by Eli Steele
“Go, find the others. Tell them to make the preparations. We have the sword, and soon, it shall be no more. The long nightmare will end before this moon does...”
“As you wish,” he said. Turning, he made for the door. Rowan and the girls followed him out.
Back out in the filthy courtyard, Pisk looked up at Rowan and asked, “Yes?”
Rowan turned to the girls. “Did he try anything?”
“No,” said Kassina. “He was actually quite polite.”
“Hmph,” Pisk grunted, validated.
“I’m curious,” said Rowan, stepping forward. “Thatcher doesn’t seem the type to shirk power. Why does he want the sword destroyed? Why doesn’t he take it from me?”
Pisk nervously flitted his eyes about. “Master Frost has his demons, of which there are many, but he seeks the greater good... most of the time. Destroying the sword is prudent for us all...”
The squat man’s words eased Rowan’s mind somewhat.
“Besides,” Pisk continued, “he’s known the blade. But he’s an old man now, unable to fight like he once could. And he has... other desires now.”
“Other desires?”
“Death is coming for my master. There are days when he would welcome its embrace, but on others... just be careful m’lord. You have something he desires more than any sword...”
Rowan’s heart raced. He stepped forward again, looming tall over Pisk. “What does he want from me?”
“I-I’ve said too much. I should be off,” he stammered. “Sleep in my quarters next door.” Handing Rowan the key, he said, “Don’t go back to my master’s house until I return...”
“And when will that be?”
“Soon enough, m’lord,” he said, scampering off, “Soon enough!”
Chapter 18
Eldrick D’Eldar
Braewood Keep
Kingdom of Beyorn
“This could be the day,” Ezra said, peering over the gatehouse battlement.
“There’s a lot of activity,” Eldrick replied. “They’re up to something. What’s our count?”
“Thirty five able men.”
Eldrick sighed, “That’s not enough…”
“Burke should-“
“Your man’s not here. And until he is, we can’t count on him. How do you place the three dozen we do have?”
Ezra chewed his lip, considering the thought before replying. “First, what are we not facing?”
Without flinching, Eldrick said, “Siege towers.”
“Right, they can’t navigate the wood. They’d have to bring them through in sections and assemble them on the field, and that’s just too much exposure.”
Eldrick nodded. “They’d be fodder for the archers.”
“…And no ballistae.”
“The Brae’s walls would laugh.”
“So, we agree on mangonels?”
“They’ll sandbag and tuck them into the trees. Arrows won’t stop them.”
“We have two ballistae of our own on the corner towers…”
“They’ll have to do. Their positions are strategic, though. Even an entrenched mangonel won’t be safe.”
“They’ll have covered rams, too.”
“Those we can manage well enough.”
Another treefall shook the pass.
“What about that?” Ezra asked.
“It’s anyone’s guess the witchery that abounds in that grove right now.”
“So… to your question. Three men on each ballista, and six boilers… That leaves…”
“Two dozen with bows and swords to fight back the ladders.”
Ezra sighed. “That’s not enough…”
“Let’s pray your man shows.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“We hold it as long as we can, and if we must, we abandon the Brae and head south.”
“Shit…” Ezra replied, “Then Meronia’ll have a Hell’s Gate of their own, and we’ll have the gallows…”
“Then we’d better hold the keep, and if we don’t, we’d better leave the kingdom…”
Ezra laughed nervously. “Think they’d have us in the Kal’Deas?”
Eldrick ignored the question.
Together, they watched a bustle of movement just beyond the forest’s edge. Ezra leaned in and gazed through the looking glass. Panning the Braewood, he called out his observations. “There’s a lot of movement along the road, but it’s too dark under the canopy to see what of; probably positioning supplies and equipment. There’s a cart of stones, each maybe half as heavy as a man, maybe less. And a mangonel, just as we said, nestled between two trees just west of the trail. Several campfires are set back in the wood; I see their silhouettes as they pass…”
The spy leaned against the battlement, pressing the entirety of his weight into the stones, trying to push them over the edge. Ezra’s words faded into the chill wind. They were a waste of breath, nervous energy that needed expending. Eldrick had it too, of course, but masked it better. In his trade – the trade of secrets, and lies, and veiled intentions – control of one’s emotions was paramount. Still, this was a different tension. Like the sinewy springs in the ballistae on the towers, the anticipation had them taut, but the release never came. Until suddenly, in a single moment, it would.
“...stacking the ladders to the east, between two-”
“Ezra,” he interrupted, “you should apprise Lord Alexander of the activity, and of our thoughts.”
“Indeed,” he replied. Leaning back, he arched his back until it popped.
“And the men, if the lord wills it, it’s time for them to join us on the wall.”
Ezra nodded. Turning, he aimed for the stairs.
“How’s your arm?” Eldrick asked.
Looking back, Ezra replied, “I can draw a bow and swing a sword. I’ll earn my wage.”
Eldrick forced a smile. Ezra disappeared into the gatehouse below.
Looking over, Eldrick studied the watchmen a short distance away. Furrowed brows and hushed voices, their unease was apparent. They’d been eavesdropping for the better part of his conversation with Ezra, though he didn’t care. There was no room for secrets in the company of lost causes.
Narrowing his eyes, Eldrick raised his chin and allowed a brutish grin to steal across his face. “Are you bastards ready to sow this field with blood?”
His smile was contagious. He watched their demeanor change, as if a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment.
“Until there’s no green left, sir.”
Forcing a chuckle, he winked at the pair before turning to walk the wall, working through the restlessness in his legs. “I pray it’s not our own,” he whispered to himself.
A single blast of the trumpet resounded through the keep. “Shit!” Eldrick yowled, nearly jumping over the battlement. Breathless, his heart raced. They’ve got to find another way to announce shit around here…
Through the south gate rode thirty men, including Burke. Eldrick smiled. It may still be a lost cause, but at least we’ll have a few more souls to commiserate with…
* * * * *
Gray skies crowded out the midday sun. The harsh north wind stung Eldrick’s ears. It had been in their face all day, and would hinder their missiles.
Oh, that one thing was for us...
The warm plains and sandy dunes and salt air of Kal’Dea seemed a lifetime away from him in that moment. Though he was fiercely Beyornian, sealed with blood, proven through sweat and death and commitment, the prospect of his own mortality often brought with it a longing for his true home.
Kal’Dea Kal’Dea, the song is sung, your shores go on forever;
If I was born, in gray Beyorn, then twice I’d die for measure.
And if I find, myself one day, swords crossed with a poor Meron;
I’ll end him quick, and save his soul, from lands so bleak and barren.
But should I stand, one forlorn day, against a foe unwinning;
I’ll dare not mourn, but ra
ise my sword, and charge their ranks still grinning...
Eldrick snorted to himself. He hadn’t thought of that song in ages.
But I shan’t be charging any ranks today…
Shoulder to shoulder with Lord Baron, Eldrick and Ezra walked the wall, boots clicking against the stone. The activity just beyond the field had reached a frenzied pace. Soon, a legion of men more than fifteen times their own number would flood the field. But not before an Alexander spoke. It was as if he’d willed it, and so it would be.
Baron eyed each man. He owed them that, Eldrick reasoned. Reaching the end of the wall, they turned and made their way to the gatehouse, the center of the line. From there, over the wind’s howls and the crackling of the pot fires, he spoke with a voice that carried to the last man.
“Sixty-six we are. Sixty-six of Ashmor, and Perk, and the Brea, and the farms and fields in between. We’re not sellswords or conscripts from some far reach of the kingdom. We’re soldiers, and freemen, and serfs. We’re different, but we’re the same. We’re the same in that this is our land, and these are our walls, and this is our fight…
Just beyond those trees, those ancient braewoods, is a force greater than we, and a greater one behind it still. But numbers alone do not claim the victory.
Recall the Cairn Thirty. For three days, they held that rock. They drank rain from the sky, and pissed in their boots mid battle, and swung steel ‘til their arms were purple. But they held the Cairn. And among them was the first Eleksandr, and your forebears, too.
Or the Siege of Stormspear and the dozen men that was its undoing. Twelve men took a stronghold that couldn’t be bested by ten thousand! Do not doubt what a few men can accomplish. Do not doubt this line. Hold this line.”
“Hold this line!” Ezra growled.
“Hold this line!” the men replied in a shout.
“Hold this line!” Ezra roared again, joined by Baron and Eldrick.
“Hold this line!” the chant came back. Again they shouted. And then again.
Ezra peeled off from Lord Alexander, working the men into a frenzy to the west. Eldrick did the same to the east. The roar from atop the wall rolled across the field and deep into the Braewood. Hot breath steamed from their mouths, before swirling into the wind and disappearing overhead.
Adrenaline flooded Eldrick’s body. His mouth soured and parched. Withdrawing his skin, he wet his throat with wine.
It won’t be long yet. They won’t refuse the challenge…
A chant rose up in response from the wood, low, and rhythmic, and building in cadence. There were no words, only the grunts of the men. Drumbeats followed, falling into the tempo of war. From out of the darkened forest, a shield wall lurched forward with the beat, three high and nearly the width of the field. Behind them marched two rows of archers. As they did, the Meronian chant rose to a clamor, drowning out the men of the Brae.
“Wait for it!” Eldrick shouted to the men on the east half of the line.
The Meronian archers stretched their bow strings tight. The roar from their side was unending, echoing across the field and back on itself, building to a crescendo.
“Wait for it!”
With the arrows released, a deafening concussion of roars and howls and shouts erupted. A north wind whistled through the pass, catching the missiles and carrying them forward.
“Down!” Eldrick shouted.
Crouching low, the men obeyed. Arrows rained down from the sky, skittering off the wall’s face, and bouncing off the top, and overshooting it into the courtyard below.
Again the archers nocked their arrows and let them fly. The shield wall advanced several steps, and the archers with it. From out of the forest, the mangonels emerged. Siege ladders streamed out from the forest trail, shields held overhead and to the sides. Sprinting across the field, they made for the Brae.
“Now!” Baron roared.
“Archers,” Eldrick shouted, “the ladders!” Pivoting, he motioned to the northeast tower and the three men atop it. “Ballista! The mangonels!”
The bows of the Brae stood and took aim at the shielded ladders. Arrows and bolts split the cold winter air at angles that steepened with every advancing step. Fletched shafts littered the shields like the spiny back of a quilled rock badger. Eldrick watched as the occasional arrow found a gap in the shields. Missile met flesh. A wail filled the air, and the ladder faltered, but did not fall. Another man stepped in, and a shield went up, and the team pressed forward, spitting a dying soldier out behind them.
At the forest’s edge, mules pulled loaded wagons along the line between archer and mangonel. Men on the ground dropped heavy burlap sacks in front of the wheeled catapults and heaved them into position.
Atop the keep’s corner towers, the ballistae pivoted into position, searching the line for their prey. The heavy timber machine was cranked and ready. Eldrick watched as the men settled on their target. With a loud crack the missile rushed forward, whistling through the air. Rather than overshooting the shield wall and risk sailing past the catapult, the men on the tower aimed for the barrier itself. The massive bolt struck with the force of a charging bull. Shields caved in and men splayed out. The cries of a dozen soldiers filled the air. To the west, the same scene played out again. Men shied away as the sandbags were stacked into place.
Armed and readied, the mangonels launched their retort. Stones as half as heavy as a man were heaved over the battlefield.
Eldrick watched as the distant pebbles swelled into boulders as they careened towards them, wobbling in the air. “Get your asses down!” he shouted, diving behind a battlement himself. The limestone hunks shattered against the face of the wall and ricocheted into the field. Leaning out through a crenel, Eldrick saw a hairline fracture start to form at the point of impact.
“The mangonels!” he shouted to the ballista crew. “Focus on them!”
The first of the ladders slapped against the wall. Shields overhead, swordsmen sprinted up the rungs. As they did, a hail of arrows from the forest’s edge rained down on them. The volley pierced Meronian and Beyornian alike. Bodies plummeted from both sides of the wall.
Stepping forward, Eldrick helped an archer heave a heavy ladder from against the battlement. It balanced precariously for a moment, the men on it wobbling, before tumbling backwards and smashing into the hard earth below, but not before flinging the men up top through the air. In the distance, Eldrick saw the first of the battering rams emerge from the darkened grove.
Overhead, he watched a wake of vultures take notice. Circling high above, they flew without flapping and waited for the battle to cease.
You’re here too early. We’re a long way from finished...
Looking over, Eldrick saw the middle of Ezra’s line falter. Swordsmen spilled over a pair of ladders and onto the wall.
Shit, it’s too soon for this!
“You!” he yelled to a trio of oarsmen. “With me! Come on!” Turning, he raced across the wall.
Arrows clattered around them. One pierced the shoulder of a nearby archer. Cursing, he slid down below the battlement and contorted his face.
“Break it off, push it through, and get your ass back up!” Eldrick barked over the clamor, before motioning to a nearby man. “And you, help him!”
Thick smoke filled his nose. The gatehouse fires roared. Flames licked iron pots filled with oil and sand. A pair of armsmen ran a rod through the handle of a sand-filled kettle, before dumping it over a ladder. Scorched grains covered the climbers, sifting through their armor and melting into their skin. Screaming, they plummeted from their perches.
All around him, men spat and screamed and barked orders. Horns blew down below. Still the drums beat ominously. A distant treefall resounded through the pass again.
Stepping in a pool of blood, Eldrick’s foot slipped out from under him. Stumbling, he went to one knee before being caught under his shoulder by one of the oarsmen. Breathless, he mouthed, “Thanks...”
A boulder from a mangonel slammed i
nto a parapet, shattering it and sending an explosion of sharp stone shards outwards. Eldrick shielded his face from the shrapnel as it sliced his coat.
Again, arrows rained down. Raising his shield, he felt the plunk-plunk of an archer’s wrath. Startled, he recoiled. Eldrick raked his sword across the front of his shield, snapping the shafts at the base.
On the west end a line formed. A half dozen Meronians had cleared the battlement and were pushing back against Ezra and several armsmen. Leaning around the line, the oarsman launched their crossbows before dropping them and drawing their swords and shields.
At point-blank range, the bolts sunk deep in the chests of the raiders. Grasping at the shafts, they gasped for air.
Palming his dagger, Eldrick overhanded it at a fourth man. He deflected it with his shield, but it offered Ezra the opportunity he needed. Swinging low, he split open the man’s kneecap and sent him tumbling face first into the stone floor.
“Form a shield wall!” Ezra shouted.
Together with Eldrick, and the armsmen, and the oarsmen, they slammed into the raiders. Groaning, the two sides pushed against each other, plunging their swords between the shields, searching for soft flesh, and struggling for every inch.
The force of Ezra and the shield-bearers was too much. Slowly, the raiders stumbled backwards, before teetering over the battlement’s edge. Screams chased after them. As Ezra’s armsmen repelled the ladder, and the men that were still on it, a great crash rang out behind them. Panicked shouts answered the sound.
Eldrick leaned through a crenel to see a covered ram batter the gate again. “Can you hold the line?” he asked Ezra.
“We can, go!”
Turning, he raced to the gatehouse with the three oarsmen. “Names?” he managed between labored breaths.
“Bran, and Jarin, and Rulf,” Bran said, motioning between them.
“I’m-“
“Eldrick,” Bran said, “we know.”
“Right,” he replied, “Let’s end this ram then, Bran.”
Again the heavy log rattled the gate on its hinges. A crew of boilers tossed pots of oil onto the ram’s roof of skin stretched over timber. Men sizzled and screamed, but the ram continued to pound the gate. Baron and a pair of archers sniped at the ramsmen from the side.