Madness and Magic- The Seers' War

by Greg Curtis

  “Well …” She appeared to consider the idea. Meanwhile the sparrow returned and started digging around in her hair again, while the rat just stared at him. “I'd have to prepare something. Dress for the occasion. Do my hair.”

  Baen almost fell over in shock when she added the last. Or was that horror?!

  “Of course Aunt Millie, but when the occasion calls for it I'm sure you can rise to it. We are Walkertons after all! And it's important that we comport ourselves as such. We can't have the city thinking we're just common riff raff!” Baen was amazed he could say that and somehow keep a straight face.

  “Well no! That would never do!” She straightened herself up in her seat, trying to look a little more dignified. Something it just wasn't possible to do with a bird rummaging around in her hair and a rat nibbling at the crumbs in her dress.

  “You tell your Fae friends that I will expect them for elevenses. Promptly!”

  “Thank you, Aunt Millie. I will tell them that exactly.” But what they would do when he told them the rest he couldn't imagine. And when they saw her in person? The Fae might be recruiting those with gifts, but surely they had limits?

  “In fact, I should do that right now.” He stood up.

  “But you haven't drunk your tea, dear.”

  “Busy, busy. You know how it is. Books to read.” He made his excuses, and then left her as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run. But he needed to get out of this place before the madness soaked into him. Also, he decided, he needed to fix this quickly.

  First stop he decided as he got down on his hands and knees again to crawl out of the primrose hedge, would be the Fae's Trading Mission in Willowbank Road. He hadn't been there yet, but he understood they were making quick progress in converting the abandoned linen mill into something far grander. The sooner he could tell them of his aunt, the better he thought.

  Alas, they'd had no luck with his grandfather he understood. He'd told them to go away because the ghosts didn't like them. But maybe his aunt would be easier to deal with?

  “Mr. Walkerton I presume?”

  Baen looked up as he was just exiting the primrose tunnel on his hands and knees to see a man in red and gold standing in front of him. He was also wearing a black sash with a golden rampant tiger proudly displayed. The flashiness of his dress together with the two soldiers standing slightly behind him, told him that the man to be a Royal Inquisitor.

  “Yes, Inquisitor?” He crawled to his feet and started brushing himself off, though really he thought, these clothes – the trousers anyway – were going to have to be thrown out. The rest could probably be mended. But they simply weren't meant for crawling around on the ground in.

  “I was hoping to speak to you.”

  “About?” He continued brushing vigorously. Could things get any more embarrassing?

  “Our visitors to the realm. You seem to have a connection to them.” The man smiled politely.

  “You mean that I can obtain rare books for them?” That was the explanation he'd come up with to explain why they visited his store. “They're good customers, though the books they want are going to be very hard to get. But in any case, I'm heading to their Trading Mission now. You can walk with me if you'd like. We can talk on the way.”

  “To sell them some of these books?” The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow.

  “No. Not yet. I'm still searching for copies. It's not easy to get five and six-hundred-year-old first editions. But now I want to talk to them about my Aunt Millie. She has a gift for plants, and as you can see it seems to be running wildly out of control. I have hope that they can help.” Satisfied that he had got out as much of the dirt as he could with his hands, Baen set off for Willowbank Road and the others followed him.

  “Out of control?”

  Baen stopped and stared at the man. “By the Lady, you wouldn't believe me if I told you! There's an entire jungle back there! And she's drinking tea made of bark and roots! I've never seen anything like it!” He shook his head sadly. “She won't listen to me, but since the Fae seem to have such an interest in those with gifts, I have some hope they may be able to help her see reason. Provided they're willing to get down on their hands and knees and crawl through her hedge and into the jungle!”

  “Praise the Lady I just hope there's nothing dangerous in there! But she needs help. And I'm ashamed to say that we haven't done enough for her over the years. She hid herself away and we let her do that. The Fae may be her hope for a better life.”

  “Better life?”

  “Among them. They will respect her gift. Maybe they will even be able to help her make better use of it.

  “When we met last and they told me what they wanted and what they could offer, I knew I had to take their offer to her. But I truly didn't know just how terrible things were. Aunt Millie's drinking poison! And she thinks it's tea! You just wouldn't believe it!”

  “She needs help, and I don't think my family can offer it. I don't think anyone in Grenland can.”

  “And will you be taking up their offer of a new life?” The Inquisitor asked unexpectedly.

  “Me?!” Baen stopped and stared at the man, genuinely surprised. Not just that he knew he had a gift, but that he could think he wanted to leave his life behind. “I have a gift but so what?” he began. “I also have a proud family and a home, a good business and a future here. Why would I give that up for a minor gift?” And all of that was actually true, save that his gift might not be quite so minor as he had recently found out.

  He shook his head and then started back on his way to the Mission. Unfortunately the man insisted on walking with him, pestering him with more questions every step of the way.

  But really Baen didn't mind the questioning. Not when he still had an image of his aunt sitting there, drinking some sort of poisonous tea, while a bird was pulling the hairs out of her head to make a nest. It was going to take a lot of time before he would get that image out of his own head. No bothersome Inquisitor was going to help change that.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alldrake Castle. It had been a very long time since Dariya had last seen that dark, brooding mass of black stone sitting in the middle of the pretty green meadow. Seeing it in front of her she could only hope that it would be longer still before she saw it again. But here she was, a week after finally riding back to the outpost, staring at her childhood home, wishing she were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Or alternatively, she decided as she watched scores of sweaty men position and aim the cannon at the black edifice, that it could be somewhere else – like somewhere deep in underworld where it belonged.

  At least someone had listened to her. But then again maybe it hadn't been her they'd listened to after all. Maybe someone else had come up with the same idea. Either way she didn't care. Because right now they were following her most fervent wish. They were going to level the castle. Hang the Duke. And hopefully, that would be the end this nightmare. Dariya was there purely as a spectator. As a member of the Order of Friends of the Golden Concord she had been invited to witness it. Only to witness it. Which was a good thing, she thought. Because although she wanted to see her uncle finally swing, this was one battle she didn't want to fight.

  She wondered where in the castle her uncle was. She guessed he was standing on one of the ramparts, staring at them through his binoculars and wondering how everything could have gone so wrong. Maybe he was even learning fear? It would be about time. He certainly wasn't going to learn anything of regret or sorrow for his actions. She knew that. Those things were forever beyond him. Still, fear would do. And pain. Lots of pain.

  Just thinking of him being so close, somewhere inside that hulking monstrosity pressing down on the land, filled her with rage. Standing there she was jolted back to the memory of his hands touching her. It made her skin crawl and she was hard pressed not to scream! And then there was that voice of his! Those superior mocking tones. The memory of him speaking was like torture. Fire burning in her veins. He needed to hur
t.

  But her mother was in the castle too. Dariya wasn't sure how she felt about that. She hadn't seen her mother in a very long time. Her memories of when they had been together, before she'd fled, were not happy ones. The horror she had known when her uncle had accosted her, had only been exceeded by the sense of betrayal she'd felt when her mother had told her she was lying about what her uncle had done.

  But Amberlee the Wicked – as everyone called her – was still her mother. And she didn't have a father – unless the stories were true and her uncle was actually her father. The woman was all the family she had in the world.

  There were probably a lot of servants in the castle as well. Not just soldiers. People she knew. People who had raised her. And people who had probably done no wrong to anyone. All of them would likely be killed when the castle fell. And it was all because of her uncle.

  Despite the likely casualties, Dariya knew that the assault was the only way forward. It was justice – of a sort – and for so many more than she had guessed. Her uncle’s killing spree had started some time before this attack on the Fae. They'd found the bodies of all the men the King had stationed around the castle to watch and report back on his movements. He had murdered over a hundred men at arms. It was another crime that he needed to answer for.

  Luckily, she knew as she leaned back against a tree and watched the soldiers toil under the hot sun, it wasn't her choice as to what happened today. The King had pronounced this decree and that was the end of the matter. The castle would be levelled and the Duke hung. When the battle started, her place would be well back from the action, observing only.

  Her main observation so far, was that the gallows that had been brought on the back of a steam wagon, was completely unnecessary. They could hang a man just as easily from a tree. Or given that there were so many soldiers, they could just shoot him. This colossal creation of the macabre was just King Richmond making a statement. But to whom? To her? Until the Inquisitor had shown up she'd assumed he'd probably forgotten she even existed. To her uncle? Telling him his time had run out? What was the point? Just hang the man, she thought. Don't waste time.

  Meanwhile the castle was completely surrounded by an army far larger than what was surely needed. Why? Why did they need so many soldiers? So many cannon? And the enormous number of trebuchet? She wondered about that as she started counting and realised there had to be fifty of them. She understood the purpose of the war machines. All of them had massively long arms and enormous counterweights. They were built to be able to send a five hundred pound missile flying over half a league and shatter stone. But they didn't need to fire them that far this time. The castle was barely five hundred yards away, across a flat stretch of open ground! But in this case the weight being thrown would be barrels of high explosive. Not much inside the castle grounds would survive once they began work. As for the walls the long snouted cannons would level them very quickly. And if the defenders made a run for it, they wouldn't get far. That was what the short snouted cannons were for. All of them loaded with shot instead of balls, so if the people inside the castle tried to run the shot would turn them into bloody rags on the battlefield.

  She understood the tactics. They were simple and brutal. But what she didn't understand was why all of this was needed against Castle Alldrake. An old fort that was built before cannons had been invented. As such it had no emplacements for them. And no war machines either. As massive and intimidating as the castle was, it was defenceless.

  And if the people inside the castle did somehow begin fighting back, the soldiers had worked tirelessly to create huge earth ramparts which would protect them. None of them would be harmed.

  It seemed that the King hadn’t planned a battle, Dariya thought with horror. He had planned a massacre. No one was getting out of the castle alive.

  In time she tired of watching the preparations and walked away from the front lines, and toward the tents that had been set up behind them. She could use some coffee, and happily for her the King's army travelled prepared. They had refreshments for everyone. As much as she could want to eat or drink.

  Dariya helped herself to a mug of the hot black brew and then found a fallen tree to sit on to one side of the camp, so she could watch the soldiers going about their business.

  The camp was in good spirits. Everywhere she went she saw soldiers standing around, looking relaxed. But then they knew they had the advantage here. No one knew exactly what sort of forces her uncle might have inside the castle, but no matter what they were, they were outnumbered. Easily a thousand soldiers were maintaining a perimeter around the castle, making certain that absolutely no one inside would escape as the castle came down around them. Another thousand were simply standing around waiting for a battle that would never come to them. And five hundred more were there to operate the cannons and war machines.

  In time the order would be given, and those inside the castle would be given a last chance to leave and be arrested. Few would, she suspected. The soldiers were mercenaries, and if any of them had had any part in the raid on the Hallows, they would be hung. The rest would be taken prisoner and probably be put in the work gangs. There was no place for mercenaries. Not when they were on the wrong side of the King.

  As for the servants, if they were allowed to leave, they would probably be allowed to go free. But she knew her uncle wouldn't allow them to escape. He would rather take them with him to the grave. He would regard any attempt to flee as an act of betrayal. And of course her uncle would never flee himself. But in his case it was for a very different reason. What would be the point? He would be hung if he fled and die in a collapsing castle if he stayed. Of course, if he surrendered he might save the lives of his loyal retainers. But he would never do that. He simply didn't care about their lives.

  Born under a black star. That was her uncle.

  Eventually, well after she'd finished her drink, a trumpet sounded, and she knew it was finally time. Dariya watched as the soldiers suddenly picked up their weapons and went to their places. And then she, like them, went to hers – a small rise well behind the battlefield where she and a few others could observe without getting involved.

  There weren't many of them on the rise. Perhaps half a dozen Fae, invited to watch the end of the man who had attacked their people. A dozen or so priests, there to speak for the dead after the battle was done. A couple of scribes there to record the events of the day for posterity. King Richmond's Royal Adviser for Justice, Lord Nerris. And her. It didn't seem like all that many. But then how many should there be? She didn't know.

  The trumpets sounded once more and Dariya focused her attention on the activities playing out in front of the castle. The commander of the small army started shouting at the people inside the castle to surrender or face the wrath of the King. She was fascinated by that. Not by what he said but by the way he could make himself heard over such a great distance. It involved the use of some technological device she'd never seen before; a horse drawn carriage with a steam engine puffing away on it, and a gigantic bronze funnel. He spoke into one end, and somehow his voice came out the other a hundred times louder. Dariya had no idea what it actually was or how it worked, but it impressed her, even if his voice was a little distorted by the machine.

  As expected there was no response from the castle. But at least they hadn't started shooting she supposed.

  Five minutes later the Commander gave one final call. Again there was no response. He waited a further few minutes and then turned, raised his arm, and gave the order for the cannons to be fired.

  The sound was deafening, even as far back as she was from the battle. But the impact of the weapons on the castle walls was less impressive. The balls hit the walls with audible cracks that she could hear even over the thunder of the cannon. But despite seeing puffs of smoke rise from the point of impact – suggesting that at least some stone had shattered – no holes appeared in the castle walls. Obviously they were tougher than she'd thought.

  But the
n the giant trebuchets sprang into action and things changed. She watched as the massive arms swung in their short arcs and their payloads swung out on chains and then flew through the sky. Payloads of gunpowder and oil. Huge barrels of each. The effect when they hit was very different. She could feel the impact of the explosions through her feet even as far away as she was. She could see fireballs lifting into the sky. And a short while later she could see the smoke and the flames rising above the castle.

  Still, the castle didn't fall. It remained stubbornly upright, a fortress refusing to surrender to the fleas biting it. At least for the first hour.

  Finally though the outer wall started to crumble under the bombardment and the army cheered as parts of it began to fall By the sound of the men Dariya would have thought that the entire castle had fallen. They were that loud. But in fact, only a few small pieces of the outer wall had crumbled. From a distance it looked like a very small nibble taken out of a cookie. Still, it didn't matter. The wall was coming down. And so she cheered with the others.