Fort Battleaxe - Part 2
Colonel Vento was now the city’s commanding officer since, despite all their precautions, a clay man had managed to enter the tower and murder General Malchor. It had then come after the Colonel in the General’s guise, but fortunately his young aide had arrived at exactly the right moment, just as it was about to plunge a dagger into his back.
“I took the liberty of ordering the attack for high noon,” said the old priest after a Senn guard had confirmed his identity. “When we get the most benefit from the yellow sun.”
Vento nodded. “Even that may be waiting too long. I’m finding it hard to keep a clear head, and I’ve always considered myself rather strong willed. Just how bad is it out there?”
“Bad. I never hoped to see good men put under that kind of pressure. You know how I normally feel about breakdowns of discipline, but for the first time in my life I find myself pitying them and wanting to give comfort. I have to keep reminding myself that what they really need is the firm anchor of authority to cling to, and plenty of mind deadening, routine tasks to stop them thinking. Thank the Gods there’s so much rubble in the streets to be cleared. So far, not one man’s asked why we’re bothering when we’re about to abandon the city.”
“There is one ray of hope,” said the Colonel, rubbing his eyes wearily. “We’ve just had word that a flotilla of shayen troop carriers has arrived in Seaton, carrying a full division of the Army of Life. They were going to come here, but there’s no point now so they’re going to Tatria instead.”
“About time they turned up,” said the old priest gruffly. “Not that they’ll make much difference. It’ll take a lot more than one division to stem this tide. What about the trogs?”
“Most of them made it back to their tunnels. They promised to return to the war as soon as they’ve had time to regroup and reorganise.”
Resalintas nodded. Although he appreciated all the help they could get, he hadn’t expected them to make much of an impression on the Shadowhosts. In their own tunnels, just the right height for their own diminutive build and uncomfortably cramped for the taller races, they were formidable fighters and greatly feared, but out in the open their relatively short reach cost them dearly. Added to the fact that they were incapable of using any form of magic, that meant that they could never hope to be a major military force in the surface world. Still, they had distracted several divisions of the Shadowarmy for a few weeks, and that had to have had some effect.
It occurred to the old priest that, apart from a few glimpses on the battlefield, this might be the last he saw of his superior officer. It was certainly the last chance he’d get to speak privately with him, and he searched his mind for some final words, some way to say goodbye and tell him what he’d meant to him over the years. Vento was the closest anyone had ever come to being a personal friend, and he knew that he couldn’t let this moment pass without saying something, anything. The trouble was that his communications with other people consisted almost entirely of barking orders and shouting reprimands. The sort of thing he wanted to say now was foreign to him, completely against his nature. He had to try, though, or he knew he’d regret it for the rest of his life.
He gave an embarrassed cough therefore and cleared his throat. “Sir, I’d like to say that it’s been a pleasure serving with you. You’re one of the few men that I truly respect, and it saddens me that you are to be denied the glorious, victorious death that you have earned.”
“Why, thank you, Captain,” replied Vento in surprise, almost unable to believe that those words had come from ‘old granite arse’ as some of the younger men called him. “That means a lot to me.” To tell the truth, though, he’d been trying very hard not to think about the fate that lay in store for him, and wished he hadn’t been reminded of it. He couldn’t let Resalintas know that, though, and he knew he had to say something in return before the old priest read it in his face. “Do you realise something, Captain?” he said therefore. “Despite all the years we’ve known each other, I don’t even know your first name.”
“It’s Darian, Sir,” replied the old priest.
“Darian,” said Vento, nodding. “Strong and uncomplicated, a good name for a priest of Samnos.” He held his hand out, and Resalintas took it in a firm grip. “Well, old friend, it looks as though this is it.”
The priest nodded. “I envy you, that you will stand before my Lord before I do.”
A tired smile creased the Colonel’s face. “A wretched sinner like me? I think not. Besides, I’ve always given my prayers to Conwar...”
The priest’s hand tightened on his, and the startled Colonel found himself transfixed by a pair of diamond hard, steel grey eyes. “You will stand before Samnos,” he stated with flat assurance. “I guarantee it.”
Vento was astonished. He’d never heard such a bald compliment from the cynical, battle hardened warrior. Resalintas himself, the taskmaster from Hell, for whom perfection itself was never quite good enough. The priest nodded, however, confirming what he’d just said. “You will die well,” he added confidently. “I look forward to serving with you again in the next life. And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see to the Orb.”
“Yes, of course. Good luck in the war, Captain. Give ‘em hell for me.”
“I will teach them to fear the wrath of Samnos.”
They shook hands again, and the old priest turned and left, not looking back, his mind intent on the next order of business before he was out of the room.
Since the Orb of Proofing was a recent addition to the city’s defences, the Orb chamber had had to be built out of the tower’s already existing structures. A room had been found near the centre of the tower on the third floor, just a few yards away from the central lift shaft, and all the neighbouring rooms and corridors, including those in the floors above and below, had been filled with magically created rock. Only one entrance had been left open, guarded by a dozen heavily armed senn guards who gave the priest suspicious looks as he stepped out of the lift. Resalintas glanced at the tattoos on their foreheads, supposedly proof that they'd been conditioned for total loyalty and obedience, and contemplated the fact that a clay man could copy them as easily as any other feature of their bodies. The guards had been told to watch each other as well as any visitors that might show up, though. Even if one or two of them were clay men, there was no way they could get past the other ten.
He entered fully into the room. “Any problems?” he asked, indicating the Orb, blazing as brightly as the yellow sun and whispering quietly to itself as discharges of randomised magic shimmered and danced across its surface.
“No, Sir,” replied the wizard on duty, a young man called Julian Birch. He was one of the more junior of the city’s wizards, all the more powerful ones having been involved in the fighting. The Orb didn’t require a very powerful wizard to use it, since all the power was already inside it, having been put there by its creators centuries before. “It’s functioning perfectly. Amazing when you consider how old it is.”
“Indeed,” agreed the old priest. He began to make another comment regarding the Orb’s history, but stopped when he realised he was just delaying what had to be done. Priests of Samnos did not shy away from unpleasant duties. “Lamaniss just got back from inside the Shadow,” he said therefore. “He cast the most powerful spells he knew, the most powerful defences known to wizardry on this planet. Nothing could keep the Shadow out. Not even an anti-magic shell.”
Birch’s face fell. The old priest had just pronounced his death sentence. “So we seal the city,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Nothing gets in,” agreed Resalintas. He eyed the young wizard closely to watch his reaction. “Nothing gets out.”
“We can’t allow the enemy to occupy the tower. Hold it against us when we turn the tide, drive them back out of Ilandia.” They’d discussed this at length the day before, but Birch had clung to the hope that it wouldn’t be necessary, that some lesser function of the Orb would be enough. “Fortunately, Captain Petronax’s research into the Orbs revealed the necessary procedure, and I’ve been fully briefed on how to carry it out.”
“Good,” replied Resalintas. “And what about afterwards?”
The young wizard looked pale as death as he fingered a glass phial that hung on a cord around his neck. It contained a fast acting poison that had been prepared for him by the city’s chief alchemist. Death would be quick and almost painless. “I know what to do,” he said quietly.
Resalintas took hold of the young wizard’s chin, tilted his face up and looked directly into his bright, orange brown eyes, gazing steadily back into his from under the fringe of chestnut hair. “You volunteered for this,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean you’re committed to it. No-one, not even I, can order a man to lay down his life, no matter how great the need. If you want, you can leave with the other wizards. They all volunteered as well, and one of them will replace you. Just say the word.”
For a moment Julian looked tempted, but then he straightened up and looked back at the old priest with courage and determination. “No, Sir,” he said. “I said I’d do it, and I will. I know how important it is, and I’m proud to be able to do my part.”
Resalintas saw nothing but absolute conviction in his eyes, and patted the young wizard on the shoulder with sorrow and pride. “You will be remembered with honour,” he said, “and Lord Samnos will greet you personally when you arrive in the next world. May all the Gods bless you.”
The young wizard stared speechlessly as the old priest, now looking even older, turned and left without another word. So far as he knew, no-one had ever been paid a higher compliment by him, and he smiled mirthlessly at the thought that he’d never be able to tell anyone. It was a common joke among the younger of the city’s defenders that you’d have to work yourself to death to get a compliment out of him, and now he knew it was true. He fingered the phial again, and spent a moment wondering what the powerful poison inside would taste like.
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