The Tribesman and the Tyrant: Kliran's Legacy
The First Day of the Third Moon, 352 BD.
Aegos, Aegan Hills, Dathan.
The walls had to hold. If they fell then his people were as good as dead, and so the walls had to hold.
The last few hundred years had been a constant series of disappointments for the Kliran. Again and again they were denied the ability to return home, and again and again they accepted the answer of the Tyrants. When the Tyrants became the Imperators they'd asked once more, only to be told that there wasn't the further forces to spare on so wide-ranging a campaign. They'd conquered a small portion of their homeland alongside the Aegan Legionaries, and a new city named 'Tyranopolis' had been founded at its heart, but that was about the only good news they'd had this whole time.
Their populations had been kept concentrated and urban, so as to ensure that their culture remained broadly untouched. Of course with how long they'd lived in Aegos it was inevitable that some intermingling would take place, and indeed the city of the gods had left many marks on the Kliran people, but broadly speaking their culture was still as distinct and selfsame as it had been so many centuries ago.
Kliranhen, they had called the town that had been built for them. Against the northern walls of Aegos it did lie, housing the hundred-thousand Kliran who remained in the city whilst the rest of their people formed similar communities outside the walls of the other cities in the Aegan Empire.
Their living conditions were poor, with cramped housing and little enough food, but at the very least the Tyrants and later the Imperators had maintained their end of the bargain; they had a place of their own to stay, and they were able to continue practicing their culture and religion in peace. That was enough for them, no matter the distasteful acts they had to partake in under the orders of the Imperators. The checkmating of slave rebellions wasn't something that their people took any sort of pride or enjoyment in, but it was something they did nonetheless.
They had, in effect, become the mercenary bodyguards of the Tyrants of Aegos. They carried out his wishes, and in return one day they would be permitted to go home. One day.
August thought for a moment on whether or not their descendants would understand the people they had been back here, on whether the necessity of their actions would continue to be known or whether their reasoning would fade into history.
It mattered not, of course. They would do whatever it took to ensure the survival of their people. It was the same oath that August's ancestors had sworn, as far back as the legendary Kliran who had lead them here, and it was one that would be sworn again and again for as long as they remained in Aegos.
Kliran's people would not be consigned to oblivion.
Of course, nowadays that oath was tested more than ever before.
When the Silence had first broke unto the world, he had suppressed a savage joy. It had been the Skraelings that had been in the way of the assault you see, by and large. There were a few raiding parties here and there, a few groups of Umbra moving in packs too diverse and large to be normal, but they weren't really concerned.
Then the daemons had poured southwards. The daemons and the fallen.
Tyranopolis had fell. The legions had faltered. The Kliran auxiliaries had taken charge of the defences and had needed to tear their own shanty-towns down in case they provided cover for the enemy. These days seemed like the end times, and yet they had held out in this city and had repelled three different sieges from the walls already.
The days were dark, the skies ashen, but mankind would not fall. The Kliran would not fall. Something would have to give, sooner or later at least. There was no chance that August would allow the walls to fall, for if the walls were to fall then the teeming masses within the city behind him would surely follow.
Aegan and Kliran both would die. He couldn't let that happen.
"Peleus, where are you?"
He shouted out the name of his lieutenant, but got no response from the man.
"He's dead Ser," came Melita's reply, "looked at that faceless, winged man for too long! Went mad, kept saying its eyes were in his head!"
August spat out another curse.
"Blood and ash, even when dead that faceless angel is taking our friends from us! Was he put out of his misery quickly?"
"Mercy-stroke, Maestro! He didn't suffer!"
He nodded at the woman.
"Melita, you're my second in command now that he's gone. Poor bastard, I'll miss him. Melita, go and find where Aegiowulf's company is! Get them to our position as soon as you can; we're going to need them soon."
Melita snapped an arm to her chest in the standard Kliran gesture of acknowledgement and respect, then barked out a few orders to the soldiers around her before scarpering off with a guard and a messenger to go and find Aegiowulf's company.
He sighed, shaking his head a little at the news of Peleus' death. They'd all told him not to stare too much, had all seen what had happened to those who looked into that face with no features for too long and without enough booze and intoxicants to keep your mind from processing it, but apparently he hadn't listened.
Poor fool. No-one deserves to die like that.
He didn't have much time to dwell on Peleus' demise though, and he knew it; the assault that the Silence was making on the walls was still ongoing, and though they had already slain tens of thousands of the foe August knew that the siege had only just begun.
Still, with the death of that faceless horror he had hoped for a moment of reprieve, comparatively speaking of course. The enemy were still battering at the gates constantly, but only with daemons that ranged in size from men to lesser Jotun. There were a few Umbra amongst the enemies number here, but their actions seemed strange. Indeed, at times it was as though some of the Umbra were fighting for the Silence and some were fighting against it.
He had desperately hoped that things would remain that way for a week or two at least, to give them time to repair what damages that strange and terrible creature had wrought on the defences. They needed to train up the replacements for those who had died, and he had been hoping to use the reprieve to order the craftsmen of the city to dismantle a few of the damaged buildings and use them to build more ballistae; they seemed to be some of the best weapons in Aegos' arsenal when it came to dealing with more substantially sized foes after all.
Unfortunately such a reprieve was not meant to be, and indeed was cut short in one of the worst ways he could have imagined.
"DRAGONS!"
August cursed, loud, as his blood turned to ice. Sure enough, there they were; a pair of dragons, scales blackened with decay and bone bleached white about their ribs. Dead, certainly, but returned to the world of men to haunt them all. He turned to his ballista crews on the walls and prayed that they might aim true.
"BRING THEM DOWN! FOR THE SAKE OF THE GODS, BRING THEM DOWN!"
The rough twanging of taught rope loosing their projectiles sounded out from all around him, but even with the dozens of Kliran ballistae on the walls it was clear that it wouldn't be enough.
"Our orders, Maestro? Our orders!"
"Loose everything you can at them," he cried out as loud as he could, "before they bring the walls down! Concentrate on the closest! Bring at least one down and pray for all we're worth that the Aegans can bring down the other!"
At his words dozens more bolts and arrows found themselves hurtling towards the airborne beasts, some of which even struck true.
"Maestro August, we cannot focus on the dragons much longer! The moonborn are closing on the walls, Maestro! The Aegans cannot defend themselves against such an onslaught without the assistance of our men on the walls! Their soldiers cannot fell the greater Moonborn without our ballistae!"
He cursed again, spitting on the ground to try and get the taste of sulphur out of his mouth. Fucking Moonborn.
"It's going to be a hell of a lot worse if the dragons breach the walls! Keep focusing on them, bring them down, and hope to the gods that the Aegan Legionaries can hold the line if they breach the gates!"
The man looked frankly terrified, for who wouldn't at a time like this, but banged a fist against his chest in a gesture of supplication and obedience nonetheless.
"Understood, Maestro. I will inform them of your orders."
At those words there was a great deal of shouting, the cries of a dozen of his men filling the air as gigantic claws raked their way across the battlements and flung good men in scale armour into the ravening horde of abominable beasts beyond the walls. Poor bastards, they've no hope of a burial.
He made himself small as the creature made its next approach, ducking down low and keeping his sword of iron ready. He wasn't sure what it was exactly that he planned to do with his sword against so massive and terrible a reanimated beast, but he wasn't prepared to just go down without a fight.
"Keep loosing at them," he cried as the second dragon moved off to harry another section of the wall, "keep loosing at the dragon nearest to us! We can bring it down!"
Could they? He didn't know. It seemed doubtful, for despite the fact that reanimation did always seem to leave the body lacking some of its manoeuvrability and dexterity, it hadn't seemed to make much of a difference here. Its eyes were hollow, lacking the spark of thought and life that seemed so easy to miss before the Silence came for them all, but its body still seemed to be dexterous and almost graceful despite the obvious rot that had begun to claim it.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
That was just the nature of dragons, he supposed. They always had been graceful creatures, despite their potential for cruelty and immense size.
Without the walls he was certain they would all be dead by now. The walls of Aegos were thick and tall, with plenty of emplacements for ballistae and archers to rain down a hail of projectiles on attackers, but when faced with dragons and other foes who flew there was little that the walls could offer in terms of protection.
Still, flying foes were few and far between. There were a few that... there were a few that he'd seen, that made him wish his men on the ballistae could load and loose their bolts just a little faster, and that he suspected he'd never be able to push out of his mind for as long as he lived, but at least they were few in number and rare to join the assaults on mankind's walled cities. Similarly he was glad for the comparative lack of siege weaponry that the Moonborn and the fallen brought with them; only those humans so depraved to have joined with the Silence possessed the skills of siegecraft, and most of those had been from nomadic-horseman cultures with little in the ways of experience when it came to scaling walls and assembling mangonels and catapults. There were a few such artillery pieces arrayed against them here, but the comparatively poor-quality ammunition and small size of the artillery made it so that it was having very little effect on the walls.
He couldn't help but smile at that. The Kliran people would never have made such useless artillery pieces.
The dalliance between the dragon and his men on the walls continued for quite some time, perhaps even a few hours, but they prevailed in the end. They always did, when properly guided.
Yes, it had taken quite some time and, more pressingly, around a hundred men and around twenty of their ballistae, but finally after the loosing of hundreds of ballista bolts and iron-tipped arrows into the air, the dragon that had remained at their section of the wall came crashing down to earth.
A hundred men hurt to lose in a siege such as this, where trained reinforcements were almost non-existent, but he knew they'd gotten off lightly. Dragons were capable of far greater feats of destruction than that at their height. It was lucky that their flames died out in death, or else the body count might have been much higher.
"Arthenax," came the soft voice of one of the men to his right, "Arthenax the Ironclawed. He reigned over the flats north of the Tildan peninsula, and west of us. I did not- I did not know he was dead. He lorded over the town my parents-parents-parents lived in for as long as anyone could remember. He led them in the fight against the Silence for a hundred years. I didn't- I did not want to believe he was dead."
August grimaced. He had no love for dragons, indeed few did, but once they had been some of the only things that seemed capable of standing up to the Silence. That delusion had been shattered long ago, but to see one of them fall and rise again in service to the Silence, to the dreaded Lamb, was far from a cause for celebration.
"Gods rise and gods fall," he found himself replying, "the dragons were always going to fall eventually. They'll rise again when all this is done, I have no doubts about that, but even they are insufficient to hold back the tides brought forth in this Time of Ending. No lad, Arthenax has likely been dead for quite some time now. Still, he is at peace again, or as much at peace as the bastard deserves anyway."
A few men muttered their agreements, a few who worshipped them as gods turned away and muttered prayers, but most stayed silent. What was the use in dwelling on yet another dead tyrant, when the war against the Silence had already claimed so many?
"Aegiowulf's company is on the way, Maestro. They're bringing up reinforcements and ballistae for us."
He nodded at Melita, the woman having just returned with her guard and messenger.
"Good work. Anything else?"
The woman nodded at him.
"Yes, Maestro: the Imperator saw the dragon go down above the walls. He would like to speak with you."
I doubt he used such pleasant language, he thought to himself, but then this isn't exactly the time for pleasantries.
"See if we can have some of the boys pull down a few of the damaged buildings, then get the craftsmen to use the timbers for ballistae and lumber to reinforce the gates. We're going to need more than what we already have soon enough. Get the soldiers on the wall to keep an eye out for wherever the other dragon went, and get it out of the sky as soon as possible. Those are the orders I leave for you, Melita."
The woman hammered a fist to her chest.
"I'll see it done, Maestro."
He nodded and gave her the command of the wall. It did not matter that the forces of hell were at their gates; one did not ignore a command from the Imperator.
----------------------------------------
It took him longer than he'd expected to get to the palace of the Imperators, as his route kept being blocked by frantic military activity towards the walls and by blocked roads as he went further into the city, but it still hadn't been that long all told. Not long enough to worry the Imperator anyway, by the unphased look the man gave him upon arrival.
A goblet of fine wine was almost pushed into his hands, the servant giving him a look that said 'drink up' as the Imperator sipped at his own goblet.
"Leave us," the crowned man said, "leave us and allow no-one in."
The servant bowed deeply, and all save the Imperator's own guards and August himself filtered out of the room.
"August. Do the walls hold?"
He nodded.
"They hold, Imperator."
"I saw the dragon go down from the palace balcony."
"One of them," he nodded, "but the other is still out there. 'Twas Arthenax that fell."
The Imperator nodded. He felt bad for the man, at times. To take the reigns of power only because your father had died in the last siege a year ago, to do nothing but prepare for the inevitable next siege, and then to sit here waiting in the palace to see what happened? He wouldn't have wanted to be in the man's position. Much better to be coordinating the defences.
"I did wonder what became of the dragon-lord of the western flats. Now we know, I suppose. I take it you've left orders for it to be struck down?"
He nodded.
"I took the liberty of ordering a few of the damaged buildings in the city to be torn down and their materials used to build new ballistae and reinforce weakened sections of the wall and gates. I hope I have not overstepped my boundaries?"
The Imperator waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
"You were appointed to lead the defence of the city, Maestro. Gods know all the competent commanders in the legions are dead already, and I wouldn't trust the rest to defend Dacaecia, let alone Aegos herself."
August swallowed a little wine and nodded.
"The Battle of the Talana River was hard on all of us, Imperator. None can fault you or your father for what happened there."
The man went a little red in the face, but sidestepped the topic once again. Most of the remaining strength of the Aegan Legions had been gambled away at the Talana River, leaving the Kliran as the main military force still remaining in Aegos. Indeed, had it not been for the rearguard action of his forces then it was very likely that this Imperator would have been struck down by the foe before he was even a real leader.
In fairness the decision to make a stand at the river Talana had been a good one, and August certainly would have made the same choice if he were the Imperator at the time. It was a good defensive position, with the river ford slowing enemy troop movements and rock formations anchoring the flanks.
The battle had gone well, until the faceless angel had showed itself. It had been a slaughter after that.
"Yes, well, be that as it may, I need to ask you something extremely important."
August bowed a little.
"What is it, my Imperator?"
"Where the fuck are the Skraeling reinforcements?"
The man's lip curled as he had asked the question, almost as though the thought of having requested help from the Skraelings galled him as much as it had galled August and the Kliran.
"What, those faithless dogs? Where the fuck do you think they are? Guarding their own and leaving us to die, that's where! Same as they've always done."
Imperator Aegead Agamemnax sneered at him in derision, for once not entirely without cause.
"I'm not asking about your ancient hatreds, August. I am asking where in all the hells the relief army sent to aid us has reached!"
August turned his face away a little, shamefaced. The Time of Ending was upon mankind; the sorrows and hatreds of yesteryear needed to be put to one side for now. Not forgotten, never forgotten, but put aside for now.
"They were set upon by one of the sons of the Great-Warleader of the horsemen. They gave a good fight, but it wasn't enough. They retreated in good order after suffering heavy losses, but will not march to aid us. Aegos stands alone."
"The remnants will not continue their march to us?"
"The remnants have retreated to a small fort on the Breakspear river. They'll make their stand against the daemons there. There will be no help for us coming from the north."
"And the south?"
"The Sotenari have retreated westwards and abandoned the eastern portion of their empire to anarchy and slaughter. They still hide behind their river of fire. As for the Nekhtoudum... there is little enough left of them."
"The west? The east?"
August shrugged, the whole conversation a little depressing in all honesty.
"I can't tell you anything of the east. We knew little enough of what lay beyond the Drakespine mountains beforehand, but now that all links of trade have been broken there is no news of any sort from the east. As for the west, well, the Brythonians are still putting up a fight. The Greystones are still intact, even if the Black Tree is fallen and torched. Still, the Tor is... the Ouroborisian Tor is corrupted. Different. Wrong. The Brythonians have their hands far too full to attempt to land on the continent and assist us."
The Imperator sighed heavily, nodding in acknowledgement.
"So, the enemy seems to be destroying those links to what once was."
"Likely why they have struck here as well, is it not?"
For once, there was no attempt to keep the secret from him. For once, the heir to the great Tyrants of Aegos did not attempt to hide the secret his ancestors had held.
"The catacombs cannot fall, August. The city can be rebuilt, monuments restored, people replenished, but the catacombs cannot fall. They cannot become another Black Tree, another Ouroborisian Tor. They cannot be desecrated by the enemy."
August nodded. Another strange and mystical monument that the enemy sought to tear down for one reason or another. Still, it made little difference to him in all honesty; his men would hold the walls, or the Kliran people would find themselves destroyed.
"Why, Imperator."
"There are things underneath Aegos, Maestro. The wards cannot be allowed to fail. The catacombs cannot be desecrated at the hands of the foe."
He nodded in supplication, deciding against pushing for now. That was more information than he'd been given on that topic outside of vague rumours in his whole life, so he wasn't going to start making this a priority now whilst there were vast hordes of daemons outside the gates.
"Understood, Imperator. We will hold. For as long as we need to, we will hold."
The Imperator nodded, then sent him away with a wave of the hand. Pompous cunt. I won't be staying here with my kind when this is all over.
Yes, the Kliran people would leave for home soon enough. As soon as the Silence was defeated, surely. They had stayed hear for nearly a thousand years, and with the destruction of the Aegan Legions the Imperator really couldn't hold them here if they wanted to leave. Some of their kind would stay here, of that he had no doubt, and he would not be surprised if some Aegans decided to travel with the Kliran when this all was over in search of a better life. Regardless of that, he needed to make sure the city did not fall first. There was too much at stake here; the city could not fall.
He looked at the way his people hurried and bustled, constantly readying and repairing defensive fortifications and making internal fallback points within the city for if the walls ever fell, and he smiled. Not a rueful smile, not a bitter smile, but a true smile. Yes, he was certain of it: the city would hold. He knew that much as though it were a true fact, something immutable and unchangeable.
In that moment he was struck with the premonition that there would soon be a great victory struck by the son of a humble carpenter in the north, and the Silence would almost seem to be sent reeling as a result. If there was any hope to be gained in this dark age, it was that the numberless hordes of the enemy suddenly seemed markedly less numberless than they once had. Indeed, it was almost as though their fury was subsiding and their grip on this world loosening.
With this newfound hope in his heart he was certain that this most terrible of wars would end within his lifetime. With any luck the Silence would vanish from the world, and August could see to a far more important matter to his people.
Vengeance.
All he needed to do was make sure Aegos held, and wait for their saviour to strike a blow against the Silence to the north. After that the Kliran would go home.
Vengeance. That sounded as though it could possibly be the sweetest thing of all, like honey on his tongue and sparks in his heart.
Vengeance. Oh, how the line of Kliran would have their vengeance. He had sworn it, just as all of his forefathers had. Vengeance against the Skraeling, vengeance against the Silence, vengeance against all those who had wronged them and who ever would wrong them for the next thousand years to come, the hatreds that their hearts had carried to remain forever undimmed in the minds of their descendants who would come after them.
Vengeance.