by Doug Niles
“He wouldn’t see me,” the courier replied flatly. “Instead, his guards told me to come back here, and to stay here. He said that our decision had been made, earlier in the day, when we chose to offer battle instead of acknowledge his right of rule.”
“That was his answer?” demanded Blayne, appalled.
In the next instant, a sound thrummed through the ground, a powerful crunch that could be felt in the ground even before Blayne heard it in the air. Immediately after, he heard another sound—something exploding overhead. Looking up, Blayne saw a gaping hole in the side of the keep’s loftiest tower. The colored glass, which he had been busy admiring just a few hours before, rained down from the shattered windows.
“I suspect,” Red Wallace said soberly, as they joined the rest of those in the courtyard in fleeing to the shelter of the nearby buildings. “That the emperor has just begun to make his reply.”
“Fire away. Keep blasting until dark, and then zero in on the fires, if there’s enough light to give you a target.”
“Aye, my lord,” replied Captain Trevor, the grizzled commander of artillery. If anyone had been more enraged than Jaymes by the loss of the two bombards, it was the gunnery officer. The emperor knew he would carry out his orders diligently and professionally.
The bombard was set up about a half mile south of the Stonebridge. From that distance, Trevor had calculated that the round stone balls fired by the gun could reach every part of Vingaard Keep, except the very tops of the high towers. And, as the gunnery captain had observed wryly, he didn’t need to strike the tops of the towers in order to bring them down.
Jaymes walked a short distance to his command post, which had been established in a travelers’ inn alongside the Apple Creek road. He passed through the main room, which, though filled with officers, was strangely silent. Jaymes did not desire the company of his men, not at that moment, so he made his way up the stairs. Several guards stood duty on the second floor, posted outside a suite of rooms where Lord Kerrigan’s two companions were imprisoned.
Jaymes continued up the stairs. A wide balcony ran the entire length of the third floor, and from there he could watch the bombardment. There were a few captains there, and they made way for him. None tried to initiate conversation as the emperor sat at a table and sent a serving maid down to the bar for a pitcher of ale. When she returned, Lord Templar trailed behind her, and when Jaymes gestured to a vacant chair, the young Clerist sat down.
“My lord,” he began, awkwardly. “The Vingaard messenger—the man you refused to see—brought an offer of surrender. Is it necessary to destroy the castle now?”
“I don’t intend to destroy the castle. I’ll be content with the destruction of those three towers.”
“But those towers are Vingaard Keep, lord! They have stood for centuries—even through the great battles during the War of the Lance! They’re landmarks on the plains, known to every Solamnic—knights and citizens alike. Are you sure you want to bring these great edifices down? The rebels must surely have learned their lesson! I implore you, Excellency, consider carefully the lesson your own people will take from this action.”
Jaymes looked past the Clerist and caught a glimpse of General Dayr engaged in intense conversation with his son, Franz. The older man seemed to be pleading; the younger was rigid, pale, his hands clenched into fists. Finally the captain stalked off but not before casting a venomous glance at the emperor. Jaymes met the look coldly, and was mildly surprised when the young captain didn’t immediately turn away.
Instead, Franz glared mutely for several long heartbeats, before finally stomping through the door leading inside.
Jaymes turned back to the Clerist Knight, the man whose magic rain had doused the fires and allowed at least one bombard to survive the surprise attack. The emperor shook his head firmly.
“Perhaps the rebels in Vingaard have learned their lesson, but that’s beside the point.”
“But why? How?” protested the priest.
“Because I intend to send a message to everyone, across all of Solamnia. Only when the towers are destroyed, and all have heard the news, will the people understand my will is law. I will brook no opposition, no dissent—and I will crush even a whisper of rebellion!”
He turned to look back at the castle and watched as another ball crashed into the middle tower. Already much of the stonework, and all of the glass, had been destroyed. The spire wobbled like a tall tree that had suffered an almost fatal blow from a woodsman’s axe. He was vaguely aware that General Dayr was watching the tower too, that the army commander’s face was contorted in grief.
Why couldn’t they understand? Were they blind?
Jaymes watched impassively as, a few moments later, the great spire leaned, swayed, and ever so slowly smashed down across the walls of the keep, raising a great cloud of dust and provoking screams of fear and dismay audible even from that distance.
Before the dust had settled, Captain Trevor had shifted his wagon, and the bombard began to chisel away at the second tower.
CHAPTER TEN
TUMBLING DOWN
Smoke and dust churned through the courtyard of Vingaard Keep. The base of the ruined tower stood like a shattered tree trunk, rising barely higher than the castle walls, its jagged, irregular silhouette outlined against the sunset. Tons of stone had rained down. Walls and ceilings, furniture, doorways, and the great curving stairway, all were broken and scattered widely.
For a moment there was silence, an absence of sound rendered all the more eerie for the fact that it followed the loud pounding of the bombardment, and toppling of the spire.
Then a child started to cry, its plaintive sobs piercing the silence and magnifying the terror. A woman ran from the keep, across the courtyard to the storage barn. She knelt over a motionless form just inside the door and also began to wail.
“I’ve got to go across the bridge and talk to him myself!”
Blayne Kerrigan fought against hands that tried to restrain him, struggling against his sister. With a groan, he struck the stone wall.
“This is my doing, my fault!” he insisted. “I have to see the emperor—surrender myself so that the keep can be saved!”
“You can’t!” Marrinys declared, grasping him desperately. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, and tears streaked her cheeks as her body trembled under the fear and strain. “He’ll throw you in chains … or kill you—like he did with Father!”
“I can’t let this continue!” Blayne said, gesturing at the rubble that stretched across the courtyard. Two guards were escorting the wailing woman away from the barn. Limping figures emerged from the swirling smoke along the base of the keep wall, coughing; one fell flat, and his companion lifted him with a bleeding right arm. Everywhere the dust rose in choking clouds.
“I doubt that anything you say or do could stop him now,” Red Wallace declared, supporting Marrinys Kerrigan against her brother. The Red Robe wore an implacable expression. If Blayne was frantic and guilt ridden, he remained stern and aloof.
The trio stood under the shelter of an upper rampart with a clear view of the destruction. After less than two hours of bombardment—some fifteen shots from the massive cannon—the first tower had collapsed on a mostly empty courtyard, with part striking the outer wall, crumbling the stone parapet halfway to the ground.
The garrison had abandoned the wall in time, but there were still a few casualties from stones showering across the keep and breaking through the wooden or thatched roofs of living quarters.
Another shot boomed out, a ball sailing past the second of the great towers. It was a poorly aimed shot, but it wouldn’t take long for the gunners to correct the distance and begin to pummel the second spire. It would start with the next shot, or the one after that. Both of the remaining spires had been evacuated.
Blayne drew a breath and forced himself to speak calmly even as he disengaged his sister’s hands from his arms.
“What else can I do?” he asked bluntly. “
He’s doing this because I dared to attack him, I know it.”
“You must escape from here, and attack him again—as soon as you can!” Marrinys urged, showing a steely determination that Blayne hadn’t realized his sister possessed. “Meanwhile I, myself, will go out and talk to the emperor, offer our capitulation—again—and try to persuade him to stop this senseless destruction.”
“You?” Blayne asked, his voice choked by a tangle of gratitude and shame. “I can’t let you—”
“She’s right, yes, it’s the only thing to do,” Wallace interjected, once again taking the young woman’s side. “Let your sister appeal to his mercy. You need to get away from here; you know we’re not the only ones who think to resist the emperor’s rule. Find some of the others, join forces, and forge a resistance.”
“And you should go with him,” Marrinys said, speaking to the wizard. “Your part in all these actions will become known—the emperor will have you arrested, or worse, if you stay.”
“She’s right again,” Blayne said.
But Red Wallace demurred, shaking his head. “I believe, my lord and lady, that I should stay here in the city. I may be able to help if there are matters of occupation or … reprisal.”
“But he’ll be looking for you! Certainly his agents know of your importance to Clan Kerrigan. They’ll—”
“I have means of disguise that are not available to others,” said Red Wallace quietly. He made a quick, furtive gesture and before their eyes seemed to shrink, to age. His red robe faded to an ugly shade of brown, the silver threadwork vanishing entirely. When he peered at them from under his ragged cowl, he was an old man, withered and stooped and certainly no danger to anybody.
“Very well,” Blayne agreed, nodding with satisfaction. “I will ride alone, and I will contact you as soon as I can.” He held his sister close. “But you? How can I leave you to …”
“I will take care of myself. And I will bury Father with every honor he deserves, while you carry on the fight from far beyond here. You can send word to me, secretly, after you get away. Let me know where you are, and we will prepare to act together.”
Another explosion burst from the ridge across the creek. They could spy the ball flying lazily through the air, looking no more dangerous than a child’s toy. Then it struck the second tower thirty feet above the ground, punching through the masonry to smash and rumble through the interior rooms. Pieces of rubble rained down from the outer wall, which was immediately scored by a jagged crack. Many of the windows had been shattered by the concussion of the first shots; those few that remained shattered, adding jagged shards to the lethal chunks of falling stone.
Marrinys sobbed, and Blayne pulled his sister against his chest. It felt as though the weapon were aimed against him, and the missiles were striking his flesh, so deeply did the brutal onslaught against his beloved city wound him. And yet, he knew, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do to halt the destruction.
“I’m going,” he said bitterly. “I hate it and it shames me, but you’re right; it would be futile for me to try to speak to the emperor, and stupid to remain here and fall into his hands.”
“Please be careful,” Marrinys said, hugging him one last time.
An hour later, Sir Blayne Kerrigan, dressed in a plain brown tunic and leading a horse unadorned with armor or precious metal, slipped out a narrow door on the north side of the keep. He waited to mount until he was on a country path used by hunters and herdsmen, which extended all the way to the foothills of the Vingaard Mountains. The steed was a loyal animal, one he had trained since it had been a colt, and it knew how to move stealthily.
The young lord rode into the night, hearing the steady boom of the big gun as the miles slipped behind. When the second tower fell, he couldn’t see it in the darkness, but he felt the tremor ripple through the very heart of Krynn.
Jaymes drifted off to sleep some time during the night but was awakened near dawn by a gentle but insistent nudging from Lord Templar, the Clerist. The emperor, who was resting in a chair on the headquarters’ balcony, pushed himself to his feet, shook his head once or twice, and very quickly was wide awake.
“What is it?” he asked before looking to the north. Dawn was pale in the sky, and he could make out the altered silhouette of the citadel. Where the three graceful spires had dominated the view just a day before, only one tower soared above the ancient fortress. There was a pervasive silence over the scene, and the darkness on the ground was given an eerie cast by a crimson glow emanating from deep within the piles of rubble around the castle walls.
“Why is it quiet? Why has the bombardment ceased?”
“Captain Trevor needed to cool down the bombard, so he had to interrupt the firing after the second tower came down. That was only a few hours ago, my lord. Trevor is down in the great room below and reports the cannon is nearly ready to resume.”
“Good. Then tell him—”
“Excuse me, my lord,” Templar said boldly. Jaymes stared at him in silence. “But there comes another mission from Vingaard. This time it is led by Lord Kerrigan’s daughter, Marrinys. She begs an audience with you. And, my lord, I sincerely hope—on my own, and by the grace of Kiri-Jolith—that you will meet with her.”
The emperor thought for a moment. Always a swift riser, he had no fog of sleep to shake away but instead reflected on the violent events of the previous day and the long night of bombardment. “Very well. Have her come up.”
A moment later a petite young woman, barely five feet tall, came through the door onto the balcony. In the growing daylight, Jaymes guessed her to be about sixteen years old; she had dark, curling hair and slightly swarthy skin, clearly inherited from her father. He noted, with passing interest, that she was extremely pretty.
He also noted that her jaw was set firmly. But she seemed determined to keep her composure; she curtsied politely before addressing him.
“I have come to offer our submission, my lord emperor,” she said, “and to plead for your mercy. Surely you can see that you have mastered us. What need is there to inflict more damage?”
“Where is your ne’er-do-well brother?” asked Jaymes. “I should have thought that such an offer would come from him.”
She lifted her chin proudly, looking him squarely in the eyes. “He has left the city, my lord. He has chosen to become an outlaw.”
“You didn’t try very hard to stop him, did you?”
“What could I do?” she asked innocently. “Besides, my desire—my sole desire—is to stop the destruction … and to bring my father’s body back home so that we may bury him properly.”
Jaymes winced at her comment. He didn’t want to recall the ignominious death of her father. Shaking his head as if to banish the thought from his memory, he looked down at the young woman. For some reason he wanted her to know the truth.
“My orders were to arrest Lord Kerrigan. His death was an accident; he charged onto the sword held by one of the guards. I did not order him killed.”
“But he is dead?”
“Yes. His body has been prepared for burial and is even now being carried respectfully in one of the wagons of my train.”
“What do you plan to do now?”
“The bombard is ready to commence a barrage against the third tower. It was my intention to smash them all, as a lesson to all that could not be mistaken by anyone in Solamnia.”
“Surely that lesson has already made its impression, great lord! I promise, we in Vingaard will remember this day forever!”
Jaymes looked away. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache. It was harder to deflect the arguments of the girl than it would have been to debate her foolish brother, or the fierce nobleman, her father.
“I will only cease the destruction when I am convinced that you understand something.”
“And what is that, Excellency? Please, tell me!”
“You need to understand that I did this for your own good!” he snapped, tu
rning suddenly and looming over her.
Marrinys flinched but did not step away. Instead, she continued to meet his glare and spoke in a strangely different voice, with the real courage that was part of her heritage. “How can we understand that? Explain it—please, my lord!”
He sat down, gesturing to another chair. After a moment’s hesitation, she took the other chair, sitting straight, knees together, hands clasped in her lap. She continued to look at him, eyes shining.
For some reason, he found her youthfulness, the naïveté of her expression, strangely compelling. He really did want her to understand his good intentions.
“Solamnia is a nation again—a single, united entity. It has not been such for more than a thousand years, and it will not remain so for long unless we all sacrifice, unless we all put our shoulders to the wheel of the common good.”
“I see,” Marrinys replied seriously. “I understand—it was a mistake to defy you. I know that my people understand that too.”
“It was not the defiance of me; it was the refusal to work toward the great future of our nation! This refusal cannot be allowed to stand!”
“I give you my promise. I understand, and I will work hard to make sure that the people of my city understand as well. But you must—please, you must!—stop the destruction while there is still some of the keep left standing!”
Jaymes closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his temples. The sun was cresting the eastern horizon, and he suddenly felt very tired. He couldn’t stand the thought of another explosion from the bombard. He wanted to believe Marrinys.
And so he did believe her.
“Very well,” he said. “The bombardment will halt. You can return to Vingaard, and bear your father’s body with you. My officers and I will arrive to accept your capitulation in two hours.”
Ankhar had good reason to be pleased. He had recruited a splendid army, with every savage warrior pledged to serve and obey the half-giant and his interpretation of the Truth. The great column had marched back and forth throughout Lemish, growing in numbers as it accrued from every tribe, every town and village. Eagerly the savage citizens of the barbarian lands gave him tribute, feted him and his legion, contributed more and more volunteers to his ranks.
