Chapter seventy-eight

Ortia under Siege

 

For the next few days after the Lady’s rainstorm the Tlaxacans tried repeated assaults using their makeshift ladders. Each attack was repelled by the same mixture of elven archers and magical deluges. One by one the ladders were destroyed and the final attack was with two half-wrecked ladders and it was greeted with more derision than fear. After that the Tlaxacans were less adventurous, and they clustered further away from the city walls. They kept up the siege, but now they seemed to be waiting for something. Aurelian sent out occasional raiding parties, but these were mostly to keep the enemy on its toes and did no real damage to either side.

Every now and then there were unexplained movements among the mass of the Tlaxacans, as if they were suddenly under attack from the rear, but none of these movements lasted more than a few hours. A raiding party had caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a squabble or skirmish within the Tlaxacan ranks, involving some green-clad Tlaxacan troops of a kind that the Ortians had never seen before, but the raiding party never got close enough to make out what was happening.

Overall, they seemed to have entered a period of phoney war, and morale rose, as thoughts returned to the previous siege and its eventual relaxation. 

Perclivius was still locked away devising strategy and neither Aurelian nor Marthian had seen him for several days. It wasn’t something that they minded at all. They went back to dealing with their own areas of expertise and everything worked passably well. 

Julia continued her twice-daily visits to the three city leaders, but her trips became shorter and shorter because, at present, there was nothing much to say.  She was a popular figure because of the actions of the Lady and was feted wherever she went.  Marthian continued to work quietly behind the scenes and was rarely noticed at all.

 

***

Three days later the atmosphere within the besiegers changed. There was a great commotion and it was clear that another army, more than fifty thousand strong, was marching towards them. Eventually the smaller army, the one camped in front of the city, parted and through the middle of it came Whitecloak and his acolytes, all dressed in long white robes. So came The God and all his coterie – priests, priestess, warriors and slaves.  They all came to witness his victory and rejoice.

The City was completely silent and dread grew in the hearts of all the defenders. Something of much greater evil and power than they had fought before had come. Most were certain that they would be defeated.

As Whitecloak approached the sky above the city began to fill up with clouds again. This time they were thicker and darker and the air crackled with static electricity. The archers on the top of the wall crouched down, expecting a huge storm; everyone else froze and breathed in the dark, dry, smell of ozone. 

A tall black cloud formed over the new army, centred over Whitecloak, following him as he rode on. He looked up and then  galloped a few hundred yards into the empty space in front of the city walls. A dozen or so arrows fizzled and disappeared as they hit his cloak but he really didn’t notice them. Instead he stared up intently into the cloud.

The rain began to fall, but this time it was not particularly heavy. Instead, a tunnel instantaneously opened up within the storm cloud. Through it fell a shard of lightning so bright that none could look at it directly. It struck Whitecloak on the top of his cowled hood and threw his head back so violently that for a second the watching elves thought it must have broken his neck. But no, Whitecloak absorbed the energy easily and with a flick of his head he sent it flying in a great circular shock wave around him. When it hit the wall it died away harmlessly, but across the Tlaxacan army it felled thousands of soldiers, who sizzled briefly and then burnt like candles.   It didn’t smell like candles though, it smelled of burning hog. Everyone on the battlements retched uncontrollably.   

The cloud reformed immediately and the lightning fell again, again and again. But each time it struck weaker than the last, and each time Whitecloak absorbed and deflected it easily. Finally, after six of these deadly strikes, Whitecloak shrugged, as if he were finally bored of the one-sided contest. He lifted his right hand and pointed his index finger up to the sky.

‘No more’ he said, in loud and clear Visneorian.

A blue light sprung out of his hand and slowly grew to spread out over the cloud, covering it in an azure halo. There was a slow struggle as the daylight blue fought the twilight grey, but the result was never in doubt. The clouds withered beneath the onslaught and disappeared. A great cry of despair went up from across the battlements. Julia, who was standing in a guard tower nearby, gave out a piercing shriek and rent her cloak.   

Whitecloak urged his mount forward. He stopped on his white charger just in front of the main gates of the City and had his heralds proclaim him. Thirty humans sounded the triumph with their curly southern horns.  The senior herald stepped forward and proclaimed the Words of The God in a loud voice:

‘Bow down to the Lord of Visneoria and Tlaxaca, Ruler of all the southern lands, God Incarnate. He has come to claim his rightful spiritual domain…’

Absolutely no sound could be heard from within the city or from among the invading troops. 

‘…he has come to claim the keys to the City’ the Herald continued, ‘from whoever ruled here formerly. Come forward, conquered leader’

Whitecloak waited patiently for his reward.

 

***

 

Inside the city the four candidates for conquered leader were searching for each other. They converged by the eastern gate. For several seconds they stood there, with faces as pale as death, and then Marthian spoke.

‘Who will face the enemy?’ she demanded. She turned to Julia.

‘You, cousin?’  

Julia looked at Marthian and struggled with her conflicting desires. Eventually the city lost.  

‘I’m sorry – the Lady is in pain. I must go to her’.

She ran off with her tattered cloak streaming behind her.

Marthian gestured to Aurelian.

‘You, general?’

 Aurelian looked back at her with terror and uncertainty in his eyes. Eventually he forced himself to speak.

‘I’m sorry Proconsul’ he whispered, ‘but I have no idea what I would say or do’

Marthian sighed.

‘And you, Dictator?’ 

Perclivius seemed to be frozen to the spot, muttering, ‘strategy not diplomacy’ apparently to himself, and ‘not my area’ over and over again.

Marthian took a step back and considered them. Her expression was composed but withering.

 ‘None of you are much good for anything, clearly’ she said, ‘and none of you will act when you are needed most. Now I know what my father meant –that eventually the Proconsul must act alone. And that time has come’

Then the elves of the city heard the Visneorian heralds sounding their trumpets. The Proconsul of Ortia had gone to confront their most mortal enemy. 

The gates swung open and Marthian stepped out into the blazing sunshine. Her shadow was very short and Whitecloak’s was very long. He towered above her on his magnificent steed.

He looked down and laughed.

‘Who is this elf girl? How can this be your leader?’

Marthian made no attempt to stand upright or project her voice. She spoke simply and clearly and a hush grew around her words. 

‘I am the Proconsul of Ortia, appointed by the Emperor to protect and defend this City. I care not what you think of me as it as nothing compared with the contempt in which I hold you’

 ‘Brave words from the defeated’ said Whitecloak still laughing

Marthian ignored this.

‘Just answer me this – what business do you have with us? We have done you no harm, we have never provoked you, and your attack is utterly malevolent’

‘Not provoked!’ roared Whitecloak, ‘your very existence is a provocation. You refuse to worship me and you squat on my land’

‘This was our land long before you appeared in our world, evil creature. We will not yield it to you willingly or ever give you our allegiance. We have more resources than you could ever imagine’

Whitecloak steadied his mount and began to move closer.

‘Resources? I think not. All you have is thin air and water; and now that is running dry’

Marthian stood stock still even though the monstrous creature was now within twenty feet of her.

‘You think that Quiena would leave us undefended? Then you are even more foolhardy than I imagined.’

The mention of Quiena forced Whitecloak backwards, almost as if it had struck him a physical blow.

‘Do not speak of her,’ he said sharply, ‘anyway, she has abandoned you’

Marthian shook her head.

‘No – you are wrong and she will be your doom’

Whitecloak hesitated for just a second and then, without any obvious reason, glanced to his left, away towards the south. Marthian guessed immediately what was in Whitecloak’s mind. She was briefly unsure whether to try to buy time here or in Melloreis.

‘What are you looking for?’ she asked, ‘do you fear something to the south? Is there something there that you should attend to?’

Whitecloak stared at her suspiciously.

‘What do you mean? There is nothing there but the ruins of my earlier devastation’

‘Then stay and fight us here…’ Marthian said, looking purposefully southwards, ‘…and take the risk’

Whitecloak shook his head and laughed again, but Marthian wondered whether the laugh was perhaps a little more hollow than before.

‘You are brave, elf child. You will make a worthy blood sacrifice at the my Temple of the Sun’

‘You clearly make far too many assumptions’ said Marthian, trying to hide the extraordinary mixture of terror and stress that were building up inside her. All she wanted to do was run away; to flee forever.

‘This conversation is over’ she barked, and turned as slowly as she could bear. She began to walk steadily back to the gates.

‘Seize her!’ Whitecloak commanded. All of his human acolytes ran forward in a tidal wave of white robes to grab their enemy. They were greeted instantaneously by an answering wave of arrows that dropped like hail. The front two rows of the humans fell and the rows behind hesitated momentarily. A hundred elven foot soldiers came pouring out of the city and swarmed past Marthian. Behind them rode twelve riders with Aurelian at their head; they formed a phalanx around the Proconsul. Aurelian bent low, swept Marthian up and carried her back to the City. He then sounded the retreat. His troops fled back as rapidly as they had raced out.

Marthian struggled out of Aurelian’s arms only to pull him down from his horse and hug him again.

‘You saved my life’ she said, panting, ‘that was not only brave but also clever!’

Aurelian looked at her, relieved and proud.

‘I am good for one thing, Proconsul, you see, after all’ 

 

Outside the walls Whitecloak was beside himself with rage, but his eyes still flickered southwards.

‘Let the old and the new come together to crush this foul city’ he commanded

He gestured for the kinaam to attack and then shouted up in his own language to the flying creatures circling above him. The rays began to descend and the defenders stared at them wondering if there was any way that they could be hurt, let alone defeated. They were huge and pulsed weirdly with some alien magic. There were so many of them.

Whitecloak turned to a group of his human soldiers.

‘Ensure that you capture the Proconsul alive, acolytes’ he commanded, very loudly, ‘there will be great spiritual rewards for he who enslaves her’  

Whitecloak turned his horse and shouted orders to the other horsemen in the army. More than a thousand of them peeled off to join him. They rode as fast as they could towards Melloreis, with Whitecloak’s pale charger streaking out in front of them.