The bald Vagrian general was already planning the next move in his campaign. Leave a powerful force to hold Purdol and move his troops through Skultik forest to root out Egel, before turning south to deal with Ironlatch and the Lentrians.
Something bright and dazzling caught his eye and he glanced to the left where a low line of hills edged with trees heralded the entrance to Skultik. There, on a splendid black horse, sat a warrior with armour blazing in the noonday sun.
Bronze Armour! Kaem squinted against the glare, his mouth suddenly dry. The warrior raised his arm and suddenly the hill seemed to move as thousands of riders streamed towards the fortress. There was no time to organise a flank defence – Kaem watched in horror as rank after rank of fighting men swept over the hill.
Five thousand? Ten? Twenty?
On they came. The first Vagrian soldiers watched them approach and stood transfixed. Realisation hit them and they drew their swords, only to be swallowed up by the charging mass.
All was lost, Kaem knew. Numbers meant nothing now. The enemy would drive a wedge through his ranks and his army would be sundered and dispersed.
The Bronze Warrior sat atop the hill, his eyes fixed on the fortress. Kaem saw his head turn towards the harbour and knew with a sudden chill that the warrior was seeking him.
Kaem backed from the window, thinking rapidly. His ships were still docked nearby – he could escape the destruction at Purdol and join his southern forces. From there he could plot a holding action until winter, with a new offensive in the spring.
He turned …
Standing in the doorway was a hooded figure, tall and lean, a black cloak over his shoulders, in his hand a small, black crossbow.
Kaem could not see the face under the hood, but he knew. He knew.
‘Don’t kill me,’ he begged. ‘Don’t!’
He backed away to the balcony, stepping out into the bright sunshine.
The silent figure followed him.
Kaem turned and climbed the balcony wall, leaping for the cobbles thirty feet below. He landed on his feet, both legs snapping under the impact and his left thigh driving up through his hip into his stomach. He fell on his back and found himself staring up at the empty balcony. Agony seared him and he died screaming.
The hooded figure walked to the harbour and climbed down a rope ladder to a tiny sailboat. The wind was picking up and the craft skimmed over the waves and out of the harbour.
Inside the Keep, the Vagrians dragged Karnak along the blood-drenched corridors. His remaining eye was swollen and his lips were cut and bleeding. Down the steps they took him and through the carnage of the great Hall. Karnak struggled to walk, but his left leg was swollen and his ankle would take no weight.
Out in the sunshine the men stopped and blinked in surprise.
The courtyard was packed with Drenai soldiers and at the centre stood a man in the shining Bronze Armour carrying two swords.
‘Release him,’ ordered the warrior, his voice muffled and almost metallic.
The Vagrians stepped back.
Karnak staggered and almost fell, but the warrior in bronze moved forward to support him.
‘The Vagrians are routed,’ said Egel. ‘The war has swung.’
‘We did it?’ whispered Karnak.
‘By all the Gods, I swear it,’ Egel told him.
‘Kaem?’
‘He killed himself.’
Karnak struggled to open his eyes, but tears swam in them.
‘Take me away from here,’ he said. ‘Don’t let anyone see me.’
Epilogue
With Kaem dead and the major Vagrian army surrendered, the war was over on the last day of autumn, when Egel and Karnak led the Drenai army to link with the Lentrian general Ironlatch on the outskirts of Drenan.
The following year, Karnak led the invasion of Vagria which saw the Emperor toppled.
The Drenai ruling houses refused all talk of monarchy and a republic was instituted, with Egel nominated to lead a government. The general refused, but took the title of the Earl of Bronze and returned to Delnoch, where he organised the construction of a mighty six-walled fortress across the Pass.