The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End

She pressed her cheek against the stone. Moisture glistened in her eyes for a moment, then she closed them. ‘I know,’ was all she said.

From the city they moved farther east, into the borders of the realms of the Mad Ones. In the month since they had left Child had recruited another score of followers, and these she nurtured as if they were her children. She was a strict mother, but gave bounty in a poor land in exchange for loyalty. She now had half a dozen flyers who scouted ahead for the group, and her males were now strong enough to confront all but the most powerful of the Mad Ones in single combat and stand a fair chance of winning. For the most part, small packs of Mad Ones gave them a wide berth. Those few times they had been attacked they had destroyed their foes and feasted, growing ever stronger.

Child began mating with the males. Belog was given the honour of being her first, because he was her first companion, and then one by one she took the others. Within weeks she had them completely bound to her and was learning a new concept: love.

She knew something about it from what she knew of the succubae, but they bound others to them by magic, by charm and glamour. The love she was experiencing was harder to understand. But she knew when she looked at Belog she felt differently to when she beheld the younger males. And although she enjoyed his company, occasionally a feeling of irritation arose in her that she couldn’t explain.

Feelings confused her and she needed to understand them but she was constantly frustrated by her inability to grasp them. Like quicksilver they dribbled between her fingers as she grappled with them.

They felt it before they saw it. Over a rise and out of sight, there was a presence. For over a week since leaving Maarg’s city they had been following a well-worn road into a gently descending valley. It was the only place they had found since leaving the bramble thickets where anything grew.

Tough-looking scrub trees with black bark and magenta leaves were surrounded by bright yellow grasses and tall violet reeds.

Something coursed through Child when she crested the ridge and saw what she had been sensing. The sensation she experienced was one of being drawn, compelled to go closer.

‘There is a portal,’ she said.

‘Where does it lead?’ asked Belog.

‘I do not know, but it is the reason everyone has left Maarg’s city. That road was worn by his entire realm having come this way.’

‘Perhaps it is an escape from the Darkness,’ whispered one of the males, made bold because Child had favoured him with a mating the night before.

She struck back without looking, ripping a gash across his face. ‘Speak only when I tell you,’ she commanded. Of all her companions, Belog was the only one she allowed any discretion when it came to addressing her.

She walked down the path and was accosted by alien scents and odd sounds. A faint vibration, too quiet to make out, emanated from the portal. It was a tall rectangle of grey with a scintillating sheen of colours playing across the surface like an oily rainbow on water.

‘It is calling,’ said Child.

‘I sense a desire to enter,’ agreed Belog. ‘But we know not what is on the other side.’

‘Yet it calls.’

The tug of desire was mounting by the moment.

‘Perhaps safety is on the other side,’ ventured one of the females who then cringed in anticipation of Child’s wrath.

But Child was unmindful of this second breach and simply said, ‘No, we do not know what is beyond.’ When she turned it was with a grin, but there was no humour in it.

Her features were changing and Belog was most aware of that since he had seen her in her childhood. She now had high cheekbones and piercing black eyes, a regal nose and a high forehead that swept back to a crest that fanned out behind her head like a crown. Her body was lithe and powerful, but hips and breasts were full like those of a succubus. Her teeth were gleaming white instead of yellow or black, with only her eyeteeth pointed, the rest being as flat as those of a lesser being.

She was changing and into what he had no idea, but he said nothing as she finished her thought.

‘But we do know what is behind us, and if it takes a lifetime or ten lifetimes, eventually the Darkness will reach this place.’ She glanced from face to face. ‘And I will not be here when it comes. Choose as you wish.’

She stepped into the portal.

A moment later, Belog followed.

• CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_aeba5bbd-c189-51e7-8f6d-868402307554) •

Flight (#ulink_aeba5bbd-c189-51e7-8f6d-868402307554)

MARTIN RAN UP THE STEPS.

Barely dressed as the sun rose, he had been summoned by an urgent call from the sentry atop the highest tower in the castle. When he reached the apex of the tower the sentry cried, ‘Sir, the Keshians are moving their trebuchets!’

‘Sergeant Ruther!’ shouted Martin and within a minute the old veteran was at his side. ‘It looks as if the Keshians have grown tired of waiting for us to walk away,’ Martin told him. Then he added calmly, ‘Sound the alarm.’

With a wave the sergeant ordered a trumpeter to sound the call to battle and a moment later every soldier and those men of fighting age who had been armed took up their positions.

‘I wonder if they’re going to ask us to leave again?’ asked Sergeant Ruther, his chin jutting as if he was ready for a bar fight.

Suddenly a massive stone came arcing out from the heart of town and smashed into the stonework to the right of the gate. Shards of masonry exploded and two men fell from the wall nearby, while everyone else ducked for cover. Those townsfolk who were not bearing arms and hadn’t yet fled to the rear of the castle were now leaving the front bailey yard at a run. Their screams of terror filled the air, but through it Sergeant Ruther’s voice cut: ‘Steady!’ Looking at Martin, he said, ‘I guess that means not.’

The Keshians had been content to sit in the town for five days, sending a message every day, asking for the inhabitants’ surrender. They never threatened; but the threat was implicit as more and more soldiers disembarked from the ships now in Crydee harbour. Already the keep was nearly fully surrounded. Only the heavily-forested area a half mile from the rear wall seemed not yet to be closed off.

Martin watched as a second stone crashed nearer to the gate. ‘They mean to have that gate down before they attack,’ suggested Martin.

‘That’s how I see it, sir. Scaling walls is a messy business and the gate’s the easy way in. Usually we wait until we have to pull back into the keep, and then it gets messy for them.’

Martin understood. The outer wall was a late addition to the original keep which had a classic murder room behind the outer portcullis. While it was easy enough to lift those two gates, they were extremely difficult to breach without a lot of men dying under a hail of arrows from above. ‘You see any turtles?’

‘No, but we can be sure they have them or are building them somewhere in town.’ The turtles would be covered rams of heavy wooden construction that would be used to smash in the portcullises. The defenders would make the attackers pay a heavy toll to breach the keep, but with enough men and material, eventually the Keshians would break through. Martin’s sole hope was to hold them at bay until his father and the rest of Crydee’s muster returned.

The instructions had been simple. If Lord Henry appeared, the garrison would sally forth in support of his attack on the Keshians besieging the keep. With a strong enough attack, they could roll them up and push them through the town until they found themselves fighting with the bay at their back. Unless they could swim to their ships wearing armour, they would be forced to surrender or be killed to the last man on the docks. Martin chose to worry about the Keshian townspeople after the battle was won. Right now he was focusing on defending this keep.

He looked around and realized that his ancestors had either been geniuses or very lucky. When the original keep had been established by the first Duke of Crydee, this had been a small Keshian garrison, used primarily to keep goblins and the Brotherhood of the Dark Path out of northern Bosania, as this province had been called. The current Free Cities had been their main concern, and the Far Coast had been occupied only as a way to protect their ‘back doors’, as there were two major passes over the mountains. The road east past the Jonril garrison split north-east and south-east, and led to the passes, one of which skirted the southern boundary of the Elven Forest, and eventually would clear the Grey Towers at the Northern Pass before descending towards Yabon.

The southern route passed close to the boundaries of the dwarves and the Star Elves, eventually descending towards the Free City of Natal and the Kingdom Port of Ylith. It was infrequently travelled, and only utilized if heavy snow blocked off the Northern Pass.

Yet while the Crydee garrison had never been more than a Keshian watch-post, it had this bloody marvellous keep: one storey, square and ugly, with a small barbican over the entrance. Martin’s ancestor, the first Duke of Crydee, had build a second storey above it, extended it on three sides and erected towers at the front two corners, then built a huge wall around it, creating a massive bailey in the front and a less spacious marshalling yard behind. On the north side the stables had been tucked against the wall, while barracks were constructed against the south wall.

The outer wall had two entrances: the main gates and a postern gate in the rear. That was heavily guarded, but the terrain behind the keep made attack from that direction difficult: thick woodlands made marshalling horse and infantry impossible unless they came into the clearing behind and attacked uphill while in range of the bowmen and two ancient ballistas mounted on the towers at the corners. The ancient Keshians knew one thing that every Duke of Crydee had also known: the only way to take the keep was a steep climb uphill and a full-frontal assault.

More boulders came hurtling through the air and more masonry exploded. Shards of stone and choking dust filled the air.

Silently, Martin prayed his father wasn’t too long in coming to his aid.

Lord Henry chafed at every moment he was forced to tarry. He paced without let every time they had to stop to rest the horses. Two hundred cavalry had to tend to their mounts while the infantrymen struggled to keep up, lagging perhaps a half-day’s march behind.

Brendan watched his father and was hard pressed to know what to say. He was just as desperate to return as the Duke, but he knew that it was futile to push out too far ahead of the heavy foot. Two hundred mounted soldiers might break a siege, but they would need the support of the twelve hundred men behind them. At last he said, ‘Father, you taught Martin well. Of the three of us he was always your best student.’

Lord Henry turned. He looked as if he was about to lose his temper at his son’s words, but just managed to pull himself back from an outburst. After a moment he said, ‘You’re right. I have always known that you and your brothers might be tested in battle some day. I just thought you’d be older and I’d be there with you.’ Then his voice lowered. ‘And your mother is there.’

Brendan moved to his father’s side. Putting a hand on his shoulder he repeated, ‘Martin was your best student. And he has Ruther with him. He may be a boastful drunk on Banapis, but the rest of the year he’s a seasoned soldier.’

‘Against bands of goblins and roving outlaws, yes,’ said Duke Henry, his dark eyes narrow and his face pinched with worry. ‘But against Keshian Dog Soldiers?’