Chapter forty-eight

Ortia

 

There was a long debate in the Knight’s camp between von Eisen and Balliwick. The Ethian was convinced that they should attack Ortia and take it over, while von Eisen was very apprehensive about striking against an Imperial city. They fretted in von Eisen’s tent for several hours as they examined maps of the city and the surrounding area; their arguments went round in circles.

‘They are in our way, Baron’ exclaimed Balliwick, ‘and the city is of immense strategic value’

The Baron walked round a large map of Ortia, peering down at every detail of the Wall.

‘This wall was built by Quiena – how can we hope to overcome it?’

‘It has been all but drained of its magic’ said Balliwick, with quiet satisfaction.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Through our usual intelligence sources, my lord’

‘What about the Lady? She will surely stop us…’

Balliwick’s smiled briefly, like a lizard unexpectedly flicking out its tongue.

‘She was weakened by her battle with Whitecloak – some say she may even wither away. She has no capacity to resist us’

Von Eisen looked up uneasily.

‘I must say again – how do you know that?’

Balliwick shrugged and looked pleased with himself.

‘Merchants, spies, common sense…’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Well, have you seen any sign of her presence? I think we would have seen some… phenomenon if she were really active. Anyway, why would she care about the present rulers – they are not worthy…’

Von Eisen wondered about this: what did Balliwick mean by ‘worthy’. He absolutely agreed on the fundamental point that no female belonged in a position of power, but, if the Proconsul had been male then he doubted whether her actions could be deprecated; she seemed exceptionally courageous and resourceful. He scratched his head.

‘Perhaps we should wait for the Emperor to decide on the details of the governance of Ortia; we did not plan for this siege…’

Balliwick shook his head and his face turned stern.

‘We have discussed this many times, my Lord. The new concept is that the Knights hold the cities of the east in trust for the Emperor. That does not necessarily imply physical occupation of the newly recovered cities by elven forces. This seems to be the perfect time to start that process’

Von Eisen had a vision, the same one that had filled his waking and sleeping dreams for a decade. It was of a high majestic place on a vast volcanic ridge, where, on a flat rock with a stone throne, the Emperor crowned him as his equal, the saviour of the east, the King of Eddorre. And from the stone throne he could see all the lands of his realm, clear and lush and fertile.  It was worth doing almost anything for that ambition to be fulfilled. 

‘You cannot be sentimental about the old ways, my dear friend. That which does not work must be pulled down and rebuilt’ continued Balliwick, ‘and the Emperor will surely understand when you have so ruthlessly crushed the opposition to rational rule’ 

The vision faded. Von Eisen thought of the resistance of Ortia over the centuries, and felt a sharp pang of regret.

‘But is it not a beautiful and ancient city and are its inhabitants not brave and noble?’ asked von Eisen very softly.

Balliwick touched his shoulder and his face softened.

‘Of course – we do not come to destroy but to reform. We will take the best of the city and transform it into something better and more modern. And I agree with you, the Proconsul has been most inspiring, and she will be given all she needs in her comfortable retirement’

The Baron knew this seemed to make sense.

‘A measured attack, perhaps, indicating our intentions, yes – that I can approve, as long as bloodshed is kept to a minimum’

Balliwick bowed low, unbent and then turned to leave, hiding the triumphant sneer on his face.

‘Your will be done, Lord. I will instruct your generals’

And so it was decided that the Knights of the Crimson Flame would directly attack a city of the Empire, supposedly on behalf of the Emperor in Visnea.

 

***

There was no warning of the waves of attacks. They came on horseback to strike, ineffectively, against the walls, but they also brought engineers, sappers and men with battering rams. They attacked all four gates at once – they knew that if any one of them failed then the city would be theirs.

Marthian knew it too, as she watched from the battlements. Aurelian had lined the walls with as many archers as he could spare and they took down a large number of the approaching horsemen and foot soldiers. However, the Proconsul knew that she couldn’t let the battle go on beyond that point – they would have to surrender and the city would be taken. And then, who knows what?  After all they had gone through this seemed desperately cruel. Perhaps her feeling that von Eisen was an honourable and not intolerably cruel man would turn out to be correct, but she wouldn’t bet on it.

The ram bearers were protected by a cloud of armoured knights on horseback. They were falling everywhere to the elven arrows, but most of the shielded men were surviving and soon they would arrive at the huge doors. It would take them some time, but there was no doubt of the result. It was time to summon Aurelian and give him the order. The only grim satisfaction that the Proconsul salvaged from this disaster was that now the Emperor, if he ever came, would have even more of a mess to sort out. 

She began to walk down the damaged battlements towards the northern gate when she heard chanting. It was surprisingly loud against the sounds of the battle. She hurried down the steps to find a solemn group of the Lady’s priestesses, dressed entirely in white and with Julia at their head. Marthian’s cousin looked drawn and very thin, even more, she thought, than she had been when they had last met. What was she doing there?

As Marthian reached the bottom of the steps she heard Julia speak. It was her voice but magnified several times, so that its frailty boomed around the walls close to the gate.

‘Open the gates’ she commanded

Marthian was too late to intervene – in any case the power of the Lady was upon the listeners. With scarcely a murmur the soldiers guarding the gate began to pull back the iron bars that held the doors in place.

‘Julia’ shouted Marthian, trying to reach her through the crowd of acolytes. The High Priestess either did not hear her or chose not to acknowledge her cry.

‘No!’ yelled the Proconsul, at whoever might listen ‘don’t do it! I command you to stop!’ But it was too late.

 

The door swung open and the knight-engineers stopped suddenly, faced by an open door that they would presumably not now need to batter down. Julia, in her billowing white toga, walked through the door and raised her hands. A wind began to blow between her palms, as if she were generating her own weather system. Her eyes were empty.

‘Go back!’  she shouted, in a voice that was partly her own and partly utterly other. She raised her hand and the storm erupted from her fingertips. Vegetation and dust began to fly through the air and the front rank of the engineers staggered backwards.  

The horsemen stopped, their horses spooked. They looked across to their leaders and prudently began to retreat, with their eyes fixed on the High Priestess. A hole appeared in their ranks, through which von Eisen rode, having been told that the gate had mysteriously opened. When he saw Julia, his heart froze – he knew who this was, and he would not fight her.  This was a step too far.

‘My Lady’ he said, getting down from his horse, and kneeling in front of her ‘forgive me’

‘Go back, created ones’ she said, ‘this is not your place or your time’

 Von Eisen cowered in the howl of the wind, almost blinded by the power of the gale. However, behind him the more distant knights began to crowd in again, prompted by some order that had been given behind them.  When they first saw the open gates they decided to charge, and so, despite the wind a stream of cavalry several hundred strong began to struggle on towards the open city.

Julia threw her head back.

‘You cannot come here’ she roared, ‘this is a sacred place’

A few of the horsemen faltered or stopped, afraid, but most were carried forward by the momentum of their horses and the blood lust in their bones. In a few seconds it looked inevitable that Julia would be trampled under the hooves of the enemy.

The High Priestesses head jerked forward and she clapped her hands. A sheet of lightning, so intense that it momentarily blinded all who looked at it, arced out from her hands on to the leading edge of the mounted knights. There was a horrible burning pork smell and one by one the horsemen shrivelled and burnt, like orange peel on an open fire. The horses beneath them gave cries of pain, but were not seriously hurt. A shower of ash, spilled to the ground from each horse.  A great number of the men fled at this point, including von Eisen, who clambered up from his recumbent position and vaulted on to his horse and rode away. Julia did nothing to any of the army that retreated, she seemed not even to see them.

The ranks of the most hardened veteran knights continued to come forward, with Balliwick goading them on from the back. He was shouting at them constantly and they seemed unable to resist his commands.  Each time they came forward Julia clapped her hands and each time hundreds died. But as she repelled each wave of soldiers she began to fade – her white toga blurring and bleeding into grey. Balliwick came closer so that he could see her, but not close enough that he was in any mortal danger.

‘Kill the Priestess’ he shouted, his voice quivering with emotion ‘kill her – she cannot survive much longer’

Another hundred horsemen, as if on a long string dangled by Lord Balliwick, charged forward. Julia staggered and clapped her hands one final time. The blanket of lightning covered everyone within two hundred yards of where she stood, but by now her power had almost gone and the horsemen, including Balliwick, were thrown off their horses, but not consumed.

Trumpets sounded in the mass of the knights’ army. Von Eisen rode forwards shouting as loudly as he could, ‘retreat – fight no more’.  The blood lust left the army and they all fled the battlefield, either mounted or on foot. Balliwick rapidly found a horse and rode off, shaking his head bitterly.

Julia slowly lay down on the cold December ground and fell asleep gratefully. She never woke again.