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For all that he thought he had gotten better on a horse, Ipid realized that he still had a lot to learn as he clutched the reins of his tall horse and prayed that he would not fall. Below him, the cobbles of the road rushed by in a blur. If he hit them now, his mission would be over before it started, so he squeezed the saddle with all the strength his legs could muster and pleaded to any god that would listen. In his time with Arin, he had become accustom to the walk, or even occasional trot, that they maintained on their march, but the yulata, or steady gallop, at which he now rode, was entirely different. Arin had taught him that riding was not about sitting, it was like walking you had to use your legs to stay in rhythm with the horse, rising and falling with it. That worked well enough when the horse was walking, but Ipid could not keep up with a gallop. He had fallen completely out of sync with his horse so that every time he came down, the horse rose up to meet him with bone-jarring results.
Ahead of him, his lone escort, a brusque warrior named Härl, was a steady blur that looked like he was floating above the ground. He leaned over his mount, face inches from its ear, and moved in perfect harmony with the animal. It was the extraordinary symmetry of a man and beast that had been together their entire lives.
Beyond them, the city of Thoren dominated the horizon, a great semicircle of ever-taller boxes clinging to the banks of a wide river. At their current pace, they would arrive at the first buildings in a matter of minutes. To this point, he had seen no sign of movement from those buildings, and given their position outside the walls, he could only imagine they had been abandoned long before the invaders arrived. Still, Ipid could not believe that the outer ring was entirely unguarded, and he prayed that the men who were likely hiding in those buildings would heed the makeshift yellow flag that Härl carried – yellow being the color of the rising sun and thus the Church, it had become a symbol of peace. If not, this was going to be a very short mission indeed.
It was almost noon according to the position of the sun, and Ipid felt overwhelmed by all that he had to do in the next thirty-six hours. Following his breakfast, Eia had planned to take him to the Wilmont Inn and Pubery where Kurion was waiting, but he had talked her into allowing a quick visit to the village boys in the camp. Finding that they were as well as could be expected with no sign of Dasen or Tethina, he followed her to the inn. On the walk, he had reviewed the Battle of Testing with Eia. He vaguely remembered the conversation he’d had about it with Arin but wanted to make sure he had all the details before he tried to convince the people of Thoren to participate.
Eia had assured him that if they chose to fight the worst outcome would be for the people of the Kingdoms to remain te-adeate. If they fought bravely, however, they could become k’amach-tur, literally those who battle with honor. These were non-clansmen who are allowed to govern themselves as long as they pledge men, supplies, and loyalty to the Darthur. Finally, if the people of Thoren showed themselves as equals to the Darthur, they could become du-räsch Darthur, not of the blood Darthur. These were non-Darthur clan members who have the rights of clansmen including representation on the Ashüt. Ipid had remembered Belab’s words from the night before. Slaves by any other name . . . .
When they arrived at the inn, Kurion had simply pointed him toward his escort, a big warrior named Härl from Kurion’s Cäthum Clan. Ipid had explained the need for a yellow flag and had been given just enough time to find some fabric and a pole. Thus equipped, they had been on their way.
When the first buildings were a few hundred paces away, Härl reined his horse back and Ipid almost overshot him before he had his own mount under control. They came to a stop and eyed the city. Härl’s eyes probed the buildings, locking on each for a long time then moving to the next until he had studied each. Finally, he pulled a bow from a pouch in his saddle and notched one of the distinctive black-shafted arrows the Darthur used. Ipid wanted to tell him to put the damned thing away, but he knew that the warrior would just as likely shoot him as put the bow down, so he held his tongue and hoped for the best.
The fourth ring, as this part of the city was called, was really nothing more than a large expanse of shanty buildings surrounding the city’s third wall. It was not protected by any fortifications, and Ipid could see no movement in the rundown buildings as they approached, but then he did not expect to see the crossbow bolt that would end his part in this world. If the Order wants me to succeed, it will have to let me at least reach my goal. Otherwise, there is nothing I can do. He had long ago learned the futility of worrying about things he could not change, so he put the fear out of his mind and focused on the arguments he would make to the city directors.
They continued into the shadow of the first buildings, but the lack of movement in the normally vibrant sector was unnerving, and Ipid could only watch the gaping black windows like the eyes of predators preparing to lunge. Prior to unification, Thoren had been the seat if the Grand Duke of Greater Oscante and one of the most powerful cities in the northern Kingdoms. In the distance, the stout wall that had been the source of much of that early power could be seen peeking through the surrounding buildings. That original wall had stood since the time of the Empire and had served as a rallying point for those that would eventually form the Kingdom of Greater Oscante from the chaos that followed the collapse of the Empire.
But now only a fraction of the city was still inside that fortification. As the city had grown during the stretches of peace between the kingdoms’ ongoing wars, new residents had built homes and shops outside the original wall. When war again threatened the city, the residents had built another, far less daunting wall to protect their homes. That wall was never tested. Under similar circumstances, a third wall was built generations later, but even this failed to constrain the city’s growth. That final spurt of growth, which had occurred in the eighty years since the original kingdoms had united, gave the city the four rings for which it was now known. The three walls acted as more of a social than a physical divider now. The numerous gates in each wall were closed at night to keep the undesirables of the outer rings from making their way into the inner rings, and it was commonly accepted that the farther one was from the center of the city, the poorer their status.
That fact was obvious to Ipid as he rode along the main road through the fourth ring. The road was steady cobblestones and appeared to be well maintained. The shops and houses along the road were nice enough and most looked to be reputable, even if the largest proportion were taverns. Nice enough that was until his eye drifted down the streets that radiated from the road. Those streets were filth-covered mud with garbage piled along desolate shanty buildings, many of which were barely standing. The stench of rotting garbage and urine permeated everything, but even over that, Ipid could detect the acrid smell of pitch. They are going to burn it, he realized. When the invaders were inside the city, they would light the entire ring, would sacrifice a quarter of their city to hurt the invaders. He was stunned that they were willing to go so far. It made it clear that they intended to fight, that they planned to hold the invaders as long as possible. The day before, it would have been everything he wished for, now it made his job nearly impossible. They want a siege. How will I ever get them to abandon their defenses and face the invaders on an open field?
Before he could hope to answer, they arrived at the first gate. It was little more than a large set of wooden double-doors that would not stand more than a couple of hits from a simple ram. The wall that held the doors was no more impressive – it did not stand more than ten feet and the mortar that held the random jumble of stones was crumbling from age and lack of care – but the buildings closest to that wall had been demolished and formed into a pile of rubble ten feet from the walls. The rubble stood almost as tall as the wall in a jagged, uneven jumble of sharp rocks, glass and broken boards. Crossing it would be a nightmare, but given what he had seen the night before, the Darthur would never
have to cross it. Their wizards, their creatures would tear the city apart without breeching a single wall.
Ipid and Härl passed through an opening that had been left in the rubble, led their horses through a corridor of jumbled stones that would no doubt fill that gap, and stopped at the doors. A young man appeared above the gate wearing an oversized helmet and a blue tunic with a green-striped patch to mark him as part of the city garrison. White flags with three angled green stripes, the banners of Oscante District, snapped in the breeze on either side of him. He carried a long spear with a scrap of yellow cloth skewered on its tip, and his eyes bounced anxiously from Ipid to Härl then back again. Ipid watched Härl nervously, unsure what he would do.
“Who goes there, and what be your business in the city?” The man on the wall – in truth he was little more than a boy – tried to make his voice sound strong, but the tension was obvious, and his high voice cracked several times.
Ipid looked to Härl. The warrior nodded, and Ipid responded in a steady voice, hoping to give some of his own repose to the boy. “My name is Ipid Ronigan, First Advisor to Chancellor Kavich and Member of the Thoren Directorate. This man is Härl of the Cäthum Clan of the Darthur. The invaders have sent me to speak with the city directors on their behalf. We come in peace and ask that you honor the banner of the Church by allowing us to pass.”
“I’ve been told to admit you to the city,” the boy yelled. None of the high-pitched nervous energy had left his voice, and he scanned the buildings nervously. “You must leave your weapons at this gate and proceed with me blindfolded so you will not see our preparations for the siege.”
Ipid let out a small moan. He could not conceive of Härl giving up his weapons or wearing a blindfold. He considered protesting but knew that this boy was not making the decisions. He would have to seek approval from his superiors, and Ipid did not have the time to spend on protracted negotiations over petty issues. “We will do whatever is required,” he replied. As soon as he said the words, one of the doors swung open to reveal a dozen men with long spears at the ready.
Ipid said a quick prayer to the Holy Order as he turned to explain the situation to Härl. “Most honorable teacher, they take your weapons, bind your hands, and . . .” he paused to think of the word for blindfold before realizing that he did not have to use the exact translation, “. . . cover your eyes. If you fight, our mission will fail.”
Härl grunted his apparent approval, and they rode through the gates without anther word. The spears split and surrounded them as they entered. The boys holding the weapons looked terrified and ready to strike at the slightest provocation. Ipid desperately hoped that Härl would not be the one to provide it.
Fearing the worst, he watched his companion. He deliberately placed the arrow he had notched back in its quiver then fluidly removed the string from his bow and slid it into a leather pouch at the side of his horse. Ipid gawked. He could not conceive of a Darthur warrior who would drop his weapons while in sight of an enemy. He would have been less surprised if Härl had charged into the guards and killed every one of them.
There was a collective exhale from the guards, and the spears drew back to give them just enough space to dismount. Ipid was so concerned with looking harmless that he almost fell from the horse. Härl, on the other hand, leapt from his mount and landed on the cobblestones with a resounding thump. The aggressive dismount sent the guards clattering back. Taunting them further, he made a mocking move toward them and growled ominously. The gesture sent the guards back another step with their spears rattling. The warrior laughed heartily at his joke, a deep rumble that sounded like the beginning of an earthquake. From the reaction of the guards, Ipid was not sure which scared them more, the sudden move or the laugh it evoked.
As he laughed, Härl pulled a spike-headed hammer from his belt and dropped it on the ground with a clatter. It was followed by two long knives and a smaller one for throwing. Those trinkets were accompanied by a huge axe that he hoisted from a sheath at the side of his horse. The axe was half the height of a man with a long, efficient head only a foot in length. It did not look like much, but Ipid was sure that wielded by Härl from horseback it would cut clean through the strongest plate mail. Härl plucked it from the horse with one hand, held it lightly as if considering something, then dropped it with a crash that cracked one of the cobblestones.
Having surrendered his weapons, Härl turned and placed his hands behind him. The guards did not hesitate to make good on his offer. Two of them circled the warrior with strips of leather and quickly bound his huge hands – the fact that the tallest of the guards only came to Härl shoulder made the spectacle look like children binding a willing adult as part of a game of rangers and bandits. Another guard secured Ipid in a similar fashion. The bindings were followed by black bags, which were pulled over their heads to conceal their march through the city.