The Powterosian War (Book 5) (12 page)

Where will they flee to? Through what mechanism, the duke thought. Will they make it to the eastern gate? He slumped at the thought of his people lost. He turned to go up the stairs. A woman, a scullery maid from her dress, rushed past bumping into him and rushing on, not really seeing him. He fought his way up the staircase to the ducal apartments, closing the door to the sound of bedlam behind him. He found his duchess, lying on her bed, blotting tears with her lace handkerchief.

“They’re coming, aren’t they?” Denubia asked.

“I’m afraid so, my dear. It looks like they’ve overwhelmed the city.” He looked up at the window, shut to the sight if not the sound of the frenzied, bloody-beaked griffins. The monsters were out of control, diving and flying off with bodies dangling from their claws. He rose from the side of her couch and pulled the draperies closed over the windows.

“How did they get in?” the duchess said, trying to catch her breath between her sniffles and drying her eyes. “How could this have happened?”

“Well, I suppose we looked the other way too long. We knew the enemy to be building his army to conquer us. I never believed this possible.”

“It’s not your fault, Anton,” the duchess said.

“Well, I’m the duke. It was my responsibility to defend this dukedom and its people. I’ve failed it seems. But enough of this, we must get you out of the city before they overrun it completely.”

I’m not going anywhere without you, love.”

“Yes you are; you’re going away before those horrible things take the palace. No arguing with me now. There’s no time.”

“How shall we escape?” the duchess asked, still drying her eyes with the wet handkerchief. She rose on one elbow.

“There’s an old tunnel my father found that smugglers dug back in his day. He had the reprobate executed and filled the entrances with rubble, but left the tunnel open in case it should be needed for future escape. He showed it to me before he died. I had the entrance cleared yesterday after the griffins arrived.”

“When are we going?”

“You have your maid get you some food in a satchel and I’ll take you two to the tunnel. Mention it to no one. Unfortunately, if many use it, the orcs will see them and all will be lost.”

“But our people, how will they escape?”

The duke walked to the window, pulled back the drapery on one side and looked out at the orcs now descending the walls into the city. He released the drapery panel and returned to his wife. He took her hand and lifted her from the bed. He then called for her maid, but there was no response. The maid had fled already; they were alone.

“Come, my dear, we must go now.”

The duchess drew back her hand and stood resolute. “You’re coming with me?”

“I’ll take you to the tunnel, and then I must return to the army and delay the onslaught while the women and children make their escapes. I’ll join you later.”

“I’ll not go without you,” Denubia said, her voice was resolute. She shed no more tears.

Duke Anton forced his way through the streets, leading Denubia. Panicked refugees jostled all around them bent on escape, noting no one nearby. Soldiers, plump merchants, women with children, the old and sickly, all scrambled through the pandemonium amid screams at any sudden, unexpected sound. Here and there, the duke caught sight of a black leather uniform in the distance as the orcs plowed through the defenders and innocent civilians alike. They swarmed toward the city center and the ducal palace. There was a white flag flying from the western gate tower, but the orcs streamed over the walls nonetheless with swords flailing and arrows flying above the melee.

At a small, obscure building denoted as ducal supply depot, Anton unlocked the door and pulled in Denubia, locking the door behind him. Straining, he pulled a storage shelf from the far wall, revealing the tunnel entrance.

He kissed his wife of thirty-five years, hugged her to him and released her when someone, pressed by the crowd, slammed into the door. The door held.

“You must go quickly, Denubia. At the other end, wait until nightfall, then work your way south toward Girdane. If that town is still in our hands, you may be able to get a boat there. Sail south to Hoya. King Saxthor will give you refuge there until I can join you.”

“You’re not planning on joining me there, are you?” Denubia stood firm, looked him in the face, her’s stubborn. She held both his hands.

“Of course I’ll join you, my dear,” Anton said. He couldn’t look her in the face when he said it. There was a long silence. She wouldn’t let go of his hands.

“Shall we go back to the palace?” she asked, her tone peaceful, committed.

“You must hurry, my dear,” the duke said, pulling his hands free and pushing her toward the tunnel entrance.

“We’ll go back to the palace,” Denubia said.

“You must leave now!” the duke commanded. Tears began trickling from his eyes.

His hand shook as she took his in hers. “Thirty five years we’ve been together through the good times and a few bad. With patience and love you’ve put up with my petty, selfish demands through all those years. Thirty five years we’ve worked as one together, though sometimes I’ve had to fight you to get my way. There’ll be no separation now. Whatever our fate, it will be our fate.” The duchess stood like a stubborn mule. She hugged her husband, squeezing her new strength into him.

“Please, my dear, I’ve lost all. I’ve lost the city, I’ve failed the dynasty, and I’ve failed to protect our people. Please don’t add yourself to my list of victims,” the duke said, sinking to the floor, imploring her to take the last opportunity for flight. He pressed his cheek to her hand and wept.

“You’re all I have to live for, dearest. Amenibus is gone and Demonica turned against us, abandoning us to our enemies. Yes, I know about her desertion. You’re all I have and what ever our fate, it will be for us together. Now come on, let’s not be found to appear cowering here. Let’s go back to the palace, to the ducal throne room and meet what fate we must there with our dignity intact.”

The duke rose and followed his loving wife back out the door and through the screaming, panicked crowd to the palace where the duke mounted his throne. With the duchess at his side, they awaited the invaders with chins held high.

* * *

Queen Dagmar rode furiously northwest after slipping out of Botahar to find remnants of the Sengenwhan army that might come to the aid of the garrison at Botahar. She skirted early towns along the way so no word of her whereabouts would spread through gossip and get back to Tarquak. Then, in a small village just north of the Sengenwhan Mountains, she went to an inn in disguise. She wanted to ascertain what the state of affairs was in the region. She heard Prince Pindradese held Feldrik Fortress in a stalemate. That enabled the Dreaddrac forces to bypass the castilyernov and advance on Heggolstockin’s capital. She hated the Princes Pindradese, they having allied with Dreaddrac as vassals since the Wizard Wars. Pindradese had facilitated the infiltration of Sengenwha with the hated orcs. Then, there was the matter of reinforcements coming to bolster Tarquak at Botahar.

If I could gather enough loyal northern forces, I might be able to attack Prertsten’s capital city. That should panic Pindradese into abandoning his stranglehold on Feldrik to save Prertsten Palace. In turn, it would prevent or delay reinforcements getting to Tarquak, she thought. From that night, she moved quickly and quietly through northern Sengenwha, collecting her loyal troops to meet at the border at a prearranged time. The forces did gather, and, though limited in number, they were enough to attack Prertsten, if only long enough to make Pindradese withdraw his troops back to his citadel. It could save Botahar.

The troops rushed quickly over the rocky lands of southern Prertsten with no resistance from the Prertstenian population. From the information obtained from locals, the people felt defeated, first by their own prince, then by the Dreaddrac occupiers, such that the Sengenwhan force could be no worse. Dagmar and her raiders reached the capital just as word of their coming got to the defending garrison. The troops Pindradese had left were meager according to the civilians outside the walls. Indeed, the people were reluctant to risk their lives defending a city and its prince they viewed as having abused and abandoned them.

“Surround the city with the few troops we have,” Queen Dagmar ordered. “I heard all my life that Prertsten was a massive fortress, more than a city. That certainly seems to be the case.”

The colonel that now was her senior commander bowed and rushed to arrange the troop dispositions. Prertsten was a small city for a principality capital. What it lacked in size, it made up for in its fortifications. Clearly with sixty foot stone walls and twice the number of fortified towers expected for the wall circumference, the city was prepared for a siege. The prince was known for fearing rebellion among his own people and had thus fortified the city for such an occurrence. Dagmar and the colonel rode round the walls after his return, having looked for any weakness. He found none, though in recent years the walls had not been maintained and battlements crumbled at the top of the walls.

“There are few soldiers on the parapets,” Dagmar noted. The locals must have been correct in that it’s a lack of defenders rather than a ruse. “Do you think the Prertstenians are arrogant and this citadel understaffed?”

“Pindradese must have taken most of his army to the battlefront, Majesty,” the colonel said. “He’s a coward. He fears the loss of his own life. He’d have taken most of his force to surround him as well as to attack Feldrik. Remember, it’s Pindradese that stayed behind to lay siege to Feldrik and not the Dreaddrac forces. My guess is this city is barely defended. He’d not expect an attack on his home capital after he learned King Calamidese died, Sengenwha was on the defensive, and that all Heggolstockin had retreated to the capital to defend that great city.”

“Then our own small force must threaten these Prertstenian defenders, right?” Dagmar asked.

“I should think so, Majesty. But we mustn’t remain here too long. Both Pindradese and Dreaddrac will want Prertsten secure. The Dark Lord won’t be able to move his troops south down the Akkin so long as Feldrik stands against him. We now threaten the route through Prertsten. Pindradese will come fast. What the Dark Lord will send is an unknown.”

“We have neither the forces nor the time to take the walls,” Dagmar said. “We must find another solution.” The colonel left her tent and Dagmar laid down to rest that night. She tried to think of a solution, but nothing came to her. She rose and walked through the camp. At one campfire, she heard the soldiers chatting about the ants in Prertsten that would eat your hide while you slept at night. It made her grin.

“I tell ye, them ants is bewitched,” an old soldier said through his missing teeth. The gleam in his eye was that of a youth, though his wrinkled face and scraggly grey hair showed his years. His grin was infectious. “My buddy had his breakfast set up on a wood plate on top of his upturned cup. He drew a finger round the whole thing and poured wash-water in that for a moat. He up and went off to answer his sergeant’s call. Them ants had done carried a stick and dropped it over the moat, marched up that cup and through an iddy-biddy crack in the plate under the cover. They was carrying off the last of his grub time he got back a few minutes later! The old man beamed, looking from face to face to see if they believed his tale. Dagmar muffled a chuckle and slid away unobserved. As she walked back to her tent, a thought occurred to her.

I can’t break through the walls, but if I could burn Prertsten Palace it would panic Pindradese. It might seem to the entire principality, and perhaps to the Dark Lord, he's lost the whole state. She summoned the colonel to a council and shared her idea.

“You’re right in that it would seem like we’d overrun the whole principality if we could burn the prince’s stronghold,” the colonel said. “But how do we get to it?”

“Find some locals; bring them to me. The ones we’ve spoken to hate Pindradese. They would love to revenge themselves on him. One of them must know of a secret tunnel in and out of the city and palace. Pindradese fears rebellion most. He’ll have an escape tunnel in case an uprising succeeds.”

“Clever idea, Majesty.” With that, the colonel left and returned after sunrise the next morning with two locals, one a farmer and the other a palace servant, fired from his position for no reason, so he claimed.

“There is a tunnel, Majesty, or so I’ve heard.” the farmer said. “I don’t know where it is, but it’s rumored for sure. Some of the other farmers used to tell of stocking it with supplies.”

“I know where it is,” the servant injected. “Pindradese went there once to be sure it was secure. I happened to be going through the laundry at the time and seen him move back the cupboard at the opening. It’s goes along with the laundry drain.”

“And where does it come out?” Dagmar said, her smile enchanting.

“I ain’t sure, but it must be near the laundry drain. Look for suds in the streams hereabouts, down east of the city and I expects you’ll find the tunnel opening nearby.”

Dagmar gave each man two gold coins, the first gold they had seen in their lives. The two men stared at the money, each other, and back at the coins.

“You must say nothing of this,” Dagmar said. Both men nodded and stared again at their wealth once more. The farmer closed his fist around his treasure and disappeared into the countryside. The colonel held his hand on the unemployed servant.