Gradually, the rest of the shaman came into view as she shuffled forward. Her skin was wrinkled and brown as old leather, a dark contrast to the gold chains that ringed her narrow throat and clinked noisily across her skinny chest. She wore the same ragged shirt of fur that had kept her warm through the snowy winters of the Garnet range, though the baubles of pearl and ruby on her fingers were proof that her circumstances had improved from those days as a scavenging nomadic barbarian. Two gold teeth sparkled brightly from her lower jaw, an ornamental touch that gave her great pride, but nevertheless struck in Ankhar a small note of unease every time he saw them.
“Tell me the cause of your worry,” she urged him, laying a clawlike hand upon his wrist. She squeezed with a grip like iron.
“It stands on the plains east of here; it taunts me with thick walls and high towers.”
“It is the city that the humans call Solanthus,” she replied evenly. “And it vexes you like a thorn in the paw of a mighty lion. It cripples you, so that you cannot march away from here, and yet it is shelled like a turtle so you cannot reach the soft meat within.”
Ankhar had not thought about it in exactly those terms, but he nodded in agreement. “Now the knights reclaim lands west of the river. My army needs a great victory, a triumph to give my warriors hope and show to the humans my power-my Truth.”
“Yes! You must take the city-destroy those walls, and slay all the humans who cower within. This is the victory you deserve. It is inevitable.”
“But-how?” he asked. “Every one of our attacks have been driven back. We cannot strike at men inside parapets. My warriors die by the hundreds in trying.”
“This is the question I will put forth in my dream,” Laka declared in a tone that bolstered Ankhar’s confidence considerably. “You go forth now, and make your army ready for a great battle. I will consult Hiddukel, and the Prince of Lies will show me the Truth.”
“We have captured three deserters. I suggest you summon the rest of your troops to witness their executions. It will be a valuable lesson to other cowardly souls.” The speaker wore dark armor and a metal helm of the same color, with a breastplate that barely showed the faded outline of a black rose. He spoke to the half-giant with supreme confidence.
Captain Blackgaard, as usual, was making a lot of sense. Ankhar thought about the proposed executions for just a moment and nodded. “Do this. Are these deserters goblins?”
“Two are gobs. I regret to inform you that one is a human, a former Dark Knight who has disgraced the legacy of his company and his officers. All of my men will be punished for his transgression. And I request, my lord, that the manner of these executions be such that it will create a vivid impression in the minds of those who view the punishment.”
“Yes, they should leave an impression,” the half-giant admitted. “How will you kill them?”
“I would like to have each deserter, in turn, rent by four powerful ogres, one pulling upon each of the wretch’s limbs. The victim will be crippled beyond recovery and then will be left to lie in the sun until he succumbs to his shame… and his pain.”
Blackgaard and Ankhar were meeting on a low hill that lay on the outer fringe of the horde’s vast encampment. From here they could see a column of troops marching toward them from the north, the last detachment of the ogre brigade that had guarded the crossings of the Vingaard on the northern plains. They had been two hundred miles away when Ankhar gave the orders for the grand assembly, and thus, it had taken them nearly a week to reach the main force.
The half-giant commander stood on the hilltop, holding his mighty spear in one hand. With the butt resting on the ground, the spearhead rose as high as his head, and it cast a light that, in shadow or darkness, could be seen for miles around. The tip of Ankhar’s spear was not steel, nor any other metal. Instead, it was a massive emerald, chiseled to a razor sharp edge on both sides, and enchanted with the mystical power of Hiddukel, Prince of Lies. When he held it thus, and it caught the sun, the spearhead cast a brilliant iridescent light visible for vast distances. Whenever his warriors saw that enchanted light, they took heart from it, and roared their approval of their mighty commander.
“We have warg riders posted in a picket line some fifty miles away,” Blackgaard explained, confirming that the half-giant’s orders had been carried out. “If the Solamnics make any move in our direction, we shall be certain to hear of it long before they become a threat. The river is defended for more than a hundred miles to the north and south. The bridges and fords are fortified; the Solamnics won’t easily cross the Vingaard.”
“Good.” Ankhar turned from the empty plains to the west, casting his eyes upon the great square block that rose from the foothills to the east. The city, a massif of stone, high walls, parapets, towers, and gates, filled the horizon. At this distance, Solanthus seemed like a range of mountains-only with spiked towers and flat stretches of wall.
Ankhar was a trifle unsettled when Hoarst, the Thorn Knight, materialized several dozen paces away from him and came walking up to join the human and half-giant on the hillside. The man’s teleportation magic was admirable, but Ankhar had taught him long ago not to blink himself into existence too close to his easily startled commander.
The trio stood in silence for a time, each gazing at Solanthus, each considering in his own way the problems of taking that great bastion. The entire place was surrounded by a lofty stone wall, more than thirty feet thick at the base. Numerous battle towers jutted above the main parapets; the humans could shower attackers with arrows, great rocks, and burning oil from these lofty vantages. Three massive gatehouses, each the size of a castle, provided access to the city at the west, north, and eastern walls.
To the south, Solanthus merged into the craggy foothills of the Garnet Mountains and was protected by an outcrop of rock that was separated from the rest of the range by a deep, almost impassable canyon. One road descended the north wall and climbed the southern face of this canyon, but it was easily covered by archers from the city’s parapets-any attacking force trying to advance in that direction would likely be decimated before it could reach within a half mile of the small south gate.
Inside the city walls could be glimpsed a double pillar of rock, the Cleft Spires. It stood as though it were a monolith of bedrock left over from some long-petrified and colossal forest and as though, at some point, a god had taken a great, immortal axe and cloven the thing in two. Now the two slabs of rock stood side by side with a narrow gap between them. Aligned to the east and west, the sun was channeled refulgently through the gap during the spring and fall equinoxes. It was rumored that any tasks performed under the light of this narrow sunbeam, between the massive shadows of the opposing spires, was destined to draw the attention of the gods. Of course, this attention could be manifested as good or ill, such caprice being ever the purview of the deities.
Now the spring equinox was past, of course, and the long, hot summer loomed. If the city could not be taken during the upcoming season, Ankhar feared that the Solamnics would finally catch up to him, their great forces breaking the death grip of his army and relieving the starving city from its long siege.
“Do you see weakness there?” the half-giant asked. He had formed his own opinion-favoring the West Gate- but he was interested in what these humans thought.
“The gate to the west of the walls is where we should muster our main attack,” Blackgaard declared. “See how it juts forth from the nearest angles of the main walls. It is not protected as thoroughly as the gates to the north and east. A large attack, with diversions to draw the attention away from the main effort, stands a fair chance of success.”
“I agree,” Hoarst said, “though it will be costly, in any event. Those gates are ancient, hewn from Vallenwood trunks that date back to the Age of Dreams. Even my most potent spells will be feeble against them; your army will have to storm the place with brute force, and there will be much shedding of blood.”
“I have seen the way you and your Thorns flit about with this teleport magic. Can you not magick yourself into the city and work some mischief there? Perhaps even assassinate this duchess who has rallied her people so well?”
Hoarst shrugged noncommittally. “You have asked me that before. If I could do so, I would not hesitate. But there remains an aura around the place-I believe it is keyed somehow to the godly power in those two great spires. For some reason, teleport magic-my teleport magic, in any event-cannot penetrate that barrier. My men and I have tried this many times, and always the spell is cast to no effect; that is, the caster remains outside the walls. We cannot use magic spells to penetrate the defenses.”
“Then it becomes a matter of smashing down a gate, probably the gate in the west,” Ankhar said, trying to
