“There is always Vera,” I said. “And I never thought I would return here at all. No one knows what fortune may bring.”
“Nor whether it will be kind or cruel.” At last she met my eyes and smiled, but I could see that it was mostly for show. She reached out and gripped my shoulder. “Go and fetch yourself some arrows. Be ready for the call to retreat—if they take the walls, we will fall back to the keep. Above all, look after yourself. I do not know if we can survive this battle. But if we can, I expect you to emerge on the other side of it.”
“I can only promise that I will try,” I told her. “But then, I have been trying to stay alive for a good long while now, and I have managed it so far.”
“Then take this as an order from your Rangatira: stay alive tonight.”
“Only if you do the same.” I bowed, and then I stepped forwards to place my forehead against hers, the act of greeting and farewell between family.
We parted, me to fetch my arrows, and her to see to the last arrangements of defense. Soldiers gathered atop the eastern gate and all along its wall, with only a token force left to the western defenses. Shades or no, we did not suspect the trolls would suddenly show a gift for strategy. They had not done so in any of the towns they had attacked. They would throw themselves at the first thing they saw—the eastern wall—and break it.
And why not? We cannot stop them. We cannot even hold them back for all that long.
I stamped that thought down at once. One thing I knew, at least, from my many years as a sellsword: things only become hopeless when you decide to abandon hope.
The trolls approached the stronghold out of the darkness, silhouetted by the fires in the city. They gathered well within arrow range, but we loosed no shots. Arrows would be pointless against their stony hides—pointless until they approached close enough to strike with oil, and then flaming arrows.
Every soldier on the wall remained stock still, gazing out at our gathering foe. I cannot speak for the rest of them, but my heart was filled with fear. Trolls had been a story of terror for me since I was a child. They had killed many of the people I had once called mine. And before the night was over, I was sure they would kill many more.
Nearly a hundred archers lined the wall. Besides the bows in their hands, they had stores of oil flasks ready to throw. We expected the gatehouse to be the focus of the trolls’ assault. There were two gates, both made of wood reinforced with a grid of thick steel bands. We would defend the outer gate as long as we could, but that would not last long. Once the trolls broke through into the gatehouse, there were great cauldrons of oil ready to pour atop them through murder holes. The second gate would be sturdier, for there were three dozens of soldiers in the bailey ready to bolster it. They were each equipped with bracers, long iron poles like spears, but with flat metal plates at the end instead of pointed spearheads. They would hold the plates against the gate and step on the other end, like infantry preparing for a cavalry charge.
As I looked upon the massive limbs of the trolls arranging themselves before us, I wondered how long the second gate would last.
Ditra joined me above the gatehouse as the trolls looked to be finishing their preparations. Her expression was grim as she surveyed them.
“There is the leader.” She pointed to a large troll at the head of the pack. He was not quite so large as I had feared, but he was clearly in charge. The other trolls moved around him, keeping an eye on him if they were close, as though ready to move out of his way, or to follow him if he began the advance. As I watched, he slammed his fists into the ground and gave a loud, barking command.
But then my eyes were drawn to the troll just beside him. I did not know trolls very well, but I thought this one was female. And she did not treat the leader like the others did. She barely seemed to notice him. Instead, her gaze was fixed unswervingly upon the wall, and upon the keep behind it. It seemed strange behavior, and it stuck out in my mind.
My thoughts were pulled back to the present as the trolls charged. Roaring with fury, they crossed the open ground with great, bounding leaps. I could feel the thunder of their coming reverberate through the stone wall beneath my feet. My fingers tightened on my bow, and I fingered the oil flask in my right hand.
“Ready!” Ditra’s sergeants echoed her cry along the wall. The troops held their flasks aloft.
The trolls drew close. Now we could see the rage in their eyes. They drew within thirty paces of the wall. Then twenty. I wagered I could throw that far, but no command came. I glanced at Ditra from the corner of my eye. She held steady. The trolls drew within ten paces.
“Throw!”
A hundred flasks of oil arced through the air. Their glass glittered in the light of our braziers.
“Loose!”
I had nocked the second I let go of the flask, and now I fired my flaming arrow straight at it. It shattered, flinging its flaming contents into the face of an unlucky troll right next to the leader. The troll stumbled and fell, screaming. His fellows ran straight over him, pressing him deeper and deeper into the snowy mud. It did not seem to harm him, but only to stifle the flames.
Fire had ripped into the troll’s front line. Dozens of them reeled away from the wall. They screamed in pain and tried to batter the blazes that roasted them. But more trolls pushed forwards, slamming into the wall. Fists as large as my torso slammed into the stone. The wall shook, but it held.
Some trolls scrambled up the backs and shoulders of their companions, leaping for the ramparts. Soldiers dropped their bows and hacked at the trolls’ hands with steel. Ditra gave a great cry and raised her axe as a stubby hand appeared in front of her. The weapon was called Uira, and it was an heirloom of our house. It flashed with runic light as she brought it down, cleaving straight through the troll’s forefinger. The creature fell back to the ground with a roar.
They had massed below us at the front gate. Their leader was off to the side, fighting to push through his pack and reach the gate. I threw a flask at him, but he saw it and batted it aside, where it shattered over the face of another troll. Flaming arrows streaked through the darkness, and fresh bursts of fire exploded over the trolls’ heads and shoulders. They surged back. For a moment I thought they might turn and run. But their leader gave a great roar and pressed forwards, slamming his fists into the gate. The others gained new heart, and they crashed into it with all their fury.
It shattered with the sound of splintering wood and rending metal. The trolls poured into the gatehouse and straight into the second gate. It rocked on its hinges, but the soldiers in the bailey held. More trolls crowded into the space, though only a dozen could fit. The leader held his ground rather than enter the gatehouse.
Ditra turned to her soldiers atop the barbican. “Oil!” she roared.
The soldiers seized their cauldrons and heaved. The iron turned on great wooden wheels. I ran forwards to lend a hand, seizing the bottom of a vat and lifting with all my might. Soldiers thrust torches into the oil as it came pouring out, and a wave of blistering heat washed across my face.
Flaming oil poured down over the trolls like the spewing of a volcano. I saw one of them look up just as it came pouring down. Oil flooded her face, pouring down her throat. She fell to the ground, clawing at herself. It lasted only a moment before she stilled forever.
The oil coated everyone else who had entered the gatehouse, killing most in seconds. The others fled back into the open air, slamming into the rest of the pack, smearing them with flames. The trolls’ lines shuddered and began to draw back. I saw the first few begin to turn and run, and then it was like a bursting dam. As one they pounded away from the wall, separating themselves to avoid spreading the fire any more. Some did not make it back, the oil and flames claiming them before they could make it more than a few paces away from the wall. The trolls ran out to beyond throwing range again, lurking on the edge of darkness, pacing back and forth and licking their wounds.
Ditra was only a few paces away. Both of us were cover
ed in sweat, leaning heavily against the wall. Her helm had come off sometime during the battle. I saw it two paces away and went to fetch it for her.
“Thank you,” she gasped as I placed it in her hand.
Mag approached. She strode between the soldiers who had collapsed in exhaustion against the wall, and she looked for all the world as if she were taking a stroll through the woods. She raised two skins in her hands.
“I have brought water.”
Ditra and I each took a skin from her and drank greedily. It was not quite cold, but it was a good deal cooler than the heat atop the wall, drifting up from the pools of burning oil and the flaming corpses of trolls below the wall.
“How did the gatehouse fare?” said Mag.
“Better than it could have,” I said.
Ditra’s mouth gave a grim twist as she pulled the helm on. “We do not have enough oil to refill the cauldrons. We will have only flasks and arrows when they return. How did the fighting go farther along the wall?”
Mag frowned slightly. “We lost some soldiers. The trolls flung rocks at them from below. I feel useless up here. All I could do was stab their fingers when they tried to climb up, like a wasp attacking a bear.”
“Enough wasps can ruin a bear’s day,” I said.
She pointed out into the darkness. “That only works if there are many wasps and just one bear. This is quite the reverse.”
“Yet even one sting can hurt. Mayhap they will give up and flee home.”
Ditra arched an eyebrow. “That is a poor joke, brother.”
I shrugged. “What other kind is there, on a night like tonight?”
Kaita, still in the form of Gatak, stalked up to Dotag. His right arm was curled up to his chest, and he probed gently at a nasty burn he had received in the fight around the gatehouse. As she approached, Dotag looked up, and Kaita was troubled by his resentful look.
“We have rested long enough,” she said. “We must attack again, before they have time to regroup.”
“Many died,” said Dotag. “We are not ready.”
“They cannot stop us,” said Kaita. “Some died, but we have many more.”
“The gate,” said Dotag. “They burned us. None will go back in there again.”
“That was most of the oil they had,” said Kaita. “They will not be able to pour such fire down upon you again.”
“How do you know that?” said Apok, whom Kaita had not noticed standing close by. Burns covered most of her chest, but her eyes were sharp, and she looked upon Kaita with suspicion.
“What?” snarled Kaita.
“How do you know of the humans’ oil, Gatak?”
“The Lord has told me,” said Kaita. “He knows many secrets. He has much power. He knows we will win.”
“I think your Lord is a meddling human,” rumbled Apok. “A human who wishes to control us.”
Kaita took a lunging step forwards and smashed her fists into the dirt. “You dare to speak ill of him?”
“Gatak!”
She froze at Dotag’s voice. He was scowling when she turned back to him. Immediately Kaita dropped her ears and stooped, making sure she stood almost a pace shorter than he.
“You may trust my words, Dotag,” she said soothingly. “The Lord assures our victory.”
Dotag gave a snuff. He looked uncertainly up at the stronghold wall, and then looked past Kaita to Apok.
“Why do you look at her?” said Kaita. “She would have us all turn and flee from this place. She would not have us take these mountains for our own. Does she lead the pack, or do you?”
“He does,” growled Apok. “Not me. Not you.”
But this was too much for Dotag. He pounded a fist on the ground. “I lead. We attack again.” He glared past Kaita to Apok. “I will attack the gate myself. And you will come with me.”
Apok’s nostrils flared, but she ducked her head and turned away. Dotag grunted and turned to Kaita. He spoke in a lower voice, so low that only she could hear.
“You said the other humans would help us. Where were they?”
Kaita ducked her head. “They could not reveal themselves. We had to break the outer gate. Now that that is done, they will lend their strength to ours. You will take the wall, and then kill everyone inside.”
Dotag’s eyes narrowed. “You did not say that before.”
Kaita suppressed a momentary surge of anger, that a troll would think himself worthy of questioning her counsel. But of course she could not say that. “I told you they would help us take the inner gate. That is what they will do.”
He stared at her a long moment. Kaita met his gaze, unflinching. At last Dotag snorted and turned away.
“Tell the others. We attack. Now.”
It felt as though we had had barely a moment’s respite before the trolls charged again. New soldiers had taken the place of those who fell on the wall, but everyone looked weary enough to fall over. I felt the same.
We rained oil and fire down upon the trolls as soon as they came in range. But they were better prepared this time, and they leaped aside or batted at the vials. Still we scored many hits, and their rending screams cut the air.
Once again they swarmed the gatehouse. This time Mag had joined us atop it. She flung a perfectly timed vial of oil, and I lit it, and our unlucky victim’s wild flailing stalled the charge of many behind him. Even so, half a dozen trolls burst into the gatehouse. We ran to the murder holes, throwing flasks and firing flame at them as best we could. Their roars of pain shook the wall, but without the overwhelming torrent of oil we had had last time, they only seemed spurred to greater fury. They flung themselves at the second gate like mad beasts. Dents appeared in the solid steel banding.
One of the trolls at the back of the group could not reach the gate. She looked up through the murder holes with eyes full of hate. Then a soldier leaned too far over. The troll vaulted upwards. Her hand reached through the opening to seize the guard’s head and drag him down into the darkness. His body cracked and popped sickeningly as it was forced through the narrow gap, but his screams were swiftly cut off as the troll battered him against the ground below.
“Stay back!” commanded Ditra. She ran to the back of the barbican, looking down upon the soldiers in the bailey who were still bracing the second gate. “Hold! Hold them! They cannot—”
I heard a whistling on the air. The sound of many arrows. On instinct, I shouted, “Down!” and dived to tackle Ditra to the floor.
But the arrows had not been aimed at us. They fell upon the soldiers in the bailey. I looked up in confusion, and then I heard shouting from the west wall. Peering through the gloom, by the light of torches I saw soldiers in blue and grey swarming along the ramparts there. They had swords on their belts and shields on their backs, but in their hands were bows. Even now they were preparing another volley to loose upon the soldiers in the courtyard. Behind them, I could just glimpse bits of shining metal—grappling hooks, and the tops of siege ladders.
“They have flanked us!” I cried. “Shades from the west!”
Ditra looked down. Corpses littered the stone. Barely a dozen soldiers still braced the second gate, and they were wavering.
She cried out to the soldiers around us. “The walls have been taken, and the gate will follow! Back! Back to the keep!”
They took up the cry all up and down the wall, and the soldiers turned in a rout. I stayed by Ditra’s side, wishing she would move faster. But she pushed everyone else ahead of her, determined to be the last to leave the wall. We ran down the southeast battlements and turned down the stretch that would lead us to the keep door. Every living soldier in the bailey had fled, and now the second gate was crumpling under the trolls’ onslaught. Even as I watched, it shattered. In three pieces it fell, skittering away on stone that was slick with melted snow, now tinged red with blood.
“Albern!”
Mag’s toneless cry brought my attention back to the wall. I heard a coarse rasping, like two stones grinding against eac
h other. The hand of a troll had appeared over the top of the ramparts. They had circled around to the south, and one was climbing up now. A huge, stony head appeared before us.
We attacked it at the same time, but Mag got there first. Her spear plunged into its eye socket, and I saw the jolt in Mag’s arm as she struck the skull. As the troll screamed, I hacked at its hand with my sword. Still it did not let go—not until Ditra brought her axe down, and its enchantments hewed the troll’s hand in half. The creature roared as it fell away into darkness.
“Thank you,” I said, gripping Ditra’s shoulder.
“You would have done it yourself, if you held the axe,” said Ditra. “But you are welcome.”
“I had some hand in it as well,” grumbled Mag. But her words were lost in the din as we passed through the door and into the keep. The door was iron, and inside it had great iron bolts, thick as my arm, which we slid into place. Not even a troll would be able to break them down, and they were unlikely to try, since they could not fit inside.
We made our way quickly to the main entry hall. Some wise soul had gathered as many bracers as they could from the bailey, and now a dozen Telfer guards stood at the great main doors, bracing them against entry. But I heard no sounds of assault from outside.
Ditra caught sight of Captain Huia. “Have they moved towards the keep yet?”
Huia drew up straight, though she looked ready to fall over both from weariness and the nasty cut below her temple, slicing through her close-shaved hair and soaking her short braid with blood. “No, Rangatira. We are mustering every soldier we have left into this room.”
“Post two at each wall door,” said Ditra. “The trolls cannot break them, but the Shades may have some trickery left. And see to your wound.” She turned to Mag and me. “With me.”
We followed her to a circular side stairway that led to the keep’s upper floors. She passed them one after the other until we finally emerged onto the roof of the keep, more than fifteen paces above the floor of the bailey—too high for the trolls to throw stones at us. We went to the battlements and looked down.
The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Page 55