Last Stand of the Blood Land

by Andrew Carpenter

  “Stay strong Maraki, you are the eyes of your homeland.”

  The young Cherub smiled the smile of those who had yet to fight and jumped to sit in the window with her legs dangling out into space, her hand on a xiphos sword that now adorned her belt along with her throwing knives. It had been hauled through the tunnels after an archer had pilfered it from the body of a dead soldier that very day.

  Now, as he wound his way back down to the lower reaches of the fort, he felt the weight of his chainmail and wondered if his untested forces would make him proud in the coming battle. Coming out onto the stone platform in the upper levels of the fort, he looked towards the empty barracks and the empty granary, noting the eerie calm, the strange emptiness of the fort. The Centaurs had retreated up the canyon with the Giants, held in reserve to sweep down into the fort when the walls were breached. When. Seeing what twenty thousand soldiers looked like had removed ‘if’ from the commander’s mind.

  Besides Maraki in the tower and a skeleton crew of Dwarves and Northmen on the reinforced wall, the fort was empty. Making his way down towards the wall, Fritigern reached the mouth of the tunnel system where the bulk of his forces were preparing, safe from the coming bombardment. Looking over the rim of the shaft, he spied a fully armored Dwarf sitting just beneath the rim, waiting to send word below should an attack against the fort be signaled from above. Fritigern squeezed past the little fellow and began to climb down into the darkness.

  In the past weeks he had ordered his forces to widen the tunnel, so their forces could enter and exit more quickly, and he found their hard work had paid off. Hand holds in the wall made his descent easy, and he could tell from the feel of the open air in the shaft behind him that several warriors could make their way up and down at the same time. He passed tiny carve outs where Dwarves and Cherubim as well as Humans passed the dreadful hours of anticipation by slowly chipping away at the bedrock, enlarging the alcoves and making them more comfortable. He greeted them each by name, reviewing the plans and contingencies, checking their weapons, and reminding them that they were examples to the North, examples of warriors willing to pay the cost of freedom.

  Making the long, dark journey east towards the larger, more extensive network of sandstone tunnels, Fritigern thought about the siege weapons being constructed above his head and the thousands upon thousands of soldiers that wanted to take the fort. When he finally reached the tunnel system he paused, never ceasing to appreciate the extensiveness and effectiveness of the tunnels. Tonight, they would use them to launch the first of what he hoped would be many raids against the besiegers that thought they had barricaded the defenders inside the fort.

  “This way commander,” came a voice from a side tunnel. He could see the young Dwarf in the pulsating glow of a lightening bug lantern that turned the fellow’s face a neon shade of green. He followed him into a storeroom and admired the stacks of armor, swords, and shields that were still being deposited as they made their way down the tunnel system from up in the canyon. They moved, crawling down past a bunkroom filled with young Cherubim who sat playing games, drinking from a cask of apple beer, and telling stories. Where did they get that? He thought about reprimanding them for not being combat ready but then he remembered that he had asked these winged, un-tempered warriors to hide underground for an unknown period. Instead, the Dwarf smiled and shook his head, happy to have the Blood Born on his side.

  Finally, they reached the command room, the nerve center of his defenses. Runners emerged at regular intervals from four separate tunnels that connected to the room, bringing the latest news on the positions of the soldiers and their own forces. Fritigern could see from the map on the table, a map that was constantly being enlarged as the tunnel system grew, that they had at least two, perhaps more, tunnels that emerged directly into the Southlander’s camp. Outposts deeper into the canyon were tracking the movements of enemy patrols, and to their knowledge, the tunnels hadn’t been discovered. It’s only a matter of time.

  “Remember,” said Fritigern to the captains of each race that had assembled there, “our goal is to hold them here for weeks. If the snows come early, they will be forced to withdraw or starve. But that means we can’t overextend, we have to hit them a dozen different ways and hold the fort. Now tell me, what are we planning?”

  “Slip up and slit their throats from inside the camp,” said one Dwarf, eager to take advantage of their night vision and access to the camp.

  “Why?” asked Fritigern.

  “We force them to move the camp, that will take days.”

  “What else?”

  “Stampede their herd,” said a Cherubim. “We can fly in over their stakes, cut their tethers, and stampede the animals so the Plainswatchers can capture them.”

  “Why?”

  The Cherub thought for a moment before answering.

  “We deny them their animals, they become less mobile even as our forces become more mobile.”

  “What else?”

  A Northman spoke up this time. “Can we burn their catapults?”

  “How?”

  “Pitch from the air,” came a voice from somewhere in the dark room, “and fire it from the ground.”

  “Risky,” said Fritigern.

  “Let us hit their patrols,” said another Dwarf. “They will have to pull more men away from the siege to defend the approaches to the camp, leaving their catapults less well defended. If we hit the catapults they will have to spend time making more and we can coordinate with the Plainswatchers to attack the herd in the meantime.”

  The assembled leaders looked to Fritigern. The lanterns flashed together briefly, illuminating his deep set, dark red features. He raised his eye brow in approval, not wanting to slow the discussion.

  “If we hit them inside their own perimeter at the same time as their patrols are under attack they will think a much larger force is attempting to break through the siege,” said a Cherub. “The Plainswatchers could mass in the forest to intercept the animals, but what of Oberon?”

  “Committed,” said Fritigern with a sigh, “to Therucilin.”

  The room grew quiet and the commander knew the same thought was on all of their minds. Can we hold the fort while we launch these raids without Oberon’s forces to help hold the wall? Fritigern knew Oberon had two strike forces of adult male Blood Born, and he sorely wished he had their deadly skills, but he knew he had to hold the fort with the forces he had.

  “Let us hit them in their camp tonight,” said the Dwarven commander, “and strike a patrol. They won’t attempt an assault on the fort if they think their main force is under attack. I will send a Rider to the Plainswatchers to post forces where they can intercept the herd if we manage to stampede it.”

  The group quickly feel to discussing the details, naming individual warriors that would be best suited to the various missions. Fritigern decided to join those that would be emerging from within the camp and his thoughts drifted for a brief moment to his own attack on Fort Hope. He could see himself running through the fort, the sight of panicked Men scrambling through the dark. He remembered the poison they had used to destroy the Southlander’s supplies and immediately knew that his unit would need to try and locate the enemy’s food stores to replicate that tactic. Soon he was moving along with a dozen other Dwarves towards the armory where they would change out the heavy weaponry they carried to defend the fort for the assorted small blades required on a night raid in close quarters. He handed each of his companions a small gourd of the poison the Cherubim had supplied, providing them with instructions to kill as many soldiers as possible, but above all, to seek out the location of the food supplies. The commander armed himself with two bone handled push daggers with a forward curving kukri that he hoped he wouldn’t have to use. He left the heavy mail behind, opting instead for leather greaves on his shins and bracers on his arms. He had fought with many of these Dwarves in the Companion Cavalry and knew others from years of training in their homeland. This is what we trained
for. He knew there could be no worse enemy than well trained Dwarves amidst a sleeping camp of soldiers at night.

  “Remember,” he told them as they prepared to split into three groups, “to leave a clear path to your tunnel. If you are cut off, you will never make it out.”

  He followed three warriors that had been living in the tunnels for weeks and who knew every inch of them. As they sat silently in the darkness, listening to the sound of enemy footfalls just a foot above their heads, he was thankful for their expertise with the earth. Knowing when and how to breach the surface unnoticed, when they would be at their most vulnerable, were skills better left to those that spent more time underground. He worked to calm his breathing, emptying his mind, and stretching to prepare his body to move in the coming moments. If I had more warriors, would I still go on these raids? He knew he would be ashamed to send warriors to fight while he commanded from behind. Still, as he struggled to keep from ruminating on the coming violence, he wondered how the sub commanders, Brogdar in the canyon behind the fort, Rondo in the air, Marakai in the fort itself, or Diamo who would lead the raid on the South’s patrols, would fare if he were killed. I wish I had Onidas back. He thought of the old archer while he waited and knew that he was needed among the Riders. It had been Onidas who had trained his forces to fight from the tunnels, and he knew he would have to trust that training just as Aram trusted him to act out the training the master had given him. Then, as he realized his mind had drifted, he sensed the Dwarf in front of him shifting.

  Slowly, Fritigern moved from a sitting position, with his back against the sandstone wall and his legs crossed in front of him, to a crouch, facing forward. He moved in unison with the others, bringing up the rear. He took his turn slowly, crawling over wooden beams that had been used to support the earth that concealed the tunnel entrance. Then, looking up, he could see a ring of stars in a circle directly overhead. He climbed by stemming, pushing his feet against the wall so his butt held him firmly, allowing him to scoot directly up towards the light. When his head broke the surface he could see tents, and torchlight in the distance. The Dwarf put his arms up on the grass and pulled his knees into his chest before rolling away from the hole which he could now see lay concealed between two tents. The others were there, crouched in the shadows, their black eyes scanning the darkness for approaching danger. His ears strained, listening for sounds that would indicate the other raiders had been discovered, but all he heard were the crackles of fires, the snores of men, and the cold rustle of a late fall breeze.

  They rose to their feet as one, ghosting into the darkness between the tents. Fritigern looked back, marking the spot where they had emerged from the earth, then turned and positioned himself to enter a tent across from one of the others. He felt the comfortable bone handles of his push daggers, their three-inch blades protruding comfortably between his knuckles. He stuck his head in and saw his companion doing the same from the other end, then stepped deftly inside. He squatted low, his head brushing the hemp cloth of the pup tent. The light from the stars and distant torches made it easy for him to see the neck of the man as he placed one foot next to his head and struck downwards in a punching motion, burying the dagger in the soldier’s throat. He ripped the blade out, feeling the wind pipe sever, then punched down deftly into the wide-open eye for good measure. There was a slight gurgling, no louder than a soft snore, and then he felt the earth growing moist with blood as it drained over his moccasins. He retrieved the blade, feeling it pull loose of the brain matter, then looked over to where his fellow Dwarf was already exiting the tent.

  They moved together, tent by tent, in a zig zagging spiral that wouldn’t lead back to their escape tunnel. Four, then eight, and finally twelve soldiers were killed in near silence as they slept in their tents before they met a sentry. Each of the four froze in the shadows, wondering if Man’s inability to see much in the dark would protect them. He sees us. Fritigern had kept his toes beneath him, one of the first lessons he had learned from Aram, and so he was able to pounce, jumping at the man as he stepped closer to one of the Dwarves, his hand already reaching for his sword. The master’s fist struck the Man in the belly with enough force to penetrate the leather armor he wore. A shout started to escape from his lips but, as he bent forward in pain, Fritigern’s second push dagger thrust upwards in an uppercut that pierced the bottom of the man’s throat and buried itself in his mouth pallet, silencing the scream. Unable to retrieve the first dagger, Fritigern reached for his kukri but felt one of his companions smashing the man’s skull from behind to finish him. They dragged the body into a tent, adding it to the dead soldiers inside, and dashed away into the night.

  Shouts were erupting from the other end of camp and Fritigern knew one of the other groups had been spotted. We’re so close. In his mind he could see the layout of the camp, the image etched from his observations in the watch tower. He sensed they were converging on a large supply tent at the center of the camp where, if it were his camp, he would store the food. We should turn back. The others looked at him, wondering if the time had come to escape. The camp would be roused by the shouts and in a matter of minutes they would be forced to fight their way back to the tunnel against fully armed soldiers with their light weapons. He looked back towards the fort thinking of what would befall his forces if he were lost. But what will befall them if we never dare to risk life for victory?

  He dashed on towards where he knew the supply tent must be but after a few yards, with the shouts growing louder and no sign of the food store, he stopped and motioned for his little strike force to head back down the way they had come. Fritigern was grateful that his companions seemed to know the way until they stopped abruptly in the shadow of a tent. A large group of soldiers that had been roused by the shouting blocked the way and they had no choice but to try and maneuver around them. They turned, moving low and swift, darting through the gaps left in the endless rows of tents. The soldiers had heard them, and now Fritigern felt truly lost, uncertain of where the small hole in the earth lay, their only hope of escaping the labyrinth of tents. Then, while they paused, listening to foot falls and shouts that seemed to come from all around, he spotted a supply wagon. He dove underneath, squeezing up against one of the wooden wheels. His companions joined him, and they held their breath as another group of soldiers ran past. Fritigern climbed deftly up into the wagon, finding four large water casks inside. Another Dwarf quickly pried them open, and the commander gingerly poured a drop of poison into each one. He struggled not to spill the toxic substance as he listened to a group of soldiers setting upon the two Dwarves under the wagon with their spears. Corking the casks and stowing his poison, he drew his kukri in one hand and, with a push dagger in the other, jumped from the cart directly towards the soldiers below.

  The kukri slashed cleanly through the Man’s shoulder and he rolled, coming up to smash the blade protruding from his fist into the thigh of a second man. Then he found his center, coming to his feet, and circling around a third enemy, parrying a sword thrust and stabbing into the soldier’s groin. Suddenly, his companions were there, picking up the men’s spears and charging back amongst the tents. One of them seemed to know the way, and, with a few deft zigs and zags, they found themselves diving into a tent filled with three dead soldiers. So close. Thousands of troops were rising now, their footfalls thundering throughout the camp searching for the interlopers. Two groups passed, and, peering out, one of the Dwarves whispered, “Now.”

  They dashed back along their path of destruction, until one of them tripped awkwardly into the tunnel. He repositioned then dropped like a stone out of sight. A second Dwarf was soon behind him, and Fritigern followed. He felt the earth swallow him in its protection and the moment that the last Dwarf dropped down, in the total darkness of the tunnel, he worked with the others to replace the earthen beams that held up a section of turf that would seal the hole. He felt the stampeding of footsteps and heard the shouts of the Men as he worked to pack earth into the cracks around
the sod, then crawled back into the darkness in exhaustion. The group breathed heavily in the blackness, the extreme danger they had been in finally registering as the adrenaline left their muscles. After a few agonizing minutes, they realized none of the Southlanders had found the hole. Two of the Dwarves remained behind to guard the tunnel should it be discovered while Fritigern led the fourth member of their party back towards the command chamber.

  When he arrived, he learned that one of the other parties had come up directly beneath a tent. The soldiers inside had raised the alarm even as the earth gave way beneath them. That group had killed the two soldiers and emerged surrounded. They had lost one Dwarf in that fight while another two were wounded. The fourth Dwarf had managed to get them all back into the tunnel and had sealed it, but now the South certainly knew about the tunnels. The other group had managed to poison several baskets of bread and had killed at least six sleeping warriors. While Fritigern took in this news Diamo appeared, soaked in blood that was not his own.

  “We hit a patrol of six warriors,” said the young Dwarf. “We killed five, one escaped.”

  “How many did you lose?” asked Fritigern anxiously.

  “A couple flesh wounds, nothing that won’t mend.”

  Fritigern quickly began to tally the numbers in his mind. We got thirteen, maybe more, six from Diamo, plus two from the sealed tunnel, plus six more, maybe thirty in total plus any we poison. Thirty to one was certainly a victory by most battle standards, but he was outnumbered one hundred to one. If you add in the injured, we can’t sustain this. The commander sighed, hoping the poison would go unnoticed before it was too late.

  “Good work,” he said to the assembled warriors, working hard not to give away his fear that they would succumb to attrition before the South succumbed to the weather. “Tend to the wounded, we need them back. Increase your guard on the tunnels, they will be looking for them. Give away the positions only if we can eliminate an entire patrol. It shouldn’t take more than a few days to get the Plainswatchers in position, be ready. I’m sure the assault will begin before then. We must be prepared to hit the herd when they are focused on their attack of the fort.”