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

by Emery, Ben

  ‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘Someone will look at it.’

  Vedeon did as he was told.

  ‘Are they alright?’ Galarus asked, bursting into the room. His eyes, adjusting to the dim interior, found the Wandeer lying limp upon the table.

  ‘Is there a doctor left in this town?’ the behemoth asked.

  The General shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I’ve sent Jaxon to ask Brier; no reply yet.’

  ‘General…’ Vedeon rasped. ‘General…’

  ‘I’m here,’ Galarus replied, hastening to the Wandeer’s side.

  ‘Is…Isella; is she alright?’

  ‘She’s resting, in the next room. She exhausted herself; she covered the whole wall in fire.’

  Vedeon nodded. ‘I saw. She is strong…stronger than she knows…but she needs to regain her strength. You must protect her.’

  ‘We will,’ Galarus assured him. ‘Of course we will.’

  The door opened and Jaxon stepped through. Galarus looked up at him, but the young lieutenant shook his head.

  ‘Damn it,’ the General hissed; his head dropping.

  ‘I know… I am going to die, General,’ Vedeon wheezed between increasingly laboured breaths. ‘My life is of little consequence now, but my death shall be of far greater import.’ His voice grew softer, and Galarus was forced to lean in closer to hear him properly. ‘The Wandeer must be made to see. Rural will fail, and you must succeed in his place. All of Banmer must be under your control, when the time comes, by any means. A terrible darkness is coming to your world, and only you can stop it. Seek out Vanneus, on the Thundering Islands; he will help you, and Isella will lead you there.’

  ‘The darkness you keep mentioning,’ Galarus tried desperately to gain more answers. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Not what, General…who…’ Vedeon gasped, his last moments of life flooding from him. ‘He is war, and death, the Unmaker…the destroyer of worlds…he is…the fifth…’

  The Wandeer sighed one last time, and ceased breathing altogether. The room was silent. Galarus, Jaxon and the behemoth just stared at the lifeless figure of their friend and ally.

  Brier entered the room in a fluster and out of breath, unaware of the sombre atmosphere within.

  ‘General, you are needed on the wall; the enemy are reforming for another assault.’ He spotted Vedeon’s body lying motionless on the long table. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added awkwardly, and ducked out of the doorway again.

  ‘Shit!’ Galarus shouted, punching the surface of the table. ‘I was hoping we’d have more time; everyone back to the wall.’

  Marrew emerged from the room in which he had placed Isella to recover from her ordeal. Seeing the body of Vedeon, he bowed his head, and silently followed the others outside.

  Before the wall, the legionaries were indeed being ushered into ranks once more. Fresh siege equipment was brought forward, including numerous rams.

  The defenders had incurred more severe casualties in the morning’s conflict than they had done throughout the entire day before; the town’s garrison proving less of a match for the trained Legions than they had been against the Vahc. Valgaard would be far harder to defend without either of the Wandeer, and there were plenty of hours of daylight left.

  Rural watched from the rear as his lieutenants barked and thrashed their men back into formation. They had lost the momentum of what had been a promising assault on the wall; from what he had been told, the swordsmen of the vanguard had gained several footholds among the defenders and were holding their own. The fire had seen to the end of that. What, in the name of the Allseer, had that been? The Wandeer were undoubtedly powerful, but the sheer magnitude of this thing had been something else, unlike any of the magic they had used before. It had looked like a waterfall of flames, spewing forth from between the mountains. If it happened again it was unlikely that the men would have it in them to fight on, and for that Rural would not blame them. Fortunately, word had come from the Vahc hordes that one among the crossbowmen, who had fled the mountain path with his kin, had killed one of the Wandeer; boasting noisily about how the mighty sorcerer had fallen so easily to a bolt between the ribs. This, more than anything, had spurred the men on to return to the field.

  ‘We are almost ready, sire.’ General Boreas appeared at the king’s side, his armour yet to be spoilt by combat.

  ‘Good,’ Rural replied, eager to get this over with. ‘Give the order to advance as soon as possible.’

  ‘Yes, your highness,’ Boreas bowed. ‘We lost three more lieutenants this morning: Naera, Einoth and Manear; the first in the fighting, the other two in the fire.’

  ‘Reorder their men under the remaining officers,’ the king ordered, unconcerned.

  Boreas bowed again. ‘It is already done, your highness.’

  ‘Then commence the attack, General. And send in the rams. If we cannot take the wall, then we must take the gate.’

  Galarus stared silently as the battering ram was wheeled forward between the shining ranks of soldiers. This was it. If the gates fell, all would be lost. He had taken a risk replenishing the lines upon the wall with men from the barricade on the ground, but this is where they would be hit hardest. A score of Miran’s archers had been brought to the fore, to better target the men bearing the siege weapons. Those that remained, Miran among them, had been repositioned to fully focus their efforts on the Vahc hordes. This, too, meant bringing them into the battle proper, but the infantry would need all the support they could get.

  Upon his return to the wall, Miran had informed Galarus that the archers were beginning to run low on arrows; an additional handicap after the death and incapacitation of the Wandeer. They had salvaged what missiles they could from the bodies of fallen enemies, but it would not be enough for all that would oppose them. The veteran, Jara, that had lost his life in the morning’s conflict, was replaced by one of Brier’s men; a nervous looking young man who seemed both eager and terrified to be fighting at the sides of the warriors in black armour.

  The attackers uniformly rippled forward at the orders of their superiors, as the ladders once again rattled off of the solid wall. The defenders rained what projectiles they had left to throw; even the corpses left strewn about were tipped over the battlements in an effort to slow the advance. The distinct lack of fire in the garrison’s salvos served only to increase the fervour of the assault, and the ram was hastened toward the gate. Before the first legionaries even reached the tops of their ladders, the cacophonous boom of the ram pounding against the gate reverberated across the battlefield. The soldiers at the barricade below, their numbers depleted, clutched their weapons tightly as they threw their bodies into absorbing what little of the ram’s impact they could, praying the gate would hold back the tide of enemies beyond.

  On the mountain path, the Vahc raced forward, propelled by their part in the death of a Wandeer. Hurdling over their dead, they brandished their weapons furiously, hammering into the thin defensive lines with all the force they could muster. Swords, clubs, hammers and axes rang blow after blow against the shield wall, while the spears of the defenders drove over the top, sinking themselves into the massing flesh of the hordes. Above the screams of agony and clamour of arms, Galarus could hear the low, steady thundering of the ram against the thick wood of the gate; as strong as it was, it could not resist an unchecked battering forever. Blood soaked the ground at his feet, flowing steadily down the path, where more Vahc waited to press the attack. The archers at his back were relentless, but a prime target for the enemy’s crossbowmen. Even using the defensive lines as cover, the brave soldiers of Crimstone were thinning in number, and those that had run out of ammunition drew their shortswords and joined Brier’s men in repelling the legionaries. And still no sign of reinforcements from the Cities. Galarus would have given anything for just a hundred more of Brettar’s pride and joy.

  Things were no less bleak upon the wall itself. The behemoth contentedly held his own, and the men around him, rallied by his example, fought
hard and well, but the majority of the garrison could not hope to stand up against the extensive training of the legionaries that swarmed towards them. Among the first to die were the townspeople of Valgaard that had remained behind to defend their homes; men who had been armed only with what they could find. Though they resisted bravely, they were cut down with ease by the Legions, and large gaps began to appear in the ranks of the defenders, filled quickly by the attackers themselves.

  At the southern point of the wall, Draiden hammered away at the enemy with furious blows from his mace, splattering blood and gore across the stonework and himself. The sword blade strapped to the elongated buckler on the stump of his left arm dripped red as he hacked maniacally at the foes that appeared before him. Though further up the wall the garrison appeared to be holding, he watched as his men fell around him, and more and more legionaries poured onto the wall. The tide of battle was quickly turning; if the enemy gained a strong enough foothold at the end of the wall, they could move into the streets of the town and surround the defenders. It would be all over then.

  The maceman ducked under a whirring sword blade aimed at his neck and smashed his weapon into the attacker’s knee, crushing the bone. The legionary screamed, writhing in agony on the ground, clutching at his useless leg. He was silenced with another blow from the mace directly to the side of his head, spewing blood into the air, and Draiden launched himself back into the thick of the fighting. He heard Brier shouting obscenities at the enemy behind him, as he swung his sword wildly, and the pair drove forward. They would hold this wall until their last breath if it came to it.

  Back at the mountain path, things had deteriorated quickly from a battle of ranks into a chaotic and bloody mess. Against all odds, the line was holding the Vahc at bay, their bodies piling up before them. Some of the bolder of the horde warriors had tried to clamber up the cliff face, as their crossbowmen had, and launch themselves at the defenders from there. The archers had picked off a few, but the bolts of the enemy kept them pinned down. Another two of the veterans, Tanyan and Kaorad, had fallen in this manner; the first, taken by surprise, had been beheaded by an axe as a Vahc warrior fell upon him. A second attacker was already in the air; a spear killing the assailant mid-flight, but the weight of his body had knocked Kaorad to the floor, and more Vahc had quickly leapt upon him to finish the job.

  The line had been broken, the shield wall in pieces, and each of the defenders engaged the enemy on their own terms. Galarus, Attais and Coran had swapped their spears for swords in the close quarters, and Placatas dealt mighty blows with his mace. Jaxon had abandoned spear and shield altogether, drawing instead his twin black-bladed swords, and was dolling out deathblows with a speed unmatchable by any of the Vahc warriors, as he ducked, parried and sliced his way through their ranks in a flurry of beautiful, violent death.

  The young lieutenant carved open a Vahc belly, spilling guts to the floor, parried attacks from a fresh assailant on each side, stepped forward, and sliced both their necks simultaneously. Another warrior approached, howling a battle cry as he threw himself forward. Before he could even swing the club he carried, Jaxon thrust a sword through his throat. The blade slid out with ease, a crimson hue coating it. Another opponent charged, and the lieutenant scythed his legs from beneath him, catching his body on the point of his second blade as he fell.

  Galarus fought expertly in the forefront of it all, sword a blur; shield as much a weapon as it was a means of defence. The Vahc seemed to have focused their efforts against the General; the bulwark of the defensive line and heart of the entire garrison’s resistance. But the unfavourable odds did little to slow him down, as he severed limb from body and heaved opponents off of the path and over the precipice. Coran and Attais stuck to his side as best they could, protecting each other against the relentless onslaught.

  Half a dozen Vahc scaled the mountainside, determined to bring down the remaining defenders. The archers killed three of them, but the rest launched themselves into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Attais watched a spear fly through the air and slam into the chest of one of the airborne Vahc, sending him reeling backwards; Marrew was supporting them as best he could amidst his own fight. The two remaining warriors fell upon Placatas. The old warrior hurled his mace at one, which crunched into his face and stopped him in midair. The lieutenant raised his shield against the second, who crashed into him, bringing them both to the ground. The enemy was on his feet in a flash, standing over Placatas and thundering strikes against the floored legionary’s shield. In the blink of an eye, Miran was in the fray. Sword drawn, he ran his blade through the neck of the Vahc assailant, and hauled Placatas bodily to his feet. The lieutenant hurriedly snatched up the nearest weapon he could find, a heavy Vahc handaxe, and went back about his grisly business.

  Several more Vahc took to the rock face unopposed, and leapt at the ragged lines of Galarus and his men. Attais watched helplessly as one flew clear over their ranks, and stood, bewildered, when the attacker was catapulted backwards, bowling over a group of his allies. Attais turned, and saw the behemoth wading into the carnage, Fellammer running freely with the blood of his victims. The assailing hordes looked unvaryingly worried at the arrival of the titan, even more so when he started cleaving effortless swathes through the press of bodies. Crossbow bolts whipped past him as he continued, unphased, to wreak destruction and bloody havoc upon his foes, blocking attacks with the huge face of Fellammer, and countering with enormous swings. As he passed Galarus, the Vahc began to shrink away, the ferocity of their assault dwindling in the face of this unstoppable warrior.

  ‘Brier needs help on the wall,’ the behemoth informed the General. ‘I can take it from here.’

  Galarus nodded, ordering his men back to the battlements, but he remained beside the Ironhand.

  The giant looked indifferent to the General’s decision to stay, and advanced slowly toward the Vahc. The archers behind them took advantage of the lull in the fighting to accurately sow death among the ranks of the horde.

  And the behemoth charged. Galarus followed suit, shield raised in front of him, and what had been a point of defence turned to one of attack. The Vahc hesitated long enough to lose any momentum, shocked at the reverse of the situation, and the demons were upon them.

  Fellammer tore holes in their lines as the behemoth quickly moved forward, unrelenting, driving the attackers back; Galarus, at his side, hacking and slashing, doing his best to keep up with the tribesman. The Vahc wavered, resisting for as long as their spirits would allow, before they broke under the fury of the warriors in black. The fear of death and thinning numbers drove them to rout, pouring back down the mountainside and to the safety of their camp, more willing to face the wrath of Alarum than the might of these defenders.

  The garrison focused its attention on pushing the legionaries from the wall, slowly but steadily forcing them back, to their death and dismay. With the reinforcement of Galarus’ men, they were able to exterminate any hold the swordsmen and macemen had gained upon the wall, and what damage could be dealt to the ladders was done, to prevent, or at least delay, another assault. The archers took to the flanks, peppering the bearers of the battering ram with the support of a bombardment of bodies and weapons flung over the battlements by the defenders. High casualties forced them to cease their destruction of the gate, and the day’s battle ended; the wall, and Valgaard, still in the firm possession of the jubilant, if depleted, ranks of the defenders.

  Losses had been high; among them Captain Brier, who had valiantly fought for his men and his home but had succumbed, finally, to the swords of his enemies. Draiden had assumed command of the town guard, but if they were forced to endure another day like today, there would not be a tomorrow for what remained of the stoic garrison.

  Victory was in the bitterly cold air and Rural could taste it. Despite being beaten back from the wall yet again, the defenders would not be able to hold out much longer. According to the reports that now lay upon his desk, his forces had
inflicted a great deal of damage both to the garrison and to the gate. It was estimated that Galarus had lost more than half of his men by the end of the day, not counting any too critically wounded to fight again. His own forces had suffered severe casualties also, none moreso than the Vahc, and another lieutenant, Haddis Loche, of the Third Legion, had fallen in the assault. These losses mattered little; Rural still had the vast majority of his heavy spearmen, men who had not seen battle since the first day, if at all, and the macemen that had suffered very few losses today.

  He had made up his mind; the final push would be made tonight, under the cover of darkness, and an all-out attack aimed at the gate. The plan was simple enough: set the rams to work and follow them with the entire army. If the gate could be breached before the garrison had time to properly react, the battle, and this damned siege, would be over by the morning.

  The lieutenants that remained had been somewhat hesitant to launch a singular assault, concerned they might get caught in the gateway and bottlenecked in front of a prepared defence. Their fears had been somewhat alleviated by Alarum’s insistence that the king let his hordes take the lead, a gesture that impressed Rural somewhat. The Vahc had lost over a third, and nearly half, of their six-thousand-strong force during the assaults on Valgaard, though Alarum had kept himself and the most senior of his underlings away from the fighting altogether. It was unlikely that he would now place himself in danger at the forefront of the charge, but if it lessened his own losses, the king found the proposal agreeable. Furthermore, he had conceded to allowing a band of several hundred spearmen to take the mountain pass up to the wall and attack from there. With any luck, the defenders would be trapped between the two prongs of the army, and Galarus and his men put to the sword.

  Chapter Nineteen