The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4)

by C. Craig Coleman

  “Done!” King Ormadese shouted and rose from his seat. “Get a volunteer for the pit. You devised the solution, noble councilor. You’re in charge of organizing this. It must work. You have full authorization and may commandeer any resources, dwarf or material, you need.”

  The noble councilor dispatched the messenger to Duke Jedrac, requesting the Wizard Hendrel’s assistance. While the dwarf kingdom devoted its resources to make steel cables, construct the noose, and hammer out the hideout in the tunnel floor, the messenger headed across the face of the mountain to Hador and Hendrel.

  * *

  Duke Jedrac assigned Hendrel to the dwarf messenger at once when the situation was explained to him of the monster burrowing out the tunnel under the mountain. Jedrac summoned Hendrel. The dwarf and wizard retired to the wizard’s workshop in the tower for consultation.

  “You want me to find a spell to transform the elements of a dead pangolin into granite to quickly petrify it?” Hendrel repeated to be sure he understood the dwarf’s request.

  “Yes, Wizard,” the dwarf said, his ruby eyes flaring.

  “But shouldn’t that be a function of dwarves?”

  “We work elements, but changing one to another is beyond us.”

  “Let me look through the books here. I’ve no idea if I can do that, but I’ll try to find such a spell.”

  “I’ll leave you to it then, Master Wizard. I’ll be close by should you need me.” And with that, the dwarf left the tower room and went into the dungeon under the Hadorhof, where he felt more comfortable in the rock.

  Hendrel scrounged through the current wizard lore and incantations but found no such transformation spell for turning organic matter into rock quickly. He was about to give up when he spotted an old, dusty copy of the Wizard Wars Chronicles in a back corner of the storage closet. In it, it mentioned such a spell used once in the third war at the Wizards’ Hall. More research and Hendrel did discover the spell and hurried to find the dwarf. The two rushed across the face of the mountain, through the dwarf’s secret entrance to the halls below, and to the noble overseeing the whingtang trap. The sound of the whingtang so close ripping out the rubble blocking the tunnel was nerve racking. They’d gauged the point where the whingtang would be when the dwarves had their trap ready, and the two were about to meet. All was in place when the whingtang’s digging unearthed the opening in the wall blocking off the old dwarf halls. It sniffed the air of the hall, sensed an opening, and took it for the best way to continue.

  When it stuck its snout through the opening, the dwarves gasped. They muffled their mouths. A hundred dwarves grabbed hold of the noose cables and waited.

  The whingtang stuck its massive claws into the opening and slashed out the rock retaining wall where the dwarves had weakened it. Rock and dust flew everywhere. Hendrel noted the dwarves on the cables were visibly tense, checking and rechecking their grips on the cables. When the whingtang’s head finally popped through the noose, the noble gave his signal, and the dwarves hauled back on the steel cables, pulling the noose tight around the whingtang’s neck. The noose slid up under the armored plates, strangling the beast. The whingtang battered the walls and tugged the noose, trying to free its head from the hole in the wall, but the noose tightened more.

  The dwarves strained to hold the lines tight. They had strung them through pulleys to ease, yet strengthen, the pull securing the cables. The noose looked secure, but then dwarves began to slide over the stone floor, the beast dragging the hundred dwarves in a tug of war.

  “Hold tight!” the clever councilor commanded. “Hold the cables securely.

  The beast thrashed, attempting to tear at the noose with its hind feet, but the tunnel was tight and prevented the beast from scrunching up to reach the noose as it scratched madly. Dust and gravel billowed through the warren. Then the cable snapped. The dwarves holding the cables flew back in a heap onto the ancient hall floor. Panic ensued.

  “Run for your lives,” screamed a dwarf, scrambling to get on its feet again.

  “The beast is free!” another yelled.

  Hendrel began backing up but kept his eyes on the massive charcoal head. The red eyes changed from agitated fear to a cold anger stare, locked on wizard and councilor.

  When the whingtang recovered from its sudden release, it first froze. Then enraged and seeing its tormentors ahead, it thrust its whole body forward, ramming its head through the tunnel opening to snatch a dwarf in its fangs. Wizard and dwarf stumbled backward. Tusks screeched on the stone. The hot foul breath choked them as gaping jaws opened with a hiss.

  In the rush forward, it exposed its belly. The dwarf volunteer in the pit thrust up his sword, slashing the whingtang up the gut. Blood and gore spilled over the tunnel floor, nearly drowning the dwarf trying to stay out of the way of the ripping claws on the whingtang’s hind feet. Soon the bulging eyes became fixed. Blood ceased to flow and coagulated on the cold stone. The beast thrashed less and finally kicked in its death throes. It collapsed dead on the floor, still blocking the tunnel.

  The dwarf in the pit scrambled out from under the armor plates of the dead whingtang. Dwarves on the other side of the retaining wall chipped out enough of an opening for him to crawl through to safety in the old halls.

  “Now, do your work, Wizard,” the noble dwarf director said, his hands fixed firmly on his hips in triumph. “We’re not safe until that beast is granite.”

  Hendrel went to work and cast the long lost spell. Before their eyes, moving minerals filtered from the sludge in the tunnel floor, displacing tissue in the whingtang until the beast blocked the tunnels completely with solid stone.

  Hendrel returned to Duke Jedrac with the news the beast was dead and the tunnel blocked once more. Hendrel and the duke stood on the battlements overlooking the Hador Pass one night shortly thereafter. They discussed what Dreaddrac would try next, when they saw in the moonlight rock-dwarves coming down the plain once more to the tunnel entrance.

  “I suppose they’ll try to mine out the new granite plug,” the duke said.

  “Well, that will take them some time, at least until we can think of something else to stop them.”

  Later, Hendrel sent a winged messenger to Memlatec with news of the thwarted attempt to reopen the tunnel and updates of the latest developments.

  * * *

  At Hoya, Saxthor decided to lead what forces he could spare north to reinforce Duke Heggolstockin’s defenses against the goblin general on the western border. He’d sent orders to the garrison at Talok Tower to relocate around the end of the Talok Mountains to Tossledorn Fortress. He instructed them to occupy Tossledorn when the Graushdem general left to reinforce Graushdemheimer based on King Grekenbach’s requested date of exchange.

  The lack of adequate boats to transport his army up river to Girdane left Saxthor no choice but to march up along the river, cross at Girdane, and follow the border with Sengenwha to the battle front on the Akkin. Saxthor could only spare one legion. The march was slow through Graushdem’s rough forested lands along the river and the situation urgent.

  * * *

  Tarquak’s army descended out of the mountains and crossed the plain of eastern Sengenwha. Unable to accept the unthinkable threat, the stubborn, but now panicked, Sengenwhan farmers abandoned their farms. They rushed just ahead of the orc legions to get behind Botahar’s walls. Herdsmen drove the last of their animals ahead of them through the portal before the soldiers slammed the gates shut. The defenders filled the road behind them with rock and soil to hold the gates against assault from a battering ram.

  Tarquak arrived just after dusk and surveyed his army before taking a fresh orc host. He ordered the disposition of the legions, massing the forces near Botahar’s central gate.

  “They’ve hidden behind their walls; all the easier to wipe them out concentrated like that,” the general said, looking left and right at his top aides and commanders. None responded, which made him less confident.

  “Do we attack the city, Gener
al?” one commander asked from down the line.

  Tarquak pulled on his gelding’s reins, causing the horse to stamp about in pain, but giving the general a diversion to think of his response.

  “No,” Tarquak said. “Perhaps I may end this before it starts and save those slaves for more productive use.” The commanders looked to each other, but none looked at Tarquak. “Have the troops make camp for the night here on the slopes.” The general turned the horse back to the hilltop overlooking his troops and the city under siege. He sent an aide to bring back an ogre he’d put in charge of sacking Sekcmet Palace. When the ogre appeared before the general, he was shaking.

  “Did you find any women in the palace that attended Princess Dagmar?” Tarquak asked.

  “Yes, General, but only one, the rest had done run off.”

  “Did you secure any of the princess’ personal property?”

  “Secure?” the ogre asked. “Personal property, what’s that mean, General?”

  “Find any of her stuff, you idiot.”

  “Oh yeah, we gots some of her stuff.”

  “Hair? Her hairbrush?”

  “I’ll go look see.” The ogre disappeared. When he returned, he had in his hand a hairbrush with dried blood on the handle.

  “What’s this?” Tarquak asked, looking at the blood.

  “The woman didn’t want to tell me where the princess’ stuff was,” the ogre said. The most sinister grin was on his face.

  Tarquak grinned back. “That will do,” Tarquak said. He turned to the aide. “Give this ogre an extra measure of meat tonight.” The general then took hairs from the brush and sucked his own energy to make the lethal vaporous plasma creation he then sent against the queen to kill her and end the struggle before an attack was necessary.

  *

  Later, when the wizard destroyed the plasma creature, the queen had slumped, drained from the destruction of the assassin. Its energy dissipation has drawn her own energy through her hairs at the core of the monster. Bodrin had quickly grabbed the hairs and burned them in the fire before the evil infected her further through them.

  Tarquak slumped back, too. The destruction of the plasma being had liberated energy from his own essence originally from that of the Dark Lord, who also knew instantly of the attempted assassination failure. When the general recovered somewhat weaker, he rested in his coffin through the night to restore his energy from the earth that resisted his pull.

  Next night, in his tent, Tarquak met with his commanders, planning the attack on the city. He asked the officers’ advice, but they offered none. He expected they’d learned at Sengenwhapolis that he would make his own decisions, punishing any dissenters.

  “We will attack the gate and throw it down on the first assault,” Tarquak said. He looked to the officers for approval of the plan, but they just stood immobile and mute.

  * * *

  Bodrin had only returned with his force two days before the attack. He’d overseen the backfilling of the road behind Botahar’s main gate. The supplies were stocked in the warehouses along the wharf, well back from the defensive walls and the gate. All preparations that could be done had been done. Now, the city waited. The last of the boats were dispatched along the river to return with additional supplies to sustain the city for a long siege. Bodrin, Queen Dagmar, her generals, and their aides met in the reception hall of the governor’s palace. Dagmar sat upon a makeshift throne at the center of a great conference table from the dining hall. The air was cool, and a steady breeze blew through the windows, ruffling the draperies. Guards posted by the windows and across the plaza watched for assassins. At the queen’s right sat Bodrin. To her left was Sengenwha’s senior general.

  “The city must hold,” Bodrin said. “Not only will Sengenwha fall if Botahar falls, but Dreaddrac’s forces will control the river and close it to support traffic needed to sustain the war in Graushdem.”

  “Yes, most of the remaining resistance forces are here in Botahar,” Dagmar said. “If the city falls, the kingdom falls.” Dagmar looked to the senior general. “General, what do you estimate the resistance forces are? Those scattered throughout Sengenwha beyond Botahar?”

  The general shook his head. He looked at the other commanders around the table. Bodrin saw they shook or lowered their heads without speaking.

  “Majesty, most of the organized forces are within the city now. So many that rallied to King Calamidese to retake Sengenwhapolis were slaughtered there. Few remain or escaped to the hills to mount another offensive battle,” the general said.

  “Well then,” Dagmar said, her tone grave, “this is it. The city must hold or they will wipe us out defending it.”

  “Majesty,” Bodrin said, “we cannot hold out here indefinitely. Without something to break the siege, the orcs will wait us out and destroy the city sooner or later.”

  “We’ve not enough troops to attack the orc legions,” the general said. His hand slammed the table. His brilliant eyes stared at Bodrin.

  “Gentlemen,” Dagmar said, “both of you are right, of course. But there must be a solution to this dilemma.”

  “I’ll lead a force across and up the right bank of the river, cross back out of sight, and attack their flank, destabilizing their legions,” Bodrin said. “Maybe I can destroy their supplies. That would damage their morale and perhaps shorten their ability to sustain the siege.”

  “Have you objections, General?” Dagmar asked, turning to him.

  “We’ve not enough troops to defend the city as it is, but Count Vicksnak may take his own troops, the Neuyokkasinians, on such a questionable raid.”

  Bodrin bristled. “Majesty, I studied General Tarquak’s last two battles where he was in command. He attacked the enemy head on and failed to guard his flanks. He’s a coward. If the assaults aren’t successful, his nerve dissipates quickly. He got promoted to general for such an assault, but in his last battle, his forces equaled his enemy’s, and he was unable to overwhelm them. He fled the field, abandoning his troops. I think, bolstered by his success at Sengenwhapolis, he’s now overconfident. He will again neglect his flanks to overwhelm the gate.”

  “You could be right, Bodrin.” Dagmar said, studying his face. She turned to the general. “Release Count Vicksnack’s troops. Will that be enough men, Bodrin?”

  “It’ll have to be, Majesty.”

  *

  Bodrin took his leave and his forces and crossed the river into Neuyokkasin’s Talok Province just after dusk but before the moon rose to expose them. He rushed up the river several miles, far enough away from the river for the low grounds to hide their movements.

  “Where did you arrange for us to meet the boats?” Bodrin asked his aide.

  “The boats are tied up in the creek that enters the river just ahead,” the aide answered. “It was good that you thought of this on the trip down from Hoya. It gave the farmers time to organize this flotilla.”

  “I hope there will be enough boats,” Bodrin said.

  Hidden back around a curve in the deep water creek, a line of boats appeared on the creek’s south bank as Bodrin’s force broke through the cypress trees in the swampy low grounds. The boats lined the creek, tied to river birches.

  “Have the men file onto the boats, and be quiet about it,” Bodrin said.

  The loading went smoothly, though some men slid down the embankments into the dark waters. Just before the last two boats filled, Bodrin, standing on a crest above the bank, heard a soft crack, the sound of a rotted timber breaking.

  “What’s it?” Bodrin’s aide asked.

  “Quiet.” Bodrin climbed a small tree and spotted the source. He looked down at his aide, who was still looking for the movement. He doesn’t see the intruder, he thought. Bodrin snatched his bow and an arrow and aimed carefully. I can’t afford to miss this shot.

  “Is it a deer, sir?” the aide whispered, still looking toward the source of the sound.

  The arrow whisked past the aide, making him flinch. There was a thud
as the arrow found its mark in the chest of an orc scout. The two men went to the dark, nasty body, lying back, sinking in the black swamp muck. Sulfurous gas bubbled from around the carcass as it sank. The two men watched the body as the black, mucky water slid up and over the orc. Soon, only the arrow’s shaft still rose above the duckweed covered water that settled back into smooth silence.

  “An orc scout?” the aide asked, still looking down on the moonlight reflecting from the last ripples of the dark slough.

  “Yes, that’s one that won’t report back and reveal our position.”

  The raiding party crossed the river with paddles muffled as they stroked across the dark current of the Nhy River. Bodrin disembarked his men on the Sengenwhan side. He organized them quickly on the field atop the riverbank after posting sentries to ensure no one spotted them. They moved with stealth south through the night, arriving at a forest edge above the plain that overlooked Botahar and the orc army preparing for an attack after sunrise.

  “Keep the men out of sight and quiet,” Bodrin ordered. He crept along, but inside, the woods to reconnoiter the backside of the enemy’s force, looking for a weakness. He followed the forest edge until he came to a small farm with a large barn. Outside the structure were wooden crates and barrels of supplies beyond what the barn could contain.

  There it is, he thought. The enemy’s concentrated his supplies and failed to post guards or even sentries. Tarquak is overconfident. He doesn’t expect any attack from outside the city. He thinks we are all shut up behind the walls.

  Bodrin returned to his men, and with guards still posted to be sure they weren’t discovered, he pulled his men together in a tight circle.

  “Men, a quarter mile further up this thicket, there’s a farm with a large barn. The enemy has stored his supplies in that barn, and I propose we burn it. Tarquak’s strength is his numbers, but those numbers require large amounts of food stuffs. If we can burn those supplies, Tarquak will have to win in his first assault on the city or break off the siege and return to Sengenwhapolis. The Sengenwhan farmers have taken all local supplies and food stores into the city. There’s nothing for the enemy to live off of except goods stored in that barn.”