Blayne had hunted, prowled, fished, and camped on those lands since he was a small boy, and he needed no map or guide. He had a specific spot in mind, and the fast-moving column crossed several fields of grain-though the young lord made sure to steer his horseman along the lanes between the tender plantings-and quickly passed under the shade of overhanging trees.
The Southwood Forest was not a cultivated grove, like the apple orchard, but a deep and ancient wood of dense trees, drooping, mossy branches, and heavy thickets. Few pathways crossed through the forest, but Blayne knew how to lead his column rapidly through the woodlands. When they approached the mouth of a wide gulley at the far side of the forest, he signaled for his men to dismount. The band gathered around him, alert and unafraid.
“Take the webbing from your saddlebags and wrap it around the foreshaft of each arrow, extending about a foot back from the head. Use the pitch to hold it in place. I want every man to have at least a dozen of these fiery missiles ready to shoot in the next ten minutes.”
While his men went about making the preparations, Blayne and Red Wallace advanced on foot to the mouth of the gully. Taking cover behind a cluster of large trees, they looked down on the paved road where, already, the emperor’s army could be sighted, no more than a mile away.
“If we have timed it right, the horsemen are in position beyond the road,” Blayne said.
Almost immediately those words proved correct as the first of the Vingaard delaying tactics began to play out. They watched as hundreds of cavalrymen, lancers mounted on fleet, unarmored horses, burst over the ridge on the far side of the road and came pouring down on the flank of the emperor’s column. The Crown Army cavalry rode to intercede, charging from the front and rear of the column. The two men watched as a frantic battle erupted, men and horses cut down by the score, hooves trampling the wounded, grit and resolve driving each side.
The Vingaard riders had the advantage of surprise, and in their first rush, they split the converging force of Crown horsemen. The road was lined with heavy wagons lumbering toward the keep, and the lead lancers actually reached some of the wagons. They were not the bombards-Blayne could see those wagons far to his left, at the rear of the column, but even so, the riders speared some drivers and caused great confusion in the dense column.
Spearmen had been marching along near the wagons, and they leveled their weapons into a phalanx and pressed forward. Confronted with a wall of steel spearheads, the lancers had no choice but to withdraw. Still, they did so with elan, splitting into small groups and striking at unprotected sections of the baggage train as they jumped over the ditches and darted into the fields beside the track. One heavy cart overturned, tangling four horses in their traces, dumping crates of supplies all across the road.
Finally the harassing lancers were driven off. Whole ranks of spearmen formed up and advanced up the hill toward the crest where the riders had disappeared. They arrayed themselves along the height. Soon companies of the Crown riders, spearheaded by heavily armored knights, also climbed those hills, pouring over the top. Blayne could imagine them riding against the light cavalry on the other side of the ridges, and he could only hope his horsemen would ride away from the uneven challenge. His lancers would have to be ready to perform the next step in the elaborate dance.
At about that time, horns brayed, off to the right. The wagon train came to a halt as more soldiers-both cavalry and infantry, hurried forward to either side of the road.
“They’ve come up against the ditch,” Blayne guessed.
Red Wallace nodded. “It will give them pause, certainly. We will strike while they are distracted.”
“Agreed.”
Quickly the two men returned to the band of riders to find that the men had successfully rigged plenty of arrows with straw and pitch. The young lord directed his men to advance stealthily on foot, each man leading his horse, as they moved parallel to the road, along the bed of the wide gully. They were yet a mile from the enemy, and the steep walls of the winding ravine effectively masked their approach.
Periodically, Blayne would scale those walls, checking their location against the wagons, until finally he slid back down and ordered his men to mount up.
“Those bombards are right in front of us now, just off in the distance. They’re guarded by a dozen companies of spearmen and riders, but with a little luck, those fellows will be distracted pretty thoroughly.”
At that point, the deep ravine petered into a shallow cut, and the mounted men in the lead of the column could get a look at the road and the ridge beyond. Blayne studied the large companies of soldiers protecting his prize and found himself holding his breath.
“There they are!” exclaimed Wallace at the first sign of movement on the opposite ridge.
Just as planned, hundreds of the Vingaard light cavalry reappeared, abruptly spilling over the crest. With lances leveled, they bore down in a charge toward the wagons containing the massive bombards, whooping and shouting like wild men. Also as planned, the men of the Crown Army reacted quickly to defend their precious weapons, forming a three-rank line and extending their wings to the right and left in a sweeping, encircling barrier that stood between the charging horsemen and the precious guns.
That was when the light horsemen pulled back their mounts and milled about defiantly, just out of arrow range from the column’s defenders.
Blayne looked at Wallace. “I don’t think we’ll get a better chance than this,” he declared.
The red-robed wizard nodded in agreement.
“Light those brands!” cried young Lord Kerrigan. “We ride against the bombards!”
In the next moment, all two hundred of his men had touched flames to their pitch-soaked arrows, nocking the weapons onto the strings of their bows. They spilled out of the ravine in no particular formation, each man riding as fast as he could, determined to get off as many shots as possible. The wind snatched at the flaming arrows but only served to fan the small blazes. Blayne raised his bow and guided his horse with his knees, directing his charge at the closest of the three great weapons.
Amazingly, the Crown soldiers didn’t at first notice the surprise attack. So determined were they to hold back the lancers on the north side of the road that Blayne’s party had galloped forward for ten or twelve breaths without drawing so much as a warning shout. Finally, a commander, looking over his shoulder, spotted the flank attack and bellowed a sharp alert.
By then, the attackers were closing fast. The Crown companies were out of position, the footmen scrambling between the wagons, trying to form a wall of spears. The confused infantry effectively blocked their own cavalry from crossing the road, and the defensive line had to form only a few feet from the wagons. Mounted archers would have no trouble getting close enough.
Red Wallace bounced along on a fleet mare, readying a spell that-Blayne trusted-ought to destroy at least one of the bombards. The wizard would maneuver toward the last of the massive weapons, while the riders would concentrate their fire against the first two. The horses flowed across the ground, closing to five hundred feet, then three hundred feet.
The spearmen presented a bristling line, standing barely twenty yards in front of the road and the wagons. Blayne shouted, “Halt!” and the riders pulled up, still at a fair remove from the enemy footmen. The Crown cavalry was streaming to the rear, looking for a way to countercharge, but the delay was fatal.
“Fire!” shouted Kerrigan, launching his first arrow at the towering bulk of the first bombard. The target loomed like a mountain, impossible to miss-but somehow the sputtering arrow, trailing a column of smoke, wiggled awkwardly through the air and fell harmlessly to the ground in front of the spearmen trying to protect the bombards. Cursing, Blayne reached for another missile and struggled to light the pitch while his horse pranced beneath him.
But there were at least two hundred flaming arrows launched in the first volley, and a few of them did find the range. A pair smacked into the side of one of the bombard haulers
, the impact driving the burning pitch deep into its wooden planks. Several more landed in the beds of the wagons, while a few of the near misses landed close enough to the big oxen hauling the guns that they set the creatures to bellowing and pitching in their traces.
Close by the young lord, Red Wallace had his spell ready and launched a bolt of lightning from one fingertip. The explosive charge shot through the air with a hiss and crackle, searing through the line of spearmen and striking the side of the wagon with a blast. Immediately that heavy bed was shattered into timbers and traces, one sturdy wheel wobbling away as flames consumed the wreckage.
Smoke was rising from many of the wagons, including the two bearing the remaining bombards. Another wagon, struck by accident, exploded in flame, spewing a huge column of smoke.
“We hit their powder supply!” Blayne cried exultantly. He released one then another arrow, which vanished into the smoke and fire. In any event, flames rose from all the wagons, and by now the Crown cavalry had begun to spill around the mess, hundreds of foes, lances leveled, thundering toward the attacking Vingaard riders.
“Pull back!” cried Blayne Kerrigan.
His troops needed no further encouragement. They spun their horses away, back toward the ravine and the tangled pathways of the Southwood Forest. By the time they vanished into the gap, the weary riders of the Crown Army had fallen far behind.
“What in the name of the Abyss is going on back there?” Jaymes snarled, spinning his horse and staring in amazement at the column of smoke rising from the rear of the column. In the next instant, he put spurs to the steed and went racing back against the line of march, his horse dancing along the side of the road.
“Templar, follow me!” he ordered, coming on the Clerist Knight and his small company of priest-warriors. He didn’t wait to see that they obeyed, but continued racing headlong to the rear.
The damage was apparent while he was still a mile away. At least one wagon had exploded into bits, and many others were burning. He saw the tail end of the Vingaard column disappearing into the woods and forgot about them-at least for the time being.
There would be time enough, later, for the enemy to feel his wrath.
He had to save the bombards, if at all possible. But by the time he reached the scene, he could see that one of the great barrels was enveloped by flames, and that the fire covered the wooden body of the great carriage supporting the gun. Even as the emperor watched, the wagon collapsed, and the timbers forming the bore of the great barrel started to blacken. A second bombard lay on its side, cracked and broken-by some kind of magic, he suspected.
The third and last cannon was wreathed in smoke, but the wagon was not yet engulfed by flames, not yet lost. Templar, his own horse lathered, galloped up behind Jaymes, and the emperor pointed angrily at the lone bombard in its cradle of vulnerable wood, just starting to catch fire.
“Put that out!” he ordered.
The Clerist immediately began casting a spell. Jaymes watched soundlessly, his teeth clenched and his jaw aching, as a cloud quickly formed above the burning wagon. In no time a steady rain began to fall, and a few moments later the flames had been reduced to sizzling, blackened embers. The lone remaining bombard had survived, essentially undamaged.
“My lord!” cried General Dayr, coming up to the site on a frothing horse. “What happened?”
“Happened?” retorted the emperor coldly. He thought for a moment, his eyes glaring at the dark forest where the attackers had withdrawn.
“What happened is that the fate of Vingaard has been sealed,” he declared before turning his back on the damage and riding back toward the head of his army.
CHAPTER NINE
CASTLE KEEP
Selinda stared at the door to her room, the door that was almost constantly closed, tightly locked, and always carefully guarded, on the orders of her husband, the emperor. He was gone from the city, but his presence, his authority, seemed to linger everywhere-in the walls surrounding her, amid the guards who were the only people she saw, in the very air she breathed. She found herself turning quickly around several times each day, checking against the strong sensation he was in the room, watching her.
She wore the ring of teleportation from Coryn the White on her finger, nervously touching it as she looked at the door again. Selinda had been wearing the ring, staring at it, thinking about it, for a number of days. But she had been so worried about the unseen presence of the emperor that she had done nothing yet to activate the magical circlet.
It was not the closed, locked door that worried her, but rather those not-infrequent times when it swung open. Her guards were respectful, even kindly, and they often checked in on her to see whether she needed anything, how she was feeling, or simply to offer a bit of news or a home-baked treat from one of their wives. At first, Selinda welcomed the brief interaction with them, the few moments of conversation; otherwise her routine was monotonous. It lessened her sense of isolation to learn that a troupe of players had arrived in the city and were performing farces every evening, or that a cargo of fresh oranges had just arrived at the port.
But what if one of those guards came in to visit and found she was gone, thanks to Coryn’s magic ring? Whatever consequences she imagined were too frightening to contemplate. It was this fear, more than anything else, that had stayed her hand for a week, since Jaymes had marched through the pass and onto the plains. Instead, she had spent most of her time studying the city, the sky, the mountains, and the bay, from her lofty window. She watched and she remembered and she continued to seethe.
As the days passed slowly, she found herself snapping at the guards when they came by. She complained about the quality of her food, even though it was always prepared and served perfectly. She demanded things-fabrics and thread, links of jewelry chain and baubles, paints and canvas-that she had no intention of using. What was initially sadness became anger, and then the anger became barely repressed fury.
Until, at last, she knew that she could stay in that place no longer. Having just sent away her supper, barely touched, she had a reasonable hope she would be allowed privacy for the rest of the evening. If not… well, she was finally prepared to take the chance. The time was ripe for her to visit the person she wanted to see.
She donned a cloak with a soft hood that would conceal her face and her golden hair, and she removed her jewelry-except for the magical circlet given to her by the white wizard. With her destination clearly in mind, she followed Coryn’s instructions, turning the ring on her finger and imagining the place, calling up every detail she could remember.
The world faded away and she felt a momentary lightness in her stomach, the same sensation she’d experienced when she was riding and her horse took a high jump over a fence or stream. Selinda reached out to both sides, seeking something, anything, to grab for balance, but there was nothing there. She fought the urge to scream, but didn’t want to alarm her guards. The nothingness that surrounded her was everywhere, and her panic surged.
And just like that, the feeling passed. She found herself standing in the vestibule of the great temple of Kiri-Jolith, one of the loftiest sanctuaries in Palanthas, which was exactly the place she had imagined as her destination. The unsettled feeling lingered in her stomach, and she breathed hard, but other than that, everything seemed normal. Instinctively wary, she ducked behind the nearest row of the columns that lined both sides of the great house of worship and waited for a moment, listening for any sound of alarm, any indication her sudden arrival had been noticed.
But all seemed quiet. Soon her stuttered breathing settled down, and as she touched the cool marble of a nearby column, she was reassured by its solidity. Looking around, she took stock of her surroundings. Though she was the lone visitor in the vestibule, a hundred or more voices were raised in a steady chant.
They were the prayers of vesperspeak, she knew, the ritual celebration of the clerics, apprentices, and acolytes that marked the end of church business for the day. She leaned ba
ck against the marble column and was reassured by the sounds that had been a part of her life since earliest childhood. The chants were in an ancient tongue, and she did not understand the words, but there was comfort merely in the solemn repetition. For long minutes she stood in the shadows, listening to the quasimusical prayers, which finally swelled to a crescendo that signaled the conclusion of worship.
Finally the ritual ended with a whispered benediction and a few moments of symbolic silence. Eventually Selinda could hear the low buzz of conversation as the clerics rose and offered each other good wishes before dispersing-some to their houses or apartments nearby, while others would make their way to residences in either wing of the great temple. She heard the soft rustling of robes and sandals as people filed out, past the shadowy alcove where she lurked. When most of the clerics had exited, she finally emerged and advanced into the great, vaulted sanctuary.
Some apprentices were tending to the many candles around the great room, extinguishing their flames, trimming wax, replacing tapers that had burned down too far. The apprentices took no notice of her as she quietly walked past them, keeping her hood over her hair and her eyes cast down. The great vault of the temple loomed high over her head, but the ceiling was as shadowy as the alcoves behind the columns, where the lighting was muted in deference to the just and mighty god, Kiri-Jolith.
Kiri-Jolith was the eldest son of Paladine and Mishakal, and in the absence of his sire, he had gained prominence in the worship of the Solamnic peoples. He was a righteous god of glory, honor, and discipline, known to favor the efforts of those warriors who fought bravely in a just cause. Soldiers who elected to fight to the death instead of retreating were exalted in the god’s eyes. Courage was valued among his orders of priests and priestesses, many of whose number had been martyred over the years because of their unwillingness to compromise their beliefs.
The temple was the setting, Selinda recalled with bitter irony, of her marriage to Jaymes. Her wedding day-indeed, all the time surrounding that event-remained a kind of fuzzy memory, as if it were something she had dreamed, rather than experienced. The place seemed so much more real as she walked its halls, stone and solid and permanent. In her heart, the young woman understood that the place hadn’t changed since her marriage, but she had.
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