Sapling: The Broken Halls

by Dan Gillis

  “I am. Don’t concern yer’self with me. I will do what’s needed, come the deep or Mother take me. You and that beast take care of yer’ own skins,” Tohm replied scratching the scars upon his bald scalp. Tey’ur nodded to his ally, in a gesture of salute.

  “It is my honour to have you with me on the field this day. May the death blow be swift should it fall upon you.”

  Tohm was unaccustomed to such civility. He shook his head.

  “Just be sure to avoid those damn burrow ‘oles when you’re charging.”

  Tey’ur hesitated at the strong-man’s reply and then laughed aloud. “Well said. Now, it is time.”

  Tohm’s route would bring him low along the base of the ridge south of the White Halls, where he would ascend the steep cliffs to intercept the advancing forces. Tey’ur had shown that any breach could be defended easier than a wide path or courtyard. They were to go no further than the breach, or all would become nearly hopeless.

  The smoke from the fires billowed about, providing excellent cover for the sprinting man. He was covering ground rapidly as the fire break had been established upon the lower ends of the ridge, and the command and cavalry had advanced to that point, sending in the ground troops to circumvent the ridge. There was a small gap, enough to squeeze through if he was alert. Tohm could smell the horses and men - they were at times mere feet away - but so swift was his flight that none detected him. Stray arrows occasionally impacted the ground near him from the White Guard archers, but he ran on undeterred.

  The troops were pressing toward the accessway to the ridge wall, yet his pace surpassed the speed of their advance. At last he reached the point upon the sheer ridge that he would be able to ascend toward the Citadel above. He gripped the roots and rocks and propelled himself upward. Holding tight to the earthen rock wall, his body instinctively sought for the surest holds for feet and hands. This was the gift from Mother, his beast working in harmony within. Only unarmoured could one make the climb, which would be treacherous at the best of times. Tohm knew that he would soon come into view of the enemy and their archers below. He prayed he could move fast enough to defy their attacks.

  A trebuchet ballista exploded upon the ridge wall above him and in moments he was awash in dirt and debris that rained harshly down upon him.

  “C’mon already,” he grumbled. “I don’t ‘ave all day.” A couple more blasts shook his frame as tremors rippled through the wall. Then, mercifully, the barrage ceased. They could risk no more without pinning their own troops. From the corner of his left eye, he could see the pikeman charge surging up the access way. The time had come.

  As he brought a foot up swiftly to a slim ledge, he heard a shout from below. His time was up, and looking above he saw that he had several feet left to ascend. Praying to Mother, he begged for strength to be granted and for the

  uneven wall to hold. His massive arms twitched as he lunged himself powerfully upward, each hand snatching the wall to keep the momentum.

  A loud cracking sound caught his ears as an arrow broke across a rock where his leg had just been. More shouts from below, as he moved his hands and feet at impossible speeds. Just one loose rock and it would all end. He could not afford the time for checking his holds.

  More arrows impacted along his path, yet his ascent was erratic and left the archers guessing below.

  At last, the burly man rolled over top of the ridge wall and snapped into a crouch. Tohm was now caught between two forces. The pikemen were converging upon the plateau with the ram only seconds behind. The sounds of arrows whistled in his ears, launched from above and below. With only seconds to act, he spied upon potential cover where the south wall met the east wall. Slowly, Tohm made his way along the south plateau edge, ducking into cover behind some ballista debris.

  He took three long breaths while the beast drank in the throes of conflict all around him.

  He glanced around the broken stone and spied the great battering ram rolling to a stop. It was close and had taken position at the south wall. At that minute, a terrific surge of power swept through the air nearby and impacted upon the wall, even as the ram was pulled back to its full arc.

  The large shaft of metal and wood was released. The boom fell. The whole ground shook as the hammer smote the wall in full force.

  The stones broke asunder and collapsed, bringing the whole section of wall near one spear wide down to the ground. A great shout of triumph erupted from the approaching troops bent upon breaching the gap.

  High above, the White Guard were floundering in turmoil as the heavens rained down with deadly, searing Grey arrows.

  Many structures within the keep were burning great gouts of flame and ash.

  Tohm leapt into action. The sheer numbers of enemy were overwhelming, but there was a slightly better chance for success at the new breach. The piles of stone rubble at the foot of the broken walls would provide a stumbling block for the heavily armoured troops.

  He dodged around the battering ram which was pulled back and abandoned, now that the damage was done. As he ran, his hands scooped up large, fist-sized fragments of the wall. With all his might, he hurled them viciously at the approaching enemy.

  Two men stumbled at the head of the line, only to be trampled under the mass of warriors that closed the distance to the gap.

  Tohm made the broken wall first and prepared to receive the enemy. He had but a moment to see that the stone had not only broken away but collapsed into the corridor leading to the stairs and to the high wall. With fires upon the west stairway, the defenders were effectively trapped or cut off from the ground level, and any attempt to hold the breach.

  The first wave came fast, carried on with the momentum of over a hundred others who filled the gap between the walls and the ridge. They charged with weapons drawn toward the half-naked man as he perched atop the crumbled stone.

  Tohm seized hold of a massive boulder the size of one of his kegs in his bar. Bellowing under the strain of great exertion, he drew it overhead. With another roar, he launched the great rock at the foe, even as they neared melee range.

  The wall fragment struck and tore through the line, causing several to stumble back upon the pressing mass behind. One of those who were not struck countered with a terrific slash to his head.

  Tohm ducked underneath the blow while grabbing the man’s gear around his torso. He slammed his disfigured head onto the fighter’s unguarded nose and then hurled him several feet into the opposing forces.

  Cries of frustration were coupled with shouts of pain. The archers atop the undamaged portion of the wall had begun to send volleys into the mass below, which frustrated the stalled formations.

  Tohm knew the dangers of staying exposed atop the rock pile. He needed to give the White Guard more time somehow, but eventually he knew that, so exposed, he would fall prey to a projectile attack from the enemy.

  Several spears rushed toward him, the points set fiercely toward his person. Tohm gave a powerful leap and the spears grazed his legs, rather than piercing his sides. He came down and wrapped his powerful arms around two of the shafts. Twisting around, he snapped the spears he held.

  One of the spearman who got through was taken down by an arrow, but a few others slipped past Tohm. The soldiers following sensed a fault in the front and charged the gap.

  Suddenly, the lone defender’s nose detected something that set his senses on guard. In one motion, he snatched out and grabbed a surging warrior just as hot oil was poured down upon the opening from above. The soldier that Tohm held as a rudimentary shield screamed out in agony. His body convulsed in his captor’s unyielding grip as oil scoured his flesh and garb.

  Flecks of oil stung Tohm’s skin in unprotected areas, but he escaped the majority of the damage. Roaring out, the burly man threw the body of the Grey Watch to the stone. The smell of burning flesh was consuming all other smells. The beast was drinking it all in.

  * * *

  Menhol listened to the cries of the boy; they were uncea
sing and full of fright. It was more than his heart could bear. He had long since abandoned his stay upon the floor, as meditation was quite useless now. ‘Mother’s mercy!’ he thought, ‘Will no one help the youth?’

  The monk paced the small chamber and pondered what to do. The sounds of desperation were more difficult to ignore than the call of war. There was something else afoot that merited investigation. Yet in this cell he was useless. It was one thing to obey out of duty, and another to be foolish in defence of an ideal. What was the correct path to take? His whole life was centered on an ideal. He heard the frantic cries again and made his choice.

  The monk’s arms grew alight in Alacritor energy which lit upon every dark corner of the cell. He felt the power surge within and he manipulated it in a way that he had nearly forgotten. His thoughts raced in harmony with the power he wielded.

  ‘How long since I abandoned that path …?’

  Menhol stepped toward the metal bars and brushed them apart, the metal grinding and groaning under the sudden offense. His limbs were charged with Alacritor energy so weaved that no element could resist them; wood, fire, stone, or flesh. Stepping through the rent barrier, he sped up the corridor and reached the stairs. The monk listened briefly and then reeled as the walls shook with tremendous force. He retained his balance as his face betrayed the concern.

  ‘Impossible! It could not be,’ he thought. He leapt up the stairwell, overtaking many a step until he entered the main throughway. He spied the lad who had been calling out; he was collapsed upon the floor against a near wall. Menhol reached the boy and gently lifted his head up.

  “Benel, why are you here?” he asked quickly. The boy had been weeping tears.

  “Menhol! I tried to warn … no one would hear me … the wall … it’s too late … Lord Corbin, I found him … in his blood.”

  Menhol listened to the youth’s words quietly. So they had broken through. The situation was more dire than many realized. The power needed to shatter the Citadel walls denoted a potent Ashori in the area.

  The news of Corbin’s fate was not surprising but still a cause for concern. Order in the White Guard had fled. First assassinations and insubordination … and soon pillaging would run rampant through the Citadel. Disorder and chaos.

  He stood and, as he did, he drew Benel up with him.

  “Be still. I have need of you, my young friend. Can you move at all?” He indicated to the bloodstains upon the boys white tabard and across his hands and face.

  “I can run, Master Menhol!” The lad wiped more blood across his face absently as he cleared his vision. His eyes were bright and full of fire.

  “Then go quickly! Seek the Hall of Honour and bring me the White Guard banner from the north wall there. Be swift, lad! Meet me at the breach!”

  “I’ll be there, sir!” the young man cried out as he dashed down the corridor.

  Menhol hastened toward the doors leading to the central court. The men would need a standard, if they were to hold any hope of survival. Morale was a powerful force, as vital and real as any shield; broken asunder if unmatched.

  * * *

  Kurel shouted orders above the sounds of war. Somehow the breach was being defended, and it was infuriating. The men were disorganized in their zeal to penetrate what should have been an open gap. Hyrlos assured him that the corridor would be sealed off to the upper walls, preventing any resistance from above to the penetrating manoeuvre. The White Guard had managed to employ the oil to deter the forward flank, but the secondary lines were mustering to coordinate an attack upon the breach. It was impossible to think that one man had held it this long. It was unfathomable in his mind, for such a gesture was a foolhardy and suicidal one. He would have set the Wilders upon that fool, but his disorganized troops kept blocking his line of sight in their desperate attempts to break through. They would have to be put to better use.

  “Pin those archers down!” He roared. The sub-captain nodded and gave the order, to which the long-bowmen took up the arrows from where they stuck vertically in the ground. In unison they drew the strings back, the shafts sliding clean against the guard. With a great whooshing sound, the air was filled with a flurry of feathered needles, all intent on the near southern wall. The White Guard dashed for cover from the barrage.

  “Keep it up! Do not give them a moment to regroup!” The oil was a devastating attack, despite the limited supply they would have upon the wall. It served to shatter the troops’ resolve and create chaos with all the screaming and havoc.

  Then he felt an air-shattering whoomf. The pressure came from behind the Grey army.

  “M’Lord, look!” one of his guard cried out. The Standard of the Grey Watch turned and his eyes grew wide in shock. Each trebuchet battery was aflame. Frantically scanning the inferno, he could see no evidence of his artillery troops. Then his eyes spotted some movement, shooting through a gap in the machines. It was one lone horseman charging the rear flank. His course was set directly to the leadership cell.

  Kurel ordered his guard to move to intercept as he twisted his mount to face the fierce charge. The rider was White Guard, perhaps a late arrival from the hunt. He could spy the white armour gleaming in the low early morning sun.

  “Ready arrows!” Kurel shouted.

  “Left echelon, come about!” his sub-captain roared.

  “Draw and hold!” came the preparatory command.

  Kurel made ready to take this upstart down to the earth. His arm was raised high to signal the end of this paltry diversion. As he made to signal, a clear and potent voice rang out across the distance, over the din of battle.

  “Kurel, I have come for you! Face me now, unless the battle has slowed your nerve.”

  Kurel’s face slowly set into a steely façade. His eyes grew steadily cold, even as his arm wavered in the air.

  “Hold arrows.”

  The sub-captain turned at the rescinding order and blinked in astonishment.

  “Sir?”

  “I said hold arrows, curse you!” Kurel spat out at the bewildered subordinate. The man gave the command and the archers slowly eased off on the taut strings. Kurel’s eyes were charged with fierce intensity. “Keep those archers focused on that high wall, captain! You five are with me!” Kurel spurred his mount into a swift gallop, while his personal guard fell into formation a few horse lengths behind.

  Tey’ur!

  The brashness of the man was infuriating. The matter of the fire was settled. There was no traitor, rather it was merely the meddling of his foe. The inferno raging behind the charging horse was a mirror of his spite. He could not feel the thrill of victory over this man by the mere sting of arrows. No, Tey’ur had earned a death at the hands of his better. Kurel’s white clad foe never slowed up his charge, and both exchanged a hardened gaze. Both understood the game.

  * * *

  The breach was flowing in the blood of the dead. Tohm was swinging a large spear about his head in mighty flourishes. The Grey Watch were pressing ever more desperately into the gap. The White Guard above had been constantly pounding the enemy below them with arrow after arrow, but they were beginning to falter under the Grey Rangers’ barrage. The lack of support from above was evident immediately as Tohm was nearly overwhelmed on several accounts. Only his cunning and sheer ferocity maintained a semblance of control in the breach.

  Indeed, it was far from an orderly affair. The heat of battle and flames, acrid smoke in the air, weapons and bodies colliding, the sounds of screams and the hoarse shouts of instruction from the enemy command culminated into utter chaos. The beast was keeping things in check, preventing Tohm from losing his balance or sense of direction as he dashed slashing and tearing amongst the bodies.

  Yet it was all becoming too much for one single defender to muster. He was suffering from several wounds which he had taken without complaint. With strength slowly ebbing, Tohm could feel himself losing ground, the enemy tightening their formations. When one would fall, another would fill the void. They were coordinat
ed, and he sensed the gap would burst open within moments. Despite this knowledge, he fought on, delivering punishing blows upon the enemy. He would hold the breach to the last moment.

  The beast sensed movement behind, but Tohm could not afford to remove his sight to see who it was. A calm but firm voice called out to him.

  “Hold them a moment longer, friend!”

  Tohm heard more than saw a white garbed form spring into his peripheral vision. While he jabbed and feinted with the long spear, he noted the movement of the White Guard defender. With one great motion, the man’s arms swept across the piled rubble that barricaded the stairwell. Stone and dust exploded under the impact of the blow, and scattered upon the near enemy. The effect of the improvised shard ballista devastated the front line that was pressing through. They were thrown back into their comrades violently, many pierced by the stony shrapnel. The blockade was cleared with a successive strike as dust billowed through the air.

  “Rally! Rally! To me, White Guard!” The man’s voice was amplified with strange energy, ascending through the corridor to the high walls. It rose powerfully above the hammering of the trebuchets and the torrent infernos that blazed within. Cries of concurrence rang from above.

  “Forward to the breach!” came a near shout.

  “Spears! Swords and Shields!” another rang out.

  “To Menhol! To Menhol!” a woman’s voice stirred. The effect was electrifying. Soon the coursing cry of many White Guard culminated into one, a weaving of dozens of voices into a great boisterous cacophony.

  Menhol rushed the line and whirled in a vertical stance, his hands striking out at several foes. They were hammered back so powerfully that the effect caused some of their fellows to fall over the cliff face behind. Tohm sensed the renewed defence and roared out with great power, as his foes trembled in his path. His spear he discarded with the arrival of the monk, and began lashing out with animal ferocity upon the enemy. His strength would hold. Despite the consequences, he would not let up at this critical moment.