Siege of Night

by Jeff Gunzel

  Siege of Night

  BY JEFF GUNZEL

  Copyright 2013 Jeff Gunzel

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  Heavy winds swirled across the Apili mountain range, carrying with them fine bits of crystallized snow scooped up from the mountaintops that seemed to never be free of their frozen white caps no matter the time of year. Packs of white foxes moved together as one against the constant icy onslaught, gaining ground only here and there between heavy bursts of wind, while squinting heavily as tiny ice crystals pelted them from every direction. It was a nuisance they were long used to, but a nuisance nonetheless.

  Black bears and wolves roamed the mountain range as well, always migrating from one area to another on their constant quest for food, all the while attempting to follow tracks that would not be long for this world, given the constant winds that filled in the evidence of prey within an hour. But finding prey became forever a secondary goal, as keeping a watchful eye out for the huntsmen who constantly seemed to roam these mountains would always take first priority.

  Their heightened animal instincts were far from wrong, as the nearby city of Dronin frequently sent packs of hunters into the mountains in search of nearly the only thing they could provide in trade. Furs and dried meat made up the bulk of the Dronin economy. Scattered villages to the east would often send merchants up the long stone road to the large city to trade for rare furs such as white fox, but occasionally were forced to settle for wolf or even bear pelts, depending on the shops’ inventory at the time.

  The city’s reputation for battle-readiness was well earned and certainly no secret to any travelers who entered. The long, planned architecture of the city and even the roads themselves were clearly designed with defense in mind. Dronin was built directly into Steris, the single largest peak found anywhere along the Apili mountain range.

  With the giant mountain protecting its rear and no possible way to flank the great city, the only way to attack Dronin was with a full frontal assault. It was not an enviable task for any army, no matter how vast or skilled they may be. The crumbly main road leading up to the massive stone wall was quite wide by any standards, enough for several wagons to ride side by side as long as the riders remained far enough from the city. However, the final mile leading up to the gate narrowed considerably, to the point where barely two wagons could pass, with a sharp, steep cliff looming on either side of the stone road. This reality was certainly no accident, nor without purpose.

  An invading army was only given the option of a frontal assault, which inevitably included charging up the only road available. As the invading army became funneled into the final strip of road leading to the gate, they would be slowed considerably by the suddenly narrow passage as well as the numerous archers feasting on the poor souls. Very little skill was involved when simply blanketing a general area with arrows as opposed to picking off small individual targets.

  The remaining men who survived the mile-long death trap had now simply earned the right to stand before the massive wall, assembled from thick gray blocks cut directly from Steris herself. The only way through was sealed by two separate iron gates. Upon breaching the first, the invaders would be welcomed with cauldrons of hot oil poured from above the tiny stone hallway as they tried desperately to breach the second.

  Of course, Dronin’s defenses were constructed purely on theory, as no one had ever been fool enough to try to take the city by force. With defenses designed to near perfection, it would seem a military made up of housemaids and children would have great success defending the city if called upon. However, their army consisted of painfully trained militants whose only job was to be ready when called upon—a call that hadn’t come in generations.

  Six to eight hours of swordsmanship a day was the standard for these hardy men. It was not uncommon to exceed these numbers as well. Archers were no exception; they worked their craft day and night with the goal of achieving perfection.

  However, of all the fundamentals the archers worked on, accuracy was not considered paramount. Although that skill wasn’t without importance, shots fired per minute always took precedence. Twenty was considered the bare minimum for a veteran archer of Dronin. Given the final mile of death the invaders were forced to endure, the job was to put as many arrows into the living river as possible.

  Despite a paranoid lord who seemed to think battle-readiness would somehow lead to economic prosperity, the people of Dronin lived relatively normal lives. For one, the city was amongst the safest in all of Tarmerria —a fact not to be undermined or taken for granted, given how so many other smaller towns struggled just to keep their people safe, whether from the wilds of the world or a neighboring town that was looking to move up in rank a notch or two, given the chaotic system. This city had not dealt with that particular threat in centuries; certainly long before the undead war, and maybe not ever.

  Tall, dark-skinned folk scurried along the fine white gravel roads and walkways, going about their daily routines as any other day. Men with large hoop earrings and long black hair worn in tight cornrows marched along with fibrous sacks slung over their shoulders, displaying nothing but a bushy tail swinging free, giving a clue as to what they might be carrying. They wore thick fur coats made mostly from wolf pelts, but a few wrapped themselves in bear furs as well. Their shoes were also made from various types of assorted leather, and sewn tightly together with a string made from horsehair.

  The women didn’t appear much different as far as a sense for fashion went. Thick wolf coats were the norm, although some of the ladies did like to show off their puffed furry hats made from white fox fur. Aside from that, the cold climate of the mountains, due mostly to the elevation, made fashion quite secondary, while staying warm (and alive) was deemed far more important.

  Women clicked along as the many beads lining their long, thick dreadlocks lightly tapped against one another with every step. More often than not, several gold and silver earrings graced each ear, as women still wanted to feel feminine, despite being unable to achieve that through quite functional, yet very plain clothing. It was not uncommon for one or more earring to be attached to a nose or cheek, strung together by a thin gold or silver chain.

  Given the ore they were able to mine directly from the mountain, metals were another item they had plenty of and could be used for trade, but it paled in comparison to the hefty prices the exotic furs would fetch. Ore was plentiful enough that only the smallest of towns seemed to have trouble getting their hands on it. Animal products were definitely the bloodline of the Dronin economy. However, taxes received from the games whenever a tournament was held didn’t hurt any, either.

  Continuous streams of light gray smoke drifted high into the air from gray stone chimneys protruding through brown thatched roofs, giving the constant illusion the city was ablaze from a distance. Fires were kept burning year-round due to the harsh elements. Although snow fell only a few times a year, Dronin never really thawed either, as the constant winds recycled the permanently crystallized snow from mountaintops onto rooftops in an endless cycle. The sidewalks outside the many shops had to be swept several times a day for this very reason.

  It was business as usual in Dronin as folk walked the gravel streets, marching from shop to shop, all the while squinting hard against wind that seemed to always carry at least a little froz
en crystal. Blacksmiths hammered away against iron swords or soon-to-be swords as the iron bars, pulled hot from the forge moments before, began to take shape against the relentless pounding. They would then be heated in the forge yet again and allowed to cool slowly for a day or so to complete the annealing process, with many more steps still yet to come. The grinding, hardening, and tempering would give blacksmiths and their apprentices plenty to do the following day.

  The bustling general store located at the center of town attracted by far the most traffic, as here could be found the precious furs the city had become so famous for. Three large clerks usually roamed back and forth behind the dark stained wooden counter at all times. Even with all three in attendance, lines of impatient customers flowing out the door and into the streets were not uncommon at all.

  The handpicked clerks were never in a hurry, as getting the proper price for their treasures was always deemed more important than speedy service. The Dronin folk were typically larger than most people, but these clerks were large even for locals. This was no accident, as it seemed to aid considerably when bartering price.

  The clerks always voiced an outrageous sum when asked how much coin was needed to attain the precious furs, quickly getting a counteroffer that would have resulted in a negative profit. This was how the game always began. The clerks were taught to stare hard into the customer’s eyes after every counteroffer while letting the uncomfortable silence hang in the air for a bit, then lowering the price just a tad simply to give the illusion that progress was moving in the customer’s direction. It was also mandatory that the muscular clerks spoke “common” fluently, seeing as how many folk from outside the city came here just for the famous furs.

  When the game finally ended, resulting predictably in a price heavily favoring the clerk, he would place a triple-beam scale on the counter to carefully measure the weight of the foreign coin versus their own. The clerks were patient and more than willing to play out the slow game each and every day. It was quite rare that someone would travel that far just to leave empty-handed because they didn’t receive the price they desired. That was a fact well accepted by the Dronin, who used all advantages available when conducting business.

  The tall barbarians lived within their means, pressed against the frozen mountain. The heavily-sought-after furs brought enough coin into the city that they were able to have grains and vegetables imported from surrounding farming communities. They weren’t even that far away, as might be indicated by the fact they could grow crops in their climate, and Dronin could not. But upon leaving the highly elevated city, every mile traveled brought a significant drop in altitude, making growing conditions much more favorable only a short distance away.

  Almost every building in the city was constructed from the sturdy gray stone carved directly from Steris. With the strong, durable material in abundant supply and far more plentiful than wood, there was not much excuse to use anything but.

  The great arena found toward the north side of the city stood tall and massive, assembled with perfectly cut stones and built by skilled craftsmen. It rivaled even Moxis with its sheer size and sturdiness, although it was not quite as fancy and decorative as the famous structure in Taron, nor was it ever given a proper name, as the locals simply referred to the structure as the great arena.

  Although not as large as the great arena, the stone structure carved directly into the side of Steris that housed the local lord was no less impressive. The lower half of the structure appeared to be a perfect cube made of the same flawlessly cut stones as the arena, but towards the top of the structure it began to recede directly into the mountain as each new level grew back shorter and shorter in length, giving the appearance of stone steps climbing right up the side of Steris.

  Thin slits were carved into the stone tops of each level for skilled archers to rain down hell on any intruders who actually penetrated this far into the city. If each level were ever to be manned at full capacity, over a thousand bowmen could work their craft at once, with each still maintaining a clear line of sight. Again, this was a precaution built on theory, since it seemed impossible any foe could ever penetrate this deep.

  Winds blew light puffs of loose snow along the stairways, appearing like tiny ghosts drifting along as they searched for a new resting place; a place the frozen specters would call home for no more than a minute before the winds gave life to them once more.

  The thick oak double door was painted a deep blood red and elaborately decorated with green and brown horses surrounding the border, all fabricated from thin pieces of iron. However, the inside of the keep was strangely plain but well-lit due to many standing oil lamps that seemed to be apparent every ten feet or so. Oil made from animal fat was hardly in short supply, so oil-burning lamps were extremely abundant.

  The floors and halls were all assembled from the same gray stone that graced the outer walls, with minimal attempt made to mask the drab settings. The occasional thin red or black carpet was thrown across a section of floor, mostly down hallways, with plenty of dull stone exposed on both sides, providing only just enough decoration to hint that some form of leadership might well preside within these walls.

  Framed oil paintings, lace bordered tapestries, and other forms of art were few and far apart, as bare stone walls were more than standard throughout the keep. But the one decorative feature found in ample supply were the many stone statues positioned throughout the halls, and even in a few of the rooms, most of half-naked warriors frozen in their final death poses after the killing blow had been struck, while others depicted women with snakes around their necks or holding various other reptiles. These female statues were the few carved of glistening black marble. Great care had been taken when these were constructed, obvious by the high quality and excruciating detail.

  Most of the soldiers resided in the barracks, which were attached directly to the arena, but a few marched the halls of the keep as well. They wore thick, black leather armor with three red slashes across the chest piece. The red slashes looked as if an animal tore the material open with their claws, which was also the universal symbol for Dronin’s flag. Their arms and legs were covered with the same black leather, but it was only found under the thick, tan fur that was long enough to sway back and forth as the warriors marched.

  Very few carried a shield along with their weapon of choice. Most had two long- swords buried in black leather sheaths and fastened to either side of their belts. Despite having plenty of ore to make metal armor, the warriors opted against it, believing it hampered their movement in battle. They didn’t even wear helmets, due to the perceived disadvantage of limited vision.

  The dining hall was easily the most elaborate room in the keep, for it was also used to hold meetings with local merchants as well as entertain other important guests. The thin, dark-blue carpet thrown over cold gray stone was bordered with white lace, and patterned with tiny green foliage with yellow blooms. Black oil lamps strung around the room flickered with a subtle orange glow, cascading uneven shadows across the thick pine wooden table set up on the raised dais. The only traditional forms of art in the whole keep could be found here: three unimpressive black and white tapestries hung from three separate walls, each five feet in length with identical checkerboard patterns stitched throughout the low-quality fabric.

  Lord Corzon Thenalra leaned forward in his high-backed wooden chair covered in soft black cushion filled with goose feathers. He hunched over his filled plate as he tore angrily into a turkey leg, grease dripping from his thick black beard as he gnawed away. He wore fur clothing made of wolf, with an especially fluffy white collar and rugged black leather boots.

  Three merchants shared the table with him this evening. Two sat on his right, the other to his left. Each enjoyed the full plates set before them as serving girls dressed in no more than common rags continued to fill their silver goblets with red wine each time anyone so much as took a sip. The girls clicked along as their beaded braids bounced around with every hurried step.<
br />
  “I have to admit, a few of us have been wondering. Where is the man being held now?” inquired the thin, middle-aged man to Lord Corzon’s right before taking another large gulp of wine. He spoke in the native Dronin tongue, since there was no reason to speak Common given his present company.

  “We have him locked up in a chamber downstairs...as if that is any of your business!” replied Corzon in a booming, impatient voice as his dark eyes flashed angrily toward the merchant. “I’ll keep him there until I decide if he’s a traitor or simply gone mad.” He grabbed a handful of black olives from his plate and shoved them down his throat without ever setting down the poultry in his other hand.

  “My lord, then perhaps you can shed some light on the rumors that have been circulating,” said the tall, sharp-nosed merchant to his far right. “We hear that he was the lone survivor of an ambush, but for some reason you doubt his story, or perhaps his explanation as to why he is the only survivor?”

  The man backed off the subject quickly when Corzon leaned to his side to give him a hard stare filled with fire. No words were needed. It was clear he had gone too far with his inquiring about business that concerned no one but Lord Thenalra himself. Besides, the merchants’ presence as guests this day had been arranged because of their business relationship with Corzon. They were not here to speak on rumors, and most certainly not about how he conducted the operations of his own keep.

  Directly behind them leaned two figures against the long black banner with red slashes that hung from the ceiling as it flowed all the way down the stone wall. To the left leaned a man far larger than most in Dronin. Topping seven feet in height, Corzon’s personal bodyguard, Grandling, lazily surveyed the room as he fingered his two double- bladed axes on either side of his dark leather belt. He wore the black fur of a bear, which covered his thick torso except for his arms and legs, which remained uncharacteristically uncovered. It was odd for anyone to display exposed skin in the city of Dronin.