The Black Tower (13 page)

falling

out

under

the

     stars

Dead?

the stars are black

The child in the shadows.  He stands at the cusp of darkness, the edge of an impenetrable ebon sea.  Black buildings loom, so tall they seem to pierce the sky like a host of lances.  Song echoes off the distant stone walls.

An iron crown.  A cliff.  The ground is paved with blood.

pushed

There’s no way back.  Not now.

he pushed me

Madness drives those who want so much they have nothing left but to want for more.

he pushed me but I can’t die

Light.  Where is the light coming from?

the heir can’t die once he’s chosen

By the J’ann, why does it hurt so much?

Blood on the crown, blood on the earth.  His soul has been vivisected and left to rot in the cold and distant dark. 

he pushed me, but I still love him as my brother

Falling.  The stars were black.

Kruje opened his eyes.  He felt like he should have been dead, and judging by Thaenn and Methander’s expressions as they looked down at him they thought the same. 

They were in a cold room.  The floor was covered with pools of blood, and it took Kruje a moment to realize it was his.  He groaned and did his best to sit up without shouting out in pain or vomiting all over himself.  The air was saddled with the stench of his body, and as he leaned into a sitting position sharp pain swathed across his chest.  Brutal scars criss-crossed his bare abdomen and pectorals, pale and pulpy wounds which still oozed dark blood.  His insides felt twisted, and every muscle was sore to the point of burning.  For a moment all he could do was sit there and catch his breath. 

Dim torches lit the interior of the room.  Kruje shivered from the cold.  Outside the blasted window the night was black and loud with the sound of creatures he recognized as Tuscars.

“You’re alive,”
Thaenn said in Voss, and she quietly laughed.  “
That regeneration you have is quite a gift.”

“Perhaps,”
Kruje said, and he coughed so hard he thought he’d spit up a sword.  He ran his fingers across his face and neck and felt that they were puffy with blood and scar tissue. 

“You seem disappointed,”
Thaenn said.  She said something to Methander, who gave Kruje a look and shook his head in disbelief. 

“What happened?”

“That Blood Knight bitch had a field day with your chest,”
Thaenn said. 
“We were dead meat.  The only thing that saved us was the arrival of a bunch of Tuscars and some Black Guild goons.  They were busy killing the Phage, so we escaped, but now they’re searching for
us
.” 
She exchanged more words with Methander, who nodded and moved over to the doorway.  He checked his dual battle staves, then stepped out into the night. 

“What now?”
Kruje asked.  It hurt to breathe, let alone talk.  His regenerative metabolism had brought him back from the brink of death many times, but rarely had he felt this much agony because of his wounds.  The Blood Knight was clearly an expert at hewing skin. 
We’ll have another chance to dance, woman
, he thought.

“Do you still want to help your friend?”
Thaenn asked.

“Yes,”
he said. 
“What a damn fool question.”

“Good to see you have your sense of humor back
,” she said with a wry grin. 
“Get up.  We have work to do.”

Thaenn brought him up to speed, and with each passing moment Kruje’s heart sank.  Though the small force of Tuscars and Black Guild had routed the Phage, more Phage waited just outside the city, ready to mount a counterattack.  She also told him how her Red Hand allies had sent her a missive and told her of armies massing near a series of newly opened
cutgates
all across the Bonelands, and all within a day’s ride of Corinth: many of those forces were Jlantrians, White Dragon regulars with full contingents of cavalry, infantry and siege equipment, but even more were mercenaries, black-clad soldiers who may or may not have been Black Guild, well-equipped men accompanied by Tuscars.  They were likely friends of the forces who’d just seized control of Corinth. 

We’re about to be caught in the middle of a three-sided war
, he thought glumly,
with the Red Hand forming a fourth party.

Before he could help Dane, Kruje knew he’d have to help the Red Hand deal with these threats, even if it wasn’t clear who was on whose side.  But one thing was clear: none of them could be allowed to take Chul Gaerog. 

The Red Hand reinforcements arrived shortly, a small army of black-clad Bloodspeakers with battle staves and swords and a massive axe they’d brought at Thaenn’s request for her new giant companion.  Kruje tried not to turn his nose up at the gesture: he hated the new axe almost as much as his old one, but it was what he had to work with. 

This is where you are.  Live in this moment, for it may be your last.

Body aching but full of resolve, Kruje met his newly arrived allies, and together they came up with a plan.

Blackhall finished his letter to Cassandra the morning he and Gess led the Jlantrian forces through the
cutgates
.  It wasn’t a particularly good letter, but that had always been the way things were between he and his wife – rough around the edges, but perfect inside.  So after several pages of rambling about how much he missed her and Malachai he simply finished with “I Love You”, sealed the letter with wax and gave it to Gess to have it delivered via Veilcraft.  The point of the letter was just to let her know he was thinking of her, and that he’d be home as soon as circumstances allowed.

He hoped it wouldn’t be the last letter he ever sent to her.

It was a strangely beautiful day, bright and cool.  Sunlight oozed through the amber clouds, and the sky was ice blue.  Low mist clung to the ground, and the view of the rolling hills and scattered forests east of Ebonmark was breathtaking. 

Jlantrian regulars and the men from Steel Company moved in tight formation.  Nearly seven hundred troops (a third of them mounted), three hundred militia, a half-dozen war wagons and the clean-up crews and squires all moved in ordered and well-positioned ranks.  The air was full with dirt and noise, and his senses reeled whenever he drew his eyes from the cerulean sky.

Cutgates
flickered in and out of existence at the edge of the clearing north of the city.  Those barren fields had once housed farmland, but now they were just open expanses of sand and rock. 

It had been years since he’d led men into a proper battle.  Part of him had initially thrilled at the notion, hoping it would take him back to when he was young and eager, but now the idea filled him with dread. 

Clouds of dust broke through the mist and thickened the air with haze.  Blackhall’s plate-and-leather armor was tight and hot, and his ears rang from the sound of metal on metal.  His broadsword was at his side and his crossbow was tied to the saddle of his war-horse, a dark beast of a stallion called Colossus.  He felt tall in the saddle, large enough to see the breadth of his forces as he wheeled Colossus around in a carefully controlled circle.  The feel of his old friend beneath him put Blackhall at ease, at least for the moment.

It’s a start.

His forces were strong, with two hundred archers and the finest warhorses in the Empire, and even the militia out of Fort Hightower was well-trained and disciplined.  They would be more than enough to deal with the Iron Count’s mercenaries. 

I handled you once, you bastard.  I’ll do it again.

Blackhall had been surprised to learn that he, a Colonel, would be leading so many troops.  It was normally a General’s duty, but Karthas was still dealing with Tuscar attacks on Tarek Non, and General Saskia was having similar trouble at Irontear.  Gess had voiced his suspicions that those attacks had somehow been coordinated with this trouble in the north, but few paid him any mind.  Blackhall wasn’t sure – ultimately it didn’t matter, because he had orders, and that was that.

He breathed deep.  Worry ate at his gut.  They still weren’t sure how extensive Crinn’s forces were, and if the rumors of his possessing Vossian technology or Veilcrafted artillery were true it meant the battle could turn deadly fast, even if the Jlantrians did have Gess and a handful of Veilwardens to provide magical support.  The deployment of troops was still a problem – their forces would be spread out over several miles once they reached the Bonelands
,
and without careful communication it would be easy for the smaller units to walk into ambushes. 

He looked up and down the lines.  The war wagons were ready, as were the horse drawn siege weapons.  Heavy cavalry in gleaming silver-white armor raised their lances high.  Archers oiled bows, shoved arrows into tightly-packed quivers, adjusted their greaves and fed their spotting hawks.  Smiths discarded useless weapons, Sergeants moved up and down the ranks barking orders and finding flaws with formation.  Medical carts brought up the rear, protected by specially black-clad soldiers with heavy bows and blades.

The city lie in the distance, its citizens watching from the walls or just inside the gates.  A formidable force was being left behind to defend the City of Scars, but the bulk of the troops under Blackhall’s command were about to enter the Bonelands.

He felt like he was abandoning the people of Ebonmark.  He’d sacrificed much to keep them safe, had committed murder and even treason to protect them from harm.

You did the right thing,
he told himself
.  Live with it.

Jlantrian and Ebonmark banners flew high from the city walls.  He even heard cheers.  Blackhall allowed himself a smile.

He kicked his horse into a canter and looked up and down the rows of men.  Many were younger than he’d thought, but he knew that was his own age creeping up on him – he was always surprised by the youth of soldiers under his command, forgetting that he was once that age himself, wide-eyed and eager, ready to conquer the world without knowing anything about it.  He was older now, too old.  His skin was scarred and ragged with all of the battles he’d seen, and his only hopes for a future lie hundreds of miles away in Ral Tanneth.  Cassandra and Malachai might as well have been on the other side of the world.

He rode towards the
cutgates
, wide grey stones loaded on the backs of great wagons.  The elephantine pack animals were at the edge of the field, enormous rock-skinned brutes with dangling trunks and sharpened tusks.  Their Den’nari handlers kept them tethered and under control, while the dark-skinned men of Scorpion Company directed the positioning of the stones.

The operation was a rare show of hospitality between the once venomously opposed Empires of Jlantria and Den’nar.  While it
had proved difficult for Ral Tanneth to mobilize their magical resources with the necessary haste, House Blue’s contacts in the Guild of Dreams of Den’nar were more than happy to provide the necessary materials, so long as they were given custody of the Iron Count and his allies when they were captured.  Blackhall still wondered how the Empress or General Karthas felt about this unofficial alliance, and in the end he decided the less he knew, the better. 

Captain Tyburn and Major Syke, Commander of Steel Company, both waited near the stones, which glinted in the frosty morning with iron light.  Gess was also there, speaking with a bearded Den’nari man with wide shoulders and a wider grin.  Caps of gold shone from his teeth, and his oiled beard was forked and pointed like a blade.  The man gestured at the stones and looked right past Blackhall as he approached.  Den’nari soldiers eyed the Jlantrians and held their hands near the hilts of their blades.  Their brown and tan armor was nearly hidden beneath their ochre cloaks and capped bronze helmets.  Spears and scimitars were slung across their backs. 

“Colonel,” Syke said with a quick salute.  “The men are ready.”

“And the
cutgates
…?”

“Aren’t,” Gess said sharply.  “We’re working on it.”

Blackhall suppressed a laugh.  Gess could be highly intimidating when he was angry or wielding his magic, but when he was flustered he came across as much more comical.

“Major, move everyone into position,” Blackhall ordered.  “Tyburn, assist him.”  Both soldiers nodded and rode their warhorses back into the ranks.  Blackhall pulled him aside.  “Captain, the city is yours.  Take care of it for me.”

Tyburn nodded.  The two had seen plenty of battle together, and Blackhall knew he could trust the stoic soldier with his life.

“I look forward to your return, Sir,” Tyburn said.

“So do I,” he said.

The air was thick with animal smell, especially the inhuman stench of the Den’nari elephants, which were riper than any horse Blackhall had ever encountered.  The Den’nari also had camels, strange long-necked brutes with hideous teeth and baleful grunts.  There were only a score of Den’nari soldiers, enough to accompany the bearded Veilwarden, and they were clearly uncomfortable being surrounded by Jlantrians.

Neither of the Veilwardens was mounted, and Blackhall had no intention of getting off of his horse, so he kept Colossus at a fair distance.  Gess watched him quietly, his face twisted into a wry grin.

“Malik,” Gess said.  “This is Colonel Aaric Blackhall.  A pain in the ass who also happens to be the Grand Marshall of Ebonmark.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Malik said with a shining smile.  “I know of you through Colonel Rakim.”

Blackhall nodded, and smiled.  He and Rakim had nearly done battle with each other several times over the years on account of border disputes, but no combat had ever actually occured.  On one occasion they’d even had a drink together.

“I trust the Colonel is well?” he asked.

“He sends his regards,” Malik smiled.  “And he asked me to lend you his aid.”

Blackhall raised an eyebrow to Gess.

“In a purely advisory capacity, of course,” Gess smiled.  Blackhall shook his head.

“Just stay close to me, both of you,” he said.  “The last thing I need is for a war to erupt between the Empires because I got one of Rakim’s trusted Veilwardens speared.”

Malik looked like he was about to say something, but Gess cut him off.

“Of course,” he said with an acid smile.  “Malik, why don’t you ready your men?”

Malik took the hint, and though it was clear he didn’t wish to step away from the conversation he did.  Blackhall turned and watched the rear ranks assemble on the downward slope of the hill. 

He took a deep breath.  A few days ago it had seemed he was on the verge of going home; now he was wading headlong into battle, using magical portals to assault  an enemy of unknown size. 

You’ll make it.  You’ve come this far. 

“Are you ready for this?” he asked Gess.  The thin man looked out of his element in the dirt of the field, his cloak whipping sideways in the wind, his fine grey clothing soiled with grime.  The Veilwarden watched him with a measured gaze. 

“No,” he smiled.  “But that’s never stopped me before.”

“You’re still recovering from an injury,” Blackhall said.  “I don’t think you need to come.”

“Thankfully that’s not up to you,” Gess said.

Blackhall laughed.  “Have it your way.”

One of the brown-robed Den’nari servants brought Gess a pale stallion, which he mounted effortlessly in spite of only having one hand.  He and Blackhall caught up with Malik – the Den’nari Veilwarden rode a dire-looking camel, an ungainly beast draped in leather barding and with eyes and head shielded beneath a sort of cloth protective wrap – and rode down the hill to the head of the ranks while the
cutgate
slowly hummed to life behind them.  The soldiers shifted, a living cloak of metal and flesh. 

The air pulsed with power.  Blackhall had never been comfortable in the presence of magic – most people weren’t, at least not if they were Goddess-fearing citizens of the White Dragon Empire – but something about this system of
cutgates
unnerved him.  He watched as the portals slowly took shape, rippling spirals of flickering blue and white light, licks of lightning that honed in rotating discs of solid silver.  The portals were difficult to see in spite of their size, as they wavered in and out of sight.

“Do I want you to explain to me how this is going to work?” he asked Gess.

“Probably not,” Gess said.  “Remember when I told you we couldn’t use
cutgates
to transport our troops because of the level of power involved?”

“Yes,” Blackhall said.  He had to raise his voice to hear himself; as if a body of troops that size didn’t already make sufficient noise, the alarming hum of the Veilcrafted portal was intensifying, a steady beat of sound which scraped through the air like metal on stone.  The
cutgate
seemed to be growing larger, ten feet in diameter, then twenty.  “I also remember you telling me that we can only fit a few men in at a time, and that we couldn’t transport them all to the same location because…”  He held his hands out.  “Because.”

“Because it would trigger a catastrophic reaction at the target area,” Gess said, trying his absolute best to maintain patience in spite of Blackhall’s lack of understanding.  “This device Malik brought is a marvel.  It creates
cutgates
in rapid succession, each attuned to a different target area.  So long as we move men through in small bands and deploy them to different areas we won’t have any trouble.”

Blackhall had the map for the deployment.  Groups of soldiers would emerge in areas spread out over the course of several miles, but if all went well no two groups would be spaced more than a mile apart.  They’d have to move quickly to get the soldiers through, and once on the other side the squad leaders would need to determine their location and rendezvous with the others before they ran into any trouble, which would be difficult in the Bonelands, a dry black desert populated with little more than ruins, bones and forlorn valleys.  There would be no sources of water, no food, and no natural life.  The only good news was that the overall lack of steep terrain would hopefully allow his forces to spot each other with relative ease.

But that also means the Count will see us coming.

“Good enough,” he said, and he signaled the order to deploy.