Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  Nelwyn bent over Gryffa’s neck as the man riding next to her suddenly gave a cry, his mount falling hard into the sand, a deadly arrow lodged in its hindquarters. They could not stop for him, and rode on, their right arms raised in salute to the courage of their comrade, their faces grim. It would be such with any who fell, as all had agreed. The horse screamed in pain and struggled, thrashing about for a few moments, until the venom did its work. The fallen scout crouched behind the convulsing body of his dying animal and waited, an arrow nocked to his bow, for death to overtake him.

  Three scouts now flew recklessly through the hill-pass, leaping over the stony ground. They could see the distant Citadel, gleaming white with spires of silver glinting rose-red in the early morning light. A deadly shaft tore through the sleeve of Gaelen’s tunic—she cursed silently, wishing that she could send it back to them. Thankfully, it did not pierce her flesh. Finan ran with his tail and his head high, his ears flattened with effort, nostrils wide and red.

  Galador’s heart leapt as he beheld Nelwyn’s golden hair flying back from Gryffa’s neck. He blew a short blast on his silver horn, and called down to the guards in the courtyard.

  “Open the gate!”

  Rogond sat mounted on Eros, who stood placidly, for he had learned not to waste energy on the eve of battle. The Ranger tried to follow his example, but his emotions were high. He gripped the shaft of his spear tightly as he looked toward the gate, imagining the desperate flight of his beloved Gaelen, longing to see her bright, fierce eyes as she passed through. She would tell what she had seen, and then he would ride out with her and engage the enemy, to whatever end.

  He looked up at the tower, knowing that Galador and Réalta would soon be joining him. He patted Eros, and it calmed him somewhat, as he reflected upon how the Company had come to this place, and how it was that they now faced death together in the defense of these peaceful, enlightened people.

  The Great Gates drew open, and the three remaining scouts rushed headlong into the courtyard. Rogond rode up to Gaelen, who sat breathless upon her panting, steaming horse, and waited for her to compose herself. Her news was grim—he could see it. At last she spoke words that chilled his heart.

  “We need a bigger wall.”

  Chapter 24: THE BATTLE IS JOINED

  “What do you mean, we need a bigger wall?” asked Rogond. “Why? What have you seen? What…bigger than this wall?” He indicated the massive structure at his back.

  Gaelen shook her head. “What I have seen is going to change everything about the way we engage this army. We have thought that all we need do is withstand the siege within the safety of walls, but once this battle is joined it will continue at fever pitch until our enemy’s great weapon lies dead. Where is Ali? I would prefer not to explain this twice.”

  “Lies dead? What do you mean?” said Rogond with dismay.

  Ali was heading toward them, having already been informed of the dragon by his own scout. Clearly, the defense plan would need to be changed. As with all desert dragons, Lokai was no climber, but he was most certainly a digger, with claws that could work through the wall, or even the hard rock beneath it, with time and effort.

  Ali was understandably disheartened by the news that a huge dragon would soon approach his gates. “Apparently it cannot fly, and that’s a good thing, but the wall will not withstand it for long. How does one kill such a beast?”

  He obviously hoped that one of these northerners would have some knowledge that he lacked, but only Galador had ever beheld a dragon before, long ago and from a great distance. There would be no enlightenment from any of them.

  Nelwyn had gone to her place atop the gates; she plied her archer’s skill in deadly fashion and had managed to pick off many of the enemy’s advance riders. The Scourge’s main cavalry could be seen approaching in a cloud of dust, as the defenders had anticipated. Their own small mounted force, including Gaelen, Rogond, and Galador, would now ride forth to lure the enemy within range of the city’s archers, most of whom still remained hidden.

  “Where is Hallagond?” asked Gaelen, for she did not see him waiting with the others.

  Ali growled into his beard as Rogond shook his head, saying: “Hallagond will not be joining us as yet, Gaelen. He has...other concerns at the moment. I would explain, but…”

  “We have no time now,” said Gaelen. “We must ride forth to lure their mounted warriors. Otherwise, they will not draw near enough.” At this, she and Galador turned to line up with the other defending riders as the Great Gates slowly began to open.

  Rogond, who had been taken with a sudden inspiration, lingered for a moment. “Send word to Fima and the other scholars sequestered in the underground keep,” he said. “Surely there is enough dragon-lore stored there to find some answers. Set their busy minds to work.” Ali nodded, his scarred face set with grim resolve. “There will be a way,” said Rogond, just before turning to join his friends on the front line.

  “Remember—keep to the center path!” cried Ali, as Galador blew his silver horn. The small but determined group of defenders rode toward their approaching enemy, gathering speed as they went.

  The captain of the Scourge’s riders lifted his curved ram’s horn to sound the attack. It was obvious that all was as the traitor had promised; only a few archers stood atop the city walls, and this was but a small force of mounted fighters. The traitor had told that the people of the Silver City were peaceful, and felt little need for a standing army. No enemy had ever really engaged the City in war. What few forces they had resembled civil police more than an army; they would surely not be battle-ready.

  With the surety of one who has been given inside information, the Scourge’s captain urged his men forward. First they would crush this pathetic defense, for it would make the task of subduing the City that much easier. Alas that three of their scouts had evaded pursuit, for the commander would have preferred to take the City entirely unaware, but he was unconcerned. It would require time to mount a defense—time that would not be given. He chuckled as he rode with his thousand cavalry; they outnumbered the Citadel’s mounted force ten to one. He counted about twenty skilled archers visible atop the battlements, and these would need to be reckoned with, but twenty archers and a hundred mounted peace-keepers? Not much of a challenge against a thousand seasoned warriors armed with envenomed weapons.

  He stood in his stirrups, giving a great battle-cry that was answered by his men, and the Scourge’s first wave flew toward the gates.

  When Gaelen heard the enemy battle-cry, she felt Finan surge forward. He was already weary from his frantic rush back to the City, but he was the hardiest horse she had ever ridden. She and the other defenders would not long engage the Scourge’s cavalry—only long enough to convince them that their effort was genuine before retreating to the gates, luring the enemy within range of three hundred archers who crouched now behind the battlements.

  Nelwyn had done her task well. These archers, though not battle-hardened, would shoot patiently and accurately, for they were well protected. Each would need to take only two or three of the enemy to decimate them.

  The overconfidence of the attackers was apparent, and Gaelen smiled to herself. That overconfidence must be preserved…it will be their undoing. We should appear to be either reckless or suicidal, a logical result of having been thrown into the fray on a moment’s notice. A battle-cry might aid in that illusion…

  She stood in her own stirrups and held her bow aloft, looking first at Galador and then at Rogond. “Fire-heart!” she shouted in a booming voice, shrugging and smiling at Galador as Finan charged ahead. The rest of the cavalry, who knew the name of Aincor Fire-heart well, followed her example. It seemed as good as anything for the moment.

  Rogond was amused as he, too, shouted the name of Fire-heart. Yet he was less caught up in the excitement of the charge, for he knew that some of the valiant who rode beside him would be lost in those first few moments of engagement. They would all be hard put to survive long e
nough to retreat.

  He wished that his brother had not abandoned them, yet he still held faith. Hallagond would not betray his trust; there had to be some other explanation. Rogond could not bring himself to believe otherwise. He put Hallagond out of his mind as he rode beside Gaelen, his dark spear in his right hand and his bright sword in his left, and concentrated on the task before him.

  Ishtar knew his way around, and he had quickly stolen enough provisions to make his escape. A clever man, he knew that the citizens would not waste energy in looking for him, as they had much greater concerns approaching their gates.

  He stole a dromadan and made his way through the winding streets to a doorway that few in the city knew about; it led beneath the first level to a small gateway on the northern side of the City. From there, one could access the outside world through a hidden cleft in the cliff-face. It served as a sort of emergency escape in case the City was hopelessly beleaguered, and was always under guard. The ones set to watch it were not expecting trouble from within.

  “What is your errand?” asked one of the guards, immediately becoming suspicious. Folk on legitimate errands did not use this tiny gateway. “Commander Ali has ordered that no one is to depart the City without leave.” Ishtar put on a jovial, friendly expression as he approached the wary guardsmen.

  “Have you news of the battle?” he asked, felling one of them with a blade hidden in his right sleeve before leaping on the other, snapping the man’s neck with a vicious twist of his strong hands. He took the guards’ provisions and made his way quickly out into the darkness, leading the now well-laden dromadan, thinking he had made his escape.

  Hallagond and Visili had caught up with Estle while she was still in the City. They took two dromadin, provisioning them lightly, for they would rely on speed to catch Ishtar quickly before returning to the City to face punishment. They didn’t plan to be gone long. Hallagond was a superb tracker, and so, as it turned out, was Visili. With two such relentless hounds on his trail, Ishtar would surely fall, and neither of his pursuers had any intention of bringing him back alive.

  Once he caught up with Ishtar, Hallagond intended to kill him quickly and with no regret, for he would try to regain the trust that had been placed in him. He would never run from failure again.

  “You had better make room for me,” said Estle. “I won’t be left behind! You’ll get into even greater mischief if I don’t go along to watch over you.”

  “We only have two dromadin,” said Hallagond.

  “I can ride with you, and Visili can carry everything else,” said Estle. “Ishtar is no lightweight, and he has a heavy load of provisions. It’s no good arguing with me.”

  Although this irked Hallagond, he accepted it, secretly glad that she was beside him. He would have been worried for her safety in the upcoming battle otherwise. Besides, she was a trusty traveling companion, and she made excellent biscuits. The fact that I actually love her has little to do with it...

  Visili, as it happened, was not a bad fellow. He had made some poor choices in his life, and one of those, a very poor choice indeed, had resulted in his having been thrown into prison. Yet he was a clever, skilled warrior, and possessed many useful talents. Hallagond had recognized leadership in him, together with experience in warfare, and that combination was most desperately needed by the Citadel forces. Hallagond shook his head. How could he have been so right about Visili, yet so wrong about Ishtar?

  When he found the guards slain at the north gateway, Hallagond was further chagrined. It was his fault that they would not return to their families in the morning. He wanted to take a few moments to write an explanation of what had happened, so that everyone, particularly Rogond, would understand. But in the end, he just covered the dead men respectfully and went on his way. There was no moon tonight, and he would need all the time available to track Ishtar, for he would see him dead as soon as he could manage it. He would explain himself in person…if he survived.

  Nelwyn’s bow sang its favorite song, felling any Scourge rider that drew within range. Most of the City’s forces were still hidden; the riders had not yet come close enough to spring the trap. Nelwyn, who was in command of the archers, had instructed them to wait until the word was given, and then to use great care lest they take down their own riders.

  Rogond’s spear was red with blood, for he was very adept at striking mounted riders as they passed. His sword found plenty of good use, also. Gaelen preferred the bow for mounted combat, choosing the small hunting bow she had brought from the Greatwood. A dark, curved weapon well suited to the task, it had taken five enemy riders already. Yet the goal was not to kill so many, but to lure them within range of the City walls. When Galador sounded the retreat, the defenders turned back toward the gates and rode as fast as they could, knowing that this was probably the most perilous time for them. The enemy would now shift to their bows, and the riders retreating before them would make easy targets.

  None of the Scourge riders were aware of Seti’s deadly pits. These had been set to the left and right of the central path to the gate, because otherwise it would be too easy for one of the City’s own riders to blunder into one in the heat of battle, falling upon the sharp stakes. The defenders would retreat in a relatively narrow line, avoiding over a hundred well-hidden pits that would take many of the enemy riders, who would approach in a wide swath.

  Now the defenders rode as fast as they could back toward the gates, hoping to avoid being taken from behind. Nelwyn’s sharp eyes fixed on any who would draw their bows on her friends; they would not live long enough to threaten them if she could help it.

  A shaft tore through Galador’s cloak, and he winced as it grazed his arm, but thankfully his flesh was not pierced. Still, the welt that it made burned like fire, and would trouble him for several days after. He did not wish to imagine what death from the venom would be like.

  “Open the gates,” yelled Ali. “Stand by the passageway!” He referred to the iron-clad archway through which the Citadel’s forces could retreat to safety behind the new wall. If the gates were breached later, they would give the signal to collapse the archway so that the Scourge could not do likewise.

  The pits had taken many unfortunate horses and riders, and the Scourge quickly learned to narrow its ranks. The opening of the gates encouraged them, and they rode hard, thinking that they would be poorly defended. Yet when they drew at last within easy range, three hundred archers appeared out of nowhere atop the battlements, raining deadly arrows down upon their unprepared attackers. The first volley decreased the number of foes by one quarter, and the next two saw only half of the riders still standing.

  The captain knew then that he had been lured into a disaster, and he tried to rally his men to retreat before it was too late, but they had been thrown into confusion and were now attempting to save themselves by shooting at the archers on the battlements. Their darts were well-placed, and several of the defenders fell despite their protected position, but the Scourge had no hope of prevailing against the storm of arrows that continued to claim them. A few of the enemy riders actually gained the gates, only to be dispatched by the remaining mounted defenders.

  As the Great Gates swung closed again, the captain looked upon them with his dying sight as one of Nelwyn’s arrows tore through his throat. Darkness claimed him quickly, but not before he held one last thought—soon the main body of the Scourge’s army would arrive, and even these impressive wooden gates would not stand long before the onslaught of Lokai.

  A great cheer went up from the archers as their arrows chased the pathetic remainder of the Scourge’s cavalry back toward the east, and this was echoed by most of the onlookers and surviving riders. Yet Ali silenced them quickly. “This is only the first wave,” he warned. “You have done well, and you should be encouraged, but know that we face a much greater peril. The Scourge has a dread weapon that travels with it, and we do not know how such a threat may be conquered. We must not celebrate too lustily as yet. Look to your weap
ons and replenish your arrows. We will send forth gleaners to retrieve those already spent and to recover any survivors.”

  “Do so quickly then,” said Nelwyn. “The dust raised by the army can be seen already; they are passing through the hills and will soon arrive here. Are the fires ready?” She referred to the fires intended to ignite the arrows that would set the oil pits ablaze.

  “Yes,” said Ali, “and the advance guards are in place to ignite those that are beyond the range of arrows. Between the pits and the fires, the way will be made quite narrow, and that should unbalance our foes. They will not expect any of this, I’ll warrant.”

  “The fires will aid us,” said Nelwyn, “yet I doubt the dragon will be dismayed by either our fires or our traps!”

  Ali was undaunted. “This is most unusual for a commander to say, but I almost hope they breach the gates. I want to see the look on their faces when they encounter the wall.”

  In the courtyard below, Gaelen embraced Rogond, thankful that they had not been sundered. Yet there was little time for such things. “You have seen this dragon,” said Rogond. “You and Nelwyn should go down to Fima and the scholars, and aid them in determining how it may be defeated. You must go at once, for you will be needed when the army arrives.”

  Gaelen smiled at him. “When they see what’s left of their cavalry, I doubt they will mount an attack until they are ready. They will not be lured close quite so easily the next time. And the dragon moves by its own will, I expect.” She tossed her head, shaking her hair from her eyes. “We have a little time, but you’re right—once that monster gets here there will be no rest until it lies dead.” She embraced Rogond again before turning to find Nelwyn, whereupon they would make their way down to the Scholar’s Keep.