The Grand Crusade (63 page)

He came back into himself as, down on the waterfront, one of the warehouses began to burn. Yellow-gold flames licked at the edges of the roof, and watchmen on some of the ships began ringing bells in alarm.

Down on the wooden waterfront, city people began to stir. Figures ran

through the day, and though they were far distant, it was easy to see they werekryalniriand vylaens. Kerrigan had explained that magickers would be called to fight the fires first. Their casting spells to combat the fires would pull them out of position to fight invading troops and would exhaust them. Rymramoch had hinted at some darker things, and Phfas had chuckled.

Below him, Kerrigan picked up one of the samples that corresponded to a barracks where the wood played a key structural role. As the sky began to darken with smoke, the youthful mage let the wooden dowel rest on his open left palm. His eyes closed, then golden energy rose through his hand. It shrouded the sample and tightened. Adrogans heard a small crack from below, which, moments later, echoed more loudly from the city.

The barracks in question shook. The roof sagged in the middle, then the whole building shifted to the left. Planking splintered, and whole sections of boards sprang free and whirled through the air. Wooden shingles fell like feathers from a stricken bird, then the whole structure collapsed. A corner of it smashed into another barracks, holing it.

Kerrigan tossed the splinters into the pot and the fallen building ignited with awhump! Beyond it,kryalniriand vylaens at the original fire spun and began running. They gestured, magick sprang from their hands and staves, but the fire continued burning.

Rymramoch laughed. “Oh, they think they are just fighting fire.Naturalfire.” He waved a hand at the pot and fire flared there. “It’s time they learn their error.”

In Alcytlin the flames roared and leaped skyward, carrying with them burning bits of debris. The fiery rain fell on other buildings, starting their roofs smoldering. More alarm bells rang. Creatures shouted and began running. From within, Adrogans felt thesullanciriwaken, slowly and groggily. He felt her shock as she looked out from the cabin on her ship and saw part of her shipyard burning.

Then the shock redoubled.

There could be only one reason for that.

Adrogans spun, raising his hands to his mouth. “Kerrigan, there’s a hoy bearing on the flagship. It’s carrying firedirt. Burn them all!”

Without hesitation, Kerrigan scooped up a double handful of the samples representing the small ships and tossed them into the pot. Down below, a dozen fires sprang up, some at the docks, a couple on the decks of the larger ships as their longboats ignited, and one that had been hidden in a warehouse by an enterprising thief.

Adrogans watched the firedirt hoy intently. He saw nothing, no light, no smoke, and cursed. “Come on, come on!”

Then in the blink of an eye, he saw a single tongue of flame geyser up in the middle of the craft. The tillerman immediately leaped into the water, and the oarsmen did their best to follow. Several just rolled over the side, but one—who

probably likes the water as little as I do—hesitated on the wale. Adrogans saw him as a silhouette, but for a heartbeat only.

The hoy exploded, opening a hole in the water from which another sun was born. The force of the blast struck Adrogans like a hammer, driving him back a step or two. The thunder drowned out all other noises and set his ears ringing. The noise echoed back off the surrounding hills. Adrogans smiled.There, Resolute, you have your diversion.

The general climbed back up the hill and swung his head left and right so he could see around the black ghost of the fireball. It had died, though the rippling rings in the water showed where the hoy had been. Debris, much of it flaming, floated on the water, but other bits had landed on nearby ships.

The hoy, while heading for the flagship, had actually been closer to one of the leviathans. The blast had utterly savaged the aft portion of that ship. The rudder and chunks of the stern had been vaporized. Adrogans could see into the ship’s interior, both because the back of the ship had been blown in, and many of the hull fragments were burning. Crewmen fought the fire, but the ship was already listing badly at the stern and would never leave the harbor.

The flagship was already a hive of activity. Buckets were being lowered to gather water to fight fires. Other crew members were already bringing the anchors up, and some of the galley’s oars were digging at the water. The crew even raised the triangular sail, allowing the ship to move out to deeper water.

Adrogans surveyed the city again. The blast had been sufficient to knock down the smoldering warehouse, which started other small buildings burning. There were barracks to the north that still stood. Once they were down, the remaining Aurolani would be channeled into the areas where Adrogans had wanted to fight.

“North one and two, please, Kerrigan.”

“Yes, sir.”

Those barracks shook with a staccato series of cracks, then sagged together, blocking a main route into the ruins. One of them started burning, then the other. A few of the gibberers who had escaped through north-side doors and windows fled into the ruins, but at least one of them fell as an elven arrow burst his heart.

Adrogans pointed to a signalman. “All advance please.”

The bugler relayed the order loudly. Adrogans could not be certain if any of the Aurolani heard the call, but he could see no reactions to suggest they had. The sharp crackling sound of another barracks collapsing and the roar of another warehouse going up in flames certainly provided them enough distractions. Perhaps they thought the horn was another alarm.

It didn’t matter—not to him—nor to them. Down below, his troops poured into the city. The cavalry entered from the east and reached their targets quickly. The fires had all been to the west and, not surprisingly, those individuals in the

firedirt factory had fled as fast as they could. The troops designated to take it wore leather armor and had fashioned leather boots to cover their horses’ hooves, so no chance sparks would be struck. The Savarese Knights, on the other hand, charged for the armory in full battle gear, and rode through a fleeing knot of refugees before occupying the building.

The infantry fed into the city through several gates the Zhusk scouts opened from within. They’d slipped over the walls the moment the alarms had gone off, so by the time the Aurolani were running for their lives, the gates had been opened and his troops were marching in. Though the troops started into Alcytlin in good order, things began to break down pretty quickly.

Adrogans had anticipated that happening, so he had briefed the leader of each legion. Each one was given a specific target to reach, and then a goal from there. Adrogans had expected the work to be little more than butchery, but as long as his people slaughtered the Aurolani and not each other, the job would be accomplished.

Moving with the legions were the Vilwanese warmages he’d been given. They sought and engaged thekryalniriand other Aurolani magickers. From his vantage point the Jeranese general saw no mage duels, but neither did he see legions retreating from some Aurolani sorcerer’s magickal attacks. He took that as a good sign.

Phfas climbed up the hill and stood beside him. “She is escaping.”

Adrogans watched the Aurolani flagship clear the headland and make for the open sea. “Not many naval commanders are comfortable with a land war.”

“The opposite is also true, nephew.”

Adrogans looked down at Phfas. “What are you suggesting, Uncle?”

“What you have been thinking.” Phfas flicked one small talisman tied to theyrunof water that dangled from his own left breast. “She is gone. You should hunt her.”

“That would be a fool’s errand. I don’t know where she is going, and she has a lead I cannot hope to match.”

“And you will not travel by sea.”

Adrogans waved that idea away. “My army can best serve if we march to the Boreal Pass and invade Aurolan.”

“To be trapped there when Nefrai-kesh marches home with Svarskya’s head.”

“That won’t happen.” He thought for a moment and knew his comment had not been convincing. He greatly respected Princess Alexia as a military commander, but she would be facing a force of untold strength. Resolute had said that the force that had taken Loquellyn had been infiltrated into Muroso. While it was true that the flagship, with its regiment of infantry, could be heading anywhere, the only goal that made sense would be Muroso.

He had over four regiments under his command. If he delivered them to Sebcia, they would be a big surprise.I deploy a decoy force to reconnoiter the

Boreal Pass and that freezes Chytrine’s troops there. I show up in Sebcia and land behind Aurolani lines. I could hit them from the rear while Alexia engages them from the south. I have dragonels. We could break them.

Adrogans looked out over the harbor at the six ships bobbing there and the unforgiving ocean beyond. “I could do it, Uncle, but would it be enough?”

“Enough? Maybe.” Phfas shrugged. “It would bemore. And there are times when that is all that is needed.”

At the head of the column Erlestoke rode up a hill and looked northwest. On his last journey from Meredo to Fortress Draconis, he had traveled via Caledo. He remembered very well the tall white towers of the city in the plains. It had been a proud place, and he had seen it as something of an eternal city. He remembered thinking that if it were the capital of Oriosa, he would not mind inheriting the throne.

What had once been the white city of the plains had been laid to waste. Parts of it still stood, but the towers had been broken and the walls melted. What had once been pristine now had the pockmarks of a city under siege, with fire scars striping buildings and burned rafters clawing the sky. Carrion birds circled here and there and fires burned, leaking black smoke into the sky.

The prince smiled as his brother rode up beside him. “Have you been here before?”

Linchmere shook his head. “I always sailed to Fortress Draconis when I visited. It must have been beautiful.”

“It will be again.”

“Easier for it than me.”

Erlestoke looked at his brother for a moment and marveled at how many changes there had been in him. Even listening to his voice, the changes could be detected. His brother had left Meredo with the Freemen: a group of Oriosans who pledged themselves to the service of Will Norrington. They had come to Muroso originally to help defend it, then had traveled to Sarengul. There they had fought fiercely to drive the Aurolani from the urZrethi domains of Sarengul. The Freemen, a group of Oriosanmeckanshü, and a full regiment of Sarengul infantry had emerged from Sarengul and joined Erlestoke’s army as it left Tolsin and entered Muroso.

The fighting in the tunnels of Sarengul had not been kind to his brother. Linchmere’s head had been shaved because half his hair had been singed off, and fire scars still puckered flesh on the right side of his head. That ear had wilted as well. His brother had also lost his left arm from just below the elbow. When he walked, it was with a limp, but Erlestoke noted that was just from a cut that would heal soon enough.

When Erlestoke had asked what happened to his arm, Linchmere had shrugged. “He took my shield, I skewered his heart. Fair enough trade.”

The fatalism in that comment, and the one concerning how easy it would be to rebuild him, squeezed Erlestoke’s heart. All his life he’d trained to be a warrior. He had seen friends killed at Fortress Draconis and in the race from it. He’d seen Will Norrington die. All of those deaths hurt him, but he thought himself somehow prepared for them by his training.

His brother had none of that training and, had he been asked to predict Linchmere’s reaction to war and such injuries, Erlestoke would have said he’d end up in a mewing ball. But Linchmere had remained detached from the world after their mother’s death. Even Erlestoke had thought it was good that Linchmere had someone between him and the throne of Oriosa, for he would be a poor leader, easily led by others, with little of a spine to stand up for himself.

But that had not proven true. Linchmere, who was known as Lindenmere within the Freemen, had not risen to lead them, but he’d clearly earned their respect. He’d become stronger and leaner, looking much more like Erlestoke’s brother than ever before. More than one of the Freemen, including their leader, Wheatly, had informed him that Linchmere had lost his arm fighting off an ambush, and that without his effort, many would have died.

The prince marveled again at the changes wrought in the crucible of war. War was, without a doubt, the most horrific of human experiences, and it put everything into sharp relief. All choices were life and death. Friendships were formed strongly, and their sundering hurt terribly. War crushed some people, and others—his brother being one—emerged from it as new people. Erlestoke found himself proud to have his brother riding beside him.

“We will have your arm replaced throughmeckanshümagick. As for the scars, your hair will grow back and cover most of them. When this war is done, scars such as yours will be a thing of beauty.”

Linchmere regarded his brother with brown eyes which, up to their previous meeting, Erlestoke would have described as bovine. “Those are the external changes. What about the ones wrought in my heart? I have seen terrible things. I have done them.”

“Those are all things with which you will wrestle.” Erlestoke started his horse down the hill and Linchmere followed. “Those are the things of war. The world that will follow her defeat will be content to leave them in the past. You’ve accepted responsibility, and that is the most important change.”

Linchmere smiled. “There was a time when you would have suggested I was irresponsible, and I would have had a tantrum or sulked. Now I just wonder why you didn’t tell me that more often?”

“Because until you were of a mind to accept responsibility, it wouldn’t have mattered what I said.” Erlestoke turned and looked at him. “How much are you ready to accept?”

“What do you mean?”

Erlestoke pointed to Caledo. “You remember what General Pandiculia told us when we linked up with her forces?”