But God and the saints, he was tired.
She dropped to her knees, grabbed his shoulders, and began casting the Heal spell.
“I’m fine,” said Tyrcamber. “I’m fine, I’m fine. No wounds. Just tired.” Ruari stared at him and let out a long breath. Tyrcamber hugged her and then got to his feet as Third, Rilmael, and Selene devastated the remaining muridachs and black knights.
Tyrcamber would have gone to their aid, but there wasn’t any need.
“Huh,” he said. “I think we won.”
Later that day Everard Roland was elected and crowned as the next Emperor of the Franks.
***
Chapter 23: Conquest
Agravhask ripped Shieldruin free from the dead soldier, the human’s blood burning from the corrupted soulblade’s crimson blade.
He looked for his next foe and could find none.
Around him lay dozens of slain men-at-arms and knights, men who had fallen to his sword or to the blades and spells of the Chosen Guards. It was easy enough to mark those he had killed himself. Shieldruin had devoured their life forces, leaving their corpses a withered husk. The dark soulblade lusted for death and pain, and it had gorged on the deaths of his foes.
With some reluctance, he forced his mind from the joys of slaughter to the demands of command. The dockside district of Cintarra had fallen to his forces, and remaining resistance in the city was collapsing. Wave after wave of arachar orcs landed in the harbor and came ashore, proceeding to their targets within the city. Cintarra had not yet fully fallen to the Heptarchy, but it was only a matter of time. The defenders had made their stand at the docks, and between the bombards and the following assault, resistance had been broken.
But a victory could be lost by a failure to follow through, and a million different tasks required his attention. Agravhask strode towards the quays, the last of the blood burning from Shieldruin’s blade, the surviving Chosen Guards falling in around him. He needed to make the city secure for the Heptarchy, a stronghold unassailable to all their foes.
At least, that was his stated reason.
But he would make the city secure for the Heralds, and soon they would gather to open the Great Eye for the Warden. Agravhask would have to send messengers to the other two Heralds, the proud young nobleman driven mad by the Dragon Curse and the bitter assassin mourning the death of her inept father. They were both unstable, dominated by their impulses and the influences of their dark soulblades in a way neither fully understood, and Agravhask needed to take them in hand before they did something rash that threatened the Warden’s grand design.
But one problem at a time.
He strode to the great banner set up at the edge of the quays, the stylized crimson spider of the Heptarchy rippling on the black cloth. Several of his chief commanders stood there, along with some of the high priestesses, both directing the movement of soldiers into the city.
“Warlord,” said Vhastur, the highest-ranking of the commanders, a scar-faced arachar orc in battle-worn plate armor.
“Vhastur,” said Agravhask. “What news?”
“The city is ours,” said Taztaloria, her green eyes shining with eagerness in her gaunt face. “Soon all the human lands shall bow to the seven goddesses.”
“Soon, but such a glorious fate will not come to pass if we falter,” said Agravhask. Taztaloria swallowed. She had a harder time concealing her fear of him than her superior Mayascora. “Vhastur, report.”
“The northern and eastern gates of the Eastern City have fallen,” said Vhastur, his voice a harsh growl. Years ago, he had survived a wound to the neck that should have killed him, but it made his voice a rasp. “Our men are in control of all the watch towers.” His lips peeled back behind his tusks in a hard smile. “The enemy prepared the watch towers well. The siege engines are in working order and stocked with missiles.”
“Good. The Western City?” said Agravhask.
“We have secured four of the seven bridges over the river,” said Vhastur. “At last report, resistance continues on the remaining three bridges, but the captains there expect to clear the defenders within the hour. The northern gate of the Western City is under our control. Fighting is still underway at the western gate. Unless the gate falls soon, I was going to take command there myself.”
“Very well,” said Agravhask. “The citadel? The…Prince’s Palace, as I believe the natives call it?”
“It seems to have been abandoned in the chaos,” said Vhastur. “I sent men to seize it.”
“And my instructions about the child Prince?” said Agravhask.
Vhastur bowed. “I emphasized them to the men. If at all feasible, Tywall Gwyrdragon is to be taken alive and presented unharmed to the high priestesses.”
“Good,” said Agravhask. He looked at Taztaloria. “Perhaps the young Prince shall soon be in your care, High Priestess.”
“He would be blessed to receive such a fate,” said Taztaloria. “If he is the first of his people’s rulers to swear to the seven goddesses, he will be richly rewarded. Perhaps he shall even receive the throne of Andomhaim as a vassal of the Temples.”
“Perhaps,” said Agravhask. The Seven Temples had long followed a policy of subverting and suborning local rulers whenever possible. It had served the Heptarchy well in the long millennia of conquest, and doubtless it would prove a useful instrument of subjugation here as well.
Though the Great Eye would be open long before that.
“Warlord.”
Agravhask looked to the side, and down. Milchikai and several Azrikai halflings approached and offered deep bows.
“Master of Engineers,” said Agravhask.
“As commanded, we have retrieved the heads of the High King and the chief priest of the humans, the…ah, archbishop,” said Milchikai, taking care to pronounce the alien word. “They will be preserved in crystalline casks to prevent decay.”
“Very good,” said Agravhask. During catastrophic defeats, people tended to latch onto myths of their rulers, believing they would return again. Displaying the head of the defeated High King would prevent such legends from becoming the seed of future rebellions.
“Additionally, we have also found the crown and soulblade of the High King,” said Milchikai. “As commanded, we have built a special cask to display them.”
“Good,” said Agravhask, and he paused as a thought came to him. “There were two Swordbearers.”
“Warlord?” said Milchikai, blinking.
“When I slew the High King, there was a second Swordbearer,” said Agravhask, remembering. “I flung him into a wall. But a younger man picked up his soulblade.”
Milchikai exchanged a look with the other engineers. “We found only one soulblade, Warlord. If you wish, we will immediately conduct a search for the other sword.”
“No,” said Agravhask. “The young man with the sword escaped. Doubtless he will join the defenders in making a final stand. Likely you will find it among their corpses.”
“As you will, Warlord,” said Milchikai. “Your instructions?”
“Vhastur,” said Agravhask. “Direct any forces now landing to assemble in the forum before the eastern gate. I will take command there, and we will march out and destroy the army of Andomhaim. The observers on the longships report that Tuldrask and Valdrammis have the royal army pinned in place east of the city. We will march out and attack them from the west, and we will break them against Tuldrask’s force.”
Agravhask had seized Cintarra, and now he would annihilate the army of Andomhaim. If Prince Tywall was captured, indoctrinating him and the next generation of nobles would occupy most of Mayascora’s time and attention. While she was busy with them, Agravhask would begin the conquest of the rest of Andomhaim…and await the coming of the Heralds.
Once they arrived, they would open the Great Eye, and the real work would begin.
“As you command, Warlord,” said Vhastur.
“Go to the western gate and take command of the fighting there,�
�� said Agravhask. “The sooner we have secured the city, the better.”
He statred to say something else, and then something caught his attention. Many of the High Priestesses were here, but some of them were missing.
“Where is High Priestess Mayascora?” he said.
###
The eastern gates opened, and the arachar orcs marched out.
Mayascora and her Chosen Guards walked at their head, and it was all she could do to keep the gleeful smile from her face.
Agravhask had performed well enough, she was willing to concede. He had assembled this army and navy and held them together during the long ocean crossing. And he had taken the city of Cintarra in a day. Mayascora had urged a surprise attack, and it had failed catastrophically. After that, she had been uncertain that they could take Cintarra at all without ruinous losses, and wondered if they ought to select a different landing site.
Well, Agravhask had done it…and Cintarra now belonged to the Heptarchy. Oh, there were a few pockets of resistance here and there, but they would be broken. Once the Prince was captured, Mayascora could turn her attention to molding him into a dutiful servant of the seven goddesses. Soon Cintarra and all Andomhaim would be part of the Heptarchy, providing slaves for labor, treasure for tribute…and sacrifices for the goddesses’ endless hunger.
But first, Mayascora had to bring Agravhask to heel…and she knew just how to do that.
The High King of Andomhaim was dead, and no doubt that would increase the legend around Agravhask, given that the Warlord had killed the High King with his own hands. But the gathered army of Andomhaim was still outside the walls, held in place by the soldiers under the command of Tuldrask and Valdrammis.
Which meant it was a perfect time to strike and crush that army between two forces.
Mayascora would attack from the west and Valdrammis and Tuldrask from the east. And once they had destroyed the army of Andomhaim, Valdrammis and Tuldrask would have no choice but to obey her, the High Priestess of the Crimson.
Let Agravhask claim the glory of taking the city. Mayascora would take credit for subduing the rest of Andomhaim.
It was well past time that she humbled Agravhask, perhaps even found a reason to have him killed. The arachar orc was arrogant above his station. The Visionary and the other goddesses had created the arachar orcs as their soldiers and servants, and for an arachar orc to receive command of the invasion instead of a priestess was intolerable. For that matter, Mayascora was not sure that Agravhask was loyal to the goddesses. Indeed, the Warlord said all the proper words, but Mayascora had doubts about him and that strange sword of his that he claimed to have found in a dark elven ruin.
And there was one other thing, something that Mayascora would not abide, and something that she could never tell anyone.
She was afraid of Agravhask, afraid of how he seemed to know all her secrets just by looking at her, afraid of how he was always two steps ahead of her.
Mayascora was the High Priestess of the Crimson, the leader of the goddess’s temple. She was one of the most powerful people in the Heptarchy. For her to fear anyone except the seven goddesses themselves…
It could not be borne. It could not!
But she would see Agravhask humbled once the enemy was slain.
Mayascora smiled to herself as she walked with the soldiers she had taken from Cintarra.
***
Chapter 24: War Is Our Business
The situation had been bad when Ridmark had left the army with Calliande, Gavin, and Antenora and ridden north to Queen Mara’s castra.
By the time they reached the castra, it was much worse.
Ridmark recognized the shapes flying over Cintarra and breathing flame into the city. At first, he thought they were dragons, but as they rode past Cintarra’s eastern walls, he realized that they were fire drakes. In Andomhaim, fire drakes usually were the size of large dogs. But in the mountains of Owyllain to the south, drakes could grow much larger. The Heptarchy must have tamed fire drakes and employed them as beasts of war. The Frostborn had used frost drakes as mounts, and the creatures had caused terrible harm to the forces of Andomhaim. Wild frost drakes, left over after the defeat of the Frostborn, still terrorized the Northerland from time to time.
About a mile north of Cintarra, the situation became worse.
Brilliant flashes of crimson light came from within the city, followed a few seconds later by thunderous roars. The noise was so loud that it startled Ridmark’s horse, which reared up, kicking its front hooves. A less experienced horseman would have lost his saddle. As it was, Ridmark barely held on, jamming his feet into the stirrups and gripping the reins until the animal calmed down.
“Steady,” said Ridmark, stroking the horse’s neck. He didn’t feel all that steady himself. Calliande, Antenora, and Gavin had halted their mounts, and they looked back at the city. Ridmark saw several crimson fireballs fading in the dockside district, plumes of smoke and dust rising from them. “God and the saints, what was that?”
“Some kind of magic,” said Calliande. “I saw a pulse of elemental fire with the Sight. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I have,” said Antenora, her voice grim as she stared at Cintarra. Harsh light flickered in the sigils carved into her black staff. “The men of Old Earth constructed weapons like that, machines that could kill hundreds or even thousands of men in the blink of an eye. The engineers of the Heptarchy must have devised something similar using alchemy.”
“Then let’s hurry,” said Ridmark, turning back towards the castra. Worry gnawed at him. The High King had gone into the city, along with a significant portion of the men raised from the royal lands. Had they all perished in the explosions? “Go!”
He kicked his horse to a gallop, and the others followed him.
They came to the castra a short time later. Its gates were shut, and guards stood upon the walls, crossbows in hand. But the Anathgrimm had assembled for battle outside the south wall, nearly seven thousand of them. The sight of rank after rank of Anathgrimm warriors scowling behind their bone masks, their armor glinting in the dim light from the overcast sky, was a formidable one.
Ridmark steered his horse towards the warriors of the Queen’s Guard, who waited at the head of the formation. He spotted Mara and Jager standing there, faces grave, along with Qhazulak, the Lord Captain of the Queen’s Guard, Bishop Zhorlacht, and the other chief advisors of Mara’s court.
“Ridmark!” called Mara as he reined up before her and dropped from the saddle. “What is happening?”
“Cintarra is under attack,” said Ridmark. “The High King went to summon reinforcements against the army on the beach, but we fear he was trapped in the Heptarchy assault. The army of Andomhaim is facing the arachar orcs…”
“The situation is worse than that, I fear,” said Antenora. “Look.”
She pointed, and Ridmark noticed two things.
The first was upon the walls of Cintarra. Ridmark could just make out fighting along the ramparts. If the arachar orcs had already reached the walls from the harbor, then the situation was dire indeed. Caelmark had planned to stop any Heptarchy attackers at the harbor. If the Heptarchy orcs had gotten so far into the city already…
The second was the dark mass pouring from Cintarra’s eastern gate. More arachar orcs, their crimson armor visible even across the distance, some of them carrying black banners adorned with the spider sigil. Ridmark’s heart sank within him. Not only did the arachar have numbers enough to take the walls, they were confident enough in their strength to send out forces to destroy the army with Crown Prince Accolon.
Cintarra was lost…and all Andomhaim might follow.
“God save us,” said Gavin. “The city has fallen, hasn’t it?”
“It would seem so,” said Mara. For once, Jager said nothing. He had always spoken fondly of his time as a master thief in Cintarra.
“We must act, my Queen,” growled Qhazulak. “Shall we attack Cintarra and attempt to retake
the city?”
“I advise against that,” said Ridmark. “If Cintarra has fallen, the enemy will soon have control of the siege engines on the walls. The Anathgrimm have no siege equipment with them, and the gates will be held against us. It would be a slaughter.”
“The army of Andomhaim,” said Mara at once. “Can we aid them?”
“Yes,” said Ridmark. “If we march right now, yes. The arachar on the beach are coming to fight them, and reinforcements are coming from the city. The host of Andomhaim will be encircled in a few moments.”
“Then let us break the circle,” said Qhazulak, “and show these red dogs from across the sea how the Anathgrimm fight.”
“Arandar might have been slain in Cintarra,” said Mara, her voice quiet.
“He might have,” said Ridmark. “And if he did…then we have to rescue Accolon. There is no one else to lead the realm, no one else to command the Duxi. If Accolon falls, the throne will pass to his sister, but Nyvane is not a warrior. The nobles would each try to wed her…”
“And while they bickered,” said Jager, “the Heptarchy would devour the realm piece by piece.”
“Then let us avert that fate,” said Mara. “We will march at once.”
Qhazulak and Zhorlacht and the other Anathgrimm leaders shouted orders, and the army of Nightmane Forest began to march south, heading towards the battle taking shape outside the city.
###
“Tuldrask and Valdrammis send their thanks, High Priestess,” said the arachar messenger, bowing low. “They will move to engage the human army at once.”
Mayascora glared at the orc. “You told them to attack with all ferocity?”
“Yes, High Priestess,” said the arachar orc. “Your servant repeated your instructions word for word.”
“Good,” said Mayascora, scowling at the human army.
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