A Crown Imperilled Read online

  Lily’s eyes widened as she realized Bethany was going to ignore Martin’s orders, then she nodded and grinned as she shouted, ‘Wait for me!’

  The raid was well underway by the time the young women had changed into something more appropriate. A few inhabitants still ran northward, many carrying their most precious belongings in sacks over their shoulder or in packs on their backs, but at the foot of the city’s wall, no other civilians were in sight. Columns of soldiers were lined up on either side of the street, awaiting orders to mount one flight of steps or another, flank either side of the gate, or be ready to repel invaders should the gates fall.

  Flickering light in the sky above the gate was a sign of fire, and Bethany ran up the right-hand steps to the top of the wall.

  Martin and Brendan stood talking as Captain Bolton pushed passed them, ‘Excuse me—’ He stopped. ‘Lily?’ He glanced at Bethany and added, ‘My lady?’

  Bethany wore her travel clothes: riding breeches, a linen shirt under a leather tunic, and riding boots. She was also sporting her composite bow and a hip-quiver full of broadhead arrows.

  ‘Ah, I don’t think you should be here—’ he started, but Bethany planted her left hand on his chest and gave him the slightest shove.

  ‘Don’t let us keep you from carrying out your orders, Captain.’ She swept past the wide-eyed young man.

  Lily shot him a quick smile as she also darted past him to follow Bethany.

  Martin turned just as Bethany arrived, and if he was surprised to see her there, he didn’t show it. A quick play of expressions across his face betrayed his internal debate about what to do with her, but he finally decided that telling her to do anything was futile. Without her asking, he said, ‘Raiders.’

  She glanced over the wall, and despite the night’s gloom could see the dark figures carrying torches down near the docks. ‘What are they doing?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m not about to risk men tonight to find out. The docks and foulborough are deserted and anything worth saving was fetched inside the city walls days ago. Besides a couple of rotten fishing boats at anchor, there’s nothing there of value.’

  ‘They’re setting fires,’ said Lily.

  Brendan leaned back a little, looking behind his brother and Bethany so he could clearly see the girl. ‘Lily,’ he said with a nod. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

  Her eyes got wide and, feigning surprise, she said, ‘Oh?’

  Brendan smiled, ‘My brother won’t say it to her,’ he nodded at Bethany, ‘so I felt the need to say it on his behalf, even though I know telling Bethany to do anything is a lost cause.’

  Martin ignored their banter. He looked up to the sentry on the closest tower and shouted up to him, ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Just what you do, sir. They’re setting fires all over the docks.’

  Brendan said, ‘What are they up to?’

  Martin glanced at the bow in Bethany’s hand and said, ‘If you’re staying, you must do two things: follow my orders exactly and don’t get killed.’

  She kissed him. ‘Tell me what to do.’

  He glanced around and said, ‘Stand over there,’ he pointed to a crenel, ‘and watch for anyone coming along the wall opposite you. You’ll have to lean out a bit, so don’t overbalance. I don’t want to open the gate and come out to fetch you back in.’

  She smiled and said, ‘But you would.’

  He ignored the flirting, knowing she was hiding her own fear at possibly being under enemy fire again. ‘Shoot anything on that side of the wall that gets close to the gate.’

  Martin turned to the general assembly of soldiers gathering in the square and shouted, ‘Sergeant Magwin!’

  ‘Sir!’ came the instant response from below.

  ‘Archers to the walls, and form a flying company opposite the gate!’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ shouted the old sergeant from Crydee.

  ‘Sergeant Ruther,’ said Martin in a lower tone, knowing that his most senior officer from Crydee would have by now found his commander on the wall.

  ‘Sir?’

  He turned to look at the grey-haired fighter. ‘Archers are to shoot anything that crosses the outer killing ground, especially anyone carrying torches or oil near the gate.’

  ‘Sir,’ he said and set about at once relaying Martin’s orders.

  Ancient cities often outgrew their walls, especially during times of peace; a foulborough grew beyond the outer precincts of many of them, such as Krondor, LaMut, and all the great eastern cities. In some cities like Salador, the inner walled city was the smallest quarter. But the barons of Ylith had been cautious men, who knew how easily the invaders under the Emerald Queen had swept in through the foulborough and over the walls. Since then, no building had been permitted against the city wall behind the fishing town and docks area, creating an effective bailey where archers could punish any attackers.

  While a long peace had existed between the invasion of the Emerald Queen’s army and this Keshian attack, vigilance had been bred into the rulers of Ylith. Moreover, the natural slope of the landscape and the curve of the harbour caused the main gate to the city to be set at an angle unfavourable to attack. There was no easy way to bring a ram to bear on the gate and move it into position for a run. Unlike Crydee, the city gates of Ylith were massive, their huge hinges had knuckles the size of a small tree bole, with three foot leaves on each side held in place by massive iron bolts driven through the foot-thick hardwood. They were as stout as steel after years of drying in the sun, being oiled and tended with preservatives. The Keshians would have to stand on the crest of the road and hurl stones at the gate with their trebuchets, to see how long that portion of the wall could take a pounding. Martin knew they could take weeks of damage before giving out, long enough for relief to arrive from the south.

  As he thought of that, he understood. ‘I know what are they doing.’ Brendan and the girls looked at him as Martin explained, ‘This isn’t an attack on our gates. They are trying to prevent any Kingdom fleet from landing.’

  Brendan appeared confused, then comprehension dawned. ‘The piers!’

  ‘Burned to the waterline.’ Martin said, nodding.

  ‘The underwater pilings would stove in any hull that got near,’ finished his brother.

  They thought of the three long piers that extended out from the quayside and imagined the tree-sized wooden supports jutting just below the surface.

  Bethany said, ‘The tide would carry any ship right into them.’

  ‘They would have to anchor off shore and row men in to land!’ added Brendan.

  It was Lily who said, ‘I know that slows things down, but they’d still come ashore to relieve us, right?’

  Martin scanned the tableau before him; the flames had begun to take the buildings nearest the docks and the scene below was quickly growing clearer. ‘Not if they have to withstand … The old fortress!’

  ‘What about it?’ asked Brendan. Sergeant Ruther had inspected it the day before on Martin’s order, and had reported back that it was run down, but the walls were still stout; with a little work it could easily be made defensible.

  ‘Sergeant Ruther!’ Martin bellowed.

  ‘Sir!’ As ever, the answer came at once from below.

  ‘Open the sally port and get a detachment of cavalry down to the old fortress! Round up a company of foot soldiers and send them on afterwards. At first light I want carpenters and stonemasons down there starting repairs!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I thought we weren’t going to utilize that fort,’ said his brother.

  ‘We wouldn’t if we were only facing an assault from one quarter.’ He paused and let out a slow tired breath. ‘We have to deny them any possible foothold on the eastern shore.’

  ‘Do you think they mean to seize it?’ asked Brendan.

  ‘It’s what I would do if I was going to attempt a landing,’ said Martin. ‘If they get a foothold on that side of the harbour mouth, install som
e catapults or trebuchets into that fortress, they can deny any reinforcements a safe landing, and when they’re ready to attack they can hit us from two sides at once. We would not only have to defend this gate, but the eastern gate as well, and that would spread our archers too thinly. We don’t have enough men to deal with an assault from two sides.

  ‘And if we were forced to sally against an eastern assault, we’d have to ride out of the north gate and circle through miles of pasture lands and hedgerows, with no clear line of attack until we reach that beach—’

  ‘Where their arches would cut us to pieces,’ finished Brendan.

  Martin considered the possibilities for a moment, then shouted, ‘Sergeant Ruther!’

  The old soldier reappeared at Martin’s side. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Where do we now stand with archers? How many do we have?’

  ‘Those who can fire a bow, sir, or those who can actually hit a target?’

  Martin hesitated, then said, ‘Fire a bow.’

  ‘A hundred and fifty, give or take a few,’ answered Ruther.

  ‘Take thirty of our best and that flying company, and occupy the old fortress to oversee the refitting personally. Build a fire under the carpenters and masons if you must, but I want it defensible by yesterday.’ Suddenly a thought came to him. ‘And take that miniature ballista with you.’ He pointed to where the portal ballista rested in the wagon that had carried it down from LaMut. ‘Aim it where you think you can do the most damage to the Keshians if they try to seize that emplacement. I have a feeling,’ he added in lower tones, ‘that they’re going to try to ferry men across and hit us from the east as they assault this gate.’

  ‘Sir!’ said Ruther. ‘May I suggest that we might do well with some oil, sir?’

  ‘Take what you need, but if you use it, try not to burn the place …’ Martin stopped. For a long moment he was silent. Then he said, ‘No. Take as much oil as you need, and if it comes to it, burn that fortification to the ground. If we lose it, we’ll deny the Keshians its use.’

  Martin glanced at his brother and the sergeant, and then turned his gaze back to the harbour and sea beyond. ‘Kesh won’t try to land troops in small boats if they can’t gain a foothold. If we place archers in the trees on the hills above the harbour, there’s no safe place for them to muster for an assault. More than half would be dead before they got to the road.’ He nodded.

  ‘Well done, sir,’ said Ruther with obvious approval. He turned and ran off.

  As flames leapt skyward and the entire foulborough became consumed, Brendan said, ‘What do we do next?’

  Martin glanced west, then towards the fire, and then eastward, as if trying to see something in the distance that might be approaching from any side of the city. Finally he rested against the stones, already feeling the heat from the fire behind and looked northward. ‘We wait, and hope the night holds no more surprises for us.’

  • CHAPTER THREE •

  Attack

  MIRANDA POINTED TOWARDS THE SMOKE IN THE SKY.

  ‘Fires,’ said the being once known as Child.

  Belog, who now called himself Nakor, nodded. ‘Big ones.’

  They were riding in a wagon towards the north gate of Ylith, having discovered in LaMut the single most frustrating fact of their new identities: they might have had Miranda and Nakor’s memories imposed over their own, but they didn’t possess their abilities.

  Two days of trying to reassert their human abilities, one aggravating attempt after another, had left them both exasperated and at a loss. It was as if they knew the language, yet when they spoke only gibberish emerged. They still possessed their demonic abilities, despite their human appearances, but no hint of the prodigious power that Miranda once possessed now remained. Even in her human guise she was physically more powerful than the strongest human warrior many times over, as well as being faster than the swiftest elf. Her magic was what it had been in the demon realm: an ability to inflict destruction at an astonishing rate. But even the most meagre of Miranda’s human magic remained beyond her reach.

  Her first thought had been to find Miranda’s husband, Pug, for while she knew she was not really his late wife, she still possessed all of Miranda’s memories and emotions. For the very first time, a demon appreciated the concept of love as mortals understood it, and felt the pain of separation from her husband and sons; or rather Miranda’s husband and sons.

  The demon in Miranda’s form knew the memories had been grafted on to its own, and how: another ploy by the Trickster God, Kalkin. Yet they were so vivid, both the good and the bad, that it was impossible to remain objective about the life imprinted over her own. Child possessed mere days of memory, while Miranda’s stretched well beyond a century. Her false human identity overwhelmed her true demon consciousness. The same held true for Nakor, as the demon known as Belog now thought of himself, although his demon memories were years longer than Child’s. But while Nakor had possessed abilities, Belog had only possessed knowledge, so his inability to access Nakor’s ‘tricks’ was not a particular source of frustration to the demon-turned-human.

  He found it amusing that Nakor was by nature far more patient and content to accept things as they were than Miranda; if a woman over a century old could be called ‘youthfully impetuous’ it was Miranda.

  One thing became truer by the day: their human consciousnesses were slowly displacing the demonic, and both had begun to feel as if they had somehow simply died human and reawakened in these new bodies. If anything had eased Nakor’s annoyance at his changed status, it had been the wry amusement he felt watching Miranda’s complete frustration over hers.

  Lacking the ability to transport themselves to Sorcerer’s Isle magically, they had been forced to seek another means of conveyance. So a ride on a supply wagon had been purchased, allowing the former demons to discuss their situation as they slowly wended their way southward. To the others travelling in this tiny caravan they looked like nothing out of the ordinary, no more unusual than any pairing of an attractive middle-aged woman with an odd-looking old man, Keshian by his garb and complexion. With the war underway, there were many people on the road, some moving northward, away from the pending Keshian assault, others south, towards potential riches.

  Nakor and Miranda had both lived a very long time, and had known many wars, and so neither was surprised by the flow of people towards the coming bloody conflict. There was always a direct relationship between risk and reward in wartime.

  Over the years both of them had witnessed wars fought by armies outnumbered by their camp followers: prostitutes, gamblers, weapons sellers, armour makers, tailors, skinners, bowyers, food suppliers, all willing to risk harm, even death, in exchange for a possible windfall of gold. Miranda’s memory even recalled one bold and enterprising farmer who had rushed his small herd of cattle to an invading army’s quartermaster and sold it for gold, mere hours before the commander ordered his riders out to forage for food; he had managed to sell what they would have pillaged anyway. Miranda had always wondered what had become of that farmer.

  Despite the odd musings created by memories that were at once familiar yet new, the attention of the two demons-turned-human was drawn to the south, where the afternoon sky was thick with smoke clouds above the city.

  The wagon slowed and the driver turned and said, ‘Looks like Ylith has fallen.’

  Miranda said, ‘There may be fires, but that doesn’t mean it’s fallen. If the gates had been breached, we’d see a flood of retreating people streaming past us now.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to wait and see. No risk in pausing,’ said the old teamster, ‘but a lot of risk in blundering forward.’

  Miranda jumped down from the back of the wagon and saw that the other teams in the small caravan had also pulled over to the verge of the road. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the demon in human form. ‘We’ll wander down and take a look and if we don’t come back …’ She saw the face of Nakor grinning. ‘Assume the worst.’

  T
hey set off down the road at quick pace and when they were out of earshot, Nakor laughed loudly. ‘Assume the worst?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to tell him we weren’t coming back, and if he wants to sit there waiting for someone to blow the all-clear, he’s picked the wrong trade.’

  They moved rapidly, their demonic strength and endurance extant under their human appearance. Miranda and Nakor, as they now thought of themselves, had no idea why they were here, even if they knew Kalkin was behind their existence. But they trusted that it was for a reason and an important one, and they knew that to uncover that reason, the most logical place to begin was where the most powerful practitioners of magic resided: Sorcerer’s Isle.

  Moreover, though she said nothing to Nakor, Miranda ached to see her family. In her memory she had just withstood a brutal demon attack on her home and had successfully driven them off with her husband, son, and the other magicians when a wounded demon had leapt from feigned death and ripped out half of her neck, causing almost instantaneous death. The shock of the attack had made the details vague and since Nakor had died before the invasion, she had no witness with whom to speak. She didn’t know if her husband had survived, though she counted it likely, nor how her children fared. She needed to know, and it was slowly becoming an overwhelming urge.

  Within minutes of leaving the woodlands, they started down a gentle sloping road and could clearly see the city. The fire appeared to rage beyond the city, perhaps on the docks or through some ships near the quayside, for although a canopy of smoke hung over Ylith, no pillars of soot and ash rose within the walls. Still, the defenders of the city were vigilant, and as Miranda and Nakor approached the gate, they were challenged from the wall.

  ‘Who’s there?’ The voice sounded very young and not terribly confident.

  ‘Travellers,’ answered Miranda. She glanced at Nakor who grinned at her statement of the obvious. ‘Who seek shelter.’

  ‘The gates are to stay shut. Commander’s orders.’