“I want as much time as possible to prepare our defenses, though it won’t do to rush into an unfavorable scenario. We need to ascertain the King-priest’s whereabouts and what we’re facing, as best we can.”
“Might I suggest three pairs of scouts for reconnaissance, Sir?” Kilborn weighed in. “One north, to make sure the enemy is not already ahead of us, and two south.” He traced a gauntleted finger across the map. “If they come upon Chelpian forces, they can return and let us know how far off. If they make it all the way to Halidor Keep, they can remain as lookouts at the crossroads.”
“And the third pair?” Amurel’s brow creased. He did not relish subtracting more men from the coming fighting effort.
“If they make it to Halidor,” Sir Kilborn repeated, “the third pair can ride on to Greyhorne and raise the alarm there. The Order has connections – perhaps the town can send us aid. If not, they deserve to know the danger.”
“Aye,” Amurel agreed. They had encamped beside the mountain town on several occasions, but its location was easily cut off from the rest of the province. He looked at the minimal space between where the Caves and Synirpa were marked on the map. Then his eyes travelled the relative expanse between there and Selamus. He hoped Saffron and Jaiden were both able to make quick journeys, but his practical mind was already preparing for the likelihood their help would not come in time. “Time to get our horses ready, Geldrick,” he said as he rolled up the map. “Let our troops know we leave in an hour, regardless of where the preparations stand.”
The narrow switchbacks descending the hill always required concentration, though Amurel had little to spare. Fortunately, Bastion had made the trek before and stepped carefully down the slopes without much need for guidance. Amurel’s attention kept swimming back to his recent dream of Criesha. Her first visit in some time left him unsure as to its meaning. Sometimes it took days to come to terms with an interpretation, though he prided himself on extracting the intended meaning from her interludes. In this way, she had guided him for several years.
Considering what his goddess had done for Jaiden, he could not shake the idea Criesha meant to extend a healing blessing to him as well, perhaps after fighting bravely in the upcoming battle. The thought made him hopeful and nervous at once. What would it be like to run on his own? To jump and even sit without discomfort? He tried pushing down such ideas as they surfaced. This fight would be the hardest his men had ever faced. They would not have the advantage, even with the strong castle protecting them.
Though the foothills kept the going slow, at last the land leveled and the Dawn Way stretched before them. Its paved surface would convey them quickly the rest of the way, but Amurel paused nonetheless. They would be vulnerable in the open if another ambush awaited. The scouts had about an hour head-start and would be riding faster, which should give them ample warning if enemies lay in wait. Of course, not if the scouts themselves were ambushed; he had not forgotten their decimation a few short months ago.
He scanned the horizon both north and south, but no omens presented for interpretation. “Criesha protect us,” he uttered, then urged Bastion onto the northbound road. By lessening their burden at the Caves, the Order made much better time on their return trip. The journey to Windhollow Rock was not exceedingly far, though the threat of ambush made the leagues stretch longer. An hour before sunset the northbound scouts returned, proclaiming the road ahead free of enemies. More at ease, Amurel set an ambitious pace. Riding well past nightfall brought them within sight of the castle’s stone-gray walls, painted turquoise by the moonlight.
The Duke of Rosegold, flanked by two men-at-arms, greeted Amurel in the courtyard outside the stables, though most of the castle slept. “How now, Sir Golddrake? I expected you well on your way to Halidor.”
Amurel handed Bastion’s reins to another soldier. “I beg your pardon for the late hour, Your Grace.”
The Duke waved off his apology. “Oh, I don’t sleep all that well these days, anyway. So what news predicates your return?”
“The dire sort, I’m afraid.” Amurel noticed that the Duke indeed seemed wide awake and focused, almost vibrant. Perhaps he expected to hear of war upon being roused. “Baron Rogan came across the Chelpian army not far across the border some nights back. We expect they are marching for us, and could arrive any day now.”
“Well then,” the Duke responded coolly, utterly unsurprised, “I suppose it is fortuitous the Aasimar arrived shortly ago.”
“The Aasimar? Was Sir Luminere with them?” Amurel dared to hope that somehow Jaiden had started marching south on his own, knowing there had not yet been time for Saffron to reach him.
“Nay, no men came with them. That Illicurus fellow had a feeling we would be seeing the King-priest again sooner rather than later.” The Duke looked around the courtyard, where men and horses still flowed through the gates. “Come, Sir, you and your folk must be weary from riding. Take your rest and we can talk strategy in the morning. I will set my men to preparing the castle.”
Amurel assented, though he suspected that much like the Duke, he would not find sleep easily.
In the light of morning, the Castle at Windhollow Rock resembled a beehive bustling with activity. With the addition of Amurel and his troops, the place had become crowded, and it dawned on the Master that it would be impossible for the entire Order to simply dig-in behind the fortress walls. Their numbers had swelled too much, and most of his faction remained camped outside Synirpa.
The Duke had apparently risen early, and was overseeing defense preparations from the battlements when Amurel found him. “Your men seem to be handling this well,” Amurel offered.
“Few of us remain from the last time the King-priest laid siege, but we have a fair idea what we’re up against. They have the numbers, for sure, but will have a hard time spanning the gulf.”
Amurel joined him in looking down the outside of the wall, which presented a drop of over a hundred feet to the cauldron of the quarry below. A crushing death against jagged stone awaited any who fell from such heights. The narrow, winding approach was the only easy way to reach the castle, a precarious journey for more than two riders abreast. Its slope and shape prevented a charge, and archers manning the wall could easily concentrate fire upon intruders. Even more daunting, Amurel noticed sturdy ballistae positioned at regular stations along the battlements.
Men passed back and forth along the wall, asking for pardon as they squeezed past Amurel and their lord. All around the grounds, soldiers and common laborers kept busy sharpening weapons, stocking arrows, preparing buckets of pitch to douse their enemies, and water to put out fires started by incendiary projectiles.
“The King-priest may not have shown his entire hand the last time,” Amurel cautioned, though he was just as unsure of what to expect. Who knew what powers his dark pact with Gholdur yielded?
“Good thing we didn’t, either,” the Duke of Rosegold replied, nodding at the Aasimar flying javelins up to a high-mounted ballista. “This castle has never fallen, and we have Celestials now.” He patted Amurel’s shoulder reassuringly.
In turn, Amurel cast his gaze toward the eastern horizon, where the boundary of a thick wood could be distinguished. “What is that forest, there?”
The Duke craned his neck to look out over his lands. “That is the Balewood; marks the boundary of Naresgreen. Good timber there, and the best source for thirty leagues not controlled by the Eladrin.” He studied Amurel’s face and his eyes narrowed. “What of it?”
“I was just contemplating what to do with the rest of my men. We cannot all hole up in your castle, Your Grace. I want them closer than Synirpa, but not out in the open. I was thinking we might use the trees for cover.”
The Duke’s lower lip jutted out and he tilted his head. “That may work. You wouldn’t be the first to hide in those woods, and they would at least break a charge if you were discovered early.”
The sky grayed with seeded clouds from the south as Amurel weighed his o
ptions. The Duke’s confidence was well-founded; Windhollow was an extraordinary citadel, which had already withstood one attack from the King-priest. And yet, doubt held firmly in Amurel’s gut. If it was planned all along to weaken the north through plague and spread its armies by waging false attacks, then what other subterfuge might await? It simply did not feel like enough to trust in the hard stone and stalwart defense of the castle. Taking Windhollow Rock would open the doorway to the rest of the provinces, but could they even be confident in knowledge of the King-priest’s goals?
Amurel made his decision – it would not do to have the majority of their forces locked behind high walls on an island. He had faith the vision his Goddess granted bound him for glory. “Your Grace, it is clear you know how to defend your own castle. The horses will do scant good behind your walls, so if you consent, I would take all you can spare and mount more of my Order. We’ll set up a position in the Balewood.” He grasped the outer rim of the palisade and leaned over the edge, peering across the tree-dotted fields toward the shadow of the looming forest. “It seems better than being caught in the open, and may allow us to flank the Chelpians once they arrive.”
“I don’t wager there will be need, Master Golddrake, but you have my consent,” the Duke answered. “Your reputation for horsemanship is not unknown to me.”
“My thanks,” Amurel nodded. His affinity for riding was part of his decision. He strongly preferred meeting an enemy in open combat to waiting ineffectually within a confined space. “I will leave immediately, then. Without knowing the King-priest’s whereabouts, every moment could be precious.” He bowed and limped to the stairway, leaning on his favorite cane.
Once at the stables, he saddled Bastion, who whinnied at his preparations. “Yes boy, time for another ride. I hope you enjoyed your oats.”
A voice from behind caught him unaware. “Surely you just overlooked telling me where you were off to?” Sir Kilborn’s heavy shadow fell across the floor of the stables.
“Geldrick,” Amurel paused, “I did not tell you because I want you to stay here.”
“I will ride at your side as always, Sir.” Sir Kilborn’s arms were crossed; he was not submitting easily.
“This is the most dangerous foe we have faced, my friend. Ever.” Amurel finished securing Bastion’s bridle and turned to face his longtime companion. “You saw what the King-priest did to Halidor Keep. Even the Aasimar, together, fled before him. There is a better chance one of us survives if we fight apart. Besides, I will need you to direct our forces inside the citadel.”
“You have a better chance of surviving if I’m watching your back, and that is all that matters,” Sir Kilborn countered.
Amurel let out a sigh. “Not this time, Geldrick. What matters most is that we stop Ebon Khorel here. If we do not, he will scourge the north with wan resistance.” Even Sir Kilborn’s thick mustache could not hide his scowl. “Do not fret, my friend; Criesha has blessed me on this endeavor.”
“All the more reason for me to stay close, then.” Though his words did not relent, Sir Kilborn slowly unfolded his arms, showing resignation.
Amurel pushed out a weak smile. “We’re going to camp near the edge of the Balewood forest. I will see you in a few days, when this is all over.” Amurel tucked his cane through a loop and into a pocket on his saddlebags, then mounted his horse in a fluid motion. “Or, who knows? Perhaps the King-priest will not have the stomach for another siege and bugger on home.”
“Ha, we can only hope.”
Amurel looked straight into his friend’s eyes, allowing a moment of solemnity. “May Criesha be with you, Sir Geldrick Kilborn.”
A brief rumbling vibrated Sir Kilborn’s throat, but then he placed a hand softly on Bastion’s neck. “Criesha be with you.”
Amurel led Bastion out of the stables and into the courtyard, where a company of mounted soldiers drew into ranks behind him and followed in a slow progression from the castle gates. The short trip to Synirpa gave him barely enough time to formulate a strategy.
The way he saw it, the enemy’s strengths were superior numbers and the magic they channeled from Gholdur the Tyrant. He had to find a way to neutralize those advantages. His force’s assets included the cavalry’s speed, the flight and shaping prowess of the Aasimar, and the heretofore impenetrable fortress of Windhollow Rock.
One sticking point in his plan was his ignorance of the Gholdur priests’ capabilities. He saw some of their work during the attack on Blackthorn prison, but Palomar alluded to the King-priest’s more significant mastery. According to his story, Ebon Khorel might have conjured and controlled the power of a thunderstorm. Clearly, he was a threat they had to neutralize as quickly as possible.
If Amurel could keep a mobile force concealed in the woods, they might be able to flank the Chelpian army once it settled in. Using maneuverability to their advantage, they could cull the weaker ranks from the rear formations while simultaneously providing a moving target against the enemy’s magic. Amurel hoped the strength of the castle’s defenses, coupled with whatever surprises the Aasimar had in store, would be enough to frustrate their opponent into committing tactical mistakes. He also knew, though, the unexpected could force his own designs into disarray.
He was pleased to see deconstruction of the camp outside Synirpa already underway upon his force’s arrival. His scouts apparently met no resistance while delivering his orders to the largely unseasoned troops. When the Order of the Rising Moon was smaller, training and quality of equipment were always strengths. Now, however, the majority of recruits were still raw, though his captains had tenaciously drilled discipline and fighting techniques over the last few weeks.
Amurel spent the rest of his day receiving reports, issuing orders, and preparing the mobilization of supplies. He sent men to watch the Dawn Way in both directions: south for the approach of the oncoming hordes, and north with the hope of spotting reinforcements. Sunrise heralded deployment down the Tor March, the eastbound path leading through the Balewood toward the Fire-wall Mountains. Amurel’s stomach churned all through the morning, anxious that the fight would be underway before he got his men into position.
The rain they seemed to dodge the previous day finally unleashed upon them, slowing his troops’ progress. The days had already grown hot with summer just around the corner, so the downpour was not wholly unwelcome, but Amurel challenged his troops to pick up their pace.
His concerns turned out baseless, however, for they reached the edge of the Balewood in late afternoon, with no evidence of an invading army. The rain dissipated and he let his men settle in, reminding them to remain alert and prepared to mobilize at a moment’s notice. The horses were to remain saddled. As darkness fell, Amurel only allowed the lighting of fires well beyond the tree line, where their radiance was shrouded behind the massive trunks of ancient elms.
He could not shake his own sense of anticipation, and stayed on his steed at the edge of the forest, staring back toward Windhollow Rock as twilight yielded to a canopy of stars. Had Rogan been mistaken? With Sir Kilborn not present to allay his doubts, he turned to Bastion instead.
“What do you think, boy? Did we come all this way for nothing?”
Bastion emitted a short, noncommittal grunt, then dipped his head to snap off a few leaves from the undergrowth just within reach. Amurel watched the open field for change until the last of the sky’s purple was replaced by indigo. He could still hear his horse chewing, and it elicited a growl from his own stomach. “How are you so much wiser than me, boy? Time to get some supper, I suppose.”
Amurel turned Bastion and made a clicking noise, which was enough to initiate their return to camp. He chose a fire that already had a pot of stew steaming above it and dismounted, handing the reins to a diligent page. “What are we cooking tonight?” he asked the group circled around the flames.
“Rabbit, Sir,” the man stirring the pot responded.
“More or less,” another added, drawing laughter from his peers.
>
“Pay them no mind, Master,” the cook retorted, already ladling a healthy portion of broth into an extra bowl. “They just don’t appreciate the nuances of a fine stew.”
Amurel received the bowl with a hint of suspicion, but tried not to let it show. “I am certain it is delicious.” He inhaled inconspicuously; it smelled good enough. He could feel the collective eyes of the group watching as he tentatively scooped a mouthful of the brown liquid and swallowed. It tasted good to him, but no sooner had he nodded his approval than one of his captains hailed from behind.
“Sir Golddrake, pardon the intrusion, but one of the Aasimar has just arrived.”
Amurel shoved the bowl back into the hands of the cook and called in the direction of the page, “Bring me my horse!” He turned to the captain who brought the news. “Take me to him.”
The man nodded and waited for Amurel to mount, then walked him to a more secluded clearing where an Aasimar with liquid bronze hair was waiting – Thuriken. Several other soldiers stood within earshot, hoping to get first-hand intelligence from the angelic ambassador.
“Sir Amurel Golddrake,” he bowed, “Marshall Illicurus commanded I inform you the Chelpian army has been spotted on approach to the castle.”
“Where and how far?”
“To the south, but not along the road. They travel cross-country to no doubt limit detection, but will arrive tonight, lest they halt their march. We are content to wait for them at Windhollow, but the Marshall wanted you to know in order to prepare.”
“You can give your Marshall my thanks, Thuriken.”
The Aasimar bowed again, his message delivered, and walked westward toward the edge to the wood.
The time had come. That sobering thought occupied Amurel’s head for a few moments before he could move on to issuing commands. “Captain, spread the word, but keep the men calm. We have no need for haste yet, and I don’t want excitement leading to ill preparation.”
Shiver the Moon Page 51
