by Duncan Pile
“The hour grows late, your Honour. How are your evacuation plans coming on?” Rimulth said, cutting through any unnecessary preamble.
The mayor visibly swelled at the honorific, which pushed Rimulth from irritation to anger. He resisted the urge to deliver a few choice words and leave the mayor to his fate. There were innocents in Boswell, just as there were everywhere, and giving up on the mayor meant giving up on them.
“I am yet to be convinced that the threat is real,” the mayor said, waving a negligent hand in the direction of an imaginary enemy.
“And what will convince you?” Rimulth asked, suddenly furious. “A sword in the gut? Your wife’s screams as she is raped?”
The mayor’s eyes widened and his jowls flapped. “Well…I hardly think that’s…”
“Appropriate?” Rimulth cut across him. “I don’t care about appropriate. I care about saving your lives.”
The mayor made a visible effort to regain his composure, and when he spoke again his voice was tight and flat, his eyes glassy. “Now you listen to me, Rudolph. Helioport takes what it wants and gives little in return. It’s always been that way, but we’ve managed to squeeze out a little prosperity for ourselves against the odds. I’m not about to hand you the town when things are going so well for us.”
Rimulth was staggered. “You think this is about trade? Heavens man, don’t be so stupid.”
The mayor’s expression hardened. He stood up, folding his arms across his chest. “These meetings are done. You are no longer welcome in Boswell.”
Rimulth rushed to his feet. “Not a chance. I won’t let you sacrifice these people’s lives on the altar of your pride.”
“Guards!” the mayor yelled, and two men came running, bearing heavy cudgels.
Rimulth barked a brief, staccato phrase, channelling elemental magic. The air spirit shot to his side and started to glow. A blast of wind sent the guards reeling and knocked the mayor back into his chair. Rimulth held him there for a moment, watching as fear blossomed in his eyes before letting the magic dissipate. “I told you not to be stupid,” he said, taking hold of the enchanted amulet. “I’ll return at this time tomorrow, and if the evacuation hasn’t begun there will be trouble.”
Without waiting for a response, Rimulth triggered the magic of the amulet and transported back to Helioport.
…
Rimulth paced about his room, livid at the mayor of Boswell. How could he be so stubborn, and how could the townsfolk listen to him? Violence was sweeping towards them like a flood, and pretending it wasn’t coming wouldn’t divert its course. Royston was now a threat to his people’s safety, and Rimulth had no choice but to deal with him directly. He knew exactly what to do.
…
The next day, Rimulth set out from Helioport with determination. Come what may, the people of Boswell were going to leave their homes and begin their flight to safety.
The air spirit sped through the sky at Rimulth’s urging but, swift as it was, the tribesman battled impatience the entire way. At long last, he caught sight of Boswell among the trees and directed the hawk to descend. The spirit began to lose altitude, spiralling towards the village green, when Rimulth spotted something that gave him pause – smoke, curling up through the branches in the distance. Ordinarily it would be invisible to him, but with the spirit’s enhanced vision, he could see every wisp and spiral.
“Up!” he thought, and the hawk rose once more, soaring past Boswell. The mayor, who was waiting for them on the green, shook an indignant fist as they passed overhead. Rimulth ignored him, his eyes fixed on the middle distance. As they drew near to the rising smoke, Rimulth urged the spirit to rise beyond bow range, and then to circle while he peeked through the branches below. There! A glint of sun on chain mail, a broad, leather-clad back, several sets of boots extended towards a fire, the flash of a blade. After several minutes circling Rimulth came to the conclusion that it was a small group, gathered at the base of a great tree. Perhaps they had nothing to do with Ferast’s army, but then again they could be a scouting party, sent ahead of the main force. Rimulth had to find out for sure. At his urging, the air spirit flew onwards.
They passed beyond the trees and followed the valley westward. Rimulth’s heart was in his mouth, his eyes glued to the horizon, but for long, tense minutes there was no sign of the enemy. Rimulth started to breathe easier. It looked like the men he’d seen were an independent unit after all. The land rose just ahead, creating a false horizon. Higher! The air spirit shot upwards. He wanted to take a look at the terrain beyond, and if all was well he’d return to Boswell and deal with the mayor.
Rimulth’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Beyond the rise a forest stretched into the distance; not of treetops, but of tall brown tents, filling the valley from side to side. Ferast’s army was almost upon them. They would overrun Boswell within hours, and arrive at the gates of Helioport in a matter of days. Turn about! The air spirit banked sharply and sped back the way it had come.
…
The hawk landed on Boswell’s green just as Rimulth used the amulet and appeared at its side. A young boy, seated outside the inn, sprang to his feet and ran into the taproom. Within moments the mayor came boiling out onto the green, ignorant of the fact that his collar was askew and the few remaining hairs on his head were protruding in wild, wispy tendrils.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded, his face flushed scarlet. “Thought you might have got the message when you passed over earlier. We were ready to drive you off then, and we’re ready now.”
“Be silent!” Rimulth snapped.
“I beg your pardon?” the mayor said. If it were possible, his cheeks glowed even more fiercely.
“I said, be silent!” Rimulth said, gesturing sharply in the mayor’s direction and ensnaring him with a spell. The mayor opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Panicking, he gulped and clutched his throat. Villagers ran up to him, grabbing hold of him in concern.
“Stop that this instant!” a woman shouted at Rimulth, brandishing a fist.
Rimulth shook his head. “Not until you’ve heard to what I’ve got to say. I promise you he is unhurt. You can breathe, can’t you Royston?”
The mayor took a few experimental breaths and gave a reluctant nod. The panic in his eyes subsided, replaced by indignant rage.
“Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in silence, I suggest you calm down and listen.”
The mayor glowered at him through narrowed eyes, but he folded his arms and gave the curtest of nods.
Rimulth looked around and saw that half the townsfolk had made their way out onto the green, and others were watching through windows. It was enough. “The army I have spoken of is a few hours’ march from here.” Derision stole across the mayor’s face, mirrored here and there among the crowd. “Why would I lie to you?” Rimulth demanded.
A brawny villager with a freckled face stepped forward. “Royston said Helioport’s lookin’ to take what’s ours.”
Rimulth was stunned. “Of course they aren’t. Helioport is an enormous city, with a port and a whole valley full of cattle. You are barely larger than a village!”
Angry muttering broke out, but Rimulth had run out of patience. “Enough! You are out of time. Death will soon be upon you, and if you do not abandon your homes this very morning, it will swallow you up. Your husbands will be killed, your wives will be raped, and God help you if you let your children fall into the hands of evil men. Look at me! I am not lying to you. I have no choice but to return to Helioport and inform the chancellor of the approaching menace, so I leave you with this choice: stay and perish, or flee and live.”
He looked around, desperate for any sign that someone was listening. If even one person believed him, he could leave knowing they would try and influence the others. To his great relief, several people looked suitably alarmed.
“You Sir,” he said, pointing to a heavily muscled man with the scarred forearms of a blacksmith – a
person of respect in any small community. “Will you co-ordinate the evacuation?”
The man nodded gravely. “Aye.”
The mayor spun on him and fixed him with a furious stare.
“Give it up, Royston,” the blacksmith said. “The boy’s tellin’ the truth. Any fool can see that.”
Rimulth waved a hand at the mayor, releasing the compulsion. Royston spat at his feet. “Devil! You’ve bewitched these good people.”
“I haven’t, and they know it,” Rimulth said. “Stay here if you wish, but you will be on your own.
The mayor drew himself up. “I’ll stay, but I won’t be alone. My family will be by my side when your lies are proven false.”
“No they won’t,” the blacksmith said.
“I beg your pardon?” the mayor squealed, but the blacksmith had already turned away, giving orders to those around him.
Satisfied, Rimulth took hold of the amulet. Ignoring the mayor’s helpless, outraged gaze, he spoke the word of command and transported back to Helioport.
…
Rimulth sat in the Observatory, giving his report to Hephistole. Drillmaster Trask was there too, having responded to Hephistole’s urgent summons, and so were Gaspi and Taurnil. Professor Worrick had also joined them, looking drawn and weary, and by his side sat a round-faced man Rimulth recognised as Jacque, the city’s quartermaster. Together they formed Hephistole’s Council of War – a group chosen for practical reasons rather than for position or rank, and which felt strangely incomplete without Voltan.
“Three days?” Trask said, shock and disbelief in his face.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Rimulth said. “How fast can an army move?”
“How long would it take for someone to walk?” Trask asked.
“Maybe two days to get to Boswell, and another half day after that.”
“Make it five days then,” Trask growled. “Armies move at a crawl, but they won’t be slowing down now that they’re nearing their quarry, ’specially if they think we’ve caught their scent.”
“How did it go at Boswell?” Hephistole asked.
Rimulth grimaced. “The mayor wouldn’t listen, so I had to take drastic action. They believed me in the end.”
“Do you think they’ll leave?”
“Yes. I put the blacksmith in charge of the evacuation. It doesn’t matter what the mayor thinks anymore.”
“Do you think the mayor will leave too?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Rimulth said with a shrug. “He is a stubborn man.”
Hephistole held his gaze for a moment. “It’s his choice. You did well Rimulth.”
Rimulth bowed his head in acknowledgement.
“Okay Tobias, we have a clear timetable to work to,” Hephistole said. “What needs to happen in the next five days?”
“We need more enchanted weapons, for starters,” Trask said. “I want every guard holding one when the battle begins.”
“How many more do you need?” Hephistole asked.
“Another two hundred will do it,” Trask said.
“Antonius?” Hephistole said. “Is that possible?”
Professor Worrick frowned for a moment and shook his head. “Not unless you want to face Sestin with a company of exhausted magicians. We need to bring all spell-work to a halt a couple of days before battle is joined – give them a chance to gather their strength.”
“Okay, so how many more weapons can you enchant in the next three days?” Trask asked.
“A hundred or so, maybe a hundred and twenty.”
“That will have to do,” Trask said.
“Just do your best, Antonius,” Hephistole said. “Tobias, what about the volunteers? How are they coming on?”
“We’re training them as best we can. Over the last few days we’ve taken in as many as can fight for us. Most of them know which end of a sword to hold, but they need to fight as part of the force. We’ll get them there.”
“What of those who can’t fight?” Rimulth said.
Trask raised an eyebrow. “We sent them away. The young, the old and the infirm have no place in a besieged city. In a few days’ time, they’ll be safer hiding in a bush than behind these walls.”
“And what of the dyads? Gaspi, Taurnil?” Hephistole asked.
“They get better every day,” Gaspi said.
“Come the battle, they’ll give the enemy something to think about,” Taurnil said.
“Good to hear. And Tobias, is the garrison ready? Does each unit know its part?”
“In theory,” Trask said, rubbing the back of his neck with a calloused hand. “Trouble is, the best-laid battle plans don’t survive the first exchange of blows. We’ll see how they hold when the blood-letting starts.”
“Just be as prepared as you can,” Hephistole said. “If everyone knows their place, there’s nothing else to be done.”
“Right you are.”
“What about Sestin?” Rimulth asked, voicing something that had been bothering him for days. “A horde of demons and vaergs shouldn’t be hard to spot, but I haven’t seen any sign of them when scouting.”
“I don’t think we’ll see him until Ferast has arrived,” Hephistole said. “At this stage, he doesn’t know if we are aware of the approaching army or not. He will not want to alert us to the imminent attack by showing his face prior to the battle, but he will be here. Of that you can be sure.”
No-one spoke for a moment.
“How are the stores looking, Jacque?” the chancellor asked.
“Nearly full,” the round-faced man answered. “The farming community has brought in wagonloads of produce – cured meats, carrots, apples, potatoes and grains – enough to withstand a lengthy siege I would say.”
Trask made a growling noise in his throat. “This siege will be swift and bloody, mark my words. We won’t be needing a month’s worth of provisions.”
“That might be so,” Hephistole interjected, “but we must prepare in every way we can.”
“Fine,” Trask grumbled. “No offense intended, Jacque.”
“None taken,” the round-faced man said, but the stiffness in his tone gave away the lie.
“How about the additional fortifications Tobias?” Hephistole said.
“It’ll be a close thing, but they’ll be done in time.”
Hephistole frowned. “Do whatever it takes. We need those pits.”
“You’ll have ’em,” Trask said, “and the barricades are almost done.” Rimulth made a mental note to ask Gaspi about the pits afterwards. He knew there was work going on outside Helioport’s walls, but wasn’t aware of the details. The barricades on the other hand were plain for all to see. Throughout the city, Trask had ordered a series of blockades to be built – huge piles of furniture, rubble and building materials designed to narrow the streets, forcing the enemy to fight their way through in single file. They would serve as a second line of defence once the city wall was breached.
“I think we’re almost there,” Hephistole said. “Antonius, keep the enchanted weapons coming until Fourthday. Tobias, work on those tunnels and make sure all volunteers are integrated into the garrison. Gaspi and Taurnil, carry on with the training but only until sunset on Fourthday. We need every magician to be fresh for the battle.”
Everyone murmured their assent.
Hephistole looked around at each of them. “Anything else we need to cover?”
“Shall I continue my patrols?” Rimulth said.
“We’ll need to keep track of the army’s progress, so yes, but don’t get too close. Please continue to attend this council Rimulth; we’ll need a daily report from you.”
“Absolutely,” Rimulth said.
“Good. Then let’s leave it there for today,” Hephistole said. “Same time tomorrow everyone.”
As Rimulth rose and walked to the transporter, he was cognisant of the fact that he had become a member of Hephistole’s Council of War, but he didn’t pause to congratulate himself. Both pride and humility were pe
acetime luxuries, burned away in the crucible of conflict, and all he was left with was a fierce determination to do his part.
Twenty-seven
Gaspi stood at Hephistole’s side at the Observatory window, looking out over a plain that was deceptively calm, while behind Helioport’s walls people were scurrying like ants, preparing for battle.
“I wish we didn’t have to rely on you so heavily,” Hephistole said.
“I don’t see it that way,” Gaspi said. “What’s the point in being a Nature Mage if I can’t use my powers to defend my home?”
Hephistole squeezed his shoulder approvingly. “That’s a good way to look at it. Still, I wish it had never come to this.”
Gaspi’s role in the battle was as daunting as it was simple – to intercept and defeat the most deadly of their opponents, whether human or demonic. Ultimately that meant finding Ferast and even Sestin himself and seeking to defeat them in battle. The thought terrified him but it also strengthened his resolve. He was a bulwark, standing between the forces of evil and the people of Helioport. If he failed they would fall into Sestin’s clutches, and that was unthinkable.
“What of the spirits? Will they fight at your side?” Hephistole asked.
“I don’t have a choice about that,” Gaspi said with a wry smile. “The elementals came to us in the first place because they believe in me. They’re convinced I’m the Nature Mage of their prophecies, and won’t leave my side once the fighting has begun.”
“And their bond-mates?” Hephistole asked.
Gaspi nerves were suddenly aflutter. This was why he’d sought a meeting with the chancellor, and although he couldn’t see Hephistole refusing him out of hand, there was a chance he already had plans for the amulets. “Lydia and Rimulth both want to fight but Emmy shouldn’t be anywhere near the battle. She’s never been any good at martial magic and Lilly only has the power to heal.”
