Caledor

by Gav Thorpe

  The lieutenant broke into a run, shouting to the others by the road. Carathril headed after him, calling for the company to fall in. There was anarchy and dissent. Some of the warriors, like Aerenis, had family outside the city and wished to return to their homes to warn of the Naggarothi attack.

  ‘They will fall upon Eataine like a cloud of wrath,’ Aerenis implored, grabbing Carathril by the sleeve of his robe. ‘We cannot leave our people ignorant of the threat.’

  Carathril could see that order would not be easy to restore. He darted a look to seaward and saw the first of the hawkships was gliding up to the harbour. The boarding gantries were already being swung over the side.

  ‘Those who will return to Lothern, come with me,’ he said quickly, his gaze roving over the company. ‘Those that wish to see families safe, go to them as swiftly as possible and bring them to the city. If you cannot do that, I suggest that you head for the sanctuary of Caledor. I do not think the Naggarothi will dare the ire of the dragon princes.’

  As nearly a third of the company split away, heading north and westwards, Carathril delayed Aerenis with a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Fetch your family and bring them to Lothern,’ said the former herald. ‘Bring as many people from Hal Mentheon as you can.’

  Aerenis nodded.

  ‘Make sure you keep the gates open for us,’ he said. ‘It will take two days and more to reach them and return.’

  ‘I will make sure the prince sends out the army to provide escort for you,’ promised Carathril. ‘I have to go now. Take care of yourself, my friend.’

  ‘And you, my captain,’ said Aerenis.

  Carathril stood for a moment and watched as Aerenis hurried along the road, chasing after the dwindling group of silver and green moving quickly to the west. The captain turned back to the east and signalled for the remaining members of the company to form up. He looked down at the harbour and felt a twinge of guilt as lines of black-and-silver snaked from the docked ships into the fishing town. There was nothing his small company could do against the several thousand Naggarothi landing on the shore. His duty was to warn the people of Lothern and ensure the sea gates were closed.

  He set off at a brisk march, the company falling in behind, and blocked out the first shouts and screams that were carried to him on the sea breeze.

  Banks of cloud had swept over the countryside, swathing Eataine in darkness, the light of the moons a dim glimmer to the east. In the gloom, dozens of fires burned, stretching along the coast as towns and villages were consumed by flames set by the Naggarothi. From the wall of Lothern, Carathril could see other lights too; the brands carried by the soldiers of the prince stretching in long lines towards the city, guiding the refugees to sanctuary.

  There had been pitifully few over the last day and a half; no more than a few thousand had been able to flee the Naggarothi attack. Aerenis had not yet reported back to the barracks and Carathril feared the worst for his friend, though he harboured a small hope that he had reached the city unseen by the captain and was busy attending to his family.

  A gong rang loudly over the city and Carathril turned. Bathed in the pale glow of the Glittering Tower, Lothern was quiet, subdued by the Naggarothi offensive. More lights clustered between the two great sea gates, shining from lamps upon the ships of the Eataine fleet; dozens of vessels that had sought safe harbour from the captured Tiranoc ships prowling along the coast.

  There had been many who had argued for the prince to open the sea gates and let loose the wrath of the fleet against the raiders, but such counsel had been refused. Aerethenis, nephew to slain Haradrin, had little support in his new position and was loath to risk Lothern’s ships; the kingdom’s greatest weapon. It was a hard-hearted decision to abandon the folk of Eataine to the merciless Naggarothi, but Carathril agreed with his ruler. There was no sense in risking an invasion of the harbour.

  The gates below Carathril swung open again as a crowd of elves surged along the road, escorted by companies of knights with pale-green pennants. The refugees looked haggard, having been harried across the pastures and meadows, and many of the knights were wounded, their armour dented and injuries bandaged. Carathril scanned the faces of the elves passing into the gate and gave a cry of relief when he spied Aerenis.

  Carathril dashed down the steps to the square behind the gatehouse. He found Aerenis amongst the crowd, three female elves and two young boys with him.

  ‘Praise Asuryan that you are safe,’ said Carathril.

  Aerenis looked at him with a bleak expression.

  ‘Asuryan deserves no praise for what has befallen us,’ said the lieutenant. ‘It was the flame of Asuryan that scorched Malekith and unleashed this war upon us.’

  Carathril was shocked by his friend’s words and could think of no reply. Aerenis said nothing more as he guided his family across the square, to where residents of Lothern were waiting with food, blankets and healing tinctures.

  The thunder of hooves on cobbles caused Carathril to draw back as the knights rode back through the gate. Their captain, his green plume sparkling in the light of the Glittering Tower, pulled his mount to a stop beside the gatehouse.

  ‘Close the gate!’ he bellowed. ‘The enemy have reached the Anir Morien!’

  ‘What of the rest of the army?’ Carathril called out. ‘We cannot abandon them.’

  The captain looked down at Carathril, his expression one of surprise.

  ‘What army?’ the captain said with a bitter laugh. ‘Those torches you see are carried by the Naggarothi! A few companies hold Tir Athenor, others have fled to the Inner Sea. The Naggarothi will be at the city by dawn.’

  Carathril’s chest tightened and his legs weakened at the news. The captain’s words had carried across to others in the square. Shouts of dismay and cries of panic echoed from surrounding buildings. Anir Morien was the closest of the watch towers beyond the walls, and if it had fallen the Naggarothi would control an important harbour on the Inner Sea.

  The crowd surged further into the city, spreading the dreadful news.

  ‘Man the walls, I shall ride to the prince,’ said the knight captain.

  Without waiting for a reply, he wheeled his horse away and clattered across the square, leaving Carathril aghast. Having heard the dire tidings, many soldiers were leaving the wall, eager to see their families.

  ‘Back to your posts!’ Carathril roared, unsheathing his sword. ‘You best serve your loved ones behind your spears and shields!’

  A few disobeyed the order and headed into the city, but most were cowed by Carathril’s words and filed back into the towers, grim-faced. The former herald sprang back up the steps to the gatehouse and fixed his gaze to the west. The flickers of the Naggarothi torches crept closer as he looked, moving through fields and woods like serpents of flame.

  ‘Sound the alarm,’ said Carathril, turning to a hornblower beside him.

  The musician wetted his lips and lifted the long white horn to his mouth. He let loose a pealing blast that reverberated across the city. Within moments it was taken up by those in the other towers, the warning echoing across Lothern, bells and gongs ringing out in answer.

  In the distance, a greater light broke the night; flames from a burning manse upon a distant hilltop. Carathril could see nothing of the Naggarothi save for the sea of brands coming ever closer.

  ‘Archers!’ called Carathril.

  He dashed into one of the guard towers and took up a bow and quiver for himself. Returning to the wall, he found several hundred elves assembling to either side of the gate, arrows nocked, eyes straining against the night.

  ‘Mark the fires,’ said Carathril, stringing a shaft.

  The Naggarothi were still some distance away, well out of bowshot. Something whined in the darkness and a hail of barb-tipped bolts crashed against the stone of the gatehouse a short distance away. Hidden by the darkness, the crews of the Naggarothi war engines could easily see the defenders on the wall and towers.

  ‘Douse
the lanterns,’ Carathril ordered. ‘Pass the word to douse the lanterns.’

  Like a blanket draped across the fortifications, the lamps were extinguished, darkness spreading to the north and south, leaving only the faint glimmer of moonlight and the reflected glow of the sea to the south.

  The city’s bolt throwers returned the volleys of the enemy, launching salvoes of spear-sized shafts towards the approaching glow of the Naggarothi army. The night was silent save for the slap of rope on wood and the swish of bolts cutting the air. Not even a cry could yet be heard, though Carathril was sure the bolt thrower crews would have found some target.

  In response, the Naggarothi put out their brands, the guttering of the flames sending a chill through Carathril, the countryside around the city become as dark as the sky. Robbed of their marks, the war engines of both sides were stilled and a queer calm descended. There were mutters and whispers from the elves around Carathril until he silenced them with a sharp word.

  All eyes and ears were strained for any sign of the Naggarothi. The stone of the road was like a pale ribbon that wound through the hills until it could no longer be seen in the distance. The wind sighed against the stone and fluttered the banners at their poles atop the tower roofs.

  Time passed, the moons sinking lower in the sky, increasing the darkness.

  Then came the first noise of the Naggarothi; a distant jingling of mail shirts, the clop of hooves on the road and the padding of thousands of booted feet. Here and there, Carathril spied a brief glimmer of light as the dim glow of the moons reflected off a helm or spear tip.

  The air was growing colder still. Unnaturally so, thought Carathril. He could feel the churn of magic in the air and so could the other defenders. Whispers of sorcery spread along the wall and there were muttered incantations to ward away the dark magic.

  Still the air grew colder, until the breaths of the soldiers were a mist in the pale moonlight. Carathril flexed his fingers on his bow to ease their stiffness, but would not dip his aim for a moment. He stared intently along the shaft, seeking some target upon which he could loose the arrow, but he saw nothing but vague shadows and glimmers.

  The chilling air set his joints to aching and a rime of frost was creeping across the stones of the wall, the flags hanging limply as ice crackled on the embroidered banners. The bow began to tremble in Carathril’s grasp and his shoulders ached with the strain of holding it up. Around him, archers were uttering hushed curses, blowing on their fingers, stamping their feet.

  Harsh words split the air a moment before a dark cloud of shafts lifted out from the darkness, hundreds of serrated tips shining as they arced up towards the wall. The defenders threw themselves to the rampart as the rain of missiles clattered against the stone. Here and there an elf cried out, pierced by a shaft, as another volley and another swiftly followed.

  The barbed cloud seemed unending, the repeater crossbows of the Naggarothi sending a hail of missiles effortlessly through the night. Carathril clenched his jaw, not daring to lift his head above the rampart as chips of stone sprayed around him.

  Amongst the rattle of impacts and snap of breaking shafts, the captain could hear the tramp of booted feet getting closer and closer. The Naggarothi were advancing under the cover of their repeater crossbows. They would be at the walls soon if the defenders allowed themselves to be cowed by the flurries of bolts cutting the air.

  ‘Ready your bows!’ shouted Carathril, rising up to a narrow embrasure. The archers around him followed his lead, using the wall to cover themselves against the shafts still descending upon them. Bringing up his bow, he saw a swathe of darkness no more than two hundred paces from the wall. Advancing in close formation, shields and spears held high, the Naggarothi presented an easy target. ‘Loose!’

  A storm of white shafts leapt into the gloom, to be met with cries of pain and surprise. The repetitive snap of the engines in the towers added to the noise, hurling their bolts into the advancing enemy. The sound of mail being punctured and flesh being pierced came from all sides, and within moments the Naggarothi machines were returning fire, sending up showers of stone shards from the parapets protecting the bolt throwers.

  Exposed, the archers suffered at the next Naggarothi volley, a score and more reeling back across the wall with vicious shafts in arms and bodies. Some slumped where they had been standing, helms and breastplates pierced.

  In the dim light, Carathril spied a knot of several dozen Naggarothi advancing quickly on horseback. They dragged between them a ram fashioned of dark metal, its head that of a griffon wrought from shining ithilmar, borne upon a frame made of thick timbers and bound with iron. More Naggarothi ran behind, ready to man the ram once it was at the gate.

  No order needed to be given. Every elf on the walls knew that the Naggarothi could not be allowed to attack the gate. Shafts rained down on the riders, the cries of the cavalry mingling with the whinnying of wounded steeds.

  A great clamour filled the square behind Carathril and he glanced over his shoulder to see the knights of Eataine gathering, streaming down the roads of the city to form up in squadrons several hundred strong.

  Carathril heard a command to open the gate. Looking down, he saw that the Naggarothi were less than fifty paces from the gatehouse. If the sortie failed, they would be inside the city within moments.

  ‘Do as they say!’ he snapped at the elves in the gate tower, knowing that the risk had to be taken. The gate was not yet shored up properly, and once destroyed could not be replaced.

  Weights and gears rumbled in the towers as the gate mechanism was freed. Even as the huge oak doors were swinging inwards, the knights were breaking into a charge. Rank after rank, ten knights wide, galloped out of the city with shields ready and lances at full tilt.

  The crash of their impact rang against the walls. Carathril could make out little of the fight in the dark, just a swirl of silver-armoured figures and pale horses against the gold-and-black knights of Anlec. War cries and hoarse challenges greeted the charge. Metal rang on metal.

  Carathril was forced to duck back behind the parapet as another volley of repeater crossbow shafts sailed through the air. Peering through the embrasure, he could see Naggarothi advancing in long lines, carrying tall ladders between their files, protected by the raised shields of more warriors to each side. He emptied his quiver, loosing arrow after arrow into the oncoming assault, but to little effect.

  Several squadrons of knights peeled away from the attack along the road, wheeling into the flank of the spearmen with the ladders. They crashed through the Naggarothi soldiers who fell in their dozens to lance and sword and flailing hooves. Yet not a quarter of the spearmen had been routed when a horn sounded the recall. Fearing to be caught too far from the gate, the wedge of knights turned their horses and rode back to the road, where the lead squadrons were already riding through the gate back to the safety of the city.

  At another command, the gates were swung shut just behind the last of the knights. Bars were slide into place and locked as bolts from the Naggarothi slammed into the ancient wood of the doors. Carathril judged that the knights had lost almost a quarter of their number, but the dark-clad bodies littering the road and the space just before the walls were testament to the casualties they had inflicted during the brief sortie.

  Further south along the wall there were sounds of fighting, as several companies of Naggarothi had reached the defences with their ladders. For the moment it appeared the attention of the Naggarothi had been driven from the gatehouse and Carathril returned to the guard room to fetch more arrows. Inside were dozens of wounded elves, sitting against the walls or lying on mattresses soaked with their blood. Many bore the marks of the repeater quarrels, and wounded knights were being carried up the wide stairs to have their injuries tended by the priests and priestesses within.

  Snatching up a fresh quiver from the rapidly diminishing stock, Carathril returned to his place and looked south. The Naggarothi had given up their direct assault quickly and w
ere falling back towards the hills, the shafts of the defenders following them. To the east, across Lothern, the first ruddy gleam of dawn touched the rooftops and towers.

  And so passed the first night of the siege of Lothern, one of many that would beset the city in the coming seasons.

  ‘When will Caledor come?’ Mythreir gave voice to the question that had been asked many times; so many times Carathril had tired of hearing it asked.

  ‘Perhaps never,’ snapped the guard captain. ‘You think Lothern is alone in the Phoenix King’s thoughts?’

  ‘It should be highest,’ replied the other elf as the two walked along the northern ramparts of the city, looking down at the Inner Sea. To the east, a flotilla of ten ships waited behind the Sapphire Gate, sails trimmed, decks packed with Sea Guard. ‘With Lothern besieged, the Naggarothi raid across the Inner Sea without hindrance.’

  ‘And until Ellyrion is secure again, Caledor cannot send relief to the city,’ said Carathril, sighing heavily. ‘How many times must I explain?’

  ‘Until you make sense,’ said Myrthreir. ‘Caledor’s strategy is wrong and the prince should make better representation. With Lothern delivered, we can control the shore of Ellyrion and supply his army.’

  Carathril offered no further reply, annoyed by his companion’s obstinacy. Caledor would no more relieve Lothern with the enemy free in Ellyrion than a swordsman would turn his back on an armed opponent. The city held, and held strong, and that was all that mattered.

  They reached their destination, a stretch of wall overlooking the Inner Sea that curved away from the Sapphire Gate. Further along the shore the ships of the Naggarothi were beached, having been captured in northern Ellyrion and sailed south in support of the siege. To the north and south, the Lothern Straits were bracketed by enemy fleets. The one saving grace was that the Naggarothi had made no inroads upon the eastern reaches of Eataine, and many of the populace had been evacuated towards Saphery.

  It was the sea gates the Naggarothi desired though, and for two long years they had battered the walls with war engines, vile monsters and evil sorcery. This last had become less of a threat since the arrival of Eltreneth last autumn, one of the chief mages of Saphery. Soaring above the city upon his white-winged pegasus, the Sapherian had countered the spells of the enemy, staff wreathed in mystical power, sword blazing.