purchased food, drink, and trinkets. The emperor was a strict disciplinarian, but he instructed his officers to allow these transactions to continue-so long as the men quickly resumed the march and maintained a double-time pace for an hour to make up for the delay.
Finally, the crest of the pass was before them. Despite the best efforts of the dwarf road builders, the highway passed through a series of sharp switchbacks during the final ascent, so the soldiers in the front looked down onto the heads of the men in the middle and tail end of the column. Even with the steep climb, the pace of the march continued unabated, and the men sang marching songs as they at last reached the high point of the long climb.
The fortress called the High Clerist’s Tower commanded the only gap through the rugged sawblade that was the crest of the Vingaard Range. Most of the army column simply marched past the place, the men staring up at the lofty towers silhouetted against the stark blue sky, then continuing on with the relief of travelers who have completed a long ascent. As there was precious little level ground in the vicinity of the mighty keep, most of the troops headed down toward bivouacs five or six miles below the crest, on the flatland known as the Wings of Habbakuk.
But some of the army did stop at the tower, including the command party. Jaymes Markham rode into the small, deep courtyard and examined the high stone buttresses. This place had been savagely mauled in several wars, but-by his order-the damage had been repaired, and in fact the stout defenses of the ancient bastion had been strengthened by the addition of a curtain wall across the southern approach. A quartet of exterior towers had also been erected, with one pair overlooking the approach to the fortress from the canyon to the north and another pair commanding the road as it fell between the narrow gorge approaching the south gate.
The commander of the tower’s garrison, General Markus, waited in the courtyard for the emperor’s party. The Rose Knight, who had been one of the first to serve Jaymes, saluted him crisply. Markus was hailed by Jaymes as he dismounted and whisked the dust of the mountain road off of his cape.
“You’ve arranged for the feeding of the army in bivouac?” Jaymes asked immediately.
“Yes, my lord. My kitchen staff has set up camp between the Wings, and the men will get a hot meal tonight, and tomorrow morning.”
The emperor nodded. “Good. Hold the second courtyard for the bombards; I’ll want to inspect them when they arrive, and they need to be secured behind the walls for the time being.”
“Here they come now, my lord,” reported Sergeant Ian of the Freemen, as the first of the big wagons rumbled beneath the portcullis and entered the courtyard.
A team of eight oxen hauled the mammoth conveyance, which was built more sturdily than a heavy freight wagon. The axles were steel, the rims of the huge wheels banded with the same hard metal, while no less than thirty stout spokes supported each wheel on its hub. The bombard rested in the wagon bed, the barrel-its gaping mouth more than a foot wide-slightly elevated and extending to the rear beyond the body of the wagon. Dark steel bands ringed the heavy beams that formed the long tube, while an iron screw supported the bombard midway down its length. The screw could be adjusted to raise the barrel. Shifting the weapon’s aim to the left or the right could be accomplished only by turning the wagon itself.
Markus was busy issuing orders as the second bombard rumbled into the fortress and an adjacent portcullis rattled upward, opening passage to another, similarly small courtyard nearby.
“All three of them will fit in there,” the general said. “And there’s a stable just beyond, so that the oxen can be tended.”
Jaymes nodded, his mind already moving on to other matters. He leaned back and stared up at the lofty tower that was the centerpiece of the keep. The parapets once damaged by Chaos Armies and dragon overlords were newly intact and gleaming. A banner flew from the highest pinnacle, snapping straight in the high mountain wind, proudly bearing proof that it was a citadel of the Solamnic Knighthood. Three symbols in black-the Crown, Rose, and Sword-were etched against a background of snowy white. Each side tower-and they were numerous-held another flagpole with images showing the company heraldry, clerical affiliation, or other symbolic indications of tradition and authority.
“I have the maps arranged as you requested,” Markus explained as he accompanied the emperor into the lower hall of the multilevel keep. “I’ve taken the liberty of placing them in the dining hall so that we can have dinner as you make your plan.”
“ Refine my plan,” corrected Jaymes. “But the hall should work nicely.”
Markus lowered his voice as the two men passed through an anteroom, and the press of aides and guards discreetly fell in behind them. “I have received a letter just this morning, Excellency. From Lord Kerrigan, in Vingaard. He has enclosed a message for you with the request that I deliver it, when possible.”
Jaymes nodded, and the general passed over a small scroll, a fine skin rolled into a tight tube no fatter than his little finger. The wax seal, bearing the imprint of an eagle, was unbroken.
The general waited for a moment, but the emperor made no move to open the parchment in his presence. Rather, Jaymes followed Markus into a vaulted dining room, where, as promised, a series of maps were laid across several tables. The chamber was deep within the interior of the fortress, but several chandeliers blazed brightly enough to simulate full daylight. Jaymes looked up at the crystal objects and observed that the light was magical in nature.
“Better, and cheaper, to have the Clerists do it than to invest in a hundred candles,” Markus commented, as Jaymes nodded approvingly. He approached the maps and studied the terrain that he already knew by heart.
“Now, we will emerge from the mountains here and approach Vingaard from the west. Dayr and the Crown army are coming up from the south.”
It wasn’t until several hours later, when the emperor was alone in his room, that he took out the scroll from the rebel leader at Vingaard Keep. The time was late, since the planning session had run long into the night, but he needed only a few hours of sleep before rising with the dawn. He allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction; he was as hale as he had been as a young man; four hours of slumber always made him feel rested and invigorated.
Jaymes ignited a few extra candles; his eyes, alas, were not as keen as they had been even a few years before. He broke the wax seal on the scroll, unrolled it, and read the message.
My Dear Emperor, Uniter of Solamnia,
I beg you to hear my words, and to grant me the privilege of a parley. We in Vingaard are more than willing to give the nation, and yourself, the due fruits of our prosperity. The benefits we have already gained-simply with the increase of trade over the pass that you yourself traverse at this moment-have dramatically improved the quality of life in our humble river town.
I also beg Your Excellency’s forgiveness for the fact that our misunderstanding has progressed to this distressing state. I assure you that it was never my intention to challenge the authority of the State, or of the Emperor.
I will present myself to you on the road before my city. I will bear no weapon, nor bring more than a small party of loyal attendants to meet with you. I merely seek a means to resolve this issue that allows me to salvage an element of pride.
In Greater Solamnia, there is certainly treasure for all!
Your Devoted Servant,
Kerrigan
No expression marked the emperor’s face as he finished the short, polite missive. But he frowned slightly before touching the corner of the scroll to the flame of one of the candles.
The dry material caught immediately, flared into bright light, and burned very quickly. Jaymes dropped it on the stone floor and went to bed. He was sound asleep before it had stopped smoldering.
CHAPTER THREE
The three great towers of Vingaard Keep rose above the plain like a triple-peaked summit standing alone on a small island. The great Vingaard River, nearly a mile wide there, curled and meandered to the east of the ancient
