The half-giant commander stood on the hilltop, holding his mighty spear in one hand. With the butt resting on the ground, the spearhead rose as high as his head, and it cast a light that, in shadow or darkness, could be seen for miles around. The tip of Ankhar’s spear was not steel, nor any other metal. Instead, it was a massive emerald, chiseled to a razor sharp edge on both sides, and enchanted with the mystical power of Hiddukel, Prince of Lies. When he held it thus, and it caught the sun, the spearhead cast a brilliant iridescent light visible for vast distances. Whenever his warriors saw that enchanted light, they took heart from it, and roared their approval of their mighty commander.
“We have warg riders posted in a picket line some fifty miles away,” Blackgaard explained, confirming that the half-giant’s orders had been carried out. “If the Solamnics make any move in our direction, we shall be certain to hear of it long before they become a threat. The river is defended for more than a hundred miles to the north and south. The bridges and fords are fortified; the Solamnics won’t easily cross the Vingaard.”
“Good.” Ankhar turned from the empty plains to the west, casting his eyes upon the great square block that rose from the foothills to the east. The city, a massif of stone, high walls, parapets, towers, and gates, filled the horizon. At this distance, Solanthus seemed like a range of mountains-only with spiked towers and flat stretches of wall.
Ankhar was a trifle unsettled when Hoarst, the Thorn Knight, materialized several dozen paces away from him and came walking up to join the human and half-giant on the hillside. The man’s teleportation magic was admirable, but Ankhar had taught him long ago not to blink himself into existence too close to his easily startled commander.
The trio stood in silence for a time, each gazing at Solanthus, each considering in his own way the problems of taking that great bastion. The entire place was surrounded by a lofty stone wall, more than thirty feet thick at the base. Numerous battle towers jutted above the main parapets; the humans could shower attackers with arrows, great rocks, and burning oil from these lofty vantages. Three massive gatehouses, each the size of a castle, provided access to the city at the west, north, and eastern walls.
To the south, Solanthus merged into the craggy foothills of the Garnet Mountains and was protected by an outcrop of rock that was separated from the rest of the range by a deep, almost impassable canyon. One road descended the north wall and climbed the southern face of this canyon, but it was easily covered by archers from the city’s parapets-any attacking force trying to advance in that direction would likely be decimated before it could reach within a half mile of the small south gate.
Inside the city walls could be glimpsed a double pillar of rock, the Cleft Spires. It stood as though it were a monolith of bedrock left over from some long-petrified and colossal forest and as though, at some point, a god had taken a great, immortal axe and cloven the thing in two. Now the two slabs of rock stood side by side with a narrow gap between them. Aligned to the east and west, the sun was channeled refulgently through the gap during the spring and fall equinoxes. It was rumored that any tasks performed under the light of this narrow sunbeam, between the massive shadows of the opposing spires, was destined to draw the attention of the gods. Of course, this attention could be manifested as good or ill, such caprice being ever the purview of the deities.
Now the spring equinox was past, of course, and the long, hot summer loomed. If the city could not be taken during the upcoming season, Ankhar feared that the Solamnics would finally catch up to him, their great forces breaking the death grip of his army and relieving the starving city from its long siege.
“Do you see weakness there?” the half-giant asked. He had formed his own opinion-favoring the West Gate-but he was interested in what these humans thought.
“The gate to the west of the walls is where we should muster our main attack,” Blackgaard declared. “See how it juts forth from the nearest angles of the main walls. It is not protected as thoroughly as the gates to the north and east. A large attack, with diversions to draw the attention away from the main effort, stands a fair chance of success.”
“I agree,” Hoarst said, “though it will be costly, in any event. Those gates are ancient, hewn from Vallenwood trunks that date back to the Age of Dreams. Even my most potent spells will be feeble against them; your army will have to storm the place with brute force, and there will be much shedding of blood.”
“I have seen the way you and your Thorns flit about with this teleport magic. Can you not magick yourself into the city and work some mischief there? Perhaps even assassinate this duchess who has rallied her people so well?”
Hoarst shrugged noncommittally. “You have asked me that before. If I could do so, I would not hesitate. But there remains an aura around the place-I believe it is keyed somehow to the godly power in those two great spires. For some reason, teleport magic-my teleport magic, in any event-cannot penetrate that barrier. My men and I have tried this many times, and always the spell is cast to no effect; that is, the caster remains outside the walls. We cannot use magic spells to penetrate the defenses.”
“Then it becomes a matter of smashing down a gate, probably the gate in the west,” Ankhar said, trying to sound hopeful. But in truth he did not feel very optimistic. Somehow the plan lacked imagination, flair.
“Do not despair, my son.” Laka spoke to Ankhar quietly, having shuffled up to the hilltop while the attention of the others was directed toward the city walls.
“Do you bring a message of hope?” he asked eagerly.
“I have lain with the Prince of Lies in my sleep, and he has given me a dream,” she said. “You cannot breach those walls by yourself, but with the aid of an unusual ally, the attack has a better chance of succeeding.”
“And what ally is this?” Ankhar inquired skeptically.
Laka grinned, and chanted in a sing-song voice.
“Flaming fist-ablaze of gaze,
Lord of fire, these walls will raze!”
Hoarst and Blackgaard exchanged a look.
“What does that mean?” pressed the half-giant, unfamiliar with the murky phrases.
“We must seek him on a quest-you and me, and the wizard should come too. It will not be easy, but if we succeed, you will gain the means to win this fight.”
“But how do you know that this mysterious ally will join forces with my horde?”
Laka produced a pair of metal rings from her pouch. They were steel bracelets, small enough to encircle her wrists, too small even to be worn by a normal-sized man such as Hoarst. To Ankhar, they would have made loose rings on his largest fingers.
“These will bind him to your service. They have been blessed by the Prince of Lies, and the magic-user will make them especially potent with a spell of mastery. When we put them on this being that we seek, the being will become your slave.”
“I know such a spell of mastery,” Hoarst said, his voice low. “But these bracers are so small-how can one who wears them be an ally of such incredible power?”
“Leave that to me… and to the Prince,” Laka said. “Cast your spell, and then we go seeking.”
“I’ll need to make some preparations. But I can begin tonight, and I might be finished in eight or ten hours.”
“Very well,” agreed the half-giant. “So let us start this quest in the morning.”
Ankhar’s optimism waned considerably as his mother led the trio on an arduous climb up a rocky ravine, ascending into the wilds of the Garnet range. Finally she halted, gesturing in triumph toward a shadowy cleft in the precipitous wall rising before them.
The mouth of the cave looked too small to accommodate Ankhar’s bulk, and he growled his disappointment. “This is the way we must go?” he asked.