The Arkanist

Iurn

Chapter 18

Iurn

The scout returned pale of face and out of breathe. Aera rose from the hallowed log she had been waiting on as he arrived, her breeches damp from the wet beard of moss that hung from the wood. Harnwor was the first to question the boy. “What did you see?” It seemed a fit question.

         The scout doubled over, gasping for clean, fresh air. After a minute, he rose and began the report. “That was no Felling ceremony. Those fires are burning the city of Iurn!”

         “Are you sure?” Harnwor asked, incredulous.

         “Positive,” said the scout. “I know what I saw, and I saw the Tower of the Bell in the heart of the city, burning like a torch, the grey tiles smoldering in the ash. I saw the Walls of Ossar, crumbled and black as the sky, burnt like overcooked meat. And the Ilmari…” He trailed off. “They infested the ruins like spiders, like vermin, maybe three hundred, and that’s being generous. There could even be five, if my eyes did not see all.”

         Five hundred! Aera thought. Ollor was right. We can’t win this.

         The scout nodded, and pointed. “Through this copse, there is a hundred foot gap of barren rock and dirt that separates the Main Gate, and these trees. Beside the walls, on the East End, there’s a great rock as well, that rises over the walls. It looks difficult to climb, but it can be done. On the West End, I saw there was a weak gate, I don’t know its name, but it was lightly manned and ruined completely. If you can get inside the city, you will have a better chance at victory. If you do not breach its walls, it is hopeless.”

         Harnwor digested the information, and bent down to one knee, looking at the earth. He drew a sort of map with his gloved fingers. “We are here, if I am correct.” He started drawling trees. “There is the copse before us…” he went on and drew a box that represented the city. “…and here is he city, and its Main Gate. Beside it, we are told, there is a rock peak that looks over the city.” He skipped to the west side of the city. “And here’s the weak gate.” He glanced up at the surrounding rangers.

         “First, we shall move our host into the copse, hidden from enemy view. Our host will then split into three. Archers and bowmen, you will be led by Lorres, who shall lead you to the rock peak, taking the long way round, to avoid enemy fire. It will require stealth, and you should climb the rock from the southeast side, to avoid anybody seeing you. Once up there, you shall wait for our horn. Two bleats signal fire, while one signals attack over the walls. You are to wait for the horn.” He glared hard at Lorres. Aera did not know if there was so sort of past they shared. Some story only theirs eyes could tell.

“The second host will, in our short space of time, fell one of the firs there, as best you can. We will use it as a ram, to try and break in from the Main Gate. You are to be signaled to depart the copse with that trunk on the sound of two bleats, the archers giving you a brief diversion so you can pass by unseen. You, Torrun, will lead that one,” Harnwor said to a burly man with a great thick blond beard and a shaved head. As for me, I will lead the third host around in a dog-tail route from the copse to the west side of the city, and attack the weak gate there, and hopefully breech the city.” He paused. “Any questions?”

         Silence engulfed the rangers like the darkness. Harnwor was fastening his iron greathelm, dinted and rusted, onto his head when he called, “Three bleats of the horn for retreat. Pray our ears never hear that.” He drew out his greatsword, the melded iron and steel grinding along the scabbard like a snake’s hiss. Aera saw the pommel glimmer red as flame as he swung it about, slicing through the air. “Let us send these foul beasts into their bloody land of Va, and see if their gods are there to greet them,” growled Harnwor, the darkness eating him whole as he marched off into the shadowy copse. “Let us take back the city!”