Chapter Forty-Four Ruhlin #3
The sound of a great many voices drew Ruhlin’s gaze back to the fjord where the first of the Ascarlian ships had drawn within arrow shot of the Citadel’s docks. A thick cordon of warriors awaited them on the wharf, all calling out a defiant battle cry, not that their king appreciated their resolve.
“The last few thousand real warriors in my command,” he said, lips pursed and brows arched in calculation. “I predict they’ll kill two Ascarlians for every one they lose. Not bad, but not enough. Your new queen clearly appreciates the value of numbers in battle, as I hoped she would.”
“What is happening here?” Ruhlin demanded, unable to cage his bafflement any longer. “You talk as if you have orchestrated a great defeat. Why would any king do that?”
“Not a defeat, my son. A triumph.” The Vortigurn’s gaze shifted to the sky, now a great spiral of darkened cloud.
No stranger to storms, Ruhlin had never seen one form so quickly.
It also seemed to be twisting at an unnatural speed.
“One centuries in the making.” The king’s voice subsided into a reverent whisper, his eyes rapt as they surveyed the gathering tempest. “It opens for me,” he said, raising a tentative hand towards the vortex of cloud.
“What opens?” Ruhlin said but the Vortigurn appeared not to hear.
Lowering his gaze to the docks, he grunted in satisfaction at the sight of the first Ascarlian ships disgorging warriors upon the wharf.
The tumult of battle echoed across the city, rising in volume as more ships drew in their oars to add reinforcements to the struggle.
Others halted alongside those already moored, soon joined by more in order to create a platform for warriors to charge across.
To the flanks of the ships engaged in a direct assault, smaller craft turned their bows towards the docks, loosing large bolts from some form of novel contraption on their foredecks.
Ruhlin saw a dozen Nihlvarians felled with just one projectile, swiftly followed by more as the barrage continued.
Soon, the entire line was being forced back, disintegrating at its edges and bowed in the middle.
“It seems the Ascarlians have themselves a queen possessed of both ruthlessness and cunning,” the Vortigurn said with a note of admiration. “A pity her reign should be so short.”
A muted uproar from the east heralded the assault of Guthnyr’s army upon the city walls.
Ruhlin saw fighting rage along the parapet, but the struggle was brief.
The forces the Vortigurn had placed here were meagre compared to those arrayed at the docks.
Soon the rebels were streaming over the walls in several places, their cheers of victory audible even above the gathering wind.
“Your capital is about to fall,” Ruhlin told the Vortigurn. “Yet you dither here.”
“Where else would I be?” The king’s laugh was short this time, his austere features overtaken by a far more serious expression as he turned back to the city.
Having vanquished the defenders, Ascarlian warriors were now investing the streets.
Knots of resistance persisted, leading to fierce skirmishes in the close-packed avenues fringing the docks.
However, with ever more ships unloading their human cargo upon the seized wharf, it was clear this battle would have but one end.
Noting the sombre cast of the Vortigurn’s face, Ruhlin considered that the scale of the calamity overwhelming his kingdom might have finally penetrated whatever peculiar delusion shrouded his mind.
But, as the king stepped closer to the edge once more, there was as much satisfaction as sadness upon his brow.
“You ask why I place myself here,” he said, raising his arms. “For here, after uncountable years, I shall at last be able to fully share the Altvar’s gift with my subjects.
Before now, I could only drip it into their lives as water from a rusted spigot.
Now, they shall know the full measure of my generosity. ”
As his arms ascended, a new sound came from below.
This was not the song of battle, but something even more discordant.
It had a raw, feral tone to it, putting Ruhlin in mind of both dogs and cats when roused to viciousness.
It rose from the streets of the Citadel to drown out the dwindling clamour of combat.
Then it was joined by a vast, overlapping series of thuds as doors and windows were flung open and the population began to issue forth into the streets.
Even from this remove, Ruhlin could discern the frenzied nature of their movements, some clambering from upper-storey windows to leap to the cobbles below.
They streamed along thoroughfares and through alleyways in a chaotic mass.
Some bore weapons, others not, yet, when they encountered the first group of Ascarlians, they flung themselves at them with wild abandon, heedless of injury.
Soon, fighting erupted all around the docks as the invaders sought to contest the mass of townsfolk.
Ruhlin saw the Vortigurn shudder, his upraised arms trembling as if from great effort.
Taking it as a welcome sign of weakness, or at least distraction, Ruhlin stepped closer only to have the two Ventra step into his path.
Their bright, unwavering eyes were fixed on his stagna.
Resolving that he would simply have to risk the pain and hope he could summon the monster, Ruhlin prepared to take another step, then paused when the Vortigurn spoke again.
“This is what they gave me,” he said, his voice a strained groan and his arm quivering.
“This was their reward for surviving my glimpse of their realm. The power to twist weaker hearts into murderous rage. It isn’t an easy thing, my son.
To bring them to this required lifetimes of stoking their cruelty and malice.
I made a virtue of both, all that so one day, they would throw their lives away like chaff on the wind at my merest thought.
” He threw his head back, letting out a wild, exultant laugh.
“Witness, the power of the gods made flesh!”