by Thomas Rath
“Rally to the king,” Wess called out and then put a horn to his lips and blew out the notes to charge. To their credit, some of the men who had raced to get away, were suddenly turning back, responding to the order though the dragons still hunted in the skies above. Fifty men turned to face thousands as Helgar’s people still fought to get free of the melee.
Preparing to reengage the battle, all of them paused in wonder as a blade of a hundred horses and riders suddenly cut through the enemy line from the north like a scythe through ripen wheat. In and instant, the dwarves were cut free like sharp scissors through cloth as Jne and the Tjal slit a large gap into the enemy. Not wasting the opportunity, Helgar called for his people to make for the keep while Jack led his men forward to help protect their rear. Though vastly outnumbering their attackers, Zadok’s army seemed to stall with the coming of the Tjal that were like a swarm of hornets stinging them on every side.
Catching site of Jne, Jack was amazed at how majestic she appeared as she dealt out death on every hand, her face calm in the presence of such a chaotic storm. None of the Tjal seemed to feel the dragon fear that covered the field like a wretched fog as they plied their craft of death upon the enemy. Helgar’s people quickly chewed up the earth between them and the keep, narrowly escaping the death that rained down from the dragons above. Though feeling cheated that they had missed most of the battle, the Tjal were not careless with their lives either, knowing that there would certainly be more to come as they broke away from the battle as Zadok’s minions began to press their advantage of sheer numbers.
Using a hit and run tactic, the mounted men and Tjal covered their retreat as best they could while desperately trying to avoid the dragons that had already cleared the majority of the battlefield of any survivors and were now turning their eyes upon the remaining few on horseback.
Jack caught a quick glimpse of the keep’s entrance as the last of Helgar’s people passed through. He was amazed at how quickly and orderly they had entered the keep, unlike his own people who cared only for their own lives. “To the keep!” he shouted as the last assault was thrown at the enemy and then all turned about and laid heels to their horse’s flanks. The trialing army was no match on foot to chase down the fleeing defenders and the wolgs had been held back as all eyes turned to the skies and watched as the dragons circled and then suddenly dropped from above.
Though the keep was not a hundred yards distant, anyone watching could tell that the dragons would reach them first. Pressing themselves as flat against their horses as they could, they willed their mounts to greater speed as the shadow of death descended. Any less disciplined would have turned away and chased after a different path desperate to escape and only sealing their fate in the process. But these were a group of the finest soldiers and fighters the defenders had and they knew to break away was suicide even in the face of certain defeat; still they pressed on.
Three serpentine necks extended in preparation as they readied to take out the remaining fighters in one foul breath. The horses strained, trying to find more speed as they could all see the coming promise of death. Suddenly, a cry went up from the parapets above and a torrent of arrows was released upon the dragons. Though their armor was too thick for any to penetrate, their wings were not so protected as multiple arrows made it through sending the closest one crashing into the next and veering them all from their course. The first rider shot through the open gate and up the stairs just as the dragons hit the ground crushing the last twenty Tjal riders as they crashed onto the field. Of the four soldiers that had been left to help at the gate, one had remained who now shut the great door behind the last rider, sealing them in and shutting out the cries of rage the dragons released at having been robbed of their quarry.
* * *
Jack pressed his horse up the winding stairway that changed from stone to wood for about a hundred yards before changing back to stone as they disappeared into a long tunnel and the final climb. Erl was at his side, followed by Ranse and Jace and what remained of the cavalry. Wess was nowhere to be seen but he felt certain his old friend had gotten free.
He stopped just inside the tunnel next to the large oak door that was propped open and dismounted tying off his horse’s reins on a steel ring set in the stone wall just below a burning torch. Ranse paused long enough for Jack to give instructions. “Get everyone to the top and I’ll fire the stairs once the last of them are through.” Ranse just nodded, kicking his horse forward. Erl curled up next to Jack’s horse who, though battle trained was still not too happy about having a wolg so close as it rolled its eyes and snorted.
A long line of weary soldiers trotted into the tunnel, none without some type of wound, their faces still flushed from battle. Jack watched them as they passed, when he caught sight of one face he recognized. “Aye there, Jack,” an unkempt and foul looking man called out as he approached. “I see that ya still keep company with that mangy flea bag o’ yours do ya?”
“He’s a might cleaner and better company than the likes of you, Quin,” he countered gruffly, but good naturedly. “Where’s your master gotten off to?”
“Wess? He stopped to close the door and keep the riff raff from comin’ in.”
“Looks like he missed one,” Jack argued, as Quin passed.
“I suppose he done that indeed,” Quin agreed, and then moved up the tunnel.
More battle weary men filed by, their faces grim, their hands twitching slightly as evidence that the rush that takes a man during a fight had still not completely left them. These were good men all. Though not the type to invite to the table where proper folk ate, they were the cream, as it were, when it came to a fight. And a fight is all that was left for any of them now.
Soon there appeared a gap in the line. Jack waited expectantly as slow minutes passed before finally another rider appeared on the stairs. The faces and gear changed to that of the unmistakable Tjal-Dihn. Though happy for their assistance and well aware that had they not come when they did many of the men that had just passed him would have, in all likelihood, been left on the field to be gathered later for the cook fires, he felt a shiver of apprehension as to how he was to keep peace when the days passed with all of them tucked tightly and close in the castle. The treaty between men and Tjal was shaky at best and it wouldn’t take much to ignite the tinder of their pride when close quarters were forced upon them.
“T’oben’djen keah jal,” Jack said with a slight bow as the first Tjal passed. His eyes were hard set, flashing a deadly look that might have caused a lesser man to soil his trousers. But Jack merely acknowledged the next rider knowing that courage was more respected in Tjal society than apologetics or weakness. He continued to greet them as they passed. Some returned his gesture with a slight nod or a word, but most merely ignored him as they filed up the stairway. It was clear that they had all preferred the freedom of the battlefield and felt it had been too early to come in from play.
Jack’s face lit up considerably as Jne suddenly appeared among her countrymen. He’d hoped to find her in their ranks but had not wanted to hold too tightly to hope should he be disappointed. “Jack!” she cried, dismounting quickly and then throwing her arms around him. Jack stood stiff still, uncertain how to respond to a Tjal woman pressing herself against him in a bear hug. Suddenly pulling away, she eyed him and then abruptly demanded to know if Thane were in the keep.
Jack shook his head. “He’s not yet returned, I’m afraid.” He could see some of the light pass out of her eyes. “But,” he quickly reassured, “I’m sure he’s just a day or two behind in getting here.”
Jne sighed, staring at Erl for a moment before reaching down to scratch him behind the ear. “Yes, he will come,” she stated with finality and a hint of trouble should he not obey her words.
Soyak, seeing that they weren’t going to be moving anytime soon, dismounted and pulled their horses to the side to allow the others to pass. Jack immediately addressed her in the same manner as he had the others knowing that Jne wo
uld not make introductions. Another of the Tjal-Dihn intricacies of honor and pride that demanded he introduce himself first and ask for her name.
“I am Soyak,” she responded with a slight grin, pleased at the honor Jack had bestowed upon her by following their customs. Never in his life had Jack seen a Tjal at such an advanced age but he was able to hide his shock very smoothly, which most certainly save him a duel to the death.
“What are our numbers?” Jne asked.
He knew she was taking about those who could carry a sword and fight as her concern for the refugees extended only as far as that they stay out of the way and leave those who were able to the battle. “Not quite two thousand by my reckoning. Half dwarf half men and then what you brought with you. Any chance their may be more Tjal coming?”
Jne shrugged. “One can never say what another will do, but runners have been sent to the closest Tja. There is good chance many others will seek out the fighting as well.”
Jack nodded, happy with the news but aware of the too many variables that might make it mute when it came to the actual fighting. Zadok’s horde was no less than ten thousand strong with the added destructive power of his dragons. Should Thane not be able to retrieve the arrows he sought, they had no hope of survival. For the moment they were safe in the mountain fortress of Bedler’s Keep, but how long could they hold out against a siege? He shook his head as the last of the Tjal riders passed into the tunnel.
“What?” Jne asked, watching him.
“They won’t set up a siege to wait us out. Zadok faces the same problems as we do when it comes to feeding his army. They’ll only last so long on the dead left on the battlefield. Not to mention that whatever power Zadok is exerting upon them to keep them from turning on each other will certainly wane should too many days pass in boredom. No, he will have to attack, and I fear that his dragons will be the ones to lead the assault.”
Just then a crash echoed up the stairway follow by growls and the sound of feet ascending the stairs. “They’ve broken through!” called out Soyak, her swords already in her hands, a smile creasing her wrinkled face.
Wess suddenly appeared, racing up the stairway and calling out to them. “Set fire to the stairs and seal the door! They’ve broken through!”
Just behind him came the lumbering forms of two rock trolls followed close behind by goblins and orcs eager to reach the keep’s interior. Before Jack could say a word, Soyak and Jne had raced down the steps to meet them, their swords flashing in a syncopated dance that cut down the trolls, one of them falling and somewhat blocking the way while the other teetered off the edge of the stairs and fell headlong toward the jagged rocks below. The goblins were hampered at first by the large body blocking their way on the stairs but Jne and Soyak jumped over it to reach the enemy dispatching four more as they continued down.
“Take the horses and get up,” Jack shouted at Wess who hesitated at first, not wanting to be left out of the action. “I’ll fire the stairs,” Jack shouted. “There’s not else for you to do but to get in my way!”
Wess nodded, and grabbed the reins to the other three horses, kicking his own forward into the tunnel. Jack turned back and yelled at Jne and Soyak while grabbing the torch from its sconce. “Get back! I’m going to fire the stair!”
Reluctantly, Jne and Soyak disengaged themselves from the battle and stepped lightly over the fallen bodies they’d left in their wake and raced up the stairs. The enemy followed, though not as quickly as they stumbled over their fallen comrades cursing the bodies for blocking the way.
“Have a taste of this,” Jack spat, lowering the torch to the steps just past the tunnel entrance. Nothing happened. Glancing up at an approaching troll, he set the fire on the wood once more but he couldn’t get it to catch. “It won’t start!”
“There!” Soyak yelled, as Jne rushed passed her to meet the oncoming threat. Jack followed her finger pointing up to a trough running along the wall twenty feet above the stairs. “Must be oil to start the fire!”
Jack put the torch back into its sconce and looked around. “There must be a lever or something,” he called out, but Soyak was already by Jne’s side killing the enemy as fast as they came. It really was too easy with the small amount of space on the stairs but slowly they were being pushed back, step by step as the attack continued to press them. Soon they would be at the tunnel and passed the oak door. They could close it behind them, but without firing the stairs, they would just knock it in like they had done with the other. They had to burn off the stairs.
Jack moved his hands along the stone wall, willing himself to find a catch or something, cursing the builders all along at having hidden the main security measure for the keep. Erl growled making him aware that the fighting was getting dangerously close though he could almost feel it as Jne and Soyak continued to take on the enemy. Soon they would be forced to retreat into the tunnel and closed the door behind them or be overrun.
Then it hit him. “You horse’s patute!” he berated himself. Grabbing the ring where he’d tied his horse not minutes before, he gave it a tug and it slid slightly out of the wall toward him. “Into the tunnel!” he cried, and then waited only long enough to see the two Tjal disengage before pulling with all his strength. There was a split second of resistance and then it released and he could hear the cries of surprise as the oil drained out all over the enemy filling the stairs. Handing the torch to Jne, she rushed forward, dispatching a goblin as she did so and then tossed the flame into the air. Turning, she raced back up the tunnel and through the oak door just as Jack was swinging it shut. A scream of terror and a whoosh of hot air carrying the stench of burnt flesh was shut off as the heavy oak door was closed and the thick bars set in place.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was dark when his eyes flittered open once more. Though the moaning sound of the passing wind called out in lonely retreat, it didn’t chill him as he would have expected. Taking stock of his surroundings, he quickly discovered that he was covered in a downy embrace. Memory rushed back, as did the pain that was still demanding recognition as it pounded at his skull like two great fists. Raising a hand to his face, he gingerly touched his nose, wincing as he did so. His sudden movements brought a disapproving gurgle from deep in the throat of his protective guardian.
Pushing aside the great wing that had sheltered him from the cold, he let the mountain winds have him, tickling a shiver through his body as he breathed deep the frigid air. His nose was still sore and mercilessly clogged with dried blood, but the pounding in his head had subsided to a distant rumble leaving his stomach more at ease as well. Gaining his bearings as best he could, he looked to the east and caught the slightest twinkle of the early morning light seeping over the horizon in a slow, but deliberate fashion. So, he’d been out for at least a day, if not longer. His stomach grumbled, as if in response, and he felt comfort that it did so out of hunger rather than an angry need to empty itself.
Tchee rose up next to him, stretching her great wings and then flapped them briefly before tucking them back against her side and calling out in an angry screech.
Teek shook his head at the sound, recognizing the chastisement. “And what did you expect me to do?” he almost shouted in defense. “He would have killed you.”
Tchee groaned in her chest, still unwilling to let him off so easy.
“We both would have died,” he said more quietly. “Because you were protecting me and so couldn’t fight back.”
Tchee stood up straight, her majesty suddenly embraced by the first rays of sunlight.
“Never again,” Teek said as he reached for his pack. Unstrapping the great axe that was still tied to the back, he released it and let it clang to the ground. “This is not a Waseeni weapon. I was foolish to think I could make it into one.” Drawing his bloodstained dagger, he wiped it as clean as he could in a small clump of dewy grass that clung to a crack in the rock. Taking the sheath from his waist, he secured it to his leg and then used a piece of the strap that had
once held the axe to tie off the sheath’s bottom as well. Then, grabbing his blowgun from his pack, he loaded a dart. “This is more accurate,” he said, placing the pack on his back and then climbing up onto Tchee. “No longer will the Waseeni be the people of the swamplands.” Tchee flapped her wings and began to rise. “From now on, we are the terrors of the air!” he cried, shouting to the morning skies as he ascended to meet them.
* * *
Zadok peered through the stemmed crystal at the crimson wine that looked too much like blood for Resdin’s tastes. Resdin gnawed on a chicken leg having avoided the meat that Zadok seemed to relish so rare and then tossed the bone over his shoulder. A young girl, having seen no more than twelve winters, scurried over to pick it from the lush carpets that blanketed the ground. She was a gift from the great capitol city that now stood in ruins, as were the other slaves that were stationed about anxiously waiting to serve their new master.
They were in a cavernous tent that was large enough to give the feel of being in a great hall; one of the trophies Zadok had taken from Calandra when he’d finally departed. It had belonged to a spice merchant who had obviously done extremely well in his trade, most likely gaining most of his fortune by dealing in illegal substances. A great table was placed in the middle that stretched out to a ridiculous length considering that Zadok and Resdin were the only two seated at it. Filled with delicious meats, pastries, breads, and vegetable dishes that were in quantity to feed a great banquet, the two lone eaters picked at their meals as if having no appetite at all. The food would be tossed out, deemed too great in worth for the likes of his Calandrian slaves who watched pitifully with the sunken eyes of the malnourished.
Four others occupied space to Zadok’s left, all hooded and menacing, with an aura of darkness surrounding them that seemed to keep even the light of the many candles perched about the tent from reaching them.