Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Two days after the bombardment began, it ended. Little of the main body of the city remained. Fires set by incendiaries had burned most of it away. Only the area around the palace and cantonment had been spared. Rubble was strewn as far as the eye could see. The city reminded him more of the demon-haunted Black City of Dau than of old Vurun. Yet, somehow, people still lived. Fires had swept through the slums, and many were certainly dead, but Dryden could see many city folk picking through the remains of their destroyed homes, trying to save what little might have survived the flames. He could see, too, that there were many enemy warriors alive, manning hastily erected barricades borne of the rubble that Vastrum had left. Though nothing was left that was worth defending; he knew well that they would fight until the bitter end over the destroyed ruins of the city. It was always that way with men. He was preparing for the day and changing the bandage on his hand as instructed when a rider came galloping down the line. Captain Benton, Lieutenant Dobbson, and Sergeant Krach sat together nearby, eating breakfast around a small cookfire.

  It was a man in the black cavalry uniform of the 13th Dragoons riding a chestnut gelding. Dryden recognized him as being from Captain Khathan’s squadron. It was a man who had ridden into Dau with him, a stout private with black hair, black eyes, pale skin, and the hooked nose of a Marrowick man, “Private Collins, reporting. I’ve a message for you, Major, straight from General Haddock!” He shouted from the edge of the defensive trench that had been dug.

  Sergeant Krach stood and went to him, “Give it here, Private.”

  The private handed him the letter. Then, the sergeant went to give it to Dryden.

  “You must have ridden through the night to get here now. Need you food and rest, private?” Dryden asked, taking the letter from the grizzled sergeant.

  “It would be appreciated, sir.”

  “Very good. Sergeant, see to it if you please,” He said as he opened the letter with a knife. It was sealed with the wax stamp of Haddock, which Dryden knew well by now. He unfolded the note and read it quickly, “Private Collins, I’m afraid your rest will have to wait; we’re to return immediately to Haddock. He wants us for the final push into the city. You have time for a bite, but he wants us quickly. Tell me, how did you find the road around the city? Was it clear?”

  “Yes, sir, Winslow’s army has secured the road well, " the private replied smartly.

  “Captain Benton, I must speak with Kavala, tell him of this. Prepare the men to ride out,” Dryden relayed the order, handing the note to Benton.”

  Dryden walked down the line of trenches dug by the 13th and the An-Dakal army. The fortifications they had constructed were not extensive or complex. They had been dug quickly and only to deter Kurush from sending his warriors again. Indeed, the enemy had not come again but dug into their own defensive positions in the ruined city. They still did not know the state of Kurush himself. Dryden knew he had wounded the pretender king badly, but whether it was a mortal blow was entirely unknown. He walked past the grim faces of his soldiers as he went. Men saluted as he passed. He gave nods as he went. Downcast faces brightened as they saw him stride by. Gorst had told him once that once a battle had begun, an officer's primary role was to be seen and to appear unafraid. He had tried to take that to heart. Then, he passed his squadron’s section of the line and was among the An-Dakal men. They did not look the same way at him but largely ignored him, which he supposed was acceptable.

  He turned from the trenches and walked to the large tent, which was well back from the line, where Kavala was staying. The guards did not stop him; they only nodded as he passed. He pushed through the opening to the tent. Kavala was alone. The body of his son was laid on a bed nearby and had begun to stink. The warlord was seated by the bed on a low stool.

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  “You have robbed me,” The man said without looking up.

  Dryden had not spoken to the man since just after the battle when the bombardment had begun. “Beg your pardon?” he replied.

  “My city is ash,” Kavala replied coldly. Only then did he look up from his son's body, his gold eyes bright even in the dimness of the tent, “I was to be Shah of the bright city, master of all aethium. Instead, I will be the warlord of a ruin. You have burned all the flowers and farms. You have brought low the city. Now, you will kill its people, I presume. My prize is ruined and worthless.”

  “You knew our aim was vengeance.”

  “I did not know it would be like this,” Kavala gestured broadly toward Vurun. “This is not war. This is not revenge. This is the slaughter of innocents!” he cried.

  “This is the vengeance of Vastrum; this is what we do to those who defy us. Ever has it been with us.”

  “And for what?” Kavala stood and stepped so he was face to face with Dryden.

  “To show the world the cost of their defiance,” Dryden said grimly, though he did not fully believe his own words.

  Kavala laughed in his face, “You think you show the world that you are not to be trifled with? No, young man, by your violence, you show only that you are worthy of defiance. The world will see this and be horrified. You may win here, but others will stand in their revulsion, and in the end, someone will defeat you.”

  “You are grieving, I see that. I came not to be lectured but to tell you we are going; General Haddock has called us back. We will begin the final push into the city shortly.”

  “Haddock whistles for his dogs, and they come running,” Kavala replied bitterly, “I am a man of my word, Major; I will do as I have promised, but when this is all done, do not look to me as a friend.”

  “That is regrettable,” Dryden replied coldly, “I hope you will reconsider, but I will pass that along to General Haddock when I see him.”

  “Leave me now,” Kavala said, then he went to sit by his son’s stinking corpse.

  Dryden turned on his heel and walked back from the tent. He returned to where his men were packing up and readying to go. He found that Bellephoron was saddled and ready for him. However, there was little to be packed as they had travelled light, and it took only half an hour more to be ready. He put a foot in his stirrup and swung his leg over the immense war horse. His men mounted up with him and rode out towards Winslow’s lines to circle around the city and link back up with Haddock and the rest of the regiment. The ride took most of the day. Halfway there, they found Winslow’s main encampment, where men were readying to fight. Dryden went to the stablemaster and found Rosie. He left Bellephoron there. Rosie was in good condition, well rested, groomed, and lively. She was pleased to see him and snorted at him and put her face against his. Then they were off again and easily found Haddock’s main force again. The road was indeed well secured, and numerous pickets and guard posts were passed along the road that circled the city. They finally arrived just as dusk was setting in. The ominous storm cloud thundered in the distance. Commander Havelock met them as they were riding in.

  “Dryden, good to see you, Major. I hope you’re well. Where is Mar?”

  “Mar was wounded. He is recuperating in Kavala’s hospitality at Kashma.”

  “What of other casualties?”

  “We lost a few men in some fighting. Speak to Benton about the specifics. We did not lose as many as we ought to have.”

  “Very good, major. I understand you were able to secure the southern edge of the city?”

  “Indeed, sir. Saw some action as well. Kurush sallied forth when we first arrived. I wounded him personally.”

  “By the gods, man,” Havelock sounded genuinely impressed. It sounds as if you’ve had quite an adventure these last few days. Haddock will want your report. We must rest, however. Haddock intends to enter the city on the morrow.” Just as Havelock said this, cannons thundered once more. This time, they fired explosive shots into the city, “Colonel East is softening the defences.” The commander explained, “The cannon will roll all through the night.”

  Dryden looked up and over at the city, where colossal storm clouds loomed in the twilight. They had persisted for many days, slowly moving towards the city. It was strange; the clouds should have been gone long before now. It was unnatural; that seemed obvious. Dryden wondered briefly if he had anything to do with the god Tizrun, but that knowledge seemed far beyond his understanding. He was only a soldier, an officer. He was no great wizard, no priest, nor scholar. All he could do, as ever, was to do his duty and to fight for his king. Somewhere under the great cloud, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled, mixing with the rumble of the cannons firing down at the city. Dryden gave the storm and the city one more look, then turned and rode to tell his General of all that had happened. The next day, they rode out and down to the city to finish the enemy, for king and country, but most of all, to exact vengeance and take out their terrible fury upon Vurun.