Lord Ellrich would never know it, but the young soldier managed to get clear of the stronghold and the Zard army that was closing in around it. The horses he chose were fast, strong, and more importantly, they were rested. There was a good chance that he would manage to escape the two geka that were chasing him.
The siege of the Redwolf’s mountain castle had lasted a week so far. According to the lists before him, King Jarrek knew that they could go another half a year or more. They had plenty of stores hidden away in the caverns. Considering that they had over three thousand soldiers behind the secondary wall, and nearly eight thousand other people that were waiting.
Women, children, nobles, and dignitaries, as well as the castle staff and personal servants were all inside the castle. It seemed amazing to him. What amazed King Jarrek even more, was that the castle folk spoke of the siege, as if it were an event, a ball, or a concert, or a mummers show. Even the lords and merchants, whose homes were being torched and looted just outside the secondary wall, seemed oblivious to the reality of the situation. They just didn’t understand. They were all certain that they were safe because the castle itself, in all of history, had never been taken. The first, second, and third baileys had fallen a few times during the bloody dark wars of Jarrek’s great, great-grandfather, but the castle’s innermost wall, known as the Gate, had never been breached. The fortress was designed to wait out a siege.
The castle was a city in itself, built into the side of the Wilder Mountains, thus the name Castlemont. Many of the people who lived there had never gone outside the outer walls in all of their lives. Day to day life inside the huge palace seemed almost normal to most of them, as if war wasn’t waiting just beyond the secondary wall, as if an enemy army wasn’t waiting to storm in and ravage them, and then march them into slavery.
King Jarrek shook his head in wonder at the ignorance of his people. The siege would be broken soon, he had no doubt, but someday, an enemy might really threaten to take the whole place. He could only imagine how the castle folk would act if a time like that really came.
He and his advisers were in his conference room, planning. The table where they were sitting was forty feet long. Its eight legs were carved into perfect wolf’s paws, and its oak surface was varnished, and polished so perfectly that it looked wet. The chairs were just as impressive. The crown of each sported a growling wolf’s head above a back thick with padding, and covered in red velvet. The armrests were wolves’ forelegs, and the chairs’ feet matched the table legs in miniature.
All along the walls, on both sides of the table, realistic paintings of heroic battle scenes, and other historical events, were separated by fancy brass oil lanterns hung on ornate sconces on the gray and white swirled marble walls. Like the tabletop, the black marble floor resembled a body of water. The room’s two huge carved oak doors were shut and barred, giving the dozen men inside the room total privacy. They were planning to break the siege.
One of the two wizards in attendance was from Highwander. His name was Targon. He stood a head taller than any other man there. His height, and his plain white robes made him stand out quite dramatically in the rich, colorful council chamber. His long, silver streaked black hair, his dark eyes, and well-trimmed goat’s beard, gave him an almost sinister look.
Willa the Witch Queen had sent him to Wildermont as soon as she had heard the reports of Blacksword impostors flying her banners and firing arrows into crowds. She claimed that, though some of the merchants and traders of her land had surely attended the festival, no one that represented Highwander, or her Blacksword army, in any formal capacity had been there. She and her kingdom held no ill will towards any other in the realm at the moment, and Targon assured King Jarrek that if she did, she would handle the dispute swiftly, and in the open.
Targon had come there to assist in the investigation, and to find out who it was that had impersonated the Blacksword. He got caught up in the Westland surprise attack. Now, acting on his newest orders from Queen Willa, his full services as a War Wizard had been offered to King Jarrek and Wildermont in this time of need.
The other wizard, Keedle was his name, had been born right there in the castle eighty years earlier. The riverside villa he had been raised in was now being used as a Westland Command post, and he was none too pleased about it. His bitter anger at King Glendar was the only thing keeping him from being jealous of Targon’s presence in his kingdom.
Keedle, with his long, white hair and beard flowing over his red and gold trimmed black robe, stood looking out the glassed-in window wall at his city. The audacity of Westland’s new king showed. Placing his pavilion tent right there in front of the main gates, as if inviting them to charge out and take him, was maddening. The fact that, for days now, he had paraded the women of Wildermont in and out of his tent, as if they were his, was infuriating. Keedle had decided that he would show no mercy if he had a choice in the matter. Glendar wasn’t just a bad neighbor or a land-greedy tyrant. He was a menace to humanity.
Others in attendance were: General Coron and two of his captains, all three representing the army of the Redwolf; Lord Marshal Culvert of the Castlemont City guard; one of his deputies, and the King’s Investigator, Lord Greenwich and his page. A few nervous, but busy scribes sat to the side, scribbling away as the orders and suggestions were thrown out on the table for discussion.
“Why would he leave so few men to hold us?” Lord Marshal Culvert asked the room. The “he” he was speaking of, was of course King Glendar of Westland.
“He’s keeping us pinned up, while he gets the bulk of his army through the mountains,” General Coron explained. “Is it possible that once they’re through, he will pack up and follow them?”
“That’s a very optimistic question, General,” King Jarrek commented politely. “If that were his plan though, I doubt he would’ve looted the outer city, and marched all of our women and children south towards Dakahn.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Courtly manner dictated that the King be allowed several moments to add to his own statements before anyone might interrupt his Highness’s thoughts.
“I agree,” Lord Greenwich, the King’s Investigator finally said. “Why give us a hundred reasons for vengeance and retaliation, and then just up and march away?”
“Not to mention the fact that Westland has got to be nearly defenseless,” said General Coron. “Twenty thousand men have marched across that bridge, maybe more. Who’s guarding the henhouse while the young rooster is out strutting?”
The General spoke in a way that made it clear that he didn’t really believe what he had suggested a moment ago. “They have to hold that bridge no matter what happens here. If we break the siege, we’ll be able to march right into Westland.”
“Oh, we’ll break the siege, General,” King Jarrek said, with confidence. He turned to Lord Greenwich. “How many men did you estimate Glendar had left in our city?”
“At best, twenty four hundred, a few hundred more on or around the bridge, maybe.”
“We have as many, if not more, men inside the walls with us!” Marshall Culvert blurted out, his overly optimistic enthusiasm showing again.
His city guard had been routed in the streets. He was as bitter as he was embarrassed by the fact. Those men had not been trained to handle a full scale attack on the city. They were there to protect the people from each other, not from an invading army. That was the job of General Coron’s men, most of whom had been too busy dealing with the myriad problems associated with Summer’s Day to muster a defense. Marshall Culvert didn’t blame the General. His men had put up so little resistance, that they may as well have not been there. They mostly died in vain. He manfully accepted his share of the blame. He took no comfort in the truth, and he lustfully wanted to break the siege. He wanted to take back some of the pride that had been stripped from him.
“I’ve got three hundred men up at High Crossing, maybe a few more.” General Coron offered. “They retreated into the lower Evermore, on the Leif Greyn side when the Westlanders turned north. If we can get word to them, they should be able to at least break through the encampment where the fargin Lion’s men went into the mountains.”
“I can help you there, your majesty.”
Targon, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. His voice was deep, and radiated a sort of confidence that was greatly needed among them.
“Not only with getting orders to those men.” Smoothing his robes, he stood and faced the window, where the other wizard was brooding. “I can help protect them when they sack the encampment, and with the help of my colleague, Keedle, we can communicate, and make sure that the arrival of those men here is timely to your cause.”
“Yes,” the General nodded, and mumbled under his breath as the plan formed in his head. The idea that it was put there by the Witch Queen’s Wizard was lost on him.
The King was about to ask the General to share his thoughts, when Keedle spun and strode towards the table. The look on his face demanded that he be heard next. King Jarrek gave him a nod and steepled his fingers, intent to listen to his trusted old wizard’s words.
“When you send your men storming out the gates, General, I’ll make them appear to be twice as many as they really are.” Keedle’s anger made his word sharp and cold. “If King Jarrek will allow it, I’ll take the outer wall, so I can be over them, and wreak as much havoc as I can manage. I’ll draw the attention to me. With Targon coming with those other men to catch them from behind, and my surprises, we should be able to break the siege, and take our city back with minimal losses. At worst, we could run the cavalry right over that pavilion tent, and crush the young Westland dog in his sleep.”
“Now you’re the one being optimistic,” said General Coron.
Though he would love nothing more than to flatten the cocky young bastard just as Keedle had suggested, the fact remained that they didn’t hold the outer wall anymore. A charge out of the secondary gates would allow the Westland King enough warning to be long gone by the time they got there. He shook his head side to side.
“I have no doubt you’ll be able to do as you say, but we can’t run all of our men out of the secondary gates, Master Keedle. It will take at least half of them to hold the castle, if something should go wrong. Even fifteen hundred wolves would have a hard time taking on all those fargin Westlanders. It’s almost two to one.”
Keedle’s brows narrowed, as he realized the truth of the General’s words. Even with two wizard’s working together, two to one odds would be hard to overcome in open battle.
“We mustn’t forget about Pael,” Targon said in his deep voice. “The Westland wizard is no mere conjurer.”
“I pray I get the chance to face Pael!” Keedle said hotly. “This whole attack stinks of his rotten influence.”
“General,” King Jarrek spoke, then placed his steepled fingers to his chin, and pursed his lips for a moment before continuing. “If it were an even battle, man for man, so to speak, do you think this plan would work?”
The General’s nostrils flared, and his chest swelled proudly.
“Man for man, your Redwolf Army can beat anyone.”
“So, if I allowed you to march out of here into the city with two thousand men, with Keedle’s help, and Targon, and the men from High Crossing to surprise the Westlanders, you think you can come out victorious?”
“I’m sure of it,” The General said flatly.
“Of the thousand men who stay behind, I think four hundred should be left inside the gates,” said King Jarrek. “The rest should be our best archers, and they should take to the secondary wall when you go out, to keep your men from getting trapped between the secondary gate and the outer walls. Once your men are clear, and into the city, they will be shut out, General Coron. As I’m sure you’re aware, this is an all or nothing sort of gambit.”
The General had to fight to suppress the smile. He could never remember loving his King’s boldness more than he did at that moment. Jarrek, he decided, was a warrior through and through.
“I will proudly lead them myself, Your Highness.” He stood, and bowed his head in respect. “I understand the risks fully, and relish the chance to overcome them.”
“I want all of you to think on this plan while we break our fast,” King Jarrek told them. “Keep in mind that we don’t have to do this. We can just sit, and wait for a better opportunity to present itself. If we have to, we can wait out the whole of fall and winter.” He rose from his seat, and ran a hand through his dark hair. “But don’t forget those of our people that Glendar marched south. They might not have the luxuries that we have. We have to get them home.”
After they had eaten, and had time alone to think, the King took a consensus of the men’s thoughts on the matter. All of them agreed. The plan was sound, the situation would probably never be more opportune, and they had to do something about the women and children King Glendar had sent south before they were sold into the Dakaneese slave market, or worse. They were all fairly certain that Westland would soon send in reinforcements. Right now, the odds were surmountable. They might soon become impossible.
King Jarrek privately decided that he would ride out, with his personal guard attachment, through a secret exit way. The expert swords would be needed, and he wanted to get his own steel into the enemy as badly as anybody. He ordered the plan to be executed, and the wheels of the Kingdom of Wildermont’s fate clicked into motion.
Young King Glendar was enjoying the company of the wife and daughter of one Wildermont’s most prestigious merchants. Outside his tent, six of the bloodiest, most ruthless men Glendar could find in his troops after the battle for Castlemont City, stood guard. They weren’t bloody now. Glendar had given them the pick of the armaments and weapons that had been collected from the many smithies and armories around the city. They were now his personal guards. They stood brilliantly in the hot summer sun, in gleaming chain, and plate mail, under a pair of Westland’s biggest banners. The weapons were newly forged and razor sharp. A few were works of art, with extreme value. They were the envy of the Westland troops that remained in Wildermont. Their only duty was to protect their King, and with their very lives if necessary. They had pledged to do so with their own blood.