Chapter 69

Day 259/260:

“Ho there, we see you!” The voice floated down from the darkness above.

The sound carried an echoing quality indicating that the speaker was using a megaphone, or something like it. None of the four were surprised, given how high the walls of Gluboskal were.

After separating from the Wardens: Ililyan and Sygraid, plus Rhys the other four companions flew up and around the double-peaked mountain, Gananora Heralis which Dulgan informed them was the backbone of the city’s defenses. According to the Dwimar, it meant ‘Parent’s Arms’ with a deeper, protective, nurturing connotation. Their aerial survey reinforced how apt the phrase was.

The mountain itself was formed from steep, obsidian slopes, much like those around the Ruby dragon’s lair (the former Hall of Heroes). One very long, but low ridge extended off to the east for several miles before disappearing down into the dry, rocky hills around it. Two other, higher and shorter spurs jutted out to the north in a narrow ‘V’, each one descending from the other peak. An enormous fortified edifice extended from the mountain’s summit down into the very bottom of the cut between the spurs. Inside the mountain itself were the clan holdings for the three major Dwimar clans who’d created the city.

The two spurs terminated abruptly after a mile or so, capped at the end by massive stone towers, both no shorter than five-hundred feet up from the valley floor. Stretching between the two towers was a hundred-yard-high wall with a massive stone ‘gate’ in the exact center. The solid slab rose to open, balanced using counterweights, and closed at sundown. There was no possibility of opening again until dawn without a decision by the city’s leadership.

The valley defined by the V contained the Dvergyr portion of the city, with two intermediate ridge-walls separating the area into three sections of successive height and decreasing size. Atop the two main ridges were huge battlements festooned by massive anti-siege machines. And on the outside of each, below the fortifications was vertically strip-mined for stone to build inside the city. The result? Looming cliffs which turned the terrain into nearly-impassible walls.

Outside the gates stretched the non-Dwarf portion of the city in a wide fan. There were a few slums, but the area mostly consisted of large, open-air marketplaces and trading warehouses for the caravans that traveled to the other Plains cities. Beyond that were farms, extending north and east into more fertile ground. John’s five-person group drew attention from several guard patrols as they walked from the outskirts to the city gates, due to their prisoner’s unusual behavior.

John hadn’t been willing to murder the lancer in cold blood, so they decided to try scaring him. Mij’naga held the captive in her claws as they flew several laps around the area, and even swung out to the west, looking for signs of an approaching army. So far, all they’d put eyes on were the mounted scouts that quickly converged on Gluboskal from that direction.

Unsurprisingly, the prisoner’s terror at being held like a hawk does with a field mouse was pretty extreme. Several hours in that state put the man into a nearly catatonic state. He twitched constantly now, head jerking around at every sound, but obediently, submissively followed their instructions. None of the armed patrols made any move to stop them, but hard eyes traced their path though the city’s dusty streets.

“Aye shoulda hope so!” Dulgan shouted back.

The Dwimar held up a lit torch that they’d purchased after landing outside the city’s view and shrinking their dragon mounts. Light from the torch illuminated all five of them, though Hal wore the appearance of another nondescript Dwarf.

“The gate will open at sunrise.” The tinny voice declared. “You may enter at that time.”

“My prisoner ‘ere, he’s gotta interestin’ story ta tell! Might wanna talk ta him tonite!” Dulgan replied.

“Prisoner? What kind of prisoner?” The voice asked.

“Th’ wearin’ Mage King colors an’ ridin’ ‘round south o’ ‘ere attackin’ folks kinda prisoner! Th’ others wi’ ‘im were all kilt; he’s th’ only one still ‘live!” Dulgan retorted.

“How far south?” The voice demanded.

“Halfa day’s ride, ‘bout tha’. Mebbie less!” Dulgan answered.

The resulting exclamation was cut off. An unintelligible (muffled?) argument went on for a few minutes. After it finished, a new voice called down.

“Stay there! We’re sending somebody down!”

Then followed several minutes of inconsistent squeaking, and a small, occupied basket came into view. Inside was an armed and armored Dwarf. Eyes like granite studied them for a moment.

“All right, who’ve I been talking to?” The Dwarf growled.

Dulgan bowed, slightly. “Tha’ woul’ be me, good sir. My name ‘tis Dulgan Fireshaper, an’ these ‘r’ my—f”

The Dwarf guard squinted. “Ironhand? You claim to be Master Ironhand? Prove it!”

Dulgan sighed, bowing a little deeper. “I cannae any longer. I finished two drag’n Challenges ‘n th’ las’ few weeks.” He held up both hands, which looked perfectly normal, excepting a dark gray sharpened nail on his forefinger. “My reward twas a new one.”

John had to physically restrain himself from grabbing Dulgan’s arm to examine it.

The guard grunted. “A likely story, out here in the middle of the night. You got anyone inside who can vouch for you?”

“I do.” Dulgan admitted. “Though he mightn’t be ‘ere a’ th’ moment. Dadem Oakfall tis my sire.”

That got another grunt. “And where’s your prisoner?”

John pushed the lancer forward. The man peered at the guard for a bit, then went back to his twitchy behavior.

“What’s wrong with him?” The guard wondered.

“It’s been a rough day. He wasn’t too pleased with our speed of travel.” John half-lied.

“You there, where are you from? What brings you to Gluboskal?” The guard pressed.

The lancer’s eyes locked on the guard again. “We will destroy you! Your wicked, gold-hoarding city will soon see why the Mage King is lord over all!”

He ranted for another few moments before John slapped a hand across his mouth.

“He was more coherent, when we first took him.”

The guard motioned. “Let me see his armor.”

John frog-marched the lancer closer.

“I do recognize this armor.” The guard admitted, sighing. “Wait here.”

He shouted up into the darkness, and they pulled him back.

It was several hours before the squeaking basket returned. The foursome stood back up to greet it as it lowered into view. This Dwarf’s armor was a much nicer version of the first guard’s; plus his helmet and large oval shield bore the unmistakable draconic style of Challenge rewards, though the device on his shield matched the city’s. Unlike the first Dwarf, whose build resembled Dulgan, with perhaps a few more pounds of muscle, this one was almost double that in width. His arms looked like he regularly bench-pressed entire buildings, for fun. Hard, dark eyes fixated on Dulgan curiously.

“Dulgan, is that you?” The Dwarf asked gruffly, surprised.

Dulgan bowed deeply. “Aye, tis me.” He used a term John didn’t know, then, “This’n tis my friend, John an’ his friends, Veron’ka, an’ Hal.”

“Peaceful greetings to all of you. My name is Thedus, Lord Marshal of Gluboskal.” The Dvergyr waved, taking each of them in.

John felt like he’d been put under a microscope, in those few seconds of scrutiny.

“Lord Marshal?” Dulgan asked in shock.

“No one more surprised than I.” Thedus remarked dryly.

Dulgan laughed. “An’ if’n we believe tha’, you’ll be happy ta sell us some fertile ground out ‘n the Endless Sands, eh?”

“I’m told there is a problem?” Thedus swung his gaze around.

John pulled the lancer to his feet from where the man had been dozing on the ground, while Dulgan answered.

“Th’ Mage King tis invading. We found this one south o’ the city, an’ the hills there’re crawlin’ with e’en more scouts. John ‘ere says he saw ‘em, ridin’ ‘cross the desert an’ comin’ this way.”

“I estimate at least two of the mounted Regiments are to the south, right now.” John added. “Given the way they’re moving across the sand; I would guess it’s a screening force. With the rest of the army to the north. Which would be directly west of us, and moving this direction. I wasn’t able to lay eyes on the main body, so I can’t give you any details on that. But I can’t imagine them sending the bulk of their mounted soldiers this way unsupported.”

“Your thoughts are wise.” Thedus agreed. “How far away would you estimate they are from us?”

“Less than a day’s hard ride.” John replied.

“That is concerning.” Thedus frowned. “Why haven’t I been warned that they are so close?”

The look on his face portended nothing good for whoever had screwed up.

“Well, can’t leave you out here all night.” Thedus grumbled. “Never hear the last of it from da.” He motioned John. “Prisoner first, with me. I’ll send the lift back for the rest of you.”

The ride up the wall felt like forever, it was so high. Three trips got all of them to the top, followed by a long walk down an internal spiral stairwell. John spotted multiple anti-siege weapons, all of them thickly-coated in enchantments. In his professional opinion, this city was a bitch and a half to crack.

Which didn’t make any sense. Unless rescued, castles and fortresses under siege always lost eventually if the besieger had the patience and logistics to wear them down. Water, food, manpower, expendables; all were irreplaceable during one. Over time, the defender will run out, and then it’s either surrender or be breached.

But if it would take a long time to capture the city, why attack one of the most difficult to conquer? Wouldn’t that alert all the other cities? Give them time to prepare? Or worse, send aid. Was King Morgan’s military force powerful enough to withstand the combined armies of all the other cities on the Plains? Even if one or two didn’t bother, many would. Better to defeat your enemy far from home than let him get close and wreck your countryside. Especially if you can paint him as being in the wrong. No one resists the righteous call to arms.

Did the Mage King have a way to sneak into the city and sack it quicker?

John asked Thedus that exact question when they reached a massive edifice carved into the side of a spur-ridge, after tromping halfway across the city and through a gate into the middle section.

Thedus laughed at the suggestion. “Clans’ll kill anyone who finds out about their secret paths. We Dwarves are all ruthless like that. Even if one’s known, it’s not like the Great Road. Small, narrow passage is tough to get a large enough force through before you’re caught. Most have easily-triggered blockages, as well. If that’s the plan, Morgan’s going to be surely disappointed.”

“Dulgan!” A thin, finely-attired Dvergyr with unmistakable resemblance to Thedus swept forward to clasp Dulgan’s arms. “What brings you here, in the dark of night?”

“Trouble.” Dulgan repeated their tale for his parent, Dadem.

Dadem eyed his other child. “What are your thoughts? Are we easily taken?”

Thedus calmly refuted the idea. “Yes, there were problems with the Clan Troops. And the City Guard is not at full strength, but I’ll take those who are left over the dregs we eliminated. If we’re encircled, even partially, it will take too long for Morgan to breach our walls. I believe he has miscalculated, and does not know how different I am than Marshal Grozud. Perhaps he was bought, but has no power any longer.”

“How recently were you elected?” Dulgan wanted to know.

“Within the last fifteen days.” Thedus explained. “Enough Lesser Clans banded together that even with the entire Council behind Grozud, the Small stood no chance.”

Thedus and Dadem explained to John, Hal and Veronyka that the seven founding Clans’ heads all sat on the city’s Governing Council. It was they who set policy, taxation and laws. Gluboskal was their city in every way that mattered. Thedus’s position as Marshal was an appointed one, but required more than the Council alone to pick him. All other Clans with a permanent facility of any kind, staffed with at least ten Clan members who lived in the city was automatically a ‘Lesser’ part of the Great Council of Clans, alongside the core seven. It was a majority in the Great Council who picked the Marshal. Thedus was the first non-core-Clan member to serve in that role for decades. It was an upset that the core Clans abhorred, but the Lesser Clans cheered. The previous Marhsal, Grozud the Small (the Dwarf equivalent of being called ‘Tiny’) had been the worst combination of lazy, incompetent, dictatorial and corrupt. Thedus had already fired a full third of the City Guard, and replaced nearly the entire chain of command with better veteran leaders. Dwarves who’d been sidelined for attempts to improve things, or limit the out-of-control graft.

“What happens if you’re killed?” John suggested. “Would this guy get the job back?”

Thedus shook his head. “I am empowered to appoint my own deputies, though they must be from the Guard, with at least two years of unsullied service. I will bring Sibul to meet you while I explain the situation to the Council. I intend to demand an answer for why Clan Alpine has said nothing of this. Their Far-seers would have no difficulty observing that number of mounted warriors, if they are as close as you say.”

“Is it a devious attempt to make you look incompetent?” Veronyka asked. “Then the Council Clans can bring their own people in to save the city, and replace you.”