David Coe - Shapers of Darkness

Let it be Brall . But as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. Even if his friend and the Orvinti army had already begun their march they would have to cross two rivers to reach Dantrielle, and that would slow them considerably. Perhaps the duke of Tounstrel had come, or the duke of Noltierre. Most likely, it was the regent with the Solkaran army.

“Ean guard you, my lord,” the prelate said. “And may Orlagh guide your blade.”

Tebeo turned and hurried toward the tower stairs. “A strange blessing coming from a man of the cloisters,” he said over his shoulder.

“At times like these, I believe it best to have as many gods and goddesses on one’s side as possible.”

An instant later Tebeo was in the tower, taking its stairs two at a time. Once on the wall, he hurried around to where Evanthya and Bausef stood, their eyes fixed on the lands to the north.

Following the line of their gazes, he felt his stomach heave. A grand army was approaching from the northeast, marching under two flags: the yellow and red banner of Aneira, and the red, gold, and black of Solkara. Glancing quickly overhead, the duke saw that Bausef had already managed to have Aneiran banners raised above all eight towers.

As the pealing of the bells continued to reverberate through the castle, ward fires were lit atop the towers, and archers emerged from the stairways, spreading out along the walls as if they had repelled sieges a thousand times before.

“Your men are well prepared, armsmaster.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

The three of them fell silent, all of them marking the army’s progress toward the walls of Dantrielle. It seemed a far larger force than Tebeo had expected, and the duke had to remind himself that Numar would have brought laborers to build his siege engines. Still, in order to make the journey, all of them would have to be able-bodied. And once their axes were done cutting trees, they could be used as weapons.

“I would have thought that they would burn the villages in your countryside,” Evanthya said. “But I see no smoke.”

“The regent has declared the duke a traitor,” Bausef answered before Tebeo could say anything. “He wishes to win the hearts and minds of Dantrielle’s subjects. He’ll destroy the city and fortress if he can, but he’ll do nothing to anger those outside our walls. Unless of course they join the fight on our behalf.”

Tebeo heard a voice cry out, and looking at the Solkarans once more, he saw one of the few mounted men raise a hand. Numar. The army halted well beyond the range of Dantrielle’s bowmen. A moment later, far sooner than the duke would have thought possible, he heard the faint ringing of steel on wood as they began their assault on the Great Forest.

“It will take them some time to build their engines.” The armsmaster’s voice was calm, as if he were speaking of the plantings. “Days perhaps, and even when they’re ready to start, I’d imagine they’ll wait until darkness falls. I don’t expect the siege to begin in earnest until tomorrow night, or perhaps the night after that. Tonight, I would expect them to test the defenses of the city walls. That’s where our men should be for now.”

Tebeo just stared at the regent’s army, once again regretting that he hadn’t taken more time in his youth to study tactics. “Can you tell if the archminister is with them, First Minister?”

“No, my lord, I can’t.”

“I would expect that he is. Do you know what powers he possesses?”

“Not with any certainty, my lord. I remember hearing once that he was a shaper and that he also had the magic of mists and winds. But this was little more than rumor. Qirsi rarely reveal what powers they possess, and the archminister and I have never been close.”

He knew that she was understating the case quite a bit. As he understood it, the two disliked and distrusted each other.

“We should assume that he has both powers, my lord,” said the master of arms. “One shaper against so many bowmen shouldn’t be too great a problem, but his mists will make it more difficult for us.”

“I’ve mists and winds as well,” Evanthya said. “Perhaps I can raise a gale against his mist.”

Tebeo nodded, but said nothing. Already several trees had fallen and other laborers were scrambling over them, cutting away the branches and notching the wood so that the trunks could be used as rams, or in the building of a snare.

“Shall I move some of the men to the city walls, my lord?”

“Yes, Bausef. Make certain they understand, however, that they’re not to loose any arrows until they’ve been fired upon.”

“My lord?”

“We’re not traitors, armsmaster. The regent brings this war to us, and I will not have Dantrielle spilling the first blood.”

“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but that’s madness. This is a siege. If we wait to loose our arrows until the Solkarans have drawn first blood, our archers will be of no use to us. We must fire first. It’s our only hope of keeping the regent’s soldiers from our gates and our walls.”

He was right, of course. Tebeo could see the logic of his point. Yet, still the duke hesitated. “This war is their doing, not ours. The history of this siege should reflect that.”

Even as he spoke the words, though, he remembered an old warrior’s adage. “Orlagh chooses the hand that will write each battle’s tale,” it was said. “History is but another spoil of war.”

Evanthya gazed at the duke, her expression pained. “I have to agree with Bausef, my lord.”

The bells had stopped ringing, and the only sounds Tebeo could hear were made by the banners rising and falling overhead, and the Solkaran axes ravaging his forest.

“My lord?”

Before he could say anything, the bells began to ring again, beginning this time at the eastern end of the city. Tebeo ran along the wall, to the other side of the castle, followed closely by Evanthya and the swordsman. He hadn’t yet reached the far tower when he heard a cheer go up from Numar’s men. When he gained the tower, he scanned the woods, searching for some sign of what the enemy had seen.

“There!” Evanthya cried, pointing to a gap in the forest, due east of the castle.

Tebeo saw it as well. A second army was approaching the city, this one marching under a green and white banner. Rassor.

It wasn’t as large a force as Numar’s, but then again, it didn’t have to be.

“The siege might begin this night after all,” Evanthya muttered.

Bausef faced him, looking far more somber than he had a few moments before. “Your orders, my lord?”

Where was Brall? Where were Ansis and Vistaan and Bertin the Younger?

“See to the city walls, armsmaster,” Tebeo said, his mouth so dry he could barely speak. “Tell your men to loose their arrows at the enemy’s first approach.”

Yserne, Sanbira

A fierce rain pelted Yserne, soaking the farms that dotted the countryside, slaking the thirst of young crops. Vast pools of rainwater covered the inner ward of the queen’s castle, and beyond the walls of the fortress, the surface of Lake Yserne churned as if some fire from Bian’s realm heated its waters.

Such storms weren’t uncommon in Sanbira during Elined’s Turn. As a child, Diani, duchess of Curlinte, had dreaded the moon of the goddess; just the mention of Elined’s name called to mind dreary days trapped within the walls of her mother’s castle, staring out at the warm rains and the brilliant lightning that arced across the sky on the coast near Curlinte. “Growing rains bring a good harvest,” her mother used to say, when Diani complained to her of horseback rides put off by another storm. “It’s the growing sun that I fear.”