Heir to the Sundered Crown (28 page)

Woven tightened his grip on Elena’s hand. He pushed and threatened his way through the crowd. The prince was tucked tightly to the girl’s chest, his muffle cries could just be heard over the din.

He drew his sword and used it to shove his way to the front of the crowd. People recoiled from the cold steel making their passage easier.

A nervous angry looking soldier was barring entrance to the courtyard beyond the gate. Standing behind him was a line of other nervous troops, their kite shields locked together and their spears pointed towards the crowd.

“There is no more room!” the soldier bellowed. “Seek shelter in your homes or at the barracks. Keep off of the streets if you value your lives.”

The crowd roared in protest and surged forward. Woven pulled Elena to the side to avoid being trampled. If he didn’t get her and the boy inside the walls soon they would be caught up in a riot. The people’s mood was growing darker by the second as desperation filled them. The moans of the undead being carried on the wind did little to ease their fears.

“Soldier. Get these two inside now!” he shouted in his most authoritative voice.

The solider hesitated. He recognised the ranger.

“I have my orders from the baron himself. There is no more room sir,” the soldier replied with a shout. The angry yells from the crowd were growing in volume.

“Why should his strumpet and bastard be let in?” screamed an elderly man in the crowd.

Others took up his cries of protest. Woven was quickly losing his temper. He grabbed the soldier by his mail shirt and hauled him close so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“The boy is the prince and heir to the crown. Let them in.” He said angrily. The soldier’s eyes widened at the ranger’s words.

Woven gestured to Elena, the girl pulled out the king’s jewel which shone in the sunlight.

“The jewel of the king” the soldier gasped. He pulled away from Woven’s grip and the ranger let him.

“Let these two inside. Make sure they are protected.” The soldier ordered his men.

“Thank you,” Elena cried. The soldiers opened up their shields to allow her and the child to enter. Woven sighed in relief and nodded to the soldier in thanks. He had to reach the walls and the other rangers.

The angry crowd however had other ideas.

“Bastards!” cried a woman who held her crying baby into the air. “Let my son in too, he’s just a baby.”

The crowd surged forward drowning out her pleas. Upon seeing the crowd charge the soldier grabbed Woven and hauled him into the castle courtyard and behind the line of soldiers.

“Drop the portcullis” the soldier cried. Another soldier ran forward, drew his sword and cut the rope which held the large metal gate aloft. The portcullis slammed shut crushing several members of the crowd beneath it. Pained screams and the sickening sound of bodies being crushed under metal filled the air. Blood sprayed the soldiers, some of which vomited at the sight of the broken bodies.

Woven stared at the scene of carnage. The siege of Eclin had just begun, and already hell had arrived.

*

Master Thondril watched the attack from the top of one of the many turrets that lined the city walls. Behind him was a rather nervous looking Ballistae crew. The team of four were all young men of the Eclin watch. No doubt none of the deadly weapons had been fired in anger for over a hundred years. Today, that would all change.

The white mantled knights and sergeants on the wall below loosed arrow after arrow into the oncoming hoard. Tens of thousands of zombies shambled towards the walls their moans echoing off of the surrounding mountain peaks.

“They will never get up the walls.” The knight standing nearest to Thondril said in amazement.

“They aren’t supposed too.” The grandmaster muttered. He had seen such a tactic used before in the last crusade he had led into the mountains. On that occasion he and a hundred of his men had sought shelter in a ruined tower, a relic of the Golden Empire, when the weather had turned. Out of the snow and darkness the enemy had attacked.

“The zombies are to probe for weaknesses in our defence. Do not be fooled into thinking that there is no intelligence behind this Sir Fronti,” Thondril explained to the younger knight.

Amongst the zombies were werewolves charging forward. Some reached the bottom of the walls and began to climb. Their razor sharp claws acting like climbing picks. The archers on Thondril’s tower shifted their aim and loosed. The volley slammed into a dozen of the beasts sending them tumbling into the mass of undead below.

Volley after volley of arrows lanced downwards into the packed ranks of the enemy. The men on the walls used the flaming braziers to set their arrows aflame and send the fiery death into the undead. The Knights had learnt long ago that only fire destroys the dead.

The smell of cooked undead flesh was carried on the breeze causing the defenders to gag. Some covered their noses with strips of cloth to filter out the foul stench.

Thondril was on the eastern wall facing the mountain passes, from his position he could see that the enemy was slowing in its assaults. He smiled softly to himself. They couldn’t find a weakness there. For a brief moment he thought that the city could hold. Those hopes were dashed when he heard screams coming from the southern walls and the road leading into Delfinnia itself.

He rushed over to the crenulations which faced south to see a huge billow of smoke pouring skywards. He narrowed his eyes. A bright flash struck the gatehouse and a moment later the sound of thunder reached his ears.

“Magic...,” he muttered in understanding at what he was seeing.

He turned to face Sir Fronti who also was watching the carnage on the southern wall.

“Tell half the men on this wall to reinforce the south.” Thondril yelled.

Fonti ran over to the wall and bellowed orders at the men on the walls below. Within moments half of the defenders on the eastern wall were running to the south.

“Sir!” Fronti shouted a tinge of panic in his voice. Thondril ran back to the other wall. He swore under his breath. The enemy had been waiting for such a move. Out of the mountain pass charged the implacable ghouls. Thousands of them marched forwards, in their midst were tall towers made of iron and wood.

“Siege towers!” Thondril bellowed drawing his silver sword. The towers rumbled forward from their hiding place in the pass. Fronti ran down the steps of the tower, desperate to catch up with the men he had just ordered to the other wall.

Thondril followed but instead of heading to the south he took up position on the wall. His nervous men looked to him for courage. The knights drew their silver blades whilst the sergeants continued to rain arrows and crossbow bolts upon the approaching ghouls. The stamping of their armoured feet sounded like distant thunder as they drew nearer. Thondril narrowed his eyes trying to measure distances in his mind.

“Ballistae!” he ordered with a shout. The young sergeant standing nervously at his side raised a blue and red crossed flag, the signal to the ballista crews stationed on the towers lining the walls. A similar flag was raised as the crew acknowledged the order.

Seconds later a bolt the length of a man was launched from atop the nearest tower with a deafening twang. The crossbow shaped ballista lurched in its iron frame as the deadly metal bolt flew.

The men roared as the bolt smashed into one of the approaching towers. The bolt decapitated the top of the wooden structure sending debris flying in all directions. As the order spread down the line more ballista bolts were launched.

One flew wide of its mark to plunge into the hoard below. The bolt carved a huge furrow into the earth, vaporising zombies and ghouls alike.  Another bolt struck another tower but instead of breaking it in two like the other had done it embedded itself deep into the wood.

Thondril wiped his brow of the nervous sweat which was threatening to drip into his eyes. The ballistae were powerful weapons but would take precious minutes to reload. For a brief moment he wished that the legion were manning the wall with his men rather than the less skilled soldiers of Eclin. ‘
Use what you are given
’ he scolded himself.

He turned to look at the southern wall. Smoke continued to rise and the sound of clashing steel could be heard faintly over the stamping feet of the armoured ghouls.

He closed his eyes and offered a prayer to Niveren. He prayed that the city would hold.

*

Woven left Elena and the boy at the Baron’s castle before he had snuck out back into the city. His men were fighting for their lives and we would be at their side. To avoid the angry crowd at the castle gates he had used one of the baron’s escape tunnels which ran under the city streets. If the city fell then the prince and baron would be smuggled out of the castle.

Unfortunately the escape tunnels were also used as the city sewers and the smell was foul. After ten minutes of running through the maze of tunnels and through who knew what, he came across a metal rung ladder which led back up onto the streets. He lifted the manhole cover and gasped as he breathed in air which was tainted by smoke.

He looked around to get his bearings and realised he was on the main thoroughfare which led from the southern gate to the market district. A scene of utter carnage lay before him. The stone of the south wall were blackened by fire, the charred corpses of dozens of soldiers were scattered nearby like broken toys. The gate was still standing but every now and again it shuddered as something large and heavy smashed into it from the outside.

He narrowed his eyes to see rangers rushing towards the gate. Clambering over the walls were werewolves their teeth bared and ready to kill. The rangers shot a volley of arrows which sent some of the beasts falling back from whence they came. Others evaded the deadly maelstrom, for those the rangers drew their swords and charged into the fray.

Woven took his own bow from his shoulder placed an arrow on the bowstring before running towards the fighting.

He dove for cover as the body of a ranger smashed into the ground; a werewolf had its jaws clamped tightly around the dead man’s throat. Woven didn’t hesitate. He loosed his arrow which struck the monster in the eye. It howled as it reared back in pain. Woven drew his sword pulled back his arm and hurled the blade. The sword spun as it flew. It punched through the wolf’s chest with a satisfying shlick sound.

He darted forward, pulled his sword from the wolf, raised it high and cleaved the beasts head from its body. He did the same to the body of the ranger. The werewolves curse was highly contagious, it was a well known fact that even the recently deceased could return as one of the beasts.

A horn sounded back up the road. Riding hard through the smoke were two dozen heavily armoured Knights of Niveren. They dismounted before quickly heading into the nearest tower to scale the stairs upward and join the fray. Woven was right behind them.

After a tiring climb they burst out onto the walls. The knights ploughed into the beasts, their silver swords glinting in the sunlight as they cleaved their way into the enemy ranks. Woven let the knights lead the way. He could see that they would secure the walls. Further down he could see the rangers advancing steadily until with one last swing of a sword the last werewolf was thrown from the wall. The rangers cheered at their victory.

“We were told the Lich was here. Where is it?” one of the knights said sombrely.

Woven looked out over the wall. The ground was littered with arrows, broken bodies of defending soldiers and the corpses of zombies and werewolves. Of the Lich, it was nowhere to be seen. He frowned as he noticed the burning gatehouse.

“It was here. It tried to destroy the gate,” he said quietly. A nagging feeling wormed its way into his gut. Why had it stopped its assault? Was it toying with them?

Cheers went up from the other walls. He could see Eclin troops raising their weapons into the air in celebration on the western flank.

The Knights to the east however were quiet. An flaming arrow was shot high into the air from one of them.

Woven sheathed his sword. That was the sign for the all clear.

“Have we won the day?” the knight asked, hope evident in his voice.

Woven shook his head.

“This was just the first day. The Lich won’t stop until we are all dead or we kill it.’ He said as he clapped the knight on the shoulder, ‘if I were you I’d prepare for a long siege.”

***

34.

Yepert tripped as the grim faced legionary captain shoved him forward for the tenth time in as many minutes. With his hands bound he was unable to keep his balance and fell face first onto the road. The three other soldiers laughed at the mages plight. Yepert had been shocked at the hate the men directed towards him. Having spent much of his childhood safe in Caldaria he’d had little knowledge of just how hostile the normal folk were to those with magic.

“Get up,” the captain growled. A pair of big hands griped his arm painfully and hauled him back onto his feet.

“Please. You have to listen to me!” Yepert pleaded.

“Don’t! Cover yer ears less the mage puts a curse on us,” another of the legionnaires said. Genuine fear was in his tone.

The soldier squeezed Yepert’s arm painfully.

“Shut up. You’re gonna find out what happens to mages who break the law when we get to Sunguard. You’ll probably be burnt alive on a pyre or perhaps pulled apart by horses,” the captain chuckled licking his lips in glee.

“I think not,” said a voice from ahead of the group.

Yepert’s eyes widened and a smiled creased his lips. Standing in the middle of the road were two men. One clad in black the other in white.

The black clad man was Ferran. At the Nightblades side stood Kaiden, the knight had his silver sword resting casually on his shoulder.

“Who the heck are you? You dare interfere in Legion business?” the captain snarled. He tightened his grip on the mage and unsheathed his sword. The other three soldiers did likewise.