Chapter 45

High Priest Montis Shoban’Rohass and the Untars of the Alorian priesthood walked up to the large tent on the hill. The hill was located only a half league north of Katerra and King Aerathon’s banner was hoisted next to the tent. Last night, the Forsaken Army had camped here before they invaded the old capital. Now, Danuba’s army rested at the foot of the hill, ready and waiting to march into town.

The two soldiers guarding the tent kept their gazes fixed straight ahead as Shoban’Rohass and the priesthood’s aristocracy passed them to enter the tent. Inside the tent, a soldier stood before a table and King Aerathon sat behind it, reading a letter. The King looked up from the message in his hands and the soldier turned around when the High Priest and his entourage came in. King and soldier, High Priest and Untars; they regarded one another, expressionless and silent - at least for the little while that passed until Montis Shoban’Rohass produced a smile.

“King Aerathon of Danuba, my friend and ally,” he greeted. “So much time has passed since we last met but today we finally see each other again. Thus even dark times like these have their blessings, for I knew you wouldn’t hesitate when the faithful were called to defend the realm of our gods.”

“Spare me the sermon, High Priest,” Aerathon replied. “Given your assurances when we contracted this deal, I should be here to celebrate my daughter’s coronation as the new Empress of Aloria but I’m here to fight Dharos of Tunapor, who you said would be long since dead.”

The High Priest’s smile was gone when he replied. “And you assured us your daughter would be a pristine virgin, malleable and docile - but you sent us a whore who has defected to our enemies.”

“The last I heard from Rhaseris was when you were searching for her,” the King reminded. “I know you found and confined her but then you let her escape again. Apparently, you can’t even keep a young girl detained. So if she defected to your enemies, you have no one else but yourself to blame for this failure.”

“This argument is useless,” the Untar of the Golden Hand intervened. “We all made mistakes but we are allies and accusing each other of past failings won’t help us to win this war.”

“The prospect of my daughter ascending the throne of the Empire is the only reason I became your ally,” Aerathon countered. “Without such a prospect, I have no reason to help you fight your enemies.”

“If that would be true, you wouldn’t be here,” the Untar of the Bhansun joined the discussion.

“Your daughter was not abducted by your friends, your Majesty,” Kinsella Yarra, the sole female among the priesthood’s Untars, stated. “Rhaseris was abducted by enemies we both have in common. It’s our mutual enemies who make us allies, regardless of any plans we made.”

“Mutual enemies are not enough to make us allies,” the King objected. “We became allies because of mutual goals. Heirs of my bloodline on the Alorian throne are still my goal but are they still a part of your plans as well?”

“It wasn’t the Alorian priesthood who sabotaged our plan, your Majesty; it was our enemy and, regretfully, also your daughter,” the Untar of the Order of Purity and Devotion mentioned. “At the moment, we don’t know where Rhaseris is but we have to assume she still is in the company of our enemies.”

“I heard the rumor these enemies are returning,” Aerathon replied. “So I assume Rhaseris will return as well. Let my daughter be my problem from now on and after the enemy is defeated, I guarantee she will comply with our plans.”

“Did you receive news about the conquest of Katerra?” The High Priest rejoined the discussion.

“Yes,” the King answered. “A galloper delivered a report from General Vassun just now. Apart from some locals defending the harbor – and who are, incidentally, about to be crushed - the Forsaken Army didn’t encounter any mentionable resistance conquering the north of Katerra. Dharos and the three thousand of his soldiers who didn’t desert have entrenched in the White Citadel. The rest of Katerra will be ours before nightfall.”

“That is very good news,” Ashun Kal’Thys, the Untar of the Bhansun, commented.

“Indeed it is,” Shoban’Rohass agreed. “I think it’s time for the Alorian priesthood to reclaim the holy grounds of our gods - the Temple Hill. Will you accompany us into town, King Aerathon?”

“No, I will stay with my army,” the King withhold. “The battle for Katerra isn’t over yet. Something unforeseen and demanding of my quick response still might happen.”

So the Alorian priesthood proceeded without King Aerathon of Danuba toward the city.

“What will we do about King Aerathon?” The Untar of the Bhansun asked. “I know you no longer plan for his daughter to become the new Alorian Empress.”

“If I remember correctly, the oldest son and heir of Tunapor’s new King is a bachelor,” the High Priest mused. “Not quite the prestigious title King Aerathon aspired for his bloodline but he will have to accept it as compensation. Considering his daughter’s less than pristine virtue he can’t still expect Rhaseris to be considered an acceptable choice as Alorian priestess and the future Empress of the Empire.”

“King Aerathon’s compensation will be the least of our worries,” Kinsella Yarra stated, staring toward the south. “A storm is coming.”

Ashun Kal’Thys followed her gaze. “Those are no storm clouds,” the Untar of the Bhansun recognized.

“I know,” Kinsella Yarra agreed. “It’s the vanguard of our enemy, announcing the return of the Nameless Son.”

“Dammit, those are some bloody huge flocks of crows,” Skrajen Skelsik stated, squinting at the southern sky.

“A group of crows is called a murder, not a flock,” Thorjas Juniper corrected.

“What?” Skrajen asked, aghast.

“The appearance of crows is an omen of death,” Juniper explained. “That’s why a group of crows is called a murder, not a flock.”

“Thank you very much, Third Commander,” Skelsik dryly replied. “From now on I’ll remember to correctly address any groups of crows I come across. However, we’ve rounded up the fighters of the Midnight Council at the piers. So I guess these crows are their omen of death. Let’s attack.”

“Wait with the order to attack,” Juniper demanded, peering at the horizon. “It’s not only the crows who are coming. Below the crows flows the river Ewu. Look, there at the river bend!” He pointed with his outstretched arm. “There’s a ship. The gods be damned! It’s an Ibanees war galley. The message was real. They are returning. We need to alert the General!”

“You want to hold our attack because of crows and an Ibanee war galley?” Skelsik asked with a frown while Juniper called out for a messenger.

“Those two-thousand men and women at the pier are no danger to us,” Juniper answered. “We don’t accomplish anything of importance by attacking and killing them. On the other side, if we don’t attack, we may have two-thousand hostages on our hands. Hostages might become very valuable to us. You bloody better believe it when I tell you who is coming on that galley is not just dangerous, they are deadly.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Skrajen said. “You believe Evanis Danjala and her gruesome horde are aboard that ship. But how many men fit on an Ibanee war galley? Two or three-hundred? We have five thousand men under command!”

“I am the Third Commander and you are the Fourth and I say we wait for General Vassun,” Thorjas Juniper ordered. “If I am wrong and you are right, we only lose a little time. Now go and take care those possible hostages are cornered tightly so they don’t escape before we might need them.”

“I serve at your pleasure, Third Commander,” Skrajen Skelsik said and saluted before he left.

Thorjas Juniper’s gaze returned to the southern horizon.

“Damn, that ship is fast,” he murmured and wiped the sweat from his brow.

General Faron Vassun trotted on the back of his gray warhorse into the harbor. He rounded the orderly lines of the two-thousand soldiers facing the empty piers closest to three moored vessels of the Midnight Council. The mass of Alorian fighters was cooped up in front of the ships by another three-thousand mercenaries. Between those two formations of the Forsaken Army stood a third one - their two-dozen war elephants.

The General reined his horse next to Thorjas Juniper and looked at the war galley rowing up the stream toward the harbor.

“I’ve never seen a galley rowing with such a high-frequency stroke and precision,” Vassun remarked. “The bow is lifting so high out of the water, it almost looks like the ship is flying across the water. That’s impressive.”

“You know me, General,” Juniper calmly replied. “I’m a coward, so I’d call the view rather frightening than impressive.”

Faron Vassun laughed out. “Yes, that’s why you are valuable to me, Thorjas,” he praised. “I appreciate your survival instincts. You were right to alert me and halt the attack.” Then the General regarded the war galley once more. “I recognize the first two flags the ship is flying atop its mainmast. The first is the Ibanee war banner - a flash of lightning held by a fist. The second is the banner of the Imperial Alorian Family - an open eye within the circle of the sun. I’m also pretty sure I would remember the third banner if I’d ever seen it before. Is that a rabbit hunching on a hill?”

“Yeah, a black rabbit on a green hill under a deep blue sky,” the third commander confirmed. “I’m just happy it doesn’t show one of these damn crows currently darkening our sky.”

General Vassun chuckled. “True, that would be bad indeed,” he agreed. “We really don’t need the Yorak joining this party. So you think the rabbit banner belongs to the Nameless Son?”

Juniper nodded.

“Strange,” Vassun mused. “I’d have thought a dark god such as the Nameless Son of the Faceless God would choose a fearsome animal for his banner, not a cute little bunny.”

“It’s a black bunny,” Thorjas reminded. “That’s fearsome enough for me.”

“I can’t see anyone aboard the deck of the galley,” Vassun observed. “Not even the catapult on the forecastle is manned.”

“Maybe they assume they won’t need a catapult,” Juniper opined.

“Damn! They are coming in at full speed!” Vassun shouted a little later. “They’ll ram the docks!”

The general had just called out his warning when the strong breeze was suddenly gone and the ship’s oars plunged into the water a final time. The bow of the war galley reared up and its oars cracked and splintered as they were stemmed against the ship’s forward momentum. The bow wave of the Storm’s Bride broke at the docks and flooded the waterfront. It was close but the war galley did not ram the docks.