The Seige of Wyn Avuqua

1010 A.D.
The Realm of Wyn Avuqua

“I’ve got you!” a woman’s voice keeps saying over and over. “I’ve got you!” Her face is familiar. Loche has been staring at her for some time now, maybe five or ten minutes. She was the first through the parapet door after he heard the tumblers turn. Behind followed a rather tall man, mid to late thirties, though, something about him seemed far older. His hair is dark and shoulder length. A weighted worry shadowing his face. The two kneel beside him. She cradles his head. The man stares. He is crying, but strangely in control.

“I’ve got you,” she keeps saying.

Loche pushes them back and begins to frantically search the parapet again. His eyes downward, scanning through the gloaming for something he has lost. He knows why he is searching. He has read about it many times. He has even watched a grieving parent in his office during therapy exhibit the behavior. The poor man could not stop pacing, looking out the door, beside the desk, out the window. Some psychologists call it search mode.

“He was just right here?” Loche hears himself say. “Did you see him?”

The two observe Loche, tears shaping below their eyes.

Loche knows his behavior. He knows why he is frantic. He looks down onto the field. Did he miss something?

Now the stage where Edwin was killed is overrun. The snow has deepened. The base of the mountains has vomited the Godrethion horde onto the white plain. They have begun to lay siege to the city. He thinks he can hear the light tick of snow touching down.

“Edwin. Edwin was right here,” he repeats. When he whirls around to the couple now climbing to their feet, a line from one of his text books rolls into his memory: The most frequent immediate response following death, regardless of whether or not the loss was anticipated, is shock, numbness, and a sense of disbelief.

Loche laughs at the maddening accuracy of the sentence. “Did he go out the open door?” He begs.

“Son…” Loche hears the word—an aching word—the wrong word for this moment—“Son,” the man says. “You must come with us. We must leave this high place.”

“Not without my son,” Loche says. There’s that word again, he thinks.

The woman seizes Loche’s upper arms and presses her face into his, “Loche! It’s Julia. Don’t you know me? Loche!”

Three arrows whistle and snick against the stones to their right. Julia pulls Loche nearer to the door. “Loche, we have to go now. You have to come with us.”

The man bends to Loche’s chained ankle and inserts a release pin. The casing splits. He casts the chain aside. The ring of the metal spins Loche’s thought toward the outer edge of the parapet so that he might check to see if Edwin is hiding there. Two strong hands grab hold of his shoulders and rotate him around.

“Boy!” An open hand slaps a wincing sting across his face. “Loche!”

Loche sees William Greenhame. His eyes are swollen from rage and tears. Beside him is Julia Iris.

Before he can exhibit cognition, William shoves him through the door to the landing of the spiral stair. Like he was ushered up, he is now ushered down. He stumbles and falls twice. Each time he is hauled roughly back to his feet by both William and Julia. At the base of the stairs wait Adam Talansman, Corey Thomas and Leonaie Eschelle. They face the lower tunnel in defense positions.

Corey embraces Loche and says slowly, “Liva hoy gosht. Thi thia, Aethur. A thia gos ning.” Releasing him, he pulls from under his cloak Loche’s umbrella and shoulder bag. “Take these again, my friend. But I am afraid the Red Notebook is no longer ours.”

Loche stares at the items. Leonaie rushes up and assists in fitting the bag over his shoulder and then clips the umbrella onto its buckle. “Dr. Newirth,” she says. But when Loche meets her eyes her voice falters. He can see her struggling for words. She shakes her head mournfully. Then both she and Julia bookend him and slide their arms around his middle.

“Any sign of Vincale?” William says joining Talan beside the opposite passageway.

“Not yet,” Talan answers.

“When he released you, did he tell you where Helen was?”

“He did not,” Talan replies. “The second time I have failed in minding Helen Newirth.”

Corey says, “We can’t stay here, William. Godrethion have taken the Eastern Gate.”

At that moment a clatter of boots echoes down the passage. Orange torchlight illuminates the corners and the shadowed hall. A moment later a voice calls, “William!”

“Vincale!” William shouts back.

The Captain of Wyn Avuqua rushes into the small lobby with four sentinels of the city. He stops before Loche and bows his head. “If the Queen had words for this moment, she did not share them with me, Aethur. My heart breaks for you…”

Slumping forward lazily, Loche says, “Edwin. Where is my son Edwin? I just saw him a moment ago,” he turns and points up the stairs, “just there.”

Vincale waits. He surmises Loche’s lolling expression—his fractured awareness. As he lingers there he realizes Loche’s breaking point has been reached.

“You must escape the city, Aethur. You and your companions must escape. If you remain there will be no dawn for our kind—you have meddled too long in the affairs of fate and time.”

“Captain,” William says, “Where is the Prophecy? The Red Notebook.”

“Tiris Avu is now under siege,” Vincale says. “They are inside the walls. Two towers have fallen.”

“The Prophecy, Vincale! We cannot leave the Prophecy behind!” William shouts.

“That is not all!” Vincale says, his voice raising. “The Templar under Yanreg, have rebelled—all save Maghren, Minister of Keptiris. He is faithful, still. The treachery of Yanreg is deep. When I left the Queen, she and Maghren were defended within the Avu—but now I cannot say. They were besieged by not only Godrethion, but the Templar and their loyal sentinels. It grieved me to part with her,” he turns to Loche, “but she bade me to bring you out of the city and out of this time.”

“And that was all?” William asked.

“That was all there was time for, William.”

“The Prophecy! What of the Prophecy?”

“It is in the hands of fate, or it is in the hands of the Queen.”

“Is she mad?” William shouts again. “She has killed my grandson, and now she is to toy with the existence of the Itonalya on Earth? What madness is this?”

“I cannot speak for her choices in this dark time, for I was taken aback when her axe fell. But do not judge the wisdom of Queen Yafarra until—”

William’s eyes glitter. Fury lights within him. “I watched her murder my—”

Corey reaches to his friend, “Not now, William. We must move.”

William demands of Vincale, “Where is Lornensha? Where is my—my mother?”

Vincale does not answer immediately. He then replies, “She tends to the fallen.”

The company rushes out of the wall-lined passages and into the late afternoon gloom. A host of Itonalya still fight just inside the East Gate and are managing to plug the flow of Godrethion entry. Enemy soldiers can still pass in and around the defense. Buildings are aflame. Above, on the battlements, Wyn Avuquain sentinels are overwhelmed with too many high ladders. Godrethion rise up against the walls like a crashing wave.

“There!” Vincale points. “We must get to the dike at Keptiris. Along the northern wall are the Book Houses. The North Gate is just beyond.” He points. Ahead, perhaps a mile, Loche sees a snowcapped, single grey wall and beyond that a line of high peaked, three story houses. At the apex of each is a proud, sculpted Heron. He feels his body spin to search again for Edwin.

Corey shouts, “Is the North not besieged?”

Vincale yells over his shoulder as he starts toward the dike, “Every wall is besieged. We are surrounded.”

“We do not have the numbers to fight our way out, Vincale!” Corey says.

“We shall go beneath them.”

“Beneath? What do you mean?” William asks.

“In the lower basement of the Book Houses is a tunnel that will lead us directly to Dellithion Omvide.”

William groans. He looks at Loche. “Another tunnel.”