When he finished his morning rounds, he made an additional stop to check on their prisoners. Marah had left behind about a hundred Roshan prisoners that he wanted to hang. Olroth wouldn’t let him, claiming they had been spared by the Ghost Warrior.
Lahar made sure guards were posted and the Roshan were locked away. Despite what Olroth said, he knew the Roshan living inside the fortress with them were among their greatest threats. If the decision was his, they would be hanged from the battlements as a warning to Breonna’s thanes.
When he left the wing with the Roshan prisoners, he encountered Kirag, one of the champions from Ironwall. Lahar had forgotten he was in King’s Rest until Marah had left and they sealed the doors.
He was a large man, with shoulders like Tyrus’s, but blond and fair skinned like many of the Hill Folk around Ironwall. His resemblance to some of the Norsil, the size and the thick arms, became more stark when he stood next to Olroth’s thanes.
Kirag approached, and Lahar groaned. They had been talking about the same thing for days. Kirag wanted to join the Ghost Clan, but Lahar had no say in who earned the red mark.
“Milord, if I might speak with you.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“I know, but I offer my services.”
“If you want to stand watch on the battlements, you may. There’s nothing else to do.”
“What must I do to join the Soul of Shinar?”
Lahar stopped trying to walk past the man and turned to give him a cold stare. The Soul of Shinar was dead—the five thousand knights were reduced to a dozen, whom Lahar had disbanded many times. The fact that they refused to leave him had become something of a bad joke, but Lahar considered the order to be gone. He couldn’t tell if Kirag was mocking him.
Kirag said, “I will squire, if I must, to earn the knighthood.”
“You’re a little old.”
“How shall I prove myself?”
“Why did you stay? After the Roshan left, why stay?”
“Marah defeated Azmon. You saw what she did. She is like one of the prophets from the old songs.”
“Everyone in Ironwall wants her dead.”
Kirag gave a sideways glance at a Norsil guard. “I think they’d rather save her and watch the Norsil burn.”
“She won’t leave them, so it’s the same difference.”
“I don’t know. It seems like she left them.”
Lahar sighed. He had felt abandoned as well. “Perhaps she did.”
He reconsidered Kirag. Lahar had no intention of creating more knights, but the two of them had spent many months training together in Ironwall. If Marah gave him a red rune, he would be an asset. He was a talented sellsword, but the Knights existed in name only. They were slowly dying out, one at a time, and adding new blood felt wrong, especially if they weren’t Shinari.
Kirag asked, “Do you think she will chase Azmon across the sea? I’ve never been so far east before. But I will go. I would enjoy taking the fight to them.”
“I don’t know if Marah is coming back.”
“But she must. And when she does, it is better to fight Azmon on his own soil. We should burn their cities for a change.”
“We have to save this one first.”
“How may I help?”
Lahar wanted to send him away, but he couldn’t waste an idle man. They had a weird moment in which they both reappraised one another, and Lahar explained his schedule. Three times a day, he checked windows and doors. He asked Kirag to do the same, except in the opposite order, so they could meet in the middle. Lahar would still check the doors that Kirag had checked, but that way if someone broke in, Lahar had one more set of lungs screaming for help.
Kirag took to the assignment right away. “Milord, does this make me a squire?”
“Nope.”
Kirag deflated. “Ah, I see.”
“Let’s survive this mess and talk rank afterwards.”
Kirag set off to run his rounds, and he seemed to have more purpose than the warriors skulking about the hallways. Lahar reminded himself that the siege would wear down many of the men and he should find things to occupy their minds. He was driving himself mad, patrolling a fortress with plenty of guards. He sighed and continued checking windows. Each time he told himself to ease up on his watch, he imagined thanes attacking the families, and he renewed his patrols.
Lahar ended his rounds in the throne room, where he found Larz and Olroth waiting for him. He had nothing new to report and was about to say as much when he noticed the tension in the room. Larz was scowling like a tutor at a misbehaving student, and Olroth had crossed his massive arms across his chest and glared back.
Lahar had hoped the infighting might wait a little while longer.
Larz said, “I was saying to Olroth that there is no need to waste supplies on the Roshan prisoners.”
Lahar agreed. “They should be hanged.”
“The Ghost Warrior did not want them harmed.” Olroth spoke as though he explained simple things to stupid men. “We were told to hold them prisoner.”
“Feeding them takes food away from the families.”
“The Ghost Warrior did not—”
“We know,” Larz said, “but it is not practical to keep prisoners during a siege.”
Lahar asked Olroth, “You want to feed them?”
“It is not a question of want. We were told not to kill them.”
Lahar said, “We were also told to defend the Keep. We can’t do that if we all starve.”
Larz Kedar said, “The very point I was trying to make.”
“I understand the point.” Olroth glared at Larz again. “But we were told to keep them alive, so they will live.”
Lahar asked Olroth, “You’ll fight us to defend them?”
“Why would you make me do that?”
“What if we shoved them out the door?”
“Breonna will kill them.” Olroth sighed. “We were told—”
“I know,” Lahar said. “This is an argument for another day.”
Larz paced and continued arguing. He lectured them both on rationing, talking at length about how they must be disciplined from the beginning. He had calculations for their stores. Lahar forced a tight smile and glanced at Olroth, who rolled his eyes. Olroth looked pained, as though begging Lahar to silence the fool, but Lahar wondered how they had forgotten the Roshan.
After the sinkhole opened, everyone had worried about Breonna and the demon tribes. No one had mentioned the Roshan prisoners at all.
The oversight made Lahar worry about what else they had overlooked.
He had more pressing concerns, like Olroth’s fanaticism. The behavior from a man painted white shouldn’t have surprised him. Olroth followed Marah’s every instruction, but feeding Roshan soldiers over Norsil families surprised Lahar. The reasons to let the Roshan die were too numerous to count. Lahar saw that as the problem, though—Olroth didn’t care about reason. Lahar tried to remember if Marah had made any other edicts.
Lahar interrupted Larz. “We don’t know how long Marah will be gone.”
“Months at the least,” Larz said. “The Underworld is vast.”
“Well, maybe Breonna will be open to trading.”
“For what?”
“We still have her sons. I’m sure we don’t want to feed them either.”
Olroth shook his head. Lahar wondered if the sons were also protected by Marah’s edict, but he didn’t bother to ask. They were too valuable to kill. Talk turned to the tasks of feeding everyone. Olroth wanted the wives to take care of it, insisting that they knew best, but Larz wanted to oversee the process. Lahar realized they were arguing about how to boil oats, and he lost interest.
He wondered how the Ghost Clan would react to protecting the Shinari and Gadarans. Did they consider them in the same light as the Roshan? Lahar couldn’t tell, and he worried that
the siege might unravel from the inside.
His father’s chair sat against one wall, on a raised dais. Lahar found it strange that of all the rooms to meet in, they had chosen the throne room—tradition perhaps, but he hated the sight of the chair. It brought back unwanted memories of a life he kept trying to forget. The throne mocked him. Lahar, King in Exile of Shinar, had inherited an impoverished kingdom. His domain was so small he could patrol all four doors several times a day.
The thought made him chuckle.
Larz Kedar asked, “Do we amuse you?”
“Not really. No.”
Larz sighed. “Sieges are won and lost by discipline.”
“I’m familiar with the concept.” Lahar held up a hand for patience. “Olroth, your people must have endured long winters before. They know how to stretch the oats?”
“Of course.”
“You see, Larz, there’s no need to stir their pots for them.”
The sorcerer flushed almost as red as his robes. Lahar couldn’t tell if the man was angry or embarrassed. He didn’t care. They had wasted enough time on rations. A paranoid thought made him listen for doors breaking or screams in the keep, but he heard nothing. He resisted the urge to check all the entry points again and turned the conversation to the archers, thanes, and sorcerers keeping the watch. Olroth seemed to appreciate the change in topic, and Larz moved on to discuss various strategies for keeping Breonna’s sorcerers in check.
II
Breonna wore a hood and stayed in the shadows of an alleyway. Orfeo stood by her side. King’s Rest was sealed and well guarded, but the rest of Shinar was hers for the taking. She spied on the fortress for hours, wondering if Marah had really left.
“This seems too easy.”
Orfeo said, “Storming the keep is impossible.”
“There are only a few hundred in there, mostly women and children.”
“A prophet built those walls. Unlike all the villas, the same wards that protect Shinar protect the keep. Even if they didn’t have archers and sorcerers, those doors are as hard as steel. Our only option is to starve them.”
“We can climb the walls.”
“Their sorcerers will burn your thanes.”
“That’s why I hired you.”
Breonna hesitated. Marah and Tyrus abandoned the city, and she could not shake the feeling of the keep sitting before her as a well-baited trap. Maybe Orfeo spoke true, and they expected her to waste her strength on the fortress. She second-guessed herself once more, resisting the urge to order thanes to scale the walls. If Breonna had a say in the matter, she would have sent warriors to help the dwarves and defended the city herself. She thought Tyrus would have stayed too, which meant they were either hiding somewhere close, or they knew something she didn’t.
She asked, “Can you tell if she is really gone?”
“I believe so.”
“We should move quickly, then—take the keep before she returns.”
“She won’t return,” Orfeo said. “The Underworld is a dangerous place. Those foolish enough to travel into the depths are rarely seen again. We can continue claiming the port towns and let King’s Rest starve.”
“The Dark Walker will come back.”
“My people learned a long time ago to stay on the ocean. The Underworld is a graveyard.”
“I’ve seen him fight. He’ll survive.”
“It won’t matter now that we control the city. Shinar’s Walls have rebuked armies for centuries.”
Breonna grunted. “Then why is the place burnt?”
Orfeo said nothing, and Breonna glared at King’s Rest. Tyrus had given her a gift that she could not trust. She had to move against the keep, but she studied the surrounding area, wondering what traps she would spring. The Kassiri had their tricks. She knew the keep would claim more thanes, but she couldn’t tell how many. Fighting stone infuriated her. If she were going into battle against a rival clan or a pack of purims, she could guess at the losses, but the imposing walls were an unknown.
Then she considered the matter of her sons, held hostage. Tyrus had already cost her three sons. Two, Balbos and Barros, were dead, and her strongest son, Torvos, had abandoned her, refusing to accept her marriage to an outlander. With Tyrus gone and Shinar close to being hers, she could send word to Torvos to bring his clans east.
First things first, she reminded herself. “I want my sons.”
“Give them a chance to leave in peace.”
Breonna glanced at him, confused.
“Let them hand over your sons, and in exchange, you’ll let them leave Shinar unmolested.”
She shook her head. “That is not our way.”
“We have the city. The only thing of value in there is your sons. Allow my people to put the Ghost Clan on a ship and sail them to the Burning Isles.”
“Olroth would never believe such an offer.”
“Other than safe passage, I’m not sure what we can trade for your sons.”
Breonna thought on that as she headed to her villa. They needed to reach a bargain before Olroth decided to kill her sons. When their supplies began to dwindle, he would feed his children before hers. She considered many different bribes, but she knew Olroth. The stubborn fool would reject her offers because they came from her. She decided to try, though. Buying her sons back might be better than risking their lives with an assault.
The next day, Breonna and her clan marched on King’s Rest. They formed a mob in the city streets leading to the courtyard and sent forth a volunteer to deliver terms. A giant whisperer, wearing his white attire, walked into the courtyard within range of Olroth’s archers. The battlements filled with people, and Breonna noted the red robes of sorcerers among scores of archers. Windows and arrow slits darkened with silhouettes as well.
She counted hundreds of archers.
The giant whisperer shouted in Jakan, “Queen Breonna, daughter of Kolzak, grandson of Kordel, offers mercy. Open your doors. Deliver her sons, unharmed, and she will allow all of the Norsil who were fooled by the Kassiri sorcery to renounce the Ghost Clan. Any who renounce may claim a place in exile. Your families, your children will live out their days as free people in the lands beyond the sea.”
The words echoed across the courtyard. No one answered, and Breonna watched the red robes for betrayal. She had her own sorcerers spread throughout her thanes in case they answered with fire.
A gray-haired man appeared on the battlements. Breonna recognized Olroth and noted the two Kassiri who stood beside him. They were the ones she must break if she wanted to see her sons again.
Olroth shouted, “The Norsil don’t have queens.”
Breonna kept her face calm, but she wanted to snarl at Olroth. He would kneel before a little Kassiri girl but not her. Outlanders meant more to him than his own people. The hypocrisy inspired a dangerous anger that she worked to contain.
The giant whisperer checked with her, and she gave a slight nod.
He said, “Queen Breonna knew the Kassiri would run away. She knew the Ghost Warrior was not a little girl, but she understands how many could believe the lies of sorcerers. Renounce the Ghost Clan, and all will be forgiven. A ship stands ready for the families who beg her forgiveness.”
Breonna expected an arrow to silence the giant whisperer, but once again, silence answered instead. The city filled with the slight rustling of thousands of people as they strained to hear what happened next.
Olroth shouted, “The Ghost Warrior will return more powerful than when she left. Make use of your ships… and leave while you can.”
Breonna turned to Orfeo. “Can you count their sorcerers?”
“I’ve seen five since we came here. But the number isn’t as important as the quality.”
“And what do you know about their quality?”
“Little, other than the Red Tower has a fearsome reputation.”
Breonna gestured a
t her thanes. “Send in the rest.”
Two other giant whisperers entered the courtyard. The three knelt a few yards from the staircase leading to the keep’s doors. They began to chant “Renounce and leave in peace” in the three languages of Shinar. One shouted the offer in Nuna and lowered his head. Another shouted the offer in Kasdin and lowered his head. The third shouted the offer in Jakan and lowered his head. Then the first started the chant again. Their cries became a high-pitched keening, and they rocked as they yelled at King’s Rest.
Breonna watched the battlements. Olroth and his two friends withdrew while the whisperers continued to scream at the keep. She had arranged for others to relieve the three in shifts. At the very least, her sons would hear that she had not forgotten them.
Orfeo asked, “Is there a chance he’ll accept the offer?”
“Olroth is made of iron, but the families might listen.”
Breonna signaled her men, and many of them returned to the business of settling Shinar. They had villas to rebuild and fresh arrivals to settle. Plus, she had to work with the Sea Kings to control the coastlines. A smaller force watched the keep, and if the doors opened, they would sound the horns.
She would let them wait before she tested their defenses.
III
Lahar had listened to the messengers wail for days. Dozens of men in white wrappings took shifts screaming at King’s Rest, and the constant irritant had become worse than a toothache. The sound became a constant companion, like an annoying flock of gulls that would not stop circling the keep. He was impressed that something so simple could be so disruptive.
He found himself struggling to sleep, and late at night when the dawn was still hours away, he lay in his bed dreaming of opening the gates to charge the screamers. He had groaned and buried his ears in blankets instead.
They moved the families deeper within the keep so they could rest more, and everyone else fought an urge to silence the messengers with arrows. Olroth claimed it was bad luck to kill a giant whisperer, and that had led to a brief discussion of the giants in the wastelands. Lahar had heard stories of the creatures but never seen one himself.
Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4) Page 38
