Chapter 9 (Part III): Rallying Cry

{Happy Independence Day!}

"Oh Caelia, land were't cratered so, we sons of man willt ne'er be struck low."
- from the Caelian National Anthem

Schroeder had rolled up his map, hefted his shield, and jogged off into the night, down his secured route. He wasn’t a young man – Azraea couldn’t imagine how he was holding up under this much stress and exertion, and from what Kaira had told her, he had his own family to be worried about, too.

Azraea did a quick scan of the area. Her colorful friend, Samantha, and Vinny’s very cooperative business acquaintance, Joey, had helped them roust many of the remaining people from the North End, but there really hadn’t been that many left, not compared to Old town. They were in a large commons area – a wide street that had been converted into a market on the southern edge of Old Town. Azraea had been here before, many, many times – if you wanted really good food, good music, or just about anything in Kingstown that didn’t conform to the same repetitive cultural norms that shaped the rest of the city, this is where you came. Sadly, she already knew it wouldn’t last.

Right now, it had become the natural place for Schroeder to organize the evacuation from, and while Azraea was certain there were still hundreds of people, if not more, in the neighborhoods north of here, she had to accept that they were what Ochsner would call “No Priority” – it was realistically impossible to go door to door in the crowded neighborhoods, as Schroeder’s men had already done, and try to convince those people to leave before the Firebrands arrived. The large crowd of people present was what she had to work with. All of them though were consumed by their own arguments or anxieties, and she needed a way to focus them.

There was a large statue nearby set on a marble base that formed the backbone of the fortifications on this street, so she clambered up the makeshift barricade onto the marble stand. Pressed for time, she fell back on an old game that she and Ochsner used to play as roommates and years-long study buddies. It would practice their wit, their foreign language skills, and their bardic skills. The game was to translate a popular song, so that each verse was sung in a different language, but still sounded reasonable. Eventually they’d gotten Kaira to play too, because she could manage the elvish and orcish parts. Then they’d all have to learn the song with the combined lyrics. Last year, in an act of excessive ambition, they’d diligently completed one very difficult song – what passed for Caelia’s national anthem.

She started out by just humming to warm up since she knew no one would be able to hear the words. She already had the attention of Lily, who was eager to see her previously unmentioned predictions fulfilled, and also had the attention of many of Lily’s Arbarii neighbors, thanks to her face paint. Others began to filter over to hear the crazy woman on the statue stopping in the middle of a crisis to sing. As corny as it was, a couple of people actually put their hands over their hearts and began to quietly sing along as she started the first verse in the kingdom’s primary language, a derivative of Old Facian. Vinny’s argument with his kinsmen stopped when she began singing the second verse in Gnoman. The few remaining dwarves looked shocked when she sang the third verse in Ochsner’s native language, and the elves and orcs even more so when she moved onto what Kaira had taught her. She stumbled over both, but the elves seem impressed she’d tried, and the remaining orcs jumped in and finished the song loudly and proudly, stomping their feet and beating their chests.

“I know this is a hard night for you,” Azraea said loudly, “For some of you, maybe the worst night of your lives. But I want you to remember, whatever happens tonight, or tomorrow, or any time after that, no matter where you are, and what people call you, you are my people.This kingdom is your kingdom. This city is your city. These streets are your streets. The water that flows through our aqueducts, the crops that grow in our fields, the fish that swim in our rivers, you have as much right to the fruits of our labors as anyone else. You have as much right to the safety, security, and comfort this kingdom can offer, as anyone else.” She paused for a moment to quickly, mentally compose the rest of her speech.

“But with those rights come two responsibilities. You have the responsibility to survive, because without its people, a kingdom is not a kingdom. Without you, Caelia is not Caelia. Without you, it’s whatever nightmarish place the dragon’s worshippers would make it, and I don’t intend to let that happen. And that’s the second responsibility – fight. Fight with fists, fight with swords, or fight with words. Fight tonight or fight tomorrow, but fight to win. Don’t martyr yourself in the face of a regime that would erase this night from its history.”

People were nodding in agreement, some were cheering. The orcs that had been on the fence about helping the cityguard now hefted work tools and banged them together to fill the momentary silence.

Azraea held up her hands to be heard again, “I know not everyone can shed blood. Maybe you don’t know how, maybe you physically or morally can’t. For those people, I say this – leave the city. Leave the city, and tell the people outside what’s going on. Spread the truth of what you’ve seen and heard. Write it down, tell stories, ask people to come to our aid. Leave the city, and know that when this is over you will be welcomed back. While those of us who can fight, will fight, we do so only with the belief that we can rebuild what is lost tonight, and for that to happen, you need to live.” Many more people now cheered, and some left – at first Azraea thought she was losing them, but then she realized they were spreading out into the surrounding neighborhoods to roust stubborn friends and families and get them moving.

A handsome white-haired elvish man walked up to the foot of the statue, “Well spoken,” he said simply, “I am Marcus. And you are…?”

“Azraea,” she answered, “Azraea Thanel.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Thanel. Do you mind if I share your soapbox for a moment?”

Azraea was uncertain, but she didn’t have any right to refuse, so she simply nodded and he hopped gracefully onto the other side of the statue. With a sharp whistle he got everyone’s attention.

“You all know who I am,” he said, “so I’ll keep this simple. The White Rose has heard Lady Thanel’s words, and agrees wholeheartedly. We stand with her tonight, and agree that the people of this place should be our greatest priority.”

He continued, “To that end, we will be arranging shelter for refugees at the docks across the lake. We can provide food and water for at least three days while we work out other arrangements, and since we cannot guarantee the safety of the homes you have, for so long, trusted us to protect, we will without cost guarantee the security and safety not only of your persons, but of any personal belongings sheltered in our warehouses. We have also called in some favors from our Star Born kin in the east, so if this idiotic madness spreads beyond these walls, I guarantee you nothing except the dragon herself will be able to reach you.”

He turned to Azraea as the crowd clearly separated into fighters and fliers, “Words will make people listen, but the promise of food, water, shelter, and the protection of armed men will make them move.”

She smiled, “Provided you have those things to promise,” Azraea said, “I’m not so fortunate.”

“Hm,” the man answered, “Fortunes change, don’t they? Especially for those willing to put themselves in front of a panicked mob and take responsibility for them. And of course, keeping the favor and company of elves never hurts, does it, Lady Thanel?”

“Brass tacks,” Azraea said, “Your men were the ones giving reports to Schroeder right?”

“I have associates serving as observers and couriers, yes.”

“Do we know if the gate is still secure?”

Marcus spoke a bit more quietly, “It’s under siege but the cityguard are holding it open. Or at least, they were as of about ten minutes ago. Whether it is now, or will be in another ten minutes when my next associate returns…”

“No reward without risk,” Azraea quoted Kaira’s family motto, “But we need to move these people fast.”

“Indeed,” Marcus said, seeming amused by something Azraea had said.

Azraea looked down to see that two dozen or so men and women had gathered at the foot of the statue, apparently ready to fight. Among them were a couple of dwarves, a few halflings (Vinny among them), many orcs, and several elves, some fully armed and armored and wearing white clothing that matched Marcus’s. The rest were humans of various backgrounds, though Azraea was surprised to find that while she’d been distracted they’d broken into one of the shops and found paint to adorn their own faces with crude white skulls. They were all ready to fight, but they weren’t all young or fit. Plunging into an enemy head first, or waiting here for some sort of last stand were both suicide and would do nothing to help their family and friends to flee the city.

“We can’t go head to head with our enemies,” Azraea said, “So we have to come at them sideways. Blindside them…” She thought as quickly as possible, but the only thing that came to her mind was the story she told Vinny earlier, “We need a distraction to ease the pressure on our friends. Something showy, that’ll make us look more formidable than we are. Does anyone here work under the streets?”

One halfling, one dwarf, and two humans raised their hands, and said ‘aye’.

“Is it true there’re old catacombs down there?”

The dwarf spoke up loud, “Technically they’re all catacombs. A lot of the skeletons were moved because they used the existing tunnels to expand and ‘modernize’ the sewer system about a hundred years ago. They didn’t move them far though – just consolidated them into the tunnels they didn’t use. Heaped them all together. I heard tell it wasn’t a popular decision.”

“I guarantee you it wasn’t,” Marcus said through gritted teeth. Evidently there was some personal history there.  

“Do you know where these mass graves are?” Azraea asked.

“Sure, but I don’t know how that’s going to…”

“She’s a necromancer!” Lily shouted, beaming behind her own garishly painted skull and waving her meat cleaver like a war axe.

At that there were many nods and expressions of approval, and some excitement from the other Arbarii, but there was still a little skepticism.

“I can’t make an army out of strewn bones of random people,” Azraea explained honestly, “But I can make a hell of a distraction.”