subversion squads succeeded in their missions.
“Torch arrows!” a commander called out from the darkness.
Small fires sprang to life ahead of them and a volley of flaming arrows streaked toward the gate area. Dozens upon dozens of burning arrows illuminated the scene ahead
“Advance!”
The row of shielded carts moved forward while squads of archers provided suppressing fire along the castle’s parapets and ramparts. The main host moved in behind the row of massive shields. Teams of oxen pulled the siege engines closer now that the rubble piles were out of the way.
“Engines loose!”
The barrage of stones and firepots began their work on the next line of walls.
“We move up,” Edwynn said. His men had already taken perimeter positions around Quinlan’s group.
The force reached the first gate just as the main host had torn down the gate and portcullis, clearing them from the path
“Infantry!” the commander called out.
A large group of fighters surged past them and through the opening. They swept into the bailey beyond the wall, engaging dreyg wherever they were found.
The first of four walls had been breached and the dreyg were pushed back. The method of attack was used three more times and three more times the walls of Trossachsmuir crumbled.
The soldiers of Raskan entered the city and quickly gained footholds in strategic areas. The dreyg were forced to abandon their positions and retreated to the castle keep. Signal corps fires no longer burned along the keep’s thick crenelated walls. The plan was working.
Quinlan’s group waited with Edwynn’s subversion squad and advanced each time the war effort advanced. They moved in to the keep and climbed siege ladders to the top of the curtain walls, which stood as the keep’s first line of defense. The castle, Teivas Keihas, rose from the center of the keep a long arrow shot from the outer walls.
The infantry forces broke through the curtain wall gate with a battering ram. Dreyg archers and troops with ballistae let loose from the keep’s higher advantage, raining death on the infantry soldiers trying to make it through the gate. Dozens of clay pots were flung into the advancing army shattering and splashing oil in every direction. Archers from the keep sent flaming arrows into the oil, filling the courtyard with fire.
“Taking the keep will prove to be a tough fight,” Quinlan said.
“Yes, but look there, Quin.” Edwynn pointed to the sea illuminated by the moon cresting the horizon. A fleet of ships sailed into the bay engaging the opponent’s ships and blasting the city’s unprotected south side with cannon fire. “The Shaanlander navy under King Travell Tavish sailing with Vakerian privateers and they bring warriors from the southern continent. Apparently their chieftain has somewhat of a large beef with the disciple, Lord Praven.”
“Vakerian privateers?” Quinlan asked.
“Yes, a group of former fishermen hired by the Order to find sailing routes to the southern continent. We’re moving out! Heading for the south wall!”
The group eventually made their way around to the south side of the keep.
“The esbat rises,” Swela said.
Quinlan looked to the east and saw the moon fully above the horizon. “And so it begins.”
The Vakerian and Shaanlander ships hammered the southern gate and the walls around it with cannon fire crumbling the structure to the ground.
“There it goes!” Edwynn exclaimed. “The keep has been breached!”
The cry could be heard transferring from person to person that the keep was vulnerable from the south.
Hordes of black-skinned warriors streamed into the keep grounds. Dressed in crimson uniforms and wielding long curved swords, they screamed terrible battle cries and attacked the dreyg forces.
“The Onomali, warriors of the southern continent,” Edwynn said as they watched. “I’ve never seen such ferocity before. We need to climb down and cross the courtyard to the castle.”
They started across to Teivas Keihas when a group of dreyg burst through a door, locked sights on their group, and attacked. Edwynn’s men readied their crossbows, but the druids were faster with their dart pipes and their foes dropped to the ground.
“They’ll be out for hours,” Quinlan said.
“Hmm, pretty handy those things,” Edwynn replied.
The next wave of attack required both parties to act and some enemies dropped unconscious and some dropped dead. More dreyg headed their way.
“This is not where we want to be,” Edwynn said. “We must get to the castle!”
Advancing dreyg fighters blocked the way in to the castle. The way back was clogged with fighters in a close quarters melee. More dreyg forces poured from the castle gate.
“Stay behind us,” Edwynn said to Quinlan’s group. “Shield us with your mysticism if you can.”
“Ready your cro
ssbows!” Quinlan replied. “Druids, green gas!”
The seven druids drew small pods from pouches and whispered, “Sanath” before throwing them in front of the advancing soldiers. The pods grew in size and began to fester.
“Strike them!” Quinlan said.
Edwynn and his men shot bolts into the pods. The green pods burst and released a green gas into the air. The front of the enemy mass fell to their knees, vomiting and choking. Another volley of crossbow bolts dropped another group of dreyg. The druids used fungus balls, nettle attacks, and dart pipes to mount offenses and defenses. The subversion squad worked with the druids where they needed and dealt with the overflow in expedient military fashion with bolts and swords. Fight as they may, even more dreyg charged into the courtyard.
“We’ll hold them as long as we can, Quin,” Edwynn said. “You must get to the castle.”
The clash of weapons drew their attention and that of the dreygs’ even more to a charge by Kalnuvian infantry. The dreyg attack faltered and fell apart. The front line tried to engage the trained military forces of Kalnu and the back turned and fled.
The sight of the Vakerian ground forces coming in from the east halted the dreyg’s forced retreat. The enemy host turned south and straight into a horde of screaming Onomali warriors. The dreyg soldiers of fortune were no match for the trained fighting forces of Arden.
“Regroup!” Edwynn called out. The subversion squad closed in and reformed the perimeter around the druids.
“Everyone good?” Quinlan asked his group. All of them showed signs of the exertion of battle, yet all stood ready to continue on.
Edwynn pointed to the castle entrance which was clear of enemies for the moment. “Leave the fighting! We make for the castle!”
The main objective force fled the courtyard, reached the castle gate, and entered Teivas Keihas.
*~*~*
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ronni MacRory walked in the courtyard of the keep in time to see Quinlan and his group heading for the castle entrance. She heaved her breath in and out but was well within her comfort range. Bumps, bruises, several small cuts, and a medium gash were the extent of the costs she paid to get this far. Those who had stood in her way had paid a dearer price. Her horse took a mild injury, so she left him behind with a squire.
Ronni surveyed the battle scene with a keen eye. A woman fighter of skill in dreyg armor pursued Quinlan’s group cutting down any allied soldier who confronted her. She dispatched them quickly and continued the hunt.
“Oh, nae, ye dinnae go after ma friends, ye bitch,” she said and took off in pursuit of the dreyg huntress.
The woman was almost upon Quinlan’s group, who was unaware the dreyg was in pursuit, and Ronni was still too far to catch up. She picked up a fist-sized rock and flung it with all her might. The rock sailed through the air and cracked the woman in the back of the head. She had a helmet on, but the impact knocked her to the ground face-first.
“Oh!” Ronni yelled out, did a little dance, and charged.
The woman rose from the ground and turned to face her. Blood trickled from abrasions on her nose and chin. A black-and-grey herringbone-weave aiguillette ran from left shoulder to left breast.
Ronni circled her, sword in sheath. “Ye better get that looked at, dearie, blood’ll stain ye know.”
“Raskan cow!” the woman screamed and drew sword and dirk in one smooth movement.
Ronni drew sword, set stance, and raised shield.
The dreyg fighter lunged forward with her sword only to spin aside at the last moment, deftly slipping her dirk behind Ronni’s shield and up toward her neck nearly scoring a fatal strike but leaving only a slash up Ronni’s jaw and cheek.
Ronni instantly went defensive and spun in the opposite direction smashing into the woman with her shoulder. The impact knocked the dreyg backward, but not down. The two women circled each other with a little more wariness.
“Commandant Malent!” A dreyg fighter ran to defend her before an arrow flew into his chest. In a glance, Ronni saw Modgrin with his bow.
“Yer in the clear, milady,” he said.
“Commandant Malent?” Ronni asked. “Commandant of the Dreyg, are ye? The turd at the top of the pile.”
Marza sneered at her. “Marza Malent, and I know you, Lady MacWhore-y.”
“Oh, ha ha, you’ll pay fer that one, ye shite-eatin’ bitch.” Ronni thrust her sword at her opponent.
Marza crossed her dirk and sword, deflecting Ronni’s thrust and started to slice her dirk upward.
Ronni was a step ahead of her and smashed her in the face with the edge of her shield.
Marza staggered backward but recovered, grimaced, and closed the distance.
The two fighters traded blows and parries stalking each other beyond a dozen encounters. Each woman drew the other’s blood on several exchanges. One fighter used dual-blade fighting techniques against the other who was a single-sword-and-shield fighter.
Marza thrust with her sword. Ronni deflected it down with hers. Marza spun toward the two swords and inside Ronni’s defenses. She stabbed backward with her dirk before quickly spinning back out. The blow landed in the unreinforced area under Ronni’s shield arm. Marza immediately came in with a cross-body sword strike catching the inside of Ronni’s shield and slicing across her forearm.
Pain seared the left side of Ronni’s chest. Marza’s sword edge opened a gash to the bone across her forearm and she could barely grip her shield. She never saw the kick to her chest, which knocked her flat to her back. She looked around for last-minute help, but Modgrin was fighting his own battle and no help was in sight.
Marza moved in and thrust down with her sword. Ronni managed to sweep her shield across to block the strike, but Marza knocked the shield down and stepped on it. Ronni stabbed upward with her sword. Marza’s cross block sent her sword flying out of reach. Ronni raised her right hand up to Marza, who stepped over her and drew back her sword. Ronni planted the toe of her armor-plated boot right between the woman’s legs with all her strength, Marza doubled over and toppled from the shocking pain.
Ronni pulled her bleeding arm free of her shield and rolled on top of Marza. She pushed the woman’s own dirk into the side of her neck and pulled it back out again. She laid on Marza as she struggled and her life’s blood ran from the wound. The pulsing of the blood flow slowed and stopped as Marza Malent, Commandant of the dreyg forces, died in battle.
Ronni rolled over onto her back thoroughly exhausted. A strange man in a turban with a tail to the left shoulder stood over her, smiling. He reached out his hand to her and she suddenly could not breathe. Her body felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out. Through the haze of pain she saw Ticari nearby chanting and as fast as the sensation started, it came to an end.
The man attacking her was being encased with vines and roots that were constricting around him as well. A calm look was on his face as he chanted in return and the plants began to wither and die. Sneering, he turned his power on Ticari, and Ronni could do nothing but watch as the stranger killed the one she had come to love.
“Nae,” she whispered, “Na’veyja…”
The turbaned man was suddenly snatched from his feet and thrown sideways. The cause was not an answer to a prayer but the weight of a thrown spear. Ronni watched as an Onomali warrior walked up to the man and pulled the spear from his body. The black-skinned man of the southern continent thrust the spear into the turbaned man one more time before he came over and began to apply pressure to Ronni’s wounded arm.
“Gratitude,” she said.
The man nodded. “Welcome. I am named Jua Kali.”
“Ronirah—MacRory,” she said.
“Ah, Raskanish, eh? Very good.”
“Ronni!” Ticari said as he regained consciousness and came over to them.
“Ti,” she whispered.
“Hold on,” Ticari said and dug through his possessions. He brought out several herbs, chewed some of them, and smeared
them on her arm. “Cala vasayr huut abnas.” The bleeding stopped as the herb poultice sealed the injury.
“A druid?” Jua Kali asked. “A very good day indeed.”
“Yes,” Ticari replied and turned to Ronni. “Here, eat this, it will give you energy.” He turned back to the man. “The raiment didn’t give it away?”
“What is raiment?” he asked.
Ticari wiggled the edge of the raiment he wore.
“Ahh—no, de druids of my land, dey do not wear such garments.”
Ronni felt her senses return. She slowly got to her feet and to a nearby bench with the help of the two gentlemen.
“Gratitude, lads,” she said.
“The dreyg have surrendered,” Ticari said. “We came in with the Gwylari to mount an offensive on the castle when I saw you and”—he pointed at the body—“whoever that was.”
“Lord Praven,” Jua Kali said, “Disciple of Nemilos and overlord of Acimasiz. He and his kind are de sworn enemy of my people.”
“You know of Acimasiz?” Ticari asked. “And who are you?”
“Jua Kali, second son of Chieftain Kali San.”
“Ticari, Settey in the Order of Arden.”
“Most pleased.”
“And gratitude for your timely arrival.” Ticari held out his hand, which Jua grasped.
“I am honored it was my spear dat took his life.”
“Physician, over here!” Ticari called out to a medico. “Lady Ronirah needs attention!”
The battle doctor worked on Ronni’s wounds while troops of every land mingled in the courtyard and Gwylari and the druids encircled the castle and began to chant.
Tendrils of green snaked their way out of the ground. The green sprouted between the courtyard tiles and seams spreading everywhere. The perimeter base of Teivas Keihas’s four wings became solid green. The mystical work of the Gwylari and the druids sent the green rising up the walls until a moat of living plants surrounded the castle.
A dim glow of flaura like a steaming mist of colors rose from the gathering of plant life. The cloud began to drift and flow becoming a river of flaura running around the castle’s exterior. The more they chanted, the higher the flaura rose. It twisted, churned, and spun into a vortex of colors.
