The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  The humans began to arrive, herded by warlords loyal to him and their men. Tharok directed that all the humans be penned on the right side of the courtyard, and he ignored their cries and strange language.

  Tharok had a stool brought out and placed on the stage. On this he sat, one hand on his knee, the other resting on World Breaker's cross guard. He positioned a troll at each corner of the stage, and sent the others to either guard the compound or wander the city.

  The first shaman was brought in. A wizened old kragh with a paunch and a caustic sneer, he was gingerly escorted by a dozen warriors, who touched him with only the greatest reluctance.

  "Greetings, wise one," said Tharok. "Welcome."

  The shaman hawked and spat on the dirt. "That is what I think of your welcome."

  Tharok nodded affably. "I understand. When all of your number have been gathered, I will speak with you, and you will understand the cause of my affront. I gather you here to protect you, to safeguard you from the medusa. We will speak anon."

  The shaman scowled, clearly not wanting to believe Tharok, but he was led to the great hall within the complex.

  Tharok searched for a translator amongst the kragh who had brought the humans, and, having secured one, positioned the elder to his left and began the process of interrogating his new prisoners.

  There were some thirty humans assembled in a tight knot, their bodies slender as willow trees, their skin ranging from fish belly white to burnished bronze and black. Their coloration did not seem tied to their power and authority; some of the darkest skinned ones appeared to be the poorest, while one woman with skin as pale as a peeled apple held herself with as much dignity as a warlord.

  Each was brought forward. Each was interrogated. Tharok had one interest, and one interest only: Abythos.

  Slowly, an image emerged in his mind's eye. Coalescing from dozens of accounts, he formed an impression of the castle's layout. But all of the accounts were those of simple merchants, moving from the main Solar Gate underground, up the main ramp to the central courtyard, and then out the front gate to the world beyond.

  Finally, an older human was shoved forward. He had but one eye, his face was lined by years of exposure to the sun, and he was clad in the leather armor of a human soldier. He scowled back at the kragh who had dragged him forth and then straightened and glared at Tharok.

  "He has spirit, this one," said Tharok to his translator. "Begin."

  The translator set about asking the human his name, trade, and what he knew about Abythos. The human responded curtly, crossing his arms, but what he said seemed to excite the translator, who turned to Tharok eagerly.

  "His name is Enchus, or something similar, and he is a caravan guard. He claims, Uniter, to have been an important soldier in Abythos for many years!"

  "At last." Tharok leaned forward and stared down at the human. "Ask him more about his background. Why is he a mere caravan guard now?"

  The human responded with the same curt, proud language, and the translator nodded. "He was caught smuggling shaman stone from Bythos to our land. Branded and cast out. It was all the work he could find."

  "Good," said Tharok. "Is he bitter against the humans?"

  The translator hesitated. "It is hard to read the humans. But I would guess yes."

  "Then he is our man. Take him aside. Give him food and clean clothing, and allow him to bathe himself if he wants. I will speak to him later, once he has been led to understand that we value his knowledge. The more he reveals to us of Abythos' defenses, the more he will be paid."

  The translator explained what was to happen to the human, who failed to hide his surprise quickly enough. Several of the other humans cried out in anger, but Enchus merely turned around and made what looked to be a crude gesture at them with his fingers. Tharok ordered guards to escort the man inside, and watched as Enchus strutted past the other prisoners, chest puffed out, an arrogant sneer on his face. Then nodded to his translator.

  Their interrogations resumed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Audsley was hovering. It was a still night, for which he gave thanks, not wanting to hang and be buffeted by capricious zephyrs. A beautiful night, gorgeous and serene, the air pellucid albeit rather chill, the moon glorious and near full, its face looking so close he felt he could reach out and caress its cheek.

  He'd never risen this high up before. To be quite honest, it was probably unnecessary to have done so, but something had compelled him to keep rising, drawing on the power of his demons, spearing up into the heavens, through a thin layer of clouds and out below the firmament, to become one with the constellations, to pass beyond the realm of the eagles and commune with the infinite.

  He'd wobbled a few times, at first, the sheer scope of the sky around him causing his stomach to twist and feel queer; but by keeping his eyes on the stars, he'd regained his sense of equilibrium and internal equipoise, and now he was quite enjoying just drifting up here, like a boat silently drifting in the center of the greatest lake imaginable. Alone. Inviolate. Above it all.

  Audsley sighed. Tóki would be getting impatient. Tóki and his band of Agerastian and Hrething cutthroats. Waiting, poised, ready to charge across the fields to the postern gate as soon as Audsley gave the sign.

  He looked down. He could barely make out Laur Castle through the diaphanous clouds. A neat little square. It hardly seemed real. Audsley swallowed.

  For what do we wait?

  There was a terrible eagerness in the Zoeian demon's voice. Audsley had almost forgotten that the other two were sequestered inside his skull, and now, having quit the parlor games of Aletheia, he was adjusting to their return.

  Nothing, I suppose. He sounded glum even to his own ears.

  The Zoeian demon pressed forward, its bloodlust evident. Have no fear.

  Well, it's not fear, per se, but rather... well. It is fear. But not of what you think.

  The Sigean monk appeared in his mind's eye beside the Zoeian, his face grave, hands hidden within his sleeves. You cannot involve yourself with the affairs of the world without stepping into the mud.

  Audsley sighed. Precisely so. It's just...

  Why not seize the glory? Descend in a corona of unholy flame. Lay waste to your enemies. Become vengeance. The Zoeian demon's voice was a horrific mixture of pleading and arrogance. No one below can withstand you.

  Audsley pursed his lips. No. That is precisely what I don't wish to do. Now, before I have to listen to this any longer – descend!

  He dropped. Having eschewed the manifold robes of Aletheian custom, he was dressed now in his old Noussian garb, which rippled and fluttered as he fell into the clouds, through that interstice of occult dampness, and then back out into clarity. Down he went, and Laur Castle surged up to meet him.

  Huge walls. Not nearly as big as Kyferin Castle's, but massive nonetheless. Towers every fifty yards, built in the old square configuration around a central keep, brutal and without feature, the whole of it reeking of horse manure and waste, with human life and smoke. Its sheer size was to prove its undoing. A smaller castle, a tidy keep, would have made it impossible for him to find a likely locale; as it was, Audsley angled his drop so that he was descending into a dark corner where a building had been erected against the curtain wall.

  Enhance my vision, if you will. Immediately, the darkness became a smoky gray, the world becoming strangely flat as he developed the ability to pierce the heaviest shadows. My, there truly is a formidable number of soldiers present. The wall bristled with them, a surfeit of weaponry and vigilance that was, understandably, all directed outward. Nobody was watching the sky for errant magisters. Audsley eased the speed of his descent, fearful that the sound of his clothing rippling would give him away, and slid down into the gloom, dropping down past the top of the wall and then hugging its side, down along its pebbled hide till he reached the packed dirt of the bailey.

  He was in.

  Audsley crouched, heart racing like the riffled pages of a book,
one hand on the cold wall, the other adjusting his spectacles as he peered through the dark desperately in search of trouble. He'd come down beside the stables, and the reek of hay and manure was interwoven with the smell of horses and dust. And urine, he realized, wrinkling his nose. The air in this dank corner was acrid and foul with years' worth of piss.

  Making a face, Audsley breathed shallowly through his nose and took in his surroundings. The stables were huge, easily large enough to house some sixty or seventy horses, and even at this hour he could hear activity within: murmurs of annoyance, the stamping of hooves, a bark of vicious laughter.

  He bit his lower lip. There was far too much activity going on for a regular night. Looking out into the bailey proper, he saw wagons being loaded by torchlight, piled high with oats and feed and bundled weapons. Some thirty or forty servants, half of them Bythians, were working under the eye of an important-looking man, racing back and forth as they fetched supplies. They were preparing to march at first light. Was the Ascendant's Grace planning to move on?

  Audsley crept along the stable's side, leaving the great wall behind. All it would take for disaster to strike was for one servant to come around the corner to relieve himself, but he needed to get a better lay of the land before opening the postern gate.

  Mouth dry, throat clamped shut, Audsley peered around the stable's corner. The entirety of the bailey came into view, including the front of the keep. Audsley's heart sank. Horses were being led out of the stables, yawning squires taking the reins from exhausted stable boys. These were being led to the front of the keep, where already a good thirty animals were lined up.

  There was too much activity for Audsley to pull off this attack. Tóki's plan to sneak in through the postern and take the castle by surprise would come to naught if the castle was already on high alert. They'd simply crash into a melee in the bailey and slowly become swamped.

  Audsley stepped back into the shadows and bit his lower lip. What to do? The postern gate was a dozen yards to his right, a small, doubly barred gate used to muck out the stables onto the slope of the hill.

  You know what you have to do, whispered the Zoeian demon.

  I am not going to torch this entire castle, Audsley hissed in his mind.

  The Aletheian demon stepped forward. Have you learned nothing from me, Magister? Appearances are all.

  Audsley paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Appearances? Perhaps he didn't have to torch everybody to accomplish this mission. Maybe he just had to make them think he was willing to.

  The thought terrified him. It would mean subjugating an entire castle filled with knights. Enough! You fought an army of demons! What are a few dozen – or a hundred – knights?

  Sweat ran down the back of his neck as he hurried to the postern gate and carefully opened it, propping each crossbeam against the wall. Casting nervous glances over his shoulder, he cracked the door open and extended his hand, and there summoned a small puff of flame, a flash and nothing more. Invisible to the forces above, but carefully watched for by Tóki and his soldiers.

  Stay calm. Stay calm. You're the one who can throw demon fire, not them. They're the ones in trouble. Remember that! You're the force to be reckoned with!

  Five minutes passed, and then the postern gate eased open and what looked like a bear stepped through. Tóki the Hrething. "Report."

  By the Ascendant, this Hrething was almost as intimidating as Tiron! "The castle is fully awake! They're preparing for a dawn expedition." Audsley felt like apologizing, as if this were all his fault. "Mounts are being prepared. Wagons loaded."

  Tóki was scrutinizing the bailey, taking it all in. He cursed under his breath, little more than a rumble, and then slipped past Audsley to stalk alongside the stable wall. He moved surprisingly quietly for such a large man. He reached the wall's corner and peered out and around.

  A moment later, he was back. "Knights are coming out. This is no dawn expedition. It looks like they plan to ride out before it grows light."

  Audsley felt as if his stomach were full of broken glass. "So, ah, do we proceed?"

  Tóki scowled and shook his head. "Against so many? We don't have the numbers."

  "I, well, perhaps I could help?"

  Tóki's attention was absolute. "How?"

  "Well." Audsley took a deep breath. "I can, ah, how shall I put it, with my, um, abilities, shall we call them –"

  "Speak, Magister!"

  "Fire. And, ah, intimidation. If – well." Audsley closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and forced himself to ignore the grinning faces of the demons. "Call your men in, Tóki. Have them follow me. I will do the rest."

  An aching eternity passed as Tóki considered him, then gave him a curt nod. "Very well." He turned to the gate, gave a low whisper, and soldiers began to file in, all of them clad in black armor like Tóki.

  This was it. Audsley pushed his shoulders back. Now was his time to act. Tóki was watching him. More and more soldiers were filing in. How had they crept up to the wall without being noticed? From the amount of dirt and mud on their armor, he guessed they must have crawled.

  Audsley took a step away from the wall, then a second. Nobody yelled. He fought the urge to cast panicked glances in every direction as he kept walking. The whole point now was to be noticed. So, just walk out into the bailey? That would get him noticed pretty quickly. His stomach was twisting itself into knots. Every instinct told him to keep to the shadows, to run back. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek till it bled and kept walking, feeling with each step as if he were entering his own personal nightmare.

  He left the last of the shadows and rounded the corner of the stable, out into the open. He braced himself for screams, yells, an onslaught of arrows – but nobody reacted. A few stable boys shot him incurious glances as they hurried into the stables but said not a word. Audsley looked down at himself. Well, he did look like a shabby magister. Hardly a lethal threat.

  Hands clenched into fists, he kept going, farther out into the bailey. Numerous people glanced over their shoulders at him, but nobody made a comment until at last one of the Bythians loading a wagon looked past him, let out a cry and dropped his end of a crate. It crashed to the ground, splintering loudly. Curses erupted, then were cut short. Everybody was staring past Audsley. He turned and saw that Tóki had emerged at the head of his warriors, blades drawn.

  "Intruders!" The cries swept from servant to servant, voices raised in horror and alarm. "Intruders in the castle!"

  "Audsley!" Tóki roared. "Act!"

  "Yes, ah –" But how? Nobody was looking at him! How was he supposed to intimidate anyone if they were ignoring him so completely?

  A bell began to ring somewhere, its clangor splitting the night, and all along the walls dozens if not hundreds of archers and sentries wheeled in shock to stare down into the bailey. Servants were scattering, dropping their goods and fleeing in every direction as guards began to pour out of the bases of the towers and knights spilled out from the entrance of the keep.

  "Circle!" Tóki's bark cut through the din. "Circle!" His soldiers, perhaps a hundred in all, quickly formed into a single mass, three deep, shoulder to shoulder. "Wait for the magister, damn you! Hold fast!"

  Audsley heard, somehow, the distinctive yawning stretch of countless bows being drawn. The next second would see Tóki's group slaughtered where they were standing. Audsley felt insignificant, helpless, flustered beyond belief. Torchlight glittered off drawn weapons, horses were rearing and kicking at the air, Laur guards were still rushing out into the bailey in a great mass, and knights were charging down the keep steps, screaming their defiance.

  Time slowed.

  A hundred arrowheads gleamed.

  Tóki's hundred men were surrounded by a tightening cordon of death.

  Now, whispered a tiny voice from the deepest recesses of Audsley's mind. Now.

  Audsley pointed both hands toward the heavens. Flame – a riot of crimson, vermillion, incarnadine and cobalt yello
w – roared upward in a thunderous explosion that thickened as it rose up past the curtain wall. Audsley sagged beneath the pressure of the forces he was unleashing, knees bending, face turning away from the heat.

  More, he whispered to the demons. Give me more!

  The flames redoubled. The echoing, shattering roar resounded off the walls, as if every stone were collapsing inward to bury the bailey. The coruscating light was such that the very night was banished, every man, woman and beast casting shadows so absolute that they were incisions into the void. Audsley dropped to one knee, unable to breathe, the heat parching his lungs. He screwed his eyes shut, felt the skin flaking off his palms, felt the burn reaching down through the flesh to the bones of his hands.

  And yet, there was something powerfully alluring about the burn, about the thought of letting it consume him. Feeding his very soul to that fire. Succumbing on the altar of power. How much could he channel? How much could he destroy before he was himself reduced to ash? What would happen if he swung that column of flame down and to the left? How many lives would he snuff out quicker than he could snap his fingers?

  With a cry, he cut off the blast, dropped his hands, and looked up to see the last wave of flame roll up the column, unfurl into the air high above the castle, then go out in a puff of smoke.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Perhaps that was just his ears ringing.

  Audsley gasped for breath, sweat soaking his clothing from head to toe. A huge wind blew down into the bailey, swirling around and around like a cyclone, sending hay and dirt flying before dying down and fading away.

  Audsley climbed to his feet and looked down at his palms. They were horrifying, but he felt no pain. Leathered flesh had given way, revealing gleaming bone which was swiftly being covered by glistening new skin. He was healing before his own eyes. Gulping, he dropped his hands and looked up.

  Every single person was staring at him. Tóki. His soldiers. The hundred archers who ringed the walls. The countless guardsmen. The dozens of knights. Each and every cowering servant.