at the Palace entrance.
“Move, damn you,” hissed Ahasz.
They ran. Not all escaped. Stone rained down them; many fell, crushed, maimed. A cloud of dust, dancing in the beams of the spotlights, billowed over the mayhem.
He heard distant screams and wails. They could not understand, only suffer. Nor could he explain to them why.
“Problem solved, your grace,” said Tayisa.
Another bolt from the Palace. The front of the basilisk dug into the ground as the beam hit it. The rear lifted. The front detonated. Armour at the back peeled open, debris blasted out. Soldiers standing behind were chopped to pieces, incinerated.
“It seems you spoke too soon,” Ahasz remarked bitterly.
He turned away. The troop-wagons were empty now, he saw, their companies lined up by the side of the road. Eighteen companies of Housecarls.
“Where are my household troops?” he demanded. He needed more men.
“The first train should be pulling in shortly, your grace,” replied Tayisa.
“Get them up here as fast as possible.”
The empty troop-wagons were rising into the air now. A foot above the ground, they swung about, and moved over the central reservation’s shrubbery. Ahasz watched them disappear from view as they headed down the slope on the far side of the highway.
He frowned. He saw troop-wagons exiting the District garrison. “Telescope,” he said.
Tayisa pulled one from a belt pouch and passed it across. It was a sophisticated device, and compensated for the low ambient light. The duke put it to his eye, focussed on the troop-wagons by the garrison. Two hammers and a sword, over a representation of Mount Yama: Housecarls. He said as much.
“That’ll be Lieutenant-Colonel Narry,” Tayisa said.
“Then he’s done well to neutralise the Cuirassiers so efficiently. I count a full complement of troop-wagons.” Ahasz took the telescope from his eye. “But he let the Palace Artillery install themselves in there .” He looked back over his shoulder at spot-lit Mount Yama, and scowled.
Damn the man. A battalion of the Emperor’s Own Cuirassiers was less of a threat than directed-energy cannons. Ahasz’s own household troops were trained as well, if not better, than the best of the Imperial Regiments. And the duke had numbers on his side: over six and a half thousand soldiers… Worst case, he calculated: no more than six hundred defenders. Ten to one.
But for the damned cannons.
He handed Tayisa his telescope. “Order two companies,” he instructed him, “to rush the Palace entrance.”
“Your grace,” the colonel protested, “it’s too open. They’ll be cut to pieces.”
Night had spread its cloak across the District, but there was sufficient illumination from the spotlights to make any soldier approaching the Palace clearly visible. Especially in their red jackets. The gardens at the foot of the slope from Palace Road offered no cover, comprising low hedges bordering paths and ornamental flower-beds. The only concealment was that provided on the other side of the gardens by a pair of low basins, within which lines of fountains burbled and splashed. Beyond these, a flight of stairs one hundred feet wide led up twelve steps to the imposing arches of the Palace’s entrance.
“I am aware of that,” Ahasz snapped.
Tayisa hurried away to confer with Housecarl officers. Ahasz crossed to the edge of the highway and gazed across the gardens. Such a peaceful scene, he thought—but for the destruction caused by the basilisk: a gaping crater in the mountainside beside Edkar I’s left elbow. The duke knew the District well, was a constant visitor when on Shuto. As head of one of the Empire’s oldest families—his line stretched back to the beginnings of civilisation on Geneza, had been high nobles in the Old Empire—his was a familiar face at Imperial Court. Emperor Willim IX was a personal friend.
That friendship would not survive the day.
Movement to his left caught Ahasz’s attention. Six platoons,
“Move, damn you,” hissed Ahasz.
They ran. Not all escaped. Stone rained down them; many fell, crushed, maimed. A cloud of dust, dancing in the beams of the spotlights, billowed over the mayhem.
He heard distant screams and wails. They could not understand, only suffer. Nor could he explain to them why.
“Problem solved, your grace,” said Tayisa.
Another bolt from the Palace. The front of the basilisk dug into the ground as the beam hit it. The rear lifted. The front detonated. Armour at the back peeled open, debris blasted out. Soldiers standing behind were chopped to pieces, incinerated.
“It seems you spoke too soon,” Ahasz remarked bitterly.
He turned away. The troop-wagons were empty now, he saw, their companies lined up by the side of the road. Eighteen companies of Housecarls.
“Where are my household troops?” he demanded. He needed more men.
“The first train should be pulling in shortly, your grace,” replied Tayisa.
“Get them up here as fast as possible.”
The empty troop-wagons were rising into the air now. A foot above the ground, they swung about, and moved over the central reservation’s shrubbery. Ahasz watched them disappear from view as they headed down the slope on the far side of the highway.
He frowned. He saw troop-wagons exiting the District garrison. “Telescope,” he said.
Tayisa pulled one from a belt pouch and passed it across. It was a sophisticated device, and compensated for the low ambient light. The duke put it to his eye, focussed on the troop-wagons by the garrison. Two hammers and a sword, over a representation of Mount Yama: Housecarls. He said as much.
“That’ll be Lieutenant-Colonel Narry,” Tayisa said.
“Then he’s done well to neutralise the Cuirassiers so efficiently. I count a full complement of troop-wagons.” Ahasz took the telescope from his eye. “But he let the Palace Artillery install themselves in there .” He looked back over his shoulder at spot-lit Mount Yama, and scowled.
Damn the man. A battalion of the Emperor’s Own Cuirassiers was less of a threat than directed-energy cannons. Ahasz’s own household troops were trained as well, if not better, than the best of the Imperial Regiments. And the duke had numbers on his side: over six and a half thousand soldiers… Worst case, he calculated: no more than six hundred defenders. Ten to one.
But for the damned cannons.
He handed Tayisa his telescope. “Order two companies,” he instructed him, “to rush the Palace entrance.”
“Your grace,” the colonel protested, “it’s too open. They’ll be cut to pieces.”
Night had spread its cloak across the District, but there was sufficient illumination from the spotlights to make any soldier approaching the Palace clearly visible. Especially in their red jackets. The gardens at the foot of the slope from Palace Road offered no cover, comprising low hedges bordering paths and ornamental flower-beds. The only concealment was that provided on the other side of the gardens by a pair of low basins, within which lines of fountains burbled and splashed. Beyond these, a flight of stairs one hundred feet wide led up twelve steps to the imposing arches of the Palace’s entrance.
“I am aware of that,” Ahasz snapped.
Tayisa hurried away to confer with Housecarl officers. Ahasz crossed to the edge of the highway and gazed across the gardens. Such a peaceful scene, he thought—but for the destruction caused by the basilisk: a gaping crater in the mountainside beside Edkar I’s left elbow. The duke knew the District well, was a constant visitor when on Shuto. As head of one of the Empire’s oldest families—his line stretched back to the beginnings of civilisation on Geneza, had been high nobles in the Old Empire—his was a familiar face at Imperial Court. Emperor Willim IX was a personal friend.
That friendship would not survive the day.
Movement to his left caught Ahasz’s attention. Six platoons,
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