The weary figures that stumbled through the gates hardly resembled human beings. Covered in muck, grime, and dried blood, their clothes ripped to shreds, the two limped past staring soldiers. The smaller one had a nasty limp and hung an arm around the larger one, who used a muddy, dented broadsword as a walking staff. Their hair long and matted and expressions hidden behind a daze and several layers of dirt and dust, they stopped in the courtyard and watched the city prepare for battle. At some point, the soldiers had remembered their various duties and scrambled about the walls, carrying satchels of arrows and reinforcing the crenellations with wooden defenses.
The smaller had loosed his hold on the other, placing his weight gingerly on his injured leg. They seemed to be waiting for something, for someone, perhaps, to offer them assistance, but the soldiers shied away from the filthy newcomers. The larger shook his head and nodded at a soldier who had tried to avert his gaze at the last instant. A hoarse whisper drew him back. “Do you know where we can find some water? Short of drawing it from the water supply ourselves, that is.” The soldier tarried a bit, weighing his answer carefully. After a moment’s hesitation he replied.
“In the southern district, just past the manors—a water boy went that way.” He hurried off, anxious to distance himself from the strangers. The larger coughed twice and grimaced. The two set off at a snails pace towards the manor district, one limping, the other coughing.
~¤~
Fiora finally summoned the willpower to dismiss herself from the strange, wonderful waters she sailed. Talibor courteously nodded and bid her farewell, declaring that he had work to do as well. As she descended the inner walls, she glanced towards the manor district and her gaze fell on the two strangers in rags. Where did they come from? she wondered and then thought that she might be able to help them. Her pace quickened as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Striding across the cobbled street to where they stood, Fiora questioned, “Can I help you? Are you looking for somebody?”
When the larger figure turned to see who was talking to them, Fiora gasped. Her hand rose to her mouth and her eyes widened in shock. “Falcor?” she wondered. “Is that you Falcor?” He smiled, revealing his white teeth behind the dirt and grime darkening his face. “And Emain?” Then she noticed their wounds. “What happened? Are you hurt badly? Come to the infirmary now! We must get you cleaned and bandaged this instant,” she demanded. The two laughed, but Falcor broke into a fit of coughing and whispered something, but she didn’t hear. He tried again. “What is it, Falcor? What do you need?”
His ragged voiced tried to say, “water,” but it failed him. He made the motion of drinking a glass of water, and then she understood.
“Come with me, brother…SOLDIER!” she commanded a passing infantryman. “Help Emain here, we’re going to the medical tent.” The soldier obeyed and wrapped an arm around the hobbling Emain. With Fiora glued to her brother, the four made for the medical center.
~¤~
“Halmor, I need every soldier at their posts, ready for battle, in six hours. Until then, escort the women and children out of the city and arrange a caravan. They shall head for Padras. Nilor, I need our defenses ready to engage the enemy and functional as soon as possible. Saenor, we will heavily arm the wall; coordinate the arrangement for a heavy emphasis on rams and ladders—bring me the results.
“Calsor, prepare the inner-gates and fortress for possible breach scenarios. I want every table and piece of furniture that could brace a door in place. Iador, arrange the eastern gate for a rear guard if we must abandon the city. I want it open and ready to be locked from the outside. And Iador, send a messenger south to the port warning that possible refugees may need transport from the mouth of the Slaac River back to the state of Ashton. Tell them to ready vessels and to wait for further instruction.”
At that, all the officers disappeared, leaving Valimor alone on the balcony of the fortress just above the inner walls and the courtyard of Ara-min. He watched soldiers scramble like busy ants over the city. He saw lord Daril and his men ride out the western gate, to hide in the eastern edges of the Basalk forest. Even after lord Daril had disappeared into the foothills, his men still streamed out of the city. All around the city, tents were packed and set outside the eastern gate. Soldiers knocked on doors and told the women and children to abandon the city. They began to accumulate in the streets, rushing for the eastern gate.
Below him, the six great catapults that waited behind the outer walls were under close inspection and great chunks of rock that had been hewn out of the cliffs to the north and the south surrounded the great weapons. In turn, each was tested once. Valimor watched in awe as each catapult groaned to life and flung the giant boulders over the walls where they smashed and rolled along the fields. After each had been tested, horses and sledges were sent to recover the boulders for future use in the battle. Shouts of encouragement and orders to adjust settings filled the air. Valimor breathed deeply, waiting for the approaching storm. The noonday sun had slipped behind thin misty clouds. It still shone brightly on the land, but its intensity dropped dramatically. Valimor shivered. Thoughts raced through his mind, but he found it impossible to focus on a single idea, as his heart beat furiously inside his chest. He turned to find Saenor stepping lightly up the staircase to his position.
“My lord,” he said, bowing. “I believe it would be best for Talibor’s archer divisions to spread evenly across the walls, with a thousand more soldiers to hold against ladders. We should have our archer division near the back of the courtyard for volleys and gate-breaches, so our infantry may escape to the inner walls quickly in the case of a breach. Five thousand foot soldiers should protect the courtyard. It is there and the walls in which the battle will be decided—it’s risky, for it will be difficult to retreat. But it is the best place to stand if we lose the walls or the gates. Another two thousand men should defend the inner walls, with the remaining two thousand spread around the keep at key choke and defensive points and the eastern courtyard to provide a rear guard for fleeing survivors if we must retreat.” Valimor folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor.
“Good, Saenor. That will do. Tell Emperor Talibor and lord Boltor; they will need to position their troops accordingly.” The officer rushed off, leaving Valimor to his thoughts—the whole swarm of them. One by one the officers returned and reported, to which Valimor was quite satisfied. His officers had done well. The logistics seemed to be solving themselves, for which he was grateful.
~¤~
Jumai and Balii returned to their quarters after the meeting, or rather, they were escorted back. When they entered the room, the doors shut behind them. A glint from the table top caught Balii’s eye. He wandered over to find their weapons piled there. Like a small child just presented with a gift, he tore through them, tossing Jumai’s equipment to him. As he strapped his sword to his side, strapped his quiver to his back, and flipped his bow over his shoulder, Balii found a small note beneath the pile of weapons. He picked it up and read it.
Balii and Jumai,
I was wrong to doubt you…you have proven yourselves worthy of trust. This will not thoroughly quench my skepticism, however, and you may be guaranteed that I will be watching carefully. But, if you intend to fight alongside me and my men, you must be prepared. Please accept my apologies. When you have prepared yourselves for the upcoming battle, please choose wherever you please to fight. I would be particularly glad if you decided to join the outer walls and protect them. It would also give you a particularly good view of the approaching army and your signal, if revenge is what you seek. Proud to fight alongside you,
Emperor Talibor
P.S. I hope you find the knife a worthy replacement of the one you lost on the scouting journey.
Balii glanced at the table and a shining new knife, sheathed in a light leather holster, lay on the table. He picked it up and slid it from its sheath. The glimmering blade rested firmly in his grip. This is a good knife, Balii thought. He strapped it on and looked to Jumai. “Are you ready, my friend? When they see us, we will appear traitors. We will find betrayal in their eyes when we kill them. We must not falter,” the former captain explained, verbalizing the tension apparent in his companion. Jumai nodded slowly, his body stiff and still. “But, we must remember why we will kill them. It is not for vengeance that we will slaughter them; it is for this purpose: the freedom of our nation. But,” he clarified, “if we may bear the honor of slaying the Magisters, bear it well and make them suffer!” Jumai looked up and met Balii’s fierce gaze. They clasped their right hands and pulled themselves neck to neck. Balii spoke.
“As brother to brother…”
“Shall we fight…” continued Jumai.
“And protect one another…”
“Through the night!”
They pulled apart and nodded to each other. Finding the doors unlocked, they strode out of their room and made their way through the keep to the inner walls. They descended the staircase and walked to the Courtyard of Ara-Min. Off in the edge of the courtyard a muffled whine caught their attention. Balii turned to find his Masckarl curled in the corner, frightened and scared. He gave a soft whistle and watched the round ears prick at the sound. It leapt to its feet and scrambled to its master. It began to lick his face uncontrollably and wrapped its slinky body around Balii. Jumai stepped over and scratched its ear, to which it immediately cocked it head in pleasure, still lapping Balii’s face. Finally Balii managed to calm it with a mix of whispers and commands. The giant weasel-like creature he called Strati quivered uncontrollably as it lowered itself for its master. Balii mounted his steed and rode towards the walls. Jumai strode beside the reunited pair.
They reached the walls and Jumai started up the stairs, but a burst of shadow and a blur on the stairs in front of him startled Jumai. He looked up and found Balii and Strati on top of the wall. In two long bounds the Masckarl had jumped to the wall’s surface. Never before had Jumai seen such a feat, for the wall stood at least the height of ten men. Anybody would be hard-pressed to jump off the wall. He scurried up the wall and found equally surprised looks on the faces of the men. “I had no idea…” Balii just smiled and patted his amazing steed.
“None other than Strati could make that jump, though,” Balii confessed. Strati sensed his master’s pride and straightened up, its eyes blazing with confidence. Suddenly, they found lord Boltor in front of them.
“That was impressive Captain Balii,” he stated, staring in wonder at the creature before him. “Will you grace us with your presence on the walls?”
“That is our intention, yes,” he answered.
“It will be a pleasure to fight beside you. I look forward to it, though I do not know how this…steed…will help you up here. Could you explain, for I am curious?” he asked. Balii dismounted from his steed and patted it head.
“I will be frank with you, my lord, I just wanted to see if he could do it,” Balii answered. Boltor began to laugh and scratched the beast’s ear. The Masckarl drew back and glanced at Balii desperately. Balii spoke a few words and reassured it of the strange man’s intentions. Reluctantly, the creature allowed Boltor’s hand to stroke its ear. “Count yourself as the first human to touch a Masckarl—not even the Magisters will let their skin be ‘defiled’ by these beasts.” Boltor withdrew his hand quickly. A light sparked in Balii’s eyes. “Do not worry, my friend. There is nothing to worry about, unless of course you have angered or frightened it.” Boltor smiled and stroked the soft fur. He even thought he caught a glimpse of amusement in the reptilian lips that hid all emotion.
“It is quite an animal, I must say. So strong and loving…are they natives of your land?” Boltor asked.
“Yes. They are extraordinary beasts and quite loyal, once you earn their trust. But, wild and free, they are dangerous. Perfect animals to ride into battle—one taste of blood sends it into a fury and the rider’s sword is no longer of use—he must use both hands to direct the wrath of the beast and stay atop the steed, lest he suffer the fate of his enemies. Strati is lord of the Masckarls, and his rage ought to be feared outright.” Balii spoke a word and the beast placed a giant paw in his hands. He pulled back the furry skin, exposing the claws of the beast—wicked weapons, each as long as the new knife he had received. He set the paw down and pulled apart the whiskered lips revealing fangs that could easily impale a human. Boltor stared in perfect shock.
But then, to Boltor’s utter astonishment, Balii patted the creature’s neck, turned, and jumped off the wall. Boltor cried out. A blur of fur blew past him and off the wall. He rushed to the edge in time to see the creature land on the courtyard below, skidding to a stop. It turned and dropped Balii from its mouth. Balii stood, patted the creature again, and shouted up to Boltor, “And yet its jaws can be perfectly harmless at other times.” With a word he sent the creature to the corner and climbed the stairs. Boltor stood wide-eyed and sweating, while Jumai flashed that almost-imperceptible gleam of amusement in his eyes. “It really is an amazing creature.” Balii noticed that all the soldiers had stopped their work and had gathered into a large circle. Boltor saw them and shook his head.
“Carry on, men!” he ordered, and the soldiers, somewhat embarrassed, went back to work. “Well, shall I tell you what we will be working with and you can give me your input. Come with me.” Boltor explained to them the layout of the defenses, down to the last detail. He told them of the troop arrangements that captain Saenor and he had worked out. Balii stopped him and wondered why only a thousand men had been assigned to the walls. “Do you think we need more?” Boltor asked.
“Well,” Balii stalled, deep in thought, “I think they would focus on the use of ladders. This being the case, I would have another five hundred to a thousand men ready to assist them. It would not do to have the walls too crowded, but I think a thousand men is still too few.”
“Hmmm. Well, I shall tell lord Valimor your thoughts, but I doubt he will send another thousand down…perhaps as few as three hundred. I don’t think he plans to hold the fortress at all costs,” answered Boltor.
“But he must!” Balii exclaimed. “Otherwise the Magisters…”
“I know, but he will not risk an unnecessary massacre. If we cannot win, he will not spend unnecessary lives trying to deplete their numbers. Instead, he would rather re-group and meet them head on with greater numbers and reinforcements on the western edge of the
“That will help clear some soldiers,” Balii commented as another boulder smashed in the ground and bounced three more times, finally rolling to a stop. He blinked in wonder as the last boulder flew over the wall. “Impressive, my lord.”
“Yes, very,” replied Boltor. Perhaps that will show them their error in attacking the city, ehh?” Balii snorted at his statement.
“Of course it won’t. It may dampen their spirits, but they will still attack with every last bit of strength left in them. Sadly, we are a stubborn people, seduced only by great power or dire circumstances. Logic has little meaning to us, which is unfortunate.”
“Does this mean you will not retreat if we sound the call?” Boltor probed.
“It could…” he replied. “But I was exiled for being much too logical, if you remember. It is with Jumai here that you will have a problem.” Boltor laughed, realizing that this seemingly emotionless creature had just made a joke. “He will not leave the scene of battle unless he is drug away.”
Jumai bowed his head. “My inclinations are at your service, my lord.” Boltor laughed again. Then, he took them down to the gate, asking them if they had anything capable of punching through it. Balii grimaced when he remembered the great supply beasts.
“Well, if they decided to bring the Gneras, we could be in for some trouble,” Balii noted.
“What are Naeras?” Boltor asked, his eyes meeting Balii’s.
“Hmm…do you know the badger?” Balii asked.
“Yes,” came Boltor’s reply.
“They are like giant badgers, except with thick, bony skulls. They are slow-moving and susceptible to continuous fire, but they will break anything less than a stone wall in front of them, if they so desire. But with two archer divisions and the sacred weapons, they would be hard-pressed to win if they decided to try ramming the gate with a Gnera. What you must fear are the enchanted weapons,” he concluded. Boltor nodded, trying to picture the beast in his mind. At last Boltor’s stomach reminded him that noon had come and past.
“Shall we find some food before the excitement begins, my friends?” he asked. Balii and Jumai nodded and they headed off to one of the cook tents set up for the soldiers. “It may not be room service, but it isn’t bad. We have some good cooks here. They stepped into a line of hungry soldiers and waited to head through the line. A soldier in line behind Balii noticed him as the rider of the strange steed and asked Balii about his mount and what it was. Small conversation broke out between the two, leaving Jumai and Boltor silent in the line. “So, Jumai, tell me about your homeland and your journey,” Boltor asked.
“There isn’t much to tell, really. Our homeland is mostly frozen tundra with a few pine forests and even less green grass. The mountains loom only to the south and permanent snow and ice glaciers exist in the north. It is a cold place. We journeyed south on the word of the Magisters and the ancient prophets. I was Captain of the Csii Royal Guards at quite a young age and was commissioned to assist Balii, my childhood playmate, in the invasion. The Magisters did little while we crossed the mountains. Balii and I headed the armed forces of Csii-Hiil and led them through the mountains. When Balii was exiled, I knew there had to be some evil at work, for there wasn’t a better Masok warrior than he.
“I decided to follow him, instead of the Magisters. Now I know I made the right decision, but I still hate to fight my former people. Yet, I have made new friends—such as yourself. You have been kinder to me than any other I have met, Masok or
Boltor thought for a bit, then answered. “I was born of aristocratic blood…therefore I was raised well, trained to be a warrior as my father and his father were. My life was the military—training and training, longing to serve the emperor. Because of my ‘aptitude’ and ‘genius’ I was appointed Captain of the Captial Forces, under lord Talibor, the emperor’s nephew. The emperor never had any children, and so it was assumed that lord Talibor would become the new emperor when the old emperor passed away.
“I then, would be in line to become Captain of the Imperial Army—a title that might have passed to my son…if…” Boltor choked, the bitterness of his loss struck him again. Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them back and swallowed the rising sobs.
“Lord Talibor heard that an invasion force had come from the northern mountains and had asked the emperor for permission to go to war. The emperor refused and had Talibor imprisoned, commissioning me to keep a strict eye on him. I had bought into the emperor’s lies, for he imprisoned my wife and two sons on the promise of release if Talibor didn’t leave the cell. I had little choice…but Talibor...Talibor devised a plan of escape with me and a rescue mission to free my family and to ride to war. He commanded the loyalty of the army and only needed to be freed. I could not say no. I went to check on my family on the premise of rescuing them with Talibor. Instead, I found them…hanging…from the northern tower…of the Citadel.” Boltor could no longer hold back the tears and Jumai wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“I understand…I do not think I shall see my mate and offspring again, but I cannot imagine watching them die…” Jumai said. They moved forward in the line. At last Boltor wiped his eyes and continued.
“It was then I decided I had nothing to lose. So I freed Talibor and we rode here with the army. But the emperor would not just let us walk away with the army, and Talibor confronted him. In the end, he slew the emperor and was proclaimed the new leader of Ashton. In turn, I was proclaimed Captain of the Imperial Army. So here I am, feeling unfit for my position, but willing to serve my emperor, lord Talibor.” Jumai nodded and gazed ahead with his unblinking eyes.
“And yet you fight alongside your soldiers? Shouldn’t you be commanding from afar?” Jumai wondered. “I would not dare fight in the front lines if…”
“There is a time for valor and a time for wisdom. Rarely do the two mix. Lord Valimor is a tactician and therefore he should command the defense of his keep. I am a soldier—a warrior at heart—and the time for valor is now, when I am capable. If I may inspire my men by fighting beside them, and, perhaps, dying as one of them, then I will gladly do so. Fighting beside you and Balii will be an added inspiration to me; you also give our men courage.” Boltor said.
“Do you want your food, or don’t you?” a gruff voice to his left questioned. Boltor spun and took his plate, thanking the cook. Jumai did the same and they went to the wall to relax and eat.
~¤~
Altam screeched with joy when he realized the filthy strangers’ identities. Of course, he had been skeptical at first, saying a medical tent must be clean and tidy and the dirt on the two would only contaminate the area. He nearly hugged them both, but remembered the importance of his own cleanliness and instead ordered them stripped and bathed by his attendants. Clear, warm water was brought immediately and the two ushered into a back partition of the tent.
“See, see?” Altam asserted, “They made it back alive. Just like I told you they would. HA!” Fiora smiled and nodded. “And looking much better than I would have expected…” he trailed off and laughed. Fiora did not catch his sarcasm at first and flashed him a questioning glance. “It was a…nevermind. At least they’re safe, right?” Fiora nodded again and folded her arms together. A crisp breeze infiltrated the city—a chill that seemed to descend from the gathering clouds above.
“Those clouds, Altam, they seem to know what’s coming,” stated Fiora.
“They anticipate battle, my dear.” He lifted his gaze skyward. “Those are snow clouds.” He pondered them for a second longer before clearing his throat. “Well, I’m sure that means our patients will need extra towels, eh?”
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