Authors: Martin Ash
SEVEN
i
The first snows of winter fell upon Enchantment's Reach on the night that Prince Anzejarl committed the full force of his
Karai army in a final, overwhelming assault upon King Leth's capital.
The decision to assault was not entirely his. Experience cautioned him towards prudence and patience for at least a few more days. He had not yet received word from within, and could not know if the True Sept was fully prepared to rise and strike - though he acknowledged that, with the
city-castle sealed, the Sept might now be prevented from getting word out to him. Nor were the city-castle's defenders at the low ebb he desired for fullest advantage. His own hardy Karai warriors would be little affected by the harsh conditions, providing their bellies were full and sufficient camp-followers were in attendance to satisfy their carnal appetites. Likewise, the trolls and slooths were virtually impervious to the cold. Storehouses had been established in and around Willowmere, crammed with the pickings from the surrounding countryside and the towns and villages the army had razed along the way. Anzejarl's vital supply lines from the south were well-protected. But the defenders of Enchantment's Reach were also well-fed. They had suffered some losses and erosion of morale from the repeated slooth-raids and the recent infiltration by the unit of war-trolls, but they remained battle-ready, disciplined and determined. Anzejarl would rather have worked some more upon their spirit, perhaps gained better intelligence of their weak spots, before committing himself to the decisive assault.
Some brief skirmishes had reoccurred. The guerrilla force positioned by King Leth outside the capital had launched surprise attacks, fleet and silent, against Anzejarl's troops. The first raid had taken Anzejarl by surprise, but he was quick to take precautions, and in subsequent forays the enemy was driven off, causing some nuisance but little damage. It was an irritant, demanding certain attention, but scarcely anything more. However, it required more of his troops for guard- and escort-duties and supply-line protection, as well as strong units committed to the task of hunting down and eliminating Leth's force - so far without avail. With such deployments Anzejarl would again have rather delayed his main assault for some days, at least. But it was not to be, for Olmana had other, more pressing considerations.
Olmana's moods had grown ever more intense and violent. Anzejarl genuinely feared her. He knew something of what she was capable of. She no longer took heed of any opinion or advice he might offer, and he was not willing to defy her.
Fear!
He could scarcely admit it. A
Karai knew no fear. Fear was the territory of the lower races. The Karai knew only duty, accomplishment and the pride of victory. Yet he, Anzejarl, feared - as much as he loved; as much as he angered; as much as he wondered and doubted and desired and hated.
Woman! Woman! What have you done to me? Am I no longer Karai? What have I become?
'Anzejarl, your Awakening is almost complete,' Olmana told him, again and again. She said it now in such a way that it taunted him. There was a savage glint in her eyes. No longer did it have the character of a gift, if ever it had. Now it was a sword poised above his head, ready to descend at her fiat or whim.
And he could do nothing but obey her.
They no longer coupled. The joy and exaltations he had known with Olmana were ecstasies of the past. She seemed not to want to be near him, not to be able to bear his physical touch. If he approached her she rebuffed and mocked him, or flew into a howling rage. This aroused yet more unfamiliar sensations in Prince Anzejarl's breast. He was confused, angry, bitter, unsure and morose. He was hurt.
Hurt!
Alone, Anzejarl would succumb to paroxysms of bewilderment and grief. Clapping his hands to his temples he would stagger under the power of the internal forces that seized him, double over, sink to the floor. He would hammer the floorboards, punch the walls until his knuckles bled raw, but still the pressure built.
And hard on the heels of this torment came another. A lurking suspicion which, once its first seed had been planted, took root and flourished in the dark, seething morass of his mind:
had Olmana transferred her affections to another?
Who could it be?
One of his generals? It seemed improbable. Preposterous, in fact. Yet who else was there? Anzejarl took to scrutinizing with smouldering intensity all who came into his presence. He sought a betrayal, a giveaway glance, a smile, a favouring look by Olmana. But he detected none, which did nothing to dampen his suspicion but caused the acid furnace in his breast to burn with ever greater intensity.
In Olmana's eyes these days there were things he had never previously seen. Or had he simply never permitted himself to see? In his infatuation, his besotment, his lust and greed, had he made himself blind? Had the hardness, the scathing intensity, the sheer malevolence that was now so evident - had it always been there?
In the night his dreams remained filled with visions of her, transformed and hideous, operating upon him in nameless ways, holding over him a glowing crystal and chanting in some low and incomprehensible tongue. And they were not dreams! Not always. Olmana no longer kept her metamorphosis secret. She had let him see her in the flesh, in her other form. She had taken perverse delight in seeing him appalled and repelled. She played with him, and she turned him more and more against himself.
Woman, what are you?
Anzejarl considered the crystal. Through its agency Olmana bestowed and maintained the Gift. She kept it hidden from him. Were she to learn that he had uncovered her secret he believed she might not control her fury.
But was this rosy crystal the key to the power she held over him? Anzejarl weighed the question again and again. What if he held the crystal and she did not?
He could not risk such a manouevre just yet, for it was through the crystal and the Gift that he commanded the trolls and slooths, so vital to his conquest of Enchantment's Reach. But when Enchantment's Reach was his, when he no longer had need of his allies, perhaps then would be the time to test Olmana.
These thoughts he forced from the forefront of his mind as he concentrated upon drawing up final plans for the imminent assault upon the Greatest Prize.
ii
It was a cold, bleak and moonless night. Some hours after darkfall, from within the dense pall that covered the night sky, and the veil of softly falling snow, the slooths came. They brought with them payloads of oil and fire, followed by war-trolls and scores of elite
Karai shock-troops.
Their initial objectives were three-fold: the citadel of Orbia and its barbican and gate, and the main gate and barbican of the city-castle itself.
As the first troops struck, coloured flares were simultaneously hurled over the walls by gigantic trebuchets brought close under the cover of darkness. And from somewhere on the cliffs below the sound of frantic, rhythmic drumming rose hauntingly into the night.
Unbeknown to Enchantment's Reach's
defenders, within the drumbeats was a message. Combined with the flares it was the agreed upon signal to the leaders of the True Sept, alerting them to the long-anticipated turn of events, instructing them and their members to flood out from the burrows of Overlip. This was the time to rise in force and fury against King Leth and the army and government of Enchantment's Reach. This was the Great Battle, the time of the Chosen, the time to hinder and harass and disrupt, to spill the blood of the Unbelievers, shed the lives of the Godless and Unrighteous, to restore at last the True Faith and the Child of Legend, that the land might become again the domain of the One True God, the father of the Child. This was the time of the Unity.
*
Pader Luminis was at work at his desk in his newly-appointed chambers when the first reports were brought to him. Others followed with more details, almost by the minute. Fierce fighting had broken out within the Palace precincts. At least fifty trolls had been landed close to the gate, actually inside Orbia's walls. Others were outside, with numerous shock-troops in support. Further units were within Enchantment's Reach, battling for the main gate. Wave upon wave of Karai warriors was being transported in. Some were being landed on roofs, others managed to get directly down to the streets. The soldiers of Enchantment's Reach were putting up stalwart and heroic resistance, but were in many places hard-pressed to know from where the next attack would come.
Conflagrations raged throughout the city-castle. From outside Karai troops had rushed up the scarp and were storming the walls, taking advantage of the defenders' need to deal with the attackers within. Siege engines had been hurriedly brought into range to batter the defences with stones.
Then
came word of fighting around the entrances to Overlip. The reports were confused, but there was little doubt in Pader Luminis's mind that his and King Leth's former suspicions were now confirmed. The True Sept had risen in alliance with the Karai and was fighting its way free of its rocky labyrinth with all the spirit and fervour that its fanatical command could summon. There were reports of Sept members deliberately flinging themselves upon the defenders' blades to allow their comrades to move in from behind them and hack down the defenders before their weapons could be drawn free.
It is the time
, acknowledged Pader to himself, shaken.
And I am not the man to meet it
.
He could only place responsibility into the hands of his generals now. His was not a mind schooled in military matters. With his Crown advisors he had prepared for this day, knowing it must come sooner rather than later. Even so, this was sooner than anyone had anticipated.
Perhaps the first troll attack should have served as a warning. Certainly it had alerted Pader's generals to new possibilities. But even so, they had anticipated at least a couple of weeks more of night-raids and methodical, slow-intent attrition. What could have persuaded Anzejarl to attack so soon? Or had this really been his intention all along?
It mattered little. The fact was that the
Karai were here, now, battling among them and storming the walls in overwhelming force. And for as long as they had slooths, more and more of them would be brought into the city.
Leth? Issul? Where are you? Can you help us now?
It was a desperate plea. The last remaining hope that, with Orbelon, Issul might have fulfilled her quest, have found the mysterious Soul of the Orb, freed Leth and their children, and be returning even now at the head of some new force capable of vanquishing the
Karai.
Pader looked out into the cold night, saw the numerous bright fires that lit the city, heard distantly the sound of fighting through the silent tumbling snow, and wondered how, without such help, his troops could hope to survive this night.
The hours passed without let-up in the fighting. It became plain that, step by bloody, methodical and utterly-determined step, the Karai were gaining important strategic footholds throughout Enchantment's Reach. Chaos reigned about the ways to Overlip as the valiant defenders found themselves attacked on one front by the shrieking fanatics of the True Sept, and on another by the eerily silent warriors of the Karai. Under such onslaughts they were in many instances being beaten back, forced to yield more and more ground to the invaders.
Out of the black air the influx continued, and there was no way to stop it. More and more
Karai, fresh and eager for the slaughter, were carried in to augment the forces that slowly chipped away at the defenders of Enchantment's Reach. For the government it was impossible to gauge a true picture of the struggle, as battles were being fought on so many fronts: in the streets and squares, in strategically important buildings, in the palace of Orbia itself. What was abundantly plain, however, was that the foe was not being contained.
The bloodiest and most relentless fighting took place in the vicinity of the two gates: of Orbia Palace and of Enchantment's
Reach itself. But elsewhere units of defending troops were thrown into sudden disarray as, without warning, knots of apparently friendly citizens turned upon them viciously and with no quarter, revealing themselves to be True Sept members battling in support of the gem-eyed invaders and their monstrous allies.
At the huge arched gate and barbican of the city-castle the fighting took an ominous turn. Slooths, freed from the task of transporting troops, began supplementing the trolls and warriors who battled inside the walls, and the assault-troops, battering rams and engines that pounded the walls and gate from outside. Swooping and diving, the slooths sought areas of the ramparts that were not protected by the hastily erected defensive structures. Hapless soldiers were plucked from the parapets and flung shrieking into the dark and snowswept oblivion that was all that existed between them and the invisible forest floor thousands of feet below.