Lord of the Rose

CHAPTER TWENTY — SIX

A nkhar slept on the ground, just like the rest of his army-no tent or cot to distinguish the leader of the horde from his rugged troops. The long march from Cornellus’s stronghold had made his limbs and eyelids feel heavy. Wrapped in a great bearskin sleeping robe-a gift from Blackgaard’s lancers-he was already bedded down for the night when Laka came to see him.

The half giant welcomed the counsel of his foster mother. They crouched beside the dying embers of his fire, while a dozen painted hobgoblins stood in a ring around them, facing outward and guarding against any approach.

The old crone waved her rattle at Ankhar, the skull talisman she had made from the head of the dead captain of the Garnet knights. The eyes glowed green, and Ankhar watched the bony jaw, still studded with immaculate white teeth, start to move.

“The Crowns are now broken,” hissed the death’s head.

“Shattered and lost.

“They wait for your justice,

“While dreading the cost.”

“Listen to the prince!” said Laka, shaking the skull-on-a-stick so that the teeth clattered.

“Crowns have returned to Thelgaard,” the half-giant noted, scratching his massive jaw. “That place ripe for taking. Keep is strong, but city walls low and incomplete. Too many Crowns die at the Battle of the Crossings. Not be many fighters there. What you think mother? Does Prince wish me to attack Thelgaard?”

In reply, the old shaman shook the skull again, a rattle so vigorous it looked as though she was trying to shake the firmly mounted trophy off of the end of her wand. The ghastly face merely bobbed, once again its jaw clattering.

“Treasures piled high

“ ’yond walls that are thick,

“Take your war there,

“ ’Ere trophies, they slip.”

Laka shook the talisman some more, but no more words emerged, and gradually the emerald light faded from the eye-sockets.

“What he mean? Thelgaard’s walls not thick-little treasure there, if we believe Cornellus.”

“These words of Prince,” the crone said, reaching up bony fingers to caress the broad jowl of her adopted son. “You must understand.”

The commander turned away from the warmth of the fire, from the tenderness of the old witch. He stroked his chin, looking at the vast plains spreading below. When he spoke next, Laka could discern his words, but she sensed that Ankhar was speaking more to himself. He raised a hand, pointed generally to the west.

“Thelgaard there. Three days march away.”

He swivelled to the right, pointing toward that horizon. “Solanthus there. Five days march away. Solanthus got great, thick walls. Much treasure.”

He chuckled, like a rumble of distant thunder.

“I understand the Prince. Crowns have been defeated. Time we destroy Swords and take riches.” Ankhar turned to his foster mother, who was regarding him through eyes that were brighter than the red moon nearly full in the night sky. She licked her lips, nodding happily.

“Tomorrow we march on Solanthus,” the commander said, with a self-satisfied nod.

Duke Rathskell of Solanthus was a brave man, but now he lay awake and whimpered into the darkness of his bedchamber like a terrified child. Never in his life had a dream terrified him so much as the nightmare that had just shook his mind. He found himself trembling, drenched in a chilly sweat, and everywhere he looked in his candlelit bedchamber he spotted the shadows of bogeymen, horrific monsters, and cruel, tormenting assassins.

He knew Ankhar was coming, the enemy horde marching out of the mountains toward Solanthus, but, strangely, that wasn’t the worst aspect of the threat. He could barely remember what it was exactly that had terrified him so. He only recalled some vague threat regarding his trove of gleaming gems, the great chests of his treasure, full of the fabled Stones of Garnet.

Had somebody threatened his treasures? Surely that would not have caused him such intense terror! He felt as though more than his treasure was at stake; his life, his very soul, was imperiled.

Only then did he hear the humming, the persistent drone that augured a summons from the sacred mirror. He knew where to find the source of that sound: It would be glimmering in the secret alcove of his bedroom. Alarmed at how loud the humming was, the duke looked to his side, breathing a sigh of relief.

The duchess, his lovely young plaything, slept soundly beside him in the great bed, snoring gently as the duke, his heart pounding, slipped from beneath his covers and went over to the alcove where the magical artifact was gradually coming to life. He pushed the panel to open the hidden door. Nervously glancing over his shoulder, the nobleman-a Knight of the Sword, a veteran of wars and revolution-pulled shut the door so that his wife would not wake and discover his secrets.

Only then did he take a seat on the cushioned chair, striking a match and lighting a pair of candles-not so that he could see the mirror but so that the mirror could see him.

Composing himself, mopping the sweat from his brow, he pulled down the velvet cloth that covered the mirror. He confronted an image there that was not a reflection.

“My lord duke,” said His Excellency, Lord Regent Bakkard du Chagne. “My time is valuable-you have kept me waiting too long! Didn’t you hear my summons?”

“I beg your Excellency’s pardon,” said Rathskell, trying to keep a calm expression, even as new drops of sweat formed on his forehead. He dared not mop them away, could only hope that his image in the mirror would not reveal every imperfection. “I was sleeping and needed a few moments’ time to wake up.”

“Sleeping? It is not yet midnight! Bah, I am two decades older than you, and my work keeps me busy into the small hours of the night. You would do well to take that lesson from me, Duke.”

“Indeed, Excellency. I shall try to exercise greater diligence. It’s just that there is so much to do…” This time Rathskell was unable to stop himself from mopping his trickling sweat. “I most humbly apologize. It shall not happen again! If only I did not need to conceal my activities from the one who shares my chambers…”

“You know women are not to be trusted, not with such secrets as we possess. If the slut is not capable of restraining her curiosity, you must see that she sleeps elsewhere!”

“Yes, of course, my lord!” If the duke was distressed by the regent’s characterization of his wife, he gave no hint.

“Let us turn our attention to your responsibilities, then,” said the Lord Regent. “Are you aware that the forces of the Crown are defeated, cowering within the walls of Thelgaard. That Caergoth, too, has retired, taken his army south of the Garnet River again?”

“Indeed, my lord? I knew Thelgaard was routed most ignobly by the horde of the half-giant. Half his men killed, the rest falling back to the walls of his city. He refused, my lord-absolutely refused-to cooperate with me on a rational plan of defense. Caergoth was still on the field with a considerable force, while I was compelled to return to my own bastion-I did not want the barbaric rascals to get between me and my own fortifications.”

“Good course, that. Prudent, in the event. Thelgaard is a fool, and our path to empire will only be paved when he has been replaced by someone more capable and reliable. You should not risk your own army until the others’ forces have been exhausted. At the same time, you should encourage them to inflict damage upon the enemy.”

“Indeed, lord. Though it seems that Thelgaard inflicted precious little upon the foe. Have your agents informed you how Caergoth is faring?”

“Yes. He has retired to his city, driven by timidity and indecision. Your own city will be the next target of the enemy.”

The duke mumbled his agreement, shivering-for this was the very revelation that had stalked him in his most recent dream. The Lord Regent’s next words surprised him, however.

“If Solanthus falls to the goblins, it is no loss-we can retake it when we desire. However, it is important that the treasures of the vault be retained, for the good of the knighthood. Therefore, you must empty your treasury and bring the Stones of Garnet to safety. I hereby order you to bring those stones to Palanthas for safekeeping.”

“My lord!” Solanthus was appalled. “The risks of such a journey!”

He remembered what it was that had shaken him to the core. In his dream he had been trapped with the stones, here in the city! Both he and his treasure had been doomed by the surrounding horde! Surely that was the meaning of the dream. The Lord Regent was right-he needed to get them out of here for safekeeping!

“Very well, Excellency.” The duke tried to conceal how unsettled he was. In the face of such dire portents it seemed that fleeing with his riches was the only way to preserve his life and his fortune.

“Be quick and secretive about this,” instructed the lord. “You know the White Witch has been asking persistent questions, making a pest of herself, as usual. Give her wide berth.”

“She is wily, the Lady Coryn,” agreed Rathskell. “If she presses me, I do not know if I can thwart her.”

“You must!” Du Chagne’s voice was a hiss. “Do whatever it takes to stop her! Do you understand?”

“Anything?” the duke asked, with a gulp. “Her powers are daunting, my lord! But I shall do what I can-”

“Rathsky?” The voice-a familiar nasal whine-came from the bedroom. He could picture the duchess sitting up in bed, looking around in confusion. How much had she heard?

“I must go!” the duke said urgently.

The Lord Regent scowled darkly, but the voice rose-“Rathsky! Rathsky!” She was out of bed now, approaching the alcove!

Rathskell dropped the cloth across the mirror and blew out one of the candles. He took the other in his hand as he pulled the secret door aside to find his wife, blinking sleepily, with her hair in a tousled mess, just outside the alcove.

“Oh, there you are. What are you doing?” she asked. “Where were you?”

“Just a little meditation in my private closet,” he said. “I have so many problems of state to worry about.”

“Well, I can’t sleep very well if you are jumping up and meditating all the time,” she said, grumpily, stumbling back toward the quilts. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

The duke’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. That was close.

“Yes, dear,” he said quietly. “It is time.”

They could no longer be described as a horde. Ankhar and his followers moved out of the Garnet Mountains and onto the plains-not as any rag-tag barbarian force but as a formidable army.

Even before the worg-riders emerged from the forested foothills, the commander had dispatched a dozen auraks-the only draconians capable of true flight-on aerial reconnaissance of the lands across the planned route. They reported universally that the knights seemed to have withdrawn into their great fortresses and were patrolling only in the immediate vicinity of each city’s walls.

Even so, the half-giant enforced strict discipline as his army swept across the plain. He had hundreds of lupine cavalry covering the ground before and to either side of his mighty columns. His footsoldiers marched in thunderous cadence. His regiments teemed with goblin spearmen and swords. There were huge phalanxes of archers, draconians advancing with wings furled, including companies of kapaks and baaz, commanded by snarling, whip-cracking sivaks.

Riding in the midst were the heavily armored knights of the Blackgaard’s Brigade, forming a solid block, a crushing hammer to be wielded in accordance with the army commander’s will. The legions of humans, mercenaries and brigands who had joined together marched shoulder to shoulder with gobs and draconians that had been their lifelong enemies. It was an impressive tide of martial power, driving across the landscape like a force of nature.

Over the course of five days the army made steady progress toward the great, walled fortress city of Solanthus. As they drew near all of the human outposts retreated within those lofty battlements-“Like turtle pulling in legs and head!” Laka cackled-and Ankhar’s troops were not even subjected to harassing attacks as they spread in a vast semicircle around the city.

Of course, Solanthus was not an easy target. It stood at the northern terminus of the Garnet range, on a commanding bluff overlooking the plains to the east, north, and west. Gentle ramps had been excavated in all three directions, carrying wide, smooth roads up to the city’s massive gates. Yet each gatehouse was a small castle in its own right, and each road passed directly beneath the parapets of the city wall for a good quarter mile before reaching the gates, so any attacker would have to run a lethal gauntlet before coming close to those massive, ancient barriers.

The city’s great landmark, its Cleft Spires, rose above the walls, the towers, everything else. This great natural pillar, cloven in half by a blast of lightning many centuries before the city was founded, loomed hundreds of feet high. The two halves bent away from each other, curving above the great marketplace at the heart of Solanthus.

Ankhar knew all this, and knew to be patient.

His army made a sprawling camp outside those three plains roads. There was another, much narrower, track leading out of the city to the south, climbing through a perilous series of switchbacks as it ascended along the front ridge of the mountain range. That was no path for an army or for the flight of a panicked populace. Instead, the commander knew to keep his eyes and his army trained on the three great gates, intimidating the enemy army and the lord huddling behind those high, thick walls.

He was standing in the middle of his camp, staring up at the north gate, when one of the guards came up to him in the late twilight hours. “Lord Ankhar?” said the hobgoblin, snuffling loudly. “An ogre is here to see you.”

The half giant nodded. He followed the guard through the camp toward the darkening expanse of plains. To the south the vast bulk of Solanthus rose against the sky. The walls and towers of that ancient bastion were already aglitter with torchlight.

The half giant shook his head at such foolishness. Didn’t the knights know those flames only served to night-blind their own men and provided no defense against the great army before their city?

At the edge of the camp, the hulking chieftain could not disguise his surprise. There was not just “an ogre” to see him, but a feathered and painted ogre chieftain of strapping sinew and size. Even more significant, this visitor stood at the head of a vast column of his fellow ogres and another great host of hobgoblins and gobs. There were at least two thousand fresh warriors, and all of them pressed forward, casting admiring eyes toward the huge war leader.

“Lord Ankhar?” asked the ogre, prostrating himself on the ground at the half-giant’s feet. Behind him, the great company of savages knelt in unison.

“I Ankhar.”

“I am Bloodgutter, chief of the Lemish vales. Even beyond the mountains we have heard tales of your deeds among the plains of men. You have battled the knighthood on the open field and defeated them! Your victories are the birth of legend, and you give us hope against our hated foe. We hurried here over many days of marching to offer you our swords, and our blood.”

“Aye. Lemish long way. You a bold ogre.”

“In truth, lord, Lemish is a poor country now. We were driven there in ages past by the armies of the knights. For years we have waited for a chance at vengeance. We ask only a fair position in your army, lord Ankhar. For that, we will gladly give you our trust, our lives.”

“Est Sudanus oth Nikkas,” the half giant said. “My power is my Truth.”

“I pledge my tribe to the Truth that is Ankhar,” the ogre said, bowing his head.

“You serve me? Only me?” asked the half-giant.

“To the death, lord!”

“Very good,” said the war chief, pleased by the surprise reinforcements. “Make camp with ours. Welcome. Bloodgutter valued sub-captain. Rest and eat. We attack humans soon.”

The duke gazed at the Cleft Spires, which rose higher than the loftiest castle tower and broader even than the great gatehouses that stood astride the three highways leading from the city.

Solanthus was a plains city, though it stood in the shadow of the mountains. Now the plains were lost, taken by the horde-the army-of Ankhar. Who knew how long the city itself would last?

The duke felt a stranglehold of fear, like a fist clamped on his throat. He had to get away from here-he had to flee!

“What is it?” The Duchess of Solanthus, her face pale, confronted her husband as he paced back and forth in his private offices. She was a beautiful woman, much younger than her husband, but now her face was drawn, almost haggard with worry. Duke Rathskell’s obvious fear only made her more terrified.

The Duke of Solanthus was wringing his hands, as he had been doing throughout the night. Couriers had been bringing him a steady stream of reports, and he knew that his city was nearly surrounded. The last news-that a great brigade of ogres had joined the foe-had driven him to an uncharacteristic burst of profanity. That outburst, emerging from beyond the closed door of his chamber, had brought his wife running in concern. He glared at her, then back at the message. Abruptly the duke crumpled the sheet and cast it aside with a furious gesture.

“I must get the Stones of Garnet away from here!” he declared. “The Lord Regent commands it-he needs them to bolster the knighthood across Solamnia!”

“But… Rathsky? You always said those stones were yours, to be used as you see fit! Not for Bakkard du Chagne or the other dukes. Isn’t that right?” she asked, as sweetly as she dared.

“I see fit now to take them away from here!” he snapped.

“But the goblins!” gasped the duchess, waving in the general direction of the city walls. “They have ogres and draconians with them too! There must be ten thousand of them out there! They could attack at any moment! Should we really be worrying about the stones”

“No… I mean yes, my dear,” said the rail-thin duke, as he glowered at the walls, the floor, at everything in sight, including his wife. Still, he forced himself to speak calmly. “I must save the stones, and of course that means I must leave the city with them.”

“What are you going to do?” the woman asked breathlessly.

“Well, I have no choice,” snapped Rathskell, decisively. “I will place the most portable of my treasury-the gems and jewelry-into strongboxes and have them loaded onto a wagon and personally drive that wagon up the mountain road. I will head for Caergoth. That way, at least I will be able to exert my influence on Duke Crawford-he will bring his troops to the city’s aid!”

“How will you-I mean, we-get out? The road to Thelgaard and Caergoth is blocked by that terrible army of savages!”

“I told you-the mountain road, my dear. And not we-just me. It is rough, but with a good team and driver, I should be able to get up into the foothills before the wretches know what I am about. With luck, I can reach Caergoth in three days and be back with a relief force within a week in plenty of time to rescue you.”

“But-what about the city? Your castle?” The duchess sniffled. “What about me?”

“Captain Rankin will be in charge. As long as he keeps the gates closed and the walls manned, you will be safe here. I can’t ask you to take the risks of the road, my dear. If we can keep those wretches focused on Solanthus, it may be that Caergoth will be able to fall upon them from behind. Yes, that is my plan, and if I so say so myself, a brilliant plan, with bright hopes for success!”

“Do you really think so?”

The duke fixed his wife with a withering glare.