by P D Ceanneir
The priest walked with a limp and a stoop, a crooked staff of black ash stopped him from falling over, and the hood of his long, thick grey cloak held tight around his face from the cold early winter wind. Yet he persevered as he walked through the lines of groaning men. More of the Derma were wandering about in the distance, dozens going about their duty, through endless days and cold nights.
The siege of Caphun had been a long one. Planning for such a venture was the key and King Kasan had planned it with such meticulous detail that everything went according to plan. Well, almost.
In the king’s view, the siege of the Haplann capital had gone on for far too long. Four months was not ideal and he left it to his loyal captain, a Rawn Lord called Milam, the Count of Tressel, to smash through the walls and bring him the bounty he wished. That bounty was the reason that the siege had stalled; the Countess of Haplann was a formidable opponent.
Robard threw some more kindling onto the fire that he and three of his ranking soldiers shared, the sparks flew into the air as they rose with the flame’s heat. The old veteran watched them disappear and mused at the strangeness of war.
War always started with a single spark.
He guessed that the spark started over four years ago at the Ancarryn, with the intervention of the dragon-prophet, Ciriana, and the Blacksword’s escape with the Vallkyte Queen. King Kasan did all he could in the Halls of the Parliament to ratify his need for war. The young order of the Brethac Ziggurat was not as young as Robard and his cronies had believed. It had served the nobles of the island in secret for thousands of years, now it was no longer a secret amongst the Vallkytes and if Robard was truthful with himself, the military recruitment, training and building of Sky Ships over the prevailing months made the continuation of the war with the Roguns more obvious in his eyes.
Eventually the sparks of war turned to smouldering tinder with the short-lived Landless War, though not quite a full, intense flame yet, but nearly. The Landless War only served to split the opposing factions down the middle. King Vanduke had, by this time, formed his own coalition army, calling it the Temperance League. Robard chuckled to himself at the preposterous name. With the nobles of the rebel army, rescued so bravely by the late General Elkin at the end of the Landless War, swelling the ranks of the League, King Kasan now made his move and brought forth the ultimate weapons of war.
He summoned the dragons.
There were three in total, Basilica, black as the starry night. The only female of the three was Amphorae, a beautiful blue dragon whose skin rippled with sharp flashes of iridescent light. Finally, there was the largest and most deadly, the copper coloured dragon known as Tyre, whose roar stretched over the vast length of the Dulan plain and still sent a shiver down one’s back. The dragons were immature and still growing. Their training was incomplete and Kasan was reluctant to bring them out to war, yet Tyre’s intervention at the Battle of Lots Muir meant the capture of the famous Red Duke by Prince Creed’s Unduli and the Vallkyte De Proteous’s reputation was further enhanced with the capture of the Falesti queen.
Robard smiled. The early stage of the reignited war against the Roguns was going very well for the Brethac Order indeed.
The only dampener to threaten the flame was Havoc De Proteous Cromme. There were reports, unconfirmed for the most parts, of his return from exotic lands. Some said that the large Quest Ship was seen off the coast of Nidral, one of the many islands of the South Sea Horn to the south of the Tattoium-Tarridun. Many said that the Raiders were on the move from the Wildlands and he led them. Robard’s heart leapt. He was a veteran of many battles, one of the few that had survived the onslaught of the fearsome Raiders, and he had no wish to meet them again. Other reports mentioned that the Rogun De Proteous had found the Gredligg Orrinn and he was arriving as some sort of religious prophet to deliver the people of the continent from the dark designs of the Brethac Ziggurat. Robard, not one for superstitious nonsense, quickly quashed these rumours whenever he heard them whispered amongst his men.
As the hooded priest wound his way around the lines of sleeping men, and closer to his position, Robard’s mind wandered to Prince Creed’ Unduli and its short-lived invasion of the Jertiani after his capture of the Red Duke. The prince did not mourn the loss of his companies in the battle against General Elkin’s Bellmen; he could replenish his numbers later, besides Marshal Junno had fulfilled his duty. Instead, he was more intent on carrying out his father’s orders, and carry them out he did.
After entering the Rogun lands via the high mountain passes of the Tattoium Ridge, he laid waste to half the farmlands of the Jertiani, set fire to the small towns of Merit Howe and Salem, further to the north, and slaughtered any who stood in his way, this included women and children. Days later General Balaan and his Jertiani units sallied forth from the fort of Turac. However, the prince was long gone from the south Rogun lands. He moved his Unduli units with speed and stealth towards the north, where he began harrying the small sheep villages at the foot of the Tattoium Ridge. As the week wore on, King Vanduke led a force of Rogun Regulars and Carras Knights with the hope of hunting down Prince Creed, but the wily prince led them a merry dance around the foothills for several more days, before finally retreating through the passes back into the Dragersloth.
The king was outraged at the death and destruction the prince had wrought on his lands and people. The numerous dead lay strewn over the fields and villages. Several tall columns of black smoke signalled to everyone the widespread burning of crops that stretched to the far horizon.
All of this coincided with the invasion of Haplann, while all eyes of the Temperance League and their allies were watching the spread of atrocities on the Rogun lands; King Kasan mounted a flash invasion on Haplann and the Eternal Forest. A large Brethac Host stormed the neutral country from the lands of the Wyani, setting fire to the vast fields of hybrid grape that produced the Fire Wine and various farmlands in that district. While the king moved in from the east with his host to cut off any movement from Caphun the Vallkyte king’s most able general, Lord Nethroin, used his newly constructed siege engines built in the Brethac-held town of Aquen to pound the eastern edge of the Eternal Forest. Queen Bronwyn’s husband, the Atyd Barnum, led an army in brave attempts to stop Nethrion’s barrage of the Falesti homeland. He had some success, but the enemy outnumbered his own until the other Atyds at his command could deliver more men to come to his aid.
The Countess of Haplann defiantly held the Brethac host at her front door. Caphun’s Twenty-foot thick walls did not topple under the catapult bombardment; her archery towers sent hail after deadly hail of arrow shafts down upon any infantry formation that came too close. Caphun’s own catapults were also formidable as they sent burning clots of pitch covered iron ore, stone or hay bales into the well-formed ranks of the Brethac Army. The retaliation from Caphun’s catapults had managed to destroy two of the Berthac’s siege engines and disable one of the Trebuchets. In addition, the Vallkyte engineers had to rebuild several bridged sections because of fire damage. Not even the Rawn Arts could bring the king into the city and he suspected that the countess had several Elemental Orrinns that were deflecting any elemental energy that his loyal Rawn Masters threw at the walls. After four months he gave command of the siege to Milam while he moved most of the Brethac host north and camped near the Rings of Port on the west side of the Haplann Hills to support Nethrion’s siege on the Eternal Forest.
The wandering Priest edged closer to the Sub-sergeants section, genuflecting to the prone soldiers as he went, mumbling a short prayer. Robard stoked the fire again and wondered why his skin began to crawl and his eyes seemed dry and itchy all of a sudden. True, he and his comrades in arms had not bathed in many days; the majority of them stank, and most had lice. Much of the army had succumbed to stomach cramps and running bowls due to the poor sanitation of the “fresh” water found close to the marsh, yet he grunted as a headache formed behind his eyes and he felt a pressure weighing down on him.
The recent bout of cholera in the siege camp coincided with the final fall of Caphun’s outer wall two months ago. The engineers had noticed a weak spot in the wall a hundred paces from the oak and iron gates, Caphun regulars were continuously bracing the area with thick wooden beams to add support on the other side while the catapults were pounding it with a constant barrage. When it collapsed, a large host of Vallkytes and Wyani foot soldiers stormed into the breach, but the brave men of Caphun, commanded by its Regent, Morden, plugged the gap. The fight was a long one, sheer stamina and numbers of the invaders meant that they took the lower town and soon pushed the locals back and forced them to retreat into the castle. Therefore, the enemy pulled their catapults closer so the castle grounds to pummel its walls to dust and still the beautiful countess shouted her defiance form the battlements. Robard had to admire her.
Hope at winning the siege came when they paraded the captured Red Duke through the lines of soldiers that lined the streets of Caphun. The men cheered to see such a formidable opponent cowed and in chains as he was led on horseback through Caphun’s cobbled roads. Lord Milam had ordered that the duke be deliberately bled to weaken him enough to lessen his Rawn abilities yet he was still guarded by a hundred fully armoured men-at-arms day and night.
The price of the long siege, and barring the forthcoming biting winter chill, seemed worth it after gaining entry into the town. Word from messengers at Aquen told of the destruction to the eastern rim of the Eternal Forest, but the Falesti redoubts and walls were holding. There were also rumours of the Temperance League assembling inside the walls of the Pander Pass, but Robard heard so much gossip these last few days he did not know what to believe.
The Derma Ken Priest, hunched and leaning on his staff, shambled along towards Robard’s group. Robard sighed and prepared himself for another talk on the morality of the Gods. Much as he disliked these lessons in religious rhetoric, he had no choice but to be kind to the Derma, by order of the king, who was devout in the Vallkyte religion.
‘May I join you gentlemen and share your fire? It is so cold tonight and my old bones ache with the chill,’ said the priest in a croaky voice.
‘There are no gentlemen here, old man,’ said Robard while his companions sniggered. ‘Though, you may share the warmth of the fire, please sit.’
‘You are kind.’ The old man sat with a thump and waved his arms with the long sleeves of his cloak close to the fire. He did not take down his hood; he merely leant the staff against the crook of his arm. Robard sniffed and realised that the priest really did not smell of anything, he and his companions, however, were a little ripe.
One of the Sub-sergeant’s fellow rankers on the other side of the fire passed a bowl of herbal tea over to the priest, but he declined with a wave and a slight shake of his cowl.
‘Alas I am forbidding to consume anything until the cleansing light of the sun appears, but thank you anyway.’
‘Probably for the best,’ grunted Robard, ‘Wally’s tea is terrible anyway.’
The soldier, Wally, looked hurt while the others laughed, then he sipped his tea with a smile that showed he had no teeth in his upper jaw.
‘How fares the siege?’ asked the priest. The hood turned to the white walls. The Vallkyte engineers had repaired the breach in the wall professionally, which was standard procedure when they took a walled city, apparently. The catapult balls had left scarring and large dents in some places that gave the once beautiful white wall an ugly pitted look, however, the hanging corpses of local men and women cast a shocking portrayal of the suffering that innocents have to go through in times of war.
‘Lord Milam hung them yesterday,’ said Robard, who looked in the same direction as the priest. ‘And he will hang a dozen more if the countess doesn’t surrender. That is how well the siege goes.’
‘Surely Lord Milam is a Rawn Master, is he not? No doors can bar him,’ said the priest, turning to the Sub-sergeant. The moon took that moment to sneak out from behind the dark clouds and cast a pitiful glow over the sleeping army at the foot of the damaged town’s walls. Their lumpy forms decorated silver with early morning frost. For the briefest second, part of the priest’s face was briefly revealed as a clean-shaven chin, pale as chalk with a sardonic toothy grin that made Robard shiver. It was not the face of an old man, in fact, it seemed ageless. Then the image was gone as the clouds quickly closed over the surface of the moon and the face was lost to the dark void of the hood.
It was the soldier, Wally, who answered the priest.
‘Lord Milan chooses not to use the arts to end the siege. He is quite content to wait it out and so save his energy.’ Wally’s voice was full of scorn as if the siege was going on for far too long anyway. ‘Besides I think he rather enjoys torturing the Red Duke, some days I can hear him scream.’
The priest stiffened.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘he knows that the food supply in the castle is dwindling and they will soon surrender through starvation. Gods know how the countess and regent have managed to hold out for a year.’
‘Fourteen months actually,’ corrected Robard. ‘At least the hard face of the countess will have softened by now.’ There were sniggers from the others around the fire.
‘So comely her face, but what about her body, she is a beauty by all accounts?’ said one of them.
‘Aye, that she is, just you can take your mind out of the gutter, she is for King Kasan only,’ said Robard and none of them saw the gloved hands of the priest tighten on his staff as they spoke.
‘The siege best be over soon,’ said a shorter man next to Wally, ‘last I heard, the Rogun king is at the Pander Pass and is planning to move against our king at the Rings of Port come the spring.’
‘Ha! That is just rumour. He will stand no chance, anyway,’ scoffed Robard, ‘our host is twenty thousand strong there.’
‘Yes, but what about Barnum, he is still a threat.’
‘Lord Nethroin and his host are keeping him at bay for now.’
‘The Falesti can field an army of thousands I’m told,’ said Wally.
‘True, but Nethroin has his dragon, remember?’
Wally and the other two nodded. The priest shifted uncomfortably.
‘When Prince Creed returns from replenishing his army at Fort Tressel then we will all march on Aln-Tiss, you mark my words,’ said Robard, wagging a finger at them.
‘You’re forgetting the other dragon, Robard, the one in league with Prince Havoc,’ said Wally.
‘Have we seen hide or tail of her?’ said Robard, spreading his arms as if welcoming a futile debate. His friends answered him at once.
‘...Aye some have...’ said one.
‘...Some say she is stronger than our three...’ said another.
‘...High above the Withers last week, I heard...’
‘What about the Blacksword?’ the Derma Ken priest said, changing the subject dramatically. All four of the Brethac soldiers instantly stopped talking and turned to the priest with a look of fear in their faces. The wind stilled around them and they felt a strange cloying pressure build in the air, nipping at their eyes and pressing down on them.
‘What do you know of the Blacksword?’ said Robard as he stopped cleaning his dagger and held it firmly in his hand. It was at this point that he noticed the other priests were gone.
‘Do you not fear his return to take the heads of the damned?’ the priest’s voice had changed to a dry whisper. The men stared in silence as they saw the priest’s body grow several inches taller. The pressure intensified around them and they shifted uncomfortably.
Something was terribly wrong.
‘He...he has not...been seen for four years,’ stuttered Wally, ‘some say he has left the land for good.’
‘You are wrong!’ cackled the priest and his robe turned to night black, the colour spreading over the dowdy grey of his cloak like a parchment soaking up water. In an instant, the staff he held straightene
d into an ebony scabbard with a silver pommel on a black hilt.
‘The Blacksword is already here!’ The sword extracted from the sheath with lightning speed. The hand that held it swung the blade in a horizontal arc and its owner did not even feel a tug as it cut through flesh.
The silence of the sleeping army at the walls of Caphun shattered as loud screams suddenly stopped abruptly followed by the sound of decapitated heads hitting the frosted ground with a hollow thump.
Robard sat in shock as the headless bodies of his comrades toppled onto the ground. He was dimly aware of Wally’s blood striking his face and shoulder before hissing when it hit the flames of the fire. Beside him, a tall creature in black stood up and the dirt and dust around the camp fire rose with him. The Sub-sergeant lunged for the baldric next to his bed roll and pulled his sword from it’s sheath. He spun around to confront the mass of black particles and suddenly felt the air rushing into his ears. The wind gripped him tightly, his arms were clamped to his sides and he yelled as he was lifted into the air. The pressure tightened, his scream became muffled as an invisible flow of air filled his mouth and he went completely rigid. Even though he was hovering in the air with space around him, he felt trapped as if inside a tight space. The feeling of claustrophobia became more acute as the air around him pressed relentlessly. He tried to scream as his muscles crushed under the elemental force. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out tents catching fire from the centre of the camp.
All around him, soldiers were waking and arming for an attack. Several dozen approached the dark cloud and Robard’s crushing body with caution and startled looks. Robard cried for help but it came out muffled. His vision dimmed as the pressure on his head crushed his nose into his face and made his ears burst. Several Vallkytes rushed to help him but something invisible sent them hurtling backwards.
