by Wayne Mee
When Cynwulf told them that they had locked and bolted all four of the heavy inner doors on their way up the tunnel, leaving only the far outer one ajar due to the fallen Karns body. When told that Zorka Agwain's son, Arthdain, should even now be on the way with a great host, the beleaguered Delgii sent up a cheer that shook the rafters of the large stone hall. Smiles erupted on tired, bearded faces, and there was much back-slapping and good-natured jibs. Food and drink were brought and places cleared at the long table that ran the length of the hall.
Dingle, his dark eyes flashing, slammed his drinking horn down on the table and grinned at the two Kirkwean. "By Bal's one good eye, but it warms my heart to see you two Wee'ns again! And in the company of a wizard no less!" He turned to Mithdar. "Where did you find them, old friend, stealing bread and cheese out of your wagon?! I remember how Master Timin here was partial to cheese!"
The mage slowly set down his tankard of ale. "If the truth be known, Dingle, t'was they that found me. 'Karn Hunting' they said they were. I thought it best that I take them along to Garith Withrin."
"'Karn hunting' was it?! Well, you'll find more than enough of the hairy buggers around here! Great sport --- though all their bloody howling can get a might wearisome!"
The Tem-Riflin gave the group a knowing wink, but Thorn marked how tired and worn he looked. The Delgii of Dingle's clan were not more than a thousand in number. A goodly portion of these lived not in the stronghold itself, but in the distant pastures and isolated river valleys. Most of these clansmen had been cut off when the siege began and had not been able to return to the stronghold. For three weeks now those Delgii outside had bit and snapped at the heels of the invading army of Karns, striking fast and melting away into the rugged hills and dales of the highlands, yet they were like flies pestering a herd of savage beasts; irritating, but no real threat.
Inside the stronghold's high stone walls there were barely five hundred Delgii, with a third of these either dead or too wounded to fight. Until Cynwulf's group arrived their position had been dire indeed --- now it was just 'desperate'. Unless Arthdain and his host arrived soon, there would be no use coming at all.
Cynwulf also caught the note of despair in Dingle's voice. Pushing forward, he greeted his commander warmly. "We have but to hold, Dingle. Calus Erwirth and his following are even now out there stinging their rear! Attacking quickly and fading away back into the hills Soon the all northern clans under Sigrach Silvervain will arrive, then, along with the Nim-Loth Arthdain brings, we'll have these stinking Karns at our mercy!"
Dingle eyed the younger Rif-Dag from beneath bushy red brows. "T'is long since I heard such a lengthy speech from you, Cynwulf, for you were never one to use two words when one would do. I agree Calus is a stout leader, but his group is both ill prepared and too few to break the siege. As for Sigrach, he will come, but the northern passes are deep and narrow. These Karns can block them with only a small portion of their numbers and still be enough to wash over us like the distant sea."
Mithdar stepped forward. "All is not lost yet, old friend. Sigrach Silvervain may yet find a way to win through to our aid, and Calus Erwirth is as valiant and resourceful a Delgi as I've met. As for Arthdain, no power in all of Oma-Var will stop him from fulfilling his oath to come to your aid!"
He raised his horn in a toast. The rest of the room followed suit.
"To the brave of heart and the ones now fallen!
Long remembered, soon shall avenged!"
The gathered Delgii roared back the toast: 'Long remembered! Soon avenged!
Thorn and the others, not understanding the words but grasping fully the intent, joined in as best they could. The rafters of the long hall shook with their resolve, while outside the deep booming of the Karns war drums began.
The enemy was once more on the march.
***
The bard, Roary Ol' Heath, found his way to the highest tower of the Delgii stronghold and looked down at the army of attacking Karns. The sight below staggered him. The plain spread out in a vast plateau, cut by a fast-flowing river that came down from the northern mountains. The river itself split in the higher north-west, forming a long, narrow lake in the middle of the plain. The lake was dotted with pine-covered islands. On the largest of these isles was built the very fortress where he now stood. An arched stone causeway la good thousand vels long linked the fortress to the much nearer, southern shore with the 'mainland'. To the east, north and west, water protected them for several milvels. A smaller guard station stood in the middle of the span, its twin turrets thrusting boldly towards the sky. Its drawbridge up and its iron gate down, barring the way to the snarling host that now and then tried to force its way across.
Dunn Tor-Rapt or 'Fish Hawk Hall', the Delgi fortress of Tyree, was surrounded on three sides by deep, clear water and on the fourth by along, narrow causeway of stone, iron and determination
But it was the size of this attacking 'host' that staggered Roary. For as far as the eye could see great, swirling masses of Karns surged forward, their drums and horns setting up an ear-splitting racket, their various banners and pennants proclaiming their different clans or packs. In all the years of his brief, adventure-filled life, the wandering bard had not seen anything like it. In a blind panic, he pushed himself back from the wall into the relative safety of the shadows. The stone felt cool to his back, though his hands were sweating. Beneath his once fine shirt, his heart kept time with the pounding drums.
"So there you are! You'll be wanting this then, and I've found you a shield and a helm for you as well. You'll not care to mess up that fine head of hair of yours, but t'is better that than a cracked skull."
Roary looked wide-eyed at the slight form before him. Besides the mentioned shield and helm, the bard saw his own shortsword in its time-worn scabbard being held out to him. He looked into the wide, blue eyes.
"I'm a bard, Ono, not a bloody weapons-man! My task be to sing of the glories of battle, not to take part in them!"
The young woman grunted out a dry laugh. "By the look of things, there's none of us have much choice in the matter. It's 'kill or be killed' --- and I for one intend to go down fighting!"
Onooga thrust the weapons into his arms and stood back. For the first time he noticed that she was wearing a long male shirt and a helm that hid her short cropped golden hair. A shortsword of Delgi fashion hung at her hip, and a small round shield was slung on her back. She looked for all the world like a young lad about to rush forth into battle --- which, apparently, was exactly what she planned to do!
"You're daft, lass! All you'll be doin' is get your fool self killed --- and me along with you!"
She breathed deeply and moved to the wall. Below she could see that the first wave of Karns were nearly at the causeway. A group of Delgii blocked the narrow entrance, determined to hold back the black tide at all costs. She turned back to the bard.
"It's no coward you are, Roary Ol'Heath, for I myself saw you face a half dozen drunken, angry slavers with no more than your dirk and your own sharp wits!"
Roary turned away, remembering that night several months ago in the tavern where she and other girls, if they had the coin, 'entertained ' customers upstairs. "That was easy enough done. I but bluffed them into bettin' more than they wanted to loose --- namely you; then, when they weren't lookin', I but switched the dice 'n ..."
"Saved me," the determined young woman said. "My beautiful, foolish, Roary!" Her hand reached out and touched his cheek. "You saved me and together we stole two horses and fled!"
"Ah yes!", the bard added, the sarcasm heavy in his lilting voice. "'Westward rode the brave hero and the golden haired maiden, into the fiery rays of the settin' sun'" He looked at her from beneath troubled, sandy brows. ".'N a fine mess o' things I've made o' it too, lass! Takin' us to that pest-hole of a swamp town, dressin' you in rags, cutting your golden locks 'n hidin' your beauty; then, in my 'great wisdom', I crowned it all by joinin' us up with this lot! A 'fool followin' fools to a fool's dea
th' I am! 'N draggin' you down with me!"
Onooga's slender arms went around his waist, yet her head was held high. "When you rescued me, it was more than my body you won, but my heart as well! A slut and a whore I was before you came along. No, don't bother to deny it! We both know what I was forced to do just to stay alive. But that's all over now! It ended when you came! The few months we've spent together have been the only truly happy times of my life! If they are to end, then so be it! If we are to die here, then I want no more than to die with you at my side."
The bard gazed down at her and smiled, despite himself. "Truly, lass, you be a wonderment!" He took her hands, kissed them and pulled her close. "But you'll not be angry with me if I be tryin' to keep us alive just a wee bit longer? If it's fight we must, then fight we will, but I'll not be singin' my dirge-song yet!"
She smiled back at him. "Perhaps someone will even make a song about us one day."
"Aye, lass," he said, buckling on his sword and picking up the fallen shield. "'N perhaps we'll both live 'n I'll be singin' it to you!" He stopped and frowned. "But I'll not be wearin' that bloody pot! No bard worth his salt goes into battle with his locks covered!" With that he scooped up the helmet and tossed it down from the tower.
Not to be outdone, Onooga pulled off her own helm and shook out her shoulder length hair. "'Aye, laddie!'", she yelled, mimicking his lilting brogue; "'N a bard's woman ever follows her man!" A second helm flew down from the keep's high walls. As they smiled and gazed down from the high battlements, the sounds of battle drifted back to them on the wind.
***
When the bard's helm smashed into the flagstones not three spearlengths behind where he stood, Timin's heart nearly burst from his chest. Grabbing Thorn, the small Kirkwean pulled them both down out of harms way. They, along with Erin and Kel, had been going to help the hold the far end of the bridge. Thorn looked up in time to see the second helm flash by, landing in the lake close by the causeway. Erin swore and drew his sword, while Kel nodded towards the top of the tower. All there saw the two forms outlined against the bright, blue sky; one sandy haired and lean, the other shorter and with an abundance of short golden hair blown on the wild wind.
"It's Roary and --- Ono?" Timin's confusion shown in his round face like a child seeing a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. "Why, he's --- he's a girl!"
Erin grunted as the two forms high above them embraced. "Faith, Timin-lad, you be right! But a gold arm-ring to a copper penny says the sly bugger be not just 'comfortin' his little sister' either!"
It was Thorn that drew their attention back to the causeway, for the battle at the far end of the bridge had began in earnest. "What can we do to aid them?"
"Precious little from here, laddie-buck!", the tall weapons-man growled. They moved to the guard-tower in the center of the causeway and began to climb the circular steps. Standing on the wall of the highest level, Kel loosed a shaft over the heads of the hard-pressed Delgii. A large Karn sank back into the seething mass of his brethren. Timin gave a yell of joy and scrambled up beside the silent Chin, Thorn's bow clutched in his pudgy hand.
Thorn gazed up at the tall weapons-man. "I'll stay here with Timin. My sling can reach as far as most arrows. You and Kel go on ahead."
Erin looked down into the large, blue eyes of the little Kirkwean. He was tempted to argue, for he was mindful of the oath he had given to the Lady Narya, the pretty yet strange Erg-Leath back in The Wold. He had sworn to protect Thorn even at the cost of his own life. But now another 'need' was upon him, one older than the green hills of distant Loamin. The 'Yiffrin' or 'battle-lust' had begun to grip him, boiling his blood and swirling his brain into a frenzy that only the spilling of the warm, life-fluid could quench.
Thorn nodded silently. No further words were needed, for both Man and Kirkwean knew full well the undeniable pull of the 'Red-Rage'. The one had been born to it, the other carried it at his side.
Erin gripped Thorn's shoulder and was gone.
Kel met Thorn on the steps, a look of grim resignation etched into his bronze features. Thorn's tiny hand reached out and grasped Kel's. 'Guard him well, and may Erg go with you both."
The Chin's left eyebrow shot skyward. Several heartbeats passed before he bowed deeply and continued down the steps. The two Kirkwean turned and, climbing up to the firing platform, they watched Erin bound almost gleefully down the causeway, the silent shadow that was Kel close behind.
"He almost looks like he's anxious to get to the killing!", the shorter Kirkwean said.
Thorn sighed as he fitted a stone to his sling. "Erg save us all, but he is, Timin. He is."
***
For two days and two nights the Battle of the Bridge continued. Great slaughter was done on both sides, yet, thanks to the bows of the Nim-Loth, the defenders suffered far less than the attackers. Dingle continually sent in fresh fighters to relieve the brave few who held the narrow passage on the bridge, while the Karns, in their rage to reach the hated Stoners, trampled and crushed their own kind as they pressed towards the narrow causeway.
But just before moonrise on the third night the tide turned. Flynn and several Nim-Lothian archers were on the wall of the bridge-tower where Thorn and Timin had first made their stand when the keen eyes of the Woodsmaster saw an all too familiar sight approaching the far side of the causeway. Just before had come one of the rare pauses in the fighting, and Erin and the others had withdrawn back to the central keep for some much needed rest. Bar Gildar slept in a chair in the tiny room of the guardhouse. He had stationed himself and his archers where their bows could best help hold the bridge, on the rampart of the gate-tower in the center of the causeway. Dingle too had gone to his pallet in the stronghold, as had Cynwulf. Braggi had taken a head blow the day earlier and was with the Delgii surgeons, as was the bard, Roary Ol'Heath. The minstrel had fought bravely for the first day, but that night he had drank too deeply of the Delgii's ale and had taken a shoulder wound while foolishly taunting the Karns from the bridge-tower. The wound had festered and Onooga had not left his sickbed since. Silent, sour Snorn had been given charge of the defenders.
All were lulled by the eerie silence into a false hope that the enemy had given up when Flynn's far-seeing eyes caught sight of a shimmering in the distance. He roused himself and peered into the darkness, then shrank back, a startled cry bursting forth.
"A Nar-Graith! One of the Walking Dead approaches!"
For a brief second, Flynn's warning hung in the still air like an arrow at the zenith of its flight; then, like an arrow, the reality of the situation took hold, plummeting their short-lived hopes back to earth. Horns blew, orders were bellowed and Delgii and Nim-Loth readied their weapons. From the fortress Dingle came, his red beard all tangled, his face creased with new lines of worry and woe. Soon the entire populace of the Delgi stronghold peered out into the darkness to see the sickly, shimmering light that was a Nar-Graith.
Then a voice boomed out over the still waters. A deep, rumbling voice, like rocks rolled in a wooden barrel "Send out Red Beard and the old fool, Mythdarian, for I would parley with them!"
Dingle cursed and hefted his axe, but Mithdar soothed him. "Now is not the moment for rash acts of bravery. Time is our enemy now as well as yonder Demon Spawn. Help is on the way, but how soon it will arrive none can say. If we can win but another few hours by talking to this filth, then talk we must!"
Dingle spat on his axe blade, but nodded agreement, for he, more than anyone else, knew just how exhausted the defenders were and how weak their position really was.
Just then Zoean came through the back door of the guard house, her ink black hair all undone and a naked sword in her hand. Nobert, her ever-present watchdog, covered her with his cloak.
"Red Beard! Mythdarian! Come forth!" Skatha's rumbling voice cut through the air like nails grating on stone. "My oath no harm will befall thee. I bear only a message from my master --- but I'll not wait all night!"
"You'll not trust him?!", Zoean said. "T
hat 'thing' out there has no concept of honour!"
Mithdar laid his hand gently on her shoulder. "Perhaps not as you and I understand it, Zoean, but he does both fear and honour his 'master'. He was sent here to parley, and so that is what he will do. And so shall we."
With that Mithdar took up his staff and strode out the front entrance. Dingle shrugged and followed. Zoean made to join them but Nobert held her back. She was just about to pull herself away when Erin came in, followed by Gildar, Flynn, and the two Kirkwean.
The tall Loamin pulled her to him and then thrust her down on a hard bench. Eyes flashing, the haughty Nim-Lothian princess made to rise but was pushed down again. Spitting out unlady-like curses, she struck at Erin with her sword, but he easily caught her wrist and the silver blade fell to the floor. More angry than ever, she went for his eyes.
"Faith lass, will you NOT leave go?!"
"Never!", she hissed, going for him again. Nobert, reluctant to see his charge so enraged, never-the-less stood by grinning as the tall manling sat and turned her over his knee.
"NOW will you leave go?!" Erin's left hand held her face down while his other hovered above her royal rear. Zoean craned her neck and saw the fate that awaited her.
"You wouldn't DARE!"
The sound of a solid smack filled the small room. "Time be what the old greybeard be buyin' us, darlin' girl, 'n time be what we're all too short of!"
Zoean struggled again and received another solid swat for her efforts.
"Your big brother be on his way with enough stout lads to see us through this little ruckus, but he's over tardy."
Zoean continued to squirm. "Arthdain will have your head for this, 'manling'!"