The King's Ring (The Netherworld Gate Book 2) (32 page)

Now he faced a semicircle of four Kruk warriors and he knew the other five would be on his heels within seconds. His left hand reached for his scabbard and he tried to mentally call forth the smoke from the scabbard’s mouth. Nothing happened. He despaired for only a moment before he let himself fall into his dance of death.

He wheeled to his right, but it was only a feint. At the last moment he lashed out to the left and caught one of the elves across the shoulder with a great slash of his sword. The elf reeled in pain as the gash in his shoulder hissed and smoked. The assassin smiled and struck out with the scabbard in his left hand. The blow knocked away a charging elf’s scimitar and he followed it with a quick slice of his blade across the elf’s sword arm. The attack severed the elf’s arm just below the elbow and left the elf howling in agony on his knees.

Talon was forced to backpedal to avoid the other two charging elves. He lashed out with a few quick strikes, but they all missed. He turned and ran toward the nearest column. He leapt up and ran vertically up the stone for a moment before leaping off backwards, over the charging elves. He landed behind the surprised Kruk warriors. Normally they would have been fast enough to counter him, but the power of the sword lent Talon an unearthly agility and quickness. He struck out with his blade and caught one elf in the spine. The warrior howled and slumped to the floor. The other elf dove left and avoided the follow up strike of Talon’s metal scabbard.

The sound of quick footsteps alerted the assassin that it was time to move. He turned and spun into the five oncoming elves like a windmill. His blade swept away the strikes of the nearest elves and his scabbard slammed into the jaw of another. The elf staggered backwards a few steps, but he kept his feet under him and advanced again despite the fact that his jaw hung loosely and wobbled as he moved.

Talon parried left, then struck out right. His sword worked in a blazing blur of steel and blood. His scabbard-turned-cudgel pummeled any part of the elves’ bodies that came too close to the whirlwind of death. Two more elves fell to the floor as Talon continued to spin through them.

Then everything went black.

The assassin almost panicked. Am I dead? Talon asked himself. There was no light. There was no sound. There was only nothingness. Then he heard Drekk’hul loud and clear. This time, the sword was not speaking only in Talon’s mind, but out loud for all to hear.

“I am the void,” Drekk’hul said. “I am the night!”

Talon then realized that the same fog the sword had created before was now so dense and powerful that it absorbed all the light in the chamber. A moment later, a light purple outline glowed around each of the elves around him. They flailed about madly. They could not see him.

Drekk’hul then spoke to Talon’s mind.
“Now that I have returned to my home I have awoken fully
.
”

Talon was awestruck. The power of the sword was incredible. He looked back out at the glowing figures and laughed at the elves. Struggle as they might against the magical darkness, they could not see through it.

“Kill them,”
Drekk’hul hissed.
“Kill them all!”

“Gladly,” the assassin replied aloud. Talon lifted the sword and ran forward at the elves. The fight was over in seconds. Talon was merciless and swift in his execution of the Svetli’Tai Kruk warriors. As the last one fell, the darkness was gone and the light was back to the way it had been. Talon looked down at the blade but the runes did not glow. The warmth was gone, and the blade was silent once more. The assassin wondered for a moment if he had imagined the sword talking to him, but then he shook his head and smiled. He knew the truth of it. He turned and approached the throne and the little box that sat thereon.

*****

“I have the count,” Sorbiy announced as he walked in to the small room where Kelden lay, exhausted from the night’s battle.

“What is it?” Kelden asked hoarsely.

“Of the freed prisoners there are fifty seven left alive, and half of them are injured badly. We have run out of supplies to dress the wounds with, and we have no skilled field surgeons. It is likely that many of the wounded will die if they catch infections.”

“How much of the city is destroyed?” Kelden asked.

“Most of the city has been turned to rubble. We were not able to deal with the fires until after the soldiers had been dealt with, and by then it was too late to save the city. We were fortunate to find a warehouse filled with food that had not been razed. I have asked the soldiers that are not injured to distribute rations. As for the journey to Kobhir, we don’t have enough men to take with us. We would do best to stay in Rasselin and help the citizens rebuild here.

Kelden rose to his feet and walked outside to survey the damage for himself. All around him the buildings lay in ruin. Smoke rose above the rubble, creating a haze that nearly blocked out the late morning sun. “It is horrible, isn’t it?”

“This is war,” Sorbiy said grimly.

“It is not much like the songs of legend, or the tales of old,” Kelden admitted. “Yet, I suppose sometimes it is unavoidable.”

“We brought freedom back to these people,” Sorbiy pointed out.

“We also brought them death and ruin,” Kelden replied. “Still, the traitor had to be dealt with.”

Sorbiy nodded his agreement. “You have to know that the prisoners would all have died eventually anyway. What we did brought hope, even in the face of ruin. This city is now liberated. The people here would still be under the traitor’s command if we hadn’t come.” Sorbiy placed a hand on Kelden’s shoulder. “Freedom, even in death, is better than tyranny and exploitation.”

“Perhaps,” Kelden replied weakly. “But if the Shausmatian army returns this way, the people will die. There is nothing here that would fend off an attack now.” His eyes surveyed the charred remains of buildings in front of him. Bodies littered the ground. Women wailed and mourned their dead. Blood stained the streets and the stench of death hung in the air as thickly as the smoke. “This is not the victory I had hoped for.”

Sorbiy removed his hand from Kelden’s shoulder and shrugged. “Well, it is better than the outcome I expected, to be frank. Things could be worse. At least we won.”

Kelden nodded. He knew the man was right. “How long till we can get the survivors into a caravan?”

“A caravan?” Sorbiy echoed. “Where would you like them to go?”

“I want to send the freed prisoners and the other citizens of Rasselin some place safe. I know a small village nestled near the mountains. There will be plenty of food, and there are people there who can help tend any injured who can last long enough to finish the journey. I have a man there that I trust. Murdok is his name. He has a good head on his shoulders and he will know what to do with the refugees. He is raising a militia as we speak. It will be a good place for these people to go.”

“What is the name of this village?” Sorbiy asked.

“Shinder,” Kelden replied. “Find a map and I will mark the village for you.”

“You aren’t coming?” Sorbiy asked.

Kelden shook his head. “You are in command now. Take Garret and the dwarves with you.”

“Where will you go?”

“Kobhir,” Kelden said flatly.

“That is suicide,” Sorbiy replied.

Kelden shook his head and offered a half smile to Sorbiy. “That is where I belong. Get these people safely to Shinder. Help them start over.”

“You aren’t going to say goodbye to the dwarves or Garret?” Sorbiy asked.

Kelden shook his head. “I am going to find a horse, and then I am going to be on my way. Tell them for me, alright?”

Sorbiy nodded. “By your command.”

“Milady, the men have been assembled along the walls as you have asked. We have managed to erect two working catapults, but the enemy is camped out of range.”

Queen Dalynn turned from the window to face her personal messenger, Karmt. He was a tall, thin man. As bald as the day he was born, though the wrinkles on his face showed he was far closer to death than birth. His nose was long and pointy, and his eyes were shrewd. Despite his hard features, the queen had always found him to be a caring, soft spoken man. That was why she trusted him, she supposed.

She walked over and motioned for him to take a seat next to her on a long, wooden bench. “Are the knights ready to ride?” she asked.

“They are milady,” Karmt replied. “I sent for Sir Alexander, as you asked, and he is waiting without.”

“Send him in, Karmt. I should like to speak with him now.”

“Is there anything else that you would have me do?” Karmt asked politely.

“No, that will be all for now.”

“Very well, milady” he replied obediently. “I will send in Sir Alexander.”

“I shall wait here.” She watched her messenger rise to his feet and walk out from the room. When the door closed behind him, she turned once more to the window and looked out to the west. Beyond her walls she could see dust churned up by the thousands of enemies camped beyond reach of her catapults or scorpion launchers. The latest scouting report had estimated that there were ten thousand men in the enemy camp. Kobhir had only half of that number, and almost a thousand of them were militia men, not proper soldiers. She twittled her thumbs as she sat on the hard bench and watched the faint movements in the distance. Over the past couple of days the enemy had been building siege gear. It was only a matter of time before the battle started.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Dalynn answered.

“I was told that you wanted to see me, m’lady,” Sir Alexander said as he knelt down on one knee in the doorway. His armor was polished to a high sheen, though it was dented and scarred from the recent battles. It clanged against the stone of the floor as he knelt.

“Please, rise to your feet, Sir Alexander,” Dalynn said softly.

“As you wish,” the knight answered. “How may I be of service?”

“I would like to ask you and your men to change your minds,” Dalynn said in a tone that was neither commanding, nor timid.

“My queen,” Sir Alexander began, “I do not see another way. The enemy has catapults that can reach our walls, yet we have nothing to strike back with. Our catapults cannot reach the enemy camps, nor can the scorpion launchers.”

“The mission you are proposing is suicide, Alexander,” Dalynn said, shaking her head. “You know I cannot open the gates and allow any men to march after you should your knights fall in over their heads. I fear that all of you will die.”

“Kobhir will suffer far greater casualties if we allow the enemy to use their catapults.” The knight strode towards the window and pointed at the distant camp of soldiers. “If my men and I can ride out and crush the catapults, then the enemy will be forced to march on the wall with ladders and clumsily built siege towers. Our sacrifice will ensure that the walls of Kobhir do not fall, and the soldiers on the walls will keep out the enemy.”

“There are ten thousand of them,” Dalynn reminded him.

“It will still be a hard battle for the city, but I think we can win as long as the walls stand firm.”

“What of my knights?” Dalynn asked. “I could use your men inside the walls.”

“My men are no use inside city walls, m’lady,” Sir Alexander said with a shake of his head. “We were born to ride in the open against our foe. Whether they number ten or ten thousand, we prefer to meet them out in the open.”

“Do you think you can really pull it off?”

“I do,” Sir Alexander affirmed. “I have been watching the enemy since they arrived. We have timed their patrol routes and watched every move of their guards. We will live long enough to destroy their catapults and trebuchets, I promise you that.” He stroked his silvery beard and smiled widely as he looked the queen in the eyes. “We will live long enough to give the whole camp a good throttling with our blades.”

“I must tell you something,” Dalynn said quietly. Her eyes conveyed a strange mix of fear and pride as she gazed on the knight. “I have often wished that I had gone with you to the borderlands. I would have very much liked being a soldier’s wife.”

“And I would have enjoyed being your soldier,” Sir Alexander replied softly.

“You are nearing your fiftieth year, are you not?” she asked as she rose from the bench and stepped close to her former lover.

“I am,” he confirmed.

“As am I,” she said as she gently took his left hand with her right and clasped her other hand over the top. “As queen, I am not allowed to mar the memory of my late husband by wedding another.” She sighed softly and blinked away the faint welling of tears in her eyes. “However, as a woman, I cannot send my true love into battle without a kiss.”

The two embraced each other and shared a passionate, long kiss that seemed to melt all of the years away that Dalynn had spent apart from him. She cried as he pulled his mouth away from hers and held her in his arms.

“When I return then,” he said. “Surely a queen can leave the castle and explore the countryside with a trusted bodyguard.”

Dalynn nodded. “Then return to me in one piece.” She looked up to his eyes, her hands trembling as she reached up to caress his face. “Promise me that you will return, and I will promise to go away with you afterward.”

Sir Alexander nodded. “I will return, my queen.”

With that the large man turned to leave, but then paused and turned back to her. He lifted his hand up to pull a silver necklace out from under his shirt. Dalynn put a hand to her lips as she saw a faded red ribbon tied to the chain.

“You wore this in your hair the night we spent together,” he said. “I have always had you with me ever since.” He smiled to her and then bowed before leaving.

Queen Dalynn wept softly as she moved back to the bench and sat down.

Karmt entered the room after Alexander had left and moved to sit beside Dalynn. “The king was also a good man,” he told her.

Queen Dalynn could sense the reproach in Karmt’s tone. She knew then that he had not given them as much privacy as she had thought. She waved his remark away and said, “I was given to him in marriage when I was only sixteen.”

“Many marriages are arranged similarly, it has been done for centuries. Many of them start out slow, but develop happily.”

“My husband was often wroth with me for the first few years of our marriage, did you know that?” she asked.

“I was not aware of that, m’lady.”

“He was already in his late fifties when I married him. He had never had another wife, though I had heard that he had shared his bed many times before he took me to wife.” She smiled thinly, almost dutifully, as she remembered the early days of her marriage. “My husband blamed me for not bearing an heir,” she said. “It was as though he thought I was purposefully denying him a son.” She was silent for a moment and her face grew hard, as though she was chiseled stone instead of flesh and bone. “After the first couple of years I told him that perhaps it was his fault, not mine. After all, he had never fathered any other children, despite having plenty of opportunities to do so.” She looked up at Karmt sullenly then. “The night I told him that was the first time he struck me.” She lowered her gaze, ashamed. A small lock of hair fell over her brow, but she made no move to wipe it away.

Karmt sat silently, allowing the queen to compose her thoughts. He reached out slowly and took her hand in his. She looked at him as tears continued to silently trace lines down her cheeks. “That is not how a man should behave,” he told her after a moment. It was the first time she had ever heard Karmt utter words of disapproval regarding her late husband.

“I thought that he would stop after the prince was born, but he didn’t. He never believed that the prince was his. He always suspected I had been unfaithful. Yet, here I am still fulfilling my duty to him even though his bones grew cold long ago. In some ways, it is better to be alone.” The queen swallowed hard and looked out the window and down to the commander of her knights. “If we survive this, I will leave.”

“With Sir Alexander?” Karmt asked pointedly.

Dalynn nodded. “If he survives, then I want to live the last portion of my life in his arms.”

“And if he doesn’t” Karmt asked. She could tell by his tone that he wasn’t being mean or trying to cause offense. He was her advisor, and as such it was his job to point out alternative possibilities for her to consider.

“Then I will go somewhere alone.”

“What of the kingdom?” Karmt asked. “The cube will open after the winter solstice. You could unite the empire once more.”

Dalynn shook her head. “You will promise me to stay here, and guide my son when he ascends to the throne.”

Karmt shook his head. “The cube will not recognize him.”

“Why not? He is of my blood. He is a true descendant and heir of King Dailex.”

Karmt shook his head again and sighed. “As long as you live, your son is not the
rightful
heir. If you leave, the empire cannot be reunited.”

Dalynn swallowed hard and blinked away the remaining tears. Dalynn closed her eyes and her head drooped down. She felt Karmt let go of her hand and listened as he exited the room. The door groaned as the advisor closed it behind him and the latch clicked into place.

*****

The night air was as stale as it was black. The moon barely showed her face and the stars were not seen through the low clouds that hung over Kobhir like a blanket. Normally, the dreary night would have been unwelcome, but Sir Alexander thought it was a sign that the gods were with him. The absolute dark of this night would help his men conceal themselves as they rode toward the enemy camp.

He waited until half-past midnight before he gave the order to ride out through the east gate. Slowly, he led his knights north, along the outside of the city wall and around until they stopped at the base of the northwest tower. He tried to use his looking glass to see the enemy, but the tool was useless in the overwhelming darkness. Normally, this too would have been ill desired, but tonight it made him smile. If we can’t see them, then they can’t see us, Alexander noted silently. He turned in his saddle and looked to Ret and Jaidor.

“When I blow the horn, the two of you will detach from the group, along with the men I assigned to your command. Remember, nothing must stand in the way of tearing down the trebuchets. I don’t care how many of us fall along the way, we have to destroy them.”

“We will not fail,” Ret replied firmly.

“No man will shirk his duty tonight,” Jaidor agreed. “The children of Kobhir will sing songs of our valor for centuries to come.”

“Look after yourselves,” Alexander urged them. “When the camp wakes it will be like trying to kill a dragon with a sling loaded with horse-apples.” The two lieutenants smirked and even Alexander chuckled a bit. But they quickly erased their grins from their faces. Each man grew eerily silent, realizing full well that they would likely not live to see the sun rise again. Alexander was the first to spur his horse forward into a slow, controlled run. Ret and Jaidor silently motioned for the other knights to follow closely.

Alexander strained his eyes against the dark, aiming his steed for the distant glow of scattered torches in the enemy camp. He did not see the looming shapes of the trebuchets until he was within sixty yards of the enemy camp, but as soon as he spied the contraptions he wasted no time. His hand ripped the horn from his belt and he blew a short, yet distinct note.

The company of three hundred knights instantly morphed into three warbands of one hundred knights. Alexander, Ret, and Jaidor each led one of the groups onward to attack the enemy’s siege engines. The sound of hooves galloping across the packed ground roared like a raging river, or even like thunder. Within a few seconds, there were shouts from the enemy camp.

Alexander steeled himself and spurred his warhorse onward, faster than he had ever ridden before. Bugles sounded from the tents before him. He could hear men shouting and cursing. Under the light of lanterns staked into the ground, Alexander could see that there were only twenty or thirty tents near the trebuchets. The rest of the enemy camp was farther back, about one hundred yards away. Armor plates clanged and banged together as the enemy camp roused to answer the warnings of the bugles. But it was already too late to save three of the trebuchets.

Alexander reached down to his saddle bag and pulled a sticky leather pouch from it. The pouch was sealed with a length of twine that also served as strap for Alexander to hold. He slowly twirled the leather bag beside him and launched it toward a nearby trebuchet like a child’s fox-tail. His aim was true and the bag struck the neck of the war machine, splitting instantly and spilling oil and pitch all around. He reached down and grabbed a lantern, post and all, out of the ground near a tent and threw it like a fiery javelin to ignite the pitch and oil. The flames whooshed up along the wooden neck of the machine as he and fifty knights pressed on to the next machine.