Trials (33 page)

“How many men do we have?” asked Gerart.

“Something over four thousand… that can still fight,” replied Dolbar. “Another thousand wounded and sick, two hundred more beyond hope waiting in pain for the hour of their death.”

“We’ll hold fast. This old sack of bones guarantees that we’ll hold. Magic is strong in me. We’ll go on fighting for Rogdon.”

“Your magic is very powerful, Mirkos, but finite,” said Dolbar. His voice was grave.

“True, my intelligent, skillful friend, unfortunately very true…”

“I’ve seen all I needed,” said Gerart. “Now it’s time to pay my respects to your brother, Duke Galen. I guess he’ll be at the Castle. Could you take me to him?”

A silence, cold as a February morning, fell over the three men.

“My brother… is badly wounded. He was hit a few days ago defending the center of the wall. I asked him a thousand times not to take part in the battle, since his life is vital for the safety of the city. But you know him. He was born to lead his men, and there was no way I could dissuade him.”

“I am deeply sorry,” said Gerart. He put his hand on Dolbar’s shoulder. “Take me to him, quickly.”

When he walked into the rich chamber Gerart stopped and bowed his head. Duke Galen was lying on his bed, dying. It was so evident that Gerart did not even ask. The chest wound had been dressed, but it was bloodied. It had been impossible to suture the great gash completely.

The Master Surgeon gave a slight bow when he saw them come in. The doctor himself looked like a corpse, a creature overcome with exhaustion.

“I have given him juice of poppy and flower-of-dreams. You have a few moments before he falls asleep.”

“How long?” his brother asked in a whisper.

The surgeon bowed his head.

“He won’t see another dawn. I’m terribly sorry, there’s nothing more I can do. He’s a great man, my sorrow is deep, I mourn with the family.”

“Thanks, Master Surgeon. I am well aware of your regard and I appreciate everything you have done for him in the last moments of his suffering.”

With a small bow to Prince Gerart and Dolbar, the surgeon left the chamber.

“Brother, wake up, Prince Gerart has graced us with his presence,” whispered Dolbar in his brother’s ear, trying to bring him out of his comatose state.

“His Highness… the Prince?” he said. “Here? Help me dress… I must receive him appropriately.” Feverishly, he tried to rise.

“There’s no need, brother, lie in peace.” Dolbar said. “I took charge of his welcome myself. Relax and rest.”

“Good… good… that’s good, brother…”

Gerart came to the bed. He remembered the Duke well: a charismatic man with a strength of character as great as his loyalty to the Crown. The man he now looked upon was but the shadow of what he had once been and it saddened Gerart’s soul.

“My father, King Solin, conveys his regards to you and wishes me to inform you that for your masterly defense of the city during these months you are to be granted the highest honors of the Kingdom. You have contained the invasion of the Nocean army, allowing the King to regroup his forces so as to face both attacks. With your leadership, courage and tenacity, you have gained us crucial time for the King, and because of that the Crown is grateful for your loyalty and commitment.”

“I… only… followed his… orders…”

“You have done more than that, and you know it well, my friend,” said Mirkos.

“My father wishes you to be decorated for your undeniable courage and loyalty.”

“It is… an honor.”

“A well-deserved one,” said Mirkos.

Duke Galen raised himself in his bed. Staring in front of him, eyes wide, he cried: “The Prince, here! He’ll certainly have brought reinforcements with him. We’re saved!”

Gerart gazed at him, moved.

“Reinforcements will arrive soon, Duke Galen,” said the Prince, softening his voice.

“Reinforcements… Solin sends reinforcements… the city will be saved…” muttered the Duke. He slumped back onto the bed and Dolbar tucked him in lovingly. The Duke fell into a dreamlike state, eyes open, mumbling incoherent words. Soon afterwards he fell asleep.

The three men left the chamber and went to the great hall.

Mirkos smoothed out the folds of his silver robe with its black trimming and passed his hands over the jet-black tower embroidered on his chest. He looked up at the lofty domed ceiling.

“A great man…” he said. His voice was unsteady.

“What now, my Prince?” asked Dolbar. His face showed signs of his deep sorrow.

“Now we carry out our plan.”

The evening sun gilded the wide area in front of the city of Silanda’s outer wall. Sumal looked up at the powerful granite structure. Flags and banners rippled in the south wind above the door and each of the towers. The flag of the Nocean Empire, a shining golden sun on a black background, marked the conquered domain.

Sumal could not help feeling pride at the sight of his banner rippling over the outer wall of the enemy city.
All we have to do now is conquer the second wall and the city will be ours. A matter of pride for the Empire, a show of Nocean power. And afterwards the whole of southern Rogdon will fall. We’ll strengthen our position and then head north until we reach the capital, Rilentor, conquering every inch of the territory to the greater glory of our Emperor Malotas. This humble spy will make sure of the plans to guarantee this, and then will see the black and gold banners wave all over Rilentor
. The experienced Nocean spy smiled in anticipation.

A group of soldiers on patrol passed by him and headed towards the east. There was a constant watch, which extended along several leagues in all directions. The city was completely surrounded, like an island of rock in the middle of a Nocean sea. It was only to the north, in the first woods beyond the city, that they had encountered some Rogdonian incursions.

Sumal looked around him. He was surrounded by the Nocean army which was stationed there. Thousands of blue and black tents extended from the conquered walls to the south. The banners and pavilions that announced the Nocean legions filled Sumal’s heart with satisfaction. The power of the men from the desert was incontestable. There was frantic activity in the camp as they prepared for a new assault. The soldiers readied their weapons and equipment while they began to put their armor on. The whips lashed ceaselessly, compelling the hundreds of slaves who accompanied the army to carry out a variety of tasks for their masters.

He identified the luxurious Command tent that belonged to Mulko, Regent of the North of the Nocean Empire, and headed towards it. The leader of that glorious army had requested his presence.

“My lord…” said Sumal, bowing low before Mulko.

His lord was presiding, seated on massive gold and silver cushions, surrounded by silks and a cloud of exotic perfumes. The tent was huge and magnificent. On his head the Regent wore a red turban with pearls. His magnificent red silk tunic was richly embroidered in gold on chest and sleeves, and his gold slippers were as luxurious as the rest of his attire. Sumal thought the whole array must have cost as much as the yearly pay of an entire infantry battalion. The Regent was being entertained by six exotic dancers so beautiful that they took the spy’s breath away.

Sumal stared at them while he waited for his lord to call him. With their scant clothing of transparent silks, which sought to cover their charms but still left little to the imagination, they were a sight to captivate any man. The sensuality of their movements as they danced, and their sinuous bodies, awoke something in the spy which he quickly suffocated as best he could.

“Sumal, my deft spy. Come in, there’s a great deal for us to talk about,” the Regent of the North invited him with a gesture. “You, out, fast!” he said to the dancers in a tone which suggested that he was bored by them.

“Thank you my lord, you honor me…”

“Come, we were waiting for you.”

“Great Master…” he said, repeating his bow before Zecly, who was sitting at the Regent’s right. He had not seen him before because of the dancers. The spymaster, counselor and very powerful Sorcerer smiled at him and touched his chest with his hands in greeting.

“I believe you already know Ukbi, my Military Counselor, don’t you?” Mulko waved his hand toward the renowned Nocean General on his left.

Sumal glanced at the Counselor. The whole Empire knew of the brilliance of that small man with harsh features, his brilliance and… pitiless cruelty. It was his custom to torture and then put to the knife all the enemies captured in battle, to instill fear in the hearts of the rest of his opponents. Sumal looked into the soldier’s black eyes and knew at once that pity did not exist in this man. Sumal would never forget, no matter how long he lived, what he had witnessed at the hands of the General in Silanda.

Ukbi had ordered punitive action with the object of demoralizing the enemy: to skin alive the Rogdonian soldiers captured. Hundreds of them had been caught during the fall back to the second wall: one by one they were tortured before the great door, in plain sight of the Rogdonian troops but out of reach of the merciful arrows their comrades could let fly. For days their cries of pain were insufferable. The torture was only interrupted when an attack began, to be resumed until there were no more prisoners left. But there were so many that for days and days their screams filled the defenders with horror. The General’s methods were inhuman, but Sumal knew they were effective. If they had their effect on him, he could only begin to guess how the Rogdonians on the wall would feel as they watched.

Nevertheless, Duke Galen had addressed his troops from the top of the walls. Sumal remembered the scene well:

“Soldiers of Rogdon! Listen to me, all of you! Today we watch impotently how the enemy tortures our comrades in arms, Rogdonians, men of great courage who gave their lives for their country. Those tortures, those cries of our countrymen are witness to the baseness of a race which has no scruples, morals or bowels of compassion. These are the actions of a cowardly people without honor, of sewer rats. Nothing, I repeat, nothing will make us yield one step, and now still less! Remember the suffering you are now witnessing in your comrades when you have these rotten rats before you and give them the death they deserve. For Rogdon! For our comrades!”

Sumal remembered them well: great words of a great leader. He wondered if he were still alive. Lowering his gaze before Ukbi, he made a deep bow as protocol required before someone of higher rank or power. The General replied to the bow with a slight nod of his turbaned head. Sumal understood the greeting as a clear indication that the spy was not considered worthy of the General’s attention. Sumal did not feel slighted, he was well aware of his position within the hierarchy of power at the Regent’s Court.

“Of course, my lord,” said Sumal in reply to the Regent’s comment. “Everybody knows the Great General’s brilliance and the skill with which he leads our armies to victory.”

“Ha! I’m not so sure about that anymore,” said Mulko to his Military Counselor. “We’ve been stuck here for months in this never-ending siege. This accursed city should have fallen long ago. We must advance north towards Rilentor, where that coward Solin is hiding. And worst of all, the Norghanians have not only taken the fortress of the pass, they’re now camped at their leisure north and east of Rogdon. They’ll advance to the capital before long, and if they take it before we do, Rogdon will be theirs. The whole West of Tremia will be theirs. I cannot allow that to happen! What have you found out about their plans, Sumal?”

“The Norghanian army is trying to reach Rilentor, but they’ve met with a few mishaps. Their heavy infantry is being attacked by the Lancers as soon as they come out into the open. The Norghanian infantry is helpless against the Rogdonian heavy cavalry. The Lancers are undefeatable in the open field. Because of that, the Norghanians are being forced to advance very slowly, making use of their greater numbers. Right now they’re moving like a giant turtle, well-shielded but slow. Around them the Lancers, although fewer in number, attack their flanks and rearguard, then run away fast. They avoid any direct confrontation. Instead they use this campaign of attrition to wear the Norghanian army down little by little and slow its advance. At the same time, I’ve tried to contact Count Volgren, but he’s hiding his movements. He doesn’t seem interested in listening to any offer from our side. A joint attack would be highly beneficial for both parties, but he doesn’t respond to our requests for dialogue. I believe, my lord, they know they have the advantage and they expect to reach Rilentor before us. I don’t believe he’ll cooperate with us, my lord.”

“By the sun of the Red Deserts! We must begin to level the whole south of Rogdon and reach the Rogdonian King at once! I want his head on a pike! A Nocean pike, not a Norghanian one!”

“And so it shall be,” said Ukbi. He sounded troubled. “The Rogdonian resilience is something out of the ordinary, but they haven’t enough soldiers left to defend the wall. They will fall, I promise.”

“Promises, promises, promises! You’ve been making promises for an eternity! Promising a victory that never comes!”

“The Rogdonian Mage of Battles is tearing our men to pieces with his magic of the four elements.” Ukbi said accusingly, looking at Zecly as he did so. “One day he scorches us with infernal fires, the next he freezes our men as they climb the walls. I need our own Sorcerers to give us more protection. They aren’t counteracting the enemy’s magic.”