Hell at the Gates, page 1
Hell at the Gates
The Witch of Vendar, Volume 2
K.J. Coble
Published by K.J. Coble, 2022.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HELL AT THE GATES
First edition. January 26, 2022.
Copyright © 2022 K.J. Coble.
ISBN: 979-8201114176
Written by K.J. Coble.
Also by K.J. Coble
Hell's Jesters
Hell's Jesters
Cry Havoc
Rebel Hell
Back Into The Fire (Coming Soon)
Heroes of the Valley
Defenders of the Valley
Blood in the Valley
Stand in the Valley
The Quintorius Chronicles
Lord of Exiles
Legion of Exiles
Republic of Exiles
The Vothan Guard
The Tome of Flesh
Crypt of the Violator
The Witch of Vendar
The Witch of Vendar
Hell at the Gates (Coming Soon)
Twilight in the City of God (Coming Soon)
Standalone
Magic Fire - Metal Storm
The Shadows of Maunathyrr
Ashes of Freedom
Beyond the Bulwarks
Watch for more at K.J. Coble’s site.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By K.J. Coble
Dedication
Chapter One | Scraps of Hope
Chapter Two | Setting the Board
Chapter Three | Onslaught
Chapter Four | Aftermath
Chapter Five | Night at the Boom
Chapter Six | Regrouping
Chapter Seven | Under the City
Chapter Eight | Politics
Chapter Nine | War of the Moles
Chapter Ten | Hell Broken Loose
Chapter Eleven | Decisions
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Further Reading: Twilight in the City of God
About the Author
For Allen, father-in-law, in whose house I was staying on vacation, when a large chunk of this one got written.
Chapter One
Scraps of Hope
A pair of the crimson armor-clad Blood Knights ushered Jon Eidron, Artus Derro, and Captain Rougan Hamner into a circular chamber they were told was the Imperial Council.
The room was empty, a table in its center, abandoned chairs left in disarray about it. Sunlight pouring through windows cast the chamber in sharp shadows and sharper rays of brilliance. Dust danced in those rays, quivering with the distant rumble of Feyan artillery fury. An occasional close impact, a shot carrying over the walls to careen down amongst the city’s buildings, set streams of fresh dust to trickling from the stonework of the ceiling.
Jon took a long breath as the Blood Knights left them alone in the room. Joints throbbed as he shifted on sore feet. Sleeplessness gave his motions a vague wobble and his skull roared with a weighty ache. Knowledge of whose presence he was about to be in gave a flare of resolve to remain stiff-backed and respectful, but the exhaustion of the morning’s fight and the ever-present flicker of nightmares danced behind his eyes.
A door opened on the far side of the chamber. Derro stiffened and glanced at Jon and Hamner, saying, “Let me do the talking, now.”
Blood Knights, preceded by an imposed figure in red livery with a bandage about his head, led the way in, followed by finely-clad councilors and a skeletal figure in the white and silver of clergy. The huge, bandaged man settled at an uneasy parade rest at the flank of the plush chair at the table’s far side. The others took chairs around it, glancing at the newcomers. The gaunt cleric drilled them with a glare. Jon glanced at Derro and Hamner and saw the captain meeting that glare with a smirk.
A dazzling figure in gold and silver came in last, tall and moving tightly, as if sore. His helm had acquired a scuffing and one of the shining wings adorning its crest had been bent back. The man took the plush chair, removing his helm and handing it to the bandaged man at his side. The face now revealed was an old man’s, carved to near-gauntness with care, premature age silvering his hair and beard.
Can that be...?
Derro bowed deeply. Jon followed suite with a shock of realization that he was, indeed, before the Holy Emperor of Man. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Hamner still straight-backed with helm cradled casually under one arm, still smirking.
A scuffle from the door brought two more figures into the chamber, a pair of girls, one fluttering about the other to get a tiara affixed atop the first’s head and a gossamer veil over her face. As Jon followed Derro’s example and straightened to attention, he caught a glimpse of that face before the veil went down.
By the One...
All thought blasted away at the sight of what was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His gaze locked with hers for a second, taking in the fiery amber of her eyes before it was obscured. He sucked in a breath, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, noting vaguely Derro’s glance of alarm. He gave himself a shake, returned to a rigid, stony impassiveness as he sought to stare at a point just beyond the Holy Emperor’s shoulder.
“Gentlemen,” the Emperor boomed with a grin, “welcome and well-met! I believe the entire city—and no small number of the accursed Fey—witnessed your heroics, this day. Allow me to introduce most of my Imperial Council...”
Without conscious thought, Jon’s eyes wandered again to the girl, now seated at the Emperor’s side and waving off her companion, who vanished back out the door through which they’d come. Part of him sought the glimmer of those eyes once more, in the smoky anonymity of her veil. He distantly heard her being introduced as the Princess of Ranai, Marya Ealogia.
Marya...
“We thank you, Your Eminence,” Derro was saying suddenly. “Though no less thanks goes to the captains and crews of the vessels that forced our passage.” Derro nodded to Hamner. “Captain Hamner is here, chosen by them as their speaker.”
“How dare you?” the man in Archbishop’s vestments—introduced as Nered Lethus of Ranai—snarled suddenly. “How dare you stain the Holy Emperor’s presence, dog!”
“Hello, Archbishop,” Hamner replied with a roguish grin that belied a cool fury in his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, too. Still sore, I see, over that little business in Ponte?”
Lethus stiffened and bore yellowy teeth. “Oh, I’ll see you at the stake, yet, heretic. It’s only your ill-gotten contract with these Reckoning Knights that—”
“Archbishop Lethus,” the Emperor said in a weary but warning tone, “perhaps this is not the time?”
Lethus glared at the Emperor in barely-throttled rage. “Your Grace, one of the worst pirates in the Kingdoms of Man—”
“Enough for now, Nered.”
“Maybe,” Derro said in a rush, blanching at what he must be realizing was a mistake, “if Captain Hamner is not needed for now...?”
“Yes,” Hamner agreed as the Archbishop seethed. He looked at Derro. “You’ll let me know if I’m needed to rescue civilization again?”
Derro nodded stiffly without looking at him. Jon glanced at Hamner, feeling somehow not right that the architect of their daring entrance into the Holy City was being shuffled off at one man’s discomfort—no matter whose.
Hamner caught his look and his eyes crinkled misheivously at the corners. With a wink, he mouthed to Jon, “Not now”.
Nodding, Jon turned back to face the Imperial Council, thought he caught the Princess observing Hamner’s departure, as well.
“Really, Sir Artus,” Lethus growled as the doors to the chamber boomed shut. “What lapse of judgment prompted you to bring such scum into your Holy Emperor’s presence?”
Jon wasn’t sure if it was the near-delirium of his exhaustion, or simple outrage at the pompous old cleric’s lack of manners that brought the jolt of fire out of his stomach and into his throat to form the words, “Captain Hamner gave good service today on the Straights of—”
Derro’s iron grip bit into Jon’s forearm, cut off his words, and brought a tiny hiss of pain to his lips. The older knight released him after a tight silence and Jon cradled his aching wrist, feeling his face sear with a blush as the realization of how poorly he was acting—and front of whom—rushed over him.
“What my young aide and Novitiate is trying to say is that the good Captain is here at our contract and responsibility,” Derro said. He offered the Archbishop a deep bow. “Though, I do apologize for the inappropriateness of his presence. The short-sightedness is mine.”
“And I think that’s enough said on this topic,” the Emperor said, glancing once at Lethus, who offered him a cool bow of his own. “Now, to the common enemy. Sir Artus, I trust you bring us a report of your strength as well as dispatches from our brother, Grand Master Nyev?”
“Indeed, Your Eminence,” Derro said. “On behalf of His Grace, Grand Master of the Reckoning, I present to you six hundred and eighteen fighting men of our Order, among them twelve full Knights, including my aide-de-camp, Jon Eidorn, here—”
Jon managed a bow, staring glumly at the floor.
“—as well as fifty-six Brothers-in-arms and five hundred and fifty Morabian infantry.”
“Six hundred and eighteen?” the bandaged man, Dragonnes, Grand Master of the Blood, hissed. He glanced at the Emperor once. “We were told to expect a thousand.”
Derro looked down for an instant. “Yes. Grand Master Nyev sends his deepest apologies for that. Kettish raids upon the Arnum Isles and various others of our protectorates have been especially savage, this season, and our resources stretched thin.”
“The holiest city in the Human Kingdoms lies under siege and your resources are stretched thin, Sir Artus?” Dragonnes rumbled.
Jon blinked back images of the slaughtered fishing village they’d encountered during the journey here, forced down the outrage he felt that these men did not, would not understand what the older knight was saying. These are the leaders of the Holy Church? These rude, petty, tired old men? But he bit back building anger with a silent prayer of repentance, for his presumption at judging the One’s chosen representatives on Aldair. The tools at hand...
“Yes, I’m afraid that is the sum of it, Master Dragonnes,” Derro replied tightly.
“And your help is much appreciated, Sir Artus,” the Emperor said gently, a hand up to stifle the words on Dragonnes’ lips. “All help is appreciated.”
“There is more, Your Eminence,” Derro said, stepping closer to the table and reaching into the saddle bag draped over his left forearm that he’d insisted on bringing with him. He pulled out an ivory scroll case. “This, I was ordered by Grand Master Nyev to bring into your presence and with the utmost secrecy.”
Dragonnes came around the table to take the scroll from Derro with an undisguised scowl. He uncased the roll of parchment and handed it to the Emperor, who unrolled it and peered over the lines of writing. Slowly, his face seemed to melt, a glassiness coming to the eyes, a smile blending away lines of age and stress. He blew out a long breath and said, “Thank the One.” He gestured for Dragonnes to lean over his shoulder and read and Princess Marya leaned in on the other side to do so as well.
“What is it?” a noble who’d been introduced as Kadak of Teaksrah asked uneasily.
“An alliance,” the Princess said, her voice a sharp, cultured contralto. “A secret alliance between Vendar, Saedranna, and the Kingdom of Oldavia.”
Everyone at the table began speaking at once. Jon blinked and looked at Derro, knew he wasn’t supposed to be privy to such things but wondering all the same how the older knight had kept such a momentous thing to himself. The Emperor shouted over cacophony, but it took a full few minutes to get them under control. Cornum stood as they finally settled down, holding out the scroll to two men sitting apart from the Councilors—and apart from one another.
“Ambassadors Tonus and Kadirian,” Cornum asked, “can you both vouch for the authenticity of this?”
The nearest of the two, Kadirian, Jon guessed, glanced at his fellow outsider once and accepted the scroll from across the table. He skimmed to the bottom of the parchment then nodded. “This is the signature of the Doge of Vendar and the Isles.” He held the scroll out to the other man. “It is authentic.”
The second man, Tonus, took the parchment and glanced over it, his lips quirking once and his brows flickering in something like surprise. “Agreed.”
The babble around the table began again but Cornum cut it off more quickly this time. “Why the secrecy?” he asked the representatives of the two now-allied nations. “Why such a late commitment, gentlemen?”
Tonus shrugged lightly and said, “It is a guess, Your Eminence, as I have been as caught off guard by this as any of you, but Saedranna and the schismatics of Ladronnus are on a hostile footing, once again. The obvious mobilization of King Adym’s southern fleet might encourage the heretics to dangerous boldness.”
“And the Confederacy, too, has enemies,” Kadirian said with an obvious glance at Tonus.
“How soon?” the nobleman, Kadak, asked impatiently.
“The initiative between the nations was opened by Grand Master Nyev, with no small amount of work,” Derro said. “And while I’m certain the mobilization of such resources has already begun, he expected it to be some time before they were on their way. His best guess was the end of May.”
More babbling at that.
Cornum stared across the table at Derro and Jon as he accepted the scroll back from Tonus. He glanced over the parchment once more before saying, “Then I hope your six hundred and eighteen is enough, gentlemen.”
“OF ALL THE STUPID, teenaged, rat-brained...” Derro rumbled under his breath as he led a cringing Jon between two Blood Knights at the exit and out into the column-flanked corridor beyond the Imperial Council chamber. With the doors thumped shut at their backs, Derro whirled on him, a hand up as if he might strike. He held himself in check, though, lowered the hand after a moment with a disgusted snort.
“Were you still a page, boy, my hand would be across your face.”
Jon bowed his head, cheeks burning. “Don’t let that stop you, Sir Artus. I have shamed you.” His eyes stung and a force of will was required to keep tears from them. He reached for the hilt of his sword. “And as I no longer have your—”
Derro struck his hand from the hilt before he could draw the sword to offer it in submission. “Shit, boy!” The older knight snorted again and then, to Jon’s shock, chuckled and shook his head. “Between your mouth and your ‘honor’ you’ll not last long in this Order.”
“I am sorry, Artus,” Jon said.
“I know it, lad,” the older knight replied. His scarred features softened and the rage, so quickly stoked, faded as quickly. “But what did I tell you about it not being a black and white world out here?”
“Artus,” Jon said, waving a hand towards the closed doors to the Imperial Council chamber, “we risk all to break through a blockade to bring them help and as soon as they thank us, they tear us down for not bringing enough?”
“It’s politics, Jon,” Derro said. “Just keep your mouth shut and let me handle it.”
“I’m sorry. I just...” Jon shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought I was expecting.”
“To bask in the presence of the Saints?” Derro said with an ironic upturn of the mouth. “To enter the city with angels singing hymns and gold streamers raining out of the sky?”
Jon tried to glare at the older man and his mocking tone but couldn’t help a chuckle. “Something like that...” He glanced at the chamber’s closed doors again. “This is the Holy City, the center of our faith. Inside that room is the Holy Emperor and his council, the men who are supposed to be guiding the One’s Plans in the mortal world. And they’re all just...” Jon trailed off, shaking his head.
“Men,” another voice said.
Jon and Derro turned to face Rougan Hamner, who’d appeared from between columns where he’d apparently waited for their emergence from the Council. “They’re just men,” Hamner repeated. “And they’re scared.”
“With good reason,” Derro said grimly. “I apologize, Captain, for that little scene. I knew you were notorious, but I didn’t know there was history between you and the Archbishop of Ranai.”
“Oh, Lethus and I go back,” Hamner said with a tight, ugly grin. “Of course, he wasn’t an Archbishop in those days.”
“A story there, Captain?” Jon asked.
“A long one,” Hamner replied in a quiet tone that did not invite conversation, avoiding either of the knights’ gazes.
“Well, if it’s all right with you and the other captains, any future dealings required with our noble lords will pass through me,” Derro offered.
“Agreed,” Hamner replied. “No need stirring up the hornet’s nest.”
A tremor passed through the stones of the Imperial Bastion, set streamers of dust to trickling down from the ceiling. The thunder of the bombardment swelled in the distance.
“Speaking of hornet’s nests,” Derro said. “We’d better get back to the docks and to the unloading of the battalion.” The older knight began striding down the corridor, Jon and Hamner falling in on either side of him. “We’ll quarter the men in the Skaeda Bastion tonight and start looking over potential dispositions tomorrow—” another tremor shook the Imperial Bastion and Derro gave the ceiling an ironic glance “—providing the Fey give us that much time.”
