The Tears of Kas̆dael

Eligon prided himself on his horsemanship, but ten straight days in the saddle were enough to make any man weary. The nearly constant rains that had dogged their steps had likewise done little to help his mood. But now that they had finally reached their destination, the Zalancthian fort of Castel Flūm - the obnoxious name the invaders had given to the ruins of the Corsythian town of Kār-Arḫu - the anticipation alone was enough to lift his spirits.

Pausing at the crest of a hill, Eligon felt a sense of deja vu as turned to his right to ask Vayyābī for the details of their mission, only for the illusion to be promptly shattered by the new face that sat beside him. A pang pierced his heart as he remembered his friend’s betrayal, but Eligon swept it aside and addressed his new aide with a measured tone.

“Lady Niklāti, have the scouts returned yet?”

It had not been easy to find a replacement for Vayyābī and, truthfully, Eligon was still not convinced he had found one. When the position for the emperor’s personal aide had opened up, dozens of noble families had pushed forward their heirs and scions. It was a position of trust and power, a position that would allow their family to whisper into the ear of the emperor himself, and that was exactly why Eligon was loathe to choose any of them.

He’d have much preferred to choose a commoner who had risen through the ranks of the Guard, a man who had no political agenda and no annoying family ties to concern himself with, but with the coming campaign to reclaim the capital, the emperor knew he couldn’t afford to alienate the nobility. Even if the campaign was successful, their losses would be severe, and the durgu were just waiting to strike in their moment of weakness.

Thus, he’d toiled through an endless succession of meetings with the noble hopefuls. In some ways, the meetings had been a pleasant surprise. Few of the candidates offered him were the spoiled, pampered brats that had haunted his father’s courts when he was lad. It seemed the loss of capital had sobered the nobility, and the majority of young hopefuls paraded in front of him were already hardened warriors. But the position required more than a steady sword hand and a strong class; a keen mind and a knack for tact was needed too, and those were skills far harder to judge in a brief period of time.

Eventually, Eligon had been forced to settle for Niklāti. As the daughter of the commander of all of Celestia’s western armies, he hoped the appointment would make the northern nobility more willing to throw their support behind him. With the agreement he’d forged with the elves, the remaining heir of House Nūrilī had lost his iron grip over the north, but that didn’t mean the nobles had immediately flocked to his banners. Picking Niklāti was a peace offering, but it remained to be seen if it would be accepted.

What he’d failed to pick up on, however, was the depths of the young woman’s ambitions. It had been several years since his wife had died in an ill-fated mission to the Fey, and Eligon, ever preoccupied with the war, had no attempt to fill her position. But his spies had intercepted letters to her father that indicated that Lady Niklāti fostered exactly such hopes in her heart. He would have dismissed her then and there, but he could not afford to tarnish the softening of relations with the North.

He suppressed a sigh as he stared at her. Even now, as they stood on the precipice of battle, after days of travel through mud and rain, the young lady was immaculate. Her blonde hair, so pale it was nearly white, looked silky and smooth and not a speck of dirt could be fed on her armor. Shamsha’s rays, I hope she doesn’t muck this up.

Seemingly unaware of his doubts, Niklāti ran down her report. “The stoneflesh camp is just ahead, my lord. Six of the seven scouts have returned and reported that the north, west, and south sides of the camp are heavily guarded, but the eastern side is relatively unprotected. The stoneflesh seem to be trusting in the river to protect them.”

“And the seventh?”

“Is late for reporting. It’s possible he’s been captured and the camp has been alerted to our presence.”

Eligon stifled a curse. After Vayyābī’s death, the mystery of the stone flesh’s new potions had been forced to take a backseat for a time, but they had finally tracked down a camp not too far across the Agamīnian border that appeared to be producing them. There was still much they didn’t understand about the potions, and he had hoped to catch them unawares. “How late for reporting?” he asked harshly.

“Three hours.”

The emperor reached his decision. “Then we must assume our cover is blown. If they know we are coming, attacking across the river will be a fool’s errand, so we must wait for reinforcements. In the meantime, spread scouts in a circle around the encampment; we must catch any messengers they try to send.”

“My lord,” Niklāti cocked her head to the side, “may I suggest a different tactic.”

Eligon nearly brushed her comment aside, but he caught himself in time. Despite her dolled-up appearance, she had spent several years fighting durgu raids under her father’s command. Unless her accomplishments were lies.

“What would you suggest?”

The young woman clearly had not been expecting a positive response, for her face flushed with excitement. “If the stoneflesh know of our plans, can we not take advantage of that, my lord? If they think we are attacking from the river, let us reinforce that belief.”

“Detach a portion of our troops to ford the river during the night. I’m certain the stoneflesh will have a watch set over the ford, and when they see our troops crossing, they will reassign their guards to the east. We can then feint an attack from that direction while the bulk of our troops swoop in from the west and pin them against the river.”

He pondered her plan for a moment; in truth, the idea of a feint had already occurred to him, but Eligon had been inclined to wait for reinforcements. More units were just a day behind, and with the extra troops, they could easily surround the encampment and demand their surrender. But Eligon knew that things were not always that simple - the Zalancthian's response was hard to predict. With the civil war that was brewing between their two closest generals, there was no guarantee that aid would come swiftly to the camp. What if they decide to destroy their research and flee? The thought was enough to push him in the other direction; besides, it would grant him an opportunity to test his new aide.

“Very well, Naklāti, we will try your plan. And since it’s your plan, why don’t you take the lead?”

Their fears were confirmed as the scout remained missing, and Naklāti’s plan was put into action. Splitting off a fifth of their troops, she led them across the river in the dead of night, leaving Eligon behind with the rest.

The fort itself was nothing impressive; squatting in the ruins of a former trading post, the stone walls that had once protected it had been breached on two sides when the stoneflesh initially took it, and the gaping holes had been repaired shoddily, with a mixture of brick and wood replacing the once sturdy stone.

Still, reaching the fort was no easy task; the Zalancthians had cut the forest back a hundred yards from the walls, making it impossible to sneak up unseen, and each of the three towers had been mounted with the stoneflesh’s strange ballista. Thus, the imperial forces hid in the forest scrub and waited for the signal from Naklāti.

It was an hour before dawn when the roar of five horns shattered the stillness of the morn. In the imperial army, each unit of a hundred was assigned its own hornblower, whose instrument was used to coordinate attacks. The commanders of their small force had been loathe to part with the horns, but Naklāti had insisted it was essential to her bluff - and fortunately, the Zalancthians took the bait.

As the horns repeated their baleful cry, most of the guards along the wall rushed toward the east. At Eligon’s command, the imperial troops waited a few minutes, long enough to ensure that guards would be too far away to make it back to the walls in time, and then they charged.

Hidden in the shadows of the waning night, they made it perhaps a third of the distance before the remaining guards noticed their approach; then the ballistae took their price in blood. Capable of firing four heavy javelins a thousand feet, and able to be reloaded in just thirty seconds, the bolts shredded through Eligon’s ranks, but the charge did not falter.

Activating Burden of the People, Eligon pulled ahead of the ranks, moving so fast that the ballista bolts aimed at him buried their heads uselessly in the dirt.

100 feet. 50. 30.

As he neared the gate, he pulled his mace free and poured the strength of his spell into it. With a final soaring leap, he slammed into the wooden gates. The screech of ruptured metal filled the air as the hinges unwilling gave way, and with a slow, heavy thud, the gates pounded the ground.

The Zalancthians had not been prepared for that.

Abandoning the now useless ballistae, the remaining guards swarmed out of the towers, determined to make a stand on the stairs, but Eligon rushed them like an angry bull. Every step he took brought excruciating pain, the burden of the spell, but he persevered. With every swing of his mace, shield and bone shattered and the short-lived resistance immediately crumpled.

It took no more than two minutes for him to detach a contingent of troops to man the ballistae, turning the mighty war machines to face the interior of the camp, and to reform the lines, and then they advanced.

The Zalancthians had clustered the bulk of their troops along the eastern side where the river alone served as a border. Eligon had fully expected them to quickly realize the ruse, and turning around, build a shield wall against his approaching troops, but he found he’d underestimated Naklāti.

Despite having barely a hundred men against the enemy’s thousand, his young aide had obtained a foothold on the fortress’ dock. The Zalancthians’ shields were well known for their stout construction and ability to take punishment, but they were unable to thwart Naklāti, who assaulted their ranks with dual urūmis, guiding the flexible blades with unerring aim above, below, and beneath their guards.

The enemy withered before her advance, futilely stabbing at her with long pikes that splintered with every blow, and Eligon had to admit he was both impressed and intrigued - for no matter how skill with the blades, her urūmis should have shattered long ago.

They caught the enemy unaware, smashing into the unprotected backs of the Zalancthian shield wall - and from that moment on the battle was decided. The stoneflesh were fierce warriors, fighting bravely to the end, but sandwiched from both sides with disordered ranks, there was little they could do to recover.

Within minutes, Elision’s troops had rejoined with Naklāti’s and it was then he finally got the answer to her prowess. Though the light of the morning sun had obscured them from afar, as he drew near he could see a subtle silver glow to her blades, and rightly judged they had been reinforced with essence.

He wasn’t entirely surprised by the revelation that she was a mage; the Celestians had spent millennia intermarrying with the elves and thus the magic had not dwindled amongst them as steeply as the rest of the empire, but the girl had made no mention of being a mage during her interview. I'm sure she saw it as just another way to impress me, he thought wearily but, begrudgingly, he had to admit, he was indeed impressed - she had outperformed his expectations.

“Well done, Lady Naklāti," he said, studiously ignoring her flush at his praise. "Now shall see what we’ve uncovered?”