by Pedro Urvi
“They’re telling the truth,” said the veteran Sergeant. They’re Norriel warriors, they wear the mark of the Bear tattooed with red-hot iron on their forearms.”
“All right. What then?” the young Captain asked.
“Then we let them in. Their race are great fighters, they’ll come in handy.”
“All right. Follow Sergeant Jontal, he’ll lead you to the recruiter.”
Kayti saluted the officer, and they followed the Sergeant through the great door into the walled city. They entered a city as beautiful as it was doomed. It was caught up in a profoundly dangerous situation, and there was no way back from it.
The city was seething with activity. The last civilians loaded their few belongings on their own backs or on mules and donkeys. They were heading for the gate in search of safety. Jontal walked on fast through the throng. As they made their way toward the centre of the singular city, they could see that it was full of soldiers carrying out all kinds of tasks. Fear and worry were patent in the atmosphere, like the unpleasant smell of a sewer spreading throughout streets and squares. They arrived in front of the huge barracks which had been built in the city’s central square. Behind a long wooden table sat the recruiter. Jontal left them with him and went back to his duties with true Rogdonian efficiency.
“Name and origin,” the recruiter said in a bored voice, without even raising his eyes from the large book he was writing in.
Komir looked around and saw armed men of different races who were not wearing blue and silver. They must be mercenaries, like them.
“Kayti, of Irinel,” said the warrior in white armor.
“Kayti of where?” the recruiter asked.
“Of the Kingdom of Irinel, a long way to the east.”
“Never heard of it,” he said in the same bored tone, “but that’s not to be wondered at either, half the mercenaries here are from regions I wouldn’t know how to find on the map. Whole pay or half pay?”
Kayti was thoughtful for a moment. Komir and Hartz did not understand what she was negotiating.
“Half pay, until the fall of the first wall,” she said at last.
“Are you sure? The pay triples if you sign up until the fall of the second wall…”
“Appreciate it, but the fall of the first will be enough.”
“You’re very careful, young warrior,” a hoarse voice said behind the group.
The three turned around to see an old man with snow-white beard and hair, dressed in a simple grey cloak and leaning on a staff. With him were half a dozen soldiers. Komir looked at him and felt a warning flash from his Ilenian medallion, he tensed.
“Don’t be mistaken, my good sir,” Kayti replied with great courtesy, making a deep bow, which so surprised Hartz that he stared at her with a look of puzzlement on his face. “It’s just that I don’t see the Noceans taking the outer wall, so our services won’t be necessary to defend the second.”
“Then you’re optimistic about the outcome of the conflict,” the old man said with a smile.
“My comrades and I are here to help make it so.”
The old man gave a short laugh and studied them carefully.
“You make a strange group, if I may say so…” he said thoughtfully.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Two Norriel from the highlands and a Knight of the Custodial Brotherhood of the faraway Kingdom of Irinel, traveling together… Curious…very curious. More than that, intriguing…since I can perceive something more than that…”
“I don’t know what you mean, we’re here to earn gold and go on our way.”
“It might be so, but this old man can sense things, and there’s something in you I haven’t picked up in anyone for a very long time… something unique…. but powerful. Is that so, young warriors? Or am I wrong?”
Komir lowered his eyes to his chest, where the medallion lay hidden under his shirt, and Hartz looked aside at the pommel of the Ilenian sword he carried on his back. Kayti did not know what to say.
One of the soldiers behind the old man said:
“Duke Galen is waiting, my Lord, we must hurry.”
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” the old man grumbled. “Recruiter, assign these three to my command. They intrigue me.”
“It shall be done, sir.”
The old man nodded at them and left the square with his escort. As they were leaving, Kayti asked the recruiter:
“Who did we have the honor of addressing?”
The recruiter looked at her, amused.
“That man is the powerful Mirkos the Erudite, Battle Mage of the King.”
Night was falling over the beautiful city, lit by hundreds of torches and oil lamps. Silanda, dressed in light, with the guards vigilant on walls and streets, gave the impression of having clad herself in a dress of bright sequins which reflected the light of the moon. But there was an underlying tension in every street and corner, foretelling the coming bloodbath.
To the south, little over eight hundred paces from the city, the Nocean war camp spread over the plain, hidden by the darkness of the night. Thousands of tents in indigo blue and black rose around a small oasis of drinking water. Not a fire, not a light in all the camp. They remained invisible to the eyes of the beautiful city and its inhabitants. The huge, luxurious command tent of Mulko, Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire, was situated south of the oasis, among palm trees.
Sumal approached the elegant tent, with its fifty personal guards of the Regent in full battle armor. The whole perimeter was under careful watch. He was allowed to go in after verifying his identity, and with an elaborate bow Sumal greeted the powerful Mulko. The Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire was waiting, leaning on one arm upon a sea of cushions and pillows in shades of gold and silver, surrounded by rich silk curtains. On the ruler’s right the servants had prepared a long table of rich exotic foods, the sight of which made the spy’s stomach growl. On the Regent’s left, sitting on the floor on comfortable cushions, he recognized Mulko’s Military Counselor: Ukbi. Inside the command tent another dozen grim-faced elite guards watched attentively.
Mulko, Regent of the whole north of the desert empire, beckoned him. “Ah, Sumal, come in, over here.”
“You honor me, my Lord,” the spy said with another elaborate bow.
“Sit down, we have some important matters to discuss.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
“I don’t recall that we’ve ever met before, have we?”
“No, my Lord. I haven’t been graced with such high honor until tonight.”
“Zecly, my First Counselor and Sorcerer, speaks highly of you, which is a great compliment as he rarely speaks well of anybody.”
“Master Zecly’s kind words fill my heart with joy. I live to serve your plans, my Lord.”
“That is good. I’ve been informed that the Norghanians have already attacked the Fortress of the Half Moon. That pleases me greatly.”
Ukbi joined in at this point. “We wouldn’t be able to attack the south of Rogdon without the Norghanians pressing down on the North,” he said. “It would be too risky.”
“So this movement of the men of the snow leads me to infer that the mission you were entrusted with was a success,” Mulko said.
“The meeting with Count Volgren was very positive, my Lord. He was ready to start the war, he wanted it, but required proof of commitment from our Empire. Just like us, the Kingdom of Norghana didn’t want to enter into open war with Rogdon without its back being covered.”
“Of course, one must be wary and be in control of the risk when armed conflict is at stake,” Ukbi said, his eyes like slits in his tanned face.
“What’s your opinion of Count Volgren?” Mulko asked.
“I was favorably impressed, my Lord. He’s an intelligent man, a very intelligent one. Organizing a meeting with him was almost impossible, he always makes his moves from the shadows. He’s dangerous, my Lord. I don’t think I’m mistaken if I say he’s after absolute powe
r in Norghana. I have the impression he’ll try to dethrone King Thoran and seize power himself. This war is a great opportunity for him.”
“An interesting observation,” Mulko mused. “An ally and a dangerous adversary, then…”
“Yes, my Lord. His most important rival for power in the Norghanian Court, General Rangulfsen, has fallen into disgrace with King Thoran, so Count Volgren has consolidated his position of power.”
“How did this fall from grace come about? I’ve heard that General Rangulfsen, General of the Snow Army, is the most intelligent strategist of all Norghana,” Ukbi said, showing his knowledge of his rivals.
“Apparently the murderer of Duke Orten, brother of King Thoran, was caught and put into General Rangulfsen’scustody. The details aren’t known, but it seems the assassin has escaped the interrogation process. It’s said in Norghana that the King ordered his General to be beheaded, such was his rage, but his counselors managed to dissuade him and the execution was called off.”
“That explains it,” Mulko reflected. “But we sent the Assassin… could this be a problem for us?”
“No, my Lord. This Assassin is very special. I hired his services through an obscure intermediary, and he can’t be traced back to our hands.”
“That pleases me, my cunning spy. Very well done indeed…”
“You mentioned that Count Volgren required proof of commitment. What was the proof that convinced him?” Ukbi asked.
“The attempted murder of Mirkos the Erudite, the great Mage of the Rogdonians.”
“Yes, Zecly told me the plan and I said it would be extremely difficult to carry out successfully, as indeed was the case,” Mulko said. “The Mage finished off your Motuli Assassin…”
“I must apologize a thousand times and abase myself before my Lord for the failure of the mission.”
“Relative failure,” Ukbi said. “It was a mission which benefited us in either case, whatever the result. If the great Mage were to die our armies would raze Silanda easily. If the Mage survived, as was in fact the case, they’d blame us for the attempt and Count Volgren would have his proof of commitment, which is what has happened.”
“Indeed, my good Military Counselor, an excellent plan. I must thank Zecly, his tireless mind never ceases to amaze me.”
“If I may be permitted to ask, my Lord, where is Master Zecly?” Sumal asked.
“We’ll go and see him presently, my young spy.”
Mulko stood up and drew back some dark silk curtains at the end of the tent, revealing a guarded passage which led to another tent, completely black. Surprised, Sumal followed Mulko. The guards moved aside in the covered passage, and the Regent of the North and the spy walked into the tent at the end.
Sumal would never forget what he saw there.
No man ever could.
The tent was round, and the floor had been excavated in a curious way so that it went down in concentric rings to a deeper round platform as if a great bowl had been dug in the earth. Around the perimeter, on the upper ring, two dozen entranced acolytes sat on the floor in meditation, legs crossed and eyes closed. In the center of the great tent, in the deepest ring, half a dozen Sorcerers were sitting on the excavated platform. Between the lower ring of the Sorcerers and the upper one of their acolytes, in three intermediate rings, he saw three dozen slaves.
They had been sacrificed.
Sumal’s blood froze in his veins.
Their wrists had been slit with sharp ceremonial daggers in the hands of the Sorcerers and the blood, following the slope of the macabre bowl, flowed slowly from the now-dead bodies towards the lower ring to feed the arcane power of the Sorcerers. One of these was chanting a prayer to a god who could only be evil. To Sumal it seemed like a nightmare, yet he knew he was wide awake. A chill ran down his spine, and he fought to keep calm and appear indifferent in the face of that horror.
Zecly was watching the ritual from the entrance, and Mulko came up to him. Sumal followed.
“How’s the ritual going? Will it work?” Mulko asked, coming straight to the point. His eyes were wide, taking pleasure in the scene.
“There are never any certainties or guarantees with magic, my Lord. One can only commend oneself to it and hope that one’s power is great enough to dominate it. But yes, I believe it’ll work. We’ve called two great Sorcerers from the deep South. One of them, Asuris, the one chanting, is a master of Blood Magic. The other one, Isos, is a great master of Curses Magic. The other four are also experts in the arts of curses, but their power is lesser.”
“It’s cost me a lot of gold and a lot of favors to bring them all together here today,” Mulko said.
“I am well aware of that, my Lord, but I assure you that with them victory is ours.”
“Even with this Rogdonian Mage of great power defending the city? Mirkos the Erudite himself?”
“Even with him. He’ll make our work more difficult, but in the end we’ll win, my Lord. He won’t be able to defeat us, not all of us.”
Zecly noticed Sumal standing behind the Regent.
“Sumal, my dear boy, how are you?”
The spy bowed deeply. “Very well, Master. It gladdens my soul to find you in good health.”
“It gladdens mine to see you still in one piece. You’ve done a wonderful piece of work, and I want you to know I appreciate it, Sumal.”
“It’s a great honor for me, Master. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to finish off the Mage, Mirkos…”
“That was always a possibility… and it happened. Nothing we can do. We’ll deal with him in the attack on the city.”
“But with his powerful Fire Magic he can send our Sorcerers to hell,” Mulko protested.
“Only if he can locate them, and that’s why we’ll place our bets carefully, using our weapons…”
“How will we manage to defeat them?”
“We’ll use cunning,” Zecly assured him with a smile full of irony. “Deceit is much more effective than direct confrontation, my Lord.”
“Will the cloak of darkness hold?” Mulko asked. “Will they be able to keep it up?”
“It will, my Lord, hence the ritual you see before you. Through the Blood Ritual, Asuris will manage to prolong the spell’s duration and expand its area of effect. What is more, the Sorcerers of the Magic of Curses will be imbued with more power in the Blood Ritual. They’ll use their mystical connection with their acolytes and thus gain access to their inner energy, which will provide them with a greater source of energy to work with.”
Mulko frowned in puzzlement.
“I understand that Asuris is going to imbue them with greater power by sacrificing the slaves, but how does this union with the acolytes work?” he asked.
“Magic is mysterious, my Lord, and its use is varied and specialized. Our people, the people of the desert, are used to scarcity, given the nature of the environment where we grow up. From that same origin, that imperious need to survive privation, a technique was discovered and developed several hundred years ago by a cult of Sorcerers of the hidden desert, in the Endless Sands. Although it’s too complex to describe, I can tell you it consists of joining oneself with another who has the Gift, connecting the inner energy of both and using it for one’s own benefit.”
“I see…interesting. Taking away another person’s magic, is that it? What happens if you take all of it?”
“It depends, my Lord. If all the energy is passed on, the acolyte will faint. If you go beyond that, if you take away all his vital energy necessary to sustain life, then he’ll die. Such is the nature of magic.”
“Surprising and very interesting,” Mulko said, his eyes wide with anticipation. “Will we be ready to attack at dawn?”
“Yes, my Lord, the Sorcerers will spend all night obtaining energy and power from sacrificed slaves and accumulating it. At dawn we’ll be ready to attack.”
“Wonderful!” Mulko exclaimed. “And now let’s go back to Ukbi. I want to finish the plan of attack and the strategy that has to
be followed. There’s much at stake, and everything must be minutely prepared.”
“Very well, my Lord,” Zecly said with a small bow.
Sumal looked one last time out of the corner of his eye at the grotesque ritual and a new chill ran down his spine; these men were very dangerous. He looked at the Blood Mage, Asuris. His face was extraordinarily pale, all color had left his skin, he looked more like a corpse than a living being. But the eyes, those bloodshot eyes, like a demon’s: they impressed him so much that the hardened spy had nightmares.
Finally, the war was beginning.
The Rogdonians would have to face an army far superior in number, and also those Sorcerers and their arcane arts of death.
Sumal shook his head.
“The Rogdonians had better pray to their gods, tomorrow evil itself personified will come down on them.”
Magic of Blood and Curses
General Drocus was right. The attack started with the first light of day and without warning: very typical of the Nocean character. Hundreds of missiles in the shape of enormous rocks crashed against the wall of the southern section. Parapets and battlements were destroyed, shattered by those devastating impacts. The alarm sounded throughout the city, and the soldiers took up their positions at once. The lethal deluge of rocks went on all morning, bringing chaos to the walls and the first rows of buildings in the southern zone, which collapsed in rubble.
The siege weapons were not visible under the cloak of darkness which protected them, but the devastating missiles showered down on the city as if appearing from nowhere.
General Drocus ordered his men to fall back inside out of reach of the catapults, given that the black tide was not advancing.
A bugle sounded the alarm from the western side of the city.
“It’s a ruse!” roared Drocus.
Duke Galen was beside him. “What is this?” he asked uneasily.
“They’re attacking from the western side,” the General explained, “and we have our troops positioned a little to the south of the city, since that’s where the catapults were striking hardest. The city is like an island in the middle of this immense plateau, surrounded by a wall in the form of a ring. The defense of the whole perimeter is going to be more complicated.”
