by Devin Hanson
Never in all its history had Andronath been so well fortified, with so many alchemists present. They were facing an army that outnumbered them ten to one, but what was a mercenary compared to an alchemist? What were ten mercenaries, for that matter? Or a hundred? It was true the enemy would have airships to rain death down on them from above, but they had the cannon towers to protect them.
The closer Meria got to the gate, the greater was the general sense of determination and confidence. There were no fearful glances to the south here, no white-knuckled grips on weapon hilts. People were moving quickly, but it was with a sense of purpose. It was busy, but business-like. The wardens were here in all their numbers, and their business was war.
The air of tightly-leashed nerves was gone, and Meria felt herself loosening up. She was confident in her skill and the skill of her partners. They had trained for this. Not for long, perhaps, but they had been trained by the best. If they could eliminate their targets despite everything a squad of wardens could do to prevent them, what threat did a mercenary pose?
As they neared the gate, Jessa pointed out a warden with captain’s markings on his shoulders surrounded by the robes and light clothing that belonged unmistakably to alchemists. In a crowd of armed and armored wardens and soldiers, robes and embroidered dresses stood out like a beacon.
Jessa called their group number and the warden flipped through his papers until he found what he was looking for. “To the gate,” he called, “Find a warden named Alain Hummod.”
“The gate’s where all the action will be,” Otto declared as they walked that way. “We must have impressed somebody.”
Meria hugged herself. She had killed before, while defending the Archives. She felt no regret over it, but the memories of death caused by her hands lingered still. She didn’t doubt the actions of today would give her nightmares for years to come. Otto might be all for glory, but Meria didn’t want renown. She just wanted to live, and she wanted her friends to live. She would kill to ensure that, but she didn’t look forward to it.
Alain Hummod wasn’t hard to find. He was one of three wardens surrounded by alchemists, and he waved them over when he saw them hesitating, not sure which warden to go to.
“You’re group eight?” he asked.
Jessa nodded. “We are. Meria Yale,” she said, pointing, “Otto Morse, and I’m Jessa Abbot.”
“A pleasure. I am Alain Hummod. I will be your lieutenant and will coordinate our efforts with Captain al Din. Follow my instructions. If I tell you to retreat, do so at once, in good order. Once battle is joined, do not let your guard down for a moment. If you can see the enemy, they can see you, and if they can see you, they can strike at you.
“Remember, you would not be here if you were not worthy of it. Use your heads, follow my orders, and we will all come through to see the morning once more.”
Jessa raised her hand and Alain nodded at her. “I was wondering,” she asked, “what do we do now?”
Alain smiled at her. “Whatever you will. Use the latrine. Drink water if you are thirsty, eat if you are hungry. Stay within eyesight of the gate, and be ready to join me when the horn sounds. Until then, get what rest you can.”
With that, Alain moved off, tending to the next group of alchemists that came wandering in.
“Well,” Jessa said, “I guess the old jokes are true after all. Now we wait.”
Andrew closed his eyes and concentrated on the wind blowing through his hair. He stood in the sheared-off tower in the Academy, where years ago an architect had forgotten about the great shield that encircled the entire Academy. When the shield had been raised during Trent’s last attack, the top half of the tower had been neatly trimmed off, leaving a cleanly cross-sectioned wall behind.
The tower faced to the south, where the smudge of dust rising into the sky foretold the approaching army. The glint of sun off polished metal speckled the air above the army; Salia had fielded every airship in its control against Andronath.
Ava, where are you?
He thought he knew the answer. The dragons had sworn to avoid the cities of man. What had Maricikossi said? The dragons would not involve themselves in human affairs and would not bring the males down upon human cities. Right about now, Andrew wouldn’t mind a few males showing up. Even just one would be fine.
This close to the hatching of her eggs, Ava would be loath to leave her nest. He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye, curled up tight around her eggs. He had tried to reach her over the last few days, but had received nothing but a few washes of fiercely protective emotion in return.
Andrew couldn’t blame her. She had waited two thousand years for this clutch of eggs. How could he expect her to leave them behind now when things were so close to completing? And yet, without Ava, his chances of survival were slim, especially if Trent and his Incantors were with that approaching army. If it was just soldiers and airships, Andronath could hold her own. But if Travis’ reports were accurate, and there were thirty or more alchemists out there, and eight of them Incantors, Andronath would fall. Maybe not quickly, but the end was inevitable.
And if Andronath fell, who would be left to fight the Incantors? Who would be left to carry on the tradition of alchemy? There was much at stake.
Andrew gritted his teeth and sent Ava one last thought. He focused on the image of the approaching army and echoed the emotional savagery he recalled from meeting the dragons and their reaction to Bircham Lameda’s head. The Incantors were coming.
To his surprise, it wasn’t Ava who responded, but a different dragon, the tones matching those of Maricikossi.
Help comes. With the words of the message came a confused mixture of senses. Burnt cinnamon in waves, muscles surging with unstoppable power and the glisten of iron-black wings. Through it all, there was a sense of age beyond human reckoning.
Andrew blinked. He didn’t recognize the dragon in Maricikossi’s message. And what did it mean? Was some ancient dragon coming to do battle with the Salian forces? Or was it simpler than that, just a call to stand strong? He sighed, rubbing his temples. He had done what he could.
He turned away from the open tower and descended the stairs. A pair of wardens waited for him, falling into step behind him. “Where is Iria?” he asked.
“Here,” Iria said. She was hurrying toward him and slowed when she saw his face. “What news?”
Andrew shrugged irritably. “I don’t know. Help is coming, but I couldn’t understand in what form, or when.”
Iria nodded, her face expressionless. “Very well. The first of the Salian forces will be within range of the wall in two hours.”
“Any chance King Delran wants to parley first? Give us a chance to avoid bloodshed?”
“I do not know Salian politics, Speaker. The Lady Vierra would know best in that matter.”
“Speaking of her, any idea where Jules is?”
“I suspect she meets with the Guild Master.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache start to form. “Let’s go meet him too, then.”
“It’s preposterous!” Sean Kilpatri, recently elected Guild Master of the Alchemists Guild strode back and forth in his study. His face was splotchy with anger and his fists punched the air, punctuating his sentences.
Andrew leaned against a side table, his arms folded on his chest. Jules sat in a chair beside him, her face unreadable, but her eyes dark with anger of her own.
“Two thousand years of records,” Kilpatri shouted. “Fifteen separate assaults on Andronath described in meticulous detail. Thirty-seven separate accounts of alchemists defending other strongholds. There is a thread common amongst all of them. Alchemists do not leave their defenses to attack!”
Andrew thought about calling for Captain al Din to explain to the Guild Master the reasoning behind his plan of battle, then immediately dismissed it. The Captain had more than enough to deal with right now and dissention in the ranks distracting him at this point could prove fatal to them al
l. Besides, Andrew had heard the battle plan and thought he had a solid grasp on it.
“Master Kilaptri,” he said, fighting to keep the frustration out of his voice, “I understand where you’re coming from, but there are differences in the balance of forces here that do not have any historical equivalent.”
“We survived the last attack perfectly fine! And we did nothing but defend. We have the strength to outlast the Salians within the Academy. I’ve said it time and time again, we should withdraw all our forces to the Academy and raise the shield.”
“And what of the common folk of Andronath?” Jules asked, her voice wintry.
“We don’t know the Salians will kill them all, that’s just fearful conjecture.” Kilpatri waved a hand, dismissing it. “Besides, this is a war.”
“And losses are acceptable. Is that what you’re saying?”
“All I’m saying is the protection of the Guild comes first! Andronath was built around the Guild, not the other way around. We can always rebuild.”
“King Delran is coming to end the Guild,” Andrew said. “What makes you think he’ll just pack up and leave once he’s taken the outer walls?”
“We can outlast them,” Kilpatri repeated doggedly. “It’s been done before.”
“And how many alchemists did the attackers have in these historical accounts, Guild Master?” Jules demanded. “How long do you think the shield will hold with eight Incantors to dig up the shield ring and destroy it? I’ll tell you how long: hours. They will have all the vitae in the world. They could level the mountain, not just break the ring.”
“You don’t know that,” Kilpatri said angrily. “That is just more fear mongering!”
“We have reliable intelligence that suggests otherwise,” Jules snapped.
“Our best chance of success is to make the Salians pay a heavy price for taking the outer wall. When they do, and they will, then we’ll fall back up the streets, making them pay for every inch of ground.” Andrew pointed at a map of Andronath hanging on the wall, tracing the salient points as he continued. “Because the roads of Andronath are in rings, we blockade the roads traveling inward and hold each ring on its own. That way, we keep from being overwhelmed or cut off.
“When the last ring is captured, the defense of the city is over. We can fall back into the Academy, but the streets within are haphazard and unfortified. That will be our last stand. It will be too easy to be flanked for any sort of organized defense. Our only hope is to hold off the Salians in the streets of Andronath until they call for a parley or retreat.”
“So that’s it? That’s all you have? Hope for them to give up?” Kilpatri shook his head and scrubbed his hands through his thinning hair. “Why are you in charge of this again? You’re just a boy!”
Jules surged to her feet, but Andrew held out a hand. He had been waiting for this, expecting it ever since he first proved he could speak to dragons. His only surprise was that it had taken so long for someone to finally come out and say it.
“First of all,” he said dryly, “I’m not in charge of it. Captain Fakir al Din is in charge, and he has the real-world experience and training to out-match all of us combined. The battle plan is Captain al Din’s as well, developed over hours of strategic planning with dozens of experienced wardens. They took every aspect of the coming battle into account, Guild Master, and I have every confidence that their plan is the right one.
“Second, I wouldn’t sacrifice the loyal citizens of Andronath so we could cower behind our shields in safety. If we did that, we’d be no better than the Incantors.”
“I never said–”
“Be silent!” Andrew roared. Kilpatri took a step back, his face suddenly white. “You had your say, and I will have mine. Third,” Andrew held up a hand and took a breath, struggling to contain the fury he felt. “Third, you’re the Guild Master because I had more important things to do that day, and that is the only reason. Any test of alchemy and I will come out the victor, Kilpatri, and you know it.
“Finally, you’ve wasted too much valuable time with your pointless malcontent already, and I don’t have the luxury of cowering behind the Academy shields, second guessing the people outside ready to lay down their lives to protect you. I will say this once, and once only. If you attempt mutiny or pull alchemists away from positions dictated by the plan of battle, I will have you arrested and thrown in a cell. Good day, Guild Master.” Andrew turned on his heel and left the room.
Kilpatri looked stunned, like he had just had a rug yanked out from under him. His face was pale and he stood hunched over, as if he had just been slugged in the stomach.
Jules had stayed behind, her own anger tamped down to a simmer, a smile of grim satisfaction on her face. “In case you were wondering, Guild Master,” she said, “that’s why he’s in charge.” And Jules walked out, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter 24
A Price in Blood
Travis scanned the rising tiers of Andronath’s streets through a spyglass. Barricades were visible between the buildings, and the walls crawled with men, ant-like in the distance. The defensive towers gleamed in the sunlight, a potent promise.
Baron Priah had been clear when planning the assault against the city. The towers were to be respected. While a stationary target might seem like it had the disadvantage in a cannon war, the people manning them were used to shooting at dragons. Hitting an airship, even one that was moving, would be child’s play. Until the towers were disabled or destroyed, the airships could not get close to the city walls.
That meant the first stage of the battle would have to be a ground assault against the gates. It wasn’t as daunting a proposition as it had first sounded. It was true, the city of Andronath was encircled by a wall, but it wasn’t a truly massive wall. Fifteen feet high, and wide enough for two men to walk abreast at the top, it offered little more than a token barrier. The gates, while heavily built of iron-bound wood, were the weakest parts. There were no portcullises or drawbridges, no murder holes or outward bastions providing an angle of attack on anyone assaulting the gates.
Andronath was a city built by men confident they would never be attacked. For a city that claimed to have never fallen in two thousand years, it was decidedly poorly fortified.
Rather than the observation building confidence, Travis felt even more worried. He had never seen alchemists fighting before, though he had witnessed the results in the streets of Galdaris. Hundreds of alchemists were in Andronath. They might not all be trained to fight in battle, but that would be little consolation to the ground forces about to attack the city. The city might not have heavy walls, but maybe that was because it didn’t need them.
The deck of the Black Drake tilted as Captain Emil Bor brought it down toward the ground. Airships were not designed to land on the ground, but they could manage it if the captain was good and circumstances demanded it. The deck evened out and the airship drifted the last few feet to the ground before touching down with a grating thump.
Rope ladders were thrown overboard and the soldiers streamed off. As the weight of the soldiers left the airship, it bobbed upward and Captain Bor fought with the ballast, trying to keep the airship steady.
Baron Priah waved to him from the foredeck and Travis made his way to him, careful to keep his balance as the deck surged and settled. “My lord?” he called.
“Disembark with the soldiers, Bellwether. Make sure you hold our forces to the rear of the first formation. Remember our objectives in this battle.”
“Of course, Baron.” Travis bowed. He touched the vial of dragongas through his jacket, thinking furiously. “I didn’t expect to disembark at this point. I’ll need a moment to grab my gear.”
The baron waved impatiently and Travis hurried below. He ranked high enough to have a private cabin of his own below decks, and he stopped off in it long enough to haul his mail jerkin over his head and buckle on his sword belt. Then, instead of turning left to go back up on deck, he turned right and moved deeper
into the airship.
The hold was littered with refuse from the soldiers that had taken the flight in; half-eaten food, bedrolls, canvas sacking, all the paraphernalia of a soldier’s kit that they wouldn’t need in the coming fight. In the rear of the hold, the engine of the Drake thundered, a low basso throb that vibrated the depths of Travis’ stomach more than his ears.
Unlike the other airships that Travis had visited the day before, the Drake had not one, but three separate hammered copper canisters of swampgas. Which canister fueled what? The Drake, like the Storm Shadow it was designed after, had an emergency acceleration burner, presumably fueled by one of the canisters. It made sense to have that be separate, but why three? It was possible the third canister was a backup that could be assigned to the engine or the burner as needed.
That meant he had a one-in-three chance of spiking a swampgas container that would never be used. Travis gritted his teeth in frustration. He didn’t have time to trace pipes. He picked the closest canister and ran over to it. The wheel mounted on the top of the canister gleamed, one step away from brand new. He looked over at the other wheels and found one of them was tarnished and scuffed from regular use.
After a moment’s hesitation, Travis ran over to that one and spun the wheel open. The hatch pulled back with a clank and the acrid scent of harsh alcohol infused with cinnamon rolled out of it. Travis held his breath and dumped the rest of the vial of dragongas into the canister then slammed the hatch down.
He wanted to watch the reaction to see if it turned red like the airship captain had mentioned, but that would take minutes he didn’t have. Already he had been gone too long. With a last glance at the bubbling swampgas within the canister, he turned and ran for the deck.
The last of the soldiers had disembarked by the time Travis got to the deck. Half afraid the baron would question him on what had taken him so long, he moved straight to the railing. Pausing only to give the baron a wave, he swung over the edge and slid down the rope ladder. His feet had barely hit the ground before the Drake lifted away, the deep thrum of her engines vibrating in his chest.
