The battle for Kimwick went about as well as Roryn had expected. Surprisingly, Kimwick’s thrown together defenders held up against the first wave of his and Galub’s men. Briefly. That’s to say they didn’t turn and run at the first charge. But, how long were a bunch of farmers and merchants expected to hold out against several companies of trained soldiers? The answer turned out to be less than a half hour.
After the first line of defense fell under the well-honed swords of the Kithean Army, it only took one person in back to throw down his weapon, turn, and run before they all started to flee in droves. Some ran back to the city walls, pleading to be let back in while others ran for the woods surrounding Kimwick. Neither option would save their lives. The former would be cut down by the companies that had surrounded the city. Those who managed to get back inside the city walls only delayed the inevitable.
Using the term city walls was being generous. Built more for defense against roving bands of outlaws, Kimwick’s walls were nothing more than a bunch of logs four paces tall buried in the ground and lashed together with rope. The structure wouldn’t be able to withstand the onslaught from one War Walker, a Sigil whose magic training centered around the brutal art of war.
The War Walker tasked with getting their men inside the wall didn’t even have to put forth that much of an effort, though. The main city gates were even flimsier than the walls. Made of simple boards strapped together by two thin, metal brackets, the War Walker—Roryn couldn’t tell who from that distance—had blown the doors off the hinges with no doubt minimal expenditure of his God’s Dust.
And just like that, with only a half hour passed, the army was inside Kimwick.
The sounds of battle—ringing of weapons, shouts of rage, and cries of the wounded and dying—were replaced by the panicked and fearful screams of the residents of Kimwick. From his vantage point, Roryn watched fires spring up beyond the pathetic walls, no doubt set by Rage Walkers.
“These are Kithean citizens,” Roryn said almost to himself, though Galub remained beside him. “What reason could the Lord Marshal have to do this?”
“His reasons are his own.” Galub sounded uninterested in the question but there was a glint in his eyes that told Roryn that he knew more than he was letting on. “I suppose one of us should go down there to ensure those orders are carried out to the fullest. I doubt that will be you.”
Without another word, he spurred his horse forward at an almost lazy pace. The Red Wolves, Galub’s personal guard, steered their horses in behind them. Roryn watched them until their horses had to start picking its way around bodies of the fallen defenders outside Kimwick’s ruined gates.
Roryn’s Crows had the reputation as being a squad of hardened men, but the Red Wolves were something else entirely. Ruthless and cold, those men weren’t above any means necessary to achieve an objective. Sometimes they even reveled in those means.
The Red Wolves also counted a Rage Walker among their ranks, a Sigil with the ability to create and manipulate fire. Giraut the Flaming Red, he was called, a man who had the reputation of being the worst among the worst. A man known for setting his enemies on fire even after the fight was done. Some say he enjoyed the smell of burning flesh. Giraut’s nasty streak was three leagues wide and he was just the type of man Galub wanted watching his back.
He was also the type of man that Roryn avoided when he had put together the Crows, the reason he refused to recruit any Sigils. Every single Sigil he had come across were self-serving, vindictive, nasty, and unpredictable to the point of being deadly even to those on their side. Luckily, Roryn hadn’t inherited any when he became a captain, and then marshal
Lukius cleared his throat behind Roryn. He was captain of the Steelbrow Company, Roryn’s position before taking his new rank of Marshal. He was a no-nonsense man, a brilliant field commander, and one unafraid to speak his mind when the situation demanded it.
“Sir, it is my understanding the order to raze the city came directly from the Lord Marshal.”
Roryn pulled his eyes from the violent death of Kimwick. “It did.”
“I have concerns.” Roryn knew the man’s concerns but waited for him to speak them. “Some of the men worry that they’re disobeying the orders of the Lord Marshal with little…reward.”
“They need not worry,” Roryn said shortly. “The risk is mine. Keeping a company here to guard our rear is sound strategy, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, sir.” The man at least had the decency to not survey the plains completely devoid of any threat to them as Galub had. “But—”
“Are the men so eager to murder their own countrymen?” Roryn gave his horse’s reins a little flick. The animal turned them both away from Kimwick.
“Of course not.”
“Perhaps they worry there will be nothing left to steal from these poor country folk once their city is burned to the ground?” Roryn’s voice rose with the anger bubbling within him.
“Sir…” The captain’s mouth worked, but he failed to grasp the right words.
Roryn rarely let his emotions rise to the surface. He never saw a reason for letting them show. When he did, though, the results were usually explosive and Lukius had been one of the few people to witness one such event.
Some years back before a Rage Walker had taken his arm, Roryn and Lukius had been members of the Crows, an elite force Roryn himself had created within the imperial army. The Crows were meant to be the jack of all trades within the army. The squad their commanders turned to when there was a special task they needed done. Those tasks usually involved the spilling of a lot of blood.
It had been on one of those missions deep within the Dreyumid kingdom where several of the Imperial Army’s battalions faced down what they thought to be a hoard of fierce warriors, outnumbered with nowhere to retreat. Not that Roryn’s commanders even considered retreat.
When the Dreyumids attacked their position, Roryn had been caught out on the battlefield alone, surrounded and fighting for his life. It was his own men who had taken him down, though. The Imperial Army’s own Sigils. One of their War Walker’s explosive fireballs meant for their enemy had blown Roryn’s arms clean off.
He woke up weeks later, healed of all his wounds save for the missing arm. That had been replaced by a metal one, powered by the magic of God’s Dust.
Later, he found out the hoard hadn’t been a hoard at all. It had been a ruse to distract the Imperial Army. The Dreyumids had used their own Sigil to create the illusion of their numbers being much greater than they actually were and the Imperial Army had routed them.
Lukius had been one of the surviving Crows from that battle. He had always credited Roryn’s knack for surviving for his own life and eventual rise to sergeant and ultimately captain.
“I have to stop this,” Roryn muttered, his eyes drawn to Kimwick again. Smoke now poured from the multiple fires in town, drifting together into one thick, gray column.
“What do we do?” Lukius asked.
“You have your orders, Captain.”
Roryn’s mind raced. What could he do to stop the massacre? Those men had their orders from Galub, Roryn’s superior. He couldn’t override them and he couldn’t appeal to their humanity. Strict obedience had been drilled into these men, these soldiers. These was their orders; they’d see them through.
He couldn’t understand how, though. Roryn had done many horrible things in his career as a soldier, but this? Murdering their own countrymen? Wiping an entire city from the maps? And for what?
“Quite the ugly thing, ain’t it?”
Roryn looked down at Shanlon Maolain standing by his horse. He was a few summers older than Roryn. He had his long, blonde hair pulled into a tight tail down his back, and a thick beard that hung past his collarbone. His lined and dark-skinned face showed the years of harsh military life, but his eyes always seemed to twinkle with a youth that defied his age.
The only way Roryn could tell him apart from
his twin brother, Ainle, was the swords that hung at the belts. Shanlon favored a Krulian broadsword that had an oddly brilliant green rock crudely fastened at the end of its pommel. Ainle favored a wholly unremarkable short sword paired with an equally plain dagger. Roryn had spent nearly his entire military career in the Crows with the twins, but if they ever traded weapons, Roryn would never be the wiser.
“I’m going to put a stop to this,” Roryn said. “I should have never let it start.”
“What can we do?” Shanlon asked.
Roryn glanced across the way to where the Crows had gathered. Most glared down at the battlefield outside Kimwick’s city walls. None looked too happy to be left out of the killing. Only Ania Rivers, the Crow’s current leader, had turned his attention away from the battle. His eyes were on Roryn and Shanlon. His face was an unreadable mask.
“You have your orders. The Crows are to stay here with the rest of their company to—”
“Guard our tailends against the vicious jackrabbits out in that plain stalking us right at the moment.” Shanlon snorted something loose and spit the glob on the ground. “Don’t go shovellin’ that mound of shit on my head.”
“I’m serious, Shanlon. You and the others don’t need to be getting involved with this. Stay here. Let Rivers know those are his orders.”
“Those our orders straight from the great and mighty Gray Crow? I don’t see our fine sergeant being none too happy about them.”
Roryn wanted to change his mind. The past two decades had been spent with the Maolain brothers by his side. They had pulled his ass out of the fire more times than he could count, and he them. He couldn’t let them get involved, though. There was something more at play here. The more he thought about it, the more this whole affair felt wrong beyond the slaughter of all these innocent countrymen, though that was bad enough.
Galub was a right bastard, but there was something in the glint of glee in his eyes. Something in the way he practically puffed up like a peacock when he finally revealed the Lord Marshal’s true plans for Kimwick. The way he rode into town.
Roryn looked back toward Kimwick, but Galub was nowhere to be seen. No doubt, he had already ridden through the gates. Why? It had been years since Galub had been a direct part of the fighting. He was never above getting his hands dirty, but there had to be a reason he went to Kimwick.
“Are you going to follow orders, Shanlon?” Roryn asked in a hurry. A new sense of urgency had settled on him that made his skin prickle.
“I suppose we will,” the other said, then added, “if you’re so keen on sticking your hairy arse in that fire all by yourself.”
“If this all goes sideways, promise me you and your brother won’t do anything stupid. You’re both a few years away from retirement with all the benefits of being loyal imperial men.”
“Seems to me like this thing is already as sideways as a Ciccainian snake getting some sun on its underside, don’t you think?” He spit again. “But be it so, I can’t right promise Ainle won’t do nothing stupid. That seems to be all he’s good at.”
Roryn knew that would be the best thing to a promise he’d get from the man. He nodded then spurred his horse into a moderate gallop towards the burning city of Kimwick.
He let the horse, Sky, pick his way around the bodies lying outside the city walls. Skye was Roryn’s second horse since joining the imperial army He had his first for just about seven years before it had been stabbed in the chest by a pikeman. Roryn barely survived the encounter himself when the horse had fallen and trapped his leg underneath its great weight. That same pikeman looked to capitalize on the situation by ramming his pike through Roryn’s chest while he was prone and defenseless. Instead, the poor sod got a sword through his back and a dagger across the throat while he gloated. That had been one of the many times one of the Maolain Twins had saved his life. In that case, Ainle.
After several months of being forced to walk, Roryn broke down and spent a sizable portion of the coin he had saved to buy Sky, a gray and white, three-year-old Corotion horse trained for war. Like all Corotion horses, Sky was large and temperamental. Her training as a beast of war had eased that temperament quite a bit, but she still lashed out at anything that annoyed her. That included other horses, dogs, and yes, humans. It had been a couple years since she bit Roryn, though.
The misting rain had ceased by the time Roryn reined in Sky outside the ruined city gates. He gazed through the opening at a dying city. Smoke hung in the air like a blanket covering the city. Screams of pure terror drifted through the haze like a specter’s death cry.
He dismounted and turned Sky back toward where the Steelbrow Company waited a ways off. The horse could handle the chaos in Kimwick, but he didn’t want her breathing in all that smoke, so he dismounted and swatted her rump. She gave a little backward kick, just missing his leg by a hand’s breadth, to show she didn’t appreciate it, and trotted back toward camp. She would have landed the kick if she really meant to.
When Roryn stepped through the gates, it felt like he had crossed to another plain of existence. Around him, houses burned. There were a few more bodies strewn about the streets, but nothing living as far as he could see.
His men had been quick and efficient right inside the gates. Those struck down there would be the ones who put up some sort of a fight. The rest of Kimwick’s citizens no doubt fled through the city in hopes of escape out one of the other gates. They would find more soldiers entering the city there.
The men invading the city would want to strike down any opposition as quickly as possible to be able to move in deeper. Everybody knew the real loot would be in the city center where the governor’s mansion was located, surrounded by noble residences. Along the edges of the city, the soldiers might find useful tools or other knickknacks they might be able to sell, but the real wealth lie well beyond the walls. They wouldn’t want to spend too much time hacking down people. They wouldn’t run the risk of others getting to the good stuff before them.
Roryn strode purposefully down the main street through Kimwick, though he had no idea where he was going. He just had to find a group of soldiers to ask if they’ve seen Galub. He had to talk some sense into him. Galub had to give the order for their men to withdraw before there was nothing left.
He heard screaming coming from somewhere deeper in the city, but the smoke seemed to capture the sound in the air and disperse it until it came from all sides. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced the razing of a city. It was his third, actually, though this was the first time against fellow countrymen. The other two had been on the foreign soil of Cartherizan, the vast kingdom to their west. On both of those occasions, the cities had been launching points for invasions into Cartherizan. They both had been razed to teach other border towns a lesson against waging a war they weren’t ready for.
Of course, Roryn had taken part in many more sieges but on those other occasions, when they broke through the defenses, the cities were looted and a great number of people put to death. Not razed. Razing was saved for those who truly stood as a threat to the Kithean empire. That was why these new orders Galub had come up with had so unsettled Roryn. Why Kimwick?
Roryn made it a couple blocks into the city before the first visible sign of life appeared in the form of a figure staggering through the smoke. Nothing more than a shadow at first, but it quickly materialized into a man. A city guard by the looks of his uniform.
The man stumbled down the narrow street, his eyes wide like he was looking for something but not really seeing anything. They were completely vacant, though his brows knotted ever so slightly in the middle of his forehead. Confusion. He was perhaps confused as to why Kimwick had been attack with such ferocity. More likely, though, he was confused as to where the rest of his arm had gone. His right arm ended in a stump at the elbow, blood pouring freely from it. No doubt, somebody had hacked it off to remove the weapon the guard had held but didn’t want to take the time to finish the man. Time
spent killing a man meant there was the chance somebody else would get to the good stuff, after all.
The wounded man’s stump brought back uncomfortable memories for Roryn. He drew his broadsword from the scabbard hanging at his hip. When the wounded man stumbled close enough, completely unaware of Roryn’s presence, Roryn removed his head with single horizontal stroke. The man was dead anyway. Better to relieve his suffering quickly than to let him bleed out in the street.
Pausing just long enough to wipe the blood from his sword on the man’s trousers, Roryn continued further into the city, blade in hand.
He passed by others, both Kimwick inhabitants and soldiers. The civilians ran to find a place to hide. Roryn knew it was ultimately just delaying the inevitable. The soldiers moved from building to building— the ones not burning—looking for loot to take or people to kill. The people of Kimwick avoided Roryn. The soldiers took one look at his marshal insignia, a quarter moon with a single star beneath it, on his breastplate and hurried off in another direction, no doubt worried be would put an end to the razing and they would miss out on a payday. Looting a city often gave a soldier an entire year’s wage in just a few hours. Well, maybe not a backwater town like Kimwick, but there was some amount of wealth to be gained.
The further Roryn went into the city, the more people he encountered. The louder the screams. The more bodies scattered in the street, laying in pools of blood. He found groups of soldiers working together, crisscrossing the street, checking each building, even the ones burning. For those, they would glance in the doorway for anything worth risking going in for, then they would move on if they spotted nothing.
A group of eight soldiers ran past Roryn. They were so intent on their looting that they didn’t even notice Roryn beyond the fact that he was somebody they didn’t need to kill. Roryn reached out to grab the last in the group by the arm.
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