The Dark Glory War (30 page)

Prince Kirill laughed openly. “I am flattered that Chytrine saw fit to send two of her armies after me. Most of one litters the streets out there. I have a pair of knuckle bones I roll to choose between plans, so they never know exactly where I attack. The loss of the city is foregone and I would have evacuated everyone, but there remains a problem.”

Lord Norrington folded his arms over his chest. “And that is?”

Kirill pointed at one of the older towers near the harbor. “That tower was home to the fragment of the DragonCrown which we had. It is clear this is their target, and we wish to deny them the fragment.”

“And the problem is?”

Prince Kirill turned around and pointed at a green tower only three blocks from where we stood. “That tower is home to the Vilwanese consulate. A year ago a number of magickers wanted to study the fragment and it was agreed to lend it to them very quietly. No one knew the fragment had been shifted there, not even my father. His sorcerer agreed to the loan in my father’s name, assuming things arcane should handle themselves. My father does not know, even now, and I only know because his advisor used anarcanslata to communicate these facts to me.”

Lord Norrington swiped his hand across his mouth. “You mean to tell me that the Aurolani forces have already taken the building holding the DragonCrown fragment?”

“Yes. Enchantments on it have proved too difficult for them to breach, but they will. I am planning a foray to the building to take back the piece of the crown.”

Lord Norrington slowly shook his head. “Reckless and dangerous.”

Prince Kirill arched an eyebrow. “You will help me?”

“If we can come up with a plan that will work, yes.” Lord Norrington smiled. “Given that we know more than they do, chances are such a plan exists. Let’s map it out and then we go.”

The plan which Prince Kirill and Lord Norrington drew up— with suitable input from Princes Augustus and Scrainwood—took advantage of what we knew about the tactical situation in Okrannel. Prince Kirill reported that the Iron Prince was the only one of Chytrine’ssullandri that had been spotted as part of the invading force. As nearly as Kirill knew, Chytrine only had foursullandri in her entire force, so the Iron Prince’s death had to be quite a blow to her plans for conquest. Still, since asullandri was supposed to command each of her armies, and two armies had been sent to take Okrannel, we could not discount the possibility that another Dark Lancer would be directing the opposition.

We did know, however, that even asullandri would find himself at a disadvantage here at Svarskya.

Because we had destroyed the Radooya Bridge, we knew the portion of the army that had gone south would require at least a week to reach Okrannel. We also assumed that if Chytrine was using Tagothcha to keep our fleet bottled up, theweirun would still be reporting that we’d not left the Mirvostok harbor. Even if the Aurolani troops heading south reached Mirvostok and reported we were missing—andChytrine successfully guessed we were at Svarskya—her ability to blun what we were going to do in the next day would be limited’t< communicating orders viaarcanslata.

And, if her abilities weren’t that limited, I really didn‘ want to see what she would do.

The plan developed so simply and easily that it could b( seen as desperate. It certainly was. It began with trumpet; blowing retreats all across the Okrans line. Men began disappearing from walls and towers, especially to the west, on the line that would take the Aurolani troops to the Crown Towei the fastest. Since Aurolani forces undoubtedly had seen oui fleet arrive, and since the Okrans forces had evacuated a lot ol folks by fleet before, the easiest assumption was that the troops were going to run.

And since the fleeing troops would never abandon the DragonCrown fragment, it became paramount for the Aurolani troops to break through and take the tower. The speed requirement meant that finesse was out—they’d need a full-force assault, which would mean stripping the rest of the city of troops so their drive would have serious weight of numbers to it.

Once we gave way to their attack and allowed them into the Crown Tower section of town, we’d counterattack their flank. Okrans defenders would slow their drive, then our taskforce’s troops would hit from the flanks. As that distracted them, a small force would make their way to the Vilwanese consulate and recover the DragonCrown fragment. If things went well, we’d be back in time for a general retreat and evacuation. By the time the Aurolani host knew it had been hoodwinked, we’d be away.

Prince Augustus was left in command of the Crown Tower defense, and he requested Scrainwood help him. Lord Norrington must have realized that what little in the way of fellowship Leigh, Nay, and I had with Scrainwood had soured at the bridge, so he pulled us into the Thief Company. Seethe, Heslin, Faryaah-Tse Kimp, and a handful of elven warriors became thieves as well. We fitted out the rest of the force with an even mix of Okrans and taskforce warriors, stalwart men and women all. Twenty-four of us would move on the ground and another six, Gyrkyme, would move through the air to the tower, but only after we’d broken through and secured it. They’d be able to carry the fragment away while we fought our way back to safety.

The elves wanted nothing to do with the Gyrkyme and almost balked at the mission, but they knew how vital success was. Prince Kirill gave them a way to preserve their honor by noting that the elves were tasked with getting to the tower, in and back out. Their responsibility ended there. The Gyrkyme were merely tasked with getting the fragment away, so their job was not in any way involved with what the elves were doing. Though the ruse was transparent, it was a sufficient blind to let the elves participate.

I’d never seen a Gyrkyme in person before. Overall they looked to be elven, with pointed ears, sharpened facial features and long, wiry bodies. A down covered them all over, and they wore little in the way of clothes—save light jewelry or daggers strapped to arm or thigh. Longer feathers covered their wings, back, head, and neck, with the head feathers often forming a crest that rose as a Gyrkyme became excited. The furled wings towered above the Gyrkyme’s heads and easily measured twenty-eight feet from tip to tip. Their coloration varied, with some almost completely white, others raven black, and Preyknosery—their leader—was colored very like a kestrel, with brown over his back, and white on his front and face, save for the distinctive dark coloring around the eyes and down by his nose.

The Gyrkyme only had four fingers and toes. The foot seemed very like a man’s, save the toes were a bit elongated and might be suitable for grasping. Each toe ended in a nasty talon that I imagined could be as devastating as those of a temeryx. Their fingers likewise ended in talons, but the Gyrkyme trimmed those on their thumbs and index fingers back to where they were nothing but nubs. Those who were archers even trimmed the second finger’s talon, so they could draw a bow and release it without slicing the bowstring in half.

Preyknosery had big amber eyes and swiveled his head to regard me as I entered Prince Kirill’s quarters with a message from Lord Norrington. The Gyrkyme said nothing, but blinked his eyes once, slowly, then turned his head back toward Kirill. The prince smiled and looked up at him, then over at me.

“Is it time?”

“Soon.”

The prince nodded, then returned his attention to the squirming bundle in his arms. “Hawkins, you’ve not met my daughter, have you?”

“No, Highness.”

He sat her up on his left hand, supporting her head and back with his right hand. “This is Alexia, my daughter and heir.” The infant tugged at a bracelet braided of pale hair that encircled the Prince’s right wrist. “Her hair she gets from her mother—may the gods keep her soul. She’s a happy child. She is my heart.”

As difficult as it is to judge the final shape of a tree by looking at a seedling, I have trouble reading the future in the face of any infant. Comparing Alexia to what I remembered of nieces and nephews, I assumed she was half a year old at best. Her hair had come in very light, almost white, and she had two Gyrkyme feathers lashed to a small braid hanging from her left temple. The child had the most brilliant violet eyes I’d ever seen before and a big, giggling, gurgling smile.

“I can see why you are proud of her.”

“She is all I have.” He cradled her again in his arms, letting her little hand tug at his goatee. He laughed, then kissed her on the forehead and held her out to Preyknosery. “It is time I entrust her to you.”

“There is time for that later, friend Kirill.” His voice surprised me because I had expected a high and harsh sound from the Gyrkyme, but instead found his voice to be deep and resonant. “I will board a ship with you and we will sail from here.”

Kirill shook his head. “No, my friend, I want you and your wing to leave here the instant the attacks begin. Your chances of escape will be highest then. Take Alexia to your home. I will come for her there.”

The Gyrkyme took the child in his arms and Kirill reached out to stroke her head. “Poor child. You were robbed of your mother at birth, and your city when less than a year old. Your lifetrek begins at the base of a mighty mountain, but scale it you will.” He kissed her again, then turned away.

“Go, friend Preyknosery. She is your daughter now. Go while Svarskya is still ours. Always remind her it belongs to her.”

The Gyrkyme bobbed his head at the prince’s back, then swept from the room. Kirill did not watch him go, but instead strapped on his sword and picked up his helmet. Turning to me, he smiled. “Come, friend Hawkins. Chytrine wants my city. The lease price has gone up again, and it is time to draw from her a very bloody payment.”

Everyone in Thief Company mounted a horse save for Faryaah-Tse Kimp. She merely shifted her legs from normal into the heavy haunches of a temeryx. The change gave her a weird sort of hopping gait and allowed her prodigious leaps. Having seen temeryces in action, I had no doubt she could move fast, and the sight of her was odd enough that she might give an enemy pause before striking.

From the west we heard the sound of the gates finally giving way. The sharp crack was chased by a victorious howl. Buildings broke the sound up, but I had no trouble imagining a flood of vylaens and gibberers pouring through the gate. They’d find themselves channeled along a wide boulevard because of the debris choking alleys and cross streets, but with the Crown Tower in front of them, their concern wouldn’t be with their flanks.

Archers on the wall above the south gate rose and loosed shot after shot at the nearest troops. Warriors drew the massive beam that served to bar the gates and swung them open. We poured out at full gallop, swords drawn, with Kirill and Lord Norrington in the lead, Leigh on the left flank, and Nay and me on the right with Seethe. Faryaah-Tse came up the middle, hopping and bouncing along, and the rest of our troops rode in behind the wedge we formed.

The sheer devastating force of a mounted charge against infantry cannot be underestimated. To some, including bards who have gotten no closer to combat than the occasional bar-room brawl, a horse and rider seem quite vulnerable to a man on foot. After all, a quick dodge to the rider’s shield side means his swordcut will go awry, then the footman can slash at the horse and bring it down. The rider is tumbled and the footman can fall on him before he recovers.

The problem is, of course, that dodging a wall of charging horsemen is impossible. Moreover, the sheer weight of the charging horse is such that, when it catches a footman with even a glancing blow, it can shatter bones. It will, at the very least, knock the footman flying^—if not kill him outright. And while a downed man becomes an obstacle that most horses would rather leap than step on, the broken footman has no way of giving chase to the cavalry. If he struggles to his feet at all, he probably will just make himself a target for their return charge.

Leigh and Nay relied on Temmer and maul respectively, but I’d armed myself with a horsebow and let fly as fast as I could find a target. I sank an arrow into one gibberer a heartbeat before Lord Norrington’s charger clipped the beast with a shoulder. The gibberer spun limp-limbed through the air and snapped its back on the corner of a building.

Seethe wielded a heavy-bladed sword with the slightest of curves to it—one almost identical to the sword Resolute had used. The blade actually broadened two-thirds of the way from the hilt, then tapered back down into a sharp point suitable for lunging or spearing things. The whole of one edge had been sharpened, as well as a full third of the other edge, allowing her to slash both forehand and back. It had a simple crosshilt and a slightly curved, hardwood hilt, but otherwise appeared unadorned.

A tattooed rune on her forearm glowed with an iridescent red that spread to encompass her whole right arm. She beat aside the haft of a spear and rotated her wrist, flicking the blade with such speed that I couldn’t see it. Only the blood tipping her sword and a gibberer reeling away with his severed head lolling back gave evidence of what she had done.

A volley of arrows from the wall finished the gibberer force we’d ridden through. Our hoofbeats thundered through the town as we raced for the Vilwanese tower. We reached it and the broken gate in the simple wall surrounding it. I ducked as I rode beneath the arch, then shot a vylaen that had been in the process of scaling one of the garden trellises which rose against the tower. Others of our force leaped from their saddles, laying about with sword, ax, and club. Faryaah-Tse sailed over the garden wall, crushing another vylaen beneath her feet, then lashed out and disemboweled a gibberer with a single stroke of the twin hooked blades that had replaced her right hand.

A number of vylaen corpses littered the tower’s little garden, and most of them had died long before we arrived. One, burnt to a crisp, clung to the trellis and a low balcony. Burn marks around the doorway indicated where others had died trying to break into the tower. The door itself appeared to be a solid piece of obsidian, with no knob or other indication of how one was to open it, though burned and splintered remnants of roofing beams showed that a ram wouldn’t work.