The Rise of Kings (The Flameweaver's Prophecy Book 1)

by Emery, Ben

  Chapter Seventeen

  The daylight brought with it a sight like no other; a shimmering sea of steel laid out before the walls of Valgaard. It had been centuries before an army had stood in the enormous shadow of the black rock, swords and spearheads glinting in the sun on the open plain. It was a fearsome spectacle to behold.

  Galarus had been awake for some time, and, without disturbing the others, he had donned his jet-black armour and made his way up to the wall, where a handful of sentries still remained from the night before. A light snow had begun to dust the valley floor and mountainsides, but the General felt no cold with the Wandeer necklace on. It was a peculiar sensation, the warmth, in such an obviously harsh and bitter environment. Placatas was the first to join him, also armed and armoured, his helmet resting high on his head.

  ‘Quite the turn out we’ve got here,’ the lieutenant grunted as he stretched his limbs out, overlooking the swarm of enemies beneath.

  ‘Hmm,’ Galarus agreed. ‘Nice of so many to turn up.’

  Placatas grinned. ‘At least they’re being sporting about the whole thing; waiting for daylight. This way we can see the looks on their faces when they pop over this wall and shit themselves.’

  ‘You think they’ll be afraid?’ Galarus asked of his old friend.

  ‘Wouldn’t you be, if you came up that mountain path and saw him?’ Placatas pointed down the wall to where the behemoth had arrived, Fellammer resting up against one broad shoulder. The Ironhand champion merely nodded a greeting, and took his position at the point where the herder pass met the wall.

  ‘A fair point,’ Galarus smiled.

  As the sun rose behind them, the rest of the garrison arrived; Jaxon, then Marrew, followed by Coran and Attais, and Miran and forty of his archers took their places upon the wall and along the narrow walkways, the remaining ten stationed at the barricade below. The five veterans were next, dressed in their battered legionary armour, but ready nonetheless, and shortly afterward Vedeon and Isella arrived. Rather than the metal armour they had crafted for the others, the Wandeer wore leather cuirasses that covered them as far down as their thighs, with reinforced greaves and gauntlets to match. Each also carried a broad, rectangular shield that they propped up against the battlements.

  ‘You not using them?’ Jaxon asked, several others thinking the same thing.

  ‘Only against crossbow bolts,’ Vedeon replied. ‘Be careful of them,’ he added quickly, ‘they were made by me, after all.’

  Brier, Draiden and the town guard were the last to show up. Nearly two hundred of these men fanned out along the wall, while the others took up positions with the archers in the valley, ready to brace themselves against the gate, should it be needed.

  Draiden sought out Attais and Coran, and took his place beside them.

  ‘Mind if I join you, lads?’ he enquired.

  ‘Only if you’re going to be of any use,’ Attais teased him.

  ‘Ha! I’ll still show you pups a thing or two!’ The maceman looked no less battered than the veterans, and the mace he wielded was far cruder than those of the Legions. On what remained of his left arm, he had attached a large oval buckler, long and thin, upon which had been affixed the blade of a short sword, so as to make it both a shield and a weapon.

  ‘Had it made in Gerder, by one of the Bleaksmiths I worked for. Masters of iron and steel they are up there,’ Draiden said, patting it fondly. ‘First chance I’m going to get to test it out proper!’

  In the centre of the wall, Galarus looked up and down at his assembled forces. Many looked hard, staring straight out at the horizon; others looked terrified at the prospect of fighting against such odds. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Brave defenders of Valgaard!’ he bellowed, making sure all around him could hear. ‘I have been informed that the enemy outnumbers us slightly!’

  This was met by laughter by those that could stomach it, and sickly smiles from those who could not. Regardless, it had the desired effect of relaxing the men, even if only a little. He let the silence return before he continued.

  ‘It matters little what forces they possess, for they fight here for the greed of one man, but it is here that you defend your homes and avenge your loved ones. This is where we stand against the tyranny of a false king; a man who would seek to bend us all to his will. I doubt we will see his face at the tops of these ladders any time soon! The men that stand before you do so on the orders of this coward, and they are all the weaker for it. I am proud to stand by your side today, and fight against such wanton destruction that they would bring upon your lands. Let them come to us! We have the higher ground and the stronger heart. They will know fear, by our hand, and by the end of this day they will regret having survived to face us tomorrow!’

  Cheers and roars exploded from the garrison. The legionaries began to chant Galarus’ name aloud, a cry that was taken up by all within Valgaard, as sword and spear beat rhythmically against shield and stone.

  Their defiance was drowned out by the battlecries of the Vahc as they quickened their pace below, hurling themselves toward the wall, and the first ladders clattered against the battlements. Men rushed to repel them, but they had been dug into the ground, and their sheer height and angle made it impossible for them to be pushed out far enough to tip over.

  ‘Archers!’ Miran called out. ‘Loose!’

  A twang of bowstrings echoed the order, and a shower of arrows flew over the heads of the men on the wall, raining death on their foes beneath as they began to climb. Screams rose up the face of the Great Gate as the first casualties of the day were sustained. A ragged volley of crossbow bolts answered the arrows, but their aim was poor, and they found nothing but shields.

  A thunderous boom seemed to shake the ground itself as the battering ram met the gates.

  ‘Brace the doors!’ Galarus called down to Brier’s men on the valley floor, and a score of them slammed themselves against the thick wood.

  On the middle of the wall, near to where the General had positioned himself, Vedeon and Isella began their work. Those that had not seen it before almost forgot there was an enemy in front of them, as the Wandeers’ hands began to glow, and flames sprouted from thin air, twisting and writhing into balls of fire that were unleashed onto the panicked hordes beneath.

  ‘Keep it up!’ Galarus encouraged them. ‘Aim for the ram!’

  Vedeon brought his hands up in front of him, combining two fireballs into one, enormous, flowing spherical flame. It grew and grew, until it too was hurled into the air. Those that saw it coming scrabbled to get out of its way, but their ranks were packed too tightly up against the wall. There was nowhere to run. The huge fireball smashed into the roof of the ram, spraying flames and sparks in all directions. The siege machine was ignited immediately, along with the Vahc wielding it. Their howls of agony drowned out all else as they raked at their skin and clothes in a desperate attempt to claw the heat from their bodies. The ram was engulfed and fuelled the fire, not only useless to the attackers, but now a burning obstacle in front of the gate. The ladders would have to suffice for now.

  At the northern end of the wall, the first ranks of Caldoan spearmen had come into sight around a curve in the path, marching three abreast. The behemoth hefted Fellammer impatiently, eagerly awaiting the first of his opponents. He twirled the haft of the great weapon, spinning the huge head of it. It stopped, hammer side up. He grinned as the legionaries crept closer, wary of the ice that had clung to the slope from the night before. One, on the edge and not wary enough, slipped, scrambled to gain a purchase on the stone, and failed. He hurtled back down the slope, taking two more with him over the lip of the path, screaming, down the side of the mountain. The ranks reformed and inched closer.

  The behemoth raised Fellammer above his head, and began to whirl it around in huge, sweeping arcs.

  ‘Come to me, foes!’ he roared, taunting them. ‘Death awaits you here!’

  The legionaries tightened up, their shields side by side, spears
raised, ready to strike. It mattered little how ready they were. As soon as the first of them came within striking distance, the warrior launched himself forward. His awesome weapon sang through the air, plunging downward, smashing the entire front line of spearmen off of the path, only two of them able to scream at the descent that yawned before them. Fellammer rose again and again, to crush the skull of a fourth, shatter the body of a fifth, and break the legs of a sixth and seventh. Shields were twisted, weapons broken beyond use, and armour rent so that it dug into the flesh of its wearers. None had yet even been able to strike at the Ironhand champion. He stood, immovable as the mountains around him, single-handedly holding the heavily armoured legionaries at bay. Their blood began to flow in rivers below the feet of their allies as they trudged uphill to meet the same fate. There was not a man among those spearmen, who, when confronted with this tireless, murderous giant, did not wish himself upon the ladders.

  On the wall itself, the Vahc had swarmed upon the garrison in a frenzied assault. While the battlements were easily defended, the inability of the defenders to remove the ladders meant there was no way to stem the flow of enemies clambering up to face them. The Wandeer had managed to incinerate several of the reaching, wooden structures; one that appeared directly in front of them had been reduced to ash in the hands of Vedeon, the men already upon it shrieking in horror as they found themselves falling onto the heads of those below. But still, the hooded Vahc warriors continued to advance.

  The archers, stationed behind the barricades and on the streets and walkways of Valgaard, found the faces of the enemy with astonishing accuracy and speed, often felling the attackers even before the men of the garrison had raised their swords to defend themselves. Certain that the behemoth could comfortably hold off his opponents on the right flank with minimal support, Miran ordered more of his archers to turn their attention to the wall. Arrows whipped above the heads of the defenders and found gaps between the ranks, felling the invaders one by one, or else arcing downward onto the heads of the enemy amassed below.

  Galarus, in the very centre of it all, was content to allow the archers to do the majority of the killing, sparing the energies of the garrison. There had been a handful of Vahc that had bloodied the end of his spear, but the battle had not yet reached the defenders proper. He shot a quick glance to his right, then to his left, and watched as that all changed.

  Atop a ladder near the southern end of the wall, a Vahc warrior took an arrow to the throat. Blood sprayed over the defenders, but the attacker did not fall. His body was caught by the man behind him and pushed upward. Another trio of arrows thumped into the torso of the lifeless man, now serving as a shield to his allies. The body was heaved over the battlements, knocking two of Brier’s men to the floor and pinning one of them. The successive attacker threw himself onto the wall, dropping down low to avoid the arrows that still flew overhead, hacking wildly with hammer and blade at the defenders around him. Metal rang off of metal, until the maniacal assault on the garrison yielded a solid crunch. The first of the men under Galarus’ command died.

  The attacker was run through by the spear of one of the veterans, Kaorad, but too late. More of the warrior horde had swept up the ladder and into the breach made by their ally. A bulkhead had begun to form, as the Vahc turned to the defence of their only way onto the wall. Shield met shield, and frantic blows were exchanged over the top.

  Unable to make his way to the skirmish, Galarus hoped his men were nearby, and able to repel the increasingly confident invaders. To his right, the behemoth tirelessly cut down the advancing spearmen, and, between them, Attais, Coran and Draiden repelled the Vahc upon the ladders. Placatas, Jaxon and the Wandeer were closer to his side, leaving only Marrew somewhere on his left to aid the struggling, and steadily panicking, guards.

  ‘Vedeon!’ Galarus shouted above the cacophony of battle. ‘Vedeon!’

  The Wandeer looked over, startled to hear his name amid the confusion.

  ‘Take them out!’ he instructed. A Vahc rose into sight in front of the General, who thrust a spear into the soft flesh of his enemy’s cheek. The attacker fell away screaming. ‘Over there!’ Galarus jabbed southward in the air with his blood-soaked spear to where the hordes were making headway.

  Vedeon saw to what the General was referring, and turned his attention to the matter. The burgeoning semicircle of invaders made a wonderful target for the Wandeer, and a stream of fire emanated from his hands, surging into the air, and falling perfectly onto the heads of the gathering Vahc. Their screams could be heard in the encampment below as the defensive formation they had created literally melted away. Men clawed at their faces as the skin peeled from their bones, eyes boiling in their sockets, and the only mercy to be found was upon the waiting swords and spears of the defenders.

  The Vahc advance was halted there, and the only progress they gained afterward was to add to their number of dead. The spearmen, too, after several hours of throwing men into the path of Fellammer to no avail, were ordered to retreat. The garrison had suffered no more than twenty-five casualties, and there were a handful that had sustained minor injuries. The losses incurred by Rural’s forces, however, were far more substantial.

  ‘Two thousand men?’ Rural repeated in disbelief.

  ‘At least, your highness,’ Boreas confirmed. ‘Reports of more casualties and missing are still coming in.’

  The king had once more assembled his General, the lieutenants, and Alarum in his quarters in order to ascertain exactly why his men had failed to take the wall.

  By the Allseer, how is this possible? And where is Haedering?’ He glanced angrily around at the faces of his underlings, seeing only nine of the ten lieutenants present.

  ‘He is dead, your highness,’ Renas Lindea spoke up. ‘He was on the wall with the spearmen…’

  ‘Huh,’ Rural replied, unbothered by the loss. ‘Replace him before tomorrow,’ he instructed Boreas. The General nodded. ‘Perhaps someone would care to tell me how so many of my men were defeated by so few?’

  ‘They are organised,’ Lindea raised his voice again. He had been a close friend of Va Haedering, and the king’s dismissal of his death did not sit well with him. ‘They have archers, and Wandeer fire hurlers, and…the man that stood against us at the pass…he was unlike any soldier I have ever seen…’ He faltered; the memory of the carnage the huge warrior had wrought about him still fresh in his mind. ‘He was no man…’

  ‘Oh?’ Rural said in a mockingly curious voice. ‘Well if not a man, then what is he?’

  ‘The men say that the defenders in black armour are…are demons.’

  The last words were barely more than a whisper, but everyone in the tent heard them very clearly. After the defeat they had suffered that day, rumours had become rife throughout the camp, both among the Legions and the Vahc, that Valgaard was defended by demons. Those that had survived after witnessing the skill and ferocity of the warriors in black armour could think of few other explanations.

  ‘Demons?’ Rural said through gritted teeth, anger flaring up behind his eyes. ‘Where do you suppose they found these demons to fight for them?’

  ‘Rumours are that the Wandeer summoned them, and that they are commanded by General Galarus.’ Lieutenant Lindea hesitated briefly before mentioning the traitorous General’s name in front of the king.

  ‘Galarus,’ Rural murmured, the ire within him waning. He remembered the face he had seen atop the wall the day before. So, it had been him. It mattered little how the General had come to be here now, only that he was here, and in control of an eclectic and devastating fighting force. ‘You are certain it was him?’

  Lindea nodded. ‘The defenders chanted his name before the battle.’

  Those among the lieutenants that had been within earshot that morning mumbled words of agreement.

  ‘Believe me, Lieutenant, as fearsome as the General’s reputation is, he does not command demons to fight for him. They are just men.’

  ‘Not just me
n, sire,’ Lindea countered. ‘Men cannot kill like that. More than a third of the casualties we sustained today were at the hands of just one of them: the giant at the pass. I saw it with my own eyes; hundreds of men crushed before him, Lieutenant Haedering among them, and I am told that not so much as a scratch was lain upon him.’

  Silence hung in the tent. The officers were well aware of the stories surrounding this mountainous individual, and the devastation he had caused with that ungodly weapon.

  ‘He will die like any other. They all will,’ Rural insisted finally, sounding less convinced by his own words than he had intended. ‘Alarum, your men will take the mountain path tomorrow, and the Legions will be sent up the ladders. Perhaps they will make better progress than we witnessed today. And inform the men: any soldier heard talking of demons will be made an example of. They will first be punished, then sent up against these “demons” alone. And someone see to the clearing of that destroyed ram; we will need access to the gate.’

  Boreas and the lieutenants saluted and left. Alarum simply walked out.

  ‘Galarus…’ Rural mumbled to himself. The General had been a thorn in his side for far too long now. The insignificant band of defenders could no longer be underestimated with Galarus at their fore. That man could fend off an army with nothing but a handful of untrained housecats at his disposal. Valgaard would take more time to overrun than expected. Time he did not have.

  Spirits were high among the garrison that night, the defenders having fared better in their first day of battle than anyone could have predicted. The bodies of their fallen allies were burned within the town, and their deaths mourned by their companions. The corpses of the enemy, however, were treated somewhat less ceremoniously. The Caldoan legionaries were pillaged for weapons and armour by the town guard, in the hope that they would better fortify the wall’s defences, and the equipment that had not been damaged beyond use or recognition by the behemoth was suitably appropriated.