William King: The Queen's assassin

Asea paused in her chanting for a moment and poured herself a goblet of some golden fluid. She looked weary, but the potion revitalized her, and she gave her attention back to the battlefield, scanning it for more magical threats. Beneath them on the plain surrounding the city, horns sounded and drums answered them.

Catapults lobbed crystal spheres over the city walls. The translucent balls shattered on impact. Some of them contained alchemical fire. Others sent clouds of poisonous gas spreading through the streets. Inside the walls of the nearest part of Halim, it must seem very much like hell, Rik thought.

Down below the lads would be readying their siege ladders, and checking their weapons. Sergeant Hef, Weasel and the Barbarian would all be getting ready to follow Lieutenant Sardec into the fray.

He wondered what they were thinking at this moment.

Lieutenant Sardec watched the human soldiers of the First Company of the Seventh Talorean Foot Regiment rally round their flag and prepare for battle. They were easy enough to spot. All of his men wore the green tunic of the light infantry company, the so-called Foragers. Today all of them had thick scarlet sashes looped around their chests too. Green was the colour of the enemy militia, and it would not do to be mistaken for them.

The tall Terrarch officer found the farewells oddly moving. Men embraced their wives and children, and shouldered their packs and their rifles. Some of the camp followers wept and wailed, others maintained a stoic silence. His own paramour, the human woman Rena, met his eyes and gave him a wave. He gave her an icy nod in return and made a small gesture with the steel hook that replaced his sword hand. He would have liked to have done more but such was not the way things were between Terrarch officer and human woman. The Elder Race needed to maintain their dignity at all times, if they were to be taken seriously as leaders, and it would not do to have his men witness an undignified farewell between him and his lover.

What did it matter? Why should he care about dignity and position now? In a few minutes, he might be dead. But it did matter to him, so he restrained himself and gave his attention back to the conflict.

It was hard to tell what was going on. The line infantry had already been dispatched into the gaps in Halim's walls. He could hear the rattle of musket fire and the shouts and screams of combat. This was it, he thought, the final assault, the end of nearly four weeks of manoeuvring outside the Kharadrean capital. First the bastions surrounding the city had been taken, then the siege equipment had been rolled up onto the nearby hills and the levelling of the city walls had begun.

So far it had seemed almost too easy. There had been no interference from the Dark Empire. No massive eastern army had emerged to challenge the siege. It looked like the Talorean plan to have three armies sweep across the border, in different locations north to south, and encircle the capital had been successful.

Not entirely, he reminded himself. So far there was no sign of the Army of the North. It had not made the rendezvous, had been bogged down fighting guerrillas en route. Fortunately it looked like the combined forces of Lord Elakar's Army of the East and Lord Azaar's Army of the South would be strong enough to take their objective. By the end of this first campaigning season the Kharadrean capital would be in Talorean hands. It was a stunning victory for his nation.

Where were the Sardeans, he wondered? Why had they not shown their hand? Everyone had expected the armies of the Dark Empress to respond with full force but so far there had been nothing but vague reports of regiments moving in the very far east of Kharadrea. Had the Talorean strike been so unexpected? Had they achieved total surprise over their foes? Or had their enemies expected the Western armies to be delayed by other things.

That seemed possible. The Taloreans had been very lucky. The rising in the hills by the Prophet Zarahel and his followers could have pinned down Azaar's army for months had it not been successfully quelled. Lord Ilmarec could have held them forever at the Serpent Tower had he not been overcome in such a spectacular way by Asea's protege, the half-breed soldier, Rik.

Sardec quashed a flash of jealousy. The half-breed's destruction of the Serpent Tower and his rescue of Kathea, the Talorean-supported candidate for the Kharadrean throne, from the clutches of her treacherous uncle had saved the campaign in the South from certain defeat. It had also completely overshadowed his own victory over Lord Esteril. It was the talk of the entire army and had turned the half-breed from an outcast into something like a hero. There was even talk of Queen Arielle herself recognising him for his services.

Sardec told himself that any such recognition was well deserved. Rik had saved them all from certain destruction at the hands of the mad sorcerer and his potent alien weaponry. The youth had certainly come a long way in a very short time. It did not seem all that long ago that Sardec had ordered him whipped for insubordination. Now he was forced to treat him as an equal when they met in Lord Azaar's tent.

Sardec shrugged. Such matters were of little moment now. His business was to get through the next few hours and see that as many of his men survived as possible. Rena thought the shrug was meant for her, and turned her gaze away. A small sliver of misery entered Sardec's heart, but he let no sign of it show on his face. He would make it up to her, somehow, some way — if he survived today.

A horn sounded. Troops retreated through the gap in the wall. It looked like the Talorean infantry might have been thrown back but it was hard to tell. Drums beat around him. That was the signal for his own lads to enter the fray. The killing time was upon them. He strode over to tiny monkey-faced Sergeant Hef.

"It's time to move out," he said.

"Yes, sir," said the Sergeant. He gave the signal to the men around him. They raised their weapons and began to head towards the walls. Nobody looked particularly keen, but that was only to be expected. Sieges were the roughest sort of warfare known to man or Terrarch. There was only one compensation and now seemed the right time to mention it.

"Come on, lads," said Sardec. "Time to get our share of the loot!"

The Foragers cheered. How many of them would be live to spend their ill-gotten gains, Sardec wondered.

Rik watched the lines of soldiers advance into the gaps in the walls. Oily smoke obscured the clear early autumn sky. More dragons approached. At this distance it was not possible to tell to which side they belonged. Since they were coming from the city and heading directly for this hill, it seemed likely they were the enemy. There were only three of them and they seemed quite small, although that was a relative term when it came to such creatures. All of the approaching monsters were capable of taking a man down at a gulp.

"It's fair to say that our concealment spells have been penetrated," said Asea. She has the sorcerer's trick of making her voice carry without seeming to speak any louder than in conversation. She did not sound particularly bothered for a woman who might soon come under attack by dragons. He envied her that calm and the two thousand years she had taken to develop it.

The position of the mages had been hidden by powerful weaves of illusion. Perhaps the spell had failed or perhaps someone on the walls over there had simply deduced their location. In either case the effects would be the same. They could expect to come under concentrated attack from now on.

Rik glanced at the earthworks surrounding their position. Skywatchers, units of specially trained marksmen set up for exactly this purpose, stared at the oncoming dragons, and readied their long rifles. Behind them Karl Mandrake, the squat and massive Wyrm Hunter, hefted one of his special weapons, a rifle that looked more like a small cannon. More such stood ready in a rack close at hand. Next to them was a two handed broadsword smeared with dreadful looking poison. Karl noted Rik's interest. A broad grin split his ugly, pockmarked face.