by Pedro Urvi
As he stepped over the dying warrior, he looked into his still-blinking eye and said:
“You shall not pass.”
The two Royal Swords dispatched their opponents with ease and walked on with the Prince. Now they had to stop the broken dam which was letting through the enemy tide.
Above the Queen’s Gate, in the center of the fierce battle, under the screams and howls of the Thunder Army, Lomar did not take his eyes off the gigantic siege towers and the covered battering rams. Those infernal machines were advancing and would soon be in position. Beside Lomar were a hundred archers, the best in the fortress, and a fire with a huge boiling cauldron held in a reinforced swinging framework of metal. The soldiers were fighting fiercely, cutting off any enemy who came for the cauldron. Lomar’s archers dealt death among the climbers, arrow after arrow.
There were countless victims on both sides by now. Lomar, in the midst of that chaos of blood, cries and death, could see that Count Helmar was in serious trouble. He was trying to defend the eastern part of the wall, but despite his efforts, it was falling into enemy hands. If it fell, they would be lost. The tide would overwhelm the wall through it and the enemy would be inside the fortress. Lomar went up to two of his archers and said:
“We aren’t going to let those filthy Norghanians take the eastern wall, are we?”
“Over my dead body, sir!” one of the soldiers said.
“In that case, follow me! Charge!”
Lomar picked up a tear-shaped Rogdonian shield, then with a dozen brave soldiers charged against the enemy, who had almost completely taken over that section of the wall.
They fought frantically against their brutal adversaries. Lomar hacked and stabbed everywhere, protected by the shield from enemy axes and swords. They managed to advance, clearing a good part of the section through valor and pure rage, but Lomar had to stop when he realized to his chagrin that he only had four men left. He turned his head for a moment and saw to his relief that reinforcements were arriving on the parapets. The stairs were clear. Suddenly a brutal axe-stroke on his shield threw him on the ground. A Norghanian stood over him, ugly as a toad
“Well, well, well, look what we’ve got here, a Lancer! Today’s my lucky day. I thought I wouldn’t get as far as killing ten, and what do you know, the tenth is a Lancer without a horse. Today the Ice Gods are smiling on this Soldier of the Thunder.”
He raised his axe to finish Lomar off.
One of Lomar’s brothers in arms tried to help him with a stroke to his enemy’s stomach. The Norghanian saw it coming and thrust it aside, then delivered a mighty kick which hurled the poor soldier off the wall. His desperate scream echoed as he fell.
Lomar watched from the ground as another comrade fell wounded, struck by a short axe thrown with brutal strength.
He crawled backwards and saw the last of his group facing another adversary. The brave man tumbled off the wall, caught by a powerful sweep of the enormous enemy’s shield.
Lomar managed to get back on his feet.
The three Norghanians looked at him and burst out laughing uproariously.
“These Rogdonians are as light as a leaf in the breeze,” said the one on the right.
“The Lancer is mine,” said the ugly one in the center.
Lomar felt fear for the first time in his life. The fear of someone who knows he is not going to survive. A paralyzing fear. Until that moment he had always known how to get out of situations; he had never doubted he would win and defeat his enemy. But now he felt lost, he could never fight those three at the same time, it was impossible. He thought about turning and running away from them, but they would surely catch him in the back with a short axe. With a knot in his stomach, trying as best he could to control the terror he felt in this impossible situation, he raised his shield and cried:
“Come and get me, you Norghanian swine!”
The impact of the axe on his shield was so brutal that Lomar had to take a couple of steps back. The three men moved forward, and the one in the middle attacked again. This time Lomar saw it coming and deflected the axe-blow with his shield. Then he thrust with his sword and caught the brute in the armpit. The wound was deadly, there was no way he could stop himself bleeding to death. But the Norghanian, without even flinching, attacked once again, delivering blows right and left with his war axe. Lomar protected himself as best he could with his battered shield.
At last the warrior’s energy was spent. He raised his axe for a final time, breathless. Lomar covered himself. But the Norghanian missed his step and fell sideways into the courtyard of the fortress.
“Pity,” said the warrior on the right. “He owed me money, that son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, pity,” said the other. “I kinda liked old toad-face. A good fighter, but a terrible singer when he’d had too much to drink.”
Lomar dropped his broken shield and picked up a dagger from the ground. His arm and his whole left side were numb from the devastating blows, but the pain did not matter, his hour had come.
A voice sounded at his back.
“Although I believe Lomar could very well deal with two skunks of the snow as evil-smelling as you two, I think I’ll help him, just for fun,” said Count Longor, coming to stand beside the Royal Lancer.
Lomar looked at him and smiled. A feeling of joy and hope flooded him. Perhaps he would not die after all. Courage and strength returned to his spirit as if he had been reborn from his own ashes.
“The Thunder Army has taken this section of the wall,” said one of the soldiers. “Run and tell that weakling of a prince of yours.”
“In fact he’s the one who’s sent me to clear it.”
“In that case, we’ll gladly send you to the White Demons of Mahuro.”
Before the Norghanian could even blink, Count Longor stepped forward, stood up very straight, stretched out his long arm and the tip of the beautiful jeweled sword he wielded buried itself in the Nordic warrior’s neck. The fluid movement was so extraordinarily swift that Lomar almost missed it.
The other Norghanian reacted, launching a stroke which the Count deflected with sublime ease. In the same movement he delivered a backhand stroke which cleared the soldier’s shield by a finger and slit the man’s throat.
Both men fell dead in the blink of an eye.
“I see that your fame with the sword is well earned, Count.”
“It’s one of the advantages of being rich and well-born,” he said, smiling. “It leaves you plenty of time for hobbies. Mine happens to be the sword.”
A dozen reinforcements joined them, while other units reclaimed and secured that section of the wall.
They made their way on, opening up gaps between the enemy on the battlements. The Count was unstoppable; he fought the brutality and physical strength of the Norghanians with infallible grace and skill. Lomar had found a lance in the body of a soldier. He had grabbed it in a fury, and with it and the shield he began to bring death to those brutes from the snowy mountains. By the time they had cleared the battlement completely, only he and the Count were left standing. Lomar turned and saw the reinforcements arriving at a run, cutting ropes and pushing down ladders.
They had managed to reclaim the eastern section of the wall.
Lomar was so happy at still being alive that he wanted to shout. For a dreadful moment he had felt totally lost. But he was still alive, and one way or another he would get out of that fortress and ride again. That was what he really loved, riding over fields and valleys. Yes, he would live!
This was not the case with Count Helmar.
Longor knelt beside his dying friend.
“I’m sorry, old friend, I was too late…”
“Don’t… don’t worry… I don’t feel pain anymore.”
Helmar had a battle axe driven into his chest.
“You fought well, with honor, like a nobleman of Rogdon.”
“Thank you… my friend. Did my… section fall?”
“Indeed not. The section is yours
.”
“My men… they fought well… for Rogdon!”
Helmar sighed, and his last breath left his body.
Longor closed his friend’s eyes and said a prayer to the Light.
Then he turned to Lomar, who had joined him in the silent homage, and said:
“The Prince is clearing away the western section. I’ll take charge of this one. Go back to your post, Lomar, the battering rams are at the gate.”
The Lancer looked over the battlements toward the Great Gate and saw with a faint heart that the first battering ram was about to reach it. He looked up ahead. A giant siege tower was approaching the wall, slowly, right where they were standing.
“I’ll deal with the tower, don’t worry, Lomar!” Longor said.
“I’m going back to my post, then. The gate must not fall!” Lomar said urgently.
Count Longor offered him his hand. Lomar shook it, wished him luck and ran toward the center of the wall.
As he ran he was able to observe the fierce fighting between the brave defenders and the Norghanian Thunder Army, which continued climbing the walls without pause, as if they knew this to be a victory guaranteed by the Ice Gods. When he reached the great gate, the defenders made way so that he could reach the great cauldron. Lomar walked to the edge of the battlement and looked down: a huge battering ram covered by a reinforced wooden roof had reached the gate, pushed by a swarm of warriors. Two arrows from the soldiers covering the ram flew past his face. He turned and looked at his archers.
“Kill the men at the ram!” he ordered them, pointing with his sword.
The archers took up their positions and sent a volley of hundreds of arrows. The Norghanian soldiers protected the men pushing the battering ram with their shields. Several Rogdonian archers fell from enemy arrows protecting the advance of the siege weapon.
“Keep shooting! Don’t let them get to the gate!” he shouted.
The defending archers dealt death among the men around the great ram. But each man that fell was rapidly replaced by another. The Norghanian shields covered the advance of the battering ram most effectively, as if it were a giant turtle.
Lomar felt a shock under his feet.
They had reached the gate!
Now they would swing the ram and destroy the reinforced door.
The moment had come. He turned to his men and yelled:
“Move away from the cauldron!”
Everyone quickly obeyed, knowing what was coming.
Lomar turned the handle of the cauldron’s lock system and poured the contents onto a groove especially built for the purpose of distributing the liquid along the entire length of the gate.
The boiling oil rained down on the ram and all the men who were swinging it.
The cries of horror and pain of the burnt and scalded men reached Lomar. Terror took hold of the enemy.
The blows from the battering-ram stopped.
“Flaming arrows!” Lomar ordered next.
The archers wrapped the arrows in rags they had been carrying at their belts and soaked them in oil. They lit the oiled arrows with the fire from the torches and then stood in position on the battlements, awaiting Lomar’s orders.
“Ready!”
The archers nocked their arrows.
“Fire!”
And the flaming arrows showered down on the attackers surrounding the ram, striking bodies and shields. On contact with the boiling oil and the soaked cloths the fire burst out and spread with unbelievable speed, creating a blazing inferno around the ram. The warriors screamed in desperation as their bodies burnt. Absolute horror spread among the attackers as the fire spread everywhere it touched. A stench of burning flesh reached Lomar on a powerful gust of wind, he was forced to cover his face.
The battering ram was burning, sending a black cloud of smoke up to the battlements. The Norghanians tried to put out the flames without success. There was chaos and despair in their ranks.
The archers repeated the process sparingly, making the burning missiles with care, to cause the worst possible damage among the enemy.
Lomar ordered the cauldron to be filled again. Straight away he gave the signal for his men to pour the oil from several jars over the first line of attackers whom the first blazing volley had missed. The orders were carried out immediately. Lomar pointed at the spots they needed to aim for and gave the signal. The entire front line of attack in the middle sector of the walls burst into flame amid the screams of the soldiers. The archers went on firing their flaming arrows and bringing pure hell to the enemy lines.
Lomar could see Gerart in the distance defending the western section, where there were several bouts of intense fighting. He looked to his right and recognized Captain Alaric in the act of killing a Norghanian.
“Alaric!” he called.
The man turned and ran to Lomar as soon as he realized who was calling.
“Captain, get some men together and take a few of the earthen jars of oil with you.”
Alaric looked at him blankly.
“The Prince needs help. Pour the oil on those spots where the enemy’s climbing. Take a dozen archers, make the enemy burn!”
The Captain understood.
He nodded without a word, called a dozen men and together they took three jars of oil. The fire archers followed them.
Lomar watched them pouring the oil on the spot where heavy fighting was taking place, right at the foot of the wall they were trying to climb. The archers opened fire on the Norghanians at the foot of the wall and they were swallowed up in flames. Alaric used the same strategy in two other key places, and soon much of the first lines attacking the western sector went up in flames, amid screams.
Before Lomar could take pleasure in the momentary victory, the shadow of the giant siege tower covered everything as if a god had turned out the sun.
“Hell, they’re here already!”
The four gigantic siege towers were only ten paces away from the wall: two at the eastern part and two at the western. Two new battering rams were closing in to take the place of the one which had been destroyed.
Lomar cursed under his breath.
“Archers, split up!” he shouted. “Aim your fire at the towers!”
The archers launched their flaming missiles against the framework of the two nearest towers. The arrows hit the wooden frame with its covering of skins, but instead of setting it on fire the arrows went out.
“What the…?” cried Lomar.
He looked at the structure, unable to understand why the tower had not burst into flame.
The arrows were hitting their targets, but there was no fire.
“They’ve soaked the skins on the frame in water, that’s why they won’t burn,” an archer cried at his side.
From the upper part of the structure, taller than the wall itself, a rain of arrows fell over the Rogdonians. Soldiers in blue and silver fell, hit by the enemy archers.
Lomar turned to his own archers and shouted:
“Enemy archers on the siege tower!”
His own archers met the enemy attack with another volley, but they were clearly at a disadvantage with the enemy holding the higher position.
Gerart came running to Lomar’s side, followed by four Royal Swords.
“Those towers are going to crush us,” he told Lomar, pointing at the monstrous structure of wood and iron.
“The Snow Army is waiting its turn to enter the fray,” Lomar commented, his eyes on the base of the siege tower where hundreds of warriors in white hauberks were gathered together waiting for the opportunity to climb up the tower and reach the wall.
“Can’t we burn them?” Gerart asked.
“No, your Highness, they’re soaked in water and they won’t burn.”
“We must work something out or else we’re lost.”
The volleys of flaming arrows had no effect. From the top of the structure the enemy archers fired back, punishing the defenders mercilessly.
The second battering ram reached t
he gate. The Norghanians had removed the remains of the first, and the attack on the gate was imminent. As they felt the shock Lomar went over to the cauldron.
“Move away,” he shouted in warning, then turned the mechanism that set the cauldron to swing. The boiling oil ran along the pipe and rained down on the attackers.
The screams of the enemy as they were hit were appalling.
“Archers, fire!” he ordered again, and the men lit their arrows.
“Volley!”
And all hell broke loose over the attackers once more as flames engulfed them all, devouring flesh and wood alike.
The battering ram was consumed by the fire in a matter of moments.
“Great work!” Gerart congratulated Lomar.
“Thank you, your Highness, the gate will hold.”
An idea began to take shape in Gerart’s mind as he saw all the Norghanians in flames. He looked towards the courtyard. He still had a third of the men waiting to reinforce the walls.
“More archers! I need more archers up here!”
At once the soldiers ran up the stairs.
“Lomar, come with me, we’re going to burn that tower.”
“But how, your Highness?”
“The same way as the battering ram,” the Prince replied.
Between the two of them they put a great earthen jar of oil beside the cauldron, then brought it close to the tower three paces away from the wall. The moving assault platform was beginning to be laid from the tower to the wall. Soon the whole Snow Army would arrive on the wall.
“Now what?” Lomar asked.
“We’ll tip it on to the base of the tower, by the wheels, and make a great funeral pyre.”
They poured the contents of the jar down onto the base of the siege tower, then fired three flaming arrows at one of the enormous front wheels.
The wheel caught fire and began to burn with massive flames.
“It works!” Gerart cried, delighted.
“Another jar, we need another jar!” the Prince shouted to the men beside the cauldron. Immediately two archers left their bows and brought one to them. It went the same way as the first, onto the base of the structure. On impact, the fire extended all along the base and began to climb, devouring the wood of the giant frame as it went. The moving bridge slid onto the wall, making a catwalk, and the Norghanians spilt out of the tower.