Haelward was standing close by. After getting some clarification from Ulian, he came up to the two of them.
‘If these are the people who want to take that trinket by force, then you will need some steel in your party. Supernatural foes may be beyond me, but men, armed or otherwise, are a
different matter. I will come with you, if only to keep them off your back.’
Wulfthram nodded slowly, his gaze not leaving the other vessel until finally the
Arnberg
had cleared the cove and the high rock of the cliff face had returned.
‘I couldn’t see any of them on deck,’ he said.
‘They are not here just to bob around on the water,’ said Ceriana quietly. ‘They are waiting for us – or, rather,
me
. This amulet will protect me from the
guardians but not from them. That was one of the reasons they gave it to me. The rest of you can be thrown to the mercies of whatever is waiting for us as far as they are concerned.’
‘Well, we know they are here now. We can hole up at an inn or even stay on board this evening before climbing the cliff tomorrow. I would rather face them in daylight.’
‘You don’t understand.’ she said. ‘They are protected from these spirits; they will all have the same amulet as I have. They may be in the labyrinth already, waiting for
us. They will let the guardians get the rest of you then move in on me. They are nothing if not patient. It has taken them nearly a thousand years to trace these stones remember. Like a dragon,
they see a millennium as just another timespan to be endured.’
‘These priests,’ said Haelward, ‘are they as unsettling as they sound?’
Ceriana looked at him, a look that needed no words of confirmation.
‘I thought as much, my Lady,’ the deflated soldier replied.
They sailed on for another few minutes until the announcement came: ‘Oxhagen harbour ahead!’
The mist was getting thicker, but there was no mistaking the shoulder of rock coming into view ahead of them. At its crest the outline of buildings could be seen, Ceriana could make out what
looked like a statue of Hytha, standing proudly at the harbour’s head. Inland, further blocky shapes could be seen, silhouettes of buildings large and small.
There was something odd, though, something intangible; she couldn’t put her finger on it until finally her husband articulated it for her.
‘Where are the lights?
‘You are right,’ she said. ‘There is not a single one.’
The mist lay heavy on the city; twisting ropes of it wound over the cobbles of the street on the harbour front but everywhere was in darkness. No flaming torches flickered in their brackets on
the harbour wall and every window in every cottage, tavern and shop was a dark, eyeless void. There was no one out on the street and the whole town seemed to be smothered in a blanket of silence.
All there was were the gentle sounds of waves lapping against rock and the groaning of the
Arnberg
’s hull in the shallow waters. The captain came up to Wulfthram, his consternation
written all over his face.
‘What shall we do, my Lord? The whole town seems deserted.’
‘Drop anchor in the harbour. Some of us will take the skiff and see what is going on here.’
‘As you wish, my Lord.’
Within a very short time the
Arnberg
was sitting in the harbour, listing slightly as the outgoing tide tugged gently at its moorings. The skiff was readied, a small oar-powered vessel
capable of holding around eight people.
‘Before you say anything,’ Ceriana told her husband, ‘I am going with you. Do not make a final attempt to stop me. I know...’
‘That’s fine,’ he replied, cutting her short. ‘I was just about to ask you to take your seat. I will not ask you to row, though; I cannot see my wife with callouses on
her palms.’
‘I am probably not even strong enough to lift an oar; fortunately, I am surrounded by lots of strong men who can do all the hard work for me, which is exactly how I like it.’
Ignoring his sideways look, she took her place in the boat.
Wulfthram sat in a rowing position as Ulian took his place alongside Ceriana. Wulfthram’s men, Strogar and Derkss, took up the other rowing positions along with Haelward. Willem called out
to Ulian. ‘Shall I come as well?’
‘No, my boy, stay here with Alys and the books. If we are not back by the morning, well, I am sure you will know what to do.’
‘We will be back long before then,’ said Wulfthram. ‘I am not trying those tunnels until I know what is going on here. Captain Devin, keep a watch out and the ballista manned.
No one sleeps tonight, at least till we return.’
And with that the crew lowered the skiff gently into the water. After a few awkward seconds when the oars got tangled and the little craft turned a full circle, they finally got their
orientation correct and were headed towards the town, a town in which there was nothing but silence.
‘What in the name of Artorus’s balls is going on here!’
Baron Lukas Felmere was not a happy man. He was standing on the riverbank in the pouring rain, watching his engineers’ pathetic attempt at a bridge get washed away piece by piece. In all
fairness to them, the weather had been absolutely atrocious and the river was swollen to the point of bursting its banks. The earth under his iron-shod feet squelched as liquid mud came up almost
to his ankles.
Delays, delays, delays. So much for attacking the enemy within ten days! It was nearly two weeks since his army’s triumph and they were still stuck here, bogged down on ground beginning to
actually liquefy under their feet. The problem with being so close to the mountains was that any weather front heading up from the south tended to drop any precipitation that it carried either over
the mountains or directly over their heads. And now it was over their heads. They could not proceed without the bridges to secure their supply lines and to carry the army over the river in safety,
but safety was the last word that sprang to mind in the face of the raging torrent before him. On top of all this there had been an outbreak of dysentery in the camp, laying many a man low; the
healing mage had been working all hours trying to combat the illness until she had collapsed with exhaustion. The outbreak was under control now and he had sent her away with the other mages for
this conference she was so keen to have, and for the rest she needed if she was to be of any further use to him. They had left that very morning with instructions to return within five days. If the
army was not ready to move by then, the whole plan of attack would have to be abandoned for the winter.
And it had got worse. With thousands of men frustrated by their inability to engage the enemy and virtually confined to their camp, petty quarrels became disputes and disputes became arguments;
arguments that eventually found recourse in violence. The historical animosity between Lasgaart’s and Vinoyen’s men had expressed itself in a succession of bloody brawls, until
eventually a man had died. The perpetrators had been swiftly executed but the simmering bad blood remained. Grest itself had seen problems, too; its bars and brothels had been too great a
temptation to some of the men and, following representations from the magistrate, he had had to impose a curfew and restrict visiting rights to the town. He pictured the gods Artorus and Mytha
sitting either side of a chequerboard, moving and toying with its pieces and laughing uproariously as they did so.
Reynard Lanthorpe was speaking to the engineers. He hadn’t approached them himself for fear his own volatile temper would rise to the surface; he didn’t want morale to drop further.
His stomach had been playing him up lately, too; the constant burning had even caused him to give up the drink ... well almost.
Lanthorpe came up to him. ‘They are telling me that it isn’t as bad as it looks; the piles are there under the water, so it is just a question of getting a break in the weather. If
they get that, they reckon they could have one bridge operational in a couple of days at the most.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘I see no reason to argue with them; all we need is a day with no rain.’
‘Is that all?’ Felmere laughed bitterly. ‘Tell me, do you think the Gods are pissing over us because they have drunk too much, or because they can’t stop themselves from
laughing at us?’
‘The Gods gave us victory less than two weeks ago, Baron. That is something we shouldn’t forget.’
‘Well, it might be a next-to-meaningless victory if the rain doesn’t stop. Three days I am giving it, three days, and then we keep a garrison here but disband the troops until
spring. We don’t have enough food here to keep a full army for more than a week or so.’
‘Hello,’ said Lanthorpe slowly, ‘is that a scout, or an Arshuman deserter?’
Across the river a horseman was approaching the small staging post the engineers had built there. As they watched, he dismounted, briefly spoke to one of the men, and the two of them clambered
into a small rowing boat before pushing off into the ferocious torrent. It carried them downriver quite a way until they appeared as little more than a speck. Eventually, though, they made land,
pulling the boat up behind them. Some soldiers went to speak to them.
‘To be honest,’ Felmere said, ‘I won’t be too disappointed if we have to cancel the attack. The fire of battle was in me when I committed to it, so maybe the Gods are
just pointing me in the right direction. It will be nice to go and see my boy soon if we do have to abandon things till the spring.’
‘It would be worth it just to see Fenchard’s face,’ said Lanthorpe, laughing, ‘and Trask’s, for that matter.’
‘How many have we seen, Lanthorpe, fresh-faced barons eager to make their mark only to wind up dead within a week. I fear young Fenchard will be joining an ever-growing list
soon.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Lanthorpe. ‘There is something a bit different about our Fenchard. Hiring Trask was a smart move for one.’
‘A move that might well come back to bite him on the arse. Trask is loyal to one man and one man alone. That’s why no one else will touch him with the tip of a pole arm.’
‘He has fought for both sides, hasn’t he?’
‘In a manner of speaking. After the Serpent Knights kicked him out, he joined a bunch of mercenaries fighting for coin – the only thing that matters to him. Both sides hired him in
the early years and he fought against us at Axmian. He has ... qualities, though, so he is generally forgiven for his eccentricities.’ He sneezed into his hands. ‘Artorus’s teeth,
they are bringing that man here – what has happened now?’
Two guards were approaching, with the man they had seen earlier walking between them. His boots were caked with mud and his hair and dark cloak were saturated with rain. He bowed slightly before
he spoke to them.
‘Baron Felmere, Sir Reynard, my name is Roden. I am one of your own scouts, my Lord, and have been in the lands of the enemy these past ten days.’
‘Good man,’ said Felmere. ‘Give us your report and you can go into the town for a bath and an ale.’
‘Thank you, my Lord. It has been dangerous work out there. Many of their light cavalry were scattered after the battle here and keeping out of their way has been Keth’s own work, let
alone getting to Tantala to gauge the strength of their forces.’
‘But did you get to Tantala?’
‘I did, my Lord. There are a few low hills in the area covered in trees and I concealed myself in one of them.’
‘And what of his strength?,’ said Reynard. ‘Could that be gauged?’
‘Growing by degrees; firstly with stragglers returning from the army we defeated, then a contingent arrived from the south, bringing their total to well over two thousand men. They are
getting more organised every day. They have constructed catapults and dug a ditch around the town, but that is not all.’
Felmere shook his head. ‘More and more bad news; every day we are delayed strengthens them. Well, my man, what is your other news.’
‘Well, my Lord, not two days ago, just as I was about to leave, more men came up from the east. Some heavy cavalry but mainly infantry, mercenaries by the look of most of them –
maybe a thousand in total – but it was not that I came to tell you.
The last contingent to arrive were Arshuman, well-armed and drilled. The thing was, though, my Lord: they marched under a black-and-yellow banner with a red sun at its centre. I have not seen it
before but I am pretty sure it is the banner of...’
‘The King!’ said Felmere. ‘King Aganosticlan’s banner.’
‘Keth’s blood,’ hissed Reynard through his teeth. ‘He never leaves his palace. What by all the Gods would he be doing here? Are you sure it wasn’t a ruse? Are you
sure he was with them?’
‘I cannot be certain, sir, but there was a man there being carried on a litter and surrounded by staff, servants, courtiers or what have you. I was pretty sure it was him.’
‘He knows this is his last throw,’ said Felmere hungrily. ‘His general is dead so he has come to inspire his men. It sounds as if they will almost match us in numbers, but if
we could get at their king it will hardly matter. By all the demons of the furnace, we have to bring them to battle now; we are so close to outright victory.’
As he spoke, Reynard looked up to the heavens. To his surprise, he felt nothing, no rain on his face, nothing stinging his eyes. As he watched, the incessant grey blanket of cloud, solid and
unbroken for nearly two weeks, was finally pierced by a solitary shaft of light, pushing through it like a sword thrust and hitting Reynard square on the face. The sun’s sudden warmth was
like remembering an old friend and for the first time that day the lyrical call of a solitary songbird sounded in his ears.
‘Get the engineers working,’ said Felmere triumphantly. ‘They have two days to build a bridge.’ He turned to face Reynard. ‘Well, my friend, perhaps the Gods do
listen to us, after all.’
Oh, the indignities one had to bear if one was king. Not only had Aganosticlan had to endure the bumpiest and most uncomfortable of journeys perched atop his litter for all to
see, like one of the exotic birds in his private zoo, but it had rained incessantly the whole time. Granted the litter had a roof, carved and gilded, but it would have looked so much more glorious
in sunlight, and besides it did not protect from the damp and the chill airs that made him sniffle constantly and also made his joints ache first thing in the morning.