When Dragons Rage

39

General Markus Adrogans nodded as he studied the model of the Three Brothers Citadel that warded the road through the South Gorge. “You’ve done a brilliant job, Duke Mikhail.”

The dark-haired young man smiled, then bowed his head in thanks. “I like making models. It is to scale, of course, though the snow is just white paint and not mounded to the depth our scouts have reported.”

The model represented a stretch of the road paralleling the Svar River as it passed through the South Gorge. On its approach to Svarskya, the river made an oxbow to the west and the road ran along the eastern shore. At the apex of the curve sat the centermost and largest of the fortresses, built up like a cake with one squat cylindrical layer upon another, decreasing in diameter as they rose four high. A round wall surrounded it. Opposite, in the center of the river, stood a huge tower, with an arched stone bridge connecting the tower and the fortress. From the tower, and between the tower and fortress, thick chains ran shore to shore to prevent boat traffic—something effective in the summer, but useless in the dead of winter since the river was thoroughly iced over and buried under snow.

To the south—the direction from which they would approach—lay the first of the two gateway fortresses. Each consisted of two rectangular structures paralleling the road for twenty yards or so, with crenellated walls all around, and plenty of arrow slits in the interior walls. Gates front and rear blocked the road, and any force that was successful in breaching the forward gate would be trapped in the fortress interior before they could get the rear gate open. Getting to the gate-opening mechanisms would require a lot of fighting and murderous close-range shots by archers hidden behind stout walls.

The smaller fortresses also had their river towers with arched bridges and shore to shore chains. Any attempt to cross the frozen river would be doomed since archers in the towers or on the bridges would have the advantage. Moreover, siege engines from within the fortresses would be able to hurl stones that would shatter the ice. The frigid water would kill soldiers faster than arrows, and the frozen bodies would be washed into the Crescent Sea at Svarskya.

Neither the gate-keeping fortresses nor their river towers had a line of sight between them, so they relied on the larger fortress to relay messages via a system of flags. The central fortress served as the garrison for the whole complex, with only a quarter of a mile separating one fortress from the other. It would send out troops to defend either gateway fortress, and the garrison in the farthest fortress could be summoned to help if needed.

“It is stunning work, but it does not give me heart.” Adrogans slowly paced around the model, viewing it from every angle. Reaching out, he lifted the top layer from the central fortress. The interior walls had been painted in, and a black circle drawn to represent the central stairway. The details even extended down to indicating the privies with black dots, and notations about how many soldiers usually occupied each room.

“I wished to be able to complete the interior structure, General. Two of the Svoin refugees had served in Varalorsk, so were able to give me the details. They were helpful with the little brothers, Darovin and Krakoin.” Mikhail shrugged. “After the battle, I shall fix things.”

Adrogans smiled at him. “You are rather unlike your cousin. I could not imagine her doing something like this.”

“Alexia?” The man laughed. “She is quite serious, and has no simple pursuits such as making models. This is fine, however, since she is the future of our nation. Not to take anything from you, General, for your efforts in ridding Okrannel of the Aurolani shall never be forgotten.”

“Nor yours in riding with the Kingsmen.” The Jeranese general’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I think, however, you would be more at peace were you able to make models instead of war.”

The duke shook his head. “While my nation is captive, I cannot know peace.” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “General, you know what it is for one of us to make a dream raid, yes?”

Adrogans nodded, not betraying the fact that he found the whole idea foolish. “I have heard rumors of the procedure.”

Mikhail half grinned. “Aunt Tatyana would have me flayed alive for telling you this, but it is something you should know. When I made my dream raid, I was with Alexia. Her dream, well, I will not betray a confidence, for she should not have told it even to me, but it bodes very well for the battle against Chytrine. But mine, General, it is very specific, and I must share it with you.“

The duke waved his left hand at the model. “I dreamed of the Three Brothers, as you see them now. Thick snow, frozen river, a day so cold that if you spat it would freeze before it hit the ground. We were victorious that day. All three brothers in our hands.”

“Good, very good.” Adrogans clasped his gloved hands at the small of his back. “How did we win?”

Mikhail winced. “Dreams, General, are so seldom specific. But we did win, and I was there, in Varalorsk. I know this because I had drawn a sketch of the tower from my dream, then I spoke with the men from Svoin. I drew the map as they told me it was, and I compared the two. They matched perfectly. And, remember, General, that I have never seen the Three Brothers. I was born in Yslin, in exile.”

“I am pleased to have the omen, then, as well as this model.” Adrogans furrowed his brows, then replaced the top layer of Varalorsk. “Toppling these towers will not be easy.”

“No, General. They have never been taken before.”

The Jeranese general decided not to argue that point. The Three Brothers had actually fallen into Aurolani hands because they had been abandoned. Stories over the years had resolved themselves into a core fiction that indicated a noble had commanded the garrisons to come away with her and cover her retreat to Jerana. Some said it was Tatyana; others named various nobles, though no single story seemed to be verifiable. Tatyana had actually been in Yslin at the time of the retreat, and countless nobles had fled Okran-nel, but none powerful enough to command the garrison to depart. Chances were the soldiers had just decided that fleeing was preferable to dying.

Had they ever been taken before, Adrogans might have had a place to start planning. As it was, the setup only had one defect, and that was that the three brothers could not see each other. Aside from that, they were nearly unassailable. The Svar River cut a deep gorge through the mountains at that point. The road was narrow and the approaches to Darovin were such that far too little siege machinery could be brought up the road and positioned to launch on the fortress. While a ram might do the job, the time it would take to haul it along the snowy road would give the garrisons ample opportunity to prepare themselves. The missiles from the fortress would be hideous and if they had dragonels…

“Beal mot Tsuvo’s people said nothing about dragonels, correct?”

Mikhail shook his head, but pointed at two openings on either side of the gatehouses. “A generation ago these had ballistae in them that could rake the roadway. They have been opened a bit, and it is thought they might contain dragonels. The scouts did say the work was irregular, so I don’t know.”

Adrogans nodded and, dimly, felt Pain rake her fingers down his spine. The only way to find out what lurked there was to present a force that would invite an attack. Adrogans imagined men huddled behind mantlets, approaching as quickly as they could, being blown into bloody splinters by the dragonels therein.

The problem was that the Three Brothers had to be taken; otherwise, Adrogans’ line of supply from Guraskya would be cut. It would have been possible for him to infiltrate his people through the mountains—killing many horses in the process—but they would arrive hungry and weak. Or, worse, the troops in the Three Brothers would be able to range south to the ford and cut off his supplies, if another blizzard didn’t do that anyway or, worse, trap his entire army in the mountains so they would starve to death.

Taking and holding the Three Brothers would guarantee that no other Aurolani troops slipped in and attacked his army from the rear. Just because he knew of no other troops operating in the south did not mean there were none, or that none were on their way. Just over a century before, the Aurolani had undertaken the daring seaborne raid that won them Vorquellyn. A repeat of that action could land troops anywhere along the eastern coast, leaving them able to hammer his people against the anvil of Svarskya.

Mikhail pointed to six banners, four of which were located at Varalorsk, then one north at Krakoin and the other south at Darovin. “I painted them according to the descriptions given, and none shows signs of dragonels, but I do not know if Aurolani banners ever did. It would be six legions, though.”

Adrogans nodded. “A garrison of six hundred, which is slightly less than the Okrans army used to use. Still, within those fortresses, they might as well be doubled, or tripled, even. They won’t be foolish enough to come out after us as they did at the ford. The obvious approach would be the frozen river, but it is far too volatile.”

“That is true. The water level is down to winter levels, but the river still runs deep. It did freeze over earlier than normal because of the weather, but the ice will not support siege engines. Were the river bed shallower, we might get a catapult down but…”

“The engineers would freeze.” The Jeranese general sighed. “The river is just one broad killing field, and even if our people were able to rush past it and reach the roadway between Varalorsk and Darovin, what then? They would be trapped between and troops from Varalorsk would slaughter them.”

Phfas entered the long, low building Adrogans had appropriated as his headquarters. He hissed as he saw what they were studying. “The Three Brothers. You know the history?”

Adrogans nodded. “Three brothers back in history stopped a Zhusk horde bent on pillaging Svarskya. They died there. The citadel was raised in their honor. That legend, uncle?“

The Zhusk shaman nodded. “An evil time.” He glared at Mikhail as if daring the Okrans noble to make a comment, but the young man wisely held his tongue.

Adrogans smiled. “Why do you remind me of this legend, uncle?”

The old man smiled lopsidedly. “So you would know the Zhusk have no answer to this puzzle.”

“Noted, thank you.” The general shared a smile with Mikhail. “The Black-feathers, the Rangers, and Beal’s scouts will keep us informed about any reinforcements. It would appear, however, that the best approach—and I use that term advisedly—will be a frontal assault. It will not be pleasant.”

The duke nodded. “The Kingsmen will request the honor of going in first, General.”

“So anxious to die, Duke Mikhail?”

The young man shook his head. “These fortresses were raised to protect our home. How can we ask others to shed their blood first to destroy them? Only a coward would do that. Besides, I know we will win through, so I know I will not die.”

“But you may be the only one to survive.”

That comment sobered Mikhail for a moment, but his brown eyes dulled only for a heartbeat. “Then I shall be the one to scale the gates, slaughter the garrison, and lead the way to Varalorsk.”

Phfas snorted. “Wake up, Svarskya. This is not a dream. It is a nightmare.”

Pain’s talons sank into the back of Adrogans’ skull, but he shrugged the agony away. “It is indeed a nightmare, but one we shall find a way to push on through.”

Mikhail smiled. “I have every confidence in you, General. I could only wish Alexia was here to help.”

“I would welcome it.” Adrogans glanced at Phfas as the shaman muttered under his breath. “Alas, even your cousin’s vaunted talents might be stymied here. More blood than water will flow in the taking of the Three Brothers. Unless I can change that, the cost will keep Svarskya out of our grasp forever.”