Chapter 17

The silence outside interrupted Falcor and invited his curiosity. He ducked beneath the tent flap and into the evening chill. Fiora followed, but Emain relaxed further into the pillows and promptly fell asleep.
"It's so quiet," Fiora noted, shivering.
Falcor folded his arms, locking away a part of himself his sister might—would—try to invite outside with teary eyes, trembling lips, and quivering chest. And with the same, Fiora glanced to Falcor. "Don’t go. There are other…" she began, but Falcor silenced her with a sharp gaze.
"I must. I need to go," stated as simply as he knew how.
"Please? Just stay awhile longer," she said, as if reaching for something drifting downstream, to be lost forever. He turned and took his sister by the shoulders and she averted her eyes from his.
"I cannot stay. You have a place here, caring for the wounded. You are necessary here, just as I am necessary in my place, beside my brothers, fighting for my emperor. Let me go." And with that he turned and strode up the inner wall stairs and then climbed up to the command post.
Fiora whispered a final farewell and rubbed a final tear from her cheek. Then she hastened back to the infirmary to help with Altam’s preparations—or to make sure he had even started.
-¤-
Taking the steps to the command post in two’s, Falcor bent his will to the moment. There would be time to think—later. When he reached Lord Valimor, he saw the river of light advance to their final position and halt. Answering his unasked question, Valimor stated, "I want you to hold the gate." Falcor nodded and turned, but Valimor stopped him with a word. "However, do not be afraid to give it up, should they breach it."
Again, Falcor tipped his head in acknowledgement and proceeded back down the stairs. His heartbeat needed no encouragement from the exercise to rise as he descended the stairs in two’s.
When he reentered the tent to retrieve his armor, he found Emain snoring. Falcor gave him a slight kick as he strapped on his hauberk. The boy twitched, yawned, and rolled onto his side. Falcor shook his head. "Emain…they’re here. We’re to hold them at the gate." Emain muttered something incomprehensible and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Come on, get up!" Falcor demanded.
Emain’s hands moved back across his scalp, sending his already unkempt hair in wild directions. He licked his dry lips and raised his eyebrows. Another yawn took him. "What did you say?" Falcor looked at his boot and then back at Emain, who stuck out his lower lip to match his eyebrows in capitulation. "Right, the gate. I got it."
"Good. Now grab your stuff, we need to…" Falcor began, but the battle cry and hiss of arrows interrupted him and snapped Emain from his trance. With the winds of adrenaline in their sails, the two strapped on the last of their armor and sprinted to the gate. A soldier met them with eager eyes.
"Lord Boltor has the walls; are you commanding the gate?" he yelled over the din of the battle. Falcor nodded.
"How many in each tower?" Falcor wondered.
"Forty in Ara-Bast. Thirty-three in Ara-Kale, my lord," the soldier replied.
"Good. Keep Bast; I’ll take Kale. Go, brother, for Harken!" Falcor ordered. The man repeated his last phrase in the traditional manner and crossed to the base of the southern-most tower, erected some seventy feet in front of and fifty degrees from parallel to the main wall. Falcor turned to the northern tower, Kale, which was somewhat smaller than its sister tower, but an integral part of the gate, and beckoned Emain to follow him.
The two entered the base of the tower and followed the spiraling staircase past firing archers to the top, where he could direct the volleys of the towers to critical locations. An older man, outfitted in heavy steel armor, marched right to him with a smile plastered on his face. Falcor grinned.
"Nilor!" he exclaimed as the two embraced. "What’s the situation?"
"Nothing suspicious—yet. Boltor’s men seem to be holding the southern wall. No attempts to storm the gate at this point; so we’re keeping busy helping with the northern wall—odd angles and such." Falcor smiled and sighed, bit his lip and lowered an eyebrow.
"Good work. We’ll just hope the weather holds." It was Nilor’s turn to laugh.
"You always took the cold, didn’t you? Well, since you’re here, I’ll check on the rubble supply." He winked. "Never can have enough rocks to throw at them." Falcor assented with smile and turned back to Emain. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Huh? Me?" Emain wondered. Then he opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I was waiting for you…"
"The enemy is crawling all over our walls and you were waiting for me? What do you think that bow on your back is for? Fashion?" Falcor remarked.
"Okay, point taken," Emain sighed and edged his way to a crenellation. Falcor shook his head and began patrolling the tower.
-¤-
Lord Talibor watched the lines rush the wall and his archers decimate them. His blank eyes gave no expression of the possible outcome of the battle while the ocean of torches stretched far into the snowy night. Each falling flake dimly reflected the pale orange light, bathing the battle in a soft flickering haze. Soon the flying arrows gave way to the sounds of battle—the strike of steel to steel and the screams and yells—as the ladders rose. He studied the battle intently alongside lord Valimor. "I think my friend, it is time for the catapults. They have shown no intention of using the ‘sacred weapons’ to bring down our defenses. Lord Boltor has held the first attack. Let us counter," he said, as more and more ladders propped against the wall. Valimor turned his gaze to Talibor.
"It is too early. If we do not need to use them, let us wait for a more opportune time," stated Valimor. "Besides, it seems our soldiers are superior to theirs. Let us wait."
"No, I think we ought to hit them now, while they press forward. They will be compacted and tightly spaced. We could destroy them!" argued Talibor.
"Or make them desperate," Valimor rebutted. "If they are aware of their desperation of breaking through the walls, they may try anything…including the ‘sacred weapons.’"
At that moment, a blinding flash of light caught their attention. Talibor stared at the rising blue bolt. Valimor watched, his mouth agape and eyes transfixed on the streak of blue energy. "That must have been the…signal?" Valimor wondered. Talibor nodded.
"I think so. If that is the power of the bow Balii told us of, we ought to launch those catapults now." Valimor met his gaze and smiled.
"Let’s show them the true power of Ashton!" he exclaimed and Talibor grinned.
"Fire Catapults!" he yelled, and the six huge war machines roared to life, flinging the huge boulders over the walls. Talibor watched with pleasure as each stone smashed into the soldiers and bounced through the formations. Finally they rolled to a stop, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. Talibor listened to the orders streaming from the courtyard and saw the catapults reload. Each catapult was adjusted a few degrees and cocked back into firing position. The new projectiles were loaded and waited to be released. Talibor lingered for a moment, allowing the enemy to reform the broken lines, and then yelled the firing command again. Another set of boulders plowed through the enemy formations. As he waited for the catapults to reload, a loud thud echoed through the city. Cries of "brace the gate" filled the air. Talibor looked at his companion, Valimor. "I must go lead my soldiers. I leave the tactics to you now.
As he turned to walk down the stairs, his eye caught a glimpse of blue light. Descending from the storm above, the bolt fell lightly through the snowy atmosphere, and Talibor watched its long descent to the field of battle below. It seemed as if it would land right on top of the enemy lines. At last it illuminated the armor of all the Masok warriors below it and hit the ground in the midst of the army. Talibor watched in amazement as an azure explosion erupted from the ground, engulfing the surrounding soldiers. He watched an invisible force knock each and every soldier in its outwardly expanding path to the ground. He braced himself on the crenellation, but the shock hit him like a sack of bricks. He tumbled to the floor and gasped for breath. A thundering roar blasted him and then echoed across the plains. He rose to find all the other soldiers standing and wondering what had happened. A large smoking crater now existed where at least a thousand Masok soldiers had been.
Valimor stood and his eyes grew wide.
Talibor surveyed the scene with a scrutiny rivaled only by eagles.
The ladders had been demolished by the blast and Boltor and his men quickly finished off any Masok warriors on the wall. The archers had begun firing into the soldiers ramming the gate, but Talibor knew what would happen next. The Magisters had to know now the power of the weapons. He rushed down the stairs and sprinted through the city to the Courtyard of Ara-Min. His soldiers surrounded the gate, bracing it against the ram. Talibor rushed through his lines of men filling the courtyard and yelled to Boltor. The man on the wall turned from commanding the archer division, giving Talibor his attention.
"Get your men off the wall!" he shouted. "The Magisters will target it!" Comprehension dawned on Boltor’s face. He began ordering his soldiers off the wall and Talibor commanded his soldiers to retreat from the gate and ordered the archers descending from the wall to the rear of the courtyard. A stable hand brought his steed to him, and he mounted the stallion and donned his helmet. He heard Valimor’s orders for the catapults to fire and the subsequent firing. "Men of Ashton!" he commanded. In a short strange silence, the soldiers looked up at him. The dull thuds of the boulders landing and bouncing echoed in the background. "No matter what happens next, you will not let them through the courtyard! Tonight is our night, and we will hold them here!" The men turned to face the walls. The last of the soldiers were descending the staircases and forming up with the rest of the soldiers.
"Boltor!" Talibor yelled. "Get off the wall!" Boltor nodded and motioned for the rest of his soldiers to descend the stairs. They left their posts and streamed down into the courtyard. He checked to see if any remained and turned to Talibor, giving him a thumbs up signal. Then something caught his attention. Talibor couldn’t understand why Boltor wouldn’t come down, for he knew the danger. Then, the dull orange night scattered as a bright azure radiance filled the sky. Talibor watched in horror as Boltor, silhouetted against the blue light, scrambled to the edge and jumped. Then all disappeared in a blinding flash and rock, men, and earth flew high in every direction. Talibor flew off his horse onto the cold hard stone of the courtyard and all the soldiers were again knocked off their feet.
When Talibor looked again, huge chunks of rock landed among the men and the city. A gaping hole filled the place where the gate used to be, and smoke filled the air. Falcor stumbled out of the base of the tower, dazed and searching for someone. Talibor stood and remounted his steed. "Rise, Men of Ashton! This is our test: do not let them through!" Talibor commanded. His soldiers formed up and readied themselves for the upcoming battle. Through the haze poured the first line of invaders. "Archers! Volley!" he ordered and a hail of arrows flew over the courtyard, pelting the rushing soldiers.
"Again!" he ordered and another storm of arrows soared overhead. Still the Masok warriors streamed into the courtyard. "Steady!" shouted Talibor, watching the line approach. "Charge!" he ordered the second before the invaders hit. Spears were thrust forward and swords swiped upwards. The crash of the lines began the battle for the courtyard.
Talibor watched intently as his line held. "Archers—fire at will!" he commanded and arrows rained on the river of soldiers entering the city. His line was holding and the battle began to disperse through the ranks, clear cut lines becoming harder to identify. "Move forward!" he ordered and the soldiers behind the front lines began to press forward.
The soldiers formed an arcing wall around the entrance blown by the Magisters and began to push the soldiers back. Soldiers sliced and pierced armor, chopped and slammed bodies, and swung and thrust swords into the enemy while arrows flew overhead. Talibor noticed a certain section of the lines failing and his steed slowly waded through the sea of soldiers. At last he reached the enemy and his steed bolted forward as his sword flashed from side to side. Soldiers pushed up behind him, finishing off the soldiers he wounded. His horse bounded through the crowd, crushing all in its path. He turned in the sea of Masoks and made his way back to his own lines, still hacking and slashing all around him. He struck down a few more on the enemy’s front line and re-entered his own line, pulling his stallion around to watch.
He noticed one soldier in particular fighting he struck fiercely and rapidly, slaughtering all in his path. The figure spun and slashed with skill that rivaled his own. He somehow knew where each enemy would attack from and parried with a flowing grace. His counters were swift and deadly. He watched the soldier lead his part of the line forward, like the bow of a ship cutting through the sea. Talibor was impressed. He urged his steed forward again to fight beside this warrior. At last he bounded back into the flood of enemy soldiers with his sword slicing and slashing enemies within his reach. His own men flooded in behind him, pressing towards the gate. When he came within shouting distance, he yelled to the soldier, beckoning his divided attention. The man glanced his way and Talibor gasped when he saw the face. It was Boltor’s.
-¤-
Valimor watched the battle unfold from the command post. He bit his lip when he saw Talibor ride into the battle. The fool! He’ll get himself killed! thought Valimor to himself. The haze from the gate had faded and only falling snow remained to obscure his vision. The lines seemed to be holding, if not gaining a bit of ground. 5,000 soldiers in such a confined area would be difficult to defeat, especially with the archers shooting in the rear. But a huge sea of orange still loomed beyond the walls, waiting to rush in. It would be a long night.
"Sir," a voice behind him said. He turned to find a messenger bowing. "I have word from Ashton. We are to withdraw our forces immediately and return to the defense of the city." Lord Valimor scrunched an eyebrow.
"Whose authority does this message claim?" Lord Valimor asked, thoroughly confused.
"The Emperor of Ashton, Lord Sachus himself," stated the messenger. Valimor pounded his fist on the rock wall and exhaled quickly.
"I should have known!" he muttered to himself. "That low-lying, filthy, little…" He clenched his jaw and buried his face in his hands, leaning on the wall. "Ride back and tell Sachus that we fight a battle to protect Ashton, and the true Emperor of Ashton leads us in that battle. Now go!" The messenger’s eyes grew wide and fled the fortress. Valimor gazed back out over the battlefield. Another 15,000 Masoks waited to enter the city. None could leave without jeopardizing the lives of the others. And Lord Sachus had been at work at the Citadel. He worried about the lives of the senators Talibor had entrusted the state of the empire to. He knew them both—they were good men. But Sachus…how could he? Anger burned in Valimor’s veins. Were there any good men left in the empire that were not fighting for it this very moment? Balii’s words began to ringer truer and truer in his ears. They must hold the defenses here, not only because the Magisters might wield a great power, but because the only loyal men fought here. If this invasion wasn’t stopped here and now, there indeed would be little chance of survival.
And yet, without knowing it, Sachus played right into the hands of the enemy. Valimor hated to let the thought of fighting a battle on both sides enter his mind, but it might just turn out that way. He hung over the edge and gazed into the dark orange blur the air had become. Below him swords clashed and soldiers fell. Outside the walls, an army bent on their destruction awaited. And after this battle, only more conflict awaited in Ashton. Valimor pondered their situation in the now increasing snowfall. He thought of Talibor and the risk of allowing him to fight. If he died, they would have no chance of reclaiming the empire. The mere thought of Sachus leading the empire brought a shiver down his spine. Valimor knew Talibor must survive—and with enough men to combat lord Sachus, who must have ordered his legions from Salca, his home, to the Citadel. Besides Ashton and Padras, Salca claimed the largest armed forces units in the Empire. Yes, Talibor must survive.
"Jador," Valimor called.
"Yes, my lord?" he answered.
"Find lord Talibor and tell him I must speak with him," said Valimor. The soldier bowed and ran down the stairs and through the inner gate. Valimor took up his post above the battle. He rested his hands on the walls to find them covered with a few inches of snow. So peaceful, this night. Why must we battle for our future in such serenity? thought Valimor. The city was being transformed, overlaid with a blanket of purity, covering the pools of spilt blood.
-¤-
"Boltor!" cried Talibor. The man turned and acknowledged him with a nod and parried another attacking soldier and kicked him to the ground. Talibor stabbed a soldier in the neck and swung his sword around to his left and sliced right through the breast armor of another. Boltor spun and slashed, felling two more. He lowered his shoulder and drove another warrior to the ground and brought a hammering overhead blow down on him. Then he swung his sword around and opened up an attacking soldier.
"Yes, friend?" he gasped and parried another chop. Talibor busied himself with another two Masoks as Boltor finished off the attacker.
"I thought you jumped…" he yelled, as his stallion mowed over a soldier in front of it. Boltor blocked another slash from behind him, spun the weapon around and impaled the Masok.
"I did…" he said, breathing hard. He parried two more soldier’s strokes, punched one in the face and thrust his sword quickly back into the other. Talibor swept his sword in circles from left to right slicing and slashing warriors. Talibor found a break and glanced at Boltor.
"Boltor! Behind you!" he yelled. Boltor spun and parried the strike, kicked the soldier to the ground, and buried his sword in the fallen soldier. Talibor struck down another invader and looked back to Boltor. A Masok directly behind Boltor swung his blade over his head, aiming for his exposed back. Talibor yelled and urged his steed forward to help. Instead he plowed into two other attackers. He watched in horror as the blade neared the oblivious Boltor. At the last second, the attacking Masok jolted and fell, an arrow sticking through his neck. Talibor looked to find Jumai string another arrow, aiming for anyone who would dare attack his friends. Talibor smiled and Boltor rose, evading another swipe and jabbing his blade forward.
"My lords!" Jumai said, working his way forward and picking off soldiers with deadly accuracy. Boltor and Talibor turned. "Lord Valimor requests your presence at the command post immediately. Do not worry about the line, I will hold it. Go now!" Talibor shook his head and stretched a hand to Boltor who mounted the horse behind him. The stallion took off, proudly bearing the lords of battle to the command post. Jumai did not watch them leave and instead, turned to the battle. He flipped his bow across his shoulders and drew his sword. A light of fire ignited in his eyes. The line would hold.