Dawncaller

by David Rice

  Tarbuckle smiled. “Load grapeshot and wait for them to be close. Then raise the angles and fire incendiary on what’s left of the town.”

  “The smoke’s starting to clear in parts and it looks like we’ve started a bunch of fires already.”

  Tarbuckle squinted then seized the spyglass and squinted again. “That’s not possible,” he squeaked as he watched a volley of flaming arrows emerge from the northen tree line and descend swiftly upon the town. Then his eyes widened. “Elves!” Underprime Tarbuckle yelped. He took a gulp of air and grabbed Kointrim by the arm. “Make sure the horses are stopped, then use whatever power is left in those gems to get us out of here.”

  “But the blue gem we came for,” Kointrim complained. “We can’t just—”

  “Two shots and go. If Halnn doesn’t have the gem, it’ll need these cannon in one piece.” Tarbuckle spun on his heels and grabbed his leather satchel of notes.

  Kointrim reddened. “Where are you going?”

  “To the supply wagons, of course. We get to the river and the gems can take us upriver on the ice safely.” Tarbuckle hustled away as if he might outrun his own shadow.

  “But,” Kointrim mumbled. “The gems could attract even worse things—”

  A shout from the nearest gun crew grabbed his attention. “Cavalry in range and readying to charge!”

  “Ready grapeshot,” Kointrim called out and he listened with some brief satisfaction as the command quickly echoed down the line. “Follow with incendiary and then ready to move!”

  ***

  Despite the muddy ground, torn timber, flaming buildings and thick smoke, Lord Urlik Poll managed to assemble his fifty remaining horse of the King’s Own Cavalry while tears rippled his vision.

  “Nothing to worry about, lads,” he called out to the brilliant blue and silver line, “just like parade except you can finally whack someone with that sabre you’ve been polishing for years.”

  “Ready when you are, Skipper!” the Sergeant-Major replied. The rest of the men answered with a gust of Huuzzahs!

  “What are you waiting for?” Gow yelled at Lord Poll.

  Poll thought of his sons, Codie and Gerik, and how he wished they could have been with him for this moment. He looked over at his nephew, Cley, now a Colonel anchoring the opposite flank and waved. Then with a circle of his lance in the air, he nudged his horse forward. The rest of the line stirred to motion and was quickly back to proper formation for the charge. The mud slowed them but these were powerful highland horse and all he had to do was conserve their gallop until they were close. The signal would be the lowering of his lance.

  The line approached the guns with surreal beauty. His nephew called out with the cadence of their advance. “They’re only squatties, lads! Swing low so you don’t miss ‘em!”

  Lord Poll’s seasoned eye told him the distance was about right. “Tally-ho!” he cried, and his lance came down.

  ***

  When the cavalry burst into a gallop, the thunder of their hooves upon the ground and the forest of lances now pointed at their hearts filled the gnomes with terror and half of the gun crews turned and ran.

  The remaining six guns held their ground.

  “Fire,” Kointrim yelled. The six guns fired as one just as the lances were a few horse lengths away. Both horse and human flesh exploded, and the survivors crashed into the midst of the guns, wounded and stunned, or slashing and kicking as if lifebane themselves.

  Kointrim turned, tripped, and rolled down a small hill to collide with a tree. Thrusting himself back to his feet, he was vaguely aware of a few guns firing a second time as ordered, and then a series of earthshaking explosions sent wagon bits and trees high into the sky from beyond the crest of the next hill. His heart skipped several beats as he heard the shrill cry of

  “Dwarves!” from the direction of the explosions and he changed course again. South. South to the river. That was where they were going now. That’s where Tarbuckle would be. If only his remaining guns could get there in time.

  ***

  Gow watched in smug satisfaction as The King’s Own lowered their lances, and then fell to one knee as their impressive line disappeared in a flash of flame and bloody mist. How could such an impressive force be stopped? How could they be gone, just like that?

  He watched helplessly as two flaming streaks emerged from the swirling carnage of the gnome line and smashed liquid fire upon the northern gatehouse and its nearby gun emplacement.

  Only then did he absorb the screams erupting from the locked barracks near the main gate, and the scattered fires that were growing rapaciously upon their roofs. Gow staggered back into the fort and slumped against a stone wall. His command was being destroyed by gnomes!

  Lornen would kill him. Slowly.

  The Marshall looked north once more and winced when he saw a volley of fire blossom from the northern treeline, arc swiftly through the sky, and drop to pepper the compound. The elves were attacking, too? Were they allied with the gnomes? Gow paled with the realization that they could not survive a coordinated attack on all flanks. Lornen would be enraged and ashamed but he was not here, was he? No. The King had rejected Gow’s pleas and remained hiding behind the comfort of Graniteside’s walls. Gow pondered a retreat straight to the river to dare the ice and frozen current.

  The flames upon the gun emplacement found the blackpowder. A series of gut-twisting explosions showered timber and stone in all directions, and rendered Gow insensible for many heartbeats. When he pulled himself to his feet, he was no longer thinking of how to save anyone. He needed to find the keys to the stockade. All he wanted to do was ensure that Hubbard suffered more than he would.

  ***

  One moment, Kirsten was standing transfixed gazing at the blazing mayhem outside the gatehouse and the next, she woke strugging to pull herself from a clutch of flaming rubble on the floor below. Her head was ringing but she could hear nothing else. Her pendant was warm and her sword’s gem was surging with light. Half of the roof and floor had collapsed into a twisted flaming mess. Shaking the swirling stars from her eyes, Kirsten made out the struggling form of Ballok, his leg pinioned under an immense beam, flames crawling down its length towards him. He was looking at her with sharpened contempt and moving his blood-stained lips. As the ringing faded, she began to hear his voice.

  “Don’t just lay there like a stunned fish, get that sword out of here and stop the drakes.”

  Kirsten pushed herself to her feet and squeezed into the area beside the beam. The sword’s light seemed to shield them both from the fire’s heat.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Ballok grimaced. His leg was utterly smashed by the beam. He was going nowhere like that.

  Kirsten nodded. “I heard you.” She reached around his arm to pull but he shrugged her away like a fly. ‘You are the worst sort of idiot,” he growled. “Just like your father to think of nothing beyond what’s right in front of you.”

  “I have to get you out of there,” Kirsten replied. “A rope might do it.”

  Ballok raised his eyes to a non-existant sky and cried out. “By the One, leave me to my death. My leg is gone. I am no use as a horse warden now. No use as a warden of any kind.”

  Kirsten stepped back. “I’ve never liked you.”

  “Good,” Ballok coughed. “That roof’s coming down any moment. Get the sword out of here. Longwood needs it.”

  “More than just Longwood needs the sword. And you’re not teaching me to give up that easily,” Kirsten continued. She drew Fahde from its sheath.

  Ballok’s eyes widened. “A swift stroke, is that it? You think that mercy is the warrior’s way? You’ll rob me of my appointed end?”

  Kirsten stepped carefully into the gap and positioned herself where his leg was pinned by the fiery beam. “Something like that,” she replied. And she swung with all of her might.

  ***

  Glandrew chortled with glee as he watched the gnomes attempt to manoeuvre their cannons around trees. The
sparkgems glowed with each gliding motion and sparkled each time an elven arrow whizzed past their heads. The arrows finally stopped as the gnomes reached sight of the ice clogged river’s flooded banks. The gnomes stopped, too, their feet already numb in the icy water, their spirits equally dampened.

  That morning, there had been a dozen cannon and wagons, and several score engineers and gunners to work them all. Now, only three guns remained, along with a paltry crew of a dozen, filthy and bloodied, surrounded two gaudily decorated but no less exhausted gnomes. They sat atop the sleds and quietly argued about where to go while the sparkgems burned through their remaining energy.

  Glandrew took another pull of bitters and waved his hand. “Go on an’ fetch ‘em now ‘fore the cannon sink.”

  The dwarves emerged from the trees and waded through the flooded shoreline. They enjoyed stripping avery article of worth from the prisoners and then binding them with rough rope. They whistled and sneered at the cannons, taking their time to point at firing mechanisms, breech blocks, and the fancy rifling grooves lining the barrels. Chains connected them to teams of goats bred for pulling. A few harsh words and the threat of being added to the teams to pull encouraged Tarbuckle to share the secret of activating the spark gems in their sleds. Instantly, the guns were much lighter.

  Glandrew waited for the prisoners to arrive on dry land before approaching. He drained the last of his bitters, tossed the bottle into the dirt, and brandished his hand axe in front of

  Tarbuckle’s face.

  “Yer deals with the lifebane nearly ended my kind,” he spat. “An yer thievin’ of our craft gave weapons to the humans who don’t know how to live in peace.”

  Tarbuckle wrinkled his nose. “And dwarves are such a model of peace. We should’ve learned from you.”

  Glandrew slapped the gnome across the face with the flat of his axe. “Our northern holdfasts kept your kin safe for ever. Then you had us butchered.”

  Several of the dwarves stepped forward to catch the gnome before he fell. The rest of the gnomes gasped in shock but did little else beyond shiver.

  Tarbuckle wiped blood from his broken nose and swelling eye, and willed himself to stand again. “Do you mean to murder us?”

  One of the dwarves holding Tarbuckle spoke up. “Thane Glandrew. Jarl Volsun has the right to pronounce final judgement.”

  “I didn’a ask fer yer opinion, Yoril,” Glandrew growled. “I’m all the judgement this one deserves right now.”

  “Father. Don’t.” The shorter dwarf took one hand from the prisoner and removed her helmet. Some of her hair spilled upon her shoulders.

  Glandrew blinked. “Whaa? Besra?” Then he erupted. “What in the twelve are ye doing here? Ye coulda been hurt. This is not yer place. Te fight, or te question me—of all people.”

  Besra Haggisdrop lowered her head but kept her eyes upon her father. “You called for the watch of the Lowgate to accompany you. My watch partner, Yoril, answered, and so did I.”

  Glandrew sheathed his axe and stomped about shaking his fists in the air. “All this time. Right under meh nose. An’ never a word?”

  “She’s a worthy warrior, Thane,” Yoril added. “Like her father.”

  Glandrew whirled to face them both. His face was purple with rage. “Yer outta line. It’s my right te put them in the ground for what they’ve done.” He seized the gnome by the shirt collar and shook him once like a toy. “An’ yer reckoning is here, gnome.”

  Yoril and Besra stood their ground.

  “Thane Glandrew,” Yoril said. “Everyone is watching. Through their eyes your example lives beyond you.”

  Glandrew’s colour softened and he released his grip. With a huff, he stepped back.

  Besra raised her voice. “Father, listen. You are already a hero in the eyes of your kin.”

  Glandrew looked at his daughter. She was taller than he remembered.

  “You’ve already swung hard,” she added. “Now stand true.”

  Glandrew realized that he was seeing his daughter for the first time. He shrugged and began to strut away. “Get those maggots to use the sparkgems so we don’t spend all day trying to move their cannons,” he bellowed over his shoulder.

  Yoril and Besra exchanged glances of surprise and relief. A few gnomes were untied and allowed to approach the cannons’ sleds. They looked to Tarbuckle and Kointrim for approval. Both gnomes gritted their teeth and nodded. Tarbuckle strained against the rope to hold out four fingers.

  The gnome gunners’s eyes widened but they nodded. They opened a panel at the back of each sled and rearranged the gems. Soon, the sleds were floating, and easily pushed around.

  “Sorcery,” Yoril disapproved.

  “Knowledge,” Tarbuckle responded smugly.

  ***

  Kirsten had just dragged Ballok’s cursing form from the wreckage of the gatehouse when she heard footsteps rushing towards her from the treeline. She stepped away from Ballok and drew her sword to face the next threat. When she saw Plax, she smiled in relief and waved him forward.

  Plax rushed up. “I was keeping my distance from the rest. I saw the gatehouse collapse and came right away—” He stopped abruptly when he saw Ballok. The sword had sliced

  through the leg above the knee and cauterized the wound. It was a grim sight.

  He looked at Kirsten, pale even through his illusion, and his voice was gravel. “Tell me how to help.”

  “Hiding from the fight, horsewarden?” Ballok challenged.

  Plax had no answer. He turned away.

  Kirsten bit her lip. “We’ll need something for him to lie on. We could bind him to a board, or a door. Can you get one for me?”

  Plax nodded, grateful for the chance to collect himself, and dashed through a hole in the wall into the remains of the town.

  Ballok pushed himself up to a sitting position and stared at his missing leg. “I should kill you for this,” he growled.

  “You’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Kirsten responded. “That was your plan for this raid, wasn’t it?”

  “Bah,” Ballok snorted. “You don’t deserve that sword. It’s the only reason you are alive.”

  “It’s the only reason you are alive,” Kirsten countered.

  Ballok’s face twisted with disgust and he paused to stare at the growing flames consuming the town. “You know why I detest you so much?” he finally said.

  “Because I’m an abomination,” Kirsten snipped.

  “No,” Ballok replied. “That’s Alvilas talking, and the sentimental cowards who follow him.”

  Kirsten turned to lock eyes with Ballok. “Then why? What’s your excuse?”

  Ballok’s grin was cruel. “Your mother was promised to me and your father raped her.”

  The words hit Kirsten like hammer blows. Kirsten staggered backwards. “Papa would never do that!”

  Ballok’s grin sharpened. “Are you sure about that?”

  Kirsten’s responses jammed in her throat. Her father was impulsive, careless, and resentful, but he was never violent. And, in the end, he had sacrificed himself—oh how she hoped that wasn’t fully true—for her. For Helba. For Mac and Balinor. No. He had loved her mother. She had loved him, too—hadn’t she?

  Ballok laughed as he watched Kirsten squirm. “Knocked her out with a sleepcharm, about the only spell the simpleton could learn, and raped her. That’s how you came into this world. No one, and I mean no one wanted you.”

  Kirsten faced Ballok once more. “No. I’d know if he was lying to me. I know when someone’s lying to me.”

  Ballok’s laugh turned caustic. “The reason I hate you is because your mother was promised to me. When she was infected by your father’s seed, we could no longer be mated.

  Your father cost me a child. And you remind me of that every day.”

  The pendant glowed warm. It was enough distraction for Kirsten to remember something more about Ballok’s past. Her eyes were fire when she spoke.

  “You lost more than one chi
ld, didn’t you? You left another on the steppes to die just because he wasn’t pretty enough or strong enough for you. Then you came looking for another here.”

  Ballok’s eyes widened and he tried vainly to reach his bow. “You know nothing,” he growled.

  “No?” Kirsten replied. “I see how your traditions match people who shouldn’t be together just to make the men happy.”

  “To have strong children, you fool,” Ballok cursed. “So we don’t fade.”

  Kirsten’s chuckle was dark and deep. “People aren’t livestock. Her name was Alandris and you didn’t own her. Papa told me how much he loved her. He wouldn’t have harmed a hair on her head. He also told me how someone tried to kill him and how he was forced from my mother’s side to save his own life.”