(One week later)
Rahmû was continuously on edge in the days that followed Tēms̆arrī’s disappearance. There was no doubt in his mind that there was an enemy outside of Birnah, someone seeking to foil his plans, but he hadn’t the faintest idea who.
If the king of Sapīya were the one moving against him, the king would surely have ridden up to the gates of Birnah with his army and demanded them to submit. Keeping him out would have been a challenge as, although Rahmû had befuddled the minds of most of the city guard, he was stretched too thin to extend that to the city’s population. If Kabāni himself showed up, Rahmû wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold out.
But the absence of any army before his gates told the mage that his enemy was likely not the king. His gut told him that his enemy might be the durgu prince - S̆ams̆a-something - that he had refused to allow to enter the city. Rumor had it that the prince was a mage, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities that he'd been the one to kill Tēms̆arrī and put a stop to the attacks on the villages.
Frankly, Rahmû hoped that was the case. An army of nearly 400 durgu was a powerful force, one that could likely take many a lesser city with ease. The durgu were less diminished than the other races, having avoided the catastrophic wars that had beset the elves, Fey, and the empire over the last few millennia. Even their warriors still had a touch of magic in them, able to channel what essence they had into reinforcing their bodies to supernatural levels.
But, while they would not be an easy enemy, Rahm̂u felt confident about his odds against them. He didn't believe that the people of Birnah would open the gates for a durgu army, and no matter how strong they were, 400 men were still only 400 men. The city's fortifications had held out against tens of thousands in the past; they would not fall to a few hundred durgu.
But other, darker possibilities plagued his mind. Although Rahmû had first assumed that Tēms̆arrī was dead, he hadn’t been able to verify if that was true. Ironically, his decision to close the city up and prevent the guards from patrolling the countryside had come back to bite him. Rahmû was painfully short on knowledge of what was happening outside Birnah’s walls, as the guards outside the city, now furious with Lord Sarganīl, had stopped reporting in. Even the captain of Daḇur, whom Rahmû knew Tēms̆arrī had ensorcelled, had ceased replying to his missives. While it was true that Tēms̆arrī's hold over the captain would be broken by his death, there was another explanation for his silence.
Thus, the possibility that Tēms̆arrī had betrayed him rankled his mind. Perhaps the lord of Stryn had sent him the same offer he’d given to Rahmû; perhaps even now Tēms̆arrī was assembling a horde of Atrometos to join the lords of Stryn in storming the walls of Birnah. Against such fell foes, even Birnah’s fortifications might fall.
The final option was that a rogue element had joined the conflict. Rahmû wasn’t sure if this would be better or worse than Tēms̆arrī betraying him, but he thought it the least likely of the options. After all, who aside from Stryn and Sapiya would have any interest in making a play for Birnah? The only other nearby province was a vassal of Stryn that wouldn’t dare move against its liege’s interests.
No, he finally decided, it is either the durgu or Temsarri that opposes me. He pinned his hopes on the first of the options, but, hedging his bets, did not send any messages to the lords of Stryn to urge them to arrive sooner than the agreed upon date. If Tēms̆arrī really had turned against him, then he needed to prepare the city for a siege.
Thus, the intervening days had passed in a blur of frantic activity; uncertain if Stryn was his or Tēms̆arrī’s ally, Rahmû had been forced to prepare the city both to fling open the gates to the Stryn forces or to resist them, all while discontent amongst the citizens ramped to new highs.
They had already been unhappy with the city’s forced seclusion when the string of Atrometos attacks had rocked the hinterland, and many had muttered about the cowardice of the troops who refused to march out to defend villages. But those mutterings had grown to a crescendo now that danger seemed to have vanished and yet the gates remained closed. It was only the citizens’ long-inculcated loyalty to Lord Sarganīl that had prevented a revolt, but Rahmû knew that even loyalty had its limits. Thus, amid all his other preparations, he’d also been forced to organize an impromptu festival to appease the citizens.
The festival was under way when the message he’d been dreading finally arrived. As he sat at the podium beside Lord Sarganīl, watching a small troupe of dancers perform daring feats with knives and fire, a guard came running to greet them. The guard bowed first to Lord Sarganīl, mopping anxiously at his sweat-studded brow, but he was one of the ones Rahmû had ensorcelled and his words were spoken to the mage.
“Lord Rahmû, an army has arrived at the gates and demands entrance.”
“Under what banner?” he asked curtly, annoyed that the guard hadn’t led with that.
“The banner of King Kabāni,” the man replied, “But I do not believe it to be his army, Lord Rahmû. It appears to be mostly made up of our own men, of guards and militia from the villages.”
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Rahmû’s heart had almost stopped when he’d heard the guard’s first words, but his lips thinned with quiet amusement as the man continued. So it’s rebellion, then. An odd feeling verging on happiness surged through him at the realization that the news was not one of his worst fears.
Sure, it was possible that the durgu prince, who he believed to be working for Kabāni, had managed to rally the peasants and a few guards to his cause. Perhaps he’d even managed to sway the lord of Daḇur to his side - despite Rahmû’s best efforts to get him into the city and under his spell, the man had obstinately refused to leave his town while the attacks continued. But those troops were utterly insufficient to conquer Birnah and if they refused to leave, they would prove fodder for Stryn’s triumphant entrance.
Suppressing his glee, he waved the guard off. “Head back to the gates and tell them to stand down., If they refuse to leave, send out a show of force. Once they see the strength of our steel, their courage will quail.”
With a quick nod, the guard turned to follow his instructions, but he had only made it a few feet before Rahmû succumbed to the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had missed something important. “Stop! Stop, I’ll come with you,” he said irritably.
Standing up, he straightened the wrinkles out of his robe fastidiously and bowed to Lord Sarganīl, ostensibly giving his respects before he left, though in truth he took the opportunity to give the lord a command to return to his castle. Then, waving cheerfully at the crowd watching the performers, he strolled leisurely over to the guard, not wanting to give the people any reason to suspect that aught was amiss.
His mind, however, was anything but calm, as he teased out the inchoate dread that haunted him. Why am I so worked up about a handful of soldiers? As they neared the walls, the answer finally came to him.
He knew little of the durgu prince, save for his reputation. By all reports, the man before his exile had a reputation for drinking, whoring, and other vices, but he’d also served as one of his father’s foremost ministers. The man was no idiot, so if he had bothered marching against the city with a handful of dwarves and a few cohorts of guards and militia, he had a plan - something more than a suicidal assault on the front gates. Either he knows something I don’t, or his appearance at the gates is nothing more than a diversion intended to draw my eyes away from their true point of attack.
The conclusion offered him little comfort, but he was confident it was the correct one, and felt a touch of pride, however ironic, at having avoided the pitfalls of arrogance. So he was greatly surprised when he mounted the top of the wall and stared down at the troops assembled outside the gates.
There were perhaps 500 men assembled in front of the lowered portcullis, a bit more than he’d expected, but nothing compared to the nearly 6000 troops Lord Sarganīl had quartered in the city. He spied the banner of the lord of Daḇur near the front, surrounded by fifty or so professional soldiers and another hundred of his guard, but quickly passed over it, searching in vain for the 400 hundred durgu he knew the prince commanded. Where’s the kruvas̆-cursed prince?
His eyes froze as he reached the banner of King Kabāni, which was held aloft by a man standing beside an unfamiliar woman. She was a young slip of a thing, with long curly hair ringing her shoulders and an intricate armored tunic of a style he vaguely recognized as Djinn. She bore no weapons, but there was something about the way she held herself that told Rahmû that she was not as helpless as she appeared.
And then there was her mount; she sat astride a jet-black tsusssîm, a beast that would have nearly bankrupted even a prominent noble like Lord Sarganīl to purchase. This was no simple girl, yet he hadn’t the faintest clue who she was. Could she be a Moon-kissed noble? The paleness of her skin, the Djinn armor, and her mount, itself a product of their province, all pointed to such an origin, but there were discrepancies as well. The Moon-kissed usually had horns much like an elf’s, and they were no more likely than their other kin to leave the safety of their secluded province. Why would a Moon-kissed interfere with my plans?
The answer struck him like a lightning bolt. Her lack of armor, her exotic background, the casual danger she seemed to exude. The gods. One of their bloody gods must have given her a quest against me.
As the pieces fell in place, Rahmû felt a cold sweat break across his brow. He didn’t know what to expect from the girl, but if she was a champion of a god, she was likely a powerful mage. She still shouldn’t be able to bring down the walls, but, just like the prince, she must have a plan. And speaking of the prince…they’re in cahoots. They must have found a way for one of the tunnels, and will attack from both sides.
It was a clever plan and, depending on how powerful the unknown champion proved to be, Rahmû was unsure if he could stop them, but he would go down fighting. “Sound the alarm,” he commanded the captain standing beside him. “I want all the men raised, immediately. Send half to the walls, but keep the other half mobilized near the center.”
“Why keep them back?” the captain grunted.
“Because there will be an attack from somewhere in the city,” Rahmû replied. “I don’t know where and I don’t know when, but as long as the durgu prince is unaccounted for, we need to hold some forces in reserve.”
“They don’t have a prayer’s chance of getting through these walls,” the captain shrugged, “But if Lord Sarganīl wills it-”
“He does,” he snapped, his irritation rising at the man’s choice of phrase. A prayer’s chance. I fear that is exactly the sort of chance she has. Satisfied that his orders would be obeyed, he commanded a few guards to accompany him and headed straight for Dūr-Rabû. With any luck, the champion would wear herself out on the troops before she could reach him and if not…well, there was always the backup plan.