Saviour of the Crown, page 9
“How do we prevent them from overriding the entire duchy?” asked Hagan.
“Simply put—we don’t. We have limited manpower and can’t be everywhere at once. The harsh reality is we will be forced back until we find a defensive position where we can gain some tactical advantage.”
She paused, waiting for questions, but when none were forthcoming, she continued. “I must warn you; the empire is not above using trickery to weaken us. Back in Angvil, the duchess’s army took in what were reportedly survivors from the Armies of Gotfeld and Rudor. At the time, they thought these extra men would make it easier to hold back the Halvarians. In truth, they were loyal to the empire and turned on us at a critical time.”
“Pardon my asking,” said Lord Marten, “but are you suggesting the Angvil survivors can’t be trusted?”
“I am saying precisely that,” replied Marlena. “We’ll still employ them but will relegate them to less-critical duties, such as guarding our towns and villages. As for the overall strategy, I intend to borrow a tactic from my former Temple Commander. We shall withdraw southeast, towards Torburg, leaving small groups behind in the hills north of the road, as well as the woods to the south. Their task will be to tie down as many Halvarian troops as possible by means of hit-and-run raids on their supply lines, forcing them to divert some of their men to secure the area, thus weakening their main army.”
She paused. “If all goes according to plan, we should make our stand on the outskirts of your capital, which, I’m told, has favourable terrain.”
“Why not make a stand here, at Zurkirk?” asked Drachmann.
“That would be fine were I certain of the enemy’s strategy, but if they cross in the south, at Grozen, we risk being cut off and attacked from the rear. To that end, we shall be leaving a small garrison here while we withdraw the bulk of the army to Anshlag, where we will undergo our reorganization. Numbers alone preclude us from taking the offensive, so we are forced to adopt a defensive stance, reacting to the enemy’s movements. I know it’s not ideal, but once they cross into our territory, we’ll get a much better idea of what they intend.”
“Will we burn our villages to prevent them from supplying the enemy?”
“No,” replied Marlena. “The common folk have already suffered enough. We don’t need to add to their woes by burning them out of their homes.”
“You’ve all heard the commander,” said Lord Alain. “Now go explain this to your men so we can ensure an efficient change of command.”
* * *
Marlena stared down at the map of Torburg and its surrounding areas, trying to decide where best to eventually make her stand. Johanna, her aide, entered, hesitating before speaking, a sign something was bothering her. “There’s someone to see you, Commander.”
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
“He’s a Temple Captain,” she replied. “A Cunar.”
“What does he want?”
“He says he’s come to help, but in light of recent events, I doubt we can trust him.”
“Send him in,” said Marlena, “and gather six knights, just in case.”
“You think we’ll have to arrest him?”
“It’s certainly a possibility.”
Johanna nodded, then exited, leaving Marlena to assess the situation. The Cunars were no allies of her order. Why, then, would they come offering help? Was it a ruse to gain insight into her plans? Ordinarily, she would take the word of a fellow Temple Knight without hesitation, but recent events had proven the Cunars untrustworthy.
The door opened to a familiar face.
“Temple Captain Waleed,” said Marlena. “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
The Kurathian bowed. “May the Saints be with you. It has been many years since we fought beside each other in the Five Sisters. I’d enquire if you’ve prospered, but with the prospect of an invasion looming, that would seem a poor topic.”
“We missed you in Reinwick. What happened?”
“Shortly after we fought off the Halvarians, I was ordered to Ostrova. We had no commandery there, but I was assured we were considering building one. Only after I arrived did I realize I was sent there as punishment.”
“For what? You distinguished yourself in battle.”
“True, but that was in cooperation with your order, along with the Mathewites. In light of more recent events, I now doubt my superiors’ motives. Thankfully, I had some contacts at the Antonine and obtained a transfer to Lubenstahl, where I’ve been for the last two years.”
“Are you familiar with the politics of the Antonine?”
“If you’re referring to the official disbanding of your order, then yes. Over the last two years, I’ve acquired Temple Knights who feel the order has become… I’m not sure what I’d call it.”
“Corrupted?”
“That term will suffice. When we heard the empire launched its campaign, I gathered those loyal to me and rode west, our intention being to offer what assistance we can.”
“You’ll pardon me for my skepticism, but this wouldn’t be the first time the empire has tried to trick us.”
“I assure you the knights under my command are earnest in their desire to bring about the end of the empire.”
“How many have you?”
“Two companies,” replied Waleed. “Many who are veterans of our shared campaign in Reinwick, which is the reason they disagreed with the disbanding of your order, although from the looks of it, it has done little to lessen your own numbers.”
“And do they still wear the grey of your order?”
“They do, but only as a matter of practicality. Present us with other colours if you wish, as we no longer serve the Cunar Grand Master.”
Nine
Abandoned
Spring 968 MC
Exalor cursed, slamming his fist down on the table beside him. He’d intended to return to Varena to secure his position, but events in the north now demanded his attention. Facing the prospect that his entire campaign had faltered, he tried to control himself before addressing Idraxa. “Tell me again how the siege is going, and this time, the truth.”
She swallowed, fighting to remain calm. “We failed to breach the front door to the Undermountain, but we may have discovered another way in.”
“Go on.”
“Our Earth Mages believe we can batter away at the mountain, collapsing tunnels close to the outside.”
“How long do they expect this bombardment will take?”
“We’ve already made progress. A small hole appeared this morning, so I gave the order to concentrate on that one location.”
“You say a small hole?” said Exalor. “How small?”
“Large enough for a man to crawl through, but it’s easily defensible. My intention is to widen it until our warriors can charge in three abreast.”
The High Strategos mulled over this new information. If this turned out to be a way into the mountain, then the end of Ironcliff would soon be at hand. “How long before you can begin the full assault?”
“Two days, perhaps three.”
“You’ve done well, Idraxa. Keep up the good work.”
“Will you be remaining to oversee the assault?” she asked.
“No. My attention is required in the capital. However, I’ve arranged for replacement warriors to fill your ranks, and they will arrive by the end of the week, in time for the march into Norland. I’ve also taken the liberty of choosing primarily footmen, as they’ll take the greatest casualties once you get into that mountain.”
“Understood, Your Grace. I shan’t let you down.”
“Good, because once I’m done in Varena, I shall be recommending you to the position of High Strategos.”
“But… that is your position.”
“At the moment, yes, but once I seize the Throne, I need someone reliable to look after the legions. I trust you have no objection to assuming that duty?”
Idraxa bowed. “I would be honoured, Your Grace.”
Exalor let out a deep breath. “I know this campaign has come with its share of surprises, but you’ve adapted to them with grace and dignity. I wish the same could be said for my other marshals.”
“I assume the other attacks failed?”
“The attack on Stonecastle was repulsed, and the Third Legion has retreated. I left orders to destroy all bridges, but I fear the marshal is rising to the level of his incompetence.”
“And the naval assault?”
“The Fourth has been unable to make any headway. It’s not all bad news, for the fleet is still there, cutting off trade, forcing the Mercerians to maintain a presence in the area, but I fear the swamp will soon bring sickness to the legion.”
“Is there no hope at all?”
“I cannot act while my future in the empire is so precarious. I must return and cleanse Varena of my enemies, then remove that figurehead of an emperor once and for all.”
“You’ll need men if you intend to hold the capital.”
“Fear not,” said Exalor. “I’ve compiled a long list of enemies deserving of retribution and a longer list of allies. My justice will be swift and merciless.”
“Are you suggesting we should abandon our attack on Ironcliff?”
“Not at all. We need a victory, Idraxa, to prove we are still a force to be reckoned with.”
“I shall not fail you.”
“See that you don’t. Now, I must be on my way.”
She bowed, then left him. As a Shozarin, Exalor trusted her, but would that be true of his other allies? As head of his line, he’d assumed he could count on his fellow Enchanters, but was he gambling his life on that loyalty? He shook it off, then closed his eyes, concentrating on casting a spell.
* * *
Wingate fretted. He’d received word Exalor was returning to Varena, but he was now overdue. He then sensed the familiar buzzing in the air, and his master’s voice echoed in the room. “I shall be returning shortly. See that my guards are in place.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Wingate felt the connection break. Exalor’s fartalk spell was a strange sensation, almost as if he were talking with a ghost, yet it had proved extremely useful over the years.
Wingate called for the guards, leading them below, where the enchanted circle waited, deep in the bowels of the Shozarin estate. Needing to bring guards was not normal, but these were dangerous times, and Lord Exalor wasn’t taking any chances, even here in the heart of his power base.
They arrived as the circle activated, the runes glowing, their light reflecting off the white marble walls. After a flash, Exalor appeared in the centre.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” said Wingate.
The High Strategos didn’t waste any time on formalities. “I used my magic to send you back here to determine what’s happened. What have you to tell me?”
“It’s not good, I’m afraid. We received news that an assassin killed the Governor of Herani three days ago, and there’s been an attack on that of Zefara as well. It appears someone is attempting to cleanse the line.”
“Who is behind these attacks?”
“That remains to be seen, Your Grace, but rumours are the Sartellians are attempting some sort of power grab.”
“That makes sense, considering they arranged for one of their own to take command of the campaign in the Petty Kingdoms.”
“What shall we do about it?”
“Do?” replied Exalor. “What else can we do but retaliate? Doing otherwise would show signs of weakness.”
“Where would you like to start, Your Grace? With Edora Sartellian in the Petty Kingdoms?”
“No. Much as it pains me to admit it, her loss might endanger the great dream. We need someone here, in Varena, with a large enough presence that their death will make waves.”
“Enelle, perhaps? She is, after all, the High Purifier?”
“No, too obvious. We must aim higher.” Exalor snapped his fingers. “Agalix Sartellian.”
“The head of the family?” said Wingate. “Are you certain that’s wise, Your Grace? You could incite a line war.”
“The time has come to cleanse this city of their corrupt influence.”
“What about the Stormwinds? They work very closely with the Sartellians amongst the Petty Kingdoms.”
“True, but the destruction of the Volstrum put an end to their influence, leaving them nothing more than a regional power. If they continue their decline at their current rate, they’ll be virtually unknown in five years.”
“Agalix will be heavily guarded,” warned Wingate.
“Which only makes it more of a challenge.” Exalor rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for years.”
“Will this be a matter of stealth or an outright assault?”
“Stealth, at least to begin with.”
“I’m not certain I understand.”
“There will be others,” replied Exalor, “but Agalix will be the first to feel my wrath. Send our best agents. I want him dead by nightfall.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
* * *
Agalix lifted the poker, using it to stir the embers. The fire was dying despite his best efforts. His magic had sustained it, but even magical flames needed a source of fuel to burn, and he wasn’t about to waste any more of his inner magic.
He got to his feet and placed another log atop the fire. A wave of his hand was all that was needed for it to burst into flames, and then he returned to his seat, relishing the heat.
A distant crash interrupted his thoughts. Likely a servant dropping a plate. Agalix cared little for such things, instead turning his attention to the news he’d received from Edora. Her campaign against the Petty Kingdoms had suffered a setback, but she was confident her new plan of attack would put them back on the path to victory.
The Mercerian, General Fitzwilliam, had thwarted her original strategy, but he was confident Edora wouldn’t be fooled a second time. The door behind him creaked as it opened.
“Not now,” said Agalix. “I’m thinking.”
Despite his words, the footsteps drew closer, and he turned in irritation, expecting one of his servants. Instead, a man dressed in black approached with a sword held out before him.
“Ah,” said the mage. “You’ve come to kill me.”
“Nothing personal,” the assassin responded.
Agalix chuckled. “I can think of nothing more personal than murder. Tell me, if you would be so kind, is my death to be quick or lingering?”
“It makes no matter either way, so long as you’re dead.”
“Might I finish my wine?”
“Most certainly.”
Agalix lifted the cup and turned slightly, offering it up as a salute. The assassin stood no more than three paces away, the tip of his sword temporarily lowered. And why wouldn’t it be? Agalix was an old man, far too ancient to present anything in the way of opposition.
He felt the power building within him. Part of him wanted to burn the fellow to ashes, but that required a much more overt display of magic, one that would undoubtedly give time for the sword to pierce his heart. He contented himself with warming his wine. The metal cup glowed slightly as he poured his magic into it. He made a show of struggling to get to his feet as the wine started bubbling within the cup.
Agalix suddenly hurled the boiling hot contents at his would-be murderer, splashing the villain in the face, his pain-filled screams filling the room. The old mage prepared to follow up his attack by causing the unfortunate soul to erupt into flames, but a crossbow quarrel took him in the chest. He stared down at it, not quite comprehending what had transpired, then fell to his knees as he tasted blood.
The second assassin loomed over the Fire Mage, drawing a knife to finish off his target, but it proved unnecessary. Agalix Sartellian breathed once more and then crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
* * *
Bryn Vilani watched from an alleyway as her people moved into position. The Marshal of the South, Castimar Stormwind, was marching to the capital along with his three legions, but the power structure here required thinning. Her target, Enelle Sartellian, was wandering down the street, stopping at different stalls as her guards stood back, looking on, providing the perfect opportunity for Bryn’s people to strike. They’d already arranged for the deaths of two Sartellians and three Shozarins, but to her mind, she needed at least one more to push the two families into open warfare.
When her eyes met those of her associates, she gave them a nod. A wagon rolled out into the street, its driver struggling to control the horses. Commoners rushed to get out of the way, and as it drew closer to Enelle, it swerved, not into her, but towards her guards. They jumped back to avoid being trampled, effectively separating them from their mistress.
Bryn’s people gathered around Enelle Sartellian, their clothing suggesting they were nothing more than commoners; indeed, two had even manned a stall. They converged on the mage so quickly she had no idea what was happening.
Bryn watched as the throng of people backed up, revealing a blood-splattered Enelle. The mage collapsed without a sound, and those who’d surrounded her now melted into the gathering crowd.
By the time her guards realized she was under attack, it was too late. Enelle Sartellian, the High Purifier of the Halvarian Empire, was dead.
* * *
Kelson Shozarin wandered through the streets of Varena. He’d noticed he was being followed three blocks ago but decided against taking immediate action. He continued along, acting as though he were unaware of the danger.
He stopped at the open window of a bakery, luxuriating in the smell, giving himself the time he needed to decide on his next move. There was no telling who’d sent his pursuers, but he held no doubt they were there to put an end to him.
