Remnant of Power

Chapter Forty-five

Timod

Timod awoke to cloudy daylight feeling stiff and achy. His neck was sore, and his feet hurt when he moved. To make things worse, he had hardly slept – he'd decided in the night he'd have to send the men home if the Ithrim hadn't arrived by noon. As he lay on his back trying to make himself get up, he could see men walking around the edge of the camp, but he didn't seem to recognize any of them. As his eyes started to focus, he realized they were Ithrim. Thank Esa! But why had no one woken him? He scrambled to his feet and rushed over to two of them who were standing by a campfire.

"Hail Timod,"

Timod dimly recognized the Ithrim from when he'd seen him before outside the prison, but he couldn't help staring at the male next to him. The Ithrim's left arm finished above his elbow, and the end of it was covered in a leather sock.

"Timod, this is our King, Hirnan. Sire, this is Timod who raised the army."

Hirnan bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. "You and the others have done well to raise so many men in such a short time. Come, take the weapons, we've brought them as Giryan promised."

"But we bring bad news as well," interrupted Berezan. "Mal's been captured and is being held in the castle at Gelenburg. And we've heard nothing from the Dryads or the Talahund."

Timod rubbed his chin as Berezan led him to the wagons filled with weapons. Parked next to them were four large catapults. So Mal wasn't an imposter. He let out a deep breath. But then his relief turned to dread at the thought that the King might have killed Mal by now anyway. Would they still fight Ulric if there was no rightful King? Timod pulled a mail shirt over his head. Yes, they would. Ulric was evil and his killing had to be stopped. If Mal was dead, they would have to find someone else to take the throne.

Soon every man was clad in mail and well-armed. Spirits lifted by the Ithrim's gift, the rebels marched on. By the end of the warm drizzly day they were some three leagues or so from the capital. As they finally marched past the rocky outcrop that marked the end of the Glimmering Mountains, a massive sprawling structure was clearly visible in the middle of a wide stretch of grassland; towers and turrets just visible above the walls.

Timod gaped. "An open plain, in front of the city. There's no cover for us at all. This is the worst it could be." He looked from Hirnan to Berezan. So it was a fool's errand after all, why had no one told him there was no hope from the start? The men would think he had half a brain, leading them to this. He kicked a large stone and walked towards the mountains. After a few minutes, Hirnan walked after him.

Reaching Timod's side, Hirnan touched the man's shoulder with his right hand. "Timod, I've brought every fighting man and woman from our realm here today. We were delayed meeting you at the Last Bridge because we had to fight off an attack of soldiers from the sea. A mage smote my arm off two months ago. Do you think I would've brought my people here if there was not some chance for us? This man is evil, we must find some way of defeating him; a king is meant to look after his people, not kill and maim them. And you must look confident, or your men will give up." He took his hand from Timod's shoulder and gestured across the plain, "I say we should start by making an initial assault on the city. Let's see what we can achieve and then make further plans."

Timod bent to brush dust off the toe of his boots, "Whatever you think, Hirnan." Then he followed Hirnan's lead to select one third of the men and Ithrim to march on the city. The others waited behind the mountain.

The men stared in disbelief as they approached the city; the walls were massive and smooth, the height of six men or more, small fires were burning behind the spikes that topped them. As the army drew closer, a volley of burning arrows flew from the walls. Some of them reached their targets. Timod yelled to warn a blacksmith from Dinwald to move. But he was too far away; he didn't hear, and a bolt pierced his hauberk. As his hair set alight, he threw himself onto the ground rubbing his head into the coarse grass, but his clothes below the mail were burning and his shrieks echoed across the plain.

A small troop of Ithrim ran up to the gates and let loose a shower of arrows. Like a harvest fly attacking a bull, thought Timod, as he glanced across to see if any of the men had managed to climb up the walls. Then he noticed soldiers pouring rivulets of fiery black pitch onto them from above.

"Draw back, draw back, retreat!" Hirnan roared. Men and Ithrim ran thankfully back across the plain, slowing only when they were out of reach of the arrows, then together they trudged back to the mountains, many pierced by bolts or burnt by the fire.

Back at the camp, Hirnan posted guards. Then he, Timod, Berezan, and some of the other Ithrim sat together to work out a plan.

"It seems to me," began Halfred, sitting at Timod's right hand "that there is no way in, the only thing to do is to starve them out."

"But how long would that take, man? The King will have prepared for that, and will have stockpiled food. And we've barely enough rations ourselves to make the journey back home."

They sat in silence for a while, then Timod stood up and began to pace as he spoke.

"There's no way over the walls, with those spikes. We can't break them down with four bloody catapults. Also, if we starve out the King, we have to starve out the citizens, and they're not soldiers, they're innocent in this." He sat down.

Then he got up again. "What then, is there nothing we can do? There must be some way to get in there! What about you lot?" he gestured at the Ithrim. "Doesn't anyone else have any ideas? Didn't you know the wall was like that? And what about Mal?" he continued angrily, "How d'you think we're going to get him out. If he's even still alive!"

"You would do well to sit down and listen, Timod. You haven't given anyone else a chance to speak yet" said Hirnan, rubbing the leather on his arm's stump. "Yes, we knew what the city walls were like, but we didn't know the King's plans. He could've met us in front of the city with his army. He could've marched to meet us on the road. He could've met us at the gates with a captive Mal, ready to parley. Now that we know that the gates are closed, and the walls unbreachable, we must rack our brains till we think of another way."

Hirnan stood up and walked to the edge of the mountain, staring across the plain to the city. Timod stared with him, thinking how hopeless it all was. He studied the plain, right across to the mountains, and then back again. Then he rubbed his eyes. A small figure was walking across the scrubby grass towards them. As he watched, the figure came slowly closer. Was it a farmer from the farms between the city and mountains? Surely it couldn't be a messenger from the King coming to parley? As the figure walked closer, Timod slowly shook his head. It was no one who could possibly be of any use, just a small, dark-skinned woman. She must be from a farm, coming to ask for some help. His shoulders sagged. What a waste of hope, what a waste of time this all was. He turned to pick someone to offer to help the woman. Then he turned around again as she greeted them. For Esa's sake, she had leaves in her hair. Was she too befuddled even to brush her hair properly? She looked like she'd been sleeping in a hedge. He jumped as Hirnan next to him gave a cry. Then he saw him kneeling before the small woman. Hirnan took her hand and kissed her knuckle.

"Layeitha, oh great Queen. What a joy to see you in this time of need." With a smile, he jumped back up again. "Timod, this is Mother Gradeth, former Queen of the Dryads. There's no one I would rather see right now." He clasped her hand and the two of them walked off together away from the men. After a few minutes, they came back, Hirnan looking relieved. "It's alright, Timod, you can breathe a little easier now, we have a plan, we'll attack when it's dark."