A Solitary Journey (29 page)

‘Get to the point, priest,’ Broadback warned.

‘Be assured that the Seers will look favourably on whoever is the victor in the coming days. We serve Jarudha, not any earthly ruler.’

‘And?’ Broadback prompted.

‘And what?’ Onyx asked.

‘You offer nothing more than assurance that you have no loyalty?’

‘We’re offering loyalty to you if the will of Jarudha is that you are victorious,’ Onyx reiterated.

Broadback put his hands on his hips and laughed, and his companions laughed with him. Then he held up his hand for silence and said, ‘You have two choices,
priest. Run back into the burial hole that is the city and wait for us to come and gut you, or stay here and enjoy the spoils of victory when the city yields. One thing is certain—Port of Joy will fall, and your King will be put to death for his treachery. As will all who followed him. What is your choice?’

Onyx understood that his diplomatic mission was in tatters. He met Broadback’s grim gaze, measuring the man’s brutality. ‘Can I have some time to consider your offer?’

Broadback grinned fiercely. ‘You have time right now, priest. Stay or leave.’

I can always escape if the siege fails,
Onyx decided. He bowed his head, saying, ‘I will serve the spiritual needs of the Warlord because it is clear that Jarudha favours him in the time to come.’

Broadback appreciated the unsubtle sycophancy in the man’s decision to stay in the Kerwyn ranks. He knew about the barbarian priests—how they were untrustworthy—but having one on his side, even for a short while, was a good omen and a strategically sensible arrangement. ‘Find the priest a tent,’ he ordered, and strode away.

Onyx stared blankly at the Warlord’s retreating back, but inside he was seething with anger. Vision’s decision to send him directly to the Kerwyn Warlord was more than a diplomatic mission. It was more than a considered plan to ensure the Seers’ survival whatever the siege’s outcome. Vision knew Onyx’s aspirations and sent him on the chance that the Warlord would respond by executing him. He was convinced of that. He smiled wryly. It seemed the Warlord also saw value in cultivating the Seers’ favour. Vision would be disappointed to learn that Onyx had been accepted among the Kerwyn, but then again the diplomatic mission was successful. It was a complex world.

W
ord is the bastards are planning another assassination attempt,’ said Drinkmaker, and he wiped the froth of his beer from his lips. He was happy to share a few words of rumour with his favourite patrons, Pipe Tapper and Keeper Shillingsworth. With the siege underway, business was fast vanishing from his tavern, the Bounding Kangaroo, as people used every last penny to pay exorbitant prices on the burgeoning black market for the dwindling supplies of food smuggled into the city. Almost no one came to the tavern after dark because the rampant rumours and fears that Kerwyn death squads were sneaking into the city to kill people indiscriminately were keeping most people at home. At least Tapper and Shillingsworth seemed able to find tuppence to buy a beer and the courage to defy the Kerwyn.

‘I heard the King’s still sick,’ said Shillingsworth. ‘Scared sick,’ Tapper grumbled.

‘Who wouldn’t be with that lot outside your city?’ Drinkmaker reminded them. ‘Warmaster Cutter can’t be everywhere. And sooner or later we’ll all starve.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Shillingsworth.

‘Me too,’ agreed Tapper and the three old friends clinked their mugs to share their solidarity. A projectile
whistled through the air above them, smashed through the roof of the Bounding Kangaroo and exploded in the tavern bar, flattening the building. Three more buildings along the street were engulfed in flames as thunderclaps crashed into them. The few people travelling the streets scattered in panic, running to escape the fiery explosions that turned the streets into devilish tunnels of flickering firelight and swirling smoke.

Warmaster Cutter glanced at the sign of the Bounding Kangaroo dangling from one chain on the pole outside the burning shell of a building, and three dazed, soot-covered men wandering through the ruin, before he called his troop to order and they galloped out of the site of the latest Kerwyn bombardment towards the city perimeter. Cantering through the chaos of burning buildings like human incarnations of the Demon Horsemen, Cutter’s troop ignored the people calling to them for help. Cutter was frustrated. The Kerwyn had a new weapon that terrorised the people trapped in Port of Joy—siege engines hurling thunderclaps over a distance that let the Kerwyn set up on the other side of the River of Kings and out of bowshot—and Cutter’s men were struggling to eliminate the threat. The Seers were to blame. Having given the Kerwyn the idea for the new machines when they were engineering the downfall of Queen Sunset they were now being used against King Future—a twist that would have had a flavour of ironic justice were it not for the fact that it was causing the deaths of hundreds of innocent people. Cutter’s latest ploy to nullify the impact of the new weapons was desperate and dangerous. Seven Groups of Elite Mounted Archers stationed behind the enemy lines had the singular purpose of finding and destroying the thunderclap-throwing engines. One Group had already successfully destroyed a pocket of the engines
after they were used for two successive nights to bombard the city’s Northern Quarter. Hoping that a Group was bearing down on the engines used in this night’s bombardment on the Farmers’ Quarter, he was riding out to see what transpired.

His troop galloped along the winding street until they reached a barricade hastily erected by the locals from wagons, furniture and building materials that stood the height of two men. Cutter reined in and was met by two men bearing lanterns. ‘Where would you soldiers be going?’ the first man asked, but as the lantern light filled Cutter’s face the man blushed and apologised. ‘Sorry, Warmaster, I didn’t recognise you.’

‘Is there a way we can get past quickly?’ Cutter asked.

‘Through the bakery,’ the man replied, pointing to a two-storey building at the right side of the barricade. ‘The horses should just fit through the doors.’ Cutter ordered his troop to dismount and they led their horses through four narrow, low doorways, watched by citizens armed with old swords, cudgels and shovels, until they emerged in a tiny alley. ‘This leads back onto the street,’ a man on guard in the alley told Cutter. Cutter thanked him and led his remounted troop out to the street.

The buildings on either side rapidly became fewer with wider spaces and then Cutter and his men were among the unlit ranks of the soldiers forming a defensive perimeter along the north-eastern boundary of Port of Joy. Cutter climbed down from his horse and spoke to the first soldier he encountered. ‘Tell your Leader that Warmaster Cutter wants to meet him immediately.’

‘I’m Leader Woodbridge, Warmaster,’ the man replied. ‘Shieldmaster Roadmaker is in charge. I can get him for you.’

‘No,’ said Cutter, ‘you’ll do fine if you know what’s been happening.’

‘Tonight, Warmaster?’

‘Today and tonight—what’s your first name?’

‘Rustling, Warmaster.’

‘What’s been happening in the enemy ranks today and tonight, Rustling?’

‘Our scouts reported the Kerwyn were marshalling a big force of troops along the eastern flank of the city, looking like they intend to make a push into the River Quarter. It’s been quiet most of the day, but they started the bombardment after dark on the Farmers’ Quarter behind us, Warmaster, and Shieldmaster Roadmaker ordered us to be ready.’

‘And do you think they will come?’

Woodbridge cleared his throat and hesitated, as if he was carefully considering his answer. He said, ‘No, Warmaster. I think it’s a diversionary attack.’

‘To divert us from what?’

‘An attack on the River Quarter.’

Cutter paused as a whistling sound passed overhead and a moment later a fireball erupted in the Farmers’ Quarter of the city. ‘I commend your thinking, Leader Woodbridge,’ he said. ‘Don’t let the enemy break through tonight.’ He remounted, shouted an order to his troop and galloped southward towards the River Quarter.

Seer Vision watched the explosions in the city from the safety of the palace walls. Sometimes the light wind carried the cries of the people to him. ‘The Kerwyn have been improving the potency of the thunderclaps,’ observed Seer Weaver who was standing to Vision’s right.

‘They don’t show enough respect to the wonder of our Blessings,’ Vision calmly remarked. ‘They think they can tamper with Jarudha’s great power.’

‘All men think that,’ said Emerald on Vision’s left.

‘Any word from our colleagues?’ Vision asked.

‘We’ve heard nothing from Faith,’ Silverlight reported. ‘Onyx sent a brief note that he is with the Kerwyn Warlord.’

‘These are dangerous times,’ said Emerald.

‘All times are dangerous until the world is returned to Paradise,’ Vision replied, paraphrasing scripture. ‘We took risks getting this king onto his throne. We’ll take risks now to determine whether or not he stays there. Worldly politics cannot interfere with Jarudha’s greater plan.’

‘Diamond was right when he argued that we need to ensure stability in the leadership of this world before we can finish our work,’ Silverlight reminded them. ‘This incessant bickering between kings interferes with our holy mission.’

‘Look!’

The Seers followed Weaver’s pointing finger. The eastern perimeter of the city seemed to be catching alight as flames silently leapt into view, one after another, starting in the north and spreading to the south. ‘The Kerwyn are going to destroy everything,’ said Emerald. ‘They will destroy the city and the temples we’ve consecrated for the people.’

‘“All will be destroyed when the Demon Horsemen cleanse the world”,’ Vision recited. ‘This is just a taste of what is to come.’ He faced the Seers. ‘Hope and Vale are talking with the King, preparing him for whatever outcome seems most likely. If Onyx and Faith can do the same with the Kerwyn king and leaders we have only to manage them all and our ends will be achieved. Send the acolytes out to stay in the city temples and hold daily prayers with the common people. Tell them to make the people pray at sunrise, midday and sunset for the liberation of the followers of Jarudha from the
oppression of the warmongers and instil in them passivity towards the war so that they take no sides when the battle is being resolved. That way whoever wins will have a supporting population among our true believers and we can offer this to both kings. Jarudha has given me the vision to see a way for us to do His work through these plans.’

Three more explosions ripped through the Farmers’ Quarter. ‘The people will suffer greatly,’ said Emerald.

‘The people are all sinners and will perish in the cleansing before Paradise is rebuilt,’ said Vision. ‘Remember, my brother, that they are merely an instrument in the greater plan.’

‘Your Eminence?’ called an acolyte.

Vision acknowledged the young man. ‘Well, River?’

‘Your Eminence, there is a messenger who says he has important news for you.’

‘Who from?’

‘Your Eminence, a merchant,’ River replied. ‘But he wouldn’t say any more to me. He said it concerns a matter close to Your Eminence’s heart.’

Vision glanced at his colleagues before he said, ‘Tell him I will be down immediately. Take him to my study.’ River bowed and withdrew.

‘So who is the secret visitor?’ Weaver asked. Another thunderclap exploded in the Farmers’ Quarter.

Vision allowed a smile to grace his lips as he replied enigmatically, ‘Someone who might have solved Reason’s dilemma.’

The Kerwyn pouring through the streets were setting fire to every building, driving the terrified citizens before them like wallabies before a bushfire. Where they could, Cutter’s soldiers were halting the enemy’s advance, but there were too many streets and alleys to defend and too many Kerwyn to make the resistance effective. Cutter’s
biggest concern was orchestrating the defence without losing men trapped in pockets while the Kerwyn tide washed around them. He had messengers running frantically through the streets, relaying orders and requests and reporting on the Kerwyn progress, and he knew that he was steadily losing the River and Southern Quarters of the city. ‘They’re burning the workshops and factories along Foundry Road,’ a soot-covered messenger reported. ‘Shieldmaster Cooper is retreating, Warmaster, and says that he will get his men over the river as soon as possible.’ Cutter assessed the situation quickly. Retreat across the River of Kings was the best option, with only King’s Bridge and the Prince’s Bridge to defend and the river a solid barrier to the Kerwyn, but that would mean abandoning more than half the city to the enemy—an unpalatable outcome. ‘What should I tell Shieldmaster Cooper, Warmaster?’

‘Tell him to do what he plans. I’ll have the Leaders hold their positions along this flank until the Foundry Quarter is empty, but if Cooper can’t get through tell him to take his troops to the Bogpit and defend it. That should buy them some time.’

The messenger disappeared into the smoke and darkness. Cutter turned to Shieldmaster Riverrushes, who had accompanied him since his promotion, and said, ‘Get messages to all of the Leaders to begin a fighting withdrawal across King’s Bridge. Tell them to stay in contact with each Group as much as possible. We don’t want anyone stranded and captured. And send word to Marchlord Bolt to abandon the Farmers’ Quarter. We can’t hold the Kerwyn back on this side of the river.’

As Riverrushes began organising messengers, two buildings to the left of Cutter’s entourage exploded. ‘Thunderclaps!’ someone yelled. Cutter fought his rearing horse, spinning in the haze of smoke, as
Shessian soldiers retreated along the street. Shadowy figures loomed through the smoke, bearing blazing torches that were tossed left and right onto buildings, making their advance more spectacular as the buildings caught fire. ‘Hold your ground!’ Cutter yelled to his men and drew his sword. ‘Stop them right here!’

His booming command halted the retreat and someone yelled, ‘To the Warmaster!’ The Shessian soldiers regrouped, forming a solid line in the face of the advancing Kerwyn, their dirt and smoke-stained features shifting and changing in the flickering firelight as the city burned around them. Arrows whispered and men screamed as the missiles buried into flesh.

‘Return fire!’ Cutter cried and Shessian arrows shot into the inferno. Then the Kerwyn shadows ignited in puffs of fire as their thundermakers boomed, the tiny metal balls crashing into the Shessian soldiers. Cutter understood why his men were in retreat at this point. Without thundermakers to reply the battle was lopsided folly. The only hope was surprise. ‘Charge them!’ he bellowed above the din and the Shessian line wavered, broke and charged into the Kerwyn ranks. Cutter urged his horse into the fray.

Firelight danced on the dark River of Kings water, lending a golden beauty to the tragedy of the battle. Shessian thundermakers boomed along the bridge, their tiny projectiles whistling into the night, and Kerwyn thundermakers replied, the thwack and clunk of their metal pellets echoing along the bridge’s barricade and wood-and-stone framework. The thunderclap bombardment ceased, the Kerwyn having secured the Farmers’, River, Southern and Foundry quarters with the retreat of Cutter’s troops, but sections of the eastern and southern portions of the city were still burning fiercely. Shieldmaster Cooper’s men never made it out of
the Foundry Quarter and occasional distant sounds of thundermakers on the southern side of the bay suggested that Cooper was ensconced in the Bogpit, desperately fighting to defend it.

Cutter winced and swore as the surgeon’s tweezers extracted the metal ball from his shoulder. ‘Just a few stitches, Warmaster, and you’ll be back in the action,’ the surgeon reassured him. Cutter was already annoyed that the bandaging across his forehead felt loose enough that it threatened to slide over his eyes, despite his requests for the surgeon to tighten it. Being unable to fight while the thundermaker wound healed only aggravated him further. He sat impatiently as the surgeon mopped up the blood by lanternlight and began to pack the pellet hole, gritting his teeth whenever the pain was intense.

More than half the city was lost and thousands of frightened people packed into the area hoping that Warmaster Cutter would save them from the rampaging Kerwyn. The terrifying tales of the atrocities and genocide policy practised in the country regions during the invasion were well known—refugees had circulated the truths and the myths—and now, with the imminent fall of Port of Joy, people were begging to be spared from their brutal fate. Everyone knew of someone put to the sword, or women who’d been raped like animals, or children sold into slavery to foreign traders. The Kerwyn were remorseless barbarians. ‘Excuse me, Warmaster,’ a young man’s voice intervened.