The Starfall Knight (20 page)

The page stopped at a set of oaken double doors with a pair of guards on either side.  Both were armed with halberds and suited in chainmail with the blue tabard of the city on top.  She knocked twice and the doors opened.

The Councillors and masters sat around an oval table that occupied much of the room.  Devan could have sprawled on top of the polished surface with plenty of room to spare; the table was now decked with plates of sliced meat, hard and soft cheese, toasted bread slathered with butter, decanters of red wine and arrays of sliced fruits.  Several other pages attended the Councillors and guests, plying them with goblets and a selection of the food on serving platters.  Devan thought he caught the scent of virid amongst the tobacco and smoke of the roaring hearth set into one wall.

“Ah, there he is.”  Marshal Jarrell waved Devan inside and the pages closed the door.

“Marshal, Councillors, masters, good morning.”  Devan bowed at the neck.

“Welcome, ranger – or is it officer of the Marshal?” Jarrell said.  He swept a goblet from a serving plate and handed it to Devan.  “No matter!  I’m sure I’m not alone is commending you for your advice regarding these Dwerians.  Sirinese.”

A polite applause filled the air.  Marshal Romaine glanced at Devan but she ignored him and returned to her conversation with Councillor Arlena and a representative from the mining guild, if his gemstone rings were any indication.

Councillor Arnst guided Devan to a leather-backed chair.  “Please tell us, ranger, how you thought of your plan?”

“It was mostly a logical deduction,” Devan said.  “They had taken equipment from the Council stores while their emissaries had stayed in the complex.  It only stood to reason that they would be back for more.”

“But the traps?”

Devan sipped from his goblet, the wine an exquisite red vintage that splayed across his tongue with the fruits of summer.  “They would not have gone through the Council building again.  The only other way was through the old mines.  The original constructions were still functional.”

“And you drove them into a kill-zone.”

“Yes.  I did not anticipate their raids, however.  They drew away the soldiers.  Far more bold than I could have guessed.”

“Anyone’s guess,” Jarrell said, raising his goblet.

“Indeed,” Arnst said.  “And we are victorious.”  He turned and found Romaine.  “Marshal of Rangers – surely Devan has earned an honour of some sort.”

Romaine cleared her throat.  “His contribution to the defense of the city is well noted, Councillor.  Yet, Ranger Devan was merely doing his duty.”

“Tough but fair.”

The doors opened and a page scurried inside, panting and dripping with sweat.  “Marshal Jarrell!”

“Yes, lad?”

“A message from Captain Marzell.”  The boy gestured to the Councillors and other guests in the room.  “In private.”

“Boy, these are the ruling members of the city,” Jarrell said.  “What is the message?”

“Raiding parties, Marshal.  They have been spotted on the western plains and blocking all travel to Saruwa.  And to the south-west as well.”

“Masteney?” Councillor Arnst said.

“Yes, Councillor.”  The page bowed his head.  “The aerock Sirinis was sighted with intention against Masteney.”

“Impossible,” said a representative from the smithing guild.

Councillor Arlena said, “The air streams do not work in such a way.  Sirinis was docked to the east.  How could it manoeuvre along our eastern edge, around Elade, then move along our southern edge, around Verovel, and now threaten Masteney?”

“That Alessa lass did mention a pilot,” Romaine said.  This time, Devan noted, no one laughed.

“Pilot or no,” Jarrell said, “they were no match for our steel and armour.  Councillors, masters – I believe Marshal Romaine and I must take our leave.”

Romaine nodded and set down her goblet.  She marched towards the door as Councillor Arnst said, “Naturally, Marshals.  Please go with our best wishes.”

Jarrell and Romaine left, led away by the page who continued with further messages.  The door closed behind them and Devan’s stomach churned.  He was all alone with upper tiersmen.

“So, Ranger,” Arnst said, “tell me more about these tunnels.”

Alessa adjusted her helm, sweat running down her temples though the battle had yet to begin.  In her chainmail shirt, leather gauntlets and thick trousers, the afternoon sun blazed upon her as if to cook her flesh within her metal skin.  Yet, Alessa was thankful – up and down the line of Sirinese thrashers, most were half-naked.  Although several crates of gear had been smuggled from Centara, there were still hundreds who went without.

Teams winched back the metal arms on the three ballistae while other thrashers prepared the bolts and cords.  Beyond the edge of the aerock, the clouds thinned and one of Centara’s allies appeared.  Masteney, if Alessa’s memory served.  Shouts and warcries sounded from the Sirinese.

Tarius, Dene and Nasius marched throughout the gathered forces, offering blunt encouragement.  Unlike their warriors, they were decked in regular Sirinese gear, a mish-mash of scavenged armour from years of raids.  Tarius wore a burnished breastplate with embossed spiked vines that curled around each side.  Leather armour encased Dene, some of it rotting away from her shoulders and legs, and a poniard hung from her belt.  Nasius walked amongst his followers in a rusted brigandine coat, more cloth than metal.  His girth would have made the scene comical if it weren’t for the ardent support of his thrashers.

“Alessa,” Tarius said, “have you used that thing in anger, yet?”

“I know it well enough.”  Alessa tapped her shortsword, remembering how the Centaran broadsword weighed in her hands.

“Good.  Keep our forces well.  Worry not about the Serpens, Ceres and others.”

“I will, Imperator.”

Tarius moved onwards.

The aerock shuddered and Masteney’s forest-lined edge approached at speed.  Vantanis had been in the cave since morning, piloting Sirinis to another battle.  Alessa wondered how her father knew of the distances and velocities involved.  As the gap between the aerocks closed, Alessa’s curiosity waned and the anticipation of battle rose.

“Loose!”

The ballistae cracked and the bolts soared through the air, cords rippling behind.  The opposite ends of each rope were anchored to exposed bedrock, much like the permanent way-stations on Centara.

The bolts slammed into Masteney, dirt spraying into the air.  They would not hold for long – most aborted raids were due to vigilance as even a child could cut the ropes.  But few believed that aerocks could be manoeuvred like pebbles on a gammon board.  Like the Centarans were about to discover, such doubts led only to death.

Sirinis veered towards Masteney as the ballistae teams – with Vantanis’ aid – hauled on the ropes.  One of the bolts sprang from the earth and the thrashers reeled it in.  Before they could launch it again, the aerocks crashed together and the ground quaked.

“Forward!”  Tarius’ voice boomed and the Sirinese charged.

The writhing mass of bodies swarmed to the edge of the aerock and Alessa was carried along, harried with every stride.  Boots thundered on the dirt and warcries filled the air.  The edge of Sirinis loomed and the first of the thrashers hurled themselves over.  Alessa winced, waiting for the screams of an endless fall.

Thrashers appeared ahead, charging onwards through the forest on Masteney.  Alessa nodded to herself, mustering her courage.  The edge of the aerock approached and it soon became apparent that the two landmasses were jammed together, at least for the moment.  Masteney lay only a short distance below, even at the highest point. 

Scores of Sirinese leaped down, dirt pouring over the edge and soon forming a makeshift path.  Alessa jumped and landed amongst waist-high grass.  She rolled with the impact, her chain shirt biting into her shoulders and arms.  But she was uninjured.  The flow of the invasion continued and she continued onwards through the woodlands.

“Alessa!”  Dene appeared, keeping pace with Alessa even as more eager thrashers bullied through the brush and branches.

“What is it, Dene?”

“Tarius did not join the assault.”

“No.”  Alessa slowed, her legs burning with fatigue.  “We should not be seen speaking to one another.”

“If Tarius is not here, then who leads his thrashers?”

“I do.”

“Then, we just two leaders, talking of tactics, ya?”

“Fine.”  Alessa still cast a quick glance around but most of the force ignored them.

“Leonus around?”

“He is.”

“In the chaos of a battle, who knows what would happen?”

Alessa suppressed a chuckle.  “Do you want him dead?  Just say so.”

“We want him dead.”

“It won’t help any,” Alessa said.  “Might just make Tarius stronger, angrier.”

“That it might.  But I thought ya wouldn’t mind Leonus tossed over the edge.”

“Sure, but it seems to me that in the heat of battle, you and Nasius might get your own thrashers to do the deed.”

Dene grunted and swatted at a low branch.  “Ya getting nerves, girl?  Or are ya getting too big a head?”

“If you and Nasius spent half as much time complaining, maybe you’d have dealt with Tarius already.”

“That so?”  Dene put a hand on the hilt of her poniard.  “Maybe I’ll deal with ya first, then Leonus next.”

Alessa clenched her fist.  Before she could swing, Dene sprang away and laughed.

“Relax, girl.  Ya still our best chance at getting to Tarius.”  Dene disappeared into the trees.

Alessa took a deep breath and plodded on.  Her armour dragged on her shoulders, as if it had multiplied in weight.  Masteney, however, was a fraction of the size of Centara so the village couldn’t be much farther.

The forest thinned and the undergrowth gave way to grass and weeds.  As Alessa caught up with the bulk of the invasion force, the Tarians tagged along and followed in her wake.  The Serpens and Ceres forces formed similar segments and for a moment, Alessa believed that they could face Centara city itself.

At the crest of the next hillock, the village of Masteney drew into sight, nestled against terraced foothills that dominated the rest of the aerock.  A wooden palisade circled the settlement but even at a distance, the gaps in the wall were obvious.  Shouts and raucous boasts rose from the Sirinese.

Grunos and Leonus sidled up to Alessa.  “Your orders?”

The larger thrasher had taken news of his brother’s death with calm.  Although Brunos and Grunos had never seemed close, Alessa had still expected a stronger reaction, any reaction.  Perhaps Grunos had kept in mind the simple fact that life on Sirinis could be extinguished at any moment, more so during raids.

“Nasius to circle to the north,” Alessa said.  “I want fifty lookouts posted against Centara and any movement reported immediately.  The remaining forces under Nasius are to attack.  Grunos, give half of our Tarians to Dene’s thrashers to attack from the east.  The rest are under my command and will remain here.”

“Who will command the offshoots?”

“Whoever you think best.”

“Elina, then.”

Alessa nodded, thankful for the helm that hid her scrunched eyebrows.  “As you will.”

“You trust Nasius and Dene to charge when we do?” Leonus asked.

“Yes,” Alessa said.  “The village will have a garrison.”  Alessa raised her voice so that the entire host could hear her words.  “The man or woman to bring me the captain’s head will earn double rations for the next three days.”

The promise of a bounty would keep most of the thrashers in line, even though the spoils of the rest of the village would entertain them to no end.  As the forces separated, Alessa felt somewhat vindicated as she heard snatches of boasts and challenges about the garrison captain.

The Sirinese snaked across Masteney in a black line.  The village’s bell pealed across the foothills.

“They know we’re here,” Leonus said.

“They’re not blind,” Alessa said.  “We will advance in a scattered formation.  But the sooner we breach the walls, the less we have to worry about arrows.”

Leonus eyed her from head to toe.  He grunted, wandered off.  Grunos said nothing and fingered the edge of his Centaran sword.

Nasius’ forces had barely reached the farmlands to the north when the mass of thrashers swivelled as one and swarmed towards the village.  Dene’s warriors followed suit from the east.

Alessa raised her arms in the air and shouted, “Take them!”

Boots rumbling across the ground, the thrashers charged towards the village.  Alessa grimaced as she struggled to keep up with the long strides of her warriors.  Small figures scurried along the palisade and arrows flitted across the sky, slamming into bodies and felling the attackers with every volley.  Too few defenders, Alessa realised, and they would reach the gaps in the wall with most of their numbers intact.

Alessa’s pace slowed as the thrashers overtook her.  The first of the Sirinese squeezed into the village and metal rang out against metal.  The drizzle of arrows ceased completely.  The Sirinese banked against the palisade, breaching through the cracks or climbing over the top in man-made pyramids.  The timber groaned against the compressed weight of the thrashers.  Alessa drew her sword.

The southern gates creaked open and slaughter met Alessa’s gaze.  A handful of Centaran soldiers lay in a heap across the main road, stripped of their armour and hacked to pieces of dogmeat.  Red tabards hung from a signpost.  Screams sounded from the cottages and merchant stores lining the street.  Alessa knew exactly what was happening to the women and girls who had been captured.

Shouts echoed to Alessa’s left and she brought up her sword.  A pair of Centarans emerged from a cobbler’s stall and charged at her.  All thoughts and analysis of Alessa’s accumulated knowledge about combat flew out of her mind.

She leaped to one side, parrying the closest blade with her own.  Alessa carried through the momentum and struck the soldier’s back.  Her shortsword glanced off the moving armoured target, barely tearing the soldier’s tabard.  Alessa took up a guarded stance as the Centarans separated wordlessly.