Dargonesti

Chapter 21

Queen Uriona impatiently drummed her long blue fingers on the arm of her throne. The seaweed canopy that shielded her during the day had just been removed. The sun was sinking beneath the western horizon. Despite the attentiveness of her loyal servants, Uriona was angry.

“Where is Lord Protector Coryphene?” she demanded for the fifth time in thirty minutes. “Why hasn’t he been summoned?”

“He has, Divine Majesty,” said one of the servants, patiently. He kept his eyes downcast.

More time dragged by. At last, a swirl of mud and sand in the water presaged the arrival of newcomers from the river. Coryphene swept into his queen’s presence. He bowed deeply.

“My eternal regret for keeping Your Divinity waiting,” he said.

“I summoned you hours ago.”

“Apologies, Majesty. The river is murky and strange to us. It is difficult to move quickly through it.”

The strain of the invasion showed on Coryphene’s face and in his posture. He’d fought all the night before in the dry forest south of the city, fought and slain a dozen foes single-handed. He had intended to launch another strike on the city this night. The peremptory summons from the queen had delayed the attack.

“When do you expect the city to fall?” Uriona asked.

“Soon, Beloved Goddess. Thousands of drylanders were lost in the forest and at the city gate last night. There cannot be many left to defend the walls. We were to attack again this evening, but-” He paused. “Our people need time to recover. Tomorrow, at dusk, we will resume the assault, this time most heavily from the west. The drylanders will expect us to charge their gatehouses again, but we will not. With the timbers we took from Brackenost, we have made scaling ladders. We shall storm the wall between their towers. There will not be enough defenders to meet us, and the city will be ours.”

“Be sure of it, Lord Protector! The tide of affairs is turning-I feel it. My fellow gods bestir themselves for our enemies’ sake. My destiny is to be crowned in the Tower of the Stars. I will achieve my destiny! Do you hear?”

“Perfectly, Divine Queen. May I return to the army?”

Uriona tapped her fingers on her throne. “Yes, very well, go.”

Before he turned away, he saw an expression of worry pass over her face. She raised one hand to her head.

“Are you well, Uriona?” he inquired.

His use of her name brought anger to her face. “Yes! Why do you tarry? Go back to your warriors, Lord Protector!”

He didn’t move, but continued to regard her with genuine concern. “Do you tire of this shelter in the shallow water? Why not come back with me in the river?”

“You said it wasn’t safe for me to enter the river!” she snapped.

“The enemy is less formidable than I supposed. They cannot reach us underwater and cannot defeat us when we fight on land.” He held out a hand to her. “Come, Divine Majesty. Come let me show you your future capital.”

Slowly, the anger faded from her face. Her expression took on a quality of yearning. “My capital,” she repeated softly. “My city.”

She took his hand and rose from her throne. Swimming together, they left the sea behind and entered the fresh water of the Thon-Thalas.

The night passed without incident in Silvanost. Vixa was surprised that the Dargonesti did not attack, but the time was not wasted. Fortifications were strengthened, weapons repaired, and myriad other tasks attended to.

The Speaker of the Stars had dined once more with his foreign guests. After the midday meal was finished, they strolled the halls of the Quinari Palace, ending up in one of the high western towers. From there, they could see nearly the whole of Fallan Island. The Speaker leaned on the alabaster windowsill and nodded at the sublime vista. “What do you see?” he asked them.

Gundabyr winced as he hoisted his bandaged arm up. “The city, the city wall, and the river.”

“What do you deduce from the river?”

Baffled, the Qualinesti princess stared hard. The Thon-Thalas seemed just the same as when she had arrived the day before yesterday. There were still no fishing craft on the water. The barges that had been deployed to impede enemy ships were gone as well. Vixa’s information had shown the Speaker that such a tactic was unnecessary. All the river craft were tied up on the north end of the island, tied to docks that stood long-legged out of the water, like so many herons. The fishing dories closer to shore had their prows buried in the mud. Vixa stiffened. Buried in the mud?

“The water level has receded!” Vixa exclaimed, seeing it at last.

“By Reorx! A good four feet, at least!” added Gundabyr.

“Closer to five,” corrected the Speaker. “It will go lower still.”

“But how? Why?”

Elendar’s voice took on a note of pride. “The clerics of Silvanost are second to none in the esteem of the gods. I commanded them to work a mighty conjuration-all of them. The entire college of priests and priestesses are at their altars, minds linked into one magnificent whole, performing a fantastic evocation.”

Vixa was stunned. “To lower the river?”

He nodded with satisfaction. “In two more days the Thon-Thalas will be half its normal depth. In six, it will be a muddy gutter. If the Dargonesti remain, they will dry in the sun like so many beached fish.”

Vixa felt light-headed. That such power was available to the Speaker of the Stars … she could only shake her head in wonder. It was incredible. That she was here to witness it was a blessing. The Qualinesti princess bowed her head. “Great Speaker, forgive me for doubting you,” she murmured.

He grinned at her. “Nonsense, Cousin. Would not the Speaker of the Sun do as much for Qualinost? Master Gundabyr, to what end would your High King go to deliver Thorbardin from danger?”

“Fight to the last axe and shed his very last drop of blood,” the dwarf said solemnly. He brightened. “But don’t I feel like a dolt! Here the princess and me were breaking our, uh, backs to come to your aid, and you have ol’ Coryphene in the palm of your hand!”

“Things are not quite that certain, my friend. This Coryphene is resourceful, and his army can still do great harm.”

Vixa knew the truth of that. She thought of how remorselessly Coryphene had pursued the chilkit, obsessed with exterminating them root and branch.

“When he realizes the river is falling, he will rethink his strategy,” she said. “I fear the worst may still be ahead of us.”

The Speaker rubbed his smooth cheek. “Do you think so? I would have thought that when things looked hopeless, he would retreat to save his own skin.”

“Any ordinary general would, but Coryphene has a heavy burden that prevents him from running away-that prevents rational thought,” she finished. The other two quizzed her with wordless looks.

“Uriona,” she said. “He is bound up in her visions, bound up in his love for her. He will never give up.”

The night watch roamed the quiet streets of Silvanost, as they had for more than a thousand years. This night, they were reinforced by bands of royal guards. Marshal Samcadaris knew he didn’t have enough warriors to guard the entire perimeter of the great city. Until the levies arrived, he was forced to rely on two methods of defense: all the towers and gatehouses were strongly fortified and garrisoned with archers, and the remaining foot soldiers and dismounted cavalry were formed into flying corps, which would rush to the scene of any attack. In the Speaker’s words, they would “plug holes in the Ship of State from the inside.”

The sky had just turned from indigo to deep purple when the sentries atop Red Rose Gate heard a commotion in the southern forest beyond the wall. The previous fire and subsequent battle had done great damage to the ornamental gardens located by the edge of the forest. More than enough trees remained, however, to screen Dargonesti movements from the sharp-eyed sentries.

A herald was dispatched to Marshal Samcadaris, who was standing at the head of a thousand warriors in a street next to the Quinari Palace. Word of the enemy activity filtered through the ranks. The Silvanesti stirred nervously.

Speaker Elendar, Vixa, and Gundabyr were with Samcadaris. The Speaker said, “What do you think, Marshal?”

“A few soldiers can make a lot of noise,” the young warrior replied. “I counsel that we wait.”

A few minutes later, a second courier came running from Red Rose Gate. “Sir! Enemy in sight!” he cried. The warriors in the neat ranks began to murmur softly.

“Wait. We must wait,” Samcadaris repeated, shaking his head slowly.

Back at the southern gate, the nervous Silvanesti defenders watched as a double line of Dargonesti elves, fresh from the river, marched forward in closed ranks. On their shoulders, they bore long poles, which the archers took to be scaling ladders. The cry of “Escalade!” went up among the Silvanesti. The archers lofted a few arrows at them, but the Dargonesti halted just out of range.

The air was alive with the sound of snapping wood. The Silvanesti looked on in confusion as a giant ball of tree limbs and brush appeared out of the trees. The ball was fully twenty feet across and was being pushed forward-straight to the gate-by gangs of captured Silvanesti.

At the palace, Vixa heard the report of this and said immediately, “Coryphene means to burn down the gate.” She explained that the long poles the archers had taken for ladders were probably firelances.

“You say water won’t put out this gnomefire?” Samcadaris said. Gundabyr nodded regretfully. “Well, what will extinguish it?”

“Only smothering will douse a gnomefire. Dirt, sand, that sort of thing,” said the dwarf.

Samcadaris gave orders that certain items be collected and taken to the gate. A few hundred warriors scattered to obey.

The archers atop the wall held their fire as the brush ball rolled slowly toward them. The Dargonesti were careful to keep behind it, beating their captives with sticks to ensure that the ball continued its forward momentum. Pairs of firelancers left the line and followed in the wake of the brush ball. Careless Quoowahb paid with their lives as the archers picked off any who strayed too far from the rolling shield.

Samcadaris’s troops, a hundred fifty strong, arrived at the threatened gate. The special items they’d brought were passed up to the defenders on the wall. Tense, the Silvanesti waited.

The ground sloped upward to the gate, so the last few yards were slow going for the captives pushing the brush ball. When the ball drew near enough that the Silvanesti archers at last had a shot at those behind it, they realized the only targets available were their own countrymen. The Dargonesti slashing at the captives with seaweed whips were protected by a wooden mantelet. This shield had been fashioned from house timbers, doors, and any other bits of wood scavenged from Brackenost and the surrounding forests.

The Silvanesti archers ground their teeth in anger at this sight. Samcadaris had sent word they were to hold their fire. The marshal had a plan, and killing the unfortunate captives was not part of it.

Amid much cursing and shouting from the Dargonesti, the huge mass of tinder was shoved up next to the oaken gate. Then the mantelet retreated, but only to provide cover to the advancing firelancers, who readied, then cast their heavy projectiles into the brush.

For land fighting, Coryphene’s armorers had modified Gundabyr’s original design. The pot containing the paste was divided in half, one side containing gnomefire paste, the other filled with water. When the pot shattered, the two mixed, the paste exploding into flame.

Smoke boiled out of the brush pile. Two, three, four firelances were hurled against it. Liquid flames ran down the green saplings in the ball and pooled on the ground.

From the gate roof, many Silvanesti voices shouted, “Now!”

Down came grappling hooks on ropes. This was the special equipment ordered by Samcadaris. The hooks easily snagged the tangled brush. The elves heaved on the long lines, raising the burning heap off the ground. Flames shot up over the battlements, forcing the archers back. Once the ball had sufficient height, the ropes were cut. The momentum of the falling brush ball caused it to roll down the slope away from the gate, directly toward the Dargonesti line. With the jeers of the defenders ringing in their ears, the sea elves scattered before the hurtling blaze.

Back at the palace, everyone enjoyed a good laugh when descriptions of the Battle of the Bush arrived. No one, however, believed the night’s fighting was over.

More wooden mantelets appeared from the woods. Behind these makeshift shields, gangs of Dargonesti crept toward the wall. Arrows immediately began dropping down on them, but the attackers pushed on. Nearly twenty mantelets, covering several hundred Quoowahb, reached the foot of the wall and Red Rose Gate. The tall, powerfully muscled sea elves cast spears up at the defenders as other Dargonesti, equipped with captured tools, attacked the gate. Chips flew, but the oak barrier was ten inches thick. Behind it stood another gate, this one of rock crystal, magically cast in the days of Silvanos. The defenders let the Dargonesti waste their time and energy chipping at the wooden gate, secure in the knowledge that the crystal barrier could not be breached. All the while, arrows, large stones, and hot oil were poured on the attackers.

“This is stupid,” Gundabyr remarked, when the latest report was brought back to the Quinari. “I thought the blueskins were smarter than this!”

“I don’t suppose they’ve ever attacked a walled city before,” Samcadaris mused.

“They’re getting a hard education,” the Speaker said grimly.

The attack continued for over an hour, during which the attention of every elf in Silvanost was fixed on Red Rose Gate, in the south.

Unbeknownst to them, Dargonesti warriors were stealing silently out of the muddy Thon-Thalas and gathering among the piers and docks on the city’s west side. Scaling ladders, knocked together from scavenged wood, were carried out of the water and readied at the base of the city wall. The army waited, poised for the signal. Coryphene’s point of attack was exactly halfway between two towers.

Coryphene himself surfaced, holding the hand of Queen Uriona. The sorceress monarch had never been above the water in her life, and she was fiercely excited by the experience. The air here was very different than what she breathed in her city every day. A myriad of strange smells filled her nostrils. She gripped Coryphene’s hand hard as she gazed up at the walls and towers of Silvanost.

“My city,” she whispered. “My capital!”

“Not yet, Divine One. Let me shed a little blood for you, then it shall be yours in truth,” he said.

She relinquished his hand. “Go! I will call on my powers to aid you!”

He slogged ashore. One thousand warriors, including his own sword-armed personal guard, were below the wall.

“Up ladders,” he said quietly. Brawny blue arms lifted the wooden structures. The movement of so many ladders could not escape notice. Sentries on the two flanking towers shouted alarms. Torches blazed from the battlement, exposing Coryphene’s troops.

“Up! Up!” he roared, waving his sword over his head. He still wielded Vixa Ambrodel’s Qualinesti blade. The topaz in its hilt flashed in the torchlight. “Now is the time! For Urione! For Uriona!”

“Urione! Uriona!” the Dargonesti shouted.

In moments, the alarm reached the Speaker and the others at the Quinari Palace. Samcadaris threw down his marshal’s baton.

“A feint! All that nonsense in the south is a feint!” He shouted quick commands, and the waiting warriors fell into three columns. Vixa and Gundabyr found places in the fore, the dwarf vowing to make Coryphene pay for the death of Garnath, his twin.

Speaker Elendar performed the ritual blessings, as the columns began to move off. Once the warriors were gone, the Speaker dismissed the priests and servants hovering nearby. The square between the Quinari and the Tower of the Stars was empty save for himself. He removed a plain helmet from beneath his cloak and pulled it on.

“I’ll not sit by while others fight for my city,” he murmured.

After a glance at the pearlescent beauty of the Tower of the Stars, a sight which never failed to strengthen his soul, Elendar, Speaker of the Stars, great-grandson of Silvanos, stepped into the night, tightening the chin strap of his helmet.