“Well, soldiers or warriors, we still need to take that blasted castle,” Ragnar noted.
“We have ladders for the walls,” Matthias noted. “But I have sent a message to Floriana. She’ll open the gate for us, if she can.”
Alfred looked over the castle. “I want the Andrathi in the center; should anything happen to this Floriana, I want them to ram the gates.”
“We can do that,” Ambrosus noted.
The leaders stopped at the sound of a horse approaching. They all turned and, in their amazement, Jarl Gudrun came riding up, hunched over the great horse. “Brothers,” she nodded to her fellow Altani. “Sister Wei,” she added dryly to the Jaoren priestess.
“Jarl Gudrun? You’re riding out with us?” Derogynes asked. “Would you not be more comfortable in camp?”
“What, and give you an excuse to stay behind and filch my ale, Ambassador?” Gudrun shot back. “I am Jarl of the Balnir tribe and vassal to the High King; and last I checked, a Jarl rides out with her men and her king.”
“It seems none of us are staying behind,” Song Wei noted. “This is appropriate; we will fight with greater resolve surrounded by friendly faces.”
“I don’t see why we need the priestess here,” Ragnar muttered.
“Because, dear Jarl, she can do magic,” Bai Feng said, adjusting a leather jerkin over his usual silk robes. “And as you saw yesterday, magic is a very good thing to have on your side.”
Alfred nodded to Gudrun. “I’ll need an extra pair of eyes watching the main assault. I will be with the archers. We’ll pick off the castle defenders while the Andrathi take the center, and Jarl Ragnar and Matthias lead the assault over the walls.”
“We won’t fail you, my King,” Ragnar nodded, before nudging Matthias. “Hey, Wolfborn—I’ll bet you five pieces of gold I’ll beat you over the walls.”
The hulking warrior grinned in return. “I’ll take it. I could always use some extra money.”
“Then it’s settled. Prepare the war horns, my friends.” Alfred gazed over Faircliff, reaching for his bow. “It ends here.”
As the wave of Altani and Andrathi began marching towards the walls of the castle, Floriana watched from her window. She had been confined to her apartment, with Braya guarding the door.
“They’re coming. There must be ten, twelve thousand, at least,” the queen said.
“And all of them heathen savages,” Braya muttered. “Pray, if you still believe. Whatever you think of Cyril, he’s better than thousands of rapists and pillagers pouring over the walls.”
“Is he?” Floriana muttered darkly, and Braya acted as if she hadn’t heard. There was a knock on the door, and a Torinusian soldier entered.
“Archon Cyril demands Queen Floriana’s presence in the throne room at once,” he recited, standing at attention.
Floriana rose, with one last glance out the window. At the head of the Altani was a warrior, distinguishable only by the flaming sword in his hand, a pinprick of flame in the distance, but it was enough for her; Matthias was here at last. She exchanged the briefest look with Braya, and as soon as the soldier escorted her out of her room, she jabbed the side of her wand into the soldier’s neck, and rendered him unconscious. She turned on her heel, and sprinted down the corridor; she would not fail her friends this time.
Ambrosus was at the head of the Andrathi column, and, as he spotted mages on the wall, he shouted a command to his men, who instantly pulled together and raised their shields, protecting their troop from the barrage of fire and lightning.
“Hold this position, men!” the Andrathi shouted. When he saw Ragnar and Matthias behind him, the Andrathi snorted. “Wolfborn, where’s your insider?”
“She’ll be here, I promise. Hold strong, Ambrosus,” Matthias responded. He veered close to the castle walls as the Altani moved further down, raising his shield to deflect a hail of arrows and magic. The ladders were successfully raised at a point further down the walls, beside a watchtower where archers pelted the invaders below with arrows. Altani fell by the dozens, but Ragnar, summoning up all his courage, charged up the ladder, cutting through two of Cyril’s soldiers at the top. As Matthias clambered up the ladder, he paused at the line of decaying bodies still skewered on pikes along the wall. The warrior glowered at one near him, the remains of a bearded old man: Hierophant Ferrin.
“Cyril, you twisted bastard,” Matthias muttered. He tore his eyes away from the Hierophant’s corpse to Ragnar, quickly racking up an impressive body count. When he reached the top, however, the Jarl gasped suddenly as an arrow struck him in the chest, and he fell into the warrior’s arms.
“You—you still owe me five gold, Wolfborn,” Ragnar laughed weakly. “There are worse places to die. Kill that fool archer for me, will you? Show him what he gets for shooting a Jarl.”
Matthias nodded with a grunt, and gently laid the Jarl down. To the soldiers along the wall, he was a terror; a giant of muscle and bronze, clad in chainmail and leather with a wolfskin helm and a flaming sword in hand; they charged him together, but with one thrust of his shield, Matthias knocked them off the wall, skewering the last one with his sword.
He looked up at the watchtower, where archers and mages were raining down death upon the invaders; more Altani were falling than making it over the edge. He looked back to the gatehouse, where the castle gates remained shut, and the barrage of magic was picking away at the Andrathi. Cursing under his breath, Matthias charged for the watchtower; he had to trust Floriana.
On the other end of the castle, the soldiers were shocked to see their queen upon the walls. “Your Highness, what are you doing here?!” one soldier shouted, rushing to Floriana’s side and grabbing her arm. “Your father doesn’t want you out here, it’s not—” Faster than he could react, Floriana pulled out her wand and sent a gust of wind that knocked him back over the edge of the wall. His compatriots gasped, but they could not touch the queen; summoning up a shield of light and magic, she pushed past them undeterred, her face set as she sent jolts of electricity towards any of them that dared get too close.
“What my father wants is no longer relevant,” she snarled, blowing the door off the gatehouse with a wave of her hand. With Altani pouring over the walls, the gatehouse had been abandoned. Sealing the way behind her, Floriana looked at the gate mechanism and began to think, brushing back a braid of her red hair. “How would Matthias handle this?” she whispered, then summoned up all her magical energy. She slammed it down into the floor, punching a hole through the stone and splintering the gates below with an explosion of arcane force. There was a single moment where she looked over her handiwork, and spotted the shocked faces of the Andrathi soldiers beneath her.
“Well?” she pointed toward Faircliff. “What are you waiting for?”
The leading officer shook away the surprise before pointing his spear toward the keep. “The way is clear! Onward, Sons of Theragos! By all the Gods, onward to victory!”
Floriana breathed deeply, her knees suddenly weak. She had done it; there was no going back, now. Rushing to the other side of the gatehouse, she caught the flashing light of a familiar sword. Above her, Matthias had just finished off the last of the archers, hefting the body and hurling it over the edge of the tower. Down below, he heard a familiar voice calling him, and he spotted Floriana on the ramparts.
He couldn’t help smiling wide as he saw the gatehouse open, and Ambrosus’ men pouring into Faircliff’s courtyard. He looked over to the army beneath him, and held his sword aloft, waving the flaming blade in the air. A great roar of victory went up from the men below, mixed in with the shrill cry of warhorns as the army surged forward, storming the castle. Matthias raced down the stairs, and Floriana rushed across the battlements to meet him. When the warrior found her, he threw his arms around the queen and lifted her off her feet in a tight embrace. They looked into each other’s eyes, then came together in a passionate kiss.
“The next time you sneak out of a city, for the Creator’s sake, ta
ke me with you,” Floriana declared breathlessly.
Matthias grinned. “I swear.”
“Matthias!” Alfred came galloping into the courtyard, with Derogynes, Bai Feng, and Gudrun at his back. “Are you going to come put down this mad dog, or not?”
The hulking warrior’s grin slipped as he looked down at Floriana. “You don’t have to come see this.”
“Matthias,” she took one of his hands in hers. “I’m not leaving your side. My father did this to himself. I...” The queen held back tears. “I release you from your vow. Do whatever you can to stop my father’s madness.”
Matthias nodded. “I’ll spare him if I can.”
The courtyard and walls of Faircliff belonged to the Altani. Derogynes and Ambrosus broke down the door into the keep, allowing the others to make their way into the keep. The guards at the doors of the Great Hall were easily dispatched, and there was one last moment for the invaders to collect themselves.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Floriana?” Matthias asked, his brow furrowed as he looked down at the Queen.
Floriana took a moment to collect herself and nodded. “Yes. By the Creator, just get this over with.”
Bai Feng and Magnus nodded to each other before blowing the doors off their hinges, allowing them to storm inside. They were met with an immediate volley of fireballs, which was only just deflected by Bai Feng, Song Wei, and Magnus. In his haste, Alfred withdrew his wand, and unleashed his own torrent of fire, knocking back one of the last Inquisitors.
There, flanked by Angelus and Braya, was Cyril, glaring wildly at the intruders. “You dare come into the sanctum of a god?” he bellowed, his voice alone shattering the windows of the great hall and sending a hail of glass shards down on everyone. His now tattered silk robes revealed his feet to be bare, and he winced in pain as he walked on the broken glass strewn about the stone floor. “I am the Archon!” He threw out a bolt of lightning which effortlessly threw Bai Feng back. “I am Altun reborn! I am—” Cyril came to a stop as he at last recognized Matthias.
“The wolf returns. No…” Cyril shook his head violently. “No! You’re supposed to be dead!” he let out a cry of anguish, pulling at his hair as his daughter came into view and then, with a dreadful realization washing over him, the Archon convulsed violently.
“Floriana!” he cried.
“Father, please—”
“Traitor!” Cyril summoned up a great display of arcane energy, and threw all his rage out at his daughter. Matthias cried out, and rushed to her side, pulling her behind his shield just in time. Surprisingly, as his spell connected with the bronze metal, the energy was reflected, hitting Cyril square in the chest and catapulting him back against his throne. Matthias looked the most surprised of all, looking back to Magnus in confusion.
“It deflects magic,” the short mage muttered, stifling a relieved laugh. “The other enchantments I felt! Cyril can’t touch you.”
Matthias and his friends charged closer, their weapons raised. Blood trickling down his face from a concussion to his head, Cyril came roaring back to his feet, stopping them in their tracks with a wall of fire and lightning. “I am the Archon! I am eternal!” Cyril’s head snapped to Angelus. “Magister!”
“My—my lord?” Angelus asked nervously, slowly backing away from the Archon and the encroaching invaders.
“The time has come for you to render your ultimate service to your Archon.”
“What?” Angelus’ face turned white as he cowered before Cyril. “No—no, my lord, please, no! I—augh!” Cyril grabbed the tethers of life surrounding Angelus, and drained him without a second thought, letting his husk drop to the floor in a heap.
“Braya!” Cyril cried out, slowly advancing the wall of lightning to push back the invaders. “Where are your blasted Inquisitors?!”
“Gone, my Lord,” Braya said, a great catch in her voice. “You have expended their service.”
Cyril snarled before turning his attention to his attackers. “No matter. I have more than enough power to deal with this rabble. And you, Floriana…” Cyril’s voice quavered as he looked at his daughter, her wand pointed at him. “I wanted to give the world to you.”
“I want my father back,” Floriana spat, her voice breaking. “But I fear you killed him at Jaeder’s tomb.”
“Surrender, Cyril. We’ll spare your life if you come quietly,” Matthias offered.
“Or don’t,” Alfred sneered. “You’re a nasty piece of work, and my men would find great pleasure in killing you.”
The Archon’s eyes bulged as he flexed his fingers, raising a great wind that buffeted the invaders, pushing them back as it howled through the great hall. “Heretics! Savages! Arrogant, blind fools, grasping at the dead gods of this world!” Cyril slammed his would-be killers to their knees, tugging on Magnus and Bai Feng, preparing to drain them, first.
He summoned up all his power again, lightning dancing on his fingers, scourging the stone beneath his bloodied feet. “I am the Liberator of Mankind! I am its new God, the herald of a new age! I am the Archon, Eternal, and—” Cyril’s eyes bulged even wider as he took in a sharp breath. The sparks at his fingertips died as he turned to Braya, panting as she held a bloodied dagger in her hand.
“Why…” he sputtered, his hand feverishly ran down his back, feeling the open wound and blood pouring out on his silk robes.
Cyril could get nothing else out as Braya screamed in rage, slashing his face with the dagger. The Archon collapsed to the floor, and his assassin fell upon him, driving the dagger into him again and again until her frenzy expired. She sobbed, on her knees in a pool of blood next to the body of the man she had served faithfully for years.
“He killed them…” she whispered between sobs. “He killed them all. My men. My boys. They just wanted to serve the Creator.”
Floriana was the first to step forward, gently kneeling next to the last Inquisitor, but Braya pushed her away. “No.” She shook her head. “I deserve no comfort.” Braya, red-eyed and flushed, rose. As she approached, Magnus and Matthias blocked her way.
“Matthias?” Floriana asked softly. “Let her pass.”
“Why?” Magnus responded. “After all she’s done? She stabbed a man in the back. That’s hardly worthy of redemption.”
“Whatever her sins, she’s suffered, too. Let her pass.”
The warrior glowered at Braya, but stepped aside.
The former High Inquisitor turned to Floriana, and nodded. “Thank you, my queen.” Braya hugged herself, still shaking with tears as she staggered out of the Great Hall, never to be seen by human eyes again.
“It’s done, then,” Alfred declared. “We’ve won.”
Bai Feng drifted to the broken windows of the Great Hall, and grimaced. “I’m afraid not, Your Highness. You’ve won Faircliff and Stefanurbem…”
He stepped aside, where all could see that Cyril’s magical shield over the city had died with him. Beyond the city walls, they could see the sprawling red mass of Kazan’s camp.
“But now, you must keep them.”
Chapter 33
Forever Free
The citizens of Stefanurbem hesitated opening their gates for the Altani. But when they saw they carried the Creator’s sigil on their shields, and after some diplomatic overtures from Magnus and Derogynes, the exhausted army marched in.
Word of Cyril’s death spread quickly, and most rejoiced at the fact, cheering the army as liberators. Others more soberly noted that without Cyril, the city’s main line of defense against the Qingrenese was now gone.
As Matthias walked alongside Alfred, Magnus, Floriana, and the others, he spotted a young blonde girl waving him down.
“It’s you!” Gwen shouted, beaming wide. “The son of the Prophet! You came back; we knew you would!”
Matthias grinned softly back at her. “Have you been keeping safe?”
Gwen scoffed. “Hardly. I and the others that follow your example, we call ourselves Ferrin’s Men.” Her smile
wavered. “I didn’t have much say in the name.”
“I saw what happened to Ferrin. Cyril’s paid for what he did,” Matthias declared.
“I knew you would save us. We’re ready to stand by the true king of Fosporia once more!”
The warrior stopped at that, but quickly shook it off. There were more pressing concerns. “Gather your men. We’ll need every hand to repel the Qingrenese,” he ordered, and Gwen was quick to obey.
“You have many admirers,” Floriana noted, wrapping her arms around his as best she could. “More so than me.”
“That can’t be right,” he muttered.
Floriana looked up at him, smiling sadly. “I’m Cyril’s daughter, Matthias. If I’m not run out of the city after the battle is ended, I’ll be lucky.”
“You stood against Cyril. You helped us stop him.”
Floriana tugged on him to lean down, so she could kiss him on the cheek. “I know that. And you know that. But all the people of this city saw was me abandoning your cause, so my father could put a crown on my head.”
Gwen raced back up to Matthias, waving her arms. “Matthias!” She jogged next to him to keep up with his powerful strides. “I have a man at the north wall—the Hegemon is taking advantage of the shield disappearing; he’s marching on the city now!”
“What?” Matthias turned to his friends. “We have to move to the northern wall, now!”
“Ah,” Alfred sighed wearily. “And here I thought we were full on excitement and glory for the day.”
As Matthias mounted the walls with Magnus and Floriana at his side, Bai Feng raced to join them, looking over the massive army steadily marching toward Stefanurbem. “Be ready,” the Jaoren ambassador warned. “Kazan leads from the front, and he fights like a man possessed.”
“Is there any way to stop this?” Floriana asked. “My father is dead, the Hegemon got what he wanted!”
Bai Feng scoffed. “You don’t know the Hegemon very well, Your Highness. He won’t let something as trifling as the other party being dead stop him from seeking vengeance.”
Ages Unending_Dusk Into Dawn Page 38
