XIII
House sieges were not a truly common occurrence in Llyr. At their most frequent, in times of intense upheaval, they might occur once in a decade; normally they were separated by twice that time or more. But somehow, on the night of a siege every noble, commoner, and slave in Llyr seemed to sense the coming storm.
"They're very vigilant," Arwydd whispered, watching the gates of House Hen Wyneb. "Almost like they know we're coming."
"They know," Naomhin confirmed, keeping his voice low as he glanced back to his sister. She and Pryderi had joined him in the cottage where the elderboy had watched the enemy's compound for so long, anxiously appraising the fortifications they would have to breach. Arwydd was a bundle of nerves; she had only just been born when House Evnissien had besieged and destroyed House Gryffydd. Naomhin had barely been old enough to take part in the battle; Fychan, little more than a child, could not even manage a cantrip when the siege had taken place. Naomhin had been a young fighter, but House Gryffydd had been a house in its death throes, barely controlled by a weak, newly anointed matron trying to hold her power against scheming sisters. The infighting had been so bad that nearly half the compound had surrendered within the first minutes of the siege. House Hen Wyneb, by contrast, was unified and strong. It would be a far more difficult battle. Naomhin watched the guards for another moment before continuing. "They knew we have to strike quickly:"
"It'll be difficult to move everyone up without being seen," Pryderi observed quietly. Naomhin nodded; the commoners that occupied the homes outside Hen Wyneb had long since fled to wait out the battle from a safe vantage point, but the one hundred warriors and nearly two hundred slaves would easily be seen by the guards if they moved any closer than the previous street. Naomhin turned back to the doorway behind him, where a drow runner waited anxiously for orders.
First wave, Naomhin signed through the darkness. The runner nodded eagerly before disappearing through the doorway.
"What's first wave?" Pryderi asked quietly. Naomhin smiled faintly at the wizard.
"Watch," the elderboy said. Pryderi hesitated for a moment, but then turned back to the window.
For a long moment, it appeared as though nothing was happening. The street remained quiet and still, the guards on the ramparts and behind the gate watching the buildings tensely, alert for any sort of disturbance. Arwydd seemed to hang on Pryderi as the wizard strained his eyes to see the first wave, and Naomhin realized with some small hint of disgust that the rumors of his younger sister wanting a pet mage were obviously true.
"Goblins!" a sudden cry went out from the compound. Naomhin forgot his sister as he turned eagerly to the scene about to unfold. "The gate is under attack!"
Goblins they were, sprinting across the no man's land from the cottages to the mighty gate. Each one ran hunched over, carrying a lump of dull red crystals almost a foot in diameter clutched to their chests. Drow behind the gate and walking the perimeter turned on the shadowy little invaders, loosing javelins and poisoned darts hurriedly on the diminutive attackers. The goblins scurried between the missiles in their headlong rush, desperate to reach the gate before they were killed. One goblin was hit by a pair of javelins, spinning him around and forcing him to drop his cargo.
The lump of crystals exploded almost directly upward, spitting a spiraling column of angry red and orange flames into the darkness. Arwydd and Pryderi both jumped and recoiled from the sudden, thunderous explosion, and even Naomhin flinched at what he knew was to come. Another goblin fell, and another deafening report shook the district.
"What in the Abyss?" Arwydd asked, shouting to be heard over the cacophony.
"Captured fireballs!" Pryderi explained, allowing Naomhin to observe the battle. Six goblins had fallen between the explosions and the defenders, but four more of the tiny sappers were still crawling the rest of the way to the gate as the defenders tried to recover from the ear splitting detonations and the bone shaking concussions. "Alchemical crystals that hold the force of a powerful casting!"
"Second wave!" Naomhin screamed back to his runners. "Second wave, now! Ogres in the lead!"
The drow runner nodded anxiously, rattled by the explosions. Another two booms echoed across the street and visibly shook the cottage; Naomhin turned back to the battle just in time to see the last two goblins detonate on the gate itself. Glowing and partially sagging, sections reduced to slag, the Hen Wyneb gate still stood, albeit precariously.
"They didn't break it!" Arwydd shouted. "It's still standing!"
"Cast a spell, Arwydd!" Naomhin snapped, turning on his sister. He looked to Pryderi next, ready to spur him to action, just as the wizard loosed a lightning bolt through the gate, further weakening the barrier and taking out a pair of soldiers just beyond it.
The thunder had not even died away when Naomhin's ogres appeared. A half dozen of the brutes, large even for their kind, surged forward, carrying a huge stone battering ram with thick steel bars for grips. Hen Wyneb defenders scrambled to meet the new threat as other slaves surged through the cottages and homes, screaming in battle lust, led by demonically painted orcish berserkers bearing battle axes or hammers and spiked shields. The ogres crashed into the already damaged gates as Hen Wyneb defenders grabbed up long spears, but the heavy breastplates and helms the ogres wore turned away the initial thrust of pikes and javelins. Pryderi unleashed a devastating ice storm just beyond the gates as the ogres thundered home again, throwing the defenders into disarray under the combined onslaught of brute force and magic. Naomhin could not help but smile; the goblin sappers may have been turned back, but one or two more charges by the ogres would bring the Hen Wyneb gate crashing down.
Another ice storm suddenly hailed down upon the battle, but this time orcs and ogres from Naomhin's slaves were the targets of the spell. Torn apart and frozen by the spell, a dozen or more of his troops fell instantly to the magical attack, one that was quickly followed by a booming fireball that exploded just behind the ogres. Still, stubbornly the ogres slammed into the gate one more time, finally breaching the barrier with a torturous screech of twisting metal.
"They did it! The gate is open!" Naomhin shouted. "Everyone forward! Everyone into the breach!"
Naomhin was up and running, leading the charge across the street through the fires and the ruined gate. Behind him, Orcish berserkers, goblin and kobold slaves, and a hundred proud drow warriors, Evnissien's finest, rushed to follow their brazen leader into the breach. Arwydd and Pryderi kept only a few steps behind the elderboy, trying to keep themselves hidden among the press of the assault, but Naomhin hardly cared for their apparent cowardice as he brought his swords crashing down on one disoriented defender. That guard had barely hit the ground before Naomhin had sought out his second target, a priestess by the looks of it, desperately trying to rush through a spell as she saw the elderboy advancing. Naomhin's long sword lashed out in a lightning arc as he dove forward, ripping through the panicked priestess' throat and ending her spell in a pitiful gurgle, even as his short sword dropped a kobold slave feebly charging in from his side. With resistance crumbling before him and his troops surging through the broken gate, Naomhin let out a roar of challenge.
It was answered only a moment later as four trolls, monstrous even for their kind and adorned with heavy, dull steel breastplates, lumbered out of Hen Wyneb's slave pens, leading a new charge of drow and slaves against the attackers.
The main chapel of Hen Wyneb may have been the focal point of the house, but Tarren far preferred the quiet of her family's private chapel located just above the nobles' quarters. Here she could pray in peace, leaving her armor and most of her weapons in her own chambers; Matron Ceridwen currently used the main chapel as a war room, directing her soldiers through Bradwr, Llawr, and their captains. Banon and Daere stalked the compound or advised their mother, keeping the commoners in line and prepared for battle. Tarren had done as much as she could during the day, but each noble was given some time to pray to the Spider Queen for strength and wisdom to combat the threat that House Evnissien posed. Only after the others had given their devotions could Tarren finally ask Lolth for guidance, and perhaps for a chance to somehow remove Daere from the house.
She thought she had imagined it at first; a low, rumbling roar form the courtyard, just interrupting her prayers. Tarren's eyes opened, but for a moment the priestess remained silent and still, listening for the inevitable sounds of attack.
More explosions rumbled through the house to her chapel. Tarren sprang to her feet, nearly tripping over her silken robes as she turned and rushed to the chapel door. Her chambers were only two levels down through a spiral staircase, barely more than a minute away. As she opened the doors she could hear cries of alarm from below, mingled with screams of pain and the thundering peals of lightning bolts and fireballs. With no time to lose the priestess raced to the stairwell, levitating down in the space of a second rather than running down the twisting steps.
Her feet had barely touched the ground when she heard a faint whisper over the growing roar of battle, indistinct but somehow ominous. The priestess sprinted for all she was worth, heading for her rooms, but before she could take more than a few steps something slammed into her back, expanding quickly to wrap tightly around her entire body. Bound tightly within a heartbeat, Tarren crashed to the ground, the cold stones of the hallway stunning her as her head glanced painfully off of the floor.
"Poor, poor Tarren," a voice said behind her, bringing her back to her senses. Tarren tried to stand, but she could barely move in her restraints. Rusty steel bands bound her from her knees to her shoulders, squeezing her arms so tightly to her sides that she could barely draw breath. Desperately the priestess tried to look over her shoulder, but her attacker still remained unseen in the gloom. "Helpless as a babe."
"Neifion?" Tarren realized, squirming to see behind her. A moment later the wizard appeared over her, smiling coldly as he examined the helpless noble. "Neifion, release me!" Tarren ordered, trying to keep her panic hidden. "We're under attack! We have no time for this!"
"Oh, I know we're under attack," Neifion said, kneeling next to her. For a moment the mercenary listened to the battle raging outside the tower, cocking his head theatrically as he did so. "House Evnissien has finally come."
"Neifion, what… what are you doing?" Tarren demanded. She winced as she heard the fear seeping into her voice. "They're going to kill us if we don't defend ourselves! Let me go!"
"Oh, they won't kill me," Neifion said, looking back to her. He appraised the bound priestess for a moment. "Perhaps they won't kill you, either. I'll have to ask Matron Saffir for sure, but it's possible you'll survive the night."
"What… what are you talking about?" Tarren asked. Tarren struggled again, trying desperately to free herself from the traitor's steel bindings, but the bands would not even budge. "Neifion, release me! I am a daughter of House Hen Wyneb!"
"You'll be a daughter of a dead house soon enough," Neifion said. "Now, much as I love to watch you struggle, do be a dear and be still. I have many other things to do before this battle is won."
"Neifion! Let me go!" Tarren screamed, frantically trying to at least slip her hands free to cast a spell. "Someone! Someone help me!"
Tarren had no ideas if her screams alerted anyone to her plight, for a moment later Neifion brought the pommel of his sword down on the back of her head, driving her into unconsciousness.
The gate was down, but the battle was far from over. House Evnissien's slaves and soldiers had poured through the breach initially, but now their momentum had stalled. The brutish ogres that had manned the battering ram were now dead or dying, pinned beneath the twisted remains of the gate and their own monstrous ram. The orcish berserkers who had so quickly cut through the kobold fodder that Bradwr had bought originally numbered at least fifty, but now were reduced to a dozen or less, and most of them had been wounded. Evnissien's fodder, a mixture of all the lesser slave races, had been torn apart by Hen Wyneb's four trained, armored trolls.
The tide of the battle had certainly turned against the Seventeenth House, but Daere Hen Wyneb found herself growing more and more uneasy as she watched the battle trolls tear through the last of the berserkers and turn on their elven masters. Almost two hundred slaves and a hundred well trained and disciplined drow warriors had exploited the breach in the gate, but certainly Saffir Evnissien could not have expected such a force to succeed against Hen Wyneb's defenses. Daere had barely committed half of her house's warriors to the battle, and they were still pushing their foes back with ease. Even now the priestess tried to hold her spells in reserve, letting her subordinates cast spells where they were needed as she directed her slaves and soldiers. Next to her, Bradwr moved up to join the fray, eager to shed blood himself as the Evnissien soldiers began to back up to the shattered gate.
"We're pushing them back!" the new elderboy exclaimed, turning a smile back on his older sister. "We have them! Evnissien falls tonight!"
"The battle isn't over yet!" Daere countered, though she doubted Bradwr heard her in his rush to engage their enemies. For a moment the priestess wished that her brother would fall to an errant javelin or spell, but even her hatred for the traitor failed to quell her uneasiness. Daere could almost feel a trap beginning to close around her. Bradwr, for his part, seemed oblivious to any of her uneasiness, racing up with the trolls as they began to close on the two nobles leading the assault, Naomhin and his sister Arwydd. Naomhin was a master of Ysgol-Cyfranc and he was easily the most lethal combatant at the gates, cutting down defenders as his swords flashed about him, but Bradwr seemed to think he was invincible with the trolls that flanked him.
"Naomhin!" Bradwr shouted, banging his sword against his shield to draw his counterpart's attention. "Naomhin, where is Fychan? Send the wizard to me, Naomhin!"
Naomhin dropped back a step, warding off an attack and turning to Bradwr. Although it was directed at her brother, Daere was the one that was unsettled by the Evnissien's cold smile and a flick of his short sword to her right.
In answer to his gesture, a barrage of lightning and fire tore through the center of the compound.
Although the initial targets were mostly slaves, Daere was stunned by the sheer ferocity of the unexpected assault. Fireballs exploded among clumps of slaves and lightning bolts ripped holes in the defenders throughout the courtyard, one bolt coming dangerously close to Daere as she turned to the new front. Marching in perfect step, a phalanx of stoic hobgoblins carrying enormous rectangular shields pushed through a newly destroyed section of the Hen Wyneb fence, protecting a platoon of enemy spellcasters.
"To the right! The right flank!" Daere screamed, trying to rally the confused defenders. Above them, the Hen Wyneb wizards turned on the new threat, burying the tiny phalanx in a volley of fireballs. An ice storm rained down on the smoking phalanx, further engulfing the casters and their guardians in a barrage of lethal hail and frozen shards. Even a pair of lightning bolts slammed into the shield bearers, crashing into them with thunderous booms.
To her utter shock, the phalanx emerged unscathed from the lethal barrage.
She had heard of such magic before, and had even seen it once in a war between powerful houses, but she had not thought House Evnissien would be capable of such arcane defenses.
Collwen cursed under her breath as the last ashes of her scroll floated to the ground. Powerful magic, imbued into the hobgoblins' shields, had protected the entire Evnissien magical contingent from over a half dozen powerful spells thrown directly at them, including her own ice storm spell. House Evnissien's wizards retaliated with swift, deadly accuracy; Collwen only barely ducked back behind the columns of her balcony before a fireball exploded against the metal railing, barely singing her but practically melting the blackened steel rails. Even before the fires died away the sorceress rushed back to her position, trying to recall any spell that could penetrate the magical field protecting the Evnissien casters.
Whether by instinct or knowledge, however, Daere moved first. Her robes smoking and her chain mail blackened by the fire and lightning, the priestess nonetheless scrambled back to her feet and practically screamed out her invocation, finding the one weak spot in the magical field's defenses. Thoroughly protected from any magical attack from in front or above, the field did not protect from the flame strike that devoured the two lead hobgoblins, opening the shield wall and breaking the protective barrier instantly. The hobgoblins rushed to close ranks, but still javelins and darts managed to claim one young priestess that appeared in the smoking hole left by the two lead shield bearers. Collwen smiled coldly as she unfurled her next scroll, ready to invoke the fireball contained in the script written across the parchment.
An odd crack caught her attention before she began casting.
Collwen stopped and turned back to the Hen Wyneb courtyard, watching for a moment as a tiny fissure began to open just behind the Hen Wyneb defenders. A pair of lightning bolts and another fireball slammed into Evnissien's magical platoon, but the priestess was far too concerned with the new development in the battle to worry about casualties there. The fissure was growing rapidly now, and the mage could see shapes crawling out of the crumbling rock. As the first of the lurching forms appeared, Collwen loosed the fireball, sending it streaking down into the crevice just as whatever was inside began to clamber out. Even as her spell blasted home, however, the sorceress turned quickly, hearing someone racing up the steps to her balcony.
"Collwen!" Neifion exclaimed, throwing his hands up as he saw the mage beginning to draw the wand on her belt. "I'm on your side!"
"Then get up here and cast!" Collwen snapped, already turning back to the courtyard.
"Oh, no," Neifion said. Collwen glanced back to her fellow wizard to see him pointing to the ceiling of the cavern. Above them, at least two dozen drow were descending rapidly to the highest points of the Hen Wyneb compound.
"They're coming from everywhere," Collwen breathed out, drawing her wand and pointing it to the nearest of the drow descending into the compound.
A bone chilling blast of pain suddenly exploded into her side.
Collwen staggered to the side, her eyes wide with shock as she looked down to the blood soaking her robes and the frost surrounding her gaping wound. Wordlessly the sorceress turned to Neifion, her blood slowly freezing along the enchanted blade of his short sword.
"Indeed, they are coming from everywhere," the traitor agreed. Collwen barely had time to stumble back one step before Neifion's sword ripped through her throat.
"Push forward! Up into the courtyard!"
The ramp leading up into Hen Wyneb's compound still smoked from the fireball, and what remained of the twenty zombies that Rollo had created from dead miners lay dismembered and smoldering on the edges, but the slaves rushed forward in a panic. Behind them, fifty duergar warriors, all seasoned, brutal veterans of dozens of battles, spurred the slaves on with hammer, axe and whip, promising certain death if they tarried on the ramp. Tybalt wished that his small undead force had not been incinerated so quickly, but the zombies had done their job admirably. Now his slaves, exhausted by their digging but too petrified of their taskmasters to hesitate, rushed up into the courtyard, followed by the dour gray dwarves. Tybalt himself led his duergar out, a pair of hastily thrown javelins clanging off of his shield as he reached the top of the ramp.
Despite the fireball, Tybalt was elated to see the bulk of the defenders taken completely by surprise. The drow of House Hen Wyneb were initially pushed back by the new press of slave warriors, but, as the mine boss expected, the defenders were quick to cut through the cowardly goblins, orcs, and kobolds of his slave force. Their push, however, allowed his duergar to storm the compound, linking shields and charging through the javelins and darts of their enemies. Drow and slaves alike were finally turning to deal with the new threat from within their own courtyard, cutting down the last of the mine boss' slaves but opening themselves to attacks from Naomhin's initial force. Tybalt kept at the head of his troops, his heavy hammer smashing through the delicate chain mail and fragile ribs of one drow defender, but even the duergar captain paused as Hen Wyneb's battle trolls turned to face the new threat.
"Rollo!" Tybalt shouted. "Deal with the trolls!"
Rollo seemingly appeared out of nowhere with the summons, simply striding through the swirling melee to join his leader. The emaciated priest showed no sign of emotion as he knelt and placed one hand on the ground, muttering something indistinct above the roar of the battle. His momentary prayer done, Rollo stood once more, his icy blue eyes focusing on the trolls ahead of him.
The ground before the trolls shook and buckled, rapidly rising up into vaguely humanoid shapes with huge, spiked fists on long arms of stone. Soaring up to almost fifteen feet in height, the pair of earth elementals met the rampaging trolls with furious blows. Three trolls stopped to combat the earthen attackers, but the fourth, its myriad wounds closing with very step it took, threw one slave warrior out of the way as it strode toward the duergar lines.
"Harsh One, Master of Crate, crush him in the forge," Rollo breathed out. As he spoke his prayer, a jet of angry vermilion flames shot up from the ground, engulfing the troll in fire and swirling embers.
"Now! Take him now!" Tybalt ordered. A half dozen of his duergar rushed in on the troll as it emerged, screaming, from the flames, swords and axes slashing through the beast's charred skin. Although the troll healed far too quickly for a single warrior to put it own, Tybalt was more than confident that six would be up to the task of finishing the monstrosity. His point was proven a heartbeat later as one particularly vicious swipe chopped through the troll's leg and dropped it to the ground, but the mine boss was already looking up to the battle on the ramparts above.
Rhonwen's spells, bolstering his strength and his agility, were all he needed. The others would find their targets easily enough.
Athruis had led two dozen of House Evnissien's best warriors and clerics along the very ceiling of Llyr to their target, descending through a combination of spells and magical items to the tops of House Hen Wyneb's spires and towers. It was here that the wizards and clerics of the defending house would hide, raining their spells down on the Evnissien attackers in the courtyard. Other houses had tried such a tactic in the past, sending assassins or even small squads along the roof of the city to attack from above, but Athruis had insisted to Matron Saffir that he be allowed to take a large, hand picked group to wipe out Hen Wyneb's mystical defenses as the fourth wave of his staggered attack plan. So far, Athruis decided as he looked over the catwalk railing to the swirling melee below, his plan was working; Hen Wyneb had powerful defenders and slaves, but they were caught fighting in three directions at once and the crossfire was taking its toll. Naomhin's brazen assault had torn down the front gate and Fychan's second, smaller attack had opened a new hole in the fence, but Tybalt's assault from directly below had truly thrown the defending house into disarray.
Athruis could spare no more than a glance below, however, before he was forced back to his immediate surroundings. Ahead of him, a thoroughly surprised wizard was already backpedaling to the tower behind him, drawing a wand and pointing it hurriedly at the new enemy. Three magic missiles streaked out of the wand and slammed into Athruis' chest, but the weaponmaster paid the injuries no heed as he hastily closed the distance to his foe. The wizard threw the wand up in a desperate attempt to parry Athruis' high feint even as the swordsman dropped low and spun his double bladed sword through the mage's gut. The Hen Wyneb spellcaster fell to the ground, clutching the gaping wound in his stomach in pain, just in time to have his head sheared off with a quick spin of Athruis' blades. As the mage's head fell from the catwalk, Athruis spared a quick glance to his fellow raiders.
To the weaponmaster's faint surprise, the defenders along the catwalks were less unprepared for the assault than he would have liked. It was true that the mages and wizards of Hen Wyneb were being pushed back by his assault force, but they were falling back without taking the heavy casualties that Athruis had initially hoped for. Quickly the weaponmaster hopped over the headless body of his first victim, looking to get inside the towers and aid his assault teams. Before he could reach the tower ahead of him, however, a single form stepped from the shadows, wielding a long sword of blackened steel and a distinctive barbed pick.
"Llawr," Athruis said, recognizing his counterpart in Hen Wyneb. Llawr smiled faintly as he advanced a step on the attacker.
"I somehow knew you would come in from above," Llawr said. "I've kept notes on sieges. You did the same thing against House Gryffydd all those years ago."
"Then I'm not surprised you waited for me up here," Athruis stated simply, raising his weapon in readiness.
"Never one for small talk, I had heard that about you," Llawr quipped, taking one more step forward. "Still, I'll give you a choice. Die on my blade, or join Hen Wyneb."
Athruis snorted out a cold, derisive chuckle as he spared a glance below.
"Your house is losing," the Evnissien said. "Perhaps you should join us."
"There's still time to turn the tide," Llawr said, his smirk growing faintly. "Look, even now your house is losing its momentum."
Athruis hazarded a glance around him. The battle was as chaotic as ever; neither side clearly held an advantage. But Athruis only appraised the melee below for a heartbeat before he turned back to Llawr, already rushing forward with his weapons ready to strike. Athruis dropped back a quick step as his double sword swung into a pair of quick parries, but his own counter was easily deflected as Llawr's weapons snapped back into a perfect defense. Athruis pressed the attack, a growl escaping his lips as his double blades flashed in at his opponent, but his counterpart matched each dizzying attack with a masterful counter and a faint, but growing, smirk.
"Not as easy as you had hoped, eh Athruis?" Llawr inquired, dropping back a step as he parried away the Evnissien's lightning strikes with almost casual ease. Athruis snarled in disgust at Llawr's flippant demeanor, but the Hen Wyneb weaponmaster was right.
The battle was not going nearly as well as Athruis had hoped.