Page 375 of Of Empires and Dust

24thDay of the Blood Moon

Salme – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Dahlen filledhis lungs with the frigid air, his hands clasped at his back. Salme was so silent he could have heard a feather touching the dirt at the base of the wall. It had been that way since the mass of torches had crested the hill a couple of miles north of the city. Thousands of Uraks, their roars and guttural cries carrying down the hill and through the night.

“Where did they all come from?” The young lad, Conal, stood to Dahlen’s left with a spear in his fist, makeshift patches of leather armour on his chest, back, arms, and thighs. Dahlen had no intention of allowing Conal to fight on the walls, but when the Uraks did break through and the defences fell, it was better he had a spear in his hand.

“Camylin.” Erdhardt folded his arms and stared up at the mass of torches. “The city has fallen.”

Murmurs spread along packed walls and on the ground behind them. The horns had been blown, and every soul in Salme was awake, armoured, and ready. The city held just short of seven thousand souls, gathered from all the villages, farms, and holds across western Illyanara, along with many who had fled Camylin before the siege and travellers who had traversed the province in search of shelter – only to find themselves walled in against the coast. But of that number, many were injured, or too young, or too old, or too sick. The people of the villages were hard and strong, but spare few were true warriors.

A small part of him wished he had left for Aravell when he had intended to, and another part called him a fool for not taking passage on a merchant vessel to Valtara as others had. But the rest of him was proud of where he stood. If this place was to be where his bones rested, then so be it. He would die beside people he had grown to respect, people he trusted. He would die in the only place that had felt like home since he’d lost his mother. His only wish was that he could have shared one last night with Erik and his father.

Dahlen looked down at Nimara, who stood at his right. He could tell by her eyes that she knew the same as him: this would be their last night. There was no world in which the city could stand against a force this large.

The dwarf brushed her hand against his. She inclined her head, a resigned smile on her lips.

“Maybe the bards will tell stories of this night after we’re long gone.” Yoring could barely see over the parapet of the palisade, his hand resting on a thick spike.

“I’d rather prefer to be the one telling the story, dwarf,” Tharn Pimm answered. “If that’s all right with you.”

As the others spoke, Erdhardt tapped Dahlen on the shoulder and gestured to the ground below where Lanan Halfhandstood with Kara Thain and the other elders, along with Exarch Dorman and the Lorian captains.

Dahlen, Erdhardt, Nimara, and Thannon descended to meet them, leaving Camwyn, Yoring, and Almer to watch over the walls. The open ground at the base of the walls was crammed with men and women grasping spears, axes, and shields. Most wore leather armour with rings of iron mail, while some were lucky enough to protect themselves with steel plate. It was a far cry from the equipment they’d all had before the Blood Moon had risen.

Captain Kiron, the merchant who sailed the waters between Valtara and Salme, had done right by them. The man had provided hoards of iron and leather, along with spears and axes and Valtaran ordo shields. Kiron had been fair about it too. He could have taken Salme for all it had, but he didn’t.

“Be honest,” Lanan said when Dahlen and the others approached, her arms folded, the brass rings in her nose glinting in the moonlight. “What are our chances?”

“Slim,” Exarch Dorman replied before Dahlen had a chance. The mage looked at Dahlen and inclined his head. “I’d wager the reason the attacks have been light of late is that the Uraks had focused on Camylin. If they’re here now in these numbers, Camylin is no more.”

Dorman didn’t need to continue. He’d said what he’d needed to without putting the rest into words: if Camylin had fallen, Salme stood no chance.

Silence descended, broken by Erdhardt. “Slim or no, we’ve not got much choice.”

“There are ships in the port.” Yarik Tumber looked over his shoulder in the direction of Salme’s port, which was obscured by the houses and buildings. “We could?—”

“We could what?” Dahlen snapped. “Those are boats, not ships, and there are enough to carry no more than a hundred, maybe two. What of the other seven thousand souls in this city?”

“I was only suggesting?—”

“You were only suggesting we sneak away in the night and leave the others to die.”

“And what else would you have us do? Stand and die like pigs when you yourself can clearly see there will be no dawn? Why should every soul here die when some can live?”

“Because that is what the villages do. We stand together.” Erdhardt stepped forwards and loomed over Yarik, who – to his credit – didn’t back down. The two men stood square to each other, moments away from coming to blows. “We do not leave others behind.”

Dahlen moved between them and pushed them apart. He turned to two of the former Belduaran Kingsguard – Origal and Nayce – who had taken to following him on night watch as his personal guards. “Please escort Yarik Tumber to the great hall with the children and the elderly.”

“At once, Lord Captain.”

“What in the gods?” Yarik shuffled backwards at Origal and Nayce’s approach. “You do not have that authority here!”

Dahlen rounded on the man. “You have just shown us that you are craven. I have no use for men who would run while others die, or worse, men who would push another onto a striking blade. You are nothing but a liability on those walls. And I will not have someone die for your cowardice. Do what you like, Elder Yarik, sip wine and eat cheese in the hall. But you will not hold a spear this night. Not while I breathe.”

Yarik looked to Lanan, Ylinda, and the other elders, outraged. “Are you going to let this stand? He is not evenofthe villages. He does not belong here.”

“I do not originally hail from the villages, Yarik.” Kara Thain shrugged, her hand resting on the pommel of the sword at her hip. She was one of the few in the villages to wield one, outside of the Belduarans and the Lorians. “Would you say I have no voice here?”

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