Destiny (12 page)

Yakumo unsheathed his daggers. “Kill them!” he said to Lasgol, and went to confront the first of the man-hunters.

Lasgol nocked his bow and aimed at the second man, who was coming at him at terrifying speed. The arrow caught the Tiger Warrior in the heart. He dropped the spear but kept coming. Lasgol, taken by surprise, nocked another arrow, but could not release it as the mortally wounded warrior had launched himself at him. The enemy knife searched for Lasgol’s neck as he tried to dislodge the burly warrior. The knife rose, and Lasgol thought his end must have come. A zigzagging silver flash cut off the arm and half the neck of the Tiger Warrior.

“Now we’re even. Mother Prairie will sleep in peace tonight,” Iruki said, and offered him her hand. Lasgol took it and got back on his feet.

“Since when have you known how to wield a sword like that?” he asked her in awe.

Iruki shrugged. “It’s not me, it’s the sword. Ilenian magic.”

Lasgol understood. He knelt and fitted another arrow. To his left Yakumo had already killed two warriors with his dark arts, and was fighting a third. Kayti went to his side and helped him bring down his opponent. Even with both their skills combined, they had trouble defeating him. To the right Hartz and Komir were fighting hand to hand against two huge warriors.

“They killed my parents!” Komir yelled, dealing a series of savage strokes.

The warrior hit Komir and knocked him to the ground. He was in trouble, and Lasgol was about to shoot an arrow when from the ground, with a fierce backstroke, Komir cut off his opponent’s leg. As he howled with pain Komir skewered him.

Hartz, making use of his prodigious strength, impaled his adversary with his great sword.

Komir came up to the warrior and cut off his head, with a powerful stroke.

“I’ll have justice for my parents!”

They all looked around them. There seemed to be no more enemy warriors; this must have been an advance group. But more would surely come, drawn by the smell of blood and the howls of rage.

Yakumo ordered. “We have to get out of here right away.”

Hartz put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and signaled him to be quiet, his face unusually worried. Komir looked at his friend, struggling with his feelings, eyes burning. He paused a moment and, with an effort, he calmed himself. Nodded to his friend. Immediately both Norriel ran after the others. Before them Kayti and Lindaro, with Lasgol helping Sonea, were already running.

“To the east, fast!” ordered Yakumo.

“Will more come?” Iruki asked as she ran beside him.

“Yes, Iruki, more will come, many more, and enemies more terrible still, men like me… Run! If you want to live, run!”

Gerart stared out at the morning mist from the top of the outer wall of Rilentor. Beside him Kendas strained his eyes, leaning on the parapet, trying to make out possible danger. They had followed the same routine each dawn for more than a week with growing concern, hoping they would not sight the enemy hosts and see instead the departed group. What would the new day bring? Gerart prayed for one more peaceful day of hope, for the horror of the beast of blood was inexorably approaching the last Rogdonian redoubt.

The Prince was very much aware that nothing would stop the madness. Thousands of lives were about to end, to be added to all those already lost in this senseless slaughter on behalf of the insatiable greed of unscrupulous and amoral kings. The last Rogdonians were hiding behind the walls of Rilentor, ready to die defending their country, and he, together with his father, the King, would defend their home, their kingdom, their people, to their last breath. He would never cease in his endeavor to save them. His people were on the brink of death, of extermination, and he would fight to the last drop of blood in his body.

“Do you see anything, Kendas?” he asked, hoping for an answer in the negative.

Kendas shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the wide stretch of land before the wall.

“No, your Highness. Beyond the river it’s all covered in mist.”

“Then we’ll wait, it’ll soon lift.”

Gerart looked towards the south, where the Noceans would appear sooner or later with their black standards bearing the golden sun of the deserts. The great army of the Nocean Empire was advancing from the south, pillaging everything in their way. How many men would they have amassed for the final attack on the capital? Rumors spoke of an immense host, and Gerart was praying to the ancient gods that it was false.

They waited for the mist to lift while the sun began to rise, brightening the green moors with its golden warmth. A golden flash to the northeast caught Gerart’s eye, and he turned quickly to look. Under the mist he could make out shadows which rapidly became a long thin line. He half-closed his eyes and made out hints of red and white in a row that was not one, but many. The flash came again, and Gerart realized it was the light of the sun shining on steel. He went on watching closely, and as the mist lifted rows of armed men were revealed, so many they filled the plain as far as the distant forests.

“They’re here…” said Gerart, with a heaviness he could not hide.

“Norghanians, from the northeast…” Kendas pointed out, his voice troubled.

The trumpets sounded with the unmistakable clamor of the alarm call. The whole city stopped its activity at once. A silence so terrifying it rivaled the fear of death itself took hold of the great metropolis, from the poorer quarters to the Royal Palace.

Gerart stared at the enemy army. The mist had vanished completely and under the morning sun he saw a sea of Norghanians in close formation. The red and white of their armor and standards covered everything as far as the eye could see. Fear came over him for a moment, but he immediately banished it furiously. He had fought them before and he would do the same again, he would not permit the men of the snow to take the city. Never! They had defeated him once, but they would not be able to do it a second time.

“How many do you think there are?” he asked Kendas in a whisper.

“I’d say between thirty-five and forty-five thousand men.”

Gerart continued to watch the advance of the enemy army while the Rogdonian soldiers took up their positions on the battlements. The advance continued all morning and did not stop until well into the evening. They occupied the whole plain to the east and north of the river in front of the city, divided into their four impressive armies. The standards, tall and proud, were thrust into Rogdonian soil and fluttered in the wind provocatively.

“Yes, some forty thousand men…” Gerart said. “King Thoran must have sent his reserve forces.”

“Make way for the King!” a soldier announced.

Gerart and Kendas turned to see King Solin arriving in his splendid battle armor. He looked like a warrior god. Urien, the old Royal Counselor, was with him, with his albino hair and frail look.

The King greeted his son with a nod. “Gerart.”

“My Lord Father…” Gerart said, and bowed.

The King watched the deployment of the enemy army before his walls with a keen eye. His presence was impressive, radiating power, the living image of Rogdonian integrity and courage. Nothing could dishearten this man. Nothing would hold back his determination. Gerart knew that well. With him in command the city would hold. He was convinced of it.

“What do you think, Urien?” the King asked his Counselor.

The old man greeted Gerart with an affectionate smile and took a closer look at the thousands of enemies deployed on the plains.

“They’ve placed the Invincible of the Ice in their snowy clothing in the center, to frighten our men. All know of their reputation and their prowess at the Fortress of the Half Moon. On the right flank they’ve placed the Thunder Army, General Olagson’s men, with their red standards with white diagonal stripes. On the left flank I see the men of the Snow Army. General Rangulfsen will surely be leading them. A very intelligent man, brilliant indeed when it comes to military strategy. We must keep an eye on him. Bringing up the rear they’ve placed the Blizzard Army, the mixed one, led by the irrational General Odir, who doesn’t make me lose any sleep.”

“Who’s in charge?” King Solin asked.

“From the information we have, Count Volgren is in charge of all the armies. As to the strategy on the battlefield, it will be General Rangulfsen in overall command.”

“How many are there?”

“More than forty thousand,” Gerart replied gravely.

“And the destructive war machinery hasn’t arrived yet, the siege weapons,” Urien said.

“How long do we have?”

“Five days, your Majesty, no more…” Urien said, bowing his head.

“In that case we’d better finish the preparations for the defense of the city.”

“How many men do we have, my Lord Father?”

“I have ordered the enlistment of all able men in the Kingdom. Our losses at the Pass of the Half Moon and Silanda have been heavy. With luck we’ve managed to recruit fifteen thousand Rogdonians who will fight to their last breath for their King and for their families.”

Gerart nodded, his heart full of pride at the courage of his countrymen.

“Where are our allies in this hour of need?” Gerart asked his father. His expectation was almost desperate.

King Solin shook his head and turned his gaze to the enemy, leaning his strong hands on the buttress.

Urien came over to Gerart and put his hand on his shoulder.

“The kingdoms of the mid-east won’t come to our aid. Something serious must have happened that we don’t know of, because the messengers haven’t come back… The Confederation of Free Cities on the East Coast has rejected our call for help. They don’t wish to get involved in the power-struggles of the west. The truth is that we haven’t enough gold to buy those greedy regents of the five city-states. The other lesser kingdoms don’t dare support us; they fear the retaliation of the Norghanians and Noceans, whom they already regard as the victors.”

“And the highland tribes, the Norriel?” Gerart asked without much hope.

“They haven’t spoken. They won’t come,” Urien said, shaking his head.

“Then we’re alone…” Gerart said to himself, with growing sorrow.

King Solin straightened as he looked out at the enemy. In his eyes shone the fire of wounded pride.

“We might be alone against the enemy, a powerful enemy and much greater in number, but Rilentor will not fall, not as long as my House rules this Kingdom. We’ll fight with the courage, strength and resolution which have always characterized the people of this realm. Rogdon will survive! They will not destroy my kingdom!”

They all watched the formidable military deployment at their feet: thousands of soldiers in long scaled armor, with round wooden shields and battle axes at their waists. Tall, strong, tough men with harsh faces, pale as snow and with long fair hair and beards: formidable warriors. Gerart glanced aside at his father, the great King Solin, and his doubts vanished like the mists of dawn. They would resist, and they would hold them off without fail.

“Time to get ready,” the King said. He turned and left the battlements.

The mingled smell of burnt oil and strong northern perfumes filled the command tent. Sumal, who was waiting patiently to be received, found those typically Norghanian smells quite unattractive; they were intended to cover up the smells of sweat and the stench of the soldiers, instead of delighting the senses as was the case of the Nocean perfumes of his own land.

The spy looked around. The tent was big, albeit military and functional, with few decorations or comforts. Another remarkable difference from that of his own lord: Mulko, Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire, much more magnificent, comfortable, designed to relieve the pains of the campaign for their noble and powerful occupants. Sumal looked at the canvas of the walls, blood-red, decorated with white motifs as was customary among the men of the snow. Six brutal-looking, grim-faced guards wearing battle armor were on duty inside and watched him in silence. Sumal smiled. Guards and soldiers had not intimidated him for a long time now. It was one of the advantages of his profession.

From inside the rear of the tent two men came towards him.

At last…
he thought when he recognized them.

“Sumal, my admired spy, to what do I owe this pleasure?” said the taller of the two.

Sumal smiled and took a close look at him. The powerful Count Volgren, in command of the whole Norghanian army, was welcoming him.

“My Lord, you honor me,” Sumal said, bowing deeply, without losing his smile.

“A Nocean spy?” the other Norghanian asked in annoyance. Sumal had already identified the man with treacherous eyes as General Odir.

“But he’s dressed as a Captain of my army! And he’s as fair and pale as any one of my own men. How can he be a damned Nocean?”

“Let me assure you, General, that not only is he Nocean, he is also extremely intelligent and dangerous.”

“In that case we’ll send him back without his head,” the General said with an ominous gleam in his eyes as he unsheathed his sword.

The guards, seeing their General, unsheathed their weapons too. A tense silence filled the tent. Sumal did not move, but remained calm, cold as ice. He knew perfectly well that any reaction on his part would mean bloodshed and his possibilities of coming out of the tent alive would be minimal. He looked into the General’s eyes with a slight smile.

Count Volgren took a step forward. With a gesture he ordered:

“All of you, lower your weapons.”

The guards obeyed at once, but the General took a little while longer. His face showed that he was not in the least convinced. The Count put his hand on the arm wielding the sword, and at last the General put it away.

“Good. And now that we’re all much calmer, what do you want, Sumal? Or rather, what does that lord of yours, the damned snake, want?”

Sumal bowed appreciatively.

“My Lord Mulko, Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire, wishes to establish the terms of our alliance for the taking of the city.”

General Odir, arms akimbo, burst into guffaws. “And why the hell do we need an alliance with those filthy desert cockroaches? The whole east and north of Rogdon belong to us, we’ve conquered every garrison, city and village. There’s only Rilentor left, then the whole Kingdom will be ours, and as you must have seen already our army has the city under siege. We certainly don’t need the help of a bunch of scorpions and treacherous snakes!”

Sumal, conscious of his mission, listened to the General’s words without flinching. Insults and contempt have only one result, which is to bring on failure, and Sumal never failed in his missions, however complex or dangerous they might be. He smiled and looked at the man who truly held the power to decide.

Count Volgren gave him the hint of a smile. His eyes shone with malice.

“My General is right, don’t you think, Sumal?”

Sumal breathed lightly, almost imperceptibly, and relaxed.

“In fact the grand Norghanian army does have the city under siege, and their conquests throughout the west are already widely known. Their renowned Generals have effected a sublime strategy of conquest, and one cannot but humbly acknowledge it.”

Odir stood proudly erect on hearing Sumal’s words.

“However, this last stumbling block in the way of the conquest of Rogdon might turn out more bloody than initially foreseen… causing important damage to the glorious Norghanian army…”

“What are you insinuating? That we won’t be able to take the damned city?” Odir thundered.

“No, that’s not what he’s insinuating,” Count Volgren said. “He’s insinuating something much more dangerous, isn’t that so, my dear spy?”

“It’s not my intention to be a bird of ill omen, but the tenacity and courage of the Rogdonians is well known. They’ll fight to the last man defending their land and families. They won’t give up. For them it’s victory or death. A frightened and wounded animal will fight more fiercely until it falls dead…”