East of Heldorn, Cormar, 6th August
1083
After attempts to ride at speed had resulted in a couple of nasty falls, the
three accepted that a walk was the fastest pace they could manage heading back.
A couple of hours saw them back in Silverweave's camp, which was already stirring
ready to resume the flight eastwards.
As word spread of the time they'd been bought for their escape, morale improved
visibly. Men's heads went up, and the force that formed up and marched out that
morning bore far more resemblance to a disciplined army than a defeated rabble.
The new additions from the half-qhal company were integrating themselves, and
along with the inner elite of Silverweave's men and the newly-recruited half-bloods
were operating as the unit's cadre.
Silverweave
now unfolded some more of his plans for their escape. His vessels had been left
moored in the ruins of Palethon, once a city of Cormar, now wave-lapped
ruins disappearing under the ever-rising sea. Ten ships, twenty-five warriors,
and a hundred sailors. Although the city was lost forever, the road to Palethon,
Qhal-made and nearly indestructible by mere weather, still ran straight there
from Heldorn, and it was this that Silverweave meant to travel along. Six days'
march should see them safely there.
Palethon Road, Eastern Cormar, 8th
August 1083
Two days later, near noon, as the army marched past a forested ridge to their
south, Mehmet, alert for signs of danger, spotted a now-familiar flash of purple
among the trees. Instantly, he called Percinious and Zamyr's attention to it,
and the big general sent two mounted scouts up onto the ridge to investigate.
After an hour, one returned.
"Kerran's gone, Lord," he reported. "He stopped moving, I went
to find him, and when I got there he was already dead." Nutbolter nodded
grimly. Nevertheless, there was no further sign of the Archen after that.
Palethon Road, Eastern Cormar, 9th
August 1083
The next day, Silverweave's advance scouts came back to report having captured
two Cormarans. Mehmet and Percinious looked at each other in alarm, sharing
a foreboding. Sure enough, when the vanguard reached the location of their capture,
one of the two battered-looking men in Cormaran armour was familiar; a member
of Skywhite's company named Baldark. Giving the reasonable explanation
that they spoke the same language, Mehmet and Percinious managed to take over
the prisoners' interrogation.
Despite heavy intimidation, the prisoners were at first defiant, scorning Mehmet
and Nutbolter as traitors, but eventually they broke and revealed that - as
feared - Bloodwind's Company had got behind Silverweave and now had control
of Palethon. The Marmarkan boats were pinned in the harbour somehow, and Baldark
and Sorien had been sent out to summon reinforcements. Skywhite was dead, but
Rurik Bloodwind was still in command.
With heavy hearts, Mehmet and Percinious realized that all their plans would
go for naught if these two were allowed to live. Two swift strokes and it was
done. "They were only human," said Percinious, but it still left a
nasty taste in their mouths.
Conferring with Silverweave, they explained the situation and evolved a plan.
Posing as prisoners, they would be taken to Palethon, and there try to persuade
Bloodwind to abandon a futile stand. Despite everything, despite having moved
on and formed more complex alliances than they could have dreamed of six months
ago, they still regarded Bloodwind as a friend and wanted to save him if they
could.
Palethon, East coast of Cormar,
10th August 1083
Leaving the bulk of Silverweave's force half a day out from the ruins, Percinious
and Mehmet, helmetless and bound, approached the ruins escorted by ten Marmarkans,
one of whom was was the half-qhal Syrkist, in nominal command. As they descended
the sloping road to the city, the scene below opened up in front of them.
Palethon had occupied a valley, narrow at the west and widening to the east.
Now, the sad skeleton of walls jutted from the sea in a squarish bay about a
mile across. Moored in this bay, among the walls, were eight - not ten - squat,
solid dromonds. A bivouac camp occupied the place where the road met the first
few buildings, the last ones above the waterline, with around a hundred Cormaran
soldiers in evidence. The reason for the continued presence of the boats was
explained by what was atop the valley sides. Overlooking the bay were four freshly
constructed ballistæ, with crews and guards to protect them.
A bowshot
from the camp, they were met by a group of Cormarans, carrying tokens of parlay.
Mehmet recognized Rurik Bloodwind, as well as Ingolf and Halldor. As he came
up to them, Mehmet greeted him ruefully - though the rue was not that of a prisoner,
but for the fate of the man he still respected and liked..
They spoke for a while, Mehmet describing the battle at Heldorn in such a way
as to exaggerate the powers Silverweave could wield, hoping to convince Bloodwind
to abandon the futile defence of Palethon. The discovery that there were no
reinforcements coming, and that his messengers had failed, was a blow to the
commander. "There are two hundred of them," said Mehmet almost pleadingly,
"and their fire from the sky destroyed the palace. You can't stop
them." Rurik Bloodwind squared his shoulders. "They will not have
these boats," he said with quiet determination.
Syrkist was about to turn away, when Bloodwind spoke again. "You, Marmarkan,"
he snapped in fluent Dorlan. "We have prisoners; will you exchange these
two for four of yours?" Mehmet felt a pang of atypical remorse; here he
was masterminding Bloodwind's downfall and the destruction of his Company, and
the man was caring for him as if he were one of his own - trying to 'rescue
him from captivity'. Syrkist looked millimetrically at Mehmet, who nodded equally
fractionally; perhaps from within the Cormaran camp he could do something
to avert the onrushing disaster. Mehmet and Percinious were unroped and stood
up. Turning his back on Bloodwind, he looked at Syrkist and snarled, "Don't
we get our swords back?" Syrkist backhanded him to the ground; if it was
an attempt to be convincing it worked all right, because he didn't pull the
blow at all. Half-stunned, Mehmet lay still as his equipment was pulled from
the 'pack-horse' and dumped ungently on top of him. Then Syrkist took his four
Marmarkans and marched away.
Mehmet and Percinious were surrounded by old friends, Ingolf, Shadpon, Halldor
and Kelda especially were glad to see them again. The pair swallowed their secret
pain and tried to respond in kind. Mehmet cornered Rurik Bloodwind.
"There's actually more than three hundred of them," he confessed.
Rurik looked down for a moment. "Maybe you're right," he said, and
Mehmet's heart leaped. "Maybe we can't hold." Mehmet followed
this up eagerly. "Too many good men have died already," he 'agreed',
"isn't it better that they just leave?" Rurik glanced at him strangely.
"Oh, they're not going," he said firmly.
"We march in the morning, and we sink the boats before we go."
Mehmet's heart sank again. That he couldn't allow; Silverweave and the Company
of Qhal both needed those boats. Now what?
Palethon, East coast of Cormar,
11th August 1083
Early the next morning, before sun-up, Mehmet suddenly started awake. For a
long moment, he lay there, unsure why; there were no sounds, no sights that
should have disturbed him. He woke Percinious. Then they noticed the shimmer.
Discernable only to the arcane senses of one with magical training, there was
a background hum of power being worked somewhere. Slowly - oh so slowly - it
built and built. Very few others were aware of it at all; Shadpon the magic
groupie was one, though even he didn't really seem to know what it was he was
feeling; but the half-qhal were like cats on hot tin rooves; unable to sleep
as the magic built and built.
Hours passed towards dawn with no relief. Unable to sleep, the two looked out
over the ruins to see the dawn. With a golden flash, the sun lifted from the
sea and the first fingers of light reached out over the land; and all hell broke
loose.
A dazzling silver spear of unbearably bright light smote down from the sky,
striking squarely atop the two ballistæ on the northern headland. A shattering
detonation split the air, blotting out all thought for a long moment.
Once their eyes cleared, Mehmet and Percinious could see what had happened,
and revised their idea of what Silverweave's secret weapon could do. They had
expected to see death and destruction, but what was actually there was half
of that. The ballistæ were gone, reduced to scattered pieces of twisted
wood, as were the weapons and equipment of the men around them; but those men
were alive and appeared unharmed, if rather stunned. It seemed that the weapon,
whatever it was, destroyed the inanimate and left untouched the living.
Down in the bay, anchor ropes had been cut, and sails were lifting, sweeps
being run out. In the camp, men were arming and gathering to resist the attack
that must be coming. Before anyone could really react, however, the next act
was played out in the bay.
The two ballistæ on the southern headland fired
together. The results were stunning. Instead of mundane wood-and-metal bolts,
each discharged a blazing lance of flame that rocketed across the bay to smash
completely through one of the Marmarkan ships. Instantly ablaze, both striken
vessels folded up and began to sink, as the rest pulled frantically for the
open sea and the ballista crews raced to reload.
If the boats were to be saved, something had to be done. Mehmet and Percinious
slipped away from the gathering battle line, to where the prisoners taken when
Bloodwind had captured Palethon were shut up in one of the more intact buildings.
Freeing them, they directed them up the headland to try and disable the ballistæ
and buy the ships time to escape.
Then Zamyr Silverweave led his force over the ridge and down into Palethon,
the flickering light from the burning ships and the early rays of the dawn sun
painting their weapons and armour like fire. With a roar and the rolling boom
of shieldwalls meeting, battle was joined.
It was instantly obvious to Mehmet and Percinious that Bloodwind's Company
was doomed. Even alone, the hundred or so warriors attacking them head-on would
have crushed them; but two more shield-walls were closing on them from either
side like jaws, and in moments they would be flanked and then surrounded.
Above, the released Marmarkan prisoners were having problems trying to destroy
the ballistæ. Unarmed, they were no match for the Cormaran warriors set
to guard the engines. Moving closer, Mehmet and Percinious used Archen bow and
crossbow to even the odds, shooting down four of the Cormarans, enough for the
prisoners to overwhelm the rest and disable the siege weapons. Below in the
bay, the ships lifted their sails into the morning and escaped to the clear
water beyond.
Below, Bloodwind's Company fought, and strove, and died, each in their own
way...
*
... Ingolf barked a string of orders at three of Skywhite's men,
driving them back into place in the shield-wall. Not a patch on ours,
the veteran second in command thought scornfully, turning back to face the oncoming
foe again. It seemed to take far too long; getting past it, old man,
he thought. A heavy blow to the chest caught him by surprise, and it was a long
moment before he realized he was sitting on the ground, staring stupidly at
the shaft of an arrow jutting from his chest. Something stuck in my throat,
he thought dazedly, can't quite breathe... He coughed to clear it, and
blinked in tired amazement at the gout of crimson that splashed from his mouth
and down his armour. Hell to clean off, he thought, as everything faded
away ...
*
... Cormac the Healer looked up from the corpse draped over his knees.
Wyrara had never been able to speak, but now he'd never get the chance to try
and find out why; her pretty face stared blankly up at the dawn sky. He'd poured
all the Healing he could into her, but it wasn't enough. Around him,
Marmarkans were pouring through the Company's shieldwall, stabbing and slashing
at will. The battle was lost - it had been lost before a blow was struck, and
he couldn't understand why Bloodwind had been stupid enough to fight it. Grabbing
up his healer's bag, he slipped away to the water's edge, slid into the sea,
unbuckled his armour and let it sink from sight, and swam out across the bay
towards the northern headland ...
*
... Halldor growled deep in his throat, rolled his wrists, and ably
deflected his opponent's smaller sword off to the side. Continuing the motion
in one smooth sweep, he brought his heavy hand-and-a-half sword around and felt
the shock of impact as it bit into his foe. Blood spurted as the man went down.
With a flick he brought the weapon back to the guard, but his eyebrows contracted
in a frown when he realized that he now faced three spearmen, plus a fourth
just finishing off Corven from Skywhite's and preparing to try and get round
behind him. This looks bad! he thought, If old Rurik's going to do
something clever to get us out of this he'd better hurry up... The three
in front rushed him at once. He parried the first spear-thrust and killed the
wielder on the riposte, blocked the second and took a slash across his arm for
his trouble, and danced sideways away from the third more by luck than judgement.
Blood was running onto his hands from the arm wound as he thought frantically,
Where's that other bastard gone? I can't see where he's - A spear tore
into his side, hurting more than anything he'd ever suffered before, and his
knees sagged. Whirling, he slashed wildly, but couldn't see if he'd hit anything
or not. He really had better hurry up... he thought grimly, as
a second spearhead lanced into his chest. His bloodied fingers slipped off his
hilt and his sword disappeared, and then the ground came up and slapped him
hard in the face...
*
... the wall was quite narrow, but Nikolos was a small man, and with
an effort he managed to get his body completely out of sight among the rubble
at the top. As a scout for Bloodwind's company, he'd always tried to avoid battle
where he could. Now, with the company clearly finished, it was time to look
after Number One. He'd stay up here until everyone was gone or looking the other
way, and then he'd slip away. A little petty thievery to get himself some supplies,
and he'd be away into the countryside. Military service had been bearable while
it was policing or riding about scouting for the swelled-head warriors; but
he wasn't dying in a massacre for anyone. Those damned half-breeds! This had
to be their fault, somehow...
*
... Shadpon the spellcaster dodged around a crumbling wall, his sword
dragging behind him, useless with only one arm working. I really should have
learned to Heal, he thought futilely. I don't want to die! There must
be something I can do, some Khylar magick that can save me! Frantically
he sorted through all the magic lore he'd scraped together in a short lifetime's
obssession, hunting for something that could help. He was still trying to remember
a spell for teleportation he'd once read when a Marmarkan vaulted the wall and
slashed his throat out with one sword stroke...
*
... Exhausted, Tirfora Bearbane staggered back to his feet, throwing
off the corpse of the Marmarkan he'd just killed. Two more lay at his feet,
and another was poised ready to engage. At that moment, a third charged in from
the side, sword raised. Bearbane parried desperately, but the man's sword slashed
his weapon arm, and his spear fell to the ground. A spear stabbed into his belly,
and he fell. The Marmarkan moved in, kicking his weapons away, and swung a blow
with his pommel at Bearbane's head. Blackness closed in, along with a peculiar
relief; if he was a prisoner, he would probably survive...
*
... Whirling, Keldaledia slashed with her Fireblade, killing
her target instantly. Aldor gave her a grateful look, before turning to tackle
someone else. He, Kelda, Garoth and Damhan the Spear had been cut off and driven
to the side as the shield-wall broke. Now they were surrounded, back-to-back,
on a slight rise at the very water's edge. The nature of the ground reduced
the number that could come at them at one time, and they could probably hold
out here almost indefinitely. Unless we get tired, thought Kelda sourly,
felling another Marmarkan, and another. Their screams as the Fireblade
roasted its's way through their insides were like music to the homely-faced
scout. Her immediate attackers gone, there was a brief moment of respite, and
she drew herself up and glanced around the battlefield. Things looked bad. Almost
all the fighting was over, and she couldn't see a single Cormaran upright. From
her high vantage point, she could see Nikolos the scout hiding atop his wall.
Weasel, she thought, but there was no heat in it; the battle was lost
and she hoped he made it out of there. Suddenly her attention was drawn back
to the present; Garoth stumbled and fell, four Multimissiled arrows sticking
out of his chest, and Aldor's gaze went blank as a Demoralize struck
him. Kelda ripped off a quick Dispel Magic and watched in satisfaction
as he recovered and raised his sword again, but the moment of distraction had
been too much. An arrow smacked into her right thigh, bringing her down to her
knees, and for a fraction of an instant she glimpsed another heading towards
her at head height; then - ....
