Days Of Light And Shadow (69 page)

Chapter One Hundred and Eleven.

Sophelia finally reached the top of the watch tower, panting a little after the six flights of stairs. Pregnancy and running up stairs weren’t a perfect mix. Especially after running there all the way from the castle. But still she rushed over to the looking glass on its stand in the middle of the platform and peered through the eye piece.

“Blessed Mother.” She was shocked when she could finally set her own eyes on the enemy. More than shocked. They were hideous. Shambling nightmares. Walking corpses. Things that had once been people. But no more. The amazing artistry of the gnomish device could let her see them as if they were only paces away, even when the southern end of the great rift valley was nearly six leagues distant. It had seemed a blessing from the Mother when she had first used it. But when it suddenly let her see the horrible creatures up close , she wasn’t so enamoured of the device as she once had been. There were some things she didn’t want to see. Even if she had to.

Seeing them emerge from the other side of the distant hills, witnessing the ruination of their bodies, feeling their evil almost as a touch upon her skin, she finally understood the truth. It was the great demon. It was the Reaver. Until that  moment she had not truly believed. She hadn’t wanted to.

“Sound the bells!” Sophelia yelled to Juna. “Send out riders to gather everyone inside the walls! And man the cannon!” It took no great military brilliance to know what to do, and in fact she was surprised that someone else hadn’t already done it. But then she was the Lady of Drake. It was her place. Something that no one, not even her, had fully appreciated until just then. Everyone had imagined that Iros would be there to give the orders. Even when he was hundreds of leagues away hunting down the Reaver’s temple in person.

“My Lady?”

Of course Juna was surprised. There were only a few of them cresting the distant hills so far, and it seemed like an over reaction. But she knew it wasn’t. She’d read the letters of her relatives after the attacks throughout Elaris.

“Do as I say!” He instantly gave the order, nodding to the various captains, and sent them running. It annoyed her a little that he had to be the one to do it. That they did not immediately jump to her words. Especially when the situation was so grave. But she understood it. She was a woman, a heavily pregnant woman at that, and war was not her station, no matter that Iros had made it clear that she was in command while he was away fighting.  She was also an elf, and in many people’s minds, still an enemy. That was a battle that she knew she would spend years if not her entire life fighting. But not today.

“It is done.” Even as he said it she could hear the bells beginning to toll and the heavy footfalls of soldiers as they ran, and she was pleased for that. But she could also see the doubt in Juna’s eyes. It seemed an overreaction for just a few abominations. And Sophelia was not a solider, not her husband. Iros was the soldier, she the pregnant wife. What was it he had said? Explain herself. It was good advice.

“The reports from Leafshade, Whitefern, Waterfell - they are always the same story. A few abominations appear in the distance, followed by a few more and a few more. Gathering in numbers until finally they are an ocean crashing against the cities in waves. It is too soon, but we are the bastion between the southern lands where these things come from, and the northern. We stand directly between Y’aris and Herrick, and our time has come. Though we are few in number, our soldiers even fewer, we must not fall.”

“The de’ tan’s right. Who’d a thought it?” The guttural tones of a dwarf suddenly rang out, and Sophelia turned to see that Master Formain had joined them at the top of the tower. He looked out of breath from the stairs, and probably with good reason. What were normal stairs for her were probably far taller for his short legs. And in sooth dwarves were powerful warriors, but only in short bursts. They didn’t run and they didn’t waste their strength chasing down their foes. They held their ground and let their enemies come to them. Which was exactly the strategy they needed here.

She ignored the slur as she asked the vital question. “How are our defences Master Formain?”

“Good. As long as they come from the south.” That did not sound so good to Sophelia, and neither she guessed, to Juna. They both stood there and stared at the dwarf until he eventually relented a little and explained himself.

“The cannon are in. Eight footers an all. The men are only part trained but it’ll do. The wall is up, most of the ramparts done. But the towers are missing on the northern wall.” The last Sophelia knew was a serious weakness. The towers were a vital part of the defences as from them they could not only see the enemy approaching, but could also direct their forces. Iros had explained that in detail. Sophelia also knew that there was a reason why Iros had had the southern fortifications finished first. For it was from the south that the enemy would come, be they elves or abominations. Luckily the abominations weren’t smart. They wouldn’t know what a watch tower was. And they wouldn’t care if they did.

“It will have to do.” She was saved from having to say anything further by the noise of hooves thundering along the main streets, and they turned to see the first of the patrols galloping for the gate. There would be people to bring in from the nearby farms, people who were hopefully already hitching up their wagons and running for the town. Hopefully they had heard the bells. But she knew in her heart that some wouldn’t pay them any heed. The war was over. They would probably think it was just another drill.

After that it was a long anxious wait, as they watched the patrols thunder out into the huge valley, scattering in all directions as they raced for the farms to warn the people and get them back to the safety of the town. And all the while the abominations came closer.

Minutes and then hours dragged by, as one by one the farmers’ wagons rushed through the gate, filled with frightened people. Some of them, those closest to the edge of the giant valley, had seen the abominations with their own eyes. The pallor of their faces told her of their fear. Others hadn’t and were upset at being dragged from their homes once more. Some of them scowled at her as they passed, as if it was some sort of poor jape she was playing on them. But at least they were alive.

Little did any of them realise that as she stood there trying to look as though she had some actual knowledge of military matters other than the bits she had gathered from listening to Iros, that she was actually just worrying about him. Trying to guess how he fared. Trying to understand what had happened. Because if the abominations had made it all the way north from the dark temple to Greenlands, and Iros and his army were travelling south along the same roads to their temple, surely they must crossed paths somewhere? Had the abominations slipped around them somehow? Maybe by taking one of the more westerly roads? Or had they met in combat somewhere, and Iros’ forces had been defeated? Were these the survivors of that battle? The only survivors? Was her child never to know his or her father?

It was a terrible thought and there was no one to ask. Even the elders who might have had some way of knowing, couldn’t help. Not when they travelled with Iros, their knowledge of the dark magic they could face, invaluable.

“That’s the last of them.” The cry came from one of the guards below as the final patrol galloped in, and it came as a relief. With everyone inside there was no one left to worry about. Save of course everyone.

“Close the gates.” Sophelia gave the order and for once the soldiers appeared to be listening to her. They lowered the iron gates of the portcullis, and she knew as she watched them inching downward, that nothing was coming through them. Iron that thick and heavy, fully tempered and set into the stone of the walls simply didn’t bend, and she doubted that there were enough abominations that, even if they had the thought, could actually lift it.

For the moment they were safe.

But outside things weren’t so certain. The closest of the shambling piles of flesh, were less than half a league away, and behind them Sophelia could see an army forming. There were thousands of them, and she knew that if anyone remained outside the gate they would not survive. Some of them were probably already dead.

“Ready the cannon and send the soldiers to the ramparts.” Again no one argued with her when she gave the command, but in sooth there was little point. The ramparts were already filled with soldiers, their crossbows at the ready  The windriders were also standing ready. The cannon had been loaded at least an hour before. It was the only thing to do.

After that they just had to wait.

Iros had told her that the waiting was the hardest part, but she hadn’t appreciated it fully until then. But as the time dragged by and the enemy slowly came closer the tension grew almost unbearable. Of course everyone dealt with it differently. Sophelia agonised over it, terrified that the defences might not be enough. Master Formain on the other hand was impatient. Dressed in full armour, wielding a huge battleaxe as though it was a toothpick, he wanted nothing more than to start firing his cannon and kill the enemy. Most of the soldiers seemed to spend their time alternating between the two emotions, fear and frenzy.

Finally the first of the abominations came within range. 

The first cannon fired. No one had given the command but the cannoneers had given in to their emotions, and she watched as a couple of the abominations surrendered what remained of their lives in a shower of body parts. But even as they died and the soldiers on the ramparts cheered, she was thinking to herself that they had wasted their shot on too few. Iros had explained their use to her in detail before he’d left. How to use the cannon. And firing on one or two of the creatures wasn’t enough. It If they weren’t to waste their powder they needed to wait until the enemy was massing, killing scores with each blast. That was their power.

“Master Formain!” She yelled across to him as he stood on the ramparts, and somehow he heard her. “Hold your fire until we can get larger targets!”

Did he understand her? Would he listen to the advice of a woman and an elf? It seemed he would as he gave the order to hold fire until more of the abominations came closer. But not enough seemed to mass. The next few blasts levelled four or five each.  Better but still a waste of precious shot. but the enemy wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. He wasn’t massing for an attack as he had against the cities. He wasn’t even coming at them in a long line as they had done in previous battles. Instead his abominations were spread out in a wide chaotic line. almost as though they had developed a new plan of attack. 

How could that be? The abominations weren’t supposed to be able to plan. Which was when she realised the shocking truth. They had no plan at all. Someone had simply told them to come this way and ever since they had been on their own. There were no priests with them. There was no one controlling them. They were just spreading out, chasing down any sound that caught their attention as they wandered. And no one had prepared for that.

But as icy cold fingers clutched at her heart she knew it didn’t matter why they were attacking like this. It only mattered that they were, and that  the enormous power of the cannon was being wasted. Over and over again she watched the cannon fail and realised the terrible truth.

The cannon were useless. As shot after shot rang out and only a few went down, she knew it for the simple fact it was .

All that gold and effort, all that time, and they could not defend the town. Not when the enemy was spread out so widely. Each blast that should have destroyed scores, was lucky to kill two or three. And as the enemy kept coming over the distant hills, and their numbers rose and rose, she knew they couldn’t fight them like that. They simply didn’t have the powder.

Iros would be devastated. All his planning and time. All wasted because he had expected to fight an army of elves, not a shambling horde of whatever the abominations were. She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let him come home to find Greenlands destroyed because of his mistake. And if he was dead she couldn’t let his life have been labelled a failure.

The abominations had to be drawn together as an army. But how to do that when the things were almost mindless? They shambled because they could no longer remember how to walk properly, how to lift their legs. They screeched because they could no longer speak. And they walked because they were hungry. They knew nothing else but the endless need to feed.

Then, in a fit of genius or madness, some said the two were one and the same, she realised how to fight them. How to draw them together.