City Of Night: Book Two of The Hand of Fire Page 3

  Drual wilted in shame, and his arrogant façade dropped. Macen was surprised at Jvarna’s passionate outburst, and he could see he was not the only one. The warrior woman stalked off up the rise, to join Baek on the ridge.

  Hirandar placed a reassuring hand on Drual’s shoulder, ‘You have a good heart, Drual; better than you would like to admit to yourself.’ Hirandar smiled at the downcast rogue. ‘Now all you need is a little faith.’

  Hirandar said to them all, ‘The darkness can play tricks on the mind. Using my magic, and the night itself, we can deceive the Kruns into thinking our numbers are a hundred times greater.’ The Wizard grinned. ‘Macen, Forgrun and Ragad go back down the trail to the trees we passed two hundred yards back. Cut as many poles as you can carry, only so long,’ Hirandar held her hands one shoulder width apart, ‘and hurry back to this spot.’

  Macen, Ragad and Forgrun jogged off into the darkness, and found the mountain trees. Macen gestured for Forgrun to attack the trees, and the Rhungar scowled.

  ‘My axe do be a weapon,’ Forgrun said sourly, as he set to chopping up the trees with his war axe. ‘It nay be a woodsman’s tool!’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ Macen glanced around into the darkness.

  As quietly as they could, Macen and Ragad snapped the branches into bundles of smaller sticks. In no time, the three warriors returned back to the main company carrying no less than fifty branches. They had managed to pile at least thirty branches onto Ragad alone, in the cradle of his massive arms. Macen and Forgrun piled the sticks on the ground, and Hirandar pulled a yellow velvet pouch from a pocket in her cloak. The Wizard reached inside the pouch and took out some thick yellow paste, which she smeared over the point of a stick.

  ‘These need to be put at intervals along the ridge of the plateau,’ Hirandar handed the stick to Macen. ‘Either pushed into soft ground or held upright by stones, so the pasted end is at the top.’

  Forgrun passed the next stick to Hirandar, and the Wizard smeared yellow paste on one end, as the rest of the company gathered round to help.

  Macen climbed to the top of the ridge with some of these sticks, and got his first view of a Rhungari citadel. What Logan had called the plateau was a flat expanse bordered by low mountains.

  ‘Macen!’ Jvarna whispered, from where she lay beside Baek. ‘Over here.’

  Macen kept to a low crouch as he ran to where Jvarna lay.

  ‘That horde is immense,’ Macen gaped at the Krun horde, sprawled out in a great muddle across the eastern plateau. They were a chaotic mass of swarming bodies, and he guessed there were four thousand Krun and Ugur. Their jeers and howls filled the night with menace. Macen looked to his left, and saw how the plateau’s largest peak housed the Rhungari fortress. It was hard to tell where the mountain ended and the citadel began. What had first seemed to be rocky outcrops, were battlements and towers carved from the mountainside, with many torches lining the ramparts. In the centre of the mountain wall was a great door. It was not made of wood, but rock that was darker than the stone of the surrounding mountains.

  One by one, the other companions scurried up the rise to join Jvarna, Baek and Macen.

  ‘Spread out the poles along the top of the ridge,’ Logan murmured. ‘Keep low to the ground!’

  In a few minutes the warriors had spread the yellow-tipped poles for three hundred yards along the top of the ridge, and gathered back in the middle of the pole line.

  Macen could see Drual and Jvarna shooting dubious glances at each other, unsure of the Wizard’s plan, whilst Forgrun eyed the noisy Krun Horde with an angry stare. Baek was frightened and withdrawn, wondering how they could possibly get to the citadel. Macen trusted Hirandar, but he could not see how this plan would work. He looked at the sheer size of the enemy army, and looked to his companions, saw their brows were heavy with fear and doubt. Even Ragad seemed full of misgiving. But then Macen saw Logan standing on the ridge, dauntless as ever, and that gave him strength.

  ‘Now, Drual,’ Hirandar said, over the howls of the far-off horde, ‘witness the power of ancient magic.’

  Hirandar began to chant. As she spoke wisps of fog began to rise off the ground at her feet, and spread out to the boots of Logan and Ragad, by the Wizard’s sides. The Northman gawped in wonder – the first time Macen had seen unguarded emotion in the Croma. Even Drual, with all his worldly experience, had astonishment in his eyes.

  Storm neighed in wild-eyed fear, but Macen steadied the mount. Baek caressed Krun-Smiter’s nose, and whispered reassurance to the whinnying horse.

  The mysterious mist grew into a huge dense fog that covered the companions, and it surged out down the ridge, towards the clamouring Krun army. Macen felt goose bumps all over his body. It was not the cold of the mist, but the unearthly feel of magic that caused him to shiver. Macen saw the petrified look in Forgrun’s eyes. Jvarna was clutching her spear and shaking, Drual was sweeping his crossbow from side to side, and there was even a grimace of fear on Ragad’s stony face.

  Half the plateau was now enveloped in the grey haze, and most of the Kruns had ceased their jeering to gape at the ethereal fog. It was so thick that Macen could no longer see his companions’ faces, only their vague outlines. Hirandar gripped her staff in two hands, moving to hold it vertical, as she continued to cast her spell. Without warning, a brilliant white flare erupted from the top of Hirandar’s staff. All the companions except Logan leapt back. The blazing staff lit up the ground and fog around the company. It was so bright that Macen had to shield his eyes. Hirandar pointed the flare-tipped staff far away to the left. Most of the companions gasped, as the left-most pole burst alive with the same bright light. The next one in line rent the night with pure light, and the one adjacent to that, like a spark running along a trail of black powder, until all the poles from left to right were alight. Macen’s jaw hung low as he gawked at the blinding wall of supernatural light, shrouded in fog and shadows, that stretched from one end of the ridge line to the other.

  If Macen could have seen the faces of the Kruns, he would have seen panic spreading through their ranks.

  Holding her staff in her right hand, Hirandar raised her left palm upwards. As she did, strange booming whispers began to emanate out of the fog. The companions cast uneasy glances into the mist. The spectral echoes started as whispers but, as Hirandar’s hand rose, they became piercing screams. Something moved in the mist, and Macen reared back in fright. He glanced over his shoulder. There it was again! He swept Estellarum from its sheath. A shadow was sweeping, circling and swooping. Macen sensed the creature. Felt its chill. The shadow moved too fast and too lightly. A spirit from another world! A shiver tingled down Macen’s spine.

  ‘What was that?’ Baek cried.

  ‘Decu watch o’er us,’ Forgrun mumbled from somewhere in the fog.

  More shadows were gliding through the mist, forming the silhouettes of the warriors – phantom doppelgangers of the real companions. The companions leapt back and huddled together, as the ghostly forms drifted through the haze.

  Grasping her staff like an infantryman, Hirandar marched forward into the fog. Logan drew his blade and followed, with the others just behind, loosening their weapons and catching up to Hirandar and Logan. None of the companions wanted to be left alone in the mist.

  The Wizard thrust her staff into the air, in the direction of the Krun army, and the companions watched in amazement as a sphere of red light whooshed out of Hirandar’s staff, followed a few seconds later by a green and then a blue globe. Unbeknown to the warriors, the spheres of coloured light twirled high into the air above the Kruns’ heads. The Kruns and Ugurs stared up at the balls of light, mesmerised. But they all recoiled in fear as the flying globes exploded, in starbursts of light, with a deafening bang so loud it shook the ground.

  ‘What was that?’ Baek asked, as the earth moved.

  ‘The Light knows!’ Jvarna shivered.

  ‘Light help us!’ Drual yelled.

  ‘Relax,’ Logan said calmly
, ‘and keep close to Hirandar.’

  Shaken by the boom, the Kruns cowered away from the mist, from which an army of shadow warriors menaced toward them.

  ‘Da Spirits ov Rhungar ancestors!’ Some Kruns screamed.

  ‘Ghosts!’ Cried others.

  It was at this opportune moment that the great gates of the citadel opened. Hundreds of armoured Rhungars charged to meet the Kruns, bellowing their battle cries. The Krun army turned tail and fled the plateau, abandoning their camps and war machines.

  All this was unknown to the companions, who could see and hear nothing beyond the spectral whispers and shrieks of the fog around them.

  ‘The Krun have broken,’ Hirandar whispered, she alone could see ahead.

  The rest of the company just followed the Wizard’s blazing staff, as they shot frightened glances into the mist.

  The white flame on the end of Hirandar’s staff winked out of existence. The moment it died, so also did the white lights back up on the ridge, and the ghostly noises of the mist.

  ‘Thank the Light for that!’ Baek whispered, and most of the companions sighed in relief.

  Macen knew those spectres had been Hirandar’s creation, but he was still relieved they were gone. The mist dissipated, and Macen perceived more of his surroundings. Hirandar was leading the Hand of Fire to the gates of Khan Zhen, as the last of the Rhungar warriors returned inside the citadel.

  A couple of minutes later, the company strode through the great doors into the mighty fortress of stone. Macen glanced around in wonder at how the gigantic doors were operated by a complex system of giant cogs and chain pulleys. Even The Gate, back in Grantle, was not as substantial as these Rhungari doors. Macen was bewildered when the doors slammed shut behind Logan, crashing together with surprising speed, and with no visible gatekeepers to operate them.

  Inside the enormous gates a Rhungar in full armour, with a long greying beard and determined silver eyes, waited for them. Macen could see a great passage led on into the depths of the mountain, illuminated by burning torches set into the tunnel walls.

  ‘Logan Sodan,’ the grey bearded Rhungar said in shock, ‘an’ Great One Hirandar!’ The Rhungar shook his head in amazement. ‘Yhee are favoured by ye Ancestor-Gods! I should do known, when I see such magics. There be few in Hathlore who do command such power.’ The Rhungar knuckled his forehead to Hirandar. ‘Yhee an thy friends be most welcome, most welcome!’ He bowed to the whole company, and shook Forgrun’s hand in the Rhungar manner.

  Macen winced as the Rhungars’ arms slammed together with bone crunching power, each clasping the other’s right forearm with their right hand.

  ‘This be an honour, Lord Captain Harnan,’ Forgrun mumbled, and dipped his head low as he met the Rhungar Lord.

  ‘Yhee still be alive, Grim Wanderer?’ Harnan grinned.

  ‘Still alive, my friend,’ Logan clasped forearms with the Rhungar Lord.

  ‘Yhee Light do truly favour yhee so,’ Harnan shook his head in disbelief.

  Macen marvelled at the Rhungari Lord’s heavy armour – it was etched with zildar decoration! He knew zildar was the most precious element of Hathlore, a metal more ardent than silver, more glowing than gold. The same metal that swirled through Estellarum’s crosspiece.

  ‘For yhee that do nay know,’ the Rhungar Lord began, ‘I be Harnan Molboroth, Captain o’ ye Citadel Guard.’

  Macen saw how Harnan had an axe of Kalador engraved into each of his metal wrist guards. Macen knew, from Forgrun, that those were badges of valour, which said Harnan had served protecting the Clan King in the legendary Kalador Guard.

  ‘I do nay begin ter understand ye power o’ magic,’ Harnan shook his head, ‘but we truly be seein’ thine worth today! We be thinkin’ relief force be comin’ from a southern stronghold, but nay! Our saviours do be numberin’ just eight! A strange an’ varied group yhee be,’ Harnan glanced from person to person. ‘Thy efforts lifted ye siege, fer which yhee have me thanks, an’ ye gratitude o’ ev’ry Rhungar in this city. Please, yhee be comin’ with me. Me Lord Drogal, ye Lord o’ ye Citadel, will undoubt’ly want ter speak with yhee.’

  Harnan led the Hand of Fire into the mountainside, down a vast passage, through a second set of colossal doors – the twins of the outside doors – and under an elevated portcullis. Harnan took the company along a passage with a smooth arching roof, fifty foot wide. In the passage walls, Macen observed there were small slits in the rock. Through those shadowy arrow slits, Macen could see many pairs of Rhungari eyes watching the company.

  A distance from the second door, which was now closing – again, with no one visibly operating it – were a third pair of opening gates, and another raising portcullis.

  ‘It’s ingenious!’ Macen whispered to Baek. ‘These doors are linked like a chain of weirs in a canal.’

  ‘Aye,’ Forgrun said. ‘If one door be open, the others must be shut.’

  ‘These Rhungar tunnels are layered with defences upon other defences,’ Macen glanced up at two large holes in the ceiling, between the door and the portcullis, from where hot tar could be poured down on invaders.

  A further hundred foot deeper into the passage, Macen could now see the tunnel was blocked by a stone wall that loomed up out of the darkness, sealing the whole passage from floor to ceiling. In the centre of the wall was a small door, and to each side and above this last door, Macen saw more lines of arrow slits. In the centre of the wall, above the door, there were two deep sunken holes.

  ‘Fer cannons.’ Forgrun pointed up, when he saw the puzzled look on Macen’s face. ‘Any enemy that ever do penetrate this far into ye mountain will be havin’ balls o’ lead flying at them at tremendous speed.’ Forgrun smiled at the thought of Kruns fleeing from the wall, under cannon fire.

  ‘Throug’out hist’ry,’ Harnan gazed at the wall with admiration, ‘nay enemy do ever breached ye inner wall. Fer an enemy ter reach ye citadel, they do be havin’ ter absorb enormous losses.’

  The group walked on through the inner wall, in single file. Macen heard the muttering rumblings of Grumbold – the coarse Rhungari battle language – coming from arrow slits and tar holes overhead, as he walked through the tight passage.

  After the inner wall, the wide passage continued as before, and Macen saw tunnels running off to the sides, to the arrow slits that lined the previous passages.

  ‘It is astonishing,’ Macen whispered to Logan, ‘the cleverness of this defensive system. The whole citadel can be defended, right up to the inner wall, without a single Rhungar warrior being in real danger.’

  Logan nodded, ‘Many years of threat and war, have taught the Rhungars they need to build great fortresses to live up here, to protect their people from dark creatures that roam these mountains.’

  Now that the Hand of Fire were through the inner wall, they saw many Rhungars stomping past. Macen noticed how every Rhungar carried their axe with an easy familiarity, and he saw the great strength of body and will in these sullen warriors. Macen watched as many Rhungar soldiers touched their fists together in homage to Harnan, as the Rhungar Captain paced on past.

  ‘What does this mean?’ Macen touched his fists together, as he spoke to Forgrun.

  ‘Tis ye Gromm sign o’ respect fer skill in battle,’ Forgrun murmured.

  Harnan led the Hand of Fire through a vast antechamber, twice the size of the paddock back at Macen’s home farm. This great chamber was full of shadows, lit by the flicker of countless torches and fires. There were hundreds of Rhungars in the chamber, all stout and stern, and ready for war. Macen saw there were many Rhungari Clan warriors – in the colours of their clans – two hundred Citadel Guard, five score Brothers of Gromm, a thirty strong unit of Storm Hammers, and handfuls of Grey Rangers sitting around the campfires.

  The gathered Rhungars glanced up at the diverse company of the Hand of Fire, and Macen could see many of those Rhungari stares were sceptical.

  Macen recognised the Brothers of Gromm, sitting separate from all the
other Rhungar warriors. Like Bodran, their bodies were covered in swirling white tribal tattoos, showing their dedication to the way of Gromm. Macen thought those tattoos made them look ghostly and ferocious – truly terrifying to the enemies of the Rhungari Empire.

  ‘No need to stare,’ Hirandar murmured to Baek, as Harnan led the Hand of Fire on.

  ‘Why do they have white tattoos?’ Baek whispered to the Wizard.

  ‘White is the colour of the Shade World,’ Hirandar said quietly. ‘When Rhungars die they believe they go to the Shade World, endure there whilst the Ancestor-Gods deliberate whether they are worthy to enter the Misty Halls. If the Gods prevent their entry, they are condemned to an eternity as a wraith. I believe the Brothers of Gromm cover themselves in white tattoos because they see themselves as living wraiths.’

  ‘Well,’ Drual said smugly to Jvarna, ‘looks like you succeeded in keeping me around for a little longer.’

  Jvarna gave the rogue an icy glare, ‘You must be delusional.’

  ‘I know when a woman wants me,’ Drual smirked.

  ‘You’re soon going to know what it’s like,’ Jvarna laid a hand on one of the daggers in her belt, ‘when a woman wants to kill you!’

  ‘Ha,’ Drual scoffed, ‘join the queue! I’m sorry princess,’ Drual grinned, ‘but it wouldn’t work between us–’

  ‘What!’ Jvarna hissed.

  ‘I can’t go out with you,’ Drual said innocently. ‘I’m Drual Dhagren, the dashing hero! Imagine the outcry amongst the ladies at court if you and me… no. It wouldn’t be fair on all my admirers.’ The rogue trailed off after Harnan and Logan, leaving Jvarna fuming.

  Macen shook his head at the rogue, as he and his friends snaked through the Brothers of Gromm. Macen was amazed how the Brothers of Gromm all had massive muscular torsos. But then, he remembered Forgrun had told him their only pastime, aside from drinking stupefying quantities of beer, and searching for death in combat, was doing unfathomable numbers of press-ups.