The Warpath
Another bout of light-headedness caused the baron to pause as he dressed. It was followed by a wave of exhaustion which weakened his knees and caused him to stumble against the panelled wall.
Catching his breath, he shuffled to the chair beside his bed. The gruesome scene before him sickened his stomach as dark imaginings of what might have happened and what could still happen to his family floated in his mind.
He stared at the lifeless body. The dead man had a foreign look about him, but not enough for the baron to align him with any nationality. His clothes were simple but well made. The jacket he wore had steel plates sown into it to conceal the armour.
As the baron continued to scan the length of the blood-soaked body, he stopped when he reached the red and white stains on the black wool around the knees and on the soles of the boots of the dead assassin. A moment of silent staring passed before the pieces fell into place. Not only did he realise the source of these marks – he knew without hesitation who must have sent this man.
The baron roared at the dead body. His fatigue forgotten, Feylan hauled himself from the chair and attempted to fling it at the farthest wall. With his reduced strength, the heavy piece of furniture fell short of the wall, but the commotion was enough to draw the attention of two Shielders who had been guarding him outside. Without acknowledging them, Feylan reached for the unlocked chest at the end of his bed. In his hurry he could not remove the lock cleanly, so he wrenched at it until it came free, throwing it to the floor with a growl.
He looked at the contents for a moment before retrieving his long gambeson and riveted chain-mail hauberk. From the bottom of the chest, the baron withdrew his arming sword in its leather baldric, and a sheathed curved knife. He slung the baldric over his left shoulder and tucked the curved blade into his belt.
“With me,” he said to the Shielders.
The baron strode to the near end of the corridor and down the flight of stairs, drawing surprised looks from some of the house staff. He was glad none of them attempted to stop or question him, as he would not be delayed. He could not tolerate the traitor taking a single breath more than was necessary. He focused his mind on the man’s face, infuriatingly self-assured and self-righteous. The baron stormed ahead, resisting the urge to punch the nearest wall. By the time he reached the stables, he had gathered five Shielders.
“Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday, Kits?” asked Roslind, shifting her weight on the low stool in her old room, as Kitsvanna lifted Roslind’s right shoulder armour into place and fixed the leather straps through their buckles. “You do not have to tell me what happened if you do not want to. I understand. I know whatever it was, it scared you enough to make you run from the house, so I can guess it was bad.”
“I am not brave like you,” Kitsvanna said. “I don’t know how to fight as well as you do, I’m afraid of everything these days.” The younger sister lifted the finely crafted vambrace from the bed and turned it in her hands to examine it closer. It was cold to touch but had a reassuring weight and build. “The only armour I have is my stupid training cuirass, and it stinks. I will never do anything like fight off the Gara Provence rebels.”
“You have the same fierce strength as our mother. I see her every time I look at your face. That strength is in you, I have no doubt of it,” said Roslind. She held her finger in place to help Kitsvanna tie the knot on the vambrace.
“I get scared when I think back to how unimportant everything seemed at our mother’s funeral. I don’t think I actually believed mother was never coming back.”
“That was two years ago. You were –”
A low-toned horn sounded in the courtyard. Roslind moved to the window and lifted it open. She could see the gate was already wide, but the signal was used whenever the baron left the estate.
“Father?” said Kitsvanna, a sudden fear turning her stomach.
“Come with me, Kits. We will find out.” Roslind took Kitsvanna by the hand and stepped into the corridor with her sword slung on her hip and dressed in her doublet, her chainmail shirt, and the dark blue-and-white surcoat of the Knights of Gaelgara over her hardened steel breastplate and backplate. The pair rushed to the courtyard where they were met by Thorn and the two Shielders assigned by Ulrik to ‘protect’ him.
“Thorn –”
“I know, riddari, I just found out,” Thorn responded, his concern evident.
“Where is the captain? Where did the baron go?” called Roslind as she strode into the courtyard.
A Shielder by the name of Áfastr was in the centre of the yard, surrounded by soldiers, when he heard the voice of the young knight. “My Lady, I was to go with the baron, but the marshal did not have enough horses saddled and he wouldn’t wait. He said we were going to the Great Watch House.”
“Thank you. I must follow him. Tell the stable lads to prepare my horse,” the knight commanded.
As the soldier ran toward the stables, a roan gelding carrying two uniformed men galloped into the courtyard. “Help!” cried the City Guard.
The guard in front of him on the horse was slumped forward, blood flowing down his face from a sizeable wound to the head. Another Shielder, Brokk, rushed to the side of the horse, catching the guard as he fell and easing him to the ground.
“The Southern Docks are under attack!” the guard reported through laboured breaths. “We barely got out of there. I knew we couldn’t make it to First Garrison, not with everyth–”
“Water and bandages!” Roslind commanded. “From the start, soldier, who attacks the city? Speak.”
“We’re from Dock Garrison – Tolí and I’m Duncan – we were on patrol around the grass market when we heard the commotion down by the splash. Saw…saw the smoke rising over the shipping houses. When we got there a crazed mob were setting fire to the ship in dry dock. Some…some of the craven kerns were walking men off the ship at sword-point onto the walls of the dry dock, even as the ship burned. One of our lot told me a whole squad of your Shielders had been down there and were slaughtered.” The soldier caught his breath the best he could.
“Go on,” urged the knight.
“We came face to face with a group of them, they turned on us. We thought we had no way out, but a man dressed in black helped us, told us to come here. When he arrived, they had already smashed poor Tolí’s face against a wall and dropped me with a few gut shots.
“They had weapons and carts to block the streets. They started fires at each end of the docks. Several of the pier points and the harbourmaster’s building have gone up as well. Those traitorous snakes were ready for what was happening. They could not have organised everything so damned fast.”
As the soldier spoke, one of the troop healers arrived. He handed the Slither a waterskin and tended to the unconscious Tolí.
“Was anyone leading them?” Roslind asked the guardsman. A hand lightly touched the knight’s shoulder. Thorn drew close. “A word,” he said.
“Rest,” Roslind suggested to the guardsman as she joined Thorn, who was walking from the group to avoid being heard.
“I do not like this. It is more than coincidence there is an attempt on the baron’s life on the same day fighting and fires break out on the Southern Docks. Even where I was, to the south, there were tales of what was happening here in Aksson. I’m sure you have heard them, too. It’s all connected – the civil unrest, the defamation of the fleet’s captains, the decommissioning of parts of the fleet and the rioting. In short, young knight, I believe the city of Aksson is about to be invaded.” Thorn’s gaze never left the knight’s eyes.
“How sure are you about this?” asked Roslind, a chill starting to claw at her spine.
“Many years ago, several of us were tasked by your father to come up with a viable plan to capture the city, subdue its citizens, gain control of the salt mines, even the northern shipping routes and therefore the supply routes across the Shimmering Seas. The baron is a cunning tactician, and he knew any attempt on Drottenheim and the throne of Klingsor Landulf – no matter where it came from – must begin with taking Aksson. The King’s Krakens are the foremost threat to any scheme, or at least they once were.
“The point of the exercise was to better prepare a defence of the city. One of the main elements of an attack on the city would focus on killing or capturing the baron, his family, and the ranking military commanders to cause confusion and lack of leadership, while also securing important hostages. The other was to gain control of the Southern Docks, allowing ships full of soldiers and siege weaponry to make a landing. The attack on the docks would also draw most available soldiers, leaving the North Gates and the cliff forts depleted. This would allow a fleet to arrive to the northwest at the salt mines. It would also not surprise me if the river has been poisoned with crushed hellebore roots at the waterfall. Be careful what you drink from here on.”
“I remember the lessons,” said Roslind. “We studied the strategy at the academy but defence of it relied heavily on the Krakens, bolstered by the Sonnerton Coastal Fleet and adequate time to prepare. The islands should have been sending word of an invasion force days ago. How could an enemy fleet go unobserved by our watchtowers?” The sense of what was happening was now sinking deep.
“If it is an attack, as I suspect, that is a problem for another day, riddari. We need to act quickly,” Thorn said.
“Agreed.” Turning back to the gathering of soldiers, Roslind was acutely aware of what needed to be done, even as the desire to ride in search of her father played on her mind. “Has anyone seen Captain Drell?” she shouted.
There was silence and awkward glances from the men before one of the more senior soldiers spoke up. “Not since last night, m’lady, when he was inspecting the troops on guard duty. Dunno if he was expected today.”
“Fine,” said Roslind. “Tell him to come here at once, armed and ready.”
The soldier nodded and hurried out of the main gates of the estate.
“Brokk, isn’t it?” Roslind addressed the big man.
“It is.”
“Go to the tall tower and sound the Tocsin. Five long blasts.”
“Immediately, m’lady…forgive me, are five blasts not for an attack on the city?”
“Five blasts, soldier. We are under attack,” the knight explained. “Be quick about it and come back to me when you are done.”
“Immediately,” said Brokk, hurrying away.
“I need the rest of you in pairs to make it to Second, Third and Fifth Garrisons. Inform the commanders the Southern Docks are under attack and half their number are to report to the central rally point of…” The location escaping her mind, the young knight looked to Thorn.
“Was it not changed to the Isul Street Granary, just inside the Dock Walls?” he asked.
“Correct,” replied Roslind with authority. “The granary building will also be the fallback position.” She gave Thorn a subtle nod of appreciation. “Tell them to send some scouts to the salt mines and that the north walls are not to be left unmanned. The rest of the troops are to bolster the walls until they are called for. I’ll meet you there. Now hurry, and may Oln guard your backs.”
“M’lady!” came the unified response before the Shielders rushed away.
“Soldier, rest here a while,” said Roslind, addressing the Slither, “but you will be needed back at the docks when you can.”
“I’m fit to return, my lady. I want another go at those kerns,” said Duncan, forcing a smile.
“Good man. I will gather some more men. You’re with us.”
Before the troop healers had removed the injured Tolí to the Olnsraum, Roslind instructed them to send someone to the temple and request that the Gothi prepare for injured soldiers and townsfolk. Another group of seven Shielders had come down from the walls of the estate and the barracks when they heard what was happening. Roslind ordered them to gather weapons and shields and be ready to march to the Isul Street Granary.
In his life, Brokk could not remember the Tocsin ever sounding more than twice, reserved for the changing of the year. The idea of an enemy at the shores and being called to fight in defence of the city was not something Brokk had considered after his training.
My city. My home. The home of my mother and sisters. By Oln’s strength, they will not take it, thought Brokk as he bounded the stairs of the tall tower toward the Tocsin.
The unusual device had been fashioned from some long extinct creature’s horns and had been in place for hundreds of years. Gathering his breath, he attempted to sound the thing. His first attempt failed, and he realised his hands were shaking with nervous energy. Calming himself, he drew in his breath and sounded the horn. Its immense and thunderous noise sent vibrations through the entire tower, even shaking loose some pieces of mortar between the bricks.
That’s one, thought the Shielder, as he drew in another deep breath and wound the horn again.
The first blast of the Tocsin drew everyone’s attention to the tall tower. The sound was so loud that most of the people within the Lord’s Estate stopped what they were doing, some even covering their ears.
Roslind and Thorn had moved across the courtyard to Kitsvanna, who had returned from her chamber with a shortened rapier slung at her hip and wearing the toughened leather cuirass she used for training over her blue dress. Roslind could not help but smile with pride. The sound of the Tocsin continued to reverberate against the walls of the estate and far beyond.
When the five blasts were done, there was an uneasy silence in the courtyard, as if everyone present was waiting for something to happen but not knowing quite what. Roslind knew what she was waiting for, as did Thorn. Kitsvanna attempted to speak but the knight held her hand up to silence her.
“There they are,” confirmed Thorn, his right ear twitching.
The bells started to ring throughout the city, calling everyone to action. Roslind could hear them too. She was about to speak but this time she was interrupted by her sister.
“I’m coming with you,” the young girl said. “I know what you are going to say but I am, and there is nothing else to it.”
“Kits, you know father would have my head quicker than a snapjaw if he knew I brought you anywhere near the trouble at the docks. I know you can handle yourself, but I need someone here who can help organise things. Besides, when Ulrik returns, I will need you to tell him what has happened and that we are mustering at the Isul Street Granary.”
“But what about father?” said Kitsvanna. “We can’t leave –”
“The ‘Bear’ has been in more battles than we can count, and he is well protected by House Shield soldiers. I need to see what is happening at the docks and put an end to the trouble,” Roslind reassured her, even though her mind was full of concern for the baron’s safety in light of recent events.
“If I may, riddari,” said Thorn, “I will go to the Great Watch House and find Feylan. I’ll let him know what is happening and return him here. It was once my duty to protect him, and it is a habit I have not yet managed to break.”
“Thank you. You have already received much more than you bargained for since you arrived.”
“Wrong. I still have not had the hot meal I was promised,” teased Thorn with a quick wink and a smirk, before turning, bursting into a sprint, and disappearing through the Czarrin Steel gates of the Lord’s Estate.
The two Shielders assigned to watch Thorn made a pitiful attempt to follow him but gave up at the gate.
“There you go Kits, Thorn will bring father back here,” said Roslind. She held her by the shoulders. “Lock the gates when we leave and wait for Ulrik, father or me to return. We do not know who to trust so allow no one entry – not soldiers, not the council members, not the city folk. Only us, understand?”
Kitsvanna nodded.
“Thorn will find father and be back before you know it, but if things get bad, you know where to go, don’t you?”
The girl nodded again and hugged her sister tight.
“Well, I know your squiring skills are good, dear sister. Can you help me with the rest of my shine, helm, and shield?”
“I can do it,” Kitsvanna declared.
Once fully prepared, the knight made her way to the courtyard with her sister. “Hurry back,” Kitsvanna said.
Roslind kissed Kitsvanna on the forehead, and although the blessing was usually reserved for use between warriors, she recited, “May Oln guard your back.”
The girl’s face brightened as she was recognised as a fighter by a knight and her sister. The group of soldiers were ready to march, armed and armoured, the Shielders with their large steel shields slung on their backs – including Brokk, who had returned from the tall tower; Duncan, the City Guardsman; and Áfastr, who stood holding the reigns of Roslind’s warhorse, Solstice, in one hand and the knight’s shield in the other.
Those who remained to guard the estate were instructed to protect Kitsvanna and told not to allow entry to anybody other than the baron, Ulrik or Drell.
Roslind handed her helm to her sister and mounted the large stallion as the others made their way out of the gates. She reached down and lifted the helm, putting it over her head. She rode across the threshold of the estate and waited for the Czarrin Steel gates to be locked behind her. Raising her arm, she signalled the men to march.
Kitsvanna climbed the battlements to watch the group disappear into the streets, gripping the hilt of her sword in anxiety and choking back the rising fear. She was faced with the sudden realisation that everybody she cared about in the world was either missing or had left her behind. Drops formed at the corners of her eyes as she once again was alone with nothing more to do but wait. She recalled again how Roslind had uttered the blessing of Oln.
She would not have said it to me if she saw me crying like a child, she thought. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Two members of the House Shield were waiting at the foot of the rampart stairs.
“We have a lot to do,” she said, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “Start boiling the water and gathering stones. Fill the troughs and any empty barrels from the well. Gather anyone who cannot fight into the hall. We may be in for a long day. My father, Roslind and Ulrik will need somewhere to come back to, so these walls cannot be breached and we cannot fail.”
“Yes, m’lady,” came the surprised response.