The Eagle’s Flight - Chapter 232: Desecration

The Langstan had no gates; the Mearcians never intended for any to cross it. The outlanders had built ramps to act as an earthen bridge, letting their troops march into Hæthiod. A week prior, they had used it to retreat, leaving only a handful of troops behind to dismantle it. By the time the Order patrols retook control of the southern Langstan, much of the earthworks were gone. Building new and rebuilding old crossings cost the army several days, camped just north of the wall until the ramps finally stood ready. For the first time in their history, an army from Adalmearc crossed into the Reach.

Their first target was Rund. The city controlled the entrance into the realm; any deeper incursion would require it to be on Mearcian hands. As with Lakon, the Order army made camp and prepared for an assault; inside the city, the garrison did the same.

~~~~

Egil and Kate wandered around in idle fashion, watching soldiers raise palisades, dig trenches, and erect watchtowers. Sometimes, they had to hurry out of the way as men walked past carrying timber, on occasion even receiving a harsh word. Undeterred, they continued until another voice called out.

“Hamaring’s beard, who let these rascals wander freely?”

The pair of youths swung around. “Jorund!”

Beaming a smile, the Dwarf approached to give each of them a fearsome hug. “I should be mad at you,” he said as he released them. “You never come to our part of camp to visit me.”

“We tried the other day,” Kate insisted. “But we had to give up.” The admission came with a bashful look.

“Give up?”

“We couldn’t remember the name of your house,” Egil admitted with a mumble. “After meeting the fifth Dwarf named Jorund, we gave up trying to find you.”

A scowl took hold of the Dwarf’s face. “Well, it wouldn’t have helped you much,” he conceded, his expression turning friendly. He pulled on his earring. “I have at least two cousins named Jorund.” Laughter rolled out from his body. “Another time, ask for Jorund Seaborn. There’s only one cat by that name.”

“We will,” Kate promised.

“It’s still weird to see you without a hawk on your clothes,” Egil said.

The Dwarf ran his hand across the axe wreathed in flames that adorned his surcoat. “Those other hawks weren’t flying this way. I had to let the bird go and pick up the axe.” His eyes gleamed with mirth.

“Because the other Dwarves went, and you had to go as well?” asked Kate.

He crossed his arms. “You make it sound like I caved to pressure! Let me tell you, Jorund Seaborn leapt at the chance to see ancient Dvarheim again.”

“You mentioned that before, but you didn’t say what it was,” Egil said.

“Ah, my young ones.” He placed one arm around each of their shoulders and began walking, pulling them close to himself. “I still remember the salt spray hitting the planks of the ship deck as my mother first told me the old tales. Within the hollow mountain, they carved a hall whose vault could rival the sky! Columns taller than trees stretched up to create a forest of stone. Light glowed, reflected from a thousand gems delved from the deepest earth to shine in all the colours of the rainbow. Dvarheim, Dwarf-home, where first our hammers struck anvil.”

“That sounds incredible,” Kate exclaimed.

“Very,” Egil added with belaboured breath, struggling to keep pace while trapped in the Dwarf’s iron grip.

“You can be sure once those gates burst open, those walls are scaled or breached, or whatever in Hel’s name will happen, Jorund Seaborn will be first to set foot inside!”

“Of course you will,” Kate agreed with a beaming smile.

Egil merely grunted.

~~~~

The captains of Brand’s army left his tent. They had held council regarding the storm upon Rund; orders had been given, and now they dispersed in order to carry them out. Godfrey stayed behind. While Geberic polished boots and Glaukos kept watch, the wanderer approached the king at his behest.

“Is your man in place?”

“Of course. I have never known him to fail.”

“They will be alert,” Brand warned. “You place great trust in a single man.”

“If it can be done, he will do it.”

“I pray you are right. I have no appetite for commanding my soldiers to storm the city.”

“It will work.”

The king exhaled. “I wish they would have seen reason and surrendered as in Lakon.”

Godfrey shrugged. “Those were soldiers abandoned in hostile lands. These are men fighting to protect their home against invaders. There is no other way.”

“Godfrey,” Brand said with a warning in his voice, “once we break the enemy, I am done. The Dwarves may do as they wish, but I cannot leave garrisons on this side of the Langstan. I have too many enemies at home to spare the soldiers.”

“I understand.”

“I will destroy the priesthood and their new Godking, but anything after that is out of my hands.”

“None can ask for more, my king.”

~~~~

At night, the garrison of Rund kept sharp vigil; in particular to the north, where the Order camp lay. Fires moving about in the dark suggested activity even after sunset, making the garrison nervous. Archers crowded the towers, and pairs of soldiers patrolled the walls, keeping constant vigilance.

On the other side, to the south, the same pattern repeated, except with fewer guards. A handful of bowmen filled the gatehouse and towers, and patrols came less frequent.

A blackboot walked down the fortifications, carrying a bag, but no obvious weapons. He continued along the wall until he had the same distance to the tower ahead as the gatehouse behind, keeping him hidden from either vantage point in the dark.

Soon, a pair of sentinels approached on their patrol. “A sāyag,” one of them exclaimed, pointing ahead with his spear. “What are you doing here?”

“I was given a special task,” Dariush replied.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Take a look.” Approaching them, he threw it in front of their feet. As they looked down, a knife appeared in each of his hands. Swiftly, he stabbed both soldiers in the throat. They gasped for air, trying to scream or raise the alarm, but nothing but blood came out. Catching each of their collars, Dariush carefully lowered them to the ground.

He opened the bag and pulled out a rope ladder, attached one end to the nearest crenelation, and threw the other end over the wall. Retrieving his daggers, he cleansed their blood and crouched low with furtive glances back and forth.

The rope next to him became tight and strained against the stonework. One after another, ten knights ascended, climbing over the parapet.

“If this is a trap, I swear –”

Dariush did not let the Mearcian finish. “Then you are already dead, and wasting time will not help. Follow me! I will enter the gatehouse first. They will not suspect me, and when you attack, I’ll help.”

“Fine.” The knights grasped the hilts of their swords, but they did not draw them yet; the night sky had enough moonlight to reflect steel. “Hurry on.”

“I hope you remember who fights on your side,” Dariush remarked before he hastened ahead of them towards the gatehouse.

~~~~

Once the ten knights took the southern gate, another two hundred rode through, securing control. The garrison rallied in an attempt to retake it, and battle erupted on the streets of Rund. For half an hour, the fate of the city hung in the balance. It lasted until the Order infantry, hiding some miles south of the city, reached the fight. They streamed past the gate, numbering more than a thousand. With heavier armour and the knights among their numbers, they pushed the garrison back. Three hours after sunrise, the last defenders surrendered.

With all gates under control, thousands more could march in from the Order camp. The wounded and weary soldiers retreated from the city, patrols and sentinels posted, and the dead were dealt with.

Detachments of Mearcians went to all the temples in the city. To the last, the Servants of the Flame stood in defiance, uttering curses and brandishing their ritual knives. That did not deter the Order soldiers. They cleared the temple, arresting every priest or priestess who could be disarmed; a few of them slit their own throat, letting their blood spill over the altar stone as a final sacrifice.

Regardless of resistance, the Mearcians did the same to every temple. As the locals watched in shock, the statues of the Godking were hauled outside and destroyed. The eternal fires were extinguished. The Servants were tied up and dragged to the city square, including the young acolytes.

There, in front of the main temple in Rund, the priests and priestesses witnessed the desecration continue. Hammer and chisel defaced the masks of the Godking carved into the stone. With horrified expressions, they screamed and begged for it to stop. The Mearcians, none of whom spoke the outlander tongue, did not cease.

All the while, a crowd gathered, watching the sacrilege unfold. Some reacted as the Servants, and the Order soldiers had to line up in ranks and use the blunt end of their spears to push them back.

Others watched with cruel satisfaction, and their eyes soon turned towards the clergy of the Godking, tied up and defenceless. The first stone flew. It struck a priestess on the shoulder, and she cried out with a bewildered look. The next stone hit a priest in the head. He fell to the ground, bleeding. Once the third stone was cast, a riot broke out.

The square turned into mayhem. Some of the citizens rushed to aid the Servants; others did the same to harm them. A few turned their ire against the Order soldiers, which ended poorly. Surrounded by chaos, unable to understand the outbursts and shouts, the Mearcians turned their weapons on everyone who fought. Soon, blood flowed for the second time in the streets of Rund.

~~~~

“Javed.” Dariush, no longer dressed as a blackboot, stalked through the camp until he reached Godfrey.

“You’re safe. I’m glad. Any trouble?”

The outlander shook his head. “Not much. Some soldiers gave me hassle when I wanted to leave the city, but the letter of passage from their king made them quiet.”

“I meant trouble with your task last night, but not worth mentioning, I see.”

Dariush waved a hand around dismissively. “It went as expected. But did you hear of the unrest?”

“Tell me.”

“Riots on the main square.”

“They attacked the drylanders?” Godfrey frowned. “That is suicide.”

“No. They attacked the Servants. Well, some did. Others defended them. The drylanders, not knowing better, fought both.”

“Regrettable. But we knew there would be a cost.”

“Yes, but there is more to it. Javed, I have walked among the marked people here in camp. Those who wear the single earring and dyed marks on their skin.”

“What of them?”

“Many of them are not warriors, but craftsmen. Some are children. They do not come as soldiers, but as settlers.” Dariush stared at his companion. “I wondered why that would be until I remembered the tales of slaves in the sacred mountain. Slaves with markings, defeated by the Godking long ago. Carvings in temples that show this battle.”

“What is your point?” Godfrey returned the stare.

“Javed, where have they come to settle?”

He exhaled. “They seek the sacred mountain,” he admitted. “It was the marked people who delved the halls before the Godking came and took it from them.”

“I thought as much. For my sake, they are welcome to that accursed place,” the blackboot declared. “But Javed, we are taking people’s beliefs from them. The Godking, the Servants, and now the mountain?” He scratched his forehead. “I worry this will not end well.”

“As do I,” Godfrey admitted. “I have made so many promises, Dariush, knowing not all could be kept. I dared not risk defeat.” He looked at the blackboot with sudden anguish. “I was so tempted, my friend, to do far worse. But I always sought freedom for your people.”

“I know, Javed. You did what was needed.”

“And now the cards have been dealt. They must all be played.”