The Dragons' Graveyard

by James E. Wisher

  Moz changed his opinion when he heard the archer speak. He sounded more like a street thug for one of the bigger cities, a city in Rend from his accent. Maybe he’d come out here to evade the law. Ordinarily Moz wouldn’t have wanted a man like that at his side in a fight, but today he’d take anyone that knew how to draw blood.

  Bernard patted the archer on the shoulder. “Thank you, Kane, but we’ll honor his parley. They’re the bandits, not us.”

  Kane spat over the wall. “You give them too much honor, Bernard. They’re rabid dogs and should be put down.”

  “I fear that time will come soon enough. No need to hasten the bloodshed.” Bernard turned his attention to the messenger and waved him closer. “We will speak peacefully! Come closer.”

  The man, more a boy really now that Moz could see him better, eased closer to the wall, his gaze darting amongst the many angry stares bearing down on him. He didn’t tremble though and that impressed Moz.

  When he was about fifteen feet away the boy said, “I got a message from our commander. He’s giving you one chance to flee with your lives. Anyone that leaves in the next hour will be allowed to pass in peace. Anyone still here when the time’s up dies.”

  Having said what he had to, the boy turned and marched away. Moz doubted the offer was legitimate. Maybe they hoped to weaken the resistance by a few desperate souls. Anyone they killed outside the walls would be easy meat.

  “Not much of a negotiation,” Bernard said. “What do you think?”

  That last was directed at Moz who crossed his arms. “I think it’s a setup, but if all they want is to destroy the village, it might be an honest offer. Don’t think I’d chance it though.”

  “My thoughts as well,” Bernard said. “Everyone discussed our options earlier, so I see no reason to even mention the offer lest someone make a run for it and end up killed. If we have an hour, we’d best make good use of it.”

  “What more can we do?” Kane asked.

  “Pray that the gods favor us.”

  Thanks to the trees they felled, the bandits needed closer to two hours to roll the massive ram down the rough, narrow road, but when it finally emerged from the trees, surrounded by several hundred brutal-looking, heavily armed men and women, the effect impressed Moz. And he’d seen a lot. The archers on the wall with him appeared outwardly calm, but they had to be losing it inside. They wouldn’t be human if they weren’t.

  The people pushing the ram were largely hidden by the roof, but most of their legs were visible and if they were visible, then the archers could hit them. Bernard had remained with Moz on the wall while Ella retreated to keep the noncombatants calm. Moz called them noncombatants, but if the bandits made it deep into the villages, they’d have no choice but to fight. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  “You see what I see?” Moz asked.

  “A gathering of brutes and thugs eager to spill our blood?” Bernard asked.

  “That too, but I meant their legs under the ram. Your archers should focus on them. Slow the ram as much as possible. It won’t win the battle, but it might buy us a little time.”

  “I’ll spread the word.” Bernard whispered in Kane’s ear and he passed to the next archer.

  And not a moment too soon. The ram, after a brief pause, lurched forward, slow and unstoppable. It was a pity the settlers hadn’t built on a hill. That would’ve really slowed the bandits. The fighters kept their position near the tree line, no doubt ready to charge in the instant the gate came crashing down.

  The first arrow arced out and slammed into the ground six inches from its target. The next shot drew a scream from the far side of the ram and it slowed a fraction. One of the watching bandits rushed out to take the fallen person’s place. Or so he intended. An arrow drove into the bandit’s chest long before he reached the ram.

  Moz grinned. Whoever was leading these thugs didn’t have a clue about siege warfare. And thank the gods for that.

  Another bandit went down and the ram stopped in its tracks. The loss of just two people was enough to keep it in place. Good to know.

  This time ten bandits ran for the ram, half of them with shields. Arrows arced in, felling half the targets before they reached the ram. Two tossed aside their shields and the weapon was on the move again. The other bandits kept their shields up and walked along beside their comrades, ready to step in should another fall.

  And fall they did. Now that the archers had some practice under their belts, they hit the visible legs with ease, leaving a trail of bodies writhing on the ground behind the ram. Eventually another batch of bandits made the run to replace fallen people. More of them fell on the way in and more still as the weapon inched closer. Looked like they lost a bandit per twenty yards, give or take.

  Despite the damage the archers inflicted, the bandits never stopped their inexorable push closer. That was strange. Bandits were known for a lot of things but courage under fire wasn’t one of them. Usually a show of strength would be enough send a bunch like this running to find softer targets. They must have been really scared of the Dark Sages.

  Moz frowned. That didn’t make sense either. Nothing said these clowns had to raid here. There were better and easier pickings along the main trade routes and in some of the outlying villages. Something had to be holding them here. He hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary when he scouted their camp. What had he missed? He didn’t know but it had to be important.

  A cheer went up from the archers, drawing Moz’s focus back to where it belonged. The ram was stopped two-thirds of the way to the gate. The bandits that had been manning it all lay on the ground and no more came running to take their places.

  “We should destroy it while we have the chance,” Bernard said.

  “Don’t,” Moz said. “They have archers as well and you don’t have bodies to spare. Be ready for the next wave.”

  “You think they’ll come again after the beating we gave them?” Kane’s disbelief came through loud and clear.

  “I have no doubt they will. Something or someone is driving them on. Since they haven’t even put a scratch on the village yet, they can hardly quit now. They might take a break, but I promise you they’ll strike again, probably sooner than later.” Moz turned toward the steps.

  “Where are you going?” Bernard asked.

  “I need to speak to my prisoner. He might know more than he’s told me. I won’t be long.”

  Moz took the stairs two at a time and quick marched across town to the ten-by-ten shed that passed for a town jail. The door was barred but not locked. Inside, Alva perched on the edge of a wooden stool. A chain ran from the wall to his ankle.

  He looked up when Moz entered. “Are we leaving? I’d rather take my chances guiding you to the Dark Sages’ headquarters than sit in this box for another minute.”

  “No, your friends have arrived, so we’re stuck. Who’s running the show out there?”

  Alva shrugged. “I assume they held an election and chose one of the captains as warleader. Couldn’t say which one.”

  “Bullshit. We killed or maimed nearly a hundred of them before they broke for the trees to regroup. Not flee, regroup. No way does a loose gang of bandits suffer a twenty percent loss without calling it a day. Something’s got them scared enough to keep fighting despite the odds. And don’t tell me it’s just fear of the sages.”

  Alva licked his lips and looked away. “El-Kalim must have come. Maybe even brought his boys with him. If he’s here, no one will stop until you or they are dead.”

  “Who’s El-Kalim?” Moz asked. “Not a local.”

  Alva barked a laugh. “No, not a local. He’s from Rend, the deepest, darkest part of the south. Looks a bit like you only without the hair and armor. Since we took this job, he’s come to check on us twice. The second time, one of the guys mouthed off to him. El-Kalim killed him with his bare hands. Broke his neck and ripped his head off. Never seen anything like it.”

  Moz hadn’t either. The raw strength needed to
tear the heavy neck muscles that held the head to the body wasn’t human. There had to be some kind of magic involved.

  “You mentioned boys?”

  “Yeah, El-Kalim doesn’t travel alone. He’s got a crew of his own, six guys, smaller than him, but still big. Any one of them would be a match for five of my guys. If they’re here, we’re all dead.”

  “We? Won’t they rescue you?”

  “Hardly. I failed, badly.” Alva shuddered. “If it comes to it, I hope you kill me before El-Kalim gets a hold of me.”

  That last statement told Moz all he needed to know about their situation. He was in deep here, deeper than he’d been in a long time. And all he had for backup was a group of settlers with bows and little experience. He’d have given a great deal to have his ranger squad alongside him. But he might as well wish for the moon, he’d be just as likely to get it.

  Chapter 11

  The moment Moz emerged from the shed, shouts from the archers had him sprinting toward the wall. The bandits were coming in an all-out attack. A dozen pairs carrying ladders rushed for the settlement while a large group broke for the ram.

  The archers didn’t know who to focus on. Half shot at the running ladder bearers, while the rest fired at the ram. None of them were focused and most of the arrows missed their mark. This was exactly what Moz had been worried about. The pressure from such a big rush had them flustered.

  “Archers, focus on the ram!” Moz shouted. “Everyone else, prepare to repel the ladders.”

  The orders seemed to calm them and soon arrows were zipping in and biting legs like they were supposed to. A few were anyway. A wall of shield bearers had taken up position around the ram to turn aside arrows. Someone new had definitely taken command. Whether it was El-Kalim or not, Moz didn’t know.

  His time for musing ended when the first ladder hit the wall. Two men armed with axes tried to push it away, but they didn’t have the leverage. The first bandit whose head appeared at the top got it split by an axe. He crashed into the woman behind him and both fell to the ground. A good shove sent the ladder over after them.

  It was a start only. Three more ladders struck the wall.

  Moz ran to the nearest. When the bandit reached the top he stabbed the woman through the right eye and kicked her off. She bounced off her partner who held on. He lived long enough to reach the top and get his throat cut by Moz.

  More ladders hit the wall. He ran to his left and killed one man. Spun right and stabbed a second before returning to the first ladder to kill a scared woman.

  Moz risked a glance down the wall. The other defenders were holding their own. Out in the field, the ram had stopped again for the moment.

  “Arrow count!” Bernard shouted.

  Everyone was down to single digits or empty.

  “Runners to the armory!” Bernard ordered.

  Three teenagers disengaged from the ladders they were assaulting and ran for the steps. Karn set his bow aside and took their place, crushing a bandit’s head with his war hammer.

  A roar from the field drew Moz’s attention. A mass of bandits came running towards the settlement. There were too many and they were moving too fast to count, but he suspected it was everyone they had left.

  This was it. If they survived this wave the village would live.

  The runners returned with quivers of arrows just as the mob reached the halfway point.

  Archers drew and loosed as fast as they could.

  The bandits refused to break.

  A malevolent presence drew Moz’s gaze toward the tree line. A giant, dark-skinned man stood there. He wore all black and his polished head gleamed in the light. A foot-long hilt jutted up behind his left ear. That had to be El-Kalim. Even from a distance he had a powerful presence. Moz put his height near eight feet and his breadth close to six. In the many battles Moz had fought, he’d never seen anyone that big.

  At least the companions Alva mentioned didn’t appear to have joined their leader. Moz frowned. Everyone was focused on this side of the settlement. An unfortunate but necessary decision given their lack of manpower. But it left half the wall unguarded.

  “Gods’ blood!” Moz whispered. “Bernard! I need to check the other side of the settlement.”

  “What?”

  Moz ignored the question and leapt for the stairs. Please let him be panicking over nothing. It was just his overactive imagination.

  He ran between the rough-built log cabins toward Bernard’s home. All the noncombatants were gathered there until the fight ended. As long as they were safe, what happened to the empty buildings didn’t matter.

  His boot snagged on a clod of dirt as he skidded around a corner toward city hall. Moz caught himself, turned, and froze. Three big men in black were marching toward the front door. One carried a double-bitted axe while the others held two-handed swords as long as Moz was tall.

  Long-reach weapons like that in the hands of men that knew how to use them were a poor matchup against his dual short swords. Not that it mattered. The women and children inside wouldn’t last a minute once they chopped through the door.

  Moz drew one sword in his left hand and a pair of throwing daggers in his right. He needed to time this just right if he wanted a chance of winning. The range was tricky, but he didn’t care much about damage, just distraction.

  The men in black stopped and the axman gave the door a kick hard enough to rattle its hinges. The settlers had built their hall with special care and strength. It would take a lot to bring that door down.

  El-Kalim’s men seemed to realize it too.

  Moz tensed as the axe went up.

  When it reached its apex, he threw his first dagger and charged in behind it. The blade nicked the axman’s bicep.

  His companions turned in surprise, bringing their swords up to the guard position.

  Moz threw his second dagger and drew his right-hand sword.

  His target batted the dagger aside just like Moz expected. It was a small movement of a big sword, but it gave Moz the opening he needed.

  Or so he thought. The second swordsman shifted to cover his partner, thrusting at Moz and forcing him to spin out of the way.

  He had to close fast.

  Get inside their reach.

  Three hard blows forced the huge sword to one side. Moz thrust low with his left blade and slashed high with his right.

  His opponent scrambled back, evading both blows, but falling out of position.

  Moz didn’t hesitate. He spun again, this time slashing double high, double low, over and over, forcing the second swordsman back.

  Instinct or maybe the creak of leather warned him to move. He dove just ahead of the descending axe.

  Refusing to give up the initiative, Moz turned his dive into a double thrust at the second swordsman.

  The man had skill, Moz gave him that. He turned aside both blades, but in doing so left himself wide open. Moz reversed his momentum and cross slashed, cutting deep grooves that formed an X in the man’s chest and sending him to the ground not to rise again.

  Moz rolled left to evade another axe blow and came instantly to his feet. The surviving swordsman had recovered, but now it was two to one, much better odds for Moz. Still not great, but better.

  The understanding that they faced someone far more dangerous than a simple settler showed when they looked at each other then back at Moz. When the fighters approached him, it was with caution.

  The invaders split left and right. Moz had no intention of getting trapped in between fighters as skilled as these two.

  The moment they were separated by a few feet, Moz feinted toward the swordsman and turned to slash high and low at the axman.

  He spun the shaft of his axe, deflecting both blades.

  Moz kept the barrage going.

  High low, left right, never let him get set.

  You can’t swing an axe hard if you aren’t balanced.

  The tip of the great sword darted in, forcing Moz to lunge to one side or get
spit like a roast.

  The brief pause was enough for the axman to get his feet under him. When he did, a tornado of steel came roaring towards Moz. The axe head never stopped moving. The swordsman inched closer on his right, looking for an opening.

  Moz was in a bad spot for sure. He had no openings to counterattack and if he lost focus for even a second, the swordsman would cut him down. These two had clearly been fighting together for a while. Even worse, there were probably still three more somewhere in the village. Moz needed to end this quick and find them.

  Of course, that was easier said than done. The answer came to him a moment later and he shifted the course of his retreat. One of the smaller cabins was just a few feet behind him. His timing would need to be just right.

  When the corner of the cabin was visible in his peripheral vision, Moz leapt back.

  A wide, sweeping slash came in from the axe.

  Just as he’d hoped, the blade clipped the corner of an exposed timber and caught.

  It wasn’t much of an opening, but it was enough.

  The axe shaft slowed the swordsman just a fraction, letting Moz dart in and drive his sword into the axman’s throat, rip it sideways, and dance around the gush of blood.

  The swordsman stared at his dead companion. There was more in that gaze than the loss of a comrade in arms. Those two had been friends.

  Moz leapt back when his last opponent roared and swung a powerful but clumsy slash at his midsection. The strikes came hard and undisciplined. Moz dodged and waited. His chance would come soon enough.

  And it did. The swordsman overextended on a thrust. Moz stepped in, cross slashed, and nearly cut the man’s head off.

  As his opponent collapsed, Moz let out a long sigh. He hadn’t had a fight like that in a long time. And it wasn’t over yet.

  As Moz collected his throwing daggers, the city hall door eased open a fraction and Ella poked her head out. “Is it safe?”

  Moz shook his head. “No, there’re at least three more of them around here somewhere. Stay inside and keep the door locked.”