“Watch that mare!” Earwig said, but Zinnia pulled her reigns from the tree where she was tethered. The two horses trotted off down the road back toward where the travelers left the farmer. Earwig watched them with her hands on her ample hips.
“You shouldn’t have bought another horse.” Dreg said.
“I had to replace that ambling dog food you bought,” Earwig insisted. She watched both horses moving with considerable enthusiasm, tails swishing down the road.
Dreg and Earwig sat by a fire trying to decide what to do next, when Zendor returned dragging his hooves one in front of the other.
“Would you look at that,” Earwig exclaimed. She looked at Dreg.
“Is that a smile on his face? I guess Zinnia’s gone back to the farmer” Dreg said, through a smirk. He went and patted the wheezing Zendor on the withers. “Zendor the Magnificent, for sure!”
Earwig shot Dreg a look to shame a rock. The rest of that day, Zendor just strolled about here and there, munching grass in a dreamy state, keeping just out of Dreg’s reach.
“He ain’t going to be dragging the cart today,” Dreg said, when he tired of chasing the Zendor. “He has to regain his strength, such as it is.” Dreg broke out laughing.
Earwig could only fume and grumble. “Get back out there and catch that nag.”
Dreg wore himself out rushing the horse, grabbing for its reigns, only to have Zendor bolt at the last second to a new patch of grass some distance away.
The next morning, Zendor seemed perfectly content to be hitched to the cart and ‘encouraged’ to continue their journey. The smile was still on his lips and Earwig couldn’t avoid seeing it. Whenever she made reference to the nag, Zendor would break wind until the witch learned not to call the revitalize beast names.
* * *
Memlatec went to the center of an ancient oak grove. Wide spreading branches in interlocking embraces surrounded a clearing where the wizard meditated. His boots stepped quietly on the plush moss carpet kept free of leaves, branches, and undergrowth by the resident creatures that guarded the grove. Wrapped in his cloak, the wizard paced in the cool air to keep himself alert as he thought, watched by Fedra that attended him.
“I’m worried about the rock-dwarves that made it to the mainland,” Memlatec mumbled out loud. “The watchers haven’t return from Dreaddrac, and I’ve ceased sending anymore.” Memlatec stopped and looked up at Fedra who glided down to settling on the old wizard’s shoulder.
“Those rock-dwarves were real trouble in the Wizard Wars of old. To have them disappear in the Hadorian Mountains of Dreaddrac’s border is worrisome. The watchers on Tixos reported masses of rock-dwarves moving down through the mountains at night with their cache of arms, to the awaiting Dreaddrac fleet. Admiral Agros reported many transports sank quickly in the sea battle. The fleet was carrying a lot of rock-dwarves to the mainland. Where are those that survived?” the wizard puzzled. Memlatec began pacing as he grew more agitated, jostling the eagle, who flew to a tree top. Memlatec barely noticed.
“Rock-dwarves are living beings, but not naturally so.” The wizard glanced up at the preening bird then continued pacing. “As rock, they can’t be sensed as natural creatures to appear through wizardry in the visionary pools and through crystalline projected visions.” He looked up at Fedra, “I can’t find them. Somehow, they’re involved in the coming spring attack.”
*
Memlatec and Saxthor spent long hours in the palace war room with the king’s senior generals, trying to predict what the Dark Lord would do next.
“Why are you so worried about the rock-dwarves, Memlatec?” Saxthor asked. “I’m more worried about the situation in Sengenwha on our border.
“We must locate the rock-dwarves soon,” Memlatec warned. “The Dark Lord has recalled them from Tixos, knowing I’d learn of it, yet he risked the move. The rock-dwarves will be involved early in the war. Dreaddrac wouldn’t have given up the element of surprise without gaining a major advantage in the move.”
“Have you heard from King Calamidese, Your Majesty?” General Sekkarian asked. He’d just returned from governing Hoya to confer with the king.
“No word from Sengenwha except merchants’ rumors that filter out from Botahar,” the king responded.
“If Sengenwhapolis should fall and Dreaddrac’s northern and southern forces join up marching south, we’re in for the fight of our lives and before we’re prepared,” Sekkarian said.
“General Socockensmek, will you have the new army trained and ready in a month?” General Sekkarian asked. “Will the new garrisons at Hyemka and Heedra be adequate and sufficiently prepared to prevent the orcs from crossing the Nhy and attacking the heart of Neuyokkasin?”
“My new troops can defend the cities mentioned. Admiral Agros and the garrison at Olnak will hold the western coast secure,” General Socockensmek replied. His heavy white mustache bristled.
“We’re relieved to know our new defenses will be ready in time should the orcs break out of Sengenwha,” Saxthor said. He patted Socockensmek on the back to relieve the old man’s indignation. “King Calamidese will put up a great resistance. We know Calamidese that well now.”
Memlatec listened in the shadows at the wall but then moved up to the group around the great map. He put his finger on Dreaddrac on the map.
“You had better not get to secure in your new defenses, gentlemen. I warn you again about the rock-dwarves. We know nothing about their current whereabouts in Dreaddrac.” The warning silenced the room and made the men look at the old wizard.
Memlatec seldom speaks and when he does it’s significant, thought Saxthor. The scowl on his face and his tone are a potent warning.
“What can we do, Memlatec?” General Socockensmek asked. “We don’t even know where they are or what they’re up to. You yourself said you couldn’t discover where they are. You think them forging weapons deep in the Ice Mountains?”
The general hopes to dismiss the rock-dwarves’ threat, Saxthor thought, observing the two men.
Memlatec didn’t reply. “Perhaps I might speak with your majesty later.” With that, the old wizard bowed to the assembly and withdrew.
No sooner had the wizard left the palace for his tower than a messenger interrupted the proceedings in the war council. The chamberlain ushered the courier into the meeting where he bowed to the king and saluted the distinguished generals.
“What news?” Saxthor asked.
“Your Majesty, Sengenwhapolis has fallen. The orcs are plundering the city again,” the soldier said. The messenger’s labored breathing accompanied twitching eyes and a trembling voice.
“Are you certain? Has this been confirmed?” Saxthor asked “What news of King Calamidese?”
“I don’t know about survivors, Your Majesty,” the messenger replied. He lowered his head and dropped to one knee. “Our watchers in the hills above the city have only reported that the city has fallen. The orcs are swarming in through the gates.”
Saxthor stared at the messenger. Solemnly, he turned to the generals, “Gentlemen, you must return to your posts to prepare for war. When the Dark Lord’s forces consolidate their gains in Sengenwha, they’ll march south in force. You must be prepared.”
First, Socockensmek bowed to Saxthor. “Time for war preparations is running out. We must make the most of what time we have left.”
The assembled military leaders bowed silently, one after another, then withdrew to depart for their respective forces. Saxthor walked slowly down the hall to the apartments where Sengenwha’s dowager Queen and Dagmar would be awaiting news. The servants would have told them of a frantic courier’s arrival. I dread having to tell Dagmar and the Dowager Queen of the latest developments, he thought. He hesitated at Dagmar’s door, then knocked and entered.
* * *
“Saxthor,” Dagmar said. Seeing his solemn face, she rose, dropping her needlework to the floor. “I thought you were in a council meeting.”
“You’re particularly be
autiful with the sunset golden hue on your hair,” Saxthor said.
His tender, sad tone struck her like a blow. “Saxthor, what’s troubling you? The strain on your face and the tone of your voice frighten me.”
“My dear, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but a courier has just brought word that the enemy has taken Sengenwhapolis, again,” Saxthor was holding Dagmar’s hand; his fingers enfolded hers as if to protect her from pain.
“What of Calamidese, Saxthor?”
“I don’t know his fate. The messenger reports that from the hills, the watchers saw cohorts of orcs streaming into the city. I can lead an expeditionary force immediately to try to relieve the city, but I fear I can’t get there in time to retake the capital once more.”
Dagmar turned away. She gripped herself. “You mustn’t go Saxthor.” She sat back down after a pause to think. She looked up at him. “If the city has fallen, Calamidese will be dead. You can’t save him now, and you’re needed here to oversee the defense of Neuyokkasin.” She felt herself slump, overcome by grief.
Saxthor lifted her to him. “I love you all the more for your loyalty and bravery.” He hugged her tenderly as though she were a butterfly.
She hugged him tight and couldn’t prevent the muffled sobbing on his chest.
“Bodrin will not have reached the city in time to relieve it, but he’ll return with better information about your brother,” Saxthor said.
They held each other for some time.
7: The Final Collapse of Sengenwhapolis
The dragon Ozrin circled high above Sengenwhapolis, hoping his enormous flapping wings wouldn’t be detected before he could analyze the opposing forces below. General Tarquak and he were about to begin their attack to retake the capital for Dreaddrac.
Ozrin and Tarquak determined most of the orcs were scattered on the plain south of the city. Some foraged in the mountains for supplies after King Calamidese had driven them back. The recent battle for Sengenwhapolis must have killed many ogre commanders, Tarquak thought. Since he fled, the remaining ogres had apparently made little effort to rally their troops. Tarquak’s cowardice and abandoning them has demoralized the ogres. They were too stupid to decide what to do next.
“I must get control of the army, and quickly, or it will never follow me in battle again,” General Tarquak said, riding the dragon. “I don’t dare return to Dreaddrac defeated once more. The king made it clear my fate would be the Well of Souls for eternity.”
Ozrin seemed to note the wraith-orc fidgeting on his back. “Yes, well, you’d better round up your army. What’s left of it is scattered everywhere.”
After getting the surveillance report from Ozrin, the general, as wraith, rounded up the ogres he could find. The commanders convened at a farmhouse in the hills overlooking the city from the west. There, the wraith seized the farmer’s body and liquidated the remaining family members. The ogres straggled in, settling around the dining table until they reached a quorum. One ogre picked up food from a plate, but Tarquak slammed his farmer fist on the plank table. The utensils jumped and crashed back down. The ogre dropped the food, and the general began to organize his forces.
“You commanders will round up and take charge of your cohorts within two days. Have them under control by that nightfall,” General Tarquak ordered. The ogres’ trembling armor responded to the menacing tone, even through the farmer’s body. “The king commanded me to retake the city or face eternity in the Well of Souls. I can assure you ogres and goblins, you’ll retake the city or go before me to the Well of Souls.” The wraith twisted the farmer’s already pained face into a snarled contortion. He looked into the face of each commander around the room, making the threat total and personal to each one.
“Our orcs be scattered and many of us ogres was killed when Calamidese took back the city,” an ogre said. “Many of them orcs is afraid, and they don’t know who to follow since their commanders was killed.”
The general turned to the ogre behind him in the circle of commanders. Tarquak saw his narrow eyes, flushed face, spittle in the corner of his mouth reflected in the mirror behind the ogre. He snarled; wizard-fire shot through the farmer’s bloodshot eyes just above the ogre’s head. The ogre dove to the floor, barely avoiding being struck. He lay there shaking.
“Only the fact you few ogres are all I have left keeps me from vaporizing this cowardly commander,” Tarquak said. He scanned the room again. “Anyone else think he has an excuse for failure?” The room was totally silent. Tarquak spun and shot a fire bolt into the prostrate ogre’s buttocks. The ogre screamed as the smell of burning flesh permeated the room. Tarquak looked around the room again, and ogres shuffled backward.
“You will rally your cohorts and collect those orcs that are without commanders, taking them into your ranks. I’ll assign each of you a section surrounding the city, and you will be responsible for restoring order there before nightfall two days hence. When I arise, I’ll expect you to report here with a full complement of soldiers under your control,” General Tarquak said. His cold rage caused the farmer’s mouth to drool. “I’ll hear no more problems.” A protracted silence followed. “I’ve given my orders and you commanders know that’s the end of it.”
The ogres slammed their fists on their metal breastplates and saluted, pledging obedience. The general calmed down with their submission demonstrated. He assigned the areas of responsibility for each ogre. The commanders scurried from the house, headed for their assigned districts to collect what they could of their former cohorts.
“Have you found the commanding goblin general?’ General Tarquak asked his new adjutant after the others left.
“He’s waiting to see you now,” the adjutant said.
The massive goblin entered the room as the adjutant left, closing the door behind him.
“Welcome back, General,” the goblin general said.
Tarquak sneered. His tone is hollow, lacking respect, he thought. Only mutual fear of the king will make us work together to retake the city.
“You’ll have your goblins search the plain and forest around the city to secure any supplies available for the army,” Tarquak ordered. Goblins are the best troops in Dreaddrac’s armies, he thought. This garbage collecting assignment will infuriate them. His goblins will hate him, which should be punishment enough for his contempt.
“We goblins are the elite soldiers. We retained order after the general was ‘called away,’” the protesting goblin said.
“Yes, well, being so orderly, your troops will be first to retake the Sengenwhan plain,” the general quipped. The farmer-wraith’s gapped teeth showed in a sinister smile.
The goblin general turned red, but he said nothing more. “Yes, General.” He turned and left the farmhouse, his boots stomping the plank floors.
*
The moon was setting when General Tarquak walked into the night to confer with Ozrin. The sight of half a dozen bloody corpses clutched in the dragon’s fist was unsettling even for the wraith. Ozrin continued to munch on dead soldiers following his return from the night reconnaissance.
“What’s your opinion of the situation, Ozrin?” the general asked. He walked around kicking sticks and rocks to divert his eyes, trying to hide his revulsion seeing the dragon crunching bones and spitting out the armor.
“The city is poorly defended,” the dragon said. Bones and tissue protruded from his teeth. He swallowed, then continued, “King Calamidese has left the city. Whoever is in charge has posted far too few guards. I recommend we rally the orcs and attack the city before the garrison can reorganize the defense and restock arms and supplies. They must think, since you ‘left the area,’ we’re no longer a threat. A surprise attack so soon after the defeat, I mean the withdrawal of your troops, will likely succeed.”
Like the goblin general, Ozrin is contemptuous of me and they want me to know it, General Tarquak thought. Still, they’ll obey my commands as the king placed me in charge of the operation. I don’t care if they don’t res
pect me. The general gritted his farmer teeth, restraining his anger. “And what’re the details of the city’s defenses?”
Ozrin stamped around his pile of corpses to draw the general’s attention there. He snapped up a body, plucked off the armor with a claw, and tossed the body into the air. He watched it spin around with arms and legs out like a pinwheel, then fall into his gaping mouth. One great eye watched the spellbound general as Ozrin chewed and swallowed the crunchy snack. Only then did he respond to the general’s question.
“There’s too much southern gate rubble for the troops to pass through quickly in a surprise attack. The northern and eastern gates are heavily defended. Supplies still coming to the city are coming through the western gate. With all that traffic, the soldiers are lax about who comes and goes. You could send in well masked troops laden with supplies and take the gate from within.”
The dragon selected another body from the diminishing pile and tossed it into the air, but the general refused to look at the sight again. When Ozrin caught the spinning body in midair, he chewed it slowly, savoring the crunching bones.
Shattering bones and the smell of gore gave the general the creeps, and he flinched. His assumed body felt nauseous. “Stop that!”
“Sorry, General, I must eat.” The dragon glared at the commander.
The general stepped back and stood erect. “Ozrin, you must draw the enemy’s attention away from the western gate when our troops arrive. Attack the eastern gate. Draw off their soldiers long enough for us to seize the western portal. I’ll move troops to the mountains west of the city so they can take advantage of the diversion to swarm in, seize the postern, and admit the rest of the army.”
“A clever plan, General, I’m glad I thought of it.”
Tarquak’s host flushed red. It’s true, it’s his plan, and I’m not about to argue with a dragon, he thought.
Ozrin returned to feeding, defying the general’s order.
The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) Page 13