Shadowstorm (29 page)

Tamlin knew that temples of the Magister and Goddess of Magic stood in Saerloon. Anger rose in him, fed by fear. “Our priests ring their bells and cower in their cloisters while Merelith’s transport her entire army to our doorstep?”

“So it would seem,” Brennus answered, the darkness clinging to him. “She has avoided the need to feed an army on the march and has taken Selgaunt by surprise.”

“Why has she not teleported her army into the city?” Tamlin wondered aloud.

Brennus answered, “The risk of an errant teleport would be high, with the quarters so close. Assembling her forces would be impossible. They would have battle before all arrived. No, she is doing exactly as she should.”

Tamlin eyed the Shadovar prince sidelong. “Let us not admire her too much.”

Brennus chuckled, showing ornamental fangs like Rivalen’s. “Be content that I do not.”

Rivalen’s eyes flared gold and he turned to Tamlin. “Hulorn, if you wish it, I can call upon priests who will fight. A handful only, but powerful. They are priests of Shar.”

Tamlin stared at him, considering.

Rivalen said, “Your own priests will balk. Even your people may.

Tamlin looked out on the Saerloonian forces, and back at

his own meager defenses. Another two score Saerloonian troops appeared from nothingness and fell in with their fellows. He made up his mind.

“To the hells with Selgaunt’s priests. And I will quell any concerns among the people. Call your priests, Prince Rivalen. We need all available assistance.”

Rivalen and Brennus shared a look and the shadows about them coiled. Rivalen inclined his head. “Of course, Hulorn.”

Together, the three men, surrounded by the soldiers of Selgaunt, watched their enemies gather. Another teleportation point opened, another. There was little the Selgauntans could do.

Saerloon’s soldiers appeared a hundred men at a time. Tamlin spotted the standards of a few mercenary bands among their number. Soon there were thousands on the field. The low murmur of the assembling army gathered volume as its numbers grew.

“She has emptied Saerloon of fighting men,” Tamlin said softly.

The Saerloonians arranged themselves into loose formations as they absorbed the steady influx of newcomers. Shouted orders carried over the plains. Frequent rat-a-tats of company drums echoed into the night. Horns sounded from distant corners. Standard bearers planted unit, company, and city standards into the earth. Men gathered around them. Thousands of hostile eyes fixed on Selgaunt, its walls, it soldiers. Tamlin watched it all with a growing sense of dread.

Meanwhile, Selgaunt’s troops streamed to the walls from other areas of the city and took up their positions. The clink of armor, the thump of boots on stone, and the shouted orders of sergeants and captains sounded all around them. Barrels of pitch and oil were positioned strategically. Men placed ammunition on the ground near them, within ready reach.

Tamlin felt himself in the center of a maelstrom. He found Brennus’s homunculi staring at him, smiling.

Brennus said, “Teleportation circles do not allow for the transport of siege engines.”

The observation gave Tamlin hope until Rivalen said, “She is no fool. She has something else in mind to breach the walls. Spells.”

Tamlin could not imagine spells powerful enough to breach Selgaunt’s walls, but he was only a mediocre caster himself. “When will they come?” he asked softly.

Rivalen said, “We will have battle with the dawn. They must know you have Shadovar allies. Merelith knows our power is diminished by the light of day.”

The homunculi on Brennus’s shoulders sparred with one another as if they wielded blades. Brennus took no notice of them and said, “Agreed. They come with the morn.”

The shadows around Rivalen swirled, brushed Tamlin. He found their touch cold but oddly comforting.

“Summon your wizards to the walls, Hulorn,” Rivalen said. “I suspect we will need them soon. And I will send word to the temple in Shade Enclave. My priests will be at Selgaunt’s disposal.”

Tamlin felt a rush of gratitude. He knew that Selgaunt’s only hope lay with the Shadovar. “Thank you, Prince.”

29 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Tamlin sent messengers racing along the walls and back into the city to summon the score of battle mages Selgaunt had at its disposal. None were powerful casters. The most powerful practitioners of the Art had left the city long ago.

Onthul soon appeared, his towering frame wrapped in mail, a sword at his belt. He took the stairs of the gatehouse at a run and reached the top of the wall. His bearded face showed no expression as he gazed out on the gathering Saerloonian army. He turned to Tamlin and the Princes and inclined his head.

“Hulorn. Princes.”

“Captain Onthul,” Tamlin said. “How do we stand?”

“Four companies secure the docks to repel any attack by the Saerloonian navy. Four more are in

reserve, though two of them are militia. The rest of our forces will mass here. Rorsin Soargyl and a company of Helms are wheeling the trebuchets up even now. We will place them there.” He pointed to the wide cobblestone plaza behind the Khyber Gate.

“They are slow to reload,” Brennus observed.

Onthul nodded. “We will get off not more than one shot each as the Saerloonians advance. Two if the enemy is slow. We will endeavor to make those shots count. Other than that, the fight will be at the walls. I’ve stationed barrels of pitch and oil along the walls, but there is less than I’d wish.”

“And the rest of the walls?” Tamlin asked.

“Those in uniform but too old or young to be of much use with a blade are stationed at intervals around. They are to sound an alert if they notice anything coming from another direction. The reserve forces can respond quickly, if needed.”

Tamlin looked out on the Saerloonians, uncertain. He disliked leaving the rest of Selgaunt’s wall so sparsely defended.

“If this is a feint, Captain …”

Onthul followed Tamlin’s gaze out to the plains.

“If Merelith has thousands of men to spend on a feint, Hulorn, then we are all dead men already.”

Tamlin could not deny it. “It is not a feint,” he said, and trusted that it was true.

“The seaways are secure,” Rivalen said to Onthul. “No naval assault will occur. Use your men at the docks for another purpose.”

“My lord?” Onthul questioned.

Tamlin remembered that Rivalen had promised to use the kraken to prevent Saerloon from approaching by sea. “Do it, Captain,” Tamlin said.

Onthul nodded, saluted, took his leave, and issued orders. He moved among the men on the wall, thumping shoulders, offering advice and encouragement, mocking the Saerloonians. Tamlin admired his calmness.

Soon thereafter the creak and clank of the approaching trebuchets sounded from the road below. A cursing Rorsin Soargyl, three score sweating Helms, and four teams of underfed oxen wheeled the wooden siege engines up the road. The machines looked not entirely unlike the cranes used to unload ships at the docks. Tamlin had never seen them fired. Sembia had never seen significant warfare on its soil. Three wagons rumbled behind the engines. Tar-sealed casks of alchemical fire lay within.

The two artillerists, both gray haired but not stooped, walked before the column and directed the men in placing the trebuchets. Several Scepters and Helms moved to assist; others cleared out of the way.

With the weapons in rough position, two younger men in service to the artillerists—apprentices, Tamlin assumed— climbed the gatehouse stairs to the wall, eyed the terrain, the likely approach for Saerloon’s forces, and shouted down directions and distances to the other two artillerists. Those two, in turn, issued instructions to Rorsin and his men, who maneuvered the trebuchets into final position, removed stones from the counterweights to adjust for range, slowly cranked the throwing arm back, and locked them down.

Scepters unloaded the barrels of alchemical fire and placed them near the lowered slings. The apprentices remained in position on the walls as spotters, while the artillerists on the ground made final inspections and took station. They nodded up at Tamlin. Tamlin nodded back.

When the city’s war wizards arrived—a collection of men and women ranging in age from twenty winters to forty—Tamlin dispersed them among the men. Tamlin did not want them massed, lest they all be killed at a stroke.

Within the hour the Shadovar priests appeared. Six of them stepped out of the darkness with no warning near Rivalen, Tamlin, and Brennus. The Selgauntan soldiers nearby shouted and drew their blades. Others whirled and leveled crossbows.

“Hold,” Rivalen said, his deep voice booming, shadows swirling.

Tamlin echoed Rivalen’s words, though the priests’ sudden appearance had startled even him. “Stay your blades. These are allies.”

Each priest wore black plate armor and a full-faced helm. Their eyes were holes, invisible under the guards. Shadows clotted around them.

Shades, Tamlin realized.

On tarnished silver chains around their necks, each wore a disk of onyx bordered with tiny amethysts—Shar’s holy symbol. Each also wore a black cloak trimmed in fur. All of them wore twin short swords at their belts. They threw up their face guards—Tamlin noted two women among them—and moved before Rivalen.

“Nightseer,” a tall, dark-haired priestess said, and bowed.

“Variance,” Rivalen said. He looked to Tamlin. “These are the priests and priestesses I promised, Hulorn.”

Tamlin summoned his dignity and said, loud enough for his men to hear, “I extend welcome to you all. You have my gratitude and that of the city.”

The priests and priestesses turned and acknowledged Tamlin with a tilt of their heads. Some of the soldiers nearby grumbled. Tamlin heard the word “Sharran” muttered several times.
~
He looked around at his soldiers and shouted, “Forget what you may have heard of Shar. They are lies. These men and women have come to Selgaunt willingly, to stand or fall at your side. They have answered a request from me to Prince Rivalen. He, and they, have my complete trust. And so should they have yours.”

Few eyes held his. The grumbling ceased.

Onthul nodded a welcome at the priests as he moved among the men. “You heard the Hulorn. Mind your posts and be thankful at least some priests stand beside you.”

Many nods answered Onthul’s words, grudging agreement.

Satisfied, Tamlin looked to Rivalen. “I would prefer to spread them among the men, Prince.”

“Well conceived,” Rivalen said. He looked to Variance. “Disperse among the men. Help as you may. Battle comes with the sun.”

She nodded and pulled down her faceguard. Shadows collected around the priests and priestesses and they disappeared, materializing here and there along the wall.

Saerloon’s forces, too, continued to materialize from the darkness, appearing out of nothingness like shades themselves. They burned no torches. Only the moonlight lit their ranks, glittered off their helms and spear points. The influx of men soon stopped, but the number of men that had come was enough to cause Tamlin’s heart to thump.

“Six thousand, I would wager,” Brennus said matter-of-factly.

“Closer to seven,” Rivalen said.

Except for an occasional cough, curse, or prayer, quiet ruled the walls of Selgaunt. All eyes stared out on the field, on the Saerloonians. Tamlin fought a rising sense of dread. Dawn was mere hours away.

ŚŠŚ<§>Ś Ś<§>•

As the false dawn lightened the sky, two carriages rumbled up to the gates, wheels clattering. The doors opened and a contingent of eight priests exited. Ansril Amhaddan, the fat High Songmas-ter of Milil, led the group, flanked by Aumraeya Ulmbrin, the High Priestess of Sune. Behind them stood representatives of the other major faiths of Selgaunt: Denier, Oghma, Lliira, Lathander, Tymora, and Waukeen. All of the priests and priestesses wore the formal vestments of their faith. They spoke to nearby soldiers and the soldiers pointed up at Tamlin. The priests’ gazes fixed on him, on Rivalen, on Brennus. They did not wave in greeting.

Tamlin descended the stairs and met them on the road behind the Khyber Gate, in the shadow of the trebuchets. The men fell

silent around him. He felt hundreds of eyes on him. “What is this, Ansril?” Tamlin said.

Ansril answered in his smooth tenor. “Hulorn, we are here to vehemently protest the presence of the Shadovar priests.”

“Sharran priests,” spat Aumraeya, her attractive face twisted into a scowl.

Before Tamlin could respond, the darkness around him deepened and Rivalen appeared at his side. Brennus appeared in the next breath. A murmur went through the Selgauntan priests and the men nearby. Anger twisted the priests’ expressions. Behind the anger, Tamlin saw fear.

Ansril and Aumraeya looked at Tamlin and studiously avoided eye contact with the Princes of Shade. “I will not discuss this with you in their presence,” Ansril said to Tamlin.

The shadows around Rivalen churned. His words had an edge like a sword. “Mind your tone, priest.”

Before Ansril could respond, Tamlin said, “You will discuss it in their presence or not at all. I requested that Prince Rivalen summon such aid as he could. The Sharran priests and priestesses are here at my invitation.”

The priests behind Ansril and Aumraeya looked appalled.

“They are Sharrans,” Ansril said, as if that settled the matter.

“They are,” Tamlin acknowledged. “And?” “Is that not enough?” Aumraeya asked, eyeing Rivalen with contempt.

Brennus’s homunculi gestured obscenely at the Sunite priestess. She glared at them. “It is not,” Tamlin answered.

“We are here to assist in the defense of the city,” Rivalen said.

“To what end, Sharran?” Aumraeya snapped. “What secrets hide in the dark hearts of you and your goddess? What do you really want here?”

Rivalen did not move, but he seemed to grow larger. The

shadows around him churned. As one, the priests of the entourage backed up a step, eyes wide, hands on holy symbols. “I will remind you all only once more to mind your tone.”

Tamlin held up a hand. “That is enough. You have made your speech. I have heard it. Leave now.”