Stormed Fortress (83 page)

The prince who wept with his returned signet in hand was too stricken with grief to make his will known on the matter.

* * *

For Sulfin Evend, the storm
'
s savage onslaught became a back-handed gift as he sought to arrest the cascade that hurled the Alliance war host towards certain disaster. A raging mob faced him, massed against the handful of officers called out to stem burgeoning mayhem. Among the green captains and unseasoned men, the sharp, surprise strike of wrought Shadow had seeded ungovernable terror. Few of his ranked veterans had ever known the sorcerous works of Arithon s
'
Ffalenn, beyond the wild tales bandied about in the taverns. Now, with the estuary gripped under darkness at noon, the orderly encampment seethed with confusion. The shrill garble of horn-calls piercing the snowfall bespoke the on-going struggle to curb spreading panic.

The ground shook. Another shock slammed through the Lord Commander
'
s racing feet as, again, a retort by Shadow deflected. The recoil blasted an untenanted stretch of the far shore-line. Sulfin Evend shouted to direct his gawping officers. He waved the furled flag on the staff clenched in his armoured fist: a peace-keeping forethought, shoved at him by the royal valet in the tumult of Lysaer
'
s first salvo.

'
Deploy your lines! Now!
'
he bellowed, across the heaving press of armed bodies.
'
We have to establish a cordon!
'

He must not cry vengeance upon the perfidious Prince of Rathain.
Not yet:
caught in the breach by mass fear, he stared down the prospect of death on the swords of Lysaer
'
s fervent followers.
All
remained blind to the danger, instilled by horrific experience. Devout faith placed their lives in deadly jeopardy, the most lethal threat never Shadow at all, but the afflicted insanity of the Mistwraith
'
s design, driving the man they hailed avatar.

Against a repeat of the tragedy that had razed his crack troops once before, Sulfin Evend had naught but bare wits, as events moved too fast to contain. Lysaer
s
'
Ilessid
wielded his mighty gift from the top of an unused siege tower, with the clamouring crowd packed beneath. The stair entry was choked. Everyone, down to the grimiest pot-boy, had thronged to observe the sizzling bolts arching outward. Each ground-shaking strike left them trembling as the concussive blasts creased the gusts into shock waves of heat. The mind-numbing,
inconceivable
phenomenon followed, as Shadow erupted, dense as thrown felt, from a placement just inside the harbour mouth. Each bedazzling outlay of Lysaer
'
s gifted power sank into that void and unravelled.

Now, discipline fractured into the fighting frenzy impelled by galvanic fear.

Sulfin Evend faced the onset of riot, his seasoned officers too few. Past campaigns against Arithon s
'
Ffalenn had destroyed countless thousands of lives. The troops stampeding the siege tower stair demanded their Blessed Prince
'
s due protection. All effort to turn them became battered down, the thin cordon chewed apart under rampaging panic.

'
Death to the Spinner of Darkness!
'

'
Strike the minion of evil to Sithaer!
'

Trampling men rocked the wheeled base of the platform, crying the name of their avatar. Rage, frustration, and outright terror seethed into a rallying cry for the grandiose cause.

'
Rip down the s
'
Brydion citadel!
'

'
Burn the black traitors who shelter the s
'
Ffalenn bastard!
'
Tear down the defences, stone by set stone! With swords and bare hands if need be!
'

Their jostling shoved Sulfin Evend aside. Cut off and deafened by shattering noise, he could never regroup his smashed line. Anxiety spurred him.
Every second that Lysaer succumbed to the curse increased the prospect of a mass immolation.

Since Sulfin Evend refused to draw steel against his own men, the fool flagstaff must serve. He used the blunt pole as a quarterstave and leveraged his way to the choked stair.

There, braced shoulder to shoulder, two of Lysaer
'
s elite honour guard held off the press, entrenched behind the tow-chains that their harried enterprise had wrapped taut as a barrier between the post stanchions.

'
Go up, lord, you
'
ll be trapped,
'
one screamed over the din.

'
I know!
'
Sulfin Evend reversed the flagstaff. Bronze knurl exchanged for the sharpened finial, he jabbed until the yammering fanatics caved into recoil. While one petrified guard loosed the chain from behind, the other snatched the neck of his surcoat and pulled him inside the planked stairwell.

'
Work fast,
'
his breathless rescuer pleaded.
'
We can
'
t last here for long. Ranne and Fennick keep the rearguard, above.
'

Sulfin Evend saluted such bravery and ran. The steep ascent snatched the wind from him, weighed down as he was by his chainmail. Stout timbers stung to the vibration of the light-bolts; and rocked as well, as the vicious throng surged to displace the valiant pair down below. Swaying on the first landing, Sulfin Evend cursed outright.

The low vantage was useless. He could not see over the crowd to know if his earlier orders had been followed: whether Avenor
'
s core companies had been deployed to stem the disastrous rush to launch boats. His best captains were tasked to seize priority command and direct the Light
'
s war galleys to pull back the blockade. No more ships must risk a spear-head assault against the s
'
Brydion keeps at the harbour chain!
Should their Lord Commander fail to recover his upset authority, Lysaer
'
s powerful offensive might set fire to those allied vessels. Their hapless crewmen could be burned alive, entrapped between a curse-driven assault, and the wrought Shadow that sheltered the s
'
Brydion enemy.

Sulfin Evend avowed he would see himself dead, first. Before ruin, he would put Lysaer to the sword. Slaughter his liege outright, rather than give free rein to the madness that had ravaged the field at Daon Ramon.

Left naught beyond faith, that his best squad of shock troops in fact handled the precarious line at the beachhead, the Light
'
s Lord Commander rushed into the breach. Whipped by on-coming storm, deafened by the colliding violence of the unnatural elements, he had only bravado to tame the raging pack mindset, below.

Sulfin Evend unfurled the white banner. Snapped out its glittering, golden device where the streaming crack of the gusts caught gold-tinsel thread in the flash of the levin bolts. He seized on shameless drama: waved the gilt Sunwheel before the whelming spectacle of Lysaer
'
s manic assault.

"There will be an attack!
'
His cry for retribution
had to
rivet the rampaging mob. As craning heads turned, he spun the flagstaff. Draped the device from the railing, with his form looming over the livid arc of the Sunwheel. There, standing tall, he shouted again.
'
There will be an attack!
One that will not trample roughshod over wise deployment and tactical reason!
'

'
Kill the Spinner of Darkness!
'

'
Strike now!
'

'
Let the sorcerer burn!
'

Sulfin Evend raised a mailed fist. Regaled in his badges and surcoat, he met the hysterical clamour with the force that had earned supreme rank.
'
Are we insane? A pack of rank fools? Did you think I would waste our best lives in this war, only for glory and death? What
cause
sacrifices great men to the enemy?
'
will authorize no such irresponsible move!
'

Sulfin Evend unstrapped his spiked helm. Against howling dissent, buffeted by the thunderous crack as each blasting light-bolt ripped skywards, he taunted the teeth of mass discontent; risked the fatal arrow a rival might loose to assassinate. While his better officers flushed with chastened shame, he resumed his peeling tirade.
'
A war council will convene in the central pavilion! Stand there! Form up in parade lines and display the loyalty every one of you swore to uphold. Wait for instruction from your liege lord! After Lysaer
s
'
Ilessid
has done wielding Light to soften the lines of the enemy, he will honour the men among you with his presence.
'

The dissenters nearest the tower
'
s base quieted. None could dispute that their mortal-forged steel was no match for a sorcerer wielding raw Darkness.

Sulfin Evend seized on that slight hesitation. "See to your gear, soldiers! Sharpen your weapons! Cool your rash tempers, which will only attract infestations of plaguing
iyats
!
On my word, under the name of
s
'
Ilessid
, I
promise
you
'
ll see action taken. Our drawn weapons will shed enemy blood before midnight! By sure steps, I would have you survive to take victory home to your families!
'

The restless crowd milled. The cry for redress against arcane adversity blunted the shrill edge of fear. Sense
had
to prevail, as in the tossed channel, the outrushing tide would hamper the crossing of troops. Better, the winter gale swiftly worsened. Risen gusts streamed the troop banners, and lost them, as swirling snow thickened and pelted. Comfort inside a warmed pavilion must surely outweigh the prospect of battle under such adverse conditions. More officers breasted the bawling press. Their shouts to form ranks by cohort met resistance, but not overt insubordination. Now the men vented steam in euphoric excitement. Rank and file, they would soon pack the cook-shacks to chew over their formcoming deployment.

Shown the dire hand of the Spinner of Darkness, most accepted the word of their Lord Commander: the siege would shift strategy towards an aggressive attack. The salvage of
Evenstar
'
s
stores must buy the defenders no more borrowed time; nor would the slaughtering raid done by Parrien
'
s fleet escape a fierce reparation.

From the scaffold platform, Sulfin Evend
'
s black rage could all but be felt, as he shouted to hasten the laggards.
'
Alestron will fall! If the stones of the citadel
'
s foundation must be mined and hurled one by one into the race in the chasm, I will leave no toe-hold for the Master of Shadow. The muzzle comes off, as of this hour. Your enemy shall be broken.
'

As the loud-mouthed stragglers were dispersed towards camp, the view opened at last, to show the blockade patrol ship limping in under gapped oar strokes. She listed, deck and railings splintered by rock shot. Half her pummelled crewmen were likely dead, with as many maimed from the ferocious defence launched from the keeps at the harbour chain. Shadow aside, the s
'
Brydion garrison were masters of war beyond parallel.

To breach their fast citadel became no mean feat, even under the skeleton companies manning their walls since the exodus. Sulfin Evend viewed the harsh prospect, unflmching. For all dangers paled before the impossible action lying ahead of him, now. Granted a cleared field as the last gaggle of protesters were bridled by burly sergeants, the Light
'
s Lord Commander left the white banner draped over the rail. He resumed his ascent of the siege-tower with no choice but confront the stark madness unleashed by the curse of Desh-thiere.

He could not move quickly. The plank risers were treacherous, shaken by gusts and made slippery by fresh snow.

Worse, Ranne met him on the landing above, the chisel-cut frown above his hawk nose riding him haggard with worry.
'
I have to say that black crows will hatch eaglets before you could withstand this onslaught, alive.
'

'
You say? Then the damnable crows will just have to brood their miraculous eggs and oblige!
'
Sulfin Evend ducked past.

Morose for that failure, Ranne shouldered grim duty and pursued.

Fennick
'
s Camris-born toughness withstood the cold wind, halfway up to the next tier.
'
No sign yet, of slacking,
'
he greeted, looking fraught.
'
Lord? Your only course is to wait out the fit and pray that Lysaer wears himself down to unconsciousness.
'
His glance clung to hope, though his freckled face had blisters from more than windburn. This near the top scaffold, the back-lashing heat of each light-burst hissed downward in punishing blasts.