Chapter 44

Northan Greymore was born in Corros, a small southern province of Tunapor. He was the youngest of the three sons of his father, Lord Greymore. At the age of twenty-three, he joined the army of his homeland. Twelve years later, he was a knight of Tunapor and the officer in charge of the six-hundred man strong company guarding the northwestern section of Katerra’s defense walls.

Late in the afternoon, two days before the end of the tenth moon cycle, Northan Greymore stood at the forward balustrade of one of the northern towers and watched the long column of the Forsaken Army marching down the northern trade road. In the evening, they made their camp, only a half league away from his position. The sun set and evening turned into night but it was long before dawn when the mercenary army broke their camp and marched again.

“They’re coming!” A soldier shouted from the battlements.

“Get ready!” Northan Greymore commanded.

The soldiers of his company took their positions and then waited for the next command. They had to wait until a rider at the head of the Forsaken Army reached their position. Then Northan Greymore, Knight of Tunapor, and the officer in charge of defending the northwestern walls of Katerra, finally gave the command his company was waiting for.

“Open the gate!” He ordered.

A few moments later the large man on the gray warhorse crossed the Coward’s Gate and his army followed him.

The knight of Tunapor saluted the rider and the rider halted his horse in front of the knight.

“Welcome to Katerra, General Vassun,” Northan Greymore greeted.

“Your father must be proud of you,” Vassun answered without returning the salute.

Only a slight twitch of an eyelid gave away the Tunaporian had heard the general’s remark. “Is the Alorian High Priest with you, General?” He asked.

“No,” Faron Vassun answered. “The High Priest and the priesthood’s Untars will arrive sometime tomorrow. They want to stage a triumphant procession through Katerra. Do you think Dharos, your King, would like to join the procession?”

“Dharos isn’t my King anymore,” Northan Greymore replied. “He’ll die without an heir and the Alliance of the Faithful will support my father’s ascension to the throne of Tunapor.”

“I’ve heard what the alliance proffered to your father,” the general said. “Is the rest of Tunapor’s army as loyal as you and your father?”

“The officers and troops guarding the other sections of the walls will most likely surrender without offering much, if any, resistance,” the knight of Tunapor answered. “Almost everyone loyal to Dharos is stationed in the White Citadel - about three-thousand men.”

“So only half of the King’s army consists of traitors,” Vassun commented. “That’s not too bad considering the odds for his loyal soldiers to survive the day. I guess Dharos was a good King.”

“I am not a traitor!” Northan Greymore objected.

“Is that so?” Vassun asked. “The traitors will have time till sunrise to leave Katerra. Every man from Tunapor still in town after dawn I’ll regard as an enemy. Tell me, officer, where will you be?”

Northan Greymore didn’t answer. He spun around and ordered his company to get ready to leave Katerra and return home to Tunapor.

***

In the morning, as soon as he woke up, King Dharos went to a window of his bedchamber in the White Citadel. He opened it, looked outside and saw the new banners flying across Katerra. The banners showed a pair of hands folded in prayer below a golden sun shining from a purple sky.

“Habsun!” He called for his trusted servant. “Did we receive any messages last night about the conquest of Katerra?” He asked when the door to the chamber opened and his old manservant came inside.

“Yes, your Majesty; the Lady Onessa sent a message,” Habsun answered, presenting a sealed letter lying on a silver tray he held in his hand.

The King took the letter and broke its seal.

“That is a long list of names,” Dharos remarked while reading the letter.

“That’s what I feared, your Majesty,” Habsun soberly commented.

The old King looked at his even older servant. “Well, at least your name isn’t on the list,” Dharos remarked with a little smile on his weary face.

“Treason never was a part of my duties, your Majesty.”

“I know, my friend,” Dharos replied. “If I remember correctly, you have some grandchildren back home, don’t you?”

“Yes, your Majesty - two grandsons and two granddaughters; three great-grandsons and four great-granddaughters; as well as eight great-great-grandchildren, five of them boys and three girls.”

“My memory isn’t as good as it once was, old friend,” Dharos revealed. “Would you make me a list of your family, please? If I survive this war, it looks like I’ll have to reassign quite a few fiefdoms and several lordships in Tunapor.”

“Excuse me, your Majesty, but...”

“No, you won’t be excused,” Dharos interrupted. “I want that list. Now go and send in the officers of the garrison. I lost the town already and don’t want to lose what’s left of Katerra that easily, too.”

“Yes, your Majesty,” Habsun deeply bowed and left.

Dharos of Tunapor returned to the open window and looked outside once more. The imperial banner was still flying above the gate of the White Citadel.

“I’m awake,” Anjatta whispered.

“I know you are,” Jabbit replied, nestled closely to her back.

“Shhh – please be quieter; I don’t want Anseyla to wake up,” she hushed and continued even more softly. “If you want to do that again, would you do the other thing first, please?”

“The other thing? Which other thing?” Jabbit asked, whispering too now.

“I mean the other thing you do with your mouth before you ... you know... , “ she trailed off.

“Are you sure? The less I do to you, the less you have to suffer.”

Anjatta turned her head and looked over her shoulder into Jabbit’s eyes. “You are teasing me, aren’t you?”

“For three nights in a row now, you’ve told me you are here because Rhaseris has ordered you to come and serve me whichever way I want. Did that suddenly change this morning?”

Anjatta turned her head again, no longer facing him. “It’s just that it doesn’t hurt so much if you do the other thing first.”

“It doesn’t need to hurt at all.”

“I know, but it feels somehow wrong when it doesn’t hurt,” she mumbled.

“And the thing I do with my mouth doesn’t feel wrong to you?”

“What you do with your mouth makes me feel weird,” she said, squirming in his embrace, “but it doesn’t feel as wrong as the other thing you do.”

“I understand; you prefer feeling weird rather than feeling wrong.”

“I...”

“Yes, he is teasing you, Anja,” Anseyla interrupted and yawned. “Our Lord knows very well how much you like to get your pussy licked before he fucks your ass.”

“You don’t have to be so rude all the time,” the Ibanee princess chastised.

“You didn’t complain about my rudeness when I licked your pussy last night - before, after, and even while he fucked your ass,” Anseyla countered.

“You did that just to torment me,” Anjatta accused.

“You think last night I came to torment you? The contrary is true. I came because I worried about you. I wanted to assure myself that your penance wasn’t too cruel to you. When I saw how much you suffered, I simply tried to help you the best way I know how!”

“Mainly, you offered to suffer instead of me,” Anjatta commented. “I’m so happy to have you, Ansa, my only true friend. You are such a good and selfless soul.”

The door opened and Evanis walked into the cabin.

“I need my armor,” she said. “We’ve passed the delta already. Only a few more hours until we’ll land in Katerra. Why are you still in bed? Wait - don’t answer; that was a silly question. However, you need to get up; there’s no more time to fuck around.”

“Good morning, Eva, did you sleep well?” Jabbit asked.

“Not as good as you, I’d guess,” she answered, smirking. “I spent half of the night discussing possibilities with Agon, Shinta, Sybil, and even Rhaseris. Possible situations we may face in Katerra and our possible responses in regards to the different scenarios. We could have used divine enlightenment or an oracle - but, as often lately, they both were occupied with urgent matters.”

Anjatta didn’t reply and blushed.

Jabbit didn’t blush and replied. “Why didn’t you ask us to join you?”

“We sent Anseyla to do just that,” Evanis answered. “Just look how that turned out.”

“I can’t believe you really thought I’d come back with them,” her sister retorted. “You know me better than that.”

“Of course I do, but it was Agon who asked you to look for them,” Evanis reminded Anseyla. “I merely didn’t want to point out his mistake at the time.”

The coloring of Anjatta’s cheeks turned a little darker. “Thank you, Evanis.”

“Whatever,” she dismissed. “But you really do have to get up now!”

Not everyone obeyed Evanis’ order.

Three hours after noon, General Vassun and his commanders gathered in their new, temporary headquarters. They bent over a map of Katerra, spread out on a large kitchen table.

“Give me your reports,” the general ordered.

The first one answering the question was Corfin Valen. He was a tall, skinny man, and the newly promoted fifth commander of the Forsaken Army. “The north of Katerra is conquered,” he stated. “We didn’t encounter any resistance and the three-thousand soldiers of Tunapor who were stationed there have left Katerra.”

Urgon En’Arros was the next. The second commander was a man whose origin lay a far distance east of Aloria. “My men and I advanced toward the White Citadel,” he answered. “My units surrounded the Citadel but I didn’t order an attack. The Citadel is a bulwark - high walls, towers, a strong, iron-reinforced gate - and at least three-thousand well-equipped soldiers are manning the fortifications. We’ll either besiege and starve them out, or we’ll have to build a lot of siege weaponry for a very costly attack.”

“My men and I weren’t as lucky,” Thorjas Juniper, the new third commander, remarked. “We were ambushed marching toward the harbor. I lost three hundred men and ordered a retreat. I lost my men to Alorian fighters, not Tunaporian soldiers. The harbor is held by Katerra’s Midnight Council. They barricaded every road toward the piers. They have gathered there with at least two thousand armed men and women who know how to fight.”

Faron Vassun looked at the last of his four commanders. “What about you, Skrajen?” He asked.

“As ordered, my men and I advanced onto the Temple Hill,” Skrajen Skelsik, the new fourth commander, replied. “We only encountered an old blind man and one of the priesthood Untars. The blind man told us we are not needed in the holy grounds of the Alorian gods.”

“And you obeyed the blind man and left?” Juniper asked.

“Yes,” the fourth commander answered.

“Then I doubt you will be promoted to third commander anytime soon,” En’Arros mocked.

“You haven’t seen that place on the hill,” Skrajen replied. “Fissures run all over the central yard between the temples. Fissures that are at least several feet wide! And out of their depth flows a thick gray mist, flooding the whole damn hill with ground-fog. The temples look like long forgotten, crumbling ruins. Weeds are growing out of the countless cracks in the marble and it’s spreading all over the walls and pillars. It looks like giant spider webs. That place truly deserves the name the Marble Cemetery; it’s cursed!”