Bristling with steel, hundreds of Crols stepped from the woods on both sides of the port road. These expert swordfeigors marched in rhythm and Lon knew from his time in Remolin their formation was called a battalia; their battled-hardened front was six dozen warriors wide and was followed by a long line of soldiers that would curl around walled cities and suffocate them into submission. The foremost fighters had heavy tower shields and short pig-sticker swords while the second line shouldered long pikes and poleaxes. Behind them were a jumble of javelineers who were the bare-armed rowers from the galleys. Everyone could hear them march; a cacophony of boots and carts rumbled in the dust behind the fighters in the front.
The flag of Crol hung limp beside the battle standard of the Crolean Seventh which was Horne's own commission. That meant these frontline feigors were his personal guard and his most experienced veterans. Lon couldn't see their faces, but he imagined how they must drool with excitement and nurse blood-thirsty thoughts at the sight of this wealthy settlement. The marching horde smashed everything in their path as they rolled over the crops. Small trees were uprooted and stone fences dissolved. Bountiful fields became paste under the invaders' boots. Here again was the terrible cruelty that he'd known first-hand on the Annabelle and their foul scent wafted on the wind. The enemy stank of rancid sweat and rotten meat.
"Oh no. This is a disaster," Saeya bit her bottom lip and watched the pillagers trample the tomatoes.
"There's hundreds of them," Melcart said. He gave up trying to calculate the whole array. There were countless more Crols behind the front ranks who didn't march in ordered rows.
"Fifteen hundred," Lon said. "Atar had a scout..."
"We're easy prey," Saeya turned to plan their escape. They were a quarter mile away from the encroaching enemy and the same distance from the small door in the south west embrasure.
"We could make it," Mel traced the route to the front gate from their crook in the creek. "We'll run along the river to south bridge. Take the road up..."
"They haven't spotted us yet," Valari said. "Their eyes are on the walls. The waterspout."
"Okay," Saeya decided, but only took one step.
Trumpets blared and the Crols halted with a thundering stomp. The invasion was allayed just beyond the range of any bow shot from the archers. The enemy line filled the eastern fields from the north ridge to the bottom of the clearing.
Brass horns played uplifting toots to announce the commander's approach through the troops. The same gilded-wood palanquin that was stowed sideways on the landing craft a week ago was now carried upright through the ranks. The sedan chair seemed to float above the soldiers' heads. Its white canvas shade protected its plush interior while its gilt-sides blazed with golden light in the noonday sun. The ornate liter was coated in glittering precious metals and its ostentatious appearance focused all eyes on its single occupant.
Grand High Minister Surilus Horne retracted the white canopy and stood tall above all his soldiers. He rested his jeweled hands on an attendant's shoulder and climbed down from the conveyance. Lon knew it was him, even at this distance. He recognized the evil priest's saffron-dyed silk robe by its particular shade of yellow.
With hundreds of swordfeigors on display, Horne presented himself at the head of his array. He stood flanked by the nunceos on the left and by high ranking officers in blue coats on the right. These aquamarine lieutenants were ship captains and their galleys were anchored in the port. Lon couldn't hear the words they spoke but he watched the great conqueror converse with these officers first. The line shivered as the subordinates swayed and messages were relayed along the ranks in a metallic rattle and that probably meant they prepared for battle.
Two attendants came forward with crates in their hands. Lon watched them drop to their knees and assemble a rostrum upon which the great conqueror could stand, a pulpit from which he could preach.
"What does he think will happen next?" Melcart asked.
"Capitulation," Lon replied. "He expects total compliance."
Minister Horne reached into his pocket and produced his weapon. Everyone gasped at the sight of his fist-sized smilkstone that shone white in the daylight. The young lad didn't have to point it out. He heard the others inhale as they beheld its glare. A smilkripple coursed through all their bodies and Lon heard the priest's voice in his mind.
"To the people of Atarskal," Minister Horne said in the Common language just as he'd done before on the Annabelle. His words were comported directly into Lon's mind and into the others around him and the archers on the walls winced when they heard the loud inner voice. The defenders didn't speak Common and so it must have been doubly-maddening. Saeya, Valari and Makin also looked upset; the priest's Varget was unique and unpleasant.
"My name is Grand High Minister Surilus Horne," the silk robed commander announced.
Silence.
More Calbians appeared atop the battlements to see who meddled with their minds. How strong was his speech? Lon wondered if the feigor-at-arms along the promenade could also hear the foreign words? Could Atar hear the priest?
"In accordance with Kluth's Desire, as was written in Ligne's Journal..." Minister Horne held the bright stone near his stomach and pointed his free hand up at the sky. "I come in Alocer's name, and at his express request." He said, "The Ghost of the Prophet has brought us to Yaclev's hive."
Melcart shifted to question at Lon; "is Yaclev what he calls your friend? The one we saw..?"
"No. It's allegory from the Prima Alocer." Lon still couldn't believe there was anyone alive who didn't know the stories and especially Yaclev, the bee who caused the mutations which have plagued feigorin since the tribes left the mines. It must be the only piece of scripture Melcart hadn't read.
"Oh." Mel said. But he wasn't the only one who looked clueless; the girls also had blank stares.
There was some commotion on the wall and Captain Owen appeared beside Sergeant Orchee in his gold leaf jacket. Their presence reassured everyone of the settlement's strong defense and even the young masters smiled at seeing them take charge.
"Is this the last refuge of the Calbians?" Minister Horne asked in everyone's minds.
The defenders on the battlements roared in defiance when they heard their kin-name spoken directly in their heads.
"You're not part of the Twelve Tribes." Horne doused their jubilation. "You have no legal right to exist on this side of the Tall Wall which is the boundary your own ancestors crossed when they committed themselves to Oub. You're oath-breakers and the children of oath-breakers." This produced a general murmur of discontent among the defenders.
Then the Saviour of the Calbians appeared in person. Atar stood tall and loomed over all others on the wall and Lon could see his huge hands on the crenelations.
"By what right do you inquire?" the red bearded giant asked loudly. His voice boomed across the fields and it was easy to hear him despite the water which poured from the waterspout.
The priest just stared across at him blankly until an officer behind broke ranks. The helper came forward to whisper in Horne's ear the identity of the hulk who defied them. The high minister nodded his thanks for the information and then motioned his helpful subordinate to step back in line.
"Atar? Deepcomber and sword warrior of storied legend?" Minister Horne asked. When he received no acknowledgement he started again, "I am Grand High Minister Surilus Horne from the City of Crol, part of the Founding Twelve." He enunciated every syllable with crisp elocution to emphasize his nation's original connection to the island.
"I claim this site by right of the Twelve as expressed in the Book of Kluth. Open your gates at once and I shall permit yourself and your family to leave with one wagon and some livestock. Others too. We're not without mercy." Minister Horne waved his empty hand in the air, "I have a list of all those who shall be spared.'"
"But I've claimed the land myself!" Atar cried out. "Through the Port's Authority and the Seneschal at the Garrison," he said. "My kin hold Daoda's own brand. Our line is the strongest of the twelve clans." This brought a huge cheer from the defenders.
Minister Horne nodded patiently and waited to speak. He raised his voice in Lon's head. "All Calbians were committed to the sacred depths over seven hundred years ago, and now as we can all see, they have escaped." Horne said, "Are you harbouring these fugitives?"
"These people are my kin." Atar replied, and again there was a huge cheer from the red skinned defenders.
"I hold your claim in contention." Horne stated.
"By whose authority?"
"My authority is here behind me."
"Bah." The giant cupped his hands around his mouth. "Soldiers hear me." Atar shouted even louder and now he spoke direct to the ranks; "this is against the Laws of Twelve set down in the Book of Kluth. You will not succeed. Look around. This is where you'll perish."
"Silence!" Horne said. That was the last thing he said, and the voice inside Lon's head went quiet in abeyance. But he could see the enemy leader was up to something. The smilkstone flared in his hand and his lips moved as he made some unheard intonation.
"Here it comes." Lon felt the smilk surge through his body and he heard something snap and pop far away in the distance, but he could see no obvious effect. He glanced at the others.
"We should fall back." Saeya said.
"Did you feel it?" Lon asked.
"He's trying, as you say, his mind control," Valari replied.
"Will it work?"
"No." Val answered, "not against the Calbians,"
"But they could hear him?" Lon pointed at the rows of green jacketed archers on the east wall. "He spoke in their minds too."
"He can send love letters," Val pointed at the soldiers arrayed behind the yellow-robed general. "But only his own kin seem to love him."
Siege ladders appeared in the front ranks. Atarskal's stone curtain wall was only twelve feet tall and so it was clear the Crols intended to launch a direct frontal assault. With this in mind the priest set about working his marauders into a demented froth.
"The flag you see is a drum he beats..." Valari explained.
Minister Horne stood atop his perch and the smilkstone in his hand flashed white underneath his bejeweled fingers. The flag of Crol rippled in a fresh breeze behind his pedestal.
"Fanatics," Melcart summarized.
"We're easy prey here," Saeya surveyed the area.
"We could still make it," Mel retraced the run to the small door in the front gate from their crook in the creek. "Just keep along the brook to the bridge. Take the road up..."
"They haven't spotted us yet," Valari repeated. "Their eyes are on the skal. The water spout."
"Okay," Saeya agreed once again, but instead of leading the escape she crouched by the creek and closed her eyes. Lon knew she worked a glyph. The smilkmaid intoned her Varget words which splintered in the air like kindling wood in a campfire. A moment later he saw a white mist issue from around her hands. He waited for even more special effects but then realized the fog was the purpose. There'd be no ice skaters here. She'd made the smog to hide their position and it was a proper smudge, although probably just water vapor mixed with smilk. There'd be no conversing with her now as she'd have to hold the rune in her mind to make it work. The cloud she made issued from around her little hands and filled the air like atmospheric fog. It was a neat trick and similar to what she'd done yesterday at the edge of the wildkin camp and before that in her lunchtime performance. How could she do it so well on such a hot day? The soupy gas thinned out around them and masked their position in what looked like a perfectly natural weather phenomenon.
Mel helped Saeya up front and Lon and Val trailed behind. They crept along the bushy banks and made their way around the river bend. The rogue heard something, and everyone crouched by the water's edge. They followed his lead and crawled into the stream so just the tops of their heads were visible. They swam-walked and hid behind tall grass as they continued along the watercourse. Seaya held her hands above water and the mist followed and covered the southern crops in a white gauze.
"This is going to work," Mel said, "south bridge is just ahead. It's just around this next bend."
Saeya motioned him to be quiet and waved the swimmers onward.
In the flats ahead there were no reeds or any tall grass to hide them here and they felt exposed. Lon peered south and gasped in amazement.
There was a huge blue bird fluttering its wings as it bobbed over the fog-shrouded shrubs in the swampy treeline about a quarter mile south.
"Oh no. Not again." Lon pointed and everyone could see the wildkin's mascot was on-the-move through the brume. That meant a second enemy lurked in the swamp. The feathered figurine flew above the gloom and Lon knew that it was followed by a hippofeigor and dozens of hirsute marauders in thick metal plate. The blue bird flapped its wings rhythmically in the breeze above the scrub brush. It really did appear alive and in-flight. The south was bog land and these invaders now held the same road he'd taken to arrive at Atarskal five days earlier. He'd seen and remembered the woods and forage-lot encircled by the superb split rail fence. He'd seen the long-haired cows which grazed in that pasture. These wildkin raiders were set to strike while the defenders were distracted. They'd take advantage of the Crolean assault to steal Calbian livestock, again.
"Chase Kluth!" Melcart cursed. The smoke cleared briefly and in the gap the swimmers saw how the hulking hippofeigor led the pack. The grotesque mutant was followed by two dozen goat riders and a long column of wildkin infantry. Also present around the bird's base were a core group of orange robed shafeigors. Lon glanced over at Valari.
Valari studied the mystics in search of Vercino. She sought the opponent who'd bested her. It was a personal vendetta but alas there was no sign of the copper coated general among the mounted raiders. All the same, this wasn't a small force. Maybe they were after more than cows? Could Hastegus be part of this somehow?
Lon glanced back at Atarskal and saw dozens more defenders now lined the south battlements. The settlement would not be taken by surprise from this direction either, even if the assaults occurred simultaneously. They were well prepared for any contingency.
To the east, the Crols continued to prep their assault. To the south, wildkin riders spilled from the treeline. The goat riders fanned out as though searching for something, or someone.
"We're surrounded," Valari said.