City of the Lost

19 The Dragonlord’s Palace

Thunder’s forces launched a second attack just before midnight. From the hill of the ruined Citadel came a great horn blast that soared out over the city and, in the quiet of night, was heard from Legion’s Gate to Iyesta’s palace west of the Garden District. A roar rose up from the enemy surrounding the beleaguered city, and in almost the same movement the Brutes and the mercenaries gathered by Thunder threw themselves forward against the fortifications and walls. Rank after rank pressed forward, their spears and swords gleaming in the light of hundreds of torches. Their trampling feet made the ground tremble. Grim and angry, the defenders held their ground. Falaius had placed most of his available troops in a line across the Northern District and the Artisans District to block entry into the heart of the city through the missing sections of the walls. During the lull in the fighting that evening, they had built hasty fortifications and barriers, and there the centaurs had placed themselves foremost before the barricades, counting on their size, strength, and speed to help beat back the attackers.

At the Legion Gate, the Brutes revealed they had come prepared for a siege. From the shadows of two buildings they wheeled out two squat catapults. With practiced efficiency, they set up the machines just out of arrow range and began to hurl missiles at the watch-towers. At the same time, another engine of war wheeled up the street and rolled into position outside the big gate. It was shaped like a simple, peaked tent covered with damp cow hides, but inside the wooden framework hung a heavy tree trunk tipped with iron and suspended with ropes. Men inside the framework swung the ram, and the first loud boom echoed through the streets. While the siege engines kept the gate defenders busy, other Brutes stormed the city walls.

Falaius, the Legion, and people from all walks of life fought back with everything they had. Arrows flew in deadly showers into the struggling enemy. Firepots, jugs of lime, and cauldrons of boiling water were hurled over the walls. Older children with axes scrambled back and forth around the archers to cut the ropes of the grapnels that Brutes threw over the wall in an attempt to climb to the battlements. Women carried away the wounded and the dead, collected spent arrows and spears, beat out fires started by fire arrows, and piled up rocks and debris behind the big gate. Everyone who could do something at the walls did their best, but the toll for their courage was high.

Try as they might, the defenders could not keep the ram away from the gate. They killed many Brutes inside the tent structure and scorched the hide covering with burning tar, but there were always more Brutes to fill in the gaps and the ram continued to swing with relentless force. Already cracks appeared in the tough oak timbers and the iron supports were buckled and bent. The hinges creaked with every crash of the heavy tree.

“My lord,” a Legionnaire cried to Falaius on the wall. “The Brutes are nearly through. The gates are about to fall.”

The city’s commander drew a small horn from his belt and sounded three long notes—the signal for retreat.

Boom, the ram crashed against the gate. The oak doors shuddered.

“Go!” shouted Falaius. “Get off the walls! Fall hack!”

The Legionnaires obeyed. They grabbed their wounded comrades, herded the women and children off the walls, and drove everyone back to the streets and houses that formed their second line of defense.

Boom. This time the gates shook, and the right half split from ground to peak.

Falaius was the last to the leave the wall. Gripping his sword, he watched the ram swing back and forward into the city gates. The heavy oak barriers splintered into useless firewood. Feeling sad to his bones, the old Plainsman dashed down the steps and raced across the pavings to the house directly across the street. There he lined up his archers and prepared to make the Brutes pay dearly for every man who crossed that threshold.

All around the perimeter of the city, the defenders gave way step by bloody step in the face of the merciless onslaught. The two gates, the Garden Gate in the west wall and the Legion Gate, held out the longest, but they were overwhelmed by the siege engines, and the defenders were forced to retreat into the streets, buildings, and cellars of the city itself. In the Port District and the western edges of the Garden District the fighting in the streets became ferocious. The city dwellers fought for their homes and their families, but their courage and devotion was not enough to overcome the Brutes’ superior expertise and hunger for battle. Only the centaurs were the Brutes’ equal in skill and weapons, and most of them were too busy fighting among the barricades to the north. House by house, street by street, the defenders were pushed back toward the center of the city.

Shortly after the fall of the western Garden Gate, the mercenaries under the command of the Brute officers slowed their advance when they reached the wealthy neighborhoods in the Garden District. These warriors—thieves, thugs, outlaws, exiles, and sellswords—lacked the discipline of the Brutes. They took one look at the richly furnished homes and lost their momentum in a spree of looting, pillaging, and gluttony. The Brutes who handled the siege engines looked on in disgust.

The battered militia, who had guarded the gate until it burst apart at its hinges, withdrew toward the palace and the wild gardens of Iyesta’s lair. Half of their number met with the dragon’s guards and established a defensive ring around the palace. The other half melted into the city streets to set up ambushes, build barricades, and recruit more help. Runners were sent to Falaius and messages arrived from other strong points. Linsha and her companions learned the lines of centaurs and militia had grudgingly fallen back all along the northern defenses, but they had fought hard and did not flee in panic. They had abandoned the entire Northern District and most of the Artisans District and were gathering along a line north of the palace to the Little Three Points.

When dawn lifted the veil of darkness the next day, Falaius and the people of the Missing City still retained control of the heart of the city, Little Three Points, large areas of the Garden District and not quite half of the Port District. But there was little cause for celebration. The walls had fallen, the harbor was lost, and many members of the irreplaceable militia and Legion were dead or wounded. There was no hope of aid or godly intervention.

As the sun rose and the heat returned to the land, the fighting in the streets and houses dwindled to an exhausted standstill. Thunder’s army settled down to strengthen their grip on their stolen territory while the defenders assessed the damage and looked to a gloomy future.

At the edge of the dragonlord’s gardens where the wild parkland gave way to the homes and streets, Linsha dispatched the last swarthy swordsman that had probed too far into the defenders’ lines. Panting, she wiped her sword blade clean and slid it back into the leather scabbard.

“Vermin!” Mariana said vehemently. She dabbed ineffectively at a slash that crossed the back of her right shoulder.

“Sit down,” Linsha suggested. “I’ll do that.”

The wound was not deep, but it was a long laceration and would be very uncomfortable for a few days. Linsha cleaned it as best she could and wrapped a pad made from Mariana’s torn shirt around the shoulder.

A chestnut centaur, a runner from Mariana’s troop, came to take a look. “Captain, you should go back to the palace and have a healer treat that. It may need stitching.”

“Or a poultice to keep the swelling down,” Linsha added.

The half-elf grimaced. “Those things are always so noxious. Why, oh why, did the healers’ magic have to fail? I thought we were done with primitive medicine.”

“At least we have that,” said Linsha helping her to her feet.

“All right,” Mariana sighed. “I should report to General Dockett anyway. Luewellan, tell your group leader to post guards and let the troop stand down for a few hours. They need rest.”

The centaur saluted, gathered the weapons from the dead soldiers, and trotted hack to his position.

The half-elf nodded her thanks as Linsha gave her a steadying arm. The two women made their way back toward the palace courtyard to find a proper healer and a meal.

“I never want to see another night like that again,” Mariana muttered while they walked. Her normally robust, healthy enthusiasm had dulled to a thin patina under a full day of fear and fighting. Her long braids and uniform were filthy, her skin looked pale, and bluish shadows ringed her eyes.

Linsha knew without looking that she probably looked even worse. She struggled for something to say and found nothing. How could you pin platitudes to a day like yesterday? Or one like today? There was no help in sight. They would have a brief respite, and then the fighting would begin again, tearing away the city’s defenses a little bit at a time. Linsha knew she was worn to the bone, bruised, cut, aching, and her energy was nearly gone. But worst of all, her usual reservoir of optimism that had kept her going through many difficult crises was flagging. She could see no solution in sight, nor she could she relieve the biting worry in her mind about the brass eggs. The fighting had been too intense for her to slip away in the night to find the entrance to the labyrinth. She desperately wanted to go into the tunnels and check the eggs, to relieve her mind that they were still in the nest and unharmed, but then what? If they were still there, how safe would they be if Thunder sent his army combing the city for them? Iyesta’s safeguards might protect them for a little while, but Linsha doubted they would work for long against a determined blue dragon. Should she risk harming them and move them to some place out of the city? Would Purestian understand the danger and accept her help?

Linsha ground her teeth in frustration. Maybe she should trust Lanther and accept his help. He already suspected the dragon eggs existed, and he seemed quite adamant they be protected.

“Are you all right?” Mariana said beside her.

Linsha gave a lopsided grin and said, “As well as anyone else. Just lost in thought.”

The two women arrived in the courtyard and found it a place of barely contained chaos. Rows of wounded lay under the trees where healers worked hard to ease their suffering. Dragon’s guards, militia, centaurs, and a few Legionnaires ran back and forth carrying messages from Falaius to General Dockett, restocking supplies, fetching water, collecting weapons, and doing their best to fortify the walls of the old palace. This, Linsha realized, would probably be the place where those who survived would come to make their last stand. The thought grieved her more than she imagined it would.

From a battered table set up under a tree, General Dockett waved for Captain Brownstem to join him.

Linsha helped her friend over to the table. Without asking the militia commander’s permission, she eased the half-elf into the single chair and poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the commander’s table.

The militia commander took a look at Mariana’s shoulder and did not complain. He called for a healer, and while the man carefully cleaned and stitched the worst of the slash, he listened to her report.

Linsha had met the commander only a few times, yet she had only to look at the tightly-knit, well-organized militia under his command to know he was a good leader. The centaurs, too, thought highly of him, which said a good deal for his character and abilities. While the two officers talked, she sat on the ground in the shade and added only a rare comment. She shut out the noise and hubbub around her and concentrated on the tranquil movement of the wind through the tree leaves above her.

She was nearly asleep where she sat when something heavy moved beside her and a familiar voice said, “You’re not going to believe what I found.”

A charge of fear shot through her. It was Lanther’s voice. The eggs! He’d found the eggs. Her eyes flew open, and she stared uncomprehendingly at the man standing in front of her.

“He insisted on seeing you,” Lanther said beside her.

She twisted around to look at the Legionnaire then back to stare at the ragged, dusty young man in the blue Solamnic uniform. “Sir Hugh,” she whispered.

“Curse me for a draconian,” said General Dockett in surprise. “I heard your whole garrison was wiped out.”

The Solamnic Knight wiped the sweat on his face and folded his legs to sit on the ground across from Linsha. “Almost,” he said, his voice subdued with exhaustion and sadness. “About twenty of us managed to escape.”

Linsha held up a finger. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Sir Remmik had an escape route. Probably a tunnel under the hill. He led you all down there and as soon as it turned dark, he led you out and you fought your way through the lines to the North Gate.”

A pale twinkle lit in Hugh’s red-rimmed eyes. “You know the man well. We came in through the gap as the Brutes took down the North Gate.”

She sighed an exaggerated breath. “I guess that means he is still alive.”

“Very much so,” Lanther said.

“And the rest?”

Sir Hugh shook his head. “Sir Remmik waited too long to pull them off the walls. The only reason I survived was because I was in the cells at the time. The escape tunnel entered the dungeon at the back of the corridor, and Sir Pieter let me out as the survivors fled.”

“The cells?” Lanther asked. “What were you doing in there?”

“Spending some time reflecting on my incompetence as a Knight. I allowed an important prisoner to escape.”

Linsha did not appear to hear him. She stared at the tree. “Nearly fifty Knights,” she said. “How much we could use them now.”

“We’re fighting now,” said Sir Hugh. “Sir Remmik is coming here to join our forces with the militia.”

“Oh?” General Dockett exclaimed. “That’s news to me.”

“Sorry, sir. I was sent ahead to tell you.”

An unexpected feeling of irritation burned through Linsha. Sir Remmik was coming to the palace. Now. He never came to the palace when Iyesta was alive—only now when she was dead and her lair appeared to be the last large stronghold left. Now, when Linsha thought she had some time to rest and recover before the next attack. Why couldn’t that man stay away from her?

“Thank you for the warning, Sir Hugh,” she snapped.

Snatching up her weapons and helmet, she jumped to her feet and stalked away from the tree.

“Wait a minute,” Mariana called. “Where are you going?”

“I’m an escaped prisoner, remember? If I stay here, Sir Remmik will hang me from the nearest tree.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” The half-elf turned to the general. “She is with us.”

Sir Hugh watched Linsha cross the hot courtyard and answered for him. “He might try. The commander is very unreasonable about her.”

Mariana shrugged her shirt back over her shoulder. “Huh,” she grunted. “I never thought much of that man before this. Now I’m afraid if I see him I will put a bolt through him. With your permission, sir, I will go back to my company.”

General Dockett frowned. “Eat something first. The company will wait.”

Lanther, too, watched Linsha leave and made a note of where she turned and entered the gardens. After a moment he climbed to his feet and saluted the general. “I will be back,” he said. “And you,” he told the Solamnic Knight, “will not mention to Sir Remmik that you saw her here.”

Sir Hugh rose to his feet and stared up at the tall Legionnaire. Even at his fullest height, the young man barely reached Lanther’s nose. “No,” he said mildly. “I won’t. I didn’t tell him about the courtesan either.”

Lanther’s weathered face split into a grin. “You’re a good man, Hugh.”

Leaving the others behind, he limped out of the courtyard and took the path he had seen Linsha follow.

It soon became clear to him, though, that Linsha was no longer on the path. In the wild, heavily overgrown gardens full vines and shrubs, trees and tall grass, it was very easy to lose sight of someone who did not want to be seen.

The Legionnaire paused. There were many questions about Linsha he had not yet found answers for. She was an enigma to him, and he found that fascinating. She knew about the eggs—of that he was certain—and he was also very sure she would try to go find them. The question was when and where. He studied the woods around him for while then walked back the way he had come. He had a thought that perhaps she would not go far from this palace. She kept returning here, and only the Solamnics had driven her away for now. No, she would be back, and when she came he would find her.

In a clump of wild chokecherries, Linsha pressed into the shaded cluster of trunks and watched Lanther walk back to the palace. When she was sure he was out of sight, she slipped out of the trees and moved deeper into the ruins of the palace gardens to the place she remembered where a door led down into the cool, dark tunnels of the labyrinth. At last she had an opportunity to go down to the chamber alone. Her fingers reached for the dragon scales around her neck and gripped them tightly. She could only hope Iyesta had been right and the scales would protect her from the guardians in the dark.

Linsha.

She started violently, nearly slipping on the stone step. The name rang in her head.

Linsha! Where are you?

Her heart gave a great bound. “Varia?” she cried, both delighted and amazed.

She ran back outside to a clearing. She had to answer, but not with her voice. The owl called in her mind, using a telepathic link between the two of them that only seemed to work in times of great need. She had used it once in Sanction to help the owl find her. Now she tried again, concentrating her thoughts into one single plea. Varia, I am here.

Relax, relax, she told herself. She knelt in the long grass, closed her eyes, and focused her mind. She shut out the sounds of the insects around her, the feel of the sweat that trickled down her back, the sight of the wind dancing in the trees, until all she could sense was the warm, steady pounding of her heart. As Goldmoon had taught her, she found the energy that radiated from the center of her heart, and she pulled it forth to leash it to her will. The power spread through her body with rejuvenating warmth, driving the pain from her head and arms, strengthening her legs, and filling her with comfort. She stretched out with her mind and sent her answer winging to find the one being so close to her in thought.

Varia, I am here.

Linsha! came the reply. You are alive! I am coming! The call was a little louder this time, perhaps a little closer.

Linsha grinned with joy, flung her arms wide, and fell back in the grass. Varia was back, and she was coming. She hadn’t deserted her. The owl would help her find the egg chamber. Varia, I am here. By the palace.

She lay in the warm grass and felt something tickle her forehead. She swatted at it, thinking it was an insect, but something about that faint sensation on her skin was familiar. She had felt it each time she tried to use her few magic talents the past year or so, and each time the power she so laboriously called forth washed away like a small dam bursting. It was very vexing. Just as times before, her energy flowed out of her and left her lying there weak and empty. This time it didn’t matter, though. She had had enough time to answer Varia. The owl knew where she was. All she had to do was wait, and Varia would come.

She stretched out and smiled peacefully at the sky. Her eyes slipped closed. For just a short while she was able to luxuriate in the solace of a quiet hour.

All at once the peace shriveled in her mind. Terror, cold and sickening, dashed over her. She came fully awake and saw a shadow moving over the trees toward her. Pressed into the grass, she lifted her gaze to the east and saw a blue shape wing ponderously over the palace gardens. The wind of its passing whipped the trees like a storm and sent leaves and dust flying.

Shouts and screams came from the distant palace. Somewhere nearby a horn sounded a belated warning. Linsha realized it was a Solamnic signal. The Knights had arrived just in time to meet the dragon.

She sprang to her feet. What would the dragon do? Was this just another fly-over, or did he plan to fight for Iyesta’s lair?

Her answer came almost immediately on the trumpeting notes of the Brutes’ horns. They were launching another attack.