The Knights of Neraka laid siege to Sanction. They expected the siege to be a long one. As soon as the Dark Knights attacked the city, its fractured elements would unite in its defense. The Knights were patient, however. They could not starve the city into submission; blockade runners continued to bring supplies into Sanction. But the Knights of Neraka could shut down all overland trade routes. Thus the Knights of Neraka effectively strangled the merchants and brought Sanction’s economy to ruin.
Pressured by the demands of the citizens, Hogan Bight had agreed within the last year to permit the Solamnic Knights to send in a force to bolster the city’s flagging defenses. At first, the Knights were welcomed as saviors. The people of Sanction expected the Knights would put an immediate end to the siege. The Solamnics replied that they had to study the situation. After months of watching the Knights study, the people again urged the Solamnics to break the siege. The Knights replied that their numbers were too few. They needed reinforcements.
Nightly the besiegers bombarded the city with boulders and fiery bales of hay flung from catapults. The burning hay bales started blazes, the boulders knocked holes in buildings. People died, property was destroyed. No one could get a good night’s sleep. As the leadership of the Knights of Neraka had calculated, the excitement and fervor of Sanction’s residents, which had burned hot when first defending their city against the foe, cooled as the siege dragged out month after month. They found fault with the Solamnics, called them cowards. The Knights retorted that the citizens were hot-heads who would have them all die for nothing. Hearing reports from their spies that the unity was starting to crack, the Knights of Neraka began to build up their forces for an all-out, major assault. Their leadership waited only for a sign that the cracks had penetrated to the enemy’s heart.
A large valley known as Zhakar Valley lay to the east of Sanction. Early in the siege, the Knights of Neraka had gained control of this valley and all of the passes that led from Sanction into the valley. Hidden in the foothills of the Zhakar Mountains, the valley was being used by the Knights as a staging area for their armies.
“The Zhakar Valley is our destination,” Mina told her Knights. But when asked why, what they would do there, she would say nothing other than, “We are called.”
Mina and her forces arrived at noon. The sun was high in a cloudless sky, seeming to stare down upon all below with avid expectation, an expectation that sucked up the wind, left the air still and hot.
Mina brought her small command to a halt at the entrance to the valley. Directly opposite them, across the valley, was a pass known as Beckard’s Cut. Through the cut, the Knights could see the besieged city, see a small portion of the wall that surrounded Sanction. Between the Knights and Sanction lay their own army. Another city had sprung up in the valley, a city of tents and campfires, wagons and draft animals, soldiers and camp followers.
Mina and her Knights had arrived at a propitious time, seemingly. The camp of the Knights of Neraka rang with cheers. Trumpets blared, officers bellowed, companies formed on the road. Already the lead forces were marching through the cut, heading toward Sanction. Others were quickly following.
“Good,” said Mina. “We are in time.”
She galloped her horse down the steep road, her Knights followed after. They heard in the trumpets the melody of the song they had heard in their sleep. Hearts pounded, pulses quickened, yet they had no idea why.
“Find out what is going on,” Mina instructed Galdar.
The minotaur nabbed the first officer he could locate, questioned the man. Returning to Mina, the minotaur grinned and rubbed his hands.
“The cursed Solamnics have left the city!” he reported. “The wizard who runs Sanction has thrown the Solamnic Knights out on their ears. Kicked them in the ass. Sent them packing. If you look”—Galdar turned, pointed through Beckard’s Cut—“you can see their ships, those little black dots on the horizon.”
The Knights under Mina’s command began to cheer. Mina looked at the distant ships, but she did not smile. Foxfire stirred restlessly, shook his mane and pawed the ground.
“You brought us here in good time, Mina,” Galdar continued with enthusiasm. “They are preparing to launch the final assault. This day, we’ll drink Sanction’s blood. This night, we’ll drink Sanction ale!”
The men laughed. Mina said nothing, her expression indicated neither elation nor joy. Her amber eyes roved the army camp, seeking something and not finding what she wanted, apparently, for a small frown line appeared between her brows. Her lips pursed in displeasure. She continued her search and finally, her expression cleared. She nodded to herself and patted Foxfire’s neck, calming him.
“Galdar, do you see that company of archers over there?”
Galdar looked, found them, indicated that he did.
“They do not wear the livery of the Knights of Neraka.”
“They are a mercenary company,” Galdar explained. “In our pay, but they fight under their own officers.”
“Excellent. Bring their commander to me.”
“But, Mina, why—”
“Do as I have ordered, Galdar,” said Mina.
Her Knights, gathered behind her, exchanged startled glances, shrugging, wondering. Galdar was about to argue. He was about to urge Mina to let him join in the final drive toward victory instead of sending him off on some fool’s errand. A jarring, tingling sensation numbed his right arm, felt as if he’d struck his “funny bone.” For one terrifying moment, he could not move his fingers. Nerves tingled and jangled. The feeling went away in a moment, leaving him shaken. Probably nothing more than a pinched nerve, but the tingling reminded him of what he owed her. Galdar swallowed his arguments and departed on his assignment.
He returned with the archer company’s commander, an older human, in his forties, with the inordinately strong arms of a bowman. The mercenary officer’s expression was sullen, hostile. He would not have come at all, but it is difficult to say no to a minotaur who towers over you head, shoulders, and horns and who is insistent upon your coming.
Mina wore her helm with the visor raised. A wise move, Galdar thought. The helm shadowed her youthful, girl’s face, kept it hidden.
“What are you orders, Talon Leader?” Mina asked. Her voice resonated from within the visor, cold and hard as the metal.
The commander looked up at the Knight with a certain amount of scorn, not the least intimidated.
“I’m no blasted ‘talon leader,’ Sir Knight,” he said and he laid a nasty, sarcastic emphasis on the word ‘sir.’ “I hold my rank as captain of my own command, and we don’t take orders from your kind. Just money. We do whatever we damn well please.”
“Speak politely to the talon leader,” Galdar growled and gave the officer a shove that staggered him.
The man wheeled, glowered, reached for his short sword. Galdar grasped his own sword. His fellow soldiers drew their blades with a ringing sound. Mina did not move.
“What are your orders, Captain?” she asked again.
Seeing he was outnumbered, the officer slid his sword back into its sheath, his movement slow and deliberate, to show that he was still defiant, just not stupid.
“To wait until the assault is launched and then to fire at the guards on the walls. Sir,” he said sulkily, adding in sullen tones, “We’ll be the last ones into the city, which means all the choice pickings will already be gone.”
Mina regarded him speculatively. “You have little respect for the Knights of Neraka or our cause.”
“What cause?” The office gave a brief, barking laugh. “To fill your own coffers? That’s all you care about. You and your foolish visions.” He spat on the ground.
“Yet you were once one of us, Captain Samuval. You were once a Knight of Takhisis,” Mina said. “You quit because the cause for which you joined was gone. You quit because you no longer believed.”
The captain’s eyes widened, his face muscles went slack. “How did—” He snapped his mouth shut. “W
hat if I was?” he growled. “I didn’t desert, if that’s what you’re thinking. I bought my way out. I have my papers—”
“If you do not believe in our cause, why do you continue to fight for us, Captain?” Mina asked.
Samuval snorted. “Oh, I believe in your cause now, all right,” he said with a leer. “I believe in money, same as the rest of you.”
Mina sat her horse, who was still and calm beneath her hand, and gazed through Beckard’s Cut, gazed at the city of Sanction. Galdar had a sudden, strange impression that she could see through the walls of the city, see through the armor of those defending the city, see through their flesh and their bones to their very hearts and minds, just as she had seen through him. Just as she had seen through the captain.
“No one will enter Sanction this day, Captain Samuval,” said Mina softly. “The carrion birds will be the ones who find ‘choice pickings.’ The ships that you see sailing away are not filled with Solamnic Knights. The troops that line their decks are in reality straw dummies wearing the armor of Solamnics Knights. It is a trap.”
Galdar stared, aghast. He believed her. Believed as surely as if he had seen inside the ships, seen inside the walls to the enemy army hiding there, ready to spring.
“How do you know this?” the captain demanded.
“What if I gave you something to believe in, Captain Samuval?” she asked instead of answering. “What if I make you the hero of this battle? Would you pledge your loyalty to me?” She smiled slightly. “I have no money to offer you. I have only this sure knowledge that I freely share with you—fight for me and on this day you will come to know the one true god.”
Captain Samuval gazed up at her in wordless astonishment. He looked dazed, lightning-struck.
Mina held out her raw and bleeding hands, palms open. “You are offered a choice, Captain Samuval. I hold death in one hand. Glory in the other. Which will it be?”
Samuval scratched his beard. “You’re a strange one, Talon Leader. Not like any of your kind I’ve ever met before.”
He looked back through Beckard’s Cut.
“Rumor has spread among the men that the city is abandoned,” Mina said. “They have heard it will open its gates in surrender. They have become a mob. They run to their own destruction.”
She spoke truly. Ignoring the shouts of the officers, who were vainly endeavoring to maintain some semblance of order, the foot soldiers had broken ranks. Galdar watched the army disintegrate, become in an instant an undisciplined horde rampaging through the cut. Eager for the kill, eager for spoils. Captain Samuval spat again in disgust. His expression dark, he looked back at Mina.
“What would you have me do, Talon Leader?”
“Take your company of archers and post them on that ridge there. Do you see it?” Mina pointed to a foothill overlooking Beckard’s Cut.
“I see it,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “And what do we do once we’re there?”
“My Knights and I will take up our positions there. Once arrived, you will await my orders,” Mina replied. “When I give those orders, you will obey my commands without question.”
She held out her hand, her blood-smeared hand. Was it the hand that held death or the hand that held life? Galdar wondered.
Perhaps Captain Samuval wondered as well, for he hesitated before he finally took her hand into his own. His hand was large, callused from the bowstring, brown and grimy. Her hand was small, its touch light. Her palm was blistered, rimed with dried blood. Yet it was the captain who winced slightly.
He looked down at his hand when she released him, rubbed it on his leather corselet, as if rubbing away the pain of sting or burn.
“Make haste, Captain. We don’t have much time,” Mina ordered.
“And just who are you, Sir Knight?” Captain Samuval asked. He was still rubbing his hand.
“I am Mina,” she said.
Grasping the reins, she pulled sharply. Foxfire wheeled. Mina dug in her spurs, galloped straight for the ridge above Beckard’s Cut. Her Knights rode alongside her. Galdar ran at her stirrup, legs pumping to keep up.
“How do you know that Captain Samuval will obey you, Mina?” the minotaur roared over the pounding of horses’ hooves.
She looked down on him and smiled. Her amber eyes were bright in the shadow of the helm.
“He will obey,” she said, “if for no other reason now than to demonstrate his disdain for his superiors and their foolish commands. But the captain is a man who hungers, Galdar. He yearns for food. They have given him clay to fill his belly. I will give him meat. Meat to nourish his soul.”
Mina leaned over her horse’s head and urged the animal to gallop even faster.
Captain Samuval’s Archer Company took up position on the ridgeline overlooking Beckard’s Cut. They were several hundred strong, well-trained professional bowmen who had fought in many of Neraka’s wars before now. They used the elven long bow, so highly prized among archers. Taking up their places, they stood foot to foot, packed tightly together, with not much room to maneuver, for the ridgeline was not long. The archers were in a foul mood. Watching the army of the Knights of Neraka sweep down on Sanction, the men muttered that there would be nothing left for them—the finest women carried off, the richest houses plundered. They might as well go home.
Above them clouds thickened; roiling gray clouds that bubbled up over the Zhakar Mountains and began to slide down the mountain’s side.
The army camp was empty, now, except for the tents and supply wagons and a few wounded who had been unable to go with their brethren and were cursing their ill luck. The clamor of the battle moved away from them. The surrounding mountains and the lowering clouds deflected the sounds of the attacking army. The valley was eerily silent.
The archers looked sullenly to their captain, who looked impatiently to Mina.
“What are your orders, Talon Leader?” he asked.
“Wait,” she said.
They waited. The army washed up against the walls of Sanction, pounded against the gate. The noise and commotion was far away, a distant rumbling. Mina removed her helm, ran her hand over her shorn head with its down of dark red hair. She sat straight-backed upon her horse, her chin lifted. Her gaze was not on Sanction but on the blue sky above them, blue sky that was rapidly darkening.
The archers stared, astounded at her youth, amazed at her strange beauty. She did not heed their stares, did not hear their coarse remarks that were swallowed by the silence welling up out of the valley. The men felt something ominous about the silence. Those who continued to make remarks did so out of bravado and were almost immediately hushed by their uneasy comrades.
An explosion rocked the ground around Sanction, shattered the silence. The clouds boiled, the sunlight vanished. The Neraka army’s gloating roars of victory were abruptly cut off. Shouts of triumph shrilled to screams of panic.
“What is happening?” demanded the archers, their tongues loosed. Everyone talked at once. “Can you see?”
“Silence in the ranks!” Captain Samuval bellowed.
One of the Knights, who had been posted as observer near the cut, came galloping toward them.
“It was a trap!” He began to yell when he was still some distance away. “The gates of Sanction opened to our forces, but only to spew forth the Solamnics! There must be a thousand of them. Sorcerers ride at their head, dealing death with their cursed magicks!”
The Knight reined in his excited horse. “You spoke truly, Mina!” His voice was awed, reverent. “A huge blast of magical power killed hundreds of our troops at the outset. Their bodies lie smoldering on the field. Our soldiers are fleeing! They are running this way, retreating through the cut. It is a rout!”
“All is lost, then,” said Captain Samuval, though he looked at Mina strangely. “The Solamnic forces will drive the army into the valley. We will be caught between the anvil of the mountains and the hammer of the Solamnics.”
His words proved true. Those in the rear echelons
were already streaming back through Beckard’s Cut. Many had no idea where they were going, only that they wanted to be far away from the blood and the death. A few of the less confused and more calculating were making for the narrow road that ran through the mountains to Khur.
“A standard!” Mina said urgently. “Find me a standard!”
Captain Samuval took hold of the grimy white scarf he wore around his neck and handed it up to her. “Take this and welcome, Mina.”
Mina took the scarf in her hands, bowed her head. Whispering words no one could hear, she kissed the scarf and handed it to Galdar. The white fabric was stained red with blood from the raw blisters on her hand. One of Mina’s Knights offered his lance. Galdar tied the bloody scarf onto the lance, handed the lance back to Mina.
Wheeling Foxfire, she rode him up the rocks to a high promontory and held the standard aloft.
“To me, men!” she shouted. “To Mina!”
The clouds parted. A mote of sunlight jabbed from the heavens, touched only Mina as she sat astride her horse on the ridgeline. Her black armor blazed as if dipped in flame, her amber eyes gleamed, lit from behind with the light of battle. Her redound, a clarion call, brought the fleeing soldiers to a halt. They looked to see from whence the call came and saw Mina outlined in flame, blazing like a beacon fire upon the hillside.
The fleeing soldiers halted in their mad dash, looked up, dazzled.
“To me!” Mina yelled again. “Glory is ours this day!”
The soldiers hesitated, then one ran toward her, scrambling, slipping and sliding up the hillside. Another followed and another, glad to have purpose and direction once again.
“Bring those men over there to me,” Mina ordered Galdar, pointing to another group of soldiers in full retreat. “As many as you can gather. See that they are armed. Draw them up in battle formation there on the rocks below.”
Dragons of a Fallen Sun Page 15
