Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  The youth nodded in understanding and came to stand before him. They went over what was needed, and he watched as Serix said the words of magic, and opened the portal one last time.

  “Destroy that staff when you come through the other side. The Phoenix created it, which means she is still linked to it in some ways. Don’t bring that into the castle or she might have a window in which to eavesdrop and counteract your plans,” he warned Serix.

  “I will,” the necromancer promised, then stepped into the light and winked out of sight. The portal pulsed for one second, then disappeared.

  He had done what he could to help Lancaster; the rest was up to them.

  Bending over, he put a hand on the orc’s pauldrons. “I think its best we get you out of that armor. It’s going to get hot, and you’re going to cook in your own personal oven.”

  “Kore not leave armor,” the warrior stated bluntly.

  “We’ll put it in your cloak. You can carry it on your back, until we either find some shade, or you get too tired and have to ditch it, okay?” he countered and the orc wearily nodded.

  Merlin took one last look at the beach and the cold sea. He wished he had a thousand boats to load the people of the lands on and sail them to distant shores. Yet he knew it wouldn’t matter. North America, South America—wherever they hid, the Phoenix would follow. Only by the time she reached them, she’d be too powerful to stop; their chance to defeat her lost forever.

  “Come on, let’s go. We’ve got a few things to do before rejoining the others,” he told his unarmored friend.

  After devesting the warrior of his armor, the two companions began their trek towards the rising sun, and back to the war that awaited them.

  Chapter 1

  War

  I

  John was in full armor, brown hair whipping in the early morning breeze, his hand firmly on the pommel of his sword. His brown eyes were focused on the horizon and the smoke spreading across it; hardened features fixed with stern determination. He pounded down the stone steps of the keep and towards the horse being held ready for him by a squire. Another young man was sprinting his way from the city interior and as John swung his leg over his saddle, the youth came to an abrupt halt at his side.

  “Sire, the enemy has stopped their attack,” the messenger gasped, bending over, trying to catch his breath.

  Of course they had.

  Their sinister plot to insert goblins through the keep’s dungeons in order to open the gates from within had failed; barely. He had narrowly prevented the attack and the assassin that had killed his parents was well beyond his reach. He was sure that traitorous scum had arrived at the enemy encampment and was even now relaying their failure to secure entry into the castle. The enemy commander did the only sensible thing; he called off the attack.

  The question was, for how long?

  As he rode through the quiet streets on his way to meet with his generals, he listened to the damage reports, and was satisfied that only superficial damage had been sustained. The trenches they’d been working on all week had kept the enemy at bay while his archers picked them off, suffering only minimal casualties from enemy archers in return. His clerics were already seeing to the wounded and fresh soldiers had been stationed on the wall in their place.

  He knew that they’d come very close to losing everything, and he swore on his murdered father that it’d never happen again.

  Approaching the inner wall, he turned to one of the towers on the right. Guards lined the battlements above, but hopefully their work would be non-existent, as they were held in reserve in case the outer wall fell. He prayed it wouldn’t get that far. He quickly dismounted, handed off the reins of his horse, and strode towards the tower entrance. One of his aides opened the tower door and he began his climb towards the command center above.

  Just below the entrance to where his generals waited, he paused at a window and looked south. The castle had four entrances, each for a point on the compass, and he had expected the western gate to be where the enemy would encamp. They’d focused most of their remodeled defenses in that area. Obviously, the opposing commander had been leaked intel on that fact, as they had moved south of the burned city and camped just north of Crystal Cove.

  Would the full extent of Clint’s treachery ever be revealed?

  The city was still smoldering and the enemy had begun picking through its remains. Soon, they’d be clearing it for their forces’ approach. He hoped that none of his people had remained out there and cringed at the thought of what was happening to any that chose to stay.

  In the distance, he could see the opposing army, and his heart filled with dread. It stretched across the horizon in numbers that he didn’t even want to try and guess at. The sheer size of it humbled him. This would be a costly victory, or a devastating defeat. Lancaster had never fallen to siege, and as he began taking the steps once more; he renewed his determination that this would not be the first.

  “Welcome to the war,” General Brasten greeted, as John walked through the tower door. They were in a fairly large room at the top of the tower, its windows wider than others to provide better perspective on attacking enemy forces. Four such towers existed, and depending on the main force’s placement, each could be used for the castle’s defenders to strategize and watch their foe.

  “I heard you had some problems back at the palace,” Brasten continued, as he turned away from a window and faced the man.

  General Mark Brasten was the eldest of his commanders and was second in command of the army. He had short cropped silver hair, shallow cheeks, and a square chin. His hazel eyes washed over his new King, as if sizing the youth’s current state. It had been a long week for all of them, and he knew that his commanders would be wary of his decisions the longer this went on. He was new to command, having always deferred to his father before, and they were eager to see if the son would live up to his father’s abilities to lead.

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he smiled grimly back, eyes turning to the others gathered around the table in the center. A large model of their fortress was upon the table’s surface and his eyes scanned the placement of the enemy forces. “You should know, Clint betrayed us to the enemy. We were almost overrun from within.”

  A stout dwarf sat on a higher bench to his right, the shortened arms adjusting enemy positions as aides relayed them to their commander. General Bendor Firefist was the leader of his army and bore the sole responsibility for keeping them all safe. Though John was King and his input greatly considered, it was Bendor’s choice in the end the best plan of action to enact. There was no purpose for such a post and responsibility if it could be undercut and taken away by an inexperienced King; it would diminish the efficiency of their defending forces.

  As Bendor had tutored John on most of his military tactics, he was confident the dwarf was always two steps ahead of him anyways, thinking further down the road than the rest and seeing the whole picture; not their individual pieces. The dwarf’s brown and gray hair was tucked behind his ears, the long beard nearly dragging across the table. He was wearing a brown jerkin and black pants, his armor on a stand in the corner to be adorned when needed. The dwarf enjoyed freedom of movement and rarely wore armor unless doing battle himself.

  General Roland Woodhurst was standing at Bendor’s side, listening to the troop deployments, and trying to spy weaknesses in the enemy’s placement. He was commander of the cavalry and when it came to siege warfare, he was next to useless within the castle walls. John knew the general was working out ways to harry the enemy on the grasslands beyond, eager to get into the fight himself.

  Standing at a window that looked west, was his commander of the auxiliary, General Brigette McKnight. She had short black hair and devastating blue eyes. Her skin was tanned and a scar pitted her right cheek from some distant battle they’d all forgotten. She had traveled with Griedlok’s forces during the Cleansing as an advisor. His father had greatly appreciated her tactical genius and ability to
anticipate enemy movements. Though women were not common within the army, she had proven herself more than a match for her male counterparts.

  The final member of their council was missing and he wondered where General Thomas Cox had gotten off to? He was the commander of the infantry and his input on the readiness of their forces was vital going forth. They couldn’t plan an attack if they didn’t know how many capable soldiers they had to command.

  “Where’s Thomas?” he asked Bendor as he leaned over the table, eyeing the changes being made.

  “Seein’ tae th’ woonded. Th’ laddie wanted tae dae ‘at personally,” Bendor replied with discontent; obviously not agreeing with his subordinate’s decision. Why then, had the dwarf allowed it? Obviously, he knew what John was thinking and continued on. “He gae me his report afair takin’ aff. Fower thoosain ready tae tak’ th’ field, fifteen hunder in reserve, an’ ower nane hunder recruits still tay green tae dae anythin’ but flin’ rocks at th’ enemy.”

  He knew the opposing army numbered at least four times that; he didn’t like the odds.

  “He’s got to learn to not be so close to the men under his command. It’s only going to get harder going forth, and he’ll have difficulty sacrificing them if the situation calls for it,” Roland interjected, the older man obviously agreeing with the dwarf’s reservations.

  “Och aye laddie, but it’s easier taught than tauld. Lit heem be. He’s yoong an’ he’ll either buck up ur be mustered it,” Bendor told them, finally finished updating the model before them. “Sae, Clint’s a traitur, huh?”

  The dwarf had been listening.

  “He killed my parents, tried to kill my brother, and let goblins in through a secret entrance in the dungeons. Is there a word stronger than traitor for something like that?” he asked his assembled comrades.

  Brigette broke from the window and approached him, eyes calculating. “I never did like that bastard. Your father should have gotten rid of him a long time ago. Never was worth a shit.”

  Roland had begun cursing as well.

  Bendor simply sat on his bench, staring at the model castle before them. “Ah feared as much. He’s probably leaked everythin’ he’s heard in uir cooncils an aw. We’re gonnae hae tae rethink everythin’. Start ower.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Roland growled. “Another attack can begin at any moment, it’s too late to start making changes now.”

  “Are they concentrating on the southern wall?” he asked, making sure that he was interpreting things right.

  Bendor nodded. “Och aye, an’ goblins make up th’ bulk ay their forces. Those vermin ur idiotic an’ cannae fin’ their asses wi’ a map an’ a mirror; sae, we hae ‘at gonnae fur us. Fur th’ moment, they ur concentratin’ oan overwhelmin’ a body dyke by sheer numbers, but considerin’ hoo mony ur it thaur, they coods surround aw fower an’ still burst us bonnie stoaner.”

  “We need to find a way to take out their siege engines,” his cavalry commander directed towards Brigette, who grimaced and looked like she’d already been thinking along those lines.

  “From what we can see, they have eight or so trebuchets they’re moving into place, as well as ten or so siege towers. For all I know, more are being brought or constructed from the surrounding forest. Either way, I expect that the trebuchets will be operational before dusk,” Brigette informed them.

  He shook his head with despair. Constant bombardment was to be expected, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “So soon?”

  “Soon, Sire?” Brigette asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re lucky we’re not getting hit already. Our men would’ve had those machines maintenanced and ready to go to work long before the first attack. That they’re not, just shows an ineptitude for what they’re doing. You can whip a slave forward, but you can’t make him think harder. No, be glad that this morning’s attack was not with the support of artillery or Thomas would be assuaging many more widows right now.”

  “Brigette!” Roland scolded.

  “What? Don’t tell me you don’t know how much of a womanizer that man is,” she replied coldly. “He uses his rank to woo as many women as he can, then dumps them as soon as he’s had his fill. If he’s not sleeping in three different beds a week—”

  “Oh, that’s bullshit,” Roland interrupted, scowling at her.

  Brigette’s eyes flared, her dander up. “He’s already made his way through every brothel in town; what is left other than grieving widows for him to stick his dick into?”

  Bendor was rolling his eyes and about to intervene when John slammed his fist into the table top. “Enough! Just hours ago, a man we all trusted, betrayed us, and is out there right now telling the enemy commanders everything they need to know to get in here and wipe us out. We can’t spend what little time we have fighting amongst ourselves. Now, let’s get to work and figure out what we need to do!”

  “Whit ur we gonnae dae?” Bendor asked his King curiously, obviously eager to change the subject.

  Suddenly he felt like he had put on the spot; being tested by his former tutor. He knew the dwarf already had plans of his own, and he was checking to see if John was worthy enough to be a part of them. He focused his mind and looked at the model, trying to figure where to start.

  The door opened and Thomas entered, followed by Windel quickly upon his heels. The aide had changed from his Guardians uniform and was wearing a simple tunic and brown jeans. He looked more comfortable, but his face was uneasy. This was the first time he’d be around the generals in his new position and he sympathized with the elf’s uneasiness.

  “Sae, th’ new aide och aye?” Bendor rounded about and eyed the youth. “Heard we owe ye uir li’es an’ ‘at Ah gie cheers. However, bein’ a newborn runt means bein’ whieest an’ waitin’ fur orders, understuid?”

  He felt defensive of his new companion and wanted to rush to the elf’s defense, but he couldn’t argue with what Bendor said. Saving his life and those of his people did not mean the aide had anything to contribute to military matters. To his credit, Windel simply nodded, and came to stand by John’s side.

  “Are the grieving widows feeling satisfied?” Brigette asked the infantry commander.

  Thomas flushed and began fidgeting with something on his collar. “Clerics are tending to the wounded and fresh soldiers have rotated onto the battlements. We await your command,” Thomas told Bendor, ignoring Brigette’s question the best he could. He couldn’t meet any of the eyes staring at him, and the shifting of his weight told John that Brigette might have been right after all. Well, they might all be dead soon, so he couldn’t hold anything against the youth for trying to live his life while it was still his to live.

  “Och aye, och aye, we ken ‘at,” Bendor growled. “If ye huvnae got anythin’ new, sit doon an’ try tae be useful.” Then the dwarf looked to John with an impatient wave of his fingers.

  He leaned forward and began, “supply trains are still coming in and we need to take them out. Get the horde starving and they’ll be less willing to follow orders, and might turn on their whip masters.”

  The dwarven general nodded and motioned for him to go on.

  “We take out the patrols here and here,” he told them, indicating troop placements to the north. “Then send our cavalry out to attack their supply lines. They’ll rush to intercept, drawing them along the west wall where our archers can pick some of them off. While the horde army is scrambling to protect their food, we send another force of cavalry from the east gate south, come along the rear of the horde encampment, and take out every siege engine we can find before our enemy realizes what we’re doing. Brigette, we’ll need artillery support for both attacks. If we’re lucky, the horde will be drawn between the two and have to choose which one they want more, their food or their siege engines.”

  Bendor was nodding with approval but Thomas looked disappointed. Neither attack would require infantry involvement; he’d be stuck behind the wall watching from afar. It was an over eagerness that was
misplaced; they would all see combat soon enough, and long for the days of peace and quiet.

  “If we are going to pull this off, we need speed, which means light horse,” he told the young general and Roland pounded Thomas on the back with a grin.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll save you plenty,” Roland chuckled.

  A runner came in and approached Windel, drawing John’s eye. “What’s going on? Has the attack resumed?”

  Windel dismissed the man, his face confused, as if not sure how to proceed. “Sire, a mage has arrived and seeks admission to the war council. He’s come to offer his help.”

  “We don’t need any stinking mages,” Mark growled, speaking for the first time since just after his arrival. The general had been quietly listening in the background, measuring everything being said. John knew that when the man spoke, it was after a lot of consideration; the words picked out precisely.

  “Is it Merlin?” he asked, eyes dancing. If the mage had returned, had his brother come with them? He tried to think of what he’d say, whether he could trust anything the other man had to offer, but Windel was shaking his head.

  “No Sire, I don’t know who he is,” the aide told him reluctantly.

  “My name is Serix,” spoke a black robed man as he entered the room. His cowl was back and there was a small grin upon his face. His general’s all went for their weapons, but the man raised both hands to show he meant no harm. “I’m not here to fight, I’m here to offer assistance. Judging by what I’ve seen, you can use all the help you can get.”

  Bendor grunted. “Ne’er hud use fur magic laddie. Gezz an axe an’ a heed tae cleae, that’s aw Ah pure need.”

  The others murmured in agreement, but the mage was not deterred.

  “Are you in league with Merlin?” he pushed, trying to gauge the man that had interrupted their war council.

  “Your enemy has no such qualms master dwarf. They will hit you with whatever they can, as hard as they can. As to you, your Majesty, yes, I am working with Merlin, but that doesn’t mean what I have to offer should be disregarded because of it,” Serix told him, coming to stand before John. Windel had taken a step closer, a hand on his weapon, but John had yet to feel like it’d be necessary.