The Powterosian War (Book 5) (11 page)

“This must not leave this room. These two messages are from Memlatec at Konnotan and General Socockensmek at Heedra. Memlatec believes my brother has died from a riding accident after marrying the princess imperial at the Powterosian court. He’s trying to get conformation. The letter from Socockensmek warns that there are sightings of the Dreaddrac fleet heading south toward Olnak.”

The color drained out of Bodrin and Belnik’s faces. Belnik sat down, something he’d never normally do. Then he rose suddenly as if he’d sat on something hot.

Bodrin’s hand rested on Saxthor’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry about Prince Augusteros, Saxthor,” Bodrin said. “The seer…” Bodrin said.

“The seer what?”

“The seer said you’re looking up when the danger is from below. Maybe she referred not to up and down, but up the peninsula; that would mean down would be the empire, and the supreme monarch is the emperor.”

“Maybe, but for now I don’t see a connection. The emperor may be our only powerful ally left.”

“How may we help you, Majesty?” Belnik asked. His usual calm, self-assured presence seemed lost, his voice broken. Saxthor reread the two letters as the two men stood by in silence.

“Well, I can do nothing about Augusteros death, if it’s fact. Memlatec will make all possible inquiries to determine if the rumor is true. At least my brother finally got to marry the princess imperial. That, I think, was always his goal.

If Socockensmek is aware of the Dreaddrac fleet, I’m sure he’s verified that Admiral Agros is also. For the present, I must order Admiral Agros to prepare for battle outside Olnak. With the Sengenwhan central government all but gone, I’ll confirm that the Sengenwhan fleet is still sailing with Agros. I’ll send for a complete assessment of the situation at Olnak and the admiral’s preparations for an engagement.”

“We’re spread across too many fronts, Saxthor,” Bodrin said.

Saxthor frowned, dropped the two letters into the fireplace and watched them burn to ash.

“Heggolstockin is in a death struggle, Graushdemheimer the same,” Saxthor said. “Hador and Feldrik neutralized, Sengenwhapolis lost, and Botahar under siege. Now the Dark Lord has the peninsula in a vice and will soon have his forces attack Neuyokkasin.”

“Dreaddrac will not defeat Admiral Agros,” Bodrin said.

“Memlatec also said his watchers are reporting the orcs, dispersed in the southern Sengenwhan swamps, are gathering in greater numbers along the Nhy. He thinks they are organizing into a strike force.”

“General Socockensmek will be able to prevent them from crossing the river and entering Neuyokkasin,” Bodrin said. “He’s built quite a fortress chain at Hyemka, Heedra, and Olnak and trained adequate garrisons at each.”

“Yes, but don’t you see, soon we will have no allies in this war. Dreaddrac has neutralized all of them. If the Dark Lord can break through Hoya with an army of substance, he will be able to march south through Talok-Lemnos to Konnotan and not have to take the river fortresses. There’s no allied army now to stop him.”

“General Sekkarian, here, and General Socockensmek, at Heedra, will stop him,” Bodrin said.

“I’ll have to withdraw our forces at Botahar, reinforce the garrisons along the Nhy, and hope we can hold back the attack. Meanwhile, a lot will depend on the outcome of Admiral Agros’ ability to destroy the Dreaddrac fleet or the Nhy will be lost to us as well. Then we couldn’t move troops fast enough between fortresses to repel attacks along such a long border.”

“How may I help, Saxthor?” Bodrin asked.

“Get some rest, you’ll need it. Send in the scribe as you leave. I’ll need to issue the orders for Admiral Agros tonight. That will be all.”

Belnik said nothing, but put the food he’d brought on the table and loaded the tray with Bodrin’s empty platters. He took Bodrin’s scraps to the kitchen as the scribe came in. The man wrote out the orders for the admiral according to Saxthor’s dictation. As the clerk left to post the orders with a royal courier, Belnik returned.

“Majesty, how may I assist you?” the valet said.

“Prepare my bed, I must get some sleep on these grim reports and see if that makes them any clearer in the morning.”

Saxthor tossed and turned that night, not really getting the rest he needed. The next morning he awoke early and still tired, but the night had brought some clarity, as his mind had sorted out the pieces of bad news. By the time he had dressed, General Sekkarian arrived with a report on the status of Hoya’s army and that of the relocated garrison at Tossledorn. The two men were in conference when a knock came on the door.

“What is it?” Saxthor said, his nerves strained. “What’s so important that you must disturb us in a private audience?”

Belnik stuck his head inside the door but ventured no further. “Sorry to interrupt you, but I thought you would want this message from King Grekenbach at Graushdemheimer.”

Saxthor stood up from over the maps the general was showing him. “Very well, bring it.”

Belnik opened the door and motioned for someone behind him to enter. The soldier stumbled into the room and fell more than knelt before the king. His uniform was torn and muddy. There was dried blood in his hair and on several cuts on his right arm and legs.

“You might have cleaned him up first,” Saxthor grumbled. He looked down at the man and his attitude softened at the pitiful state he was in. “Get him some water and towels.” Belnik nodded for a servant outside to fetch the items, then leaving, closed the door.

“What news do you bring from my brother-in-law?” Saxthor said. “You may rise.”

The soldier rose slowly, coughing, clearly exhausted. Then Saxthor noticed the man was shaking and hesitant to respond. Standing, he pulled from inside his breast pocket a letter, badly wrinkled and showing some water marks but with the seal intact. It was Grekenbach’s personal seal. The man hesitated, then handed the letter to Saxthor, glanced up at the king and dropped his head to stare at the floor.

The man looks grief stricken, Saxthor thought. Is he in such pain?

“Belnik, help this man out and see to it he gets food and rest,” he shouted to the valet he knew to be just outside the door. “Be sure he’s cared for properly, gets rest, and tend to his wounds yourself, please.”

The man nodded to Saxthor and turned to the door without speaking. He turned back to Saxthor for an instant then hurried outside. When he had left, Saxthor looked at the letter that now made him nervous. He looked at the door thinking of the man’s state, then glanced at Sekkarian, who stared at him, squeezing his sword grip.

“Have a seat, Majesty,” Sekkarian suggested, pushing the desk chair to the king.

Saxthor sat down, looking at the letter, remembering the letters the day before from Memlatec and Socockensmek. A sense of foreboding came over him. He was reluctant to open the letter. Again he looked at the general.

“I’ll leave you alone to read the dispatch. With your permission, I’ll withdraw and remain close by,” Sekkarian said. When Saxthor didn’t respond, the general snapped to attention and saluted. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready to return to the briefing, Majesty.” And with that, he left and closed the door, leaving Saxthor alone.

Saxthor broke the seal with a letter opener. The document seemed almost to resist opening, or was it his fingers that were reluctant to open it. He read the message from his friend and brother-in-law and cried out in pain just once. He slumped in the chair, his head falling on his arm on the desk. No one dared to knock or open the door. Saxthor remained alone in the room until dusk.

Dagmar Attacks Prertsten

Memlatec heard the pounding on his tower’s oak doors from his workroom high above. The night was chilly from the rain. Who would be abroad in such weather? From the window that looked down on the entrance, he saw a tall, thin man in exalted servant’s clothing but soaked and muddy. Again the man banged on the door. Memlatec went to the landing, watching below. Suspicious, Aleman cracked open the portal.

“Who is it, Aleman?”

“Why, it’s Mr. Mendor, the butler from the embassy at Engwaniria.”

“Send him up. No, I’ll come there.” Memlatec floated down the stairs so fast neither man saw him, but instantly the wizard stood in front of the embassy butler who was taking off his dripping coat.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Memlatec. I never thought to see you again.”

“What are you doing here? Where’s the ambassador?” the wizard asked.

“Let the man get his wet clothes off,” Aleman said. “He’ll catch his death out on a night like this.” The housekeeper took the dripping coat over his arm and went to fetch dry clothes for the man.

Memlatec mumbled something and raised his hand, lowering it along the man’s outline head to toe. The man dried as the wizard’s hand passed.

The butler gave Memlatec a jittery smile, sweeping his hair back from his face. “I had to escape from the embassy and Engwaniria after the ambassador disappeared. I guess you heard about Prince Augusteros’ death. They said he’d gone out riding or hunting, though the prince never went hunting. They said he fell from his horse and wouldn’t recover. The ambassador went to see him without delay. The prince was bedridden, paralyzed from the neck down he said. Then we heard the prince had married the Princess Imperial Tottiana. Well, that was a shock, I mean the prince marrying her highness, when she eluded him all these years. We were dumbfounded, hearing of the wedding and no embassy representative attending the ceremony. What foolishness was that?”

“So the prince is married and dead? Come into the study here and take a seat.”

Aleman brought food and drink, placing the tray on the table beside Mendor who sat up, not yet comfortable. “Eat.”

So the man ate and drank with Memlatec and Aleman watching him gobble the food. When he’d had enough, he sat back easier, then sat up again. “Sorry, I’m not used to sitting in the presence of such august persons. A servant would be fired for such at court. They’re very formal there.”

“Yes, well go on about what happened at Engwaniria,” Memlatec said. “Aleman, take the tray.”

Aleman gave Memlatec a nasty look. Memlatec nodded toward the door. After shaking his head and shuffling on his feet, the housekeeper took the tray and left, closing the door behind him.

“The court hadn’t called upon the ambassador when the prince first fell. The ambassador thought that strange. He went to the court demanding to see the emperor, but was refused an audience. The chatra met him as he waited and told him of the accident, the marriage, and that the prince was likely dead by the time of their meeting.”

“The emperor refused an audience to the Neuyokkasinian ambassador with all this going on with a Neuyokkasinian prince?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“So what happened next? Why hasn’t the ambassador reported all this himself?”

“He returned to the embassy, wiping his brow. He was a very nervous man, sweating and pacing the floor. He shared that information with me and told me if anything happened to him I was to get back to Neuyokkasin immediately and unobserved. Next day he returned to the palace, trying to see the prince and the emperor again, but he never came back.”

“After two days, I went to the palace myself to inquire about the ambassador and was told he’d left unexpectedly on a mission to the interior and wouldn’t be back for two months.”

“Well, says I to myself and Emmy the cat, he’d have come back to the embassy for his clothes and traveling things. Something’s amiss, says I. So I told the caretaker at the embassy to look out for Miss Emmy, she’s a great favorite of the ambassador you know, and I lit out for home as his lordship said I should do.”

“So it’s true, the prince is married and dead,” Memlatec mumbled, pacing, trying to make sense of it. “It’s outrageous that they wouldn’t return the prince’s body to Neuyokkasin for burial in the dynastic tombs.”

“Maybe they think it strengthens the marriage claim if the prince is buried in the imperial tombs there. He married the princess imperial and was prince consort and heir to the throne after all.”

“Why would the ambassador have left on a secret mission without even telling the embassy staff? No, you were right to sneak out of Engwaniria and get back here unnoticed. I suspect you would’ve disappeared as well if the court had any idea you would slip out of the empire. Stay here with us. Aleman will fix you up a room here. Stay with us and don’t let anyone know you are here yet.”

“As you say, Your Excellency. I hope you can find the ambassador soon. He’s a fine gentleman.”

“I don’t think we’ll fine him alive,” Memlatec said. The butler’s eyes grew large. “Aleman, prepare a room for the gentleman; he’s exhausted. I must get word to Saxthor. This is very dangerous.

Then he saw a message in the tray on the study desk. He opened the dispatch and learned from Chatra Rakmar that Nonee had died of a miscarriage. He folded the message and dropped it back on the desk. How much more can this young king handle? He wondered.

* * *

Duke Heggolstockin stood high atop the palace tower in the cool morning breeze before the sun rose high. He could just barely see the goblin general, standing before his tent west of the Heggolstockin, reviewing his troop placements. Far down below, he saw his own general moving cohorts around the walls to counter the goblin’s movements. The troops fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot anticipating the onslaught.

Why doesn’t he attack? The duke wondered. What’s he waiting for? Again studying the goblin, he noted the general looked to the northern skies and back over his tent. What’s he looking for?

“Don’t stand out there too long dear,” the duchess said. Denubia came to the doorway. “Come in and have some breakfast. You must keep up your strength.”

The duke smiled to himself and turned to go in. He patted his tummy, not large, he still fancied himself quite handsome though he had to admit he’d aged and his tummy did protrude more than his chest. “You can see I don’t need breakfast.”

Denubia came to him and gently patted his paunch, then hugged him.

“That’s no tummy,” she insisted. “Most of the city merchants sport prosperous tummies much larger than that. Why I fear they must think I’m starving their duke. I’m quite sure they must think we’re destitute. You should raise taxes.”

“All right, dearest. What have you brought me for breakfast?”

“Now you sit down here and eat everything,” she said, carefully tucking a napkin in his ruffled collar to protect his uniform. “You can’t make good decisions in critical moments on an empty stomach.” She proceeded to cut the meat on the plate for him.

“I think I can manage to cut the food, my dear.” The duke took the knife and fork from her and ate a good mouthful of food to please her. She smiled at him like a proud parent to an obliging child.

He heard a commotion outside the balcony door. Denubia looked up, too; then pretending not to have heard it, she looked back at the duke, all but daring him not to get up. The noise outside grew louder. The duke put down the utensils and, still chewing, walked to the balcony. The city was in an uproar. Beyond the gates, the orcs began to cheer and looked to the northeast. The duke did likewise following their stares and saw, to his horror, dozens of griffins, flying as a flock toward Heggolstockin. Someone atop a miniature dragon herded them! Anton snatched the napkin from beneath his chin and rushed out the door.

At his observation room above the western gate, the duke watched the flock of griffins fly in behind the Dreaddrac army. They landed squawking, snapping their beaks and stamping around in the dust. The dwarf dragon settled down and its rider dismounted, going to the tent of the army’s commander.

“What are those things?” the duke asked an aide.

“I’ve no idea, Your Grace,” the man said.

The griffins scratched around all day, sometimes getting too close to the orcs who broke ranks and ran away. Then, to the horror of those inside the city that could see beyond the walls, the enemy tossed carcasses of orcs and men in front of the griffins. The bird-beasts squawked as they erupted into a feeding frenzy. They pecked the flesh from the bones in minutes, leaving a large group of skeletons spread over the hillside. The griffins grew quiet and settled down, tucking their heads under their wings to digest the gruesome meal. Both armies remained silent at the sight.

*

The next morning, a somber army marched out of Heggolstockin’s western gate to face the enemy’s dreaded new threat. The griffins had arisen early and were squawking and stamping about, eager for another meal. The orcs reformed their siege lines around the city. Though the defenders burned the battering ram tower at the south gate, the ones at the western and northern gates rolled forward to begin the battle.

As the sun rose above the eastern forest, casting good light on the western forces, the griffins suddenly rose as a flock and flew around over the city. The sight of them terrified the citizens who slammed shut their window shutters and cowered in their basements.

“Shoot those things!” the duke shouted. The commanders yelled the orders to the archers, but few arrows struck the strange beasts. Chaos began to spread through the defenders when griffins dropped from the swirling flock, diving down on a man on the wall. One snatched him screaming from his fellows. It carried him off to the slopes with several other griffins in screeching pursuit. They tore him to pieces, bit by mouthful bit, in full view of the other combatants.

The city defenders scrambled about, some watching the griffins, others trying to prepare for the ground force attack that moved steadily forward toward the gates and walls. The defenders divided attentions allowed the orcs to get much closer to the walls before the Heggolstockin men fired their arrows. They threw boiling water and flaming oil on the assailants when they reached the walls. Boulders shot from the catapults went every which way when the artillery men failed to focus on their targets, watching too much for griffin attacks.

“We must kill the griffins,” the duke shouted. Terrified archers missed more than they hit. Many of the arrows bounced off the thick blanket of feathers covering the griffins’ chests. More men were snatched off the walls and for a while it looked as if the enemy had complete control of the battle.

The archers finally got the hang of shooting at the winged beasts’ eyes and throats, but by then, the orcs had control of the north and southwestern walls. They began fighting their ways to the towers protecting the gates.

“We’ve not enough men to defend the walls,” the duke said. He turned to his aide. “Have the commanders pull back to the gate towers and hold the gates for as long as they can. I’ll go see to the city. We must try to abandon it in an orderly fashion so as not to lose more of our citizens than must fall to these evil creatures.”

Just then a great boulder from an enemy catapult slammed into the corner of the tower smashing in a gaping hole. Stone chips flew everywhere, one cutting into the duke’s forehead just above his eye. He felt the whole fortification shake and then the warm sensation of blood flowing slowly down his forehead. He wiped it from his eyelid with his cuff. Dust billowed through the room. The aide he’d just talked to lay dead on the floor in front of him.

From the window, the duke heard the faint creaking strain of the gate’s great oak doors beneath him. Another slam sounded. He heard the gate’s beams shatter and saw huge splinters of oak fly in the air.

“The city’s lost,” Duke Heggolstockin mumbled. “You there!” he called to another aide. A young man he hardly knew rushed to him.

“Go to the east gate and tell its commander the enemy has breached the western gate. They’ll smash it open shortly. Tell him to open the gate for the people to flee. They must fight those oppressing the gates long enough for the people to escape. At least some will make it to Girdane.” The stunned young officer hesitated a moment, then nodded, understanding. “Go!” the duke said. The young man sprang to action out the door and down the tower steps.

Arrows slammed into the room, smashing against the walls and ricocheting off different things, splintering into fragments. Rushing to the window’s edge, Anton saw orcs coming over the wall below, beside the tower. They’ll soon cut me off, he thought. He rushed over the rubble on the floor, down the back stairs, and out into the mob in the streets. He made his way to the palace where he looked back over the city. Flames burst from the tower heights behind him.

The battle raged on, with orcs pouring over the walls everywhere, all but unimpeded, an undulating black leather blanket spread over the battlements’ crest streaming to the towers like swarming bees. Screams filled the streets from people rushing without direction, seeking escape where there was none.

The duke looked up and saw a griffin swoop down and rip an officer from his post beside the western gate tower where he’d just been commanding its defense. Sickened, he turned back and entered the palace. Panicked servants and guards rushed through the halls and rooms grabbing supplies for escape.