Excerpt III

                  X.3
                  Battle at Sohnwick
             As the bombardment on his fortress began, Sohnbie had the poleturner and the fletcher workshops emptied within minutes. Each being at opposite ends within the fortress’ courtyard walls. The floors, which appeared as ordinary earth, began to drop in each shop as men turned the great oiled wheels that kept them in place. A forefather of Sohnbie had enlisted the skills of Comyn Anroth’s Dwarvic clans to construct sally ports unlike the typical found among other keeps on the Tralysan Estate. The floors opened to a width allowing six to seven men to enter pathways beneath Sohnwick, with two major tunnels that ran either north or south. The gear works beneath the surface that allowed the floors to be moved were complicated in their assembly, yet made easy enough that once the great wheels had opened the tunnels, they were removed from above ground, taken below, attached in the same place beneath, and then turned to shut out pursuers. The ways were well hidden. With all the wreckage that was sure to be made by the siege engines, it would be difficult to discover these secret routes. The tunnel walls were reinforced with stone that appeared to bow upon the sides and top, while the floors were dusty and flat. Along these subterranean pathways were found supplies and implements for war. Bows, arrows, pikes and spears, swords, armor, stores of pitch and dried rations were picked up as clansmen ran along the trails.
Beyond the town of Sohnwick, the tree groves to the north and south harbored the tunnels’ openings, allowing Sohnbie’s warriors to pour out of the ground in the cover of night among the trees. These hidden pathways were made without the permission of the monarchy and therefore, illegal. Such was the boldness of the West Lanthrish clans. However, this conflict, this civil strife had justified the very reasons that the ever-loyal Clan Militia had these routes built.
As the last men came out, the militia watched in the cover of dark, as Steward Dunclow’s mangonels and trebuchets pummeled and pounded rock and fireball against Sohnwick castle. The bombardment lasted hours, it seemed. Sohnbie was sickened, as he watched from the south grove. His ancestral home was no more.
As the early hours of morning approached, Ogden could see from his point in the northern grove of trees, the confusion that began to set in on the command of the Royal Brigade. Horses and men quickly moved to and fro among the formations. It was almost laughable to watch the enemy sort out their situation. Ogden watched the knights and captains approach the command hill to speak with Dunclow, and then he saw her. Kyrie. She sat on her black horse, in her black cloak, and surely exercising her black art. The image of her fury and dark command of the royal troops at Aven Vale was at the front of Ogden’s mind. He stared in disgust as he thought of his involvement with Kyrie, and was thankful he had not become very romantic with her before this situation.
“Be thankful you didn’t bed her.”, spoke a haggard voice to Ogden’s right.
Ogden turned abruptly. There, kneeling next to him was a familiar old man. He was dressed in grey robes with a wool tunic and mantle, and wielded a simple war hammer. He was a cleric. He was Hadlan. The crazy old cleric had traveled alongside Ogden from Aleth Hult, and then disappeared after the Clan Militia had arrived at Comyn Anroth. Many things Hadlan had told Ogden during that journey were cryptic and difficult for the young clansman to grasp. Even now he was still unclear of the meanings as the conversations came back to him.
“Hmph!” the cleric grunted, shaking his head. “You’ve not thought one more bit about anything I told you! Have you?!”
“Wha-“ Ogden struggled for words. “Where did you come from?!”
“The Lord!” Hadlan exclaimed in exasperation. “You asked me that the first time we met, at Aleth Hult! You probably don’t even remember anything we discussed then!”
“Keep quiet!” Wulftem shoved Hadlan. “What’re you doing here, you loon?!”
Hadlan turned with a finger pointing at Wulf, “Do not disrespect me, boy!” he growled. “My station demands admiration and consideration for the guidance I administer ordained by-“
“Are you ordained to bring the whole Royal Brigade down on us?!” Wulf whispered in aggravation.
The cleric waved off the scene beyond. “It’s noisy out there! They couldn’t hear me whistle my favorite tune!” Hadlan puckered his lips.
Wulftem covered the old man’s mouth immediately. “I am going to –“
“What?! Bring attention to us? Do you mind letting me get back to my conversation with your brother?”
Wulf sighed. “Would you please converse quietly?”
Hadlan nodded. “You should probably listen as well.”
Wulf relaxed. Ogden was still wondering how Hadlan came to be at this very spot. He was certainly not in the castle with the militia before and this area was not a spot for accidental meetings.
“As I was saying.” The cleric began. “Had you bedded the Dark Lady, she would know exactly where you are! At this distance she could walk straight towards you! If you were on the other side of the country, she’d know you’re there, just not know you were in say, oh . . . Clarenmoor. That’s how it is at this moment. It’s as though you’re distant and she cannot track you. Your thoughts of Kyrie are eventually going to be perceived by her and she’ll find you within moments!”
“How do you know whether I’ve lain with her, or not?!” Ogden asked in suspicion.
Hadlan shook his head. “Oh! Would that be something to be proud of, Lad?! You know you’re not the only man in her sordid little life, Ogden! Besides didn’t you hear what I said?! Had you slept with Kyrie Dunclow, you’d all be in the middle of a fight at this very moment! As it is, the militia still has the advantage of surprise – if you quit concentrating on that girl!” the cleric’s demeanor turned very serious.
Ogden stared at the cleric with worry. “What do I do?!”
“Keep low and listen to me. Remember the Lion and the Panstag of your dream?”
“Yes. . . . . . .”
Hadlan spoke to Ogden, taking his mind off the Dark Lady while the armies before them settled in to excavate the castle in an effort to discover where the Clan Militia had gone.
* * * * * *
The morning twilight was fast approaching when Lord Sohnbie spotted her dark silhouette upon her equally dark horse on the command hill nearly 300 yards away. ‘Kyrie Dunclow’, he thought. “Heaven help us if she senses us!” He said as he hurried along the line of his troops. The clan lord was thinking of the affect she had on the royal troops during Aven Vale.  He came to one of his archers and patted him on the shoulder. The young man turned.
“Milord.” He whispered.
“See her there?” Sohnbie pointed. The archer shivered. “When the time comes, she is your longbow’s first victim!”
More to come . . . . . . . .