Conflict (34 page)

“What… are…those monstrosities?”

And he died.

Gelbin had asked himself the same question when the savage battle had begun. He looked at the victorious enemy, that ghoul from the underground that was looking at him with non-existent eyes.

It was a skeleton warrior.

A soldier, only the bones of whom remained. He carried sword and shield, and his armor and helmet were half-eaten away. It was unreal, as though a long-dead soldier had risen from his grave. To kill him.

But what are these things? Bewitched skeletons? Fleshless corpses come back to life to fight against men? This has to be a nightmare, it can’t be real!

The skeleton came at him. Gelbin watched it, still not believing what he saw. There was no flesh, muscle or tendon on it, only bones, bones of a corpse which had been well and truly dead for a very long time. What powerful magic had raised such a creature? Death Magic, forbidden magic? But no-one in Tremia practiced it now, and the last worshippers of the ancient Lords of the Dead had been hunted down and exterminated. Although it was said that a sect of the Nocean Sorcerers still practiced it in secret, but then those enemies were not Nocean.

The skeleton raised its arm to attack, and Gelbin tightened his grip on the hand in which his faithful Rogdonian sword waited in readiness to join fight. He blocked the skeleton-warrior’s blow and counterattacked. As a Court noble he was well versed in the use of the sword and had taken part in many training duels, even in tournaments. But this was not a duel, and his opponent was not alive. He struck the wraith in the rib-cage, piercing the ancient copper armor. The skeleton paid no heed and went on attacking, without a word or sound of any kind, without a breath, nothing.

That stroke would have killed any man, but this creature is already dead, there’s no life left in it. How do I finish it off? How?

A sweep of the skeleton’s shield struck him in the chest, and he felt a stab of pain. He stepped back, disconcerted. The enemy lunged at him, and by sheer instinct he crouched to protect himself from a horizontal stroke of the black sword. He looked at the enemy’s feet and saw the unprotected femurs above the worn-out boots. He hit with all his might at knee-level. The skeleton-soldier bent under the force of the hard kick. Gelbin hit it again on the side of its knee until it gave and the skeleton fell to one side. He stood over it and cut the head off with one powerful stroke. The skeleton warrior did not rise again.

Gelbin breathed with relief.

A sepulchral silence reached him from the camp at his back. There was no sound of fighting. The screams, the sound of metal against metal, had all stopped. Gelbin turned round slowly, fearing the worst.

Before him stood a score of skeleton soldiers. In the center, commanding them, was a man wrapped in a purple cloak. His face was covered by a violet mask decorated with a silver line at eye level. In his right hand he held an ornamented short axe decorated with silver and gold, with precious stones on the handle. In his left he carried a skull with two red opals for eyes.

“Well fought, Ambassador, it gladdens me to see you’re no court-dandy like most of the nobles of your kingdom.”

“You wouldn’t dare harm an Ambassador of Rogdon. King Solin will cut your head off if you lay a hand on me. I’m on an official mission, I have an audience with Mulko, Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire.”

“I have no fear of your petty King, and you’ll never get to speak to the Noceans. So my master has ordered, and so it shall be.”

“Don’t be a fool, if you kill a Rogdonian noble on an official mission for the King you won’t live to tell the tale.”

“That, little man, doesn’t worry me in the least…”

“But who are you? What’s this death magic? What do you want?”

“Very well, I’ll grant you this one last wish. My name is Cenem, I am a Priest of the Cult of Imork, and I am here because my master, the High Priest Isuzeni, has ordered your death.”

“But why? I don’t understand…Who’s Isuzeni?”

With a movement of his axe he ordered his skeletons to attack.

Gelbin fell, pierced by a dozen swords.

“There will be no peace for Rogdon. My master has so decreed.”

Prince Gerart, heir to the throne of Rogdon, watched the deployment of the enemy troops from the top of the battlements. It was midmorning and the sun was shining high in the blue sky, mottled with small puffs of cloud. He was at the Fortress of the Half Moon, where he had arrived the night before, riding furiously from Rilentor. His father’s orders still sounded clear in his mind:
the Norghanians must not invade Rogdon, the fortress must not fall, they must fight to the last man.

He looked at the imposing outer wall, more than sixty feet high and four hundred paces long. It went from one end of the wide mountain pass to the other. This was the only place where an army could cross into Rogdon from the East. The great fortress had been built to seal the entrance to the Kingdom. Built of huge blocks of grey and black granite, mortar and lime, the imposing wall was more than twelve feet thick. It had been built to withstand the punishment of assault machines and any attempt at demolishing it.

The Prince looked up. The high peaks of the wide mountain range rose on both sides in the shape of a semicircle which ran all along the entire eastern part of the Kingdom: the mountains of the Half Moon. These formed the backbone of Rogdon, protecting her from the aggression of the wild Norghanians, from the peoples of the steppes and from the greedy kingdoms of the far East. The huge range was interrupted by several steep, narrow passes, but these were very difficult of access and not suited for the crossing of an army.

Gerart went up to one of the ten round towers which projected outward along the battlement. He saluted the three soldiers on duty there.

“Everything in order?” he asked quietly. He could tell they were as tense as a newly-strung yew bow.

“Everything in order, your Highness,” said the eldest of the three a little nervously, then the three came together to present arms to the Prince.

“At ease, soldiers,” The three soldiers relaxed somewhat, but not entirely. There were men on duty along the whole wall, one every three merlons and three at each tower. All were expectant, alert to the slightest movement from the enemy, and very, very tense.

Gerart looked at the great pass. The flat open valley of the wide pass opened out at the other end into the plains of the Nomad Tribes, after crossing the Mountains of the Half Moon. Gerart knew that the distance from the walls to the opening of the pass was two thousand paces, the great Norghanian war camp began scarcely eight hundred paces from the fortress. With a heavy heart he gazed at the sea of men and tents in the characteristic red and white colors of Norghania. They were getting ready, waiting for the order to attack.

Seeing that the men were watching him out of the corner of their eyes, he straightened himself. Looking toward the Norghanians, he asked his men:

“Any suspicious movement so far this morning?”

“No, your Highness, none,” the veteran soldier said. “They’re just sending their light cavalry scouting… I guess they’re spying on our forces and studying our positions.”

“That’s right, soldier, well spotted. They’re spying on us. And not only to know how many combat forces we have here, but also much more: our reserves of food and water, the western supply routes from the cities and villages nearby, the reinforcements which might be on their way, and plenty of other valuable information.”

“I didn’t think of all that, your Highness.”

“A siege requires a great deal of crucial information if it’s to be successful.”

“If I may, your Highness…”

“Speak freely, soldier.”

“Do you believe they’ll attack? Will they really dare to declare war and invade us?”

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Jonas, your Highness.”

“You look like an experienced soldier, Jonas. Have you fought in a battle?”

“Yes, Sire, although not so much in battle, more in a couple of skirmishes, but yes, I have shed enemy blood, your Highness. On the other hand my two companions here are novices.”

Gerart looked at the two beardless soldiers. They were young archers, newly trained. Nervousness was visible in their eyes, and they were unable to conceal it.

“I don’t know whether they’ll attack, Jonas, but I can guarantee you one thing: if they do, they’ll pay with their lives for their audacity. This fortress won’t fall into enemy hands as long as I’m in charge. I promised my father King Solin that the Norghanians wouldn’t take it, and they won’t. Of that you can be sure,” Gerart said with such passion that even he was surprised.

Spurred on by the Prince’s words, Jonas stood tall and replied: “For sure, your Highness! Of course they won’t take it!”

Gerart looked at the two young archers.

“I see those are good yew bows. How’s your marksmanship?”

“I can hit a target at two hundred paces, Your Highness. But Elis here can hit the bull’s-eye three hundred paces away without fail. He’s a real eagle. Where his eye goes, that’s where he puts his arrow.”

“Is that so, Elis?”

“Well, Sire… not always, your Highness…I’d say nearly always.”

“That’s impressive, you’re a better archer than I am.”

“I didn’t mean to…” the young archer began, trying to excuse himself, but Gerart stopped him with a smile.

“On the contrary, Elis, it’s an honor to have good archers among my men. Listen to me carefully, the three of you. If the Norghanians attack I want you to fight back without mercy. Make every arrow count, let them feel the punishment, let their blood soak our walls until the enemy corpses block the pass completely. They must all die at the foot of this wall. None shall cross to the other side of the pass, mark my words!”

The three men looked at him with a renewed brilliance in their eyes.

“They shall not pass! You have my word as Prince of Rogdon!”

“They shall not pass!” cried Jonas.

“They shall not pass!” cried Elis

“They shall not pass!” the four cried.

And the shout went throughout the walls as if carried by the invisible wings of a bird of courage and honor.

All the men posted in the tower
s
and along the walls burst into cries of:
They shall not pass!

From the walls, the cry spread through the whole fortress: men, women, soldiers, civilians, all dropped whatever they were doing to join in the cry, given new vitality by the warm breath of hope. The whole fortress rang with one voice:

They shall not pass! They shall not pass! They shall not pass!

The cries of thousands of Rogdonian throats filled the pass and reached the Norghanian camp.

A few moments later the enemy began to shout in response. Thirty thousand throats roared from the other end of the valley, their voices reaching the walls and being repelled by twelve thousand voices crying out:

They shall not pass!

At that moment Gerart became fully aware that the Norghanians would attack, there was no possible solution, not now that this point had been reached. The certainty filled his heart with deep sadness, not only for the lives that would be lost in the battle for the control of the pass but for the war which would follow and the pain it would bring to the good people of Rogdon. What would happen to the helpless farmers, their wives and children, the fishermen, their families, the shepherds and woodcutters? Innocent people who would suffer indescribable evils because of the war.

Who’ll defend them if we fall at the fortress? Who? The Norghanians will make their way across our land like a horde of savages, laying all to waste. I can’t allow it, I must stop them at all costs. They shall not pass, come what may. I have to prevent it even though I lose my own life in the process. If I must die, so be it, but this fortress will not fall. For Rogdon, for Aliana…
At the thought of the Healer an intense pain knotted his heart, he knew nothing yet of the woman his heart yearned for, except that he wanted to be with her, to hold her in his arms, to kiss her passionately.

But he did not let the three brave soldiers see his pain and worry. For them he had to be a rock, an example to follow, the leader they needed, and that was what he would be. By the ancient gods, he would be! He could not fail, not this time. He thought of the incomparable Sergeant-Major Mortuc and how he missed him, how he needed his energy, his leadership. But the great Sergeant was there no longer, he had fallen like a hero in the forests of the Usik. Gerart could no longer count on his man of iron, and without him by his side the fear of uncertainty, of doubt, of being unable to make the right decision at some critical moment, weighed heavily on his soul.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the old Royal Counselor Urien coming, as if the ancient gods had heard his doubts and uncertainties and were sending him the help he craved. Seeing him he realized that his father had sent him instead of General Drocus precisely because of that…

My father doesn’t trust me to make the right decisions, and so he’s assigned me wise old Counselor Urien. But I’ll show him I can make the right choices, that he’s mistaken about me. On the other hand, Urien’s wise advice will be of great help, no doubt about that. I’m not so foolish or vain as to think I won’t need help in those crucial moments. I know I’ll need him, and I’ll listen with humility and respect to what the Royal Counselor has to suggest. I’m not a fool.

“I see you’re already acting like a leader, that’s good, young prince, very good,” Urien said, smiling broadly.

“I was just trying to raise the spirits of my soldiers,” he said, his eyes on the three men guarding the tower.

“You’ve certainly managed it,” Urien said, smiling once again.

“Let’s walk a little, Urien. There’s a lot I need to talk with you about.”

Prince and Counselor walked along the battlement, passing by the soldiers guarding it.

When they reached the main door of the wall, the Queen’s Gate, flanked on both sides by two regal towers, they stopped and looked out for a long time in the direction of the enemy camp.

“It’s a desolate view, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

“Yes, Urien, it is. And it foretells nothing good, rather the opposite,”

“How many enemy forces have our watchmen reported?”

“Thirty thousand men, your Highness. Three armies: the Thunder Army under General Olagson, the Snow Army with General Rangulfsen in command and the Blizzard Army under General Odir.”

“What do we know of the three generals leading these armies?”

“The three are old acquaintances: men of proven valor, strong, much to be feared in battle. Odir is a cretin, but a dangerous one. The men fear and hate him, and that’s important in battle. He controls his men through terror and humiliation, which might be an advantage. Olagson is a great fighter and a good leader, his men love him and would follow him to Hell itself, which is certainly worrying. But the one we need to fear is Rangulfsen. He’s the most intelligent of all the Norghanian generals, and a great strategist. If we enter war, and I say
if,
he’ll be the one in charge of planning and strategy.”

“I see… Who’s the overall leader?”

“Count Volgren, your Highness, an intelligent man and politically well-connected in Norghana. We don’t know much about him, he’s always moved in the shadows, under cover of the late Duke Orten, or perhaps hidden behind his shadow. Since the death of the King’s brother he’s become King Thoran’s right-hand man. Unfortunately we don’t have too much information about him. What we do know is that his political career towards the heights of power in the frozen kingdom has been meteoric. He has more influence and power than the King’s cousins themselves, his own blood. And this means a great deal, particularly in Norghanian culture where blood counts above everything else. This ignorance of ours about Count Volgren’s character and intentions worries me greatly.”

“Do you believe they will attack presently?” Gerart asked uneasily.

“Not yet, your Highness. They have thirty thousand men, heavy infantry mostly, and I doubt they’ll attack before they’re joined by a fourth army, so that they’ll hope to have forty thousand men. That’s what I’d do if the decision were mine to make.”

“Why do you say that, Urien? They already outnumber us by far as it is.”

“Quite correct, your Highness, but the psychological factor is very important for the men’s morale. We have twelve thousand men defending the fortress. Currently they have nearly triple our number, but with a fourth army each one of our men will know he’ll have to kill four Norghanians. And that, your Highness, will significantly dampen their spirits.”

“You’re entirely correct. Just thinking I have to face four of those hardy men of the snow is hard to come to terms with.”

“And you’re a leader and a great fighter. Imagine a simple soldier without too much trust in his skill with the sword…”

“I understand, Counselor.”

“Besides, the siege machines haven’t arrived yet. They won’t launch an attack without them. Once those dreadful catapults, battering-rams and devastating assault towers arrive, then they’ll attack, but not before.”

“In that case we’d better get ready and strengthen the walls, wouldn’t you say?”