But the men of Andomhaim would have been taken completely unawares by the main attack…and then Mayascora had squandered their advantage of surprise.
Still. All obstacles could be turned to advantages. Agravhask had been certain that the attack would fail, so he had made sure that the priestesses and soldiers most loyal to Mayascora had been dispatched, ridding the High Priestesses of much of her support. He had committed none of his fire drakes or bombards to the attack, ensuring they at least would remain a surprise. And even the fact that Andomhaim was now on its guard could be turned to an advantage.
Among the arachar soldiers of the Heptarchy, there was a proverb that victory went to the warrior who understood both himself and his enemy. Agravhask had found that to be entirely true. But there was a deeper truth. If you understood what the enemy would do in response to your actions, indeed, the only thing they could do in response, and you adjusted your plan accordingly…
The results could be impressive.
The men of Andomhaim expected an attack from the Heptarchy, and Agravhask intended to give them one.
Just not the way they expected.
“Yes, Warlord,” said Tuldrask, and Valdrammis nodded.
The arachar orc and the kyralf wizard stood facing Agravhask. Tuldrask wore his crimson armor and spiked helm, and Valdrammis had donned the lighter chain mail and cloak favored by the kyralven battle wizards. Mayascora, Taztaloria, and a half-dozen other priestesses stood behind Agravhask. Taztaloria and the other priestesses affected aloof, controlled masks, but Mayascora was scowling. Her inability to control her emotions was her greatest weakness. If she wasn’t careful, one of the other priestesses would exploit that, and the Temple of the Crimson would find itself with a new leader. The urdmordar were not adverse to ambitious murder among their servants, so long as plausible deniability was maintained.
“Land four or five miles east of the city and assemble your forces there,” said Agravhask. “Prepare to assail the eastern wall but make no serious effort to take the city unless an opportunity presents itself. The enemy will respond in great force to your arrival. Engage them in battle, but do not attempt to overcome them. Fall back if possible rather than give battle. Waste no soldiers in futile attempts at heroics."
“Then we are to give them a serious fight as much as possible without undue risk?” said Valdrammis.
“Correct. Make certain the eyes of the enemy are upon you,” said Agravhask. “Let them believe that you are the main thrust of our invasion. While you hold their attention, they will not see the hammer blow rising behind them.”
“As you command, Warlord,” said Tuldrask. “With your permission, we shall join our forces now.”
“Go,” said Agravhask. “Remember that you are taking the first step on the path to the annihilation of our foes.”
And to a new and better cosmos, one free of the defects of the old, but Tuldrask and Valdrammis didn’t need to know that. Nor would they have understood it even if Agravhask had told them.
The arachar orc and the kyralven wizard bowed and strode away. A moment later, four orcish rowers propelled their longboat towards one of the warships, which was already maneuvering away from the rest of the fleet.
“You take a grave risk, Warlord,” said Mayascora.
He had been expecting her to challenge him once Tuldrask and Valdrammis were out of earshot. No doubt she would have claimed, and perhaps even told herself, that it was to keep from undermining the authority of the Seven Temples in front of the lower-ranking soldiers. In reality, Agravhask knew it was because she feared that he would make her look bad yet again, and she would prefer that it happen in front of those whose absolute obedience she commanded.
A foolish decision. Perhaps one of the priestesses standing around Mayascora would one day kill her and claim the leadership of the Temple of the Crimson.
“All warfare is risk, High Priestess,” said Agravhask.
“But to send two-fifths of our force with Tuldrask is a profound risk,” said Mayascora. “If he fails and our soldiers are destroyed, we will not have the strength to conquer Andomhaim outright. The will of the goddesses shall be thwarted.”
“Are you saying that the will of the seven goddesses is not supreme, High Priestess?” said Agravhask. The higher echelons of the Seven Temples regarded their goddesses with a mix of cynicism, awe, and terror. They knew that the urdmordar were not as powerful as they claimed but nonetheless held their goddesses in fear and dread.
Agravhask knew the ultimate truth. The urdmordar were not goddesses at all but powerful predators of dark magic. The seven urdmordar were like wolves living off herds of compliant sheep. Their interests and abilities did not extend beyond the horizons of their own hunger and gratification, save perhaps for the Visionary. They thought of nothing deeper than their own lusts.
The vision of the Warden was as beyond them as poetry would have been beyond a chimpanzee.
The blasphemous thought amused Agravhask, though he knew better than to voice it.
Mayascora did not quite have the same level of control.
“Certainly not, Warlord!” she said, almost sputtering in her outrage. “Do not presume to put words into the mouth of the High Priestess of the Temple of the Crimson! The will of the seven goddesses is supreme in this and in all things.” She pointed at him, so agitated that the crimson claw had sprouted from the finger. “But it is the servants of the goddesses who might fail…and their wrath shall be formidable indeed if we do not carry out our sacred charge to bring Andomhaim under their sway.”
“Fear not, High Priestess,” said Agravhask. “By this time next week Cintarra shall be ours, and the gathered strength of Andomhaim shall be as chaff upon the threshing floor.”
Mayascora scoffed. “A bold claim.”
“The army of Andomhaim has already assembled to fight an invader from the north,” said Agravhask. That was common knowledge, thanks to the scouting parties. No need for Agravhask to reveal that he knew two of the other Heralds of Ruin led the invaders in questions. “Thanks to our recent attack on Cintarra, they will know that we pose a greater threat to their realm.” Mayascora’s eyes narrowed, but Agravhask didn’t mention her role in that failed attack. “And therefore, we shall shatter their army and kill their leaders at one stroke.”
“You had better be right, Warlord,” said Mayascora. “For if you fail, it is not my wrath you shall face, but the fury of the seven goddesses themselves.”
Agravhask laughed quietly as he gazed north.
“What?” said Mayascora, drawing herself up. “Do you find me funny, Warlord? Do the servants of the goddesses amuse you?”
They did, but that wasn’t why he had laughed.
“Chaos and random chance rule the battlefield,” said Agravhask. “The best-laid plans may be undone by a single decision of a lone child.” Indeed, that was true of the cosmos itself. Chaos feeding on chaos in an endless meaningless loop. It was the great flaw of the cosmos that the Warden would break. “But soon the battlefield shall be watered with the blood of Andomhaim, and their skulls ground beneath the boots of our soldiers. And you, priestess, you shall have a hundred thousand souls to present to the Crimson.”
At least until the Great Eye opened.
He did not raise his voice or make any threatening movements, but the priestesses edged away from him, and Mayascora’s eyes narrowed, the claws sliding from her fingers.
“We shall see, Agravhask of Mazulrast,” said Mayascora.
Mazulrast. Where he had once been a prince of the royal house.
The city whose destruction had set him upon the path he now walked.
Agravhask felt himself smile. He did it so infrequently that it felt strange. But he smiled now.
Two of the priestesses actually took a step back.
“Indeed, High Priestess,” said Agravhask, his voice soft. “Soon all things shall be put to the test.”
###
Three and a half days after leaving Rhudlan
, Ridmark and Calliande returned to Cintarra.
Or, at least, to Queen Mara’s castra northeast of the city.
The Anathgrimm orcs and their lord the Traveler had long been the bitter enemies of Andomhaim. But then Mara had killed her father, and the Anathgrimm had sworn to her. The spiny orcs had proven themselves in the long battle against the Frostborn, and Jager had built trading networks throughout Andomhaim and especially Cintarra, trying to convince the Anathgrimm that commerce was better than war. Because of that, Mara and Jager had gained many friends in Andomhaim, and Prince Tywall’s father had permitted Mara to build a castra to house her soldiers near the city. The castra had a strong stone wall encircling the barracks of the Anathgrimm and the great hall where Mara held court when visiting Cintarra.
Now the host of Andomhaim sprawled near the castra.
Or some of it, anyway. Moving tens of thousands of men to one destination was difficult enough. Turning that army around and sending it south in haste was even harder. The road along the eastern bank of the River Cintarra had been an endless river of marching men and wagons pulled by laboring oxen and horses. The congestion had been so bad that Arandar had commanded the horsemen to ride south across the country, avoiding the road entirely.
The army was making haste, but Ridmark feared that it would not be enough.
Not with the reports the ghost orcs were bringing back.
“The enemy moves in great numbers, High King of Andomhaim,” said Shalmathrak.
Arandar had raised his banner before the gate to Mara’s castra, letting reports from both the scouts and the nobles come to him. Ridmark stood with Calliande and Morigna, keeping watch over Arandar and Accolon. Queen Mara and Prince Consort Jager stood next to the High King, flanked by several scowling Anathgrimm of the Queen’s Guard. Some of the Duxi had arrived as well, and the army was beginning to assemble itself around the castra.
But not nearly fast enough.
“How many have you seen?” said Arandar.
“Several hundred large vessels,” said Shalmathrak. The Warlord of the Shaluuskan Forest had been concerned enough by the reports from the south that he had left a third of his rangers to keep watch on the western bank near Rhudlan. The rest he had sent south to spy on the Heptarchy, leading them himself. “They are perhaps five miles east of the city proper. Already they have unloaded several thousand soldiers. Arachar orcs, like the ones the Crown Prince battled inside the city.” He paused. “There are also hundreds of halflings, though clad in a strange manner and adorned with peculiar blue tattoos. They seem to serve as engineers.”
“The Azrikai,” said Morigna. “A nation of halflings in the Heptarchy. They have a reputation for fine craftsmanship and mechanical skill. The Seven Temples use them as engineers and smiths.”
“We also saw strange creatures I did not recognize,” said Shalmathrak. “They looked vaguely akin to orcs, though with gray skin and elven features.”
“The kyralves,” said Morigna. “Hybrids of orcs and dark elves. The Visionary created them with her alchemical sciences. They can live for several hundred years and are frequently skilled with elemental magic. In the Seven Temples, they serve as Ordinariates, an office akin to that of a deacon in the church of Andomhaim, and in the army, they serve as battle wizards.”
“Like the Arcanius Knights,” said Ridmark, and Morigna nodded.
“Were your men seen, Warlord?” said Arandar.
“No, High King of Andomhaim,” said Shalmathrak. “Whatever powers the enemy wields, seeing a ghost orc ranger when he wishes to remain unseen is not one of them.” He paused. “But based on the size of the vessels my men have seen, the enemy will have landed twenty thousand soldiers upon the beach before the sun is down, perhaps twenty-five thousand.”
“God and the saints,” said Accolon. “Two or three thousand attempted to seize the harbor of Cintarra, and they put up a furious fight.”
“You thought the Heptarchy brought between fifty and sixty thousand soldiers?” said Arandar. Morigna nodded. “They have landed a significant portion of their force.”
“It must be the first wave, High King,” rumbled one of the Anathgrimm. Qhazulak was the Lord Captain of the Queen’s Guard, and he generally led the Anathgrimm in battle. “The enemy will attempt a landing somewhere else along the coast, or prepare to assault Cintarra itself. Else there is no reason for the foe to divide his army.”
“Agravhask has a cunning strategy, I have no doubt of it,” said Morigna. “He is not a fool, and if he is dividing his army, he has a good reason.”
“Perhaps he is sending the rest of his host to attack elsewhere,” said Ridmark. “His original plan was to attack Cintarra from the east and the west simultaneously, and then assault the harbor.”
“Maybe,” said Morigna, “but there is no way to land that many men undetected. Not with the watchers the Crown Prince placed along the coast.”
“He might be sailing for Tarlion itself,” said Accolon. “With so many of our men gathered here, Tarlion is lightly defended. Perhaps Agravhask thinks to seize Tarlion itself while we fight part of his army here.”
“But Agravhask isn’t here for the Well of Tarlion,” said Calliande. “He’s here for the Great Eye. And Tarlion is better defended against dark magic. Powerful wards against dark spells guard Tarlion’s walls. Cintarra has nothing to match it.”
“I agree with the Keeper,” said Morigna. “The Heralds of Ruin have come for the Great Eye. Whatever Agravhask does, it will be to seize the Great Eye.”
“He may not be a fool,” said Arandar, “but he might have made a mistake, nonetheless. Dividing your strength in the face of an opponent is always a risky choice and can sometimes end in disaster.” He looked at Morigna. “You are certain that the enemy has no horsemen?”
“Entirely,” said Morigna. “The Heptarchy is not without horses, but they are a luxury accorded only to priestesses and the wealthy. Feeding and caring for them would have been too great a problem, so Agravhask did not bring any. Besides, the Heptarchy does not have a tradition of mounted warfare like the knights of Andomhaim.”
“What do you have in mind?” said Ridmark. He had known the High King long enough to tell when Arandar had come to a decision.
“I want to test the strength of the enemy,” said Arandar. “Mounted raids in force. Let us hit the Heptarchy and gauge their numbers at the same time. The more we can disrupt them now, the easier it will be when the decisive battle comes.”
“Then you mean to bring them to battle?” said Calliande.
“We have no choice, Keeper,” said Arandar. “I know this is only part of Agravhask’s strength. But if we can destroy this smaller force now, we will have an easier time of it when the next wave arrives.”
He gave a series of commands, and horsemen began to gather for battle.
###
Complacency, Niall had realized, was not the worst of sins.
But it let to all kinds of avoidable evils.
And among soldiers, complacency could be deadly.
Fortunately, Niall did not find much of it as he made a circuit of Cintarra’s eastern walls. Archbishop Caelmark had gathered his knights and the decurions of Cintarra’s militia, and he had given out tasks to prepare for the coming attack. Niall had received the responsibility of inspecting a large portion of the eastern wall.
He did not find much of which to complain. Even as recently as a year ago, the lords and merchants of Cintarra had been complacent, secure in their power and riches. It had been centuries since a foe had seriously threatened the city, and even if the Regency Council’s land enclosures caused unrest, it would not touch the greatest city in Andomhaim.
But the arrival of the Dragon Cult and the loss of most of the lands west of the River Cintarra had shaken the illusion of security…and the Heptarchy attack on the harbor had shattered it entirely. Moriah might have been busy hunting treacherous nobles, but the rest of the city had been feverishly preparing for an impending attack. So
me of that, Niall knew, would have been inspired by the fear of the city’s people. Much of it would have been the foresight of Prince Accolon and the iron will of Archbishop Caelmark carrying out the Prince’s commands.
Accompanied by two decurions of the militia twice his age, Niall inspected dozens of watch towers along the eastern wall. He found them well-stocked with quivers of arrows and crossbow bolts. Every watch tower had a siege engine, whether a ballista or a catapult, and missiles for the engines were stored in the towers as well. The militia soldiers guarding the walls were diligent, fearing that the Dragon Cult or the Heptarchy might arrive at any moment.
As they well might.
The militia decurions did not seem pleased to have a man of Niall’s relative youth placed over them, but he didn’t care, and they didn’t make trouble. No one in their right mind wanted to provoke a quarrel with Archbishop Caelmark. Though Niall found little enough of which to complain. One watch tower was short on quivers of arrows. Another lacked bolts for its ballista. Some of the men were caught drinking while on duty. Once the inspection was completed, Niall bade the decurions farewell and returned to the forum before the eastern square.
Cintarra’s eastern forum was even larger than the one before its northern gate. Before the Anathgrimm had become allies of Andomhaim, more traffic had come along the coast road from Tarlion, and the eastern gate was larger and its forum grander. Statues of knights and lords stood in the forum, and shops lined its edges. Niall had left his horse at one of the inns, and he headed for the stairs leading from the rampart to the forum.
“Well, Sir Lordsbane, it looks like you’re keeping busy,” said a woman’s voice.
Niall froze and turned, hand dropping to his sword hilt on reflex. A tall figure in a dark coat emerged from one of the doors to the gatehouse. Niall did not recognize the man, and then he saw the green eyes and red hair and realized it was actually a woman.
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